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Queer Praxis

Questions for LGBTQ Worldmaking

Edited By Dustin Bradley Goltz and Jason Zingsheim

Amidst rapid advances of mainstream gay and lesbian platforms, questions of essential sexual identities, queered rituals of family, queered notions of intimacy, queer considerations of time, and the possibility and value of queered systems of relation are largely absent. Resisting the public face of a normative and homogenous gay and lesbian community, and embracing a broadened conception of queerness, this book brings together 29 writers – a diverse community of scholars, lovers, and activists – to explore queer theory and embodied experiences within interpersonal relations and society at large. Enacting a critical intervention into the queer theoretical landscape, the book offers an alternative engagement where contributors centralize lived experience. Theoretical engagements are generated in relation and in dialogue with one another exploring collectivity, multiple points of entrance, and the living nature of critical theory. Readers gain familiarity with key concepts in queer thought, but also observe how these ideas can be navigated and negotiated in the social world. Queer Praxis serves as a model for queer relationality, enlisting transnational feminist, critical communication, and performance studies approaches to build dialogue across and through differing subjectivities.
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7. Belinda and I




(DUSTY sits center, holding a childhood blanket on his lap.)

DUSTY: In elementary school, I shared a bedroom with my brother, but on the days when my brother was away, or the nights he slept over at a friend’s or was off on a hockey trip, that room became the most exciting space I have ever inhabited. I was a young, thin, pale-skinned boy with hair so blond it was white. “Tow head,” they called me. My mother’s friends would caress my hair and say they would give anything to have hair like mine—long, shaggy, white, consistent. I understand that now. I’d give anything.

In that room I would spin in circles and turn from Diana Prince into a force to be reckoned with.

(DUSTY leaps onto a table, playfully, yet seductively.)

I’d transform to Wonder Women, and rescue major Steve Trevor, who was tied to a chair and we’d have the hottest, kinkiest sex (and I’d play both parts). I would dance my Sarah Jessica Parker, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” dance, winning my rightful place as a DTV regular, and transform myself with soft yellow blankets, crisp white sheets, and an imagination that I now mourn. … An imagination that has long since been lost. An imagination whose absence is rendered present by the dull ache I feel in the times I am alone as an adult. Spaces of potential have turned...

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