I have a midterm on thursday, but i’ll come over tomorrow
what are you doing
did you remember August?
They said you’ll never see him again, the voices
yeah fuck that,
i’ll see him tomorrow.
what are you doing
i’ll stop everything I’m doing, will
you let me tell you that you fucked it up?
that day we napped, kissed, tensions built up walls along my skin,
cement that cracked with skin and skin, and cement
and lips cracked too, open, my blood fell onto your eyes,
did they bleed too? or did you think I could trust —
coldly bruised, i knew that you’d hit me up 2, 3, 4, 8 months later.
with a couple of girls, yeah you remembered me most.
my blood stained your eyes, you felt my skin the other day,
you think it’s ok to leave things unresolved, tangled up, leave your necklaces wound up,
Leave your people and tell them tomorrow, or 8 months,
What’s the difference anyway.
what are you doing,
her tight ass, yeah you fucked her too, huh.
I saw you holding hands on Valentines Day, she’s your girlfriend?
i doubt it.
You can’t commit for shit, I know you mostly.
but i know that she’s hot, and you like heat,
reminds you of blood, my kisses on the windowsill,
when you yelled at me, “do you know how much it hurts, Brianna?”
yeah, i’ve been feeling it for months,
you didn’t ask though.
But you remembered, and you thought about it for a second,
math is the only thing you’ll ever love, i know that.
we know that.
I look at you and understand your brain, and i’m not mad,
but don’t fucking pretend,
don’t tell me you’re doing well,
You’re fucked up, will
you let me go?
Violence is any action perpetrated with the intent of harming oneself, an individual, a group, community, establishment, or idea, which results in or has the potential to result in any form of tangible damage. While the outcome is an important part of the understanding of this definition, the focus should be on the notion that violence is enacted when the intention of the perpetrator is malicious. The perpetrator’s intention in any act of violence is to cause either physical, sexual, emotional, or psychological harm, socioeconomic deprivation, degradation, to strip one of their agency, maldevelopment, or even death.
Fortknox Kentucky U.S. Army Base, C. 1970.
My father was immediately drafted in the military after he graduated from UCLA in 1969. Being ethnically Japanese, he was heavily discriminated against by the white people who also served with him, and it did not help that the U.S.’s enemy were the Vietnamese, as the whites often called anyone who was of Asian descent a “gook”, as they did my father. He was thus immediately marked as the enemy despite his U.S. citizenship, his actual ethnicity, and the fact that he too was fighting for his country. As his story goes, my father encountered violence midway through his training in Kentucky. One afternoon, the drill sergeant was explaining to everyone how to detain and capture “the enemy” when out in the field. He told my father to stand up, pointed at him directly in the face, and told the room, looking straight into my fathers eyes with contempt, that “this is what the enemy looks like”. My father, intelligent but prideful still, raised his middle finger directly at the drill sergeant and said, “I am an American citizen and you just violated my civil rights”. Without delay, two drill sergeants grabbed my father and dragged him to the barracks where they ruthlessly and incessantly beat him with sticks and bats to the point where he had to be hospitalized. That afternoon, yet another instance of violence enacted against a person of color occurred with the intent to degrade, dehumanize, and hopefully kill. This act, amongst countless more at the time, were meant to demonstrate to colored people that White Supremacy was still alive and well, and that no matter how hard they tried, no matter how loyal they were to the U.S. government, they were and would always remain the enemy. This is violence.
Violence is geographically and historically ubiquitous, covering large spans of time and physical space. It is present insofar as greed is perpetuated, and can be best understood through a cross-sectional analysis of three particularly shaking events that have marked entire generations and palpable landscapes, intertwining beautifully to comprehensively rework the definition violence.
Native American Boarding Schools C.1869 into 20th c.
“U.S. and Canadian authorities took Native children from their homes and tried to school, and sometimes beat, the Indian out them” starting in 1869, enacting further cultural genocide against Native Americans, as if literal genocide and the appropriation of their lands was not enough. “Through a process of forced acculturation that stripped them of their language, culture, and customs”, the U.S. government maintained and eternalized not only a physical structure of violence, but a timeless, unbroken practice of systematic oppression through the forced co-optification of White Supremacy, and this “genocide is the law of the country”. As The violence here is permanent, affecting generations of Native peoples, as not only were their mouths “scrubbed with lye and chlorine solutions for uttering Native words”, but their culture was violently assaulted and consistently undermined. Through this experience, we reshape our conception of violence, understanding its ability to cross generations through traumatic emotional and physical wounds, its geographical and structural permanence manifested through the physical buildings of these schools that still stand today, and its ability to desecrate cultural pride. Violence thus becomes a discursive and defining narrative for Native peoples in America.
African American Lynching; Post-Reconstruction Era
Lynching, “the practice of killing people by extrajudicial…mob action” is a central and reoccurring theme in the African American, post-emancipatory narrative. “The major motive for lynchings… was the white society’s efforts to maintain white supremacy after emancipation of slaves”, and was responsible for the inexplicably cruel deaths of 3,446 blacks in less than one hundred years. Onlookers and participants treated these deeply violent lynchings as social events, where white people would bring their families to picnic, their sons to partake in the physical abuse as a rite of passage, and where people would celebrate White Supremacy and the further social death of black men, women, and children. The blood of the lynched is physically located in the soil below which these bodies were burnt, beaten, dragged, hung, and slaughtered. This fetishized violence is ingrained not only in this country’s White Supremacist narrative, but it is situated across every generation of black ancestry. It is precisely this tangible and conceptualized violence that was sanctioned and promoted by law enforcement, celebrated by the democratic left, and photographed to freeze in time — that serves as a tool to better understand the aspect of violence that is intentional and preserved in order to further a historically oppressed group’s maldevelopment.
Executive Order 9066: Japanese Internment; February 19, 1942
Executive Order 9066, or the forced, mass internment of Japanese Americans beginning in 1942 under President Woodrow Wilson, “nullified [Japanese American] citizenship, exclusively on grounds of racial difference”. The remnants of their physical internment can still be found on this country’s soil, the stories and trauma still shake the lives of the U.S. citizens that were deemed “the enemy” by the country they pledged their allegiance to. “A Jap is a Jap”. The color of their skin, the shape of their eyes, the combination of letters that formed their last names — these were grounds on which the U.S. government constitutionally appropriated the dreams, lives, property, and sense of pride that belonged to these people. In attempting to “protect” U.S. citizens, the government deeply compromised the lives of thousands of U.S. citizens, just not the ones that ‘mattered’, or white people. Violence is deeply rooted and its origins are in unfounded debates, constitutionally upheld and often perpetuated by those who we trust the most to protect us.
Through this triangulation of historically situated events, violence is modified from its original definition, as it is able to cross generations and indirectly affect individuals whose ancestors were hung or interned, it is able to seep into the ground of countries, to be the law of countries. Violence still aims to harm, it maintains that intention that is so central to its definition and to its spirit — but what I have discovered is that the pain is meant to be felt for hundreds of years, through millions of lives, and on limitless acres of land.
Yeah, we’re releasing our first-ever Blend publication, “wut”, very very soon.
As like, a printed, tangible thing.
And as a big fuck you to every guy who has made me feel like shit. I may have been voiceless in my relationships, but never as an artist.
Calling out every human who has been left feeling broken and lonely by a man, “wut” is an ode to self-empowerment, to standing up for yourself, for breaking down and feeling weak, to feeling and being unafraid to feel.
All poetry/drawings/pictures were created and experienced during times of great turmoil and disempowerment.
A5 softcover zine
you can buy it at the BlendShop! (very soon)
If you’re interested in pre-ordering a copy, comment below or email me at email@example.com, and I’ll send you something special along with the zine 🙂
My face is hot. I feel the cold air hit my cheeks as I walk down Piedmont, rehearsing my speech over and over again until I can’t even remember what I’m trying to do anymore. With each step, my heart beats a little faster than before, and I can feel the beads of sweat fall down the palms of my hands. I rub my hands on my skirt, trying to get rid of the sweat, but they only stay dry for a second. And I try to hold back tears that have been falling for days now, but my eyes start swelling and all I can do is try to hide the overwhelming bursting sensation in my chest from everyone walking beside me. I’m broken. But I am stupid enough to believe that I ever felt whole. Or that I thought he was my other half.
“I love you. I promise I’ll change, I promise. I want to be with you forever, like we’ve talked about. I want to live in that house with you with the dogs and the horses. I want all of it, and I’ll do all of it with you if you give me another chance”. Standing outside of Clark Kerr, I’m repeating myself over and over again in my head, waiting for someone to open the door to the building. At this point, my heart is beating so fast that I feel like he can hear my chest thumps from his room. “Stay strong, everything will be back to normal tomorrow”. And then someone comes up from behind me and opens the door. And I walk through. And all I can think of is turning back. What in the world am I doing here?
Taking a deep breath in front of his door, I knock once. And I hear voices coming from inside of his room, so I know he’s there. He’s probably reading about the Cold War, or laying in bed listening to Johnny Cash, or playing some stupid game on his new PS4… Regardless of what he’s doing, I wonder if he’s feeling the way I do, but I have no way of knowing considering it’s only been three days. Three agonizing days. As my mind moves faster, and as my thoughts become increasingly circular, I knock again. And then again. And then again, the knocking becoming more frantic as the minutes pass by. The voices stop after awhile, and all I can hear is the sobbing coming from my own pathetic self. People come out of their rooms looking for the source of the clearly audible weeping, but then realize it’s me and awkwardly retreat.
The sobbing doesn’t stop, and I haven’t moved from his door for an hour. His roommates text me to let me know that he refuses to open the door despite their pleas. He sits in his room listening to me cry for that entire hour, listening to me profess my love for him, listening to me make an awful fool out of myself. But I’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to me, so I figure that there isn’t anything left to lose at this point.
My head starts spinning and as soon as I know it, the two of us are in the study room next door, and my tears have soaked the collar of my shirt, the salt depositing slowly on my neck. Unaffected by my pain, he sits in front of me stoically and logically explains why we don’t make sense together. I look at him desperately, trying to find an ounce of empathy in his body, giving him the benefit of the doubt — after all, he must have a heart.
“Brianna, I am in so much pain right now telling you this, but I just can’t do this anymore. I am going to have to cut you out of my life completely”. His face is calm and collected, and he crosses his arms and sighs as if he had just told his daughter that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. I’ve fallen to my knees, slowly watching the world crumble around me as he walks out the door without remorse, and without saying goodbye.
I’ve offered him my entire heart, life, and being, and none of it could ever suffice for him. I stay in the study room and nothing makes sense to me anymore. All of the memories we shared, the plans we had for the future, and the way we made each other feel — all of it was meaningless, all of it means nothing to him now. But until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much empathy he truly lacked, and how he placed his own self worth above all else. Of course he refused to open the door despite the apparent suffering I was enduring, as it would have been too much for him to handle. And now, still on the floor, my face entirely smeared with mascara and salt, I think back to all of the times where he valued himself more than he valued me. I think back to when I would ask him why he was so against veganism, and how his responses amounted to him just deciding that he just doesn’t care about killing animals. I think back to our political arguments, and how he was so stubbornly conservative. And I would ask him how he could just ignore the problems of so many good people, and to that he responded similarly. He just doesn’t care, as it doesn’t affect him.
Filtering out the beautiful memories, I realize quickly that the man I’ve fallen in love with is in fact a dark reproduction of everything I absolutely despise. But of course, I can’t live without him, because even though our views on nearly every single topic are polar opposites, this man has captured my heart unlike anyone else. His clearly narcissistic characteristics only truly shine through after realizing how disillusioned I’ve been throughout the entire relationship. And as I sit here thinking about my future, I start eliminating any possibility of a future with him, and the tears come flooding down my face again.
Even though I am capable of rationalizing the situation, I physically feel my heart splitting in two as I remember what we always used to say to each other.
“You’ve got me, and I’ve got you”, and these words stick to my heart like glue.
*The Berkeley Desk Series will feature the desks of people we know, UC Berkeley students, strangers, artists, savants, intellects, eccentrics, normies, and whomever wishes to contribute.*
The first installment is brought to you by Brianna, the founder of Blend and BBB, second year UC Berkeley student studying Undergraduate Law, and avid social justice advocate.
We just got in our beautiful Valentine’s Day cards in the shop. Simple and elegant, the whole card devoted to Alain Delon reading to Romy Schneider casually on their couch. I fold each card, and look at how happy they are. And then I think of all of the people who will buy these cards and give them to their special someones. And then I think of how I’ve never had a Valentine, and how I was dumped a week before Valentine’s Day last February. I tell my boss how much I like the cards, and how I’m excited to sell them off to cute boyfriends and girlfriends and husbands and wives… But clearly the expression on my face indicates otherwise.
Excited about being in the early days of a budding romance with a boy I like more and more with each coming day, I have this idea in my mind that maybe I’ll have a Valentine this year. Maybe I’ll get an extra special kiss that day that tells me that I’m someone important in his life. Maybe he’ll make me a card or make me a bouquet of flowers he finds around Berkeley, or even just ask me to be his Valentine. But alas, such simple gestures seem to be asking too much still.
I go home after work and all I can think about is how this boy had told me just the night before that “Valentine’s Day is stupid”, all after proudly telling him about the new cards we had just received in the store.
But is it really? Sure, you could argue that you wouldn’t want to be involved in the “capitalist scheme” to get people to buy flowers, chocolate, cards, and presents under the guise of a fake holiday that celebrates “love”. Yeah, of course the whole idea is “stupid”, but him saying that to me invalidates everything I had ever felt about the significance of the holiday, and everything I feel about even just feeling special.
Embarrassed beyond belief, I nervously laugh and tell him that I was just talking about the cards and how they’re cute, nothing more. But deep inside, my little hopes of being surprised and feeling special on Valentine’s Day are crushed. My heart sinks a little, and I think back to every guy who has invalidated my feelings, and back to every guy who has ignored the little things that I care about, and the little things that make me happy. I think back to all of these times, and I remember that I’m the one who lets people treat me this way.
But knowing myself, I probably still won’t stand up for myself, even though deep down I know very well that I deserve so much more. And so does every person out there who has been told that they “ask too much” or are “being ridiculous” when it comes to wanting to feel special. You’re not asking too much, because Valentine’s Day is fun, and why not celebrate being together? Why not spend a day to be mindful about feelings and ultimately just digging each other a little more?
So, if you’ve got a boo on Valentine’s Day, show them some love and make them a card/pick them flowers/cook them a cute dinner, because no matter how stupid the significance of the holiday actually is, showing someone you care never is.
**Learn more about Trump’s USRAP here: (links provided by my Ethnic Studies professor at UC Berkeley**
Like I’ve said many times before, it’s ok to be angry. But when you’re angry, try and figure out how you can channel that anger into something productive and good.
I went to the forest today with a friend. I took in the vastness of everything and wondered how trees that beautiful and big could withstand all of the elements that have come against them. Resilience. Strength. Staying grounded. These are lessons I’ve learned from the trees today. From the little bugs we saw. From the streams that (finally) flow in the valley. From the moss that thrives on the Redwoods. They’ve been strong throughout it all, and that’s what we need to do moving forward.
With that being said, I want to make it clear that BBB is a space where you can feel safe and loved, and if you are in need of support or legal help or anything at all, know that you can feel free to email me (Brianna: firstname.lastname@example.org) and I will do the best I can to help you.
BBB has become a blossoming community of beautiful people, and I would like for all of us to support each other through all of this fucked up shit.
With love always,
it’s ok to be angry.
Mourning music for sad situations.