Neo Sol Librarian

This space is a chronological life order of thoughts and feelings from my perspective. But my perspective gives me a unique lens to see and process experiences and thoughts about things outside myself.  I wrote a blog post for the library I work for (link below). And while this isn't the exact goal I set out to accomplish, I did accomplish some personal goals that happen to be work related (which is really satisfying, shockingly enough. Work is work and personal is separate of that is what I have experienced and what others have advised me to experience work). But my personal goals for the last two months have been to: 1) Try breaking down a story idea into interchangeable notecards 2) Find another writing opportunity 3) Question: What can I write at length about.  And honestly, I've really accomplished may 2.5 items on this list in the last two months. But let me focus on the second one for right now.  After submitting a piece for The Root competition, I decided to searc...

Last month, I worked on a submission for writing contest. As the title reveals, I didn't win. But I had the best time creating this piece and I wanted it to go along with my public writings. This was the first time in a long time that I wrote just for the fun of it. I figured I wasn't going to win. This is my first writing contest. And while I thought my story was good, I need work. Either way, I was even more excited to see who the winner was, and boy did they not disappoint. So descriptive and vivid. The shocker at the very end. And it's a scary one. Very current. The link to the winner's story is here .  My original submission is below. I'm already looking for the next contest to participate in, but what I'm also excited about is how much it encouraged me to continue to write. We all have wonderful stories to tell. It's really about getting it out in a way that can be felt by others.  ENOUGH (officially) August 24th, 2020 I am Blake Overton: professor, ...

 Grandma Bea was born in 1908. She had 13 siblings by the time the youngest and last was born. Her family were bootleggers. Mr. Davis running the main business and Ms. Davis, being part Cherokee in a point in history where this nation of people had been wiped out by US militia, ran the household. I believe she said that she saw one of her brothers shoot and kill another brother. I believe she spoke of going into Travelers Rest area to get water to make moonshine. Their family estate stayed in the family until recent history.  Grandma Bea worked in a hotel as a cleaner in her early early 20s, but soon quit to start selling bootleg liquor from her house. She became a mainstay and matriarch in the neighborhood that she chose to lay roots in with her husband, Mr. Barksdale, in Greenville SC. Despite being high toned and able to probably pass for white like her sister did, she stayed and worked in a black neighborhood.  Grandma Bea became known for her liquor house. Many would...

 Anyone else living in a fear ridden state of mind? I know I am. I mean, being black and trans, safety is always at the forefront of my mind. People are crazy and folks should really protect their personhood either way, but especially their physical selves. Can't be putting your energy to everything and everyone. Anyway, while reminders of safety are always present for me, lately it's been skating on fear, which is really different from safety.  Safety implies that I know what the dangers are and have a plan for these dangers. Fear is raw emotion that can be irrational, at times. But unfortunately, I don't see my fear as irrational and not a doctor could tell me differently. Fear of being gunned down in the street by rabid police is real. Fear of not coming home due to people in power not seeing your personhood as worthwhile and unworthy of being found.  And when you look out into the world to see if there is anything that can give you any symbolism of inspiration and hop...

I'm not saying that I don't get sad. I get sad all the time actually. What I mean is that, often times, when I am seeking to see other trans folks, specifically trans people of color, I am met with narratives of resilience, hardship, strife, heartache, and rejection. These stories need to be told. No one else is going to do it, and when queer narratives are told from outside sources, they water-down versions of the real thing. And while these stories need to be told, what about stories for trans people? I understand. The true narrative of trans people need to be told. They need to be remembered and retold again. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I guess I get a lot of the bad and ugly. And no, I'm not critiquing anyone person's writing. I mean really, who the fuck am I?? But I am saying that the popular narrative that is told of trans people is the bullshit that we have to overcome to just be ourselves. And that is great. But aren't these stories for people that are ...

Note: I think when I'm saying societal norms, I really mean gender norms. But I'm posting as is because, you know, learning. Societal norms...I think I think about them more than the average person. Maybe I'm wrong. But as a transman, I'm forever having to think about societal norms. Most of it is really for my own safety (can't be too gay everywhere). Especially at work when I am immediately perceived as just one thing (a Black man) and am expected to act accordingly. And if I don't act accordingly, everything from rejection to an altercation can happen. Only when I think about the expectations that the public has of me simply based off my outward appearance does it become maddening. Some times, I find myself not saying much because of lack of what to say or how to react. Like car maintenance talk. If it doesn't involve deciding between high mileage oil changes and regular, I'm not that much of a conversationalist (I'm not even sure if I descri...

So the other day, I was walking my dog just like every other day. Here's Buddy. He's a cutie right? (Mine is in the front view. That other thing in the back, I don't recognize. KIDDING! It's my sister's dog, Max) Ok, walking the dog, going about my business. Got my headphones in, listening to Yvie Oddly's Giggin . You know, getting my morning blood flowing with my dog, right? Out the corner of my eye, I see something moving, quickly. As I turn my head, this very happy ecstatic Pit Bull, obviously off the leash, comes bounding towards us. My first instinct was to pick up my dog, so I did. My second thought is that this dog is going to get hit being out in morning traffic in Charlotte. So as I'm thinking this, I have my dog under my arm. And Buddy under normal circumstances is still a considerable heft and weight. But there is a dog in the picture. And of course at this point, I'm now yelling out "GO HOME! GO HOME!"  to the loose pit, atte...

I've been figuring out what is my own way of resisting. I honestly wanted to be at a rally. My Mom kept my sister and I at marching rallies as kids. Most of them were for making Martin Luther King Jr. a national holiday (yeah. Let that soak in like slow rain. I'm 31). Never anything to the magnitude of what we are seeing today. But there is a sense of community that is not felt throughout the everyday life of Black people that you feel at a rally. Everyone, hundreds of people, are there for the same reason. It's a feeling that I think white people feel all the time, but take for granted. People of color always walk in the room expecting to be othered. But at a rally, everyone who is not there for the purpose of said rally, they are othered. And not only are they othered, you have reasoning and support in the outsiders othering. Because you have a slew of people crying out saying Yes, I see your experience and I too have the same experience, and it won't be ignored.  ...

Been needing this GIF for so many reasons lately. And it's hilarious. via GIPHY

I'm tired of feeling like I can't do anything. I'm not going to wallow. I refuse to worry. And I will continue to resist so that I may live. And I'm going to live so loud today that I'm going to hype my own damn self up: I am a Black transman of Southern background. My parents know that I am trans. They don't understand, but they know and we still talk and have good times together.  My Grandma is 89 years old and thinks that I am smart and uses the correct pronouns when addressing me. My sister hung up on me when I told her that I told her that I was transitioning 9 years ago. She said that I would always be her sister and hung up. She called back 5 minutes later in tears saying that she was sorry. It's been Big Bro ever since. I stand on the shoulders of bootleggers, bail bonds professionals, teachers, ministers, dope dealers, alcoholics and the wayward. And that is just my immediate family.  Because I am a Black transman, my extended family is great as wel...

First, I apologize if the thoughts here seem incoherent. My emotions are raw today. One of the reasons I've stuck around with the library for so long is because it can be a bubble from the outside world. We as public servants run the atmosphere of our buildings. You have some libraries with great lively vibes. You have some that seem like mausoleums, quiet, revenant and protective of the information within. And some that seem like graveyards, long forgotten by the community, but still maintained if for nothing but face value. And sometimes those bubbles block out what happens in the real world. You even see it with patrons of the library. A person facing housing insecurity finding air conditioning on a hot day. An elderly person having a tech 1-on-1 so they can pay their bills via their phone. And even anyone coming into a library and checking out a book expects to have their perspective twisted and tickled in some way to imagine a world that is not a current reality. And as som...

If you've known me for over the last decade, you know probably two things for sure: 1) That dude is trans and 2) That dude that is trans also loves craft beer. (and if you know one and not the other, we probably have a very surface relationship, which is cool). And really, I love(d) craft beer (still trying to work through my feelings on it). Craft beer is still beer, but with better ingredients, more attention to details in taste, and usually brewed locally and on a smaller scale than your national beers (Coors, Buds, etc). I've had some of the craziest things coming out just my local breweries. Key lime pies, midnight cocoa, ceviche, margaritas. Gummy bears, pecan pies, even a pickle one once (which wasn't good at all. Wouldn't suggest spending your money on any of them. And I'm pretty sure they get sales so consumers can say "I had a pickle beer". Just like I did.) But beyond the beer aspect of it, the main reason I fell in love with craft beer was be...

My aunt died by suicide. And being in a black family, you take that shit to the grave. I was very young when the funeral took place. I remember it being an extraordinary event because all of my Dad's brothers were present. I didn't know my Aunt Sharon at all. If I ever met her, I was too young to remember. I remember it being a very "hush" funeral. I don't recall if there was even a sermon. But what I do remember is that it was one of the few times that I saw my Dad cry. My Dad's very light hearted (bordering on aloof). Even as kids, nothing really phased him. But I remember seeing my Dad hang his head in this stifling (as I write this, I remember it being hot as hell in this church. Is the Devil himself in here?) and he cried. He cried as if defeated. Much later in life I learned what actually happened to my Aunt Sharon (I guess someone went to the grave the day I found out the full story). I'm going to try to paint a picture for you of her: Sharon Dav...

So I was today years old when I learned that the cannabis plant can change whole sexes when under stress. It's true!  And when I was watching the episode of Bong Appetit on Hulu  that mentioned this tidbit (along with some really great advice for cooking with cannabis) I was empowered as a transman. Weird right? I know. Let me explain. Apparently, my entire family had smoked flower at some point throughout their lives without me knowing for a majority of my life. And as I was in my oblivious early adulthood state, I had my internal battle with cannabis like a crazy. I remember smoking flower in high school with a friend at their house. Thank God I didn't get high that night because I think it would have turned me off to it altogether. It was the wrong group of white people in the middle of bumfuck South Carolina. After that, I didn't really touch it again until college. And even in college, marijuana was something that simply wasn't accessible to me. I was broke in a n...

Hello World Wide Web, Zuri here again. Was looking back at some of my past post (both drafts and published. Plan to post those draft today, because today they seem important). Sitting here in 2020, a few years from my previous post (let's face it, it's been ages), so much has changed again. I was going to write about it, but it's a lot to process right now, so I will go with a trusty bullet list: I got married to my best friend. And while I've experienced some of the best moments of our lives with Kezia, marriage has been rough. A tug of war of compromise and a new and scary world of self discovery that I wasn't prepared for. But everyday (particularly during my 50 days of quarantine) I get up and think of Kezia and wonder how we can make our lives even better.  Yoga has allowed me to find a lot of peace I was seeking with my own body. I started following Yoga with Adriene  about a year ago and now when I don't start my day out with yoga, I don't feel ...