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Kathy Y. Wilson
 

Bunbury, Isle of White

173 Comments · Wednesday, July 18, 2012
It must be comforting and indeed relaxing to come from near and far and land at Sawyer Point for three days, look around and see throngs and gaggles of folks just like yourself everywhere you look. Aaaah, whiteness. Take a deep breath. Smell it.


  

That's So Gay

0 Comments · Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Eyes rolling. Heavy sigh. Gays and lesbians are some of the most tedious people. A worrisome, worried lot. I get being out. I do. I am. It’s this new way folks come out that is funny and boring, and when I say “folks” I mean celebrities, stars, rappers, singers, athletes. You know, the ones living in such rarified air that after they post, tweet or air the news of their gayness the rest of us — yawn — already knew, they have the literal luxury of being able to live their lives without really being stung by the realities of homophobia the rest of us live with.  

Anatomy of a Blackout

0 Comments · Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Usually, we lose power along the T-shaped intersection where I live in Walnut Hills when somebody spits on the sidewalk or a moderate wind blows through. So when the lights flickered the first time in TJ Maxx, I knew what was up.  

Fashion Slaves

3 Comments · Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Postmodern black American enslavement is quite a spectacle. Witness the temporary thunderclap of comfort and the blinding shinola emitting from the upper middle classes every time a black American charges an expensive purchase or, better yet, uses payday Friday bill money to floss. All black everything.   

Swim Good

Recalling Rodney King and expectations of justice

3 Comments · Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Rodney King, long the butt of so many jokes with lead-ins about failed civil rights, police brutality, racism and profiling in the era of Arsenio Hall and NWA at the dawn of videotaping everything before the “broadcast yourself” edict of YouTube, the self-flagellating narcissism of reality TV and the faked friendliness of Facebook, was found dead Sunday at the bottom of the swimming pool he’d built himself inlaid with tiles with two dates.   

To Black Fathers & Their Daughters

0 Comments · Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I write this to the slurred black icky thump of D’Angelo’s “Devil’s Pie” (I know I/was born to die/searching to find/peace of mind),  pausing occasionally in my writing cockpit to look up at the grainy, overdeveloped black and white Polaroid of my parents on the Hamilton porch of my girlhood home. There is no phantasmagorical narrative. Their body language tells a sweet story.    

Back to Black

6 Comments · Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Your black-ass president is a fag hag. A fag hag is usually a woman who co-stars and co-signs in the lives of flamboyantly gay men. Fag hags are pesky cheerleaders buzzing about meaninglessly to little affect; they are quick to appear down with gay (and lesbian … dykes have fag hags, too) causes, but it’s all too much, too little, too late.  

No Alibi

0 Comments · Wednesday, April 26, 2006
If you seen it or heard it, maybe probably I did it Maybe or maybe not I admit what I committed Exhibit the truth because I'm living proof why I had no disguise, no verdicts, no alibis -- "N  

Cover Story: When Silence Becomes Singing

Antonio Adams draws language we can see

0 Comments · Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Deion is outside on the first authentic day of spring. Over-the-Rhine is on fire: a tangle of cars -- dubs spinnin', systems bangin' and black girls starin' -- clog every major ghetto artery   

Editorial: Sorries From the Cincinnatians

(a la Sonnets From the Portuguese)

0 Comments · Wednesday, March 22, 2006
How are we sorry? Let us count the ways. We are sorry to the depth and breadth and height cash can reach, once asphyxiation halted the young breathing of black Roger. We are sorry 6.5 million ti