secret secret

30 Apr

Lately I have been feeling more private about my work and constrained by the public access to my blog. I would like to write more personally, more dirty, more raw. My only option to do this in a way that felt good as an artist and as a person who considers writing my career was to charge for a subscription.

If you are still reading and interested in reading the meatier stuff, please consider becoming a subscriber to my blog. You can paypal alysia dot angel at gmail dot com  with a one time ever fee of $50. It gets you a personal to you password and lifetime access to my online work. I strongly encourage people to contact me if that amount feels like a hardship. I am always looking for trade from folks with strong editing skills to finesse my pieces.



saving sylvia

21 Feb

in the morning before everyone wakes up
pull on your feral cloak and go hunting
walk along the half frozen grass
pads bare
whiskers alert
in the quiet of four a.m.
you can find everyone’s hidden secrets
shake them out and hang them on tree branches
knowing the sun will dry them sweet and clean
on a walk when it is still dark
you can whistle other feral creatures awake
pulling on ferine feathers, fur, and claws
yawning sleepily into a stealthy line of wild
you can band together and do good deeds
sing the songs of the warriors before you
bathe in yesterday’s rain alongside
sleek body
dark shadow
grizzled head
you can hunt with your
luckiest rabbit
just your fastest
laurel eater
in a world where a lion
and a bunny
are one
or none
or everything

there are rules to being 

11 Jan

do not cry
or if you cry
do it alone in the shower
where all of your tears
pool together to make the
(fish don’t tell secrets)

do not ask for help
or if you do ask for help
whisper it into
all of the dark corners
you have collected
on your window sill
line them up
in a precise row
tie them together
with your own hair
do not need anyone
or if you do need someone
need them in small ways
said with a yawn
languid wrists gesturing
that it’s no big deal
if they can’t get to it
you are fine
just fine

do not break
or if you break
don’t let anyone hear
your heart shatter
use your bare
winter feet
to stifle
sounds of
the broken shards
careful not to track
across the perfectly

do not love
because to love is to
need someone
ask for help

the bells are ringing

9 Jan

mother is a moon face

staring down from way too high

if you reach with your furthest fingertips

stretch your body so long it creaks

you will get close enough to see

mother is barb wire 

cordoned around a beautiful house 

if you try to cross over

it will reach out to bite 

vulnerable wrists

mother is a landmine

a ghost ship

swaddled in a dream

Protected: saturn’s rings are too tight

26 Dec

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Protected: 3 months or tomorrow

22 Dec

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Protected: tripping over monoliths

15 Nov

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Protected: cover your eyes in case

8 Oct

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Protected: i miss nothing i miss everything

6 Oct

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amanda amanda amanda

30 Sep

i decided that
when i miss you
i’ll roll my heart out flat
crimp the edges with my
own fingers
slice plump
pieces of our time
and layer them
inside the shell
i figure if i
bake you inside my heart
watch the timer tick off
the minutes i am without
fill the air with
our our feral
hot history
i can pretend we are
laughing together
in my new kitchen
the one you will never see
this morning
rusty dried blood coating my
fanciest apron
i decided
when i miss you
i will feed my home baked

Femmes Before Literally Everything

28 Sep

Amanda Arkansassy Harris, femme vivante and artist, left this mortal plane to meet up with Patsy Cline in honky-tonk heaven on Friday, September 23rd, 2016

She left behind a very tiny, yet regal, dog named Memphis and her wide spread family, both birth and chosen

Amanda spent her whole life in service to her queer community, seeking to create and foster spaces of inclusion and intersectionality, and finding ways to interlace that activism with art any chance she could. Because of her incredible work curating shows such as Y’all Come Back: Stories of Queer Southern Migration, and the beautiful and vulnerable photography and storytelling work she did showcasing femmes in her recent photo series Femme Space in the National Queer Arts Festival she was chosen by KQED Arts to be featured in their “Women To Watch” series.

For over 10 years, Amanda worked in the non-profit sector, where she was a tireless advocate for LGBTQ youth. She was on the board of CAR (Center for Artistic Revolution), and credits her art-activist roots to CAR, who made space at the table for her when she was an undergrad working with UCA PRISM and Conway League of Queer Activists. She believes CAR and its programs, including the youth program, are essential lifelines for queer folks in Arkansas. She was endlessly passionate about getting resources for queer folks in the South, especially in Arkansas.

In her personal life, Amanda was in love with being in love, a true romantic, with a heart made of Arkansas diamonds. She would often get lost in rural areas, camera in hand, photographing and documenting what the world left behind and nature came to take back. While she loved her west coast living, Amanda’s heart was always in the Arkansas flat lands where her rural queer femme roots sparked and took flight, and her deep love of butch/femme ancestry was born. Her small town heart made many transplant queers in her community feel loved in the small ways that folks like her performed kindness. She would always call people on their most important days, bring a casserole or dessert for those recovering from illness, and her charm and sparkle was truly infectious. Amanda was generous and expansive, an amazing friend and lover, and ready for any whirlwind moment that might catch her up in its electricity for a spell.

Amanda was a femme’s femme, stole hearts with a flick of her acrylics and a toss of her hair, and was loved by many. Her community will miss her country ways, effervescent laughter, razor sharp mind, and ever fabulous style.