Innovative Prose – serie

The stories in Don't Make Me Do Something We'll Both Regret are linked by their exploration of queer evil. The mystery of desire and sting of rejection drive a child to violence. Boys enter the forest, naive to what lurks within. A pack of pop stars-turned-lovers strike a terrible bargain to preserve their youth. Its characters are gnostics and mystics, ogres and queens whose defiance of the normative both liberates and confines.from “Tim Jones-Yelvington is a Pretty Little Liar”My lovelies, I haven’t forgotten your secrets. Everything each of you told me in confidence. You said, Promise you’ll keep this to yourself. You said, Promise you’ll never tell a soul. You said, If anyone finds out, my life is over! I said, I’ll take it to the grave. Once, I came upon our frienemy in the marketplace. I said, I know what you’ve been up to! Don’t pretend your hemline’s clean! And she begged me, Keep your voice down! Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret. This is the new new me. Black feathered collar, black feathered cuffs, gold-threaded jacket, my shoulder plumage spills. I am a peacock. My chin is cocked. I am a libertine. I am a dandy. I am an emu, ready to stretch my neck. To sharpen my beak.

What does it mean to be in a place and out of place at the same time? Gabrielle Civil explores this question by making black feminist performance art in Mexico. She asks unsuspecting Mexicans if they have good hair, visits legendary black expatriate artist Elizabeth Catlett, celebrates Obama’s first election with mariachis, embarks on love affairs, dresses up as a Mexican doll, and christens herself with Negrita rum. Archiving her 2008-2009 Fulbright fellowship project, In and Out of Place combines diary entries, images, performance texts, critical commentary, and current reflections. Civil explores—and expands—the parameters of her own body, artistic process, heritage, and culture. She retraces—and activates—her trajectory as a black woman artist in the world.from "¿ de donde eres ?"where are you from? and why are you wearing a sombrero?are you trying to go native?are you staking a claim?are you playing a part or a joke? who are you here, black girl?who do you think you are?what gifts are you bringing?what rights do you have?who are your peopleand where are they now?why is your accent so funny?what are you trying to say?when did you get here? how long will you stay?what lines are you drawing?what are you rendering?what do you recall?

First there is a door, and it goes knock-knock. Who’s there? Lily HoÀng’s A Knock at the Door peeps through a tiny, distorted keyhole, and on the other side, fairy tales wait—with patience, with malice, with magic.