Pleasure // Erosion // Enhancement
I caught a virus in someone’s bed, inhaled a chemical that snuffed out some macula, and the ringing in my ears was howled into existence through speakers large and small. I’m thirty one years old.
Someone in the room of disability arts professionals (artists, funders, producers, thinkers) says that instead of the binary distinctions of ‘disabled vs. non-disabled’, it would be better to use ‘disabled vs. not-yet-disabled’ instead, since the incidence of disability rises sharply in old(er) age.
If we’re using the social model of disability (there are many models), the main form of disability I experience right now is primarily one of stigma, discrimination, and out-dated-attitudes. As long as I move in well-meaning, liberal, left-leaning circles, I don’t really experience any of that. And I mostly move in well-meaning, liberal, left-leaning circles, which could be a problem (see: ‘echo chamber’).
I sit in the room of disability arts professionals (artists, funders, producers, thinkers) with my undetectable virus, the undiagnosed streaks of afterimage in my eyes and a dial-up Internet tone rippling beneath the surface noise, and I wonder if I’m disabled // intermittently-disabled // not-yet-disabled // not-at-all-disabled if I choose to move in certain spaces only (that choice may get taken away).
I have a watch, a present for my 21st birthday, chipped and scratched but still beautiful. My body tells the time, and I feel the gouges.