 Corey Qureshi is a queer writer and musician based in Philadelphia. They work at an LGBTQ+ center and give drum lessons. When they aren't working or making things, they're busy being a young parent and loving it. They're Blue Stoop alumni and read flash fiction for Homology Lit. Find a list of published work at neutralspaces.co/q_boxo. Follow them on twitter @q_boxo. from the artist Why do you write? What compels you to write? I've always loved books and've wanted to write one since I was a kid. Sometimes, I really want to talk about the thousands of small moments and things we feel but don't notice daily. Other times I write to bring awareness to the discomforts of working for unlivable wages. It's never easy being the only queer and/or nonwhite person in a space where you're forced to serve and please consumers (largely my experience). I want others in these circumstances to feel seen, cause most of the time we're just shamed for admitting it's a struggle. Also love, always love. What are some of your artistic influences/inspirations?
My main inspiration is Szuli, my 2 year old. They make me want to be fully invested in what I love instead of being passive. We only have so much time in this life! I also feel lucky to live in Philly, a city with many talented and uncapitalistic queer artists. Seeing people I know doing what they love makes me happy and is a constant motivation. Writers wise, this year I've been really into work by Rumi, Sam Delany, Jamaica Kincaid, Metropolarity, Babak Lakghomi, Wanda Coleman, Tagore, Nyumeh Waggeh and jamal rashad. Earlier this year I was included in Imagoes: A Queer Anthology (Love, Pain & Poetry Publishing) and the artists involved are amazing! It felt really inspiring to be included. On another note, I've played music for 15 years and have way more experience performing as a drummer than I do as a writer. Whatever biweekly soundtrack I'm looping always informs the writing… Rhythms, noises or singular melodies are sometimes the trigger for pieces I really love. What upcoming writing projects are you working on? I'm on the verge of finishing a chapbook of short fiction! It's about queers and the work they take on for unlivable wages. Also slowly gathering my poetry for a collection about the human body, health and sex. On the side with a much looser timeline, a friend and I are working on a collaborative book of poetry about our relation to masculinity as qpocs. Medicaid Call this number between these times On hold for 30 Minutes, in line behind all the mothers and lovers trying to get better or help family get better We can't call out we can't stop working so we all cram in this lobby when we can It's Tuesday nite, I'm surprised doctors are here this late With Medicaid you rarely see the same doctor twice, But they'll all greet you with an eerie familiarity & my responses are always skeptical I'm cooperative but I ask questions cause they've misdiagnosed us before They don't like the doubt So I wait on the leather table with paper slowly tearing under my asscheeks for 50+ minutes fingering brochures on sexual health and dementia I've seen two different dentists and they've both told me what's wrong in my mouth Then tell me they won't do anything till next time Second appointment was a reintroduction to my teeth's needs by a new familiar stranger playing rnb off his iPhone, his gloved hands smooth, they don't split my lips (rare) as he scrapes grime from ill treated gums They say I brush too hard They say I don't take care "If they don't bleed you're good" That's my rule of thumb It's hard to take care as everything crumbles Doctors can't fix the way Capitalism continually wounds us, Making these moves Feel like finger sized band aids Over a constantly refreshed fist sized gash Keep Going Transphobic therapists text machines that text me asking where I was Saturday but I keep going without a word Will this other therapist help me find someone affordable to talk to even if I don't fuck him? Our conversation pushed further + further into the bathroom I was trying to clean. It was uncomfortable We heal ourselves out of pocket even on Medicaid. Most solutions are homemade, improvised but I still give my kid the script cough syrup we got @ CHOP And i'll still go get these other four cavities filled And i'll still need to find someone to talk to that isn't a friend but that's all in time Access Attached at my belt most days of the week, a clip with many keys The few old labels hold but new ones are weak, they rub off of my keys I find what I need thru reference and memory, it's the same seven keys Intuition and guesses work for me when I search for the keys to your rhythm, to your smile, to your peace My waist jingles with keys as my legs carry me to our rendezvous I see you at the keys playing the sounds that bounce through your darkness, the dynamics're key for the syncopation of music and life intersecting: The key's in my front door, you'll follow thru the darkness I wonder the key you'll sing reacting to intersecting sparked flesh, I see you with your keys leaving my apartment in the morning, I'll see you with the keys i hold to this building, you're at work and leaving us locked up — Keys only work when needed, the rest is knobs and screens and opinions Comments are closed.
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