Jan. 17th, 2009

yeloson: (Default)
So several folks who've been excited by this have asked if we can form an LJ community for it. I've held off on the idea for personal reasons (hella busy), but, now that I've had some time to think about it, I think we should NOT have an community, and here's why:

Remyth is about having ownership of your words, stories and myths, and how you choose to share them.

When you post to your own journal, you have full control over it, not only in editing, deleting, etc. but you can choose to share it only with your friends. When you post to a community, (at the very least) everyone in the community can see it- and you don't necessarily pick who's in that community- the mods do.

Even if it's a safe space, honestly, people are dealing with some serious stuff here, if they just want 5 of their friends in on it and screw the rest of the world? That's ok. That's Remyth. Power is being able to choose your audiences, choose who you bless with your words.

Second, if we had a community, what happens to the people who are doing Remyths who aren't part of that community (Perhaps for even the reasons above)? Are they less legit? This isn't a cool kids club, and the biggest issue of even possibly having a safe space in the first place is that once you make a stage, people will come for the spotlight...

Although communities are fun, and great, as a social structure, it's not a good fit for the Remyth Project.

So. People of color with power over their own stories and past.

That's what it is and that's what it should be.

Because realistically? All I did was come up with a catchy name for something people have been fighting and working for, for generations.
yeloson: (Default)
I can't remember how old I was, 8, 10? I was young enough to go to summer camp, old enough that they'd consider putting us in canoes. If you wanted to go on the canoe trip, all you had to do was pass the "Swim Test".

You had a life vest, you jumped off the dock. You swam, doggied paddled, or whatever manner of aquatic locomotion you could pull to get to the other dock, which was only like 30 feet away. I watched kids jump in, bob back up, and at the very least, flail their way to the other side.

I had a life vest. How hard could it be?

I jumped in.

And sank.

Right to the bottom.

I think it was about halfway down that I realized the lifevest wasn't working. And wasn't -going- to work. It wasn't until I was at the bottom, on the sandy floor, looking up, that I realized I was going to have to get myself back up, somehow.

I grabbed the support for the dock, and climbed my way up, like a monkey underwater, to pull myself up over the edge, hyperventilating. The camp counselor peeled off the life vest and threw it in the water.

It floated.

Even now I love hanging out at the beach.

Just don't ask me to go in above my waist.

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yeloson

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