In thinking about alternative forms of pedagogy, how to divest myself of habits of productivity, efficiency, and perfectionism, all of which are sustained in and by the academy, I remembered an event that has accompanied (haunted?) me since its occurrence, until recently. A paper I wrote in graduate school was returned to me with feedback about my use of italics; that it was unnecessary. I was always drawn to the aesthetics of an italicized word, its subtle shift in position, angling towards a direction different from the company it kept. I found it surreptitious. That within a sea of conforming morphemes, one could subtly signal disruption.
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See AllI calculated how many hours I would have to work to buy her the backpack she wanted. I counted how many logos, gallons of milk, and gas bills before I might fold. I couldn’t stop measuring. I had no c
I remember selecting chiffon to drape across my sternum. Softness and fluidity to temper the rigorous calculations: Cinderella + parental projections + eminence through commodified forms = love. When
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