Embedded Files
Short Fiction
Short Fiction
I Was Born Frothing at The Mouth
I Was Born Frothing at The Mouth
Memoir
My mother was once a kind and angelic creature. She was born in the southeast of Brazil and had a beautiful Spaniard for a mother and an intelligent indigenous man for a father. Hair black as ink, a freckled straight nose, and skin darker than mine, like autumn leaves. As a young girl she suffered mentally and physically at the hands of her older sister, a cruel and lonely child who grew up to be a cruel and lonely adult. Despite this, my mother was peaceful and tranquil in nature, and no earthly temptation could anger a spirit such as hers. Loving her sister dearly, even as she put her hands in the fire, was like breathing. In fact, love itself filled her lungs and fuelled her single-handedly. Still, no pure and benevolent force can be allowed to exist without being corrupted. The earliest account of this is, maybe fortunately, on the brink of fading from my memory. I do remember my mother telling the story to me. Describing how she took an adaptor plug and brought it down as hard as she could on her sister’s head. She imitated her sister’s reaction, placing a hand on her forehead and sobbing like a child. Even being as young as I was, as I listened to this story, I understood that my mother was telling me about a formative experience she had been through. That, somehow, the purposeful cracking of my aunt’s skull had been inevitable. Inevitable as the awakening of the perverse and wicked fury in the heart of my good mother.
My father was a rich high school drop-out when he met my mother. She was invited by the friend of a friend of a friend of his to his pool party. I do not have many details of what happened in order for them to end up together, but you can infer from the key events: Pregnant at 18; married at 19, my brother at the altar; lived with my mother’s mother for almost a decade. She once told me about what made her love him; or, rather, how she “learned” to love him after my brother was conceived. It was his intelligence, or his humor, or their shared interest in heavy metal and technology; or maybe it was the way his dad lost all his family’s money, and all of them had to work at a sleazy butcher shop for years. As my mother handled going to college while taking care of a baby, she also had to take care of a bigger, scarier and angrier baby. My father has never put food on his own plate a single time in his life. He has always expected her to do it. Of course, she did and still does. She told me about how he would yell, throw a tantrum, break the house and go to a bar, because the food she made wasn’t good enough. He did this to her everyday until, one day, it happened again. A hatred so shocking, so hideous, made my mother a monster. I have an image in my head of her growing to three times her size, the vision dark and fading at the corners. I can’t see her eyes and neither can my father. A sight so grim and unspeakable stunned us both. He never refused her food again.
Do you know how pregnant women, sometimes, have intense and unusual cravings? Peanut butter on watermelon? Biting straight through an onion, peel and all? When my mother was pregnant with me, she had a craving so unusual and specific that no one would have let her do it if she had said it outloud. My mother disassembled my grandfather’s wrist watch, and from behind the gears she took a tiny sponge. She dunked the sponge in soap and water and put it directly into her mouth, chewing it and making it foam. The white bubbles spilled out of her mouth as she leaned over the sink. Like a rabid dog, salivating, she was insane and full of violence. For that moment she was just an animal, free, enraged, no longer weighed down by the shackles of her purity. She hated and hated with such twisted ferocity that she boiled my unformed body in the womb. I came out fully burned although they could not see it. As my grandparents saw me they laughed and pointed at my lips. I was born frothing at the mouth.
The Wild Reaper
The Wild Reaper
(Fantasy Western)
The unjustifiable heat of the end of the day fell onto the town like an oven door, making the deep orange sky steamy and scintillant, as if merely illusory. This dream-like visage was sustained when the horizon revealed the strange and elongated figure of an individual. This figure was trudging through the desert slowly, swinging from side to side in an ungraceful process, leaving behind odd shapes in the sand. They wore black leather and old rags that waved with their movement, hanging off of the lanky frame. The face was obscured by a rumpled black hat, revealing only long dark locks that fell past the shoulders. The person then staggered, becoming still as stone, staring into the wooden sign:
WELCOME TO RAGBEND
After several seconds, the individual seemed to be satisfied, and continued on into the little town.
The saloon was made of wood and modestly adorned. It was the busiest it had been all day, the waitresses bustling around the rowdy men that filled the building. The doors swung open and in came the tall stranger, their seven feet of height covering the entrance in its entirety. As the sound of their heavy boots resonated through the saloon, the conversation and laughter went down. The curious people watched as the stranger approached the counter and rang the bell.
“Coming!” Said a man from a side room. As he appeared with a polished glass cup, he looked at the stranger and furrowed his brows. He tried to find eyes but he could see only shadow under the hat. His eyes went down to the hand that rang the bell, and he saw sickly grey skin. The man looked up again and took a step back. “No…”
The stranger lifted a cloth covering their chest, revealing a bandoleer of ten glass vials. They took the only empty one and opened the lid.
“Please!” The man said faintly, trembling. “I need more time. I can sign another contract. I’ll do whatever you want!” He begged while his knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter.
The stranger grabbed the man by the collar, and with the other hand lifted their own hat. A bright light overtook the man’s face as he stared. While the silent saloon watched as the owner of the bar grew thin and pale, his skin tearing and lifting at the edges. He withered away in a matter of seconds and the stranger brought the vial to his mouth. A translucent white spectre spilled through his lips and into the small bottle, settling inside as if tangible. They let go of the man, who fell to the ground behind the counter, the sound of his body hitting the floor snapping the audience awake. Most fled, leaving the swinging doors behind; the rest stood, watching the stranger place the lid back onto the vial. They put the vial away and turned around. A loud bang cut through the air and the stranger took a step back, a hole in their chest smoking from the bullet. They patted the smoke away and stood still. The shooter, an old man wearing cowhide, dropped his gun and put his hands up. The remaining crowd did the same and watched the stranger walk patiently out of the saloon.
As they turned to walk up the road, they faced a brown horse who’s harness was attached to the side of the saloon. The horse looked up at the stranger with watery eyes, and leaned closer to smell their hidden face. They held their hat tight and walked around the horse to study its harness. The name engraved on the side said “Cha-cha” in curly letters.
Five miles away from Ragbend, the stranger finally stopped. They looked around, sitting atop Cha-cha, the nothingness of the desert surrounding them. Lifting the cloth once again, they unbuckled the bandoleer holding the ten vials, filled to the brim with white smoke, and lifted it up to the sky with one hand. They removed their hat, tilting their face up as if trying to listen carefully. A sweet feminine voice filled the air:
“My lovely, lovely Bowie! You mean to tell me you’ve already got ten?! You work so fast, sweetheart, and you even had time to make a friend! I got you a special prize this time. Come on in!”
A few feet ahead, the sand became bright red and hot. As if lifted by a strong wind, the sand formed a fiery circle, standing vertically. Bowie placed their hat back on their head, unmounting but holding tight to Cha-cha’s leash, and slowly walked through the portal.
Essays
Essays
Complicity and Critique: The gaze in City of God
Complicity and Critique: The gaze in City of God
City of God is a critically acclaimed Brazilian film that explores crime and social structures in a favela in Rio de Janeiro. It was based on the novel of the same name by Paulo Lins, a black man who grew up in the favelas and wrote from experience. Although the source material was created by a black man, the director of the movie, Fernando Meirelles, is a wealthy white man. For this reason, the movie shifts from Lin’s gaze to Meirelles’, and creates an interesting dynamic that speaks volumes about stereotypes, class and racism. City of God uses the lenses of both the white (or dominant) and oppositional gaze to critique systemic violence and poverty; however, it often fails to subvert harmful tropes that oppress the lower-class people of color. This duality makes the film a deeply layered text, one that oscillates between revealing the truth of systemic inequality and inadvertently reinforcing the very narratives it seeks to dismantle. The film’s aesthetic choices, character arcs, and narrative framing highlight how marginalized communities are seen, both from within and without, complicating the viewer’s understanding of complicity, resistance, and representation. By analyzing key scenes through the framework of the gaze, this essay explores how City of God navigates the tension between complicity and critique, empathy and exoticism, ultimately questioning the effectiveness of representation in the film.
One of the main characters of the film, at first known as Lil Dice, is a young boy of around 10 years of age. Lil Dice declares himself a criminal to the older boys he admires, even though he’s never committed a crime (9:54 - 10:54). The older boys then laugh and make fun of him for “getting high and talking bullshit”. The scene, set in a construction site, is temporarily shot through bars, as a way of showing how these characters are trapped into the role of criminals by the system that oppresses them. It is evident that the absence of opportunities results in a survival mechanism fueled by crime; however, this scene is an example of the white gaze, where these boys feel proud of their identity as criminals and the younger ones use it to relate and get closer to the older boys. On the other hand, in a later scene, a young man is reprimanded by his father for robbing a truck, and is forced to work as a fish salesman (20:05 - 21:28). This highlights the tension between the familial values of the black community and the harsh reality of systemic poverty. This scene is created with the oppositional gaze, because it exemplifies how the black community struggles to live in a system that was not built to favor them, exposing the contradictions between survival and respectability.
As Lil Dice grows up, he becomes more and more violent. When his older friends rob a motel and leave in a hurry, Lil Dice stays behind and murders every single worker and guest in the building. In the time-lapse scene in which he becomes older, the camera shakes under his gun, as he laughs and kills in cold blood (40:55 - 42:46). He is now known as Lil Z, and is the aggressor in an intensely graphic and violent scene. Lil Z verbally tortures two very young children before shooting both of them in the foot (1:00:46 - 1:02:43). In the favelas, the cyclical nature of violence thrusts children into a brutal world where they learn to survive through aggression and cruelty. Still, these scenes are instances of the white gaze, because of their excessive nature and the lack of context for Lil Z’s bloodlust. If the film showed Lil Z experiencing institutional failure and turning to violence and crime as a last resort, these scenes would be stark critiques of systemic neglect; however, since there is no explanation for Lil Z’s violent acts, they remain shallow. Furthermore, the choice of making a Black character the primary “villain” or force of evil is counter-intuitive to a film that is trying to critique the broader system and its cycles of violence and oppression, as it risks individualizing the problem and reinforcing harmful stereotypes, rather than emphasizing how systemic forces shape and distort human behavior in marginalized communities.
The opening scene of the movie shows Rocket, the protagonist, caught between the police and criminals of his community. (3:34 - 4:16) The groups point guns at each other while Rocket stands right in the center, in the line of fire. The camera spins around dizzyingly as he freezes, symbolizing his panic. This scene shows the systemic injustice faced by favela residents, and the tension between the black community and the police. Furthermore, in a later scene, Clipper, a young man, decides to give up his life of crime and go to church. He is walking down the street and so is a boy of around the same age. As two cops turn the corner and see them, they point their guns and run at the young men. Clipper continues to walk calmly and doesn’t react to the cops, but the other boy runs away in fear. The cops run right past Clipper and shoot the innocent boy to death. When they check his documents and find out he’s just a worker, they put a gun on his hand to frame him as a criminal (19:01 - 19:58). This scene exposes police corruption, and the scapegoating of black boys through targeted violence. In combination with the crossfire scene, this was made through the oppositional gaze since they show the powerless position of the residents of favelas, who live under constant threat. However, the film does not remain in this light the whole way through. The closing scene of the movie shows Rocket, now a photographer for a newspaper, choosing not to publish the pictures he took of the police receiving money from Lil Z, so as to not bring attention from the cops to himself (1:59:44 - 2:00:39). This scene is an example of the white gaze because the photographer acknowledges an injustice but opts for self-preservation over advocacy; and so, Rocket remains complicit through his silence. By choosing to end the movie with this disappointing choice on behalf of the protagonist, the radical qualities of the film are softened into a vague gray area that does not serve the narrative’s original purpose of critiquing the system. This illustrates the media's selective visibility of marginalized suffering. The creators want to denunciate the oppression faced by members of the black community and inhabitants of the favelas, but will not go as far as to fully condemn the police and its corrupt nature.
The first relevant female character in the movie is Berenice, who appears under candlelight, as if otherworldly and mysterious (17:35 - 18:12) The score plays a romantic song as the frame closes in on her face, which is half in shadow. This exoticized misrepresentation happens more than once during the movie. In a later scene, one of the only light-skinned characters, Angelica, has her skin color juxtaposed next to Rocket, a dark-skinned counterpart (34:06 - 36:19). The score plays music made with traditional Brazilian instruments and rhythms, while Angelica gives Rocket a kiss on the cheek. The frame only shows their backs as they face the ocean. This scene has all the elements of an idealized version of Brazil, sold to Americans who see the ethnic diversity of Brazil as something desirable to be consumed. This scene was later screencapped and became the poster for the American release of the movie. These are examples of the white gaze, which sees diversity as a commodity; especially when the movie is set in Brazil, which poses to Americans and other foreigners as a multi-ethnic tropical paradise. This misrepresentation continues when Lil Z encounters a religious figure that gives him an amulet (44:38 - 45:42). The figure claims the amulet will bring him what he wants, which is power, and sends him on his way. The scene is made with several shots that fade into each other. The figure’s face is completely covered, and candles poorly illuminate the darkness surrounding them. This scene portrays a Brazilian religion of African origin, most likely either Candomblé or Umbanda, with an unnecessary display of magical tension. By portraying these religions as other-worldly, the movie uses the white gaze, which exoticizes other cultures’ spiritual practices and distances them from their sociocultural roots, perpetuating misconceptions.
The film’s sacrificing of nuance doesn’t happen only in the main text. As above mentioned, the poster for the american release of the movie shows a gentler and less violent version of the film to Americans, by depicting a youthful beach scene. Other paratexts made for non-Brazilians are also complicit in this distortion of reality. The english subtitles, specifically the ones featured in the American Google Movies version of the film, introduce racial biases not present in the original Brazilian Portuguese dialogue, deepening the distortion of the narrative for foreign audiences. The word “Nego” in Portuguese can be a general term of endearment for anyone of any race, but originally it was slang word for “black person”, coming from the word “Negro”, which has the same meaning. However, the captions translate the term as “N****”, which carries a racially charged and problematic past that the original term is free of. Another example is the word “Malandro”, meaning a “sleazy”, “scummy” person, but generally used as a slang word for “criminal”. This term and other synonyms were translated as “hood” or “hoodlum”, tying criminality to residents of low-income neighborhoods. As a final example, the word “Branquelo” is used to refer to someone who is white or generally pale. This term is used only once in the film, but the translators chose to omit it entirely, erasing nuance around power dynamics for white characters. These mistranslations distort the audience’s understanding of race, language, and power in City of God, exacerbating the film's already complicated navigation between critique and stereotype. It emphasizes criminality rather than the injustice the film is trying to condemn, and provides a poor and shallow version of the movie for foreigners.
While City of God powerfully critiques systemic poverty and violence, it fails to challenge the patriarchal dynamics embedded in these structures. The film navigates the intersection between the white and the oppositional gaze, exposing the exploitation of the inhabitants of favelas through both external perceptions and internal realities. However, it does not sufficiently address how racist structures perpetuate further marginalization within this already oppressed community. This contradiction underscores the limits of representation when stories from marginalized communities are filtered through dominant frameworks. Although the film offers moments of clarity and resistance, they are often diluted by cinematic choices that cater to Western audiences or lean into stereotypes for dramatic effect. As a result, City of God becomes a complex cultural artifact, both a mirror held up to the violence of systemic neglect and a product shaped by the global media market’s appetite for sensationalized portrayals of poverty and crime. Ultimately, this tension invites critical reflection not only on the film itself, but also on the broader ethics of storytelling: who gets to tell these stories, how they are told, and what responsibilities filmmakers bear when navigating the fine line between critique and complicity. Though ground-breaking, City of God leaves room for more nuanced portrayals of resistance against racial systems of oppression.
Male Androgyny and the Patriarchy in Epic Fantasy
Male Androgyny and the Patriarchy in Epic Fantasy
For centuries, patriarchal expectations have dictated how societies define strength, leadership, and heroism. In literature, especially in epic fantasy, these ideals have often been reinforced through male protagonists who embody traditional masculine traits like physical strength, stoicism, and dominance. Still, some of the most iconic works in the genre deviate from this pattern, offering heroes who defy these expectations. J.R.R. Tolkien’s ‘The Lord of the Rings’, J.K. Rowling’s ‘Harry Potter’ series, and Michael Ende’s ‘The NeverEnding Story’ introduce male protagonists who are vulnerable, introspective, and even androgynous; far removed from the traditional warrior archetype. Despite their divergence from patriarchal ideals, these stories remain deeply entrenched in patriarchal systems, with male-dominated power structures and female characters relegated to supporting roles. Why is it that fantasy authors feel the need to make their protagonists so genderless if they are still willing to make the rest of their novels so patriarchal? A possible explanation for this duality is that fantasy authors, believing themselves to be underdogs, project these experiences onto their male protagonists, creating non-traditionally masculine figures that succeed despite the adversity of patriarchal structures. This paradox speaks to the authors’ own identities and struggles, as they craft worlds that both challenge and uphold societal norms.
In capitalist societies, conformity is often rewarded, while those who deviate from the norm are marginalized. A fantasy author might be put in the position to consider themselves an underdog for many reasons, the primary being the fact that they are artists. Artists, in particular, frequently see themselves as underappreciated and misunderstood, as their creative pursuits are often undervalued or seen as unproductive within a profit-driven system. Many fantasy authors, including the creators of these iconic works, likely felt this pressure. Furthermore, J.K. Rowling famously adopted a gender-neutral pen name to appeal to a wider audience, reflecting her own awareness of bias against women in publishing. This is a clear sign of the author believing herself to be unlikely to find success. Additionally, those who create imaginative, unconventional worlds are often neurodivergent, their unique perspectives clashing with societal expectations of uniformity. This sense of being an outsider, of struggling against systems that value sameness, likely informs the underdog narratives they craft—stories of protagonists who succeed not by conforming to traditional ideals but by embracing their differences. By rejecting the lifestyle that is imposed on them by society, these authors are subverting expectations in their own lives. It is perfectly natural to assume that they would also want to subvert expectations in their fictional worlds, which brings me to my next point.
The protagonists in all of the aforementioned novels are distinctly different then what you would expect from epic fantasy heroes. Rejecting physical strength and political power, these male protagonists are non-traditionally masculine, displaying traits that are at times feminine but most of the time androgynous. Frodo Baggins, the main character in ‘Lord Of The Rings’, is a small creature, at around 4 feet tall. His main characteristics are his emotional intelligence and his selflessness, which he displays in abundance. At a point in the book where the powerful male characters are discussing who should carry out the quest of destroying The One Ring, Frodo steps forward and claims “I will take the Ring […] though I do not know the way” (298). Frodo admits, in this moment, that he is not what they expected, but that he is willing to do it. Similarly, in ‘The NeverEnding Story’, the protagonist is introduced when the Childlike Empress calls for him:
“Am I to take it,” he asked, “that you are Atreyu?”
“That’s right, stranger.”
“Isn't there someone else of the same name? A grown man, an experienced hunter?”
“No. I and no one else am Atreyu.” (NeverEnding Story, 36)
In this scene, an eleven year old boy called Atreyu appears claiming to be the hero the Childlike Empress called for, breaking the expectation of a strong masculine man. Furthermore, Atreyu displays other qualities that make him an unlikely hero, such as his affinity for nature and his optimism. Finally, in ‘Harry Potter’, the title character proves himself to be emotionally intelligent very early on in the story:
The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: ‘I get that all the time.’
‘I know,’ Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn’t sure the snake could hear him. ‘It must be really annoying.’ The snake nodded vigorously. (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, 20)
Harry is not presented as a violent and strong man, but rather as a sensitive and observative boy. These protagonists stand out precisely because they reject the archetype of the traditional masculine hero. Their courage is rooted not in physical might or dominance but in emotional strength, self-awareness, and a willingness to step forward despite their perceived inadequacies. By creating characters like Frodo, Atreyu, and Harry, fantasy authors subvert expectations of what a hero should be. However, this subversion does not fully dismantle the patriarchal structures within their narratives.
Even with protagonists that defy traditional forms of masculinity, these works still uphold the patriarchal systems that benefit their authors. In ‘The Lord of the Rings’, for instance, Middle-earth remains firmly rooted in traditional male power structures. Kingship and military strength drive the narrative, with Aragorn’s ascent to the throne and the armies of men playing pivotal roles in defeating Sauron. Female characters, though present, are relegated to supporting positions. Galadriel serves as a guiding light for Frodo and the Fellowship, but her role is largely passive, offering wisdom and gifts rather than taking direct action. Éowyn, despite her significant moment of slaying the Witch-king, can only achieve success by disguising herself as a man and ultimately seeks validation through her romantic interest in Aragorn. Similarly, in ‘Harry Potter’, patriarchal systems dominate the Wizarding World. Leadership positions at Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic are overwhelmingly male, with figures like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Cornelius Fudge shaping the course of events. While female characters like Hermione Granger and Professor McGonagall are essential to the story, their roles often center around supporting and guiding Harry. Hermione, despite her brilliance and resourcefulness, frequently serves as a caretaker, solving problems for Harry while receiving little recognition for her efforts. McGonagall, too, functions as a maternal figure, nurturing and protecting her students. In ‘The NeverEnding Story’, the narrative relies heavily on patriarchal dynamics, with women functioning primarily as muses or motivators rather than active participants. The Childlike Empress, a central figure in the story, is almost entirely absent from the action. She exists as a symbolic figure who calls for aid but takes no direct role in saving Fantastica. Other female characters, when present, are similarly defined by their relationships to male protagonists rather than their own agency. These examples reveal how epic fantasy often perpetuates patriarchal structures, even as it elevates unconventional heroes. While the male protagonists may subvert traditional masculinity, the worlds they inhabit and the stories they tell remain deeply entrenched in systems of male dominance, reflecting the societal norms that benefit their authors.
In conclusion, while the male protagonists in ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Harry Potter’, and ‘The NeverEnding Story’ challenge traditional notions of masculinity, the stories they inhabit remain firmly rooted in patriarchal systems. This paradox reflects a broader tension in the genre: although these works can be interpreted as social commentary on gender norms, they are not intended to be revolutionary. Even authors who experience marginalization or struggle under patriarchal expectations often unconsciously reinforce the very systems they critique. The result is a form of surface-level innovation, where unconventional heroes are celebrated, but the deeper societal structures remain intact. These narratives, though compelling, demonstrate how challenging established norms within a fictional framework does not inherently dismantle the systems that uphold them in reality. Instead, they highlight the complexities of authorship and the persistent influence of patriarchal ideologies in shaping storytelling.
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I Mistake Dreams For Gods
I Mistake Dreams For Gods
Poetry Zine
Flowers For Every Occasion
Flowers For Every Occasion
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