"Bookstores—guaranteed to leave you both poorer, and richer for it."
Gemma Seymour-Amper, 3 June 2013
So sparkly, it hurts my eyes to look at it in the sun. :D I lurve it!
I didn’t say no. :D
It’s official. I am now unmistakeably middle-aged. My first pair of reading glasses.
Now, about your overdue book fine…
Catching you up on all the latest gpoms, since I haven’t been around tumblr much this month.
"
Why do we uphold labor as a uniquely moral proposition? It is clear that we hold work above other propositions that are commonly held to be moral goods, such as charity, but why should labor be exalted such that it is an unspoken assumption that each person must labor for her sustenance in order to be valued?
At the heart of this false virtue we attach to labor is a gross misconception of property, a belief that when we enter into this world we do so owning nothing, save possibly our own body and consciousness. For some, the consideration of even that most basic form of property is debatable. And so, owning only our own bodies, we must labor to acquire even the most basic necessities for sustenance, air, water, food, and shelter.
But if by labor we acquire propriety, then we cannot, by definition, invest ourselves with ownership of that for which we cannot labor. And so, these things are properly our birthrights by virtue of our common humanity, for whether we choose to believe that they sprung into being of their own accord, or that they were placed here by a higher power, no human created them by his labor, and without them, survival is impossible: the bounties of Nature.
It is self-evident that we, as corporeal beings, like all other matter in the Universe, must occupy space. Land, therefore, is a basic right. It is a consequence of the human condition that we cannot exist but by occupying some location. It is through mixing our labor with land that we acquire propriety in those things we require for sustenance. Because land, as a product of Nature, cannot be owned, we are necessarily responsible to our brethren, indeed to all living things, for what land we remove from the common usage for our individual benefit.
From the value of what we remove from the commons to mix with our own labor, we are required to return to the commons, and this income we are therefore obligated to share and share alike. The fundamental fairness of this cannot be repudiated.
It has often been said that the simplest solution is usually the best solution. How elegant, then, is this conception of Nature, compared to our historically customary means of distributing the bounties of Nature, allowing any individual to gobble up as much of our common heritage for his own profit and hoarding as he may simply by claiming it against all others. Wherefore allow we him to demand that our common weal be expended to defend his claim by force of Law with the threat of seizure, imprisonment, and ultimately death, when he never could do as much for himself? Where in this can we find virtue or justice?
"Gemma Seymour-Amper, 27 April 2013
Me. 1466 consecutive nights alone, and counting. Five more weeks, and it will be 1500 nights.
Seriously, what is it? Am I that fucking ugly? 1466 nights alone, and counting.
This one isn’t too bad. Now, I have to think up something good for 3,500th post. This is post #3499, a little fan service for my 333 followers.
Me, 21 March 2013
Stuyvesant High School Alumni Night, 21 March 2013 (L to R): Peter Kwon ‘87, Gemma Seymour-Amper ‘86, Jessica Stern ‘86
I bleached my hair yesterday, just before I got in the shower to go to a high school alumni get-together. This was a big step for me, because I wasn’t sure how it would come out. I did some cutting tests last month, or maybe the month before that, but I was really nervous about going all the way, especially since I was going out to meet old friends. Actually, I’m very happy with the results, except I might even go lighter. I don’t want to go too far, because without a toner, it could go too orange. I’m going for a beachy look. Maybe I can con one of my girlfriends into doing highlights for me.
250 ml hydrogen peroxide 3%, 2 T. isopropyl alcohol 70%, and 2 T. household ammonia (exact concentration unknown, but it’s probably 5%, with detergent added). 30 minutes under a shower cap.
It only lifted about one shade, but the texture is so soft, now. This is first thing this morning after having slept on it. Usually, it looks like hell after sleeping on it.
Map of Flintshire, Wales, UK
My great-great-grandmother, Anna Price (modern form of the Welsh patronymic “ap Rhys” or “ferch Rhys”), was born in the village of Whitford (upper left), in 1850. She married my great-great-grandfather, John Seymour, in Christ Church, Glodwick, Oldham, in what is now Greater Manchester, England, in 1877. I understand Christ Church no longer exists, having closed on 20 May 1962.
Christ Church, Glodwick, Oldham, date unknown
april days
april days
music and lyrics by gemma seymour-amper, c. 1986-1988
do you remember the days
when it rained in sheep meadow
when we ran through wet grass
and played tricks on each other
in the spring?
i remember how the trees
stood black against the grey sky
the still life on the lake
and the silent carousel
and april days
april remembers the hare and the hatter
but the wind drives the rain
into may flowers
oh april, remember me
do you remember the statue
in stuyvesant square
the stairs of the library
and the staten island ferry
in the spring?
i remember the green park benches
all covered with white snow
the cold water of the reservoir
and your wet hair blowing
through april days
april remembers the hare and the hatter
but the wind drives the rain
into may flowers
oh april, remember me
Fallon Fox
I woke up this morning, and found I had a friend request on Facebook from Fallon Fox. Yes, *the* Fallon Fox, the trans MMA fighter. I accepted her friend request, although I was wondering why she would have sought me out, and a short time later, I received the most wonderful letter from her telling me how something I wrote some time ago, as well as some incidents she had read about involving me and certain detractors of mine had inspired her. Much of her letter is far too personal to share, but I would like to share some portions of her letter with you. When I first read it, I was quite speechless for a time:
“Gemma,
Greetings sister. I befriended you because you mean a lot to me.
…
I remember you posted one day of an experience you had while walking down the street one day. There was a couple who read you and made fun of you for being who you are. You were extremely hurt by it. I sat at my computer and read it. It reminded me of how we are treated time and time again. The feeling of being powerless to do anything about it.
…
I highly value your strength Gemma. You have inspired me. Stay strong, stay bold, stay bad ass, and keep in touch.
Much love and respect,
Fallon Fox”
The post of mine she is referring to is this one, about an incident that occurred to me one night in Philadelphia about a year ago. It was a very painful incident for me, and my language in this post is harsh, so I don’t suggest reading it if you are easily upset by violent thoughts.
The short story is that I had just met up with my old college roommate for the first time in at least a couple of years, the first time he saw me completely out as a woman, and on the way back to my car, I was loudly and publicly ridiculed for my appearance by a couple (the female member of that couple, actually) that was passing me by. I was utterly humiliated, feeling that I looked really good that night, elated after having just had a joyful and accepting reunion with my old friend, when out of nowhere, some random stranger felt the need to “put me in my place”.
The thought that anything I might have to say could be inspiring to a woman like Fallon Fox is a great honor to me, and I am as inspired by her struggle to gain acceptance as she is by my own. I am both humbled and filled with pride at the same time, and Fallon has a new #1 fan.
I feel privileged to have this insight into Fallon’s life, to know personally her grace and kindness. As I told both Fallon and my friends earlier on Facebook, one day, I will show this letter to my daughter, who is going to be eight years old this year, so that she may know the strength of my fellow trans women, and be proud to call us Sisters.
