Jodi Tilton One of the Womyn the World Requires

Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn

the World Requires: Collected Writings & Memories

This is a written testimony of the grieving process. It is a document meant to remind us of her life and what she meant us as the wrinkles of time fade into our lives; it is a document meant to comfort the memory of her passing. In ćĊĂ ČøôąĆ¿ ĀôāČ ĊąüćüāúĆ ôā÷ ąøűøöćüĂāĆ have come forth for various projects and events from those who loved her. In two years, we as friends to Jodi Tilton have returned to work, school, and our daily routines but the frustrations of a society and system, which that does not allow ones own to grieve, still burns our hearts. As a response we offer this to you, as an act of care.

- From the Introduction

Collected Writings & Memorieswarmachines.info s p r i n g 2 0 0 9

Jodi Tilton One of the Womyn the World Requires

Collected Writings & Memories

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attri-bution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

Printed at Eberhardt Press:

Eberhardt Press3527 NE 15th St. #127, Portland, OR 97212

www.EberhardtPress.org

Cover Artwork:Cristy C. Road

www.CroadCore.org

Contact the Editors:

Craig-Jesse Hughes, Beth Puma & Kevin Van MeterOneoftheWomyn@WarMachines.info

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Introduction

A Biography

A Tribute

A Life & Weapons Against Forgetting

Kate Wadkins

Beth Puma

Craig-Jesse Hughes

Conor Cash Paul Cash

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Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires

It has been nearly two years since our friend and com-rade Jodi passed away. There are times when we can sit back and laugh at the moments that we shared with her, far too few in the greater timeline of our lives. There are others when the pain of her loss to our lives and community is still too much to bare.

Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires is a written testimony of the grieving process. It is a document meant to remind us of her life and what she meant us as the

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wrinkles of time fade into our lives; it is a document meant to comfort the memory of her passing. In two years, many writings and reflections have come forth for various projects and events from those who loved her. In two years, we as friends to Jodi Tilton have returned to work, school, and our daily routines but the frustrations of a society and system, which that does not allow ones own to grieve, still burns our hearts. As a response we offer this to you, as an act of care.

One of the Womyn the World RequiresThe title, “One the of Womyn the World Requires”, para-phrases a memorial given to Commandante Ramona of the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Naciona, an indig-enous rebel group in Southern Mexico known as the Za-patistas – and we the editors feel strongly that such a sentiment applies to our partner, colleague, friend and constant companion. Jodi was a native Long Islander who was heavily invested in the music community. She went on to be an integral coordinator to the Long Island Freespace Project, a social and activist center located in Ronkonkoma, New York. In addition, she organized with the Long Island Womyn’s Collective, putting on a week-end long cultural and political festival celebrating wo-myn called the Big She Bang. She graduated from the New York Fashion Institute and worked for Jones Ap-parel. Jodi Tilton was a varied and distinguished per-son, but most dearly she was a sincere and honest friend to many of us, far beyond what we could give in return

A Collection of Materials Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires: Collected Writings and Memories is a collection of biographies, stories,

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reflections, tributes, poems and other materials for, about and around Jodi together as a depository of active memory.

Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires be-gins with a detailed biography by Craig Hughes and Beth Puma, originally printed as a one-off zine for the August 2008 “Big She Bang” which was held in Jodi’s honor. .

At Jodi’s memorial service, held in her hometown of Wan-tagh, New York, three close friends of read a beautiful tribute to her life. David Castilo, Beth Puma and Chris-tine Sterling have graciously provided us with this tribute so that those who were overwrought with tears the first time may read these humble and magnificent words again.

On 26 July 2007, the day Jodi’s body was finally at rest and six days since she had passed into the unknown, at a gathering of friends in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park Kevin Van Meter read a statement read “Jodi Tilton: A Life” to all those assembled to remember her, us, and our lives to-gether. To mark the year anniversary of the 21st, Van Meter circulated a tribute called “Weapons Against For-getting: An Open Letter Among Friends on the Year An-niversary of Jodi Tilton’s Passing into the Unknown”; this too is collected here for those who knew her and struggle against the passage of time, against forgetting.

Jodi’s colleague and fellow organizer in the Long Island Womyn’s Collective, Katie Wadkins shares with us a trib-ute read at the Big She Bang in August of 2008. This event – in previous years organized by Jodi, Beth and Katie to-gether – was held “in the spirit of Jodi Tilton”, and here Wadkins touches on this relationship and the immeasur-

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able loss Jodi has been to her personally as well as the feminist community at large. Following Katie’s contribu-tion, Beth continues to speak to Jodi as an active and cre-ative person in the world. Herein Beth utilizes moments in her life currently, to reflect upon her life with Jodi and the daily impact she had and continues to have upon her.

Rounding out the collection is a contribution chronicling the “other parts of that week”, that week we came together collectively to say goodbye to Jodi and to witness her pass-ing. In this contribution friend Craig Hughes, draws on the rich relationships around him and that surrounded Jodi “that week”. This is followed by a thoughtful piece by Jodi’s confidant and friend Conor Cash, as he reflects on the mourning process, those regrets that inevitably come along with it, and the strong friendship they shared. Fi-nally, Paul Cash provides a contemplation on Jodi’s life in a dreamscape that wonderfully brings Jodi’s memory and life, his, the lives around them into the present. These two final contributions, not only collect memories of Jodi’ by actively engage with them, highlighting the purposes and very best of Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires.

Acknowledgements The editors would like to thank all those who contributed to this collection. We know that the this type of writing – the kind that touches upon the nerves of memories and mourning, of solidarity and sorrow – is not easy, but we insist that this is the type of writing that provides sup-port. We would like to thank Paul Cash for commissioning the Cristy C. Road piece that is the cover to this collection and adorns many of our walls; as well as Jodi’s family for

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providing us their support and links to Jodi’s past. Finally the editors would like to thank Eberhardt Press for offer-ing their expertise and guidance in addition to printing.

Acts of Care & Mourning The impact on us all of Jodi’s life, as well as her unfortunately and untimely passing, has been immeasurable. By collect-ing writings and memories together in this zine project, we hope to carry the memories of one of the womyn the world requires – a womyn we require – into our everyday lives.

Jodi’s spirit is not found in the contents of Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn the World Requires alone, rather this collection is intended to be an example of active and en-gaged mourning, of those who grieve finding one anoth-er and themselves through this process. For those that read this, we hope you can draw upon Jodi’s stories, memories and this immeasurable loss that we have in our lives and we can find our own ways forward, together.

In grief, sorrow and loving memory,

Craig-Jesse Hughes, Beth Puma & Kevin Van Meter Spring 2009

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Jodi Tilton: A Biography

Jodi was a friend to both of us. When she died our worlds changed. Since that day, just over a year ago now, the par-ticipants in the community that we shared with her have had ongoing discussions – one on one, and at points col-lectively – about mourning, about keeping Jodi’s memory alive and about keeping her personality flowing through our everyday thoughts and actions. When the idea for a third Big She Bang came up we discussed writing this piece as a way to more thoroughly weave Jodi into the event, and as a way to create a piece documenting a womyn’s life – a document to visit and be reminded and inspired by. We hope it accomplishes both of those goals. Researching and writing this biography was hard – emo-tionally, and at points, physically. Both of us are going through points of transition right now, and the period sur-rounding Jodi’s death is a particularly hard time for us, as well as the community that we share with her. Although it was hard, the process was also deeply powerful for us. While asking, listening, writing, editing and designing, we were able to recall Jodi: to find new things out, to re-member things we had forgotten, but more than anything,

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to articulate the ways in which Jodi was so anomalously beautiful, and put into print why she meant so much to the people she chose to surround herself with.

This bio was a collective effort. Sometimes under particu-larly hard conditions, and at the year anniversary of her passing, people gave their thoughts and memories, and responded to our questions with thoughtful and loving answers. We’ve wrapped their voices into the narrative of this piece, and we think that the collectivity of voices helps more accurately illustrate Jodi’s personality.

In solidarity,

Beth Puma & Craig-Jesse Hughes August 2008

Like all the very best people, Jodi was there in good times and bad – when I needed to cry and curse my lot and when we could laugh and love the fortune life could bring. Jodi’s support and friendship meant/means more to me than I could ever possibly put into words. I love and miss her very dearly. – Ben

A Suburban Beginning: Growing Up In Wantagh Jodi Lynn Tilton was born on June 1st, 1984 at Mid-Is-land Hospital in Bethpage, New York. She was the second child to Wendy and Bob Tilton who also had an older son named Eric. The family resided in Wantagh, a hamlet lo-

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cated in the Town of Hempstead on Long Island — one of the most segregated suburban regions in the United States and home to Levittown, America’s archetypal suburb. On a sleepy cul-de-sac in Wantagh, Jodi was fed the suburban experience that many of us shared, and that in many ways brought us together. Her life experience was a stark con-trast to the isolated and anti-community individual that suburban social-geography was intended to produce and reproduce.

Bob Tilton worked as an accountant in New York City when Jodi and Eric were children. Wendy was an insurance jus-tice before Jodi was born, but took ten years off to raise her children. She later returned to work as a nursery school teacher and eventually re-entered the insurance industry when Jodi and Eric were able to be more independent. As a child Jodi collected and played with Bryer’s horses. From the beginning until the end she acquired eccentric collections: fabrics, scarves, typewriters, and antique step-ping stools.

She had a few childhood pets. Wendy recalled, “She won this goldfish at a carnival... Every other kid’s died within a week. She had that thing for five years. We had to get the neighbors to watch it when we went on vacation.” As a young child she had a cocker spaniel named Daisy, a rabbit named Thumper and an occasional hamster. Unlike many children her age she took the responsibility of caring for an animal very seriously. At age 13 she was allowed to get a pet of her very own. Cody, a bichon frise, became her

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companion. Many years later, she would constantly come up with schemes to allow her landlord to let her keep a dog in her Park Slope apartment. Cody was the only dog that could outshine her love and obsession of bulldogs. Jodi was known to fall onto the sidewalk to hug a passing bulldog, often to the surprise of the dog and its owner.

Her creative spirit was also very apparent at a very young age. She would draw and paint for hours on end. She loved any medium of artwork and many of her childhood pieces are framed and hung in the house in Wantagh that she grew up in. As a child she took art lessons with a lady in Merrick. She also loved to dance and was the star of tap dance recitals during her younger years.

Jodi’s mother pointed out that she was a “Very very cute kid, she wasn’t shy. She was very sweet. She was very out-ward as child. Adults absolutely loved her.” Jodi would al-ways wiggle her way to the front of a group photo. Because of this photogenic-ness, Mrs. Tilton took Jodi to auditions for commercials in New York City. Although she never made the final cut, Jodi came very close to scoring a role in a Band-Aid commercial in the first grade. After many years of friendship with Jodi she might have shared this secret with you, how she was almost a child actress. Her only real memories of it were getting out of school early.

Although modeling auditions served as an opportunity to “get out of school early,” Jodi was an excellent student even from a very young age. She attended Wantagh Elementary

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School and even during this period took her grades very seriously. Her mother pointed out, “Getting good grades was very important to her. She always had to do well at everything she did… She always made us proud.” Her par-ents were well aware of her strong work ethic and ardent desire to learn and grow.

Jodi was a petite child — and a petite adult — but never let her small stature come in the way of anything; she was determined and aggressive. She was often found playing street hockey with her older brother and other neighbor-hood children, and she also played soccer. She loved to ski, and later snowboard; no mountain was too mighty. Later, Jodi would dabble on a skateboard, and this activity would open up avenues to friendship in her high school years.

Coming Into Her Own: From Wantagh High School To FIT It was during [the] transition into her “college years” that you could see that Jodi was going to be a force no matter what she was going to do, she was whip smart and passion-ate about the things she loved. Looking back, it was dur-ing these years that I saw Jodi really transforming into the woman she was becoming and shedding the shy little girl from Wantagh I once knew. - Dave

Being a teenager is largely about carving out your own space in the world. Jodi’s mother recalled her having long beautiful hair, which she chopped off in high school; she donated her hair to Locks of Love, and later dyed her hair

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pink. Jodi loved scouring the local thrift stores for old t-shirts, ratty canvas shoes, and old man scarves. She loved weekend trips to New York City with Christine for a show, some food, and rolling around in the fountain in Washing-ton Square Park. At 17, Jodi got stars tattooed on her wrist with her friend Becky – something she would easily hide from her parents with a red wristwatch. These small acts, insignificant to many, were the small acts of defiance of a suburban upbringing. Jodi was starting to construct her adult self. With time and the right combination of support-ive friends, these elements of her personality would serve to develop an increasingly self-assured and powerful young womyn.

During high school, Jodi began to work at Cori’s Lucky Lotto Store in Wantagh. It was the kind of store that old folks frequent every day. She knew all the regulars, and she knew their favorite scratch off tickets and their favorite numbers. She would strike up conversations with the pa-trons – conversations that may have been small, but were meaningful to some of the lonely characters that would come through the store. Jodi would even grieve when one of these folks would pass away. She quickly grew very close with several people that worked at the store including a woman named Dina. “When Jodi and I worked together it was awesome! We laughed a lot and really worked so well together. We often ordered dinner from Abe’s Pitaria because that was one of our favorites. I think Jodi got more excited to work with me because she knew we’d get Abe’s to eat.” Jodi’s unique sense of humor shined in the Lotto envi-

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ronment. “For some reason we developed goofy nicknames for one another. She was known as “Jodi Pagodi” and I be-came “Dina Begina.” God only knows why!” In their rec-ollections, many of her loved ones often point out Jodi’s humor as a defining characteristic of her personality.

While working at Cori’s Lucky Lotto, Jodi met Julio, an older Colombian gentleman. It turned out that Julio was the father of Dave Castillo who was becoming one of Jodi’s closest friends around this time. Dave also lived in Wan-tagh and shared Jodi’s love of music. She spent many af-ternoons at the Castillo house, which was located on an-other quiet cul-de-sac in Wantagh, and even spent several holidays at their table. The Castillo household was a place where Jodi felt particularly comfortable.

Many people incorrectly correlate a sub-cultural teen-iden-tity with a lackadaisical attitude towards academics. But Jodi’s academic performance illustrated the absurdity of this correlation: throughout school she continually excelled and received top marks and graduated near the top of her class. At Wantagh High School she forged meaningful re-lationships with her teachers, particularly an art teacher named Ms. K, who Jodi would later return from New York City to have lunch dates with. Jodi’s relationship with Ms. K illustrated a unique kind of teacher-student dynamic – less based on expertise and novice, and more based on re-spect and sharing. Ms. K would later be the teacher chosen by Jodi’s parents to give out a scholarship in her name at Wantagh High School.

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Jodi applied to the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) to study design. Despite her excellent grades and community service record she was not initially accepted. She was an-gered but not discouraged, and she called the admissions office demanding to know the reasons that they had de-nied her. As it turns out, Jodi’s art portfolio was not as strong as her other qualifications; she had been compet-ing for acceptance with students from around the world, many of whom attended fashion design high schools. Jodi tracked down the Dean of Admissions phone number, and assertively reminded the Dean that although her portfolio was not as strong as a candidate who may have attended a more specialized high school it was FIT’s job to teach her these skills. She demanded that FIT admit her. Impressed by her fortitude and assertiveness, Jodi was accepted to FIT – via phone call. Jodi began FIT in the fall of 2002, when she was 18, and eventually switched her major to marketing.

Grown Up Fast: Illness, Music, FriendshipJodi was diagnosed with Colitis during her sophomore year at FIT. Meg, a friend of Jodi’s, recalled “When she first got sick she was very confused and read a lot about it. The doctors didn’t know what it was. They gave her medication for her symptoms, which made it worse. We all felt really helpless because she was upset and sick and mad as hell all the time. We would ask her what she wanted to eat and she would yell saying that she couldn’t eat anything... As she learned her diagnosis she grew stronger emotion-ally and even started to poke fun at herself.” Jodi cared

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greatly about discussing the illness she suffered from. Meg explained that early on, “She wanted to educate everyone about the condition which, in retrospect, was very Jodi.” During her later years she would rarely talk about this diagnosis experience.

Jodi was not a musician – despite many friends encourag-ing her to join a hardcore band-with her killer, guttural yell – but she regularly attended hardcore shows on Long Island. She was faithful to her friends’ bands – even the bad ones – because she was faithful to her friends. She could often be found singing along to all the words, in the front of the crowd, carving her own space with “hardcore dudes” twice her size. Other times she could be found ajar to the band, camcorder in hand recording a set or taking pictures. Jodi was always excited to hear about her friends projects and their new endeavors. But Jodi’s presence at shows extended past the role of supportive friend and fan. Always the crafter, she began selling handmade tote bags alongside her old Wantagh friend Christine. The two named their endeavor “Cut Along The Fold,” and sold sim-ple but well made tote bags in cotton fabrics. They became masters of silk screening, and the evidence of their craft still stains the Stirling’s concrete basement floors. Jodi lat-er recalled how excited she several years later, when she observed one of her handmade bags on the arm of a young womyn walking down the street in New York City.

When she was 19, Jodi began to date a young man named Conrad who played bass in the band Encrypt Manuscript.

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The two, both avid readers, would exchange copies of their favorite short stories. It was a short relationship, span-ning only four months, but it had a lasting impact on Jodi. Jodi and Conrad broke up right before she embarked on a month long adventure through Europe with Dave. This trip was important for her, as she loved to travel immerse herself in ways of living that differed from the Long Island experience.

Jodi and Dave backpacked throughout several countries in Europe and visited all the hot spots: London, Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Bologna, Rome, Venice, Munich, Berlin, Am-sterdam, and then returned back to London. They stayed in youth hostels, visited the sites, sampled local beers, and at one point they managed to catch an International Noise Conspiracy show. Jodi’s love and knowledge of art shined on this trip. Dave explained “I really remember her art his-tory skills coming out on our European adventure, she was basically my own tour guide in every museum.” She kept train ticket stubs and maps, and took an immense amount of photographs. Later she meticulously arranged these items into beautifully detailed scrapbooks.

During her time in Europe, Jodi started to notice her stom-ach growing more and more swollen. She was concerned it may have been complications with her colitis. As always she tried to control her condition with a healthy diet and by avoiding the foods that would cause flare-ups. When she returned to the States she visited her doctor. Following examinations and testing Jodi found out that her swollen

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stomach was not what she had thought: the pain was due to a mass surrounding her right ovary, and within days Jodi had her the ovary removed. Although the growth had been benign it left a trail of life changes.

The procedure had required an incision that left a good deal of scar tissue which needed to heal, and she took the fall semester off from FIT to recover. She would later use the x-ray image from this experience as the backdrop to a flyer for a Long Island Womyn’s Collective event. Though Jodi took that semester to recuperate she did not lie in bed all day. She threw herself into crafting projects and caught up on reading lists. Once the scars from the surgery had healed she begattending shows again. During this time she befriended another young womyn named Jodie, who later became known as Jodie Squared. Jodi Squared described their meeting: “I first met Jodi at a party I threw at my house. She had just gotten out of the hospital where she had a tumor removed from her ovary. I was fascinated by her story and we just talked all night long and really hit it off. We could both sense a mutual enjoyment of each other, a sense of immediate ease and comfort even while we were still strangers.” The two became inseparable for a period of time. The immediate ease that Jodie speaks of is a reoc-curring theme when Jodi’s friends discuss her. Once people were able to get through the tough, private exterior, it was like you were immediately bonded with Jodi.

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Taking Care of Business and Forging New Bonds: Long Island Freespace and the Long Island Womyn’s Collective Beth and I went to First Saturday at the Brooklyn museum last weekend and it was amazing. It was centered around the opening of the new feminist art wing which was so in-spiring and awesome. The Willie Mae Rock Camp for girls played a show, and Beth and I are volunteering this sum-mer at camp.Totally looking forward to doing that. We’re going to work on some kind of workshop for the girls at camp. We’ll see. Oh yeah, Jensen got a job teaching at Pratt! So now Theresa, Gaia, Gabby, and Chris are all moving to Brooklyn. I’m beyond excited for him to be close by! – an email from Jodi, April, 2007

Jodi was a firecracker, she had a heart of gold. Her laugh and her smile could light up any room, and brighten any situation. Jodi’s dedication to her friends, her endeavors, and her projects was nothing short of inspiring. – Kate

Some time in November at a Ladyfest Le Tigre show Jodi befriended Beth. The two had met a few times prior at shows, through their mutual friend Dave, but had never really struck up conversation. Beth would later recall being terrified of Jodi upon first meeting. “She was so tiny, but had such a huge presence. Everyone had spoken so highly of her — I was completely intimidated by her.” There had been a communiqué that Freespace, a Long Island com-munity project focused on opening a radical, cultural ad musical youth center, was considering folding. The project

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had failed to locate a physical space after years of events at roaming locations, and steam appeared to be running out. There was to be a meeting to reevaluate interest and resources. Beth – who had come to Long Island via Hofstra University, had been on the extreme periphery of the proj-ect, occasionally attended shows and events, and later at-tended the trial of Freespace organizer Conor Cash in 2003 – saw this as an opportunity to get involved. At that Le Tigre concert, on the steps of Irving Plaza, Jodi and Beth began to unravel all the commonalities between them – their mutually intense love of crafting, art, music and most importantly, feminism. “Maybe I have made this myth in my memory, but I remember turning to Jodi and saying ‘I think we should get involved with Freespace. I think we have something to offer.’” They did.

In order to understand Jodi’s interest in Freespace, it’s important to remember something that many Long Island youth quickly realize – the Island’s social-geography and its economy almost consistently manage to squelch or co-opt artistic expression and youth freedom into something limited, dull, boring, or privately profitable. Jodi linked onto the project, at least in part, because the effort was an intervention that challenged this process. Jodi quickly became involved when Freespace finally opened an ac-tual building in Lake Ronkokoma. As Kevin pointed out, “It seemed that from the moment I met her she was head over heals involved. It was amazing that she seemed not involved one minute and then intensely and substantive-ly engaged the next.” She also began to co-coordinate the

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Long Island Womyn’s Collective and emerged as a crucial voice of motivation and practicality. Simply put, the Space would not have functioned for the almost year that it did without her hands-on work.

Jodi did the planning, she did the grunt work and during that year she was the key motivational force. Along with the others who had been or became involved, Jodi forged some of the most solid bonds of her life around Freespace. Bryan, a core-Freespace organizer and a friend who she met through the project, explained: “Jodi’s participation was both important for the project and also showed that the project worked. She was someone that kind of came out of nowhere, kind of like myself.” Bryan, continued: “What I mean by that is not really having too direct of a connection to the people involved at first, but having the courage to get involved and being a very important part of the project. She devoted so much time to the work she was interested in seeing done and also supporting other people’s endeav-ors at the space.”

The friends Jodi made through Freespace would describe her in words like “witty” and “sincere.” In her activism, like the rest of her life, Jodi’s humor was as important as her sincerity. Paul succinctly captured this when he described her as “furious at the way the world works. Determined to change it, if only in a small way, and hoping to have some laughs while doing it.” Billie, a Freespace core-organizer and friend, explained: “Jodi’s humor was both childish and informed. She enjoyed being silly for no reason. The absurd

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was always comical to her. I have far more memories of her laughing than not.”

Even during her early involvement in the Space, Jodi showed a willingness to dialog and an openness that many involved were much quicker to bend on. When it came to an anti-choice band playing at Freespace, this was particu-larly risky – potentially putting her at odds with others in the project. Bill, a friend of hers, commented on what this meant to him: “My favorite memory of Jodi was when I had a band called No Innocent Victim played Freespace in 2004. It was the cause of great debate among most of us, I remember a meeting even being held to discuss it. The day of the show, Jodi stood out among the rest… Even though she and them (and myself) differed in many ways politi-cally... She treated those guys with the utmost respect and left with both she and them laughing. I will never ever for-get that.” He concluded, “It was a glimpse into her overly radiant personality.” Jodi spent many days and nights at Freespace during the 9 months that the building was open. Bryan pointed out, “I can’t remember an event, cleaning, day of painting, meeting, or anything she wasn’t at. I even remember hanging with her super late before an early event the next day and she was still going out later that night and showed up at Freespace at like 8 or 9 on barely any sleep.”

A core-group of womyn had carved out a space for the de-velopment of an explicit feminist current – the Long Island Womyn’s Collective – which functioned autonomously, but

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was directly tied to the project. Maria, a core-Freespace or-ganizer and a member of the Womyn’s Collective addressed how Jodi saw male-domination in organizing and the need for a Womyn’s Collective: “I saw Jodi get frustrated orga-nizing with men who did not listen to or respect what she or other women were saying. Later, I spoke with Jodi about this. We spoke of the struggle of organizing as women. Of being inspired by other women organizing. Of wanting to claim that space for organizing as our own. Of wanting to and actively confronting the men who did not listen. Of how good it felt working with other women, speaking with other women, and learning from other women. I respect Jodi so much. Her strength and her ability to organize within a patriarchal world, a patriarchy that even seeps into places where it’s hated, inspired me and continues to inspire me.”

Kate, a friend and fellow core-member of the Womyn’s Col-lective explained: “Jodi was a total organizing force. She made sure everyone got to meetings, often driving myself and other women out to Ronkonkoma, she always had something to bring up or work on... It’s hard to say what her importance was, because it was prevalent through ev-erything that we did together. She was totally organized and motivated. Jodi contributed her artistic and crafty tal-ents as well as her professional way of taking care of busi-ness. Not only did she keep us on track, but she took care of nitty gritty things, like appealing to donors, keeping in touch with speakers and performers, and staying on top of finances.” Kate continued: “More than all of that, Jodi was

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a positive force. She was a charming, hilarious, smart, fer-vent, sassy girl. When she was having a hard time, she was honest about it. We were able to have real conversations and real connections. I have always admired this quality in her. Her character contributed as much to the collective as her hard work, dedication, and extreme organization did.” During the summer of 2005 Jodi played a lead role in orga-nizing The Big She-Bang. The event took place on Saturday, August 14th and was an all day festival of feminist move-ment – including feminist bands, panel discussions, an art show, a craft-centered do-it-yourself fleamarket, and more. Beth, who was living with her parents in New Jersey for the summer, recalled their phone dates: ”We would come home from our respective summer jobs and immediately get on the phone. We would discuss what needed to be done and simultaneously send out emails. We usually worked for an hour or two a day via phone, trying to address all the details of an event of such magnitude. We would laugh about how teleconferencing was just part of our daily rou-tine.” The She-Bang stood as one of the proudest, if one of the most exhausting, moments of Jodi’s life.

The She-Bang may have also been the most important single event held in the Space: a group of feminist womyn struggled within a male-dominated culture and project to hold what was likely the most accessible and creative event held within its walls. It was also the final large-scale hurrah for the project: the combination of neighborhood property-holders who were against the Space, a location within a vast car-centered geography that made travel to

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and from Lake Ronkonkoma an arduous task for most, an inability to secure funds, and a dwindling volunteer and attendee base, made sure the building didn’t last long. Freespace closed at the end of the summer in 2005. Bryan vocalized a common understanding of Jodi by Freespace’s core-group: “Her devotion, like all of ours, showed what we were capable of, while the outcome of the Space may have been seen as a failure, the experiences of people like her and the way she embodied this new world we talk about, made me realize how much of a success that place was.” Jodi exemplified some of the best of Freespace, which Billie, a core Freespace organizer and a friend ex-plained: “Jodi had an ability [to] allow her politics to be known through her relationships with others… she knew that the importance of political action lay in redefining our relations with each other.”

It was through her interest in activism that Jodi met Kevin Van Meter at a workshop he was giving on December 8th, 2004. Conor, a friend and Freespace organizer described this: “I first met Jodi – like, really met Jodi – at Hofstra University when Van Meter and myself were speaking to a crowd of, like, 5 people, at most, about Freespace. Jodi was there with Dave Castillo, making eyes at Van Meter.” Her relationship with Kevin was often unclear, even to those within their tightest circle. But she fell head over heels for him and his relation with her became central to her life. They would attend lectures at Bluestockings, travel to cit-ies like Boston and Philadelphia, ride their bikes to their respective apartments and cook together. Kevin recalled:

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“The most important memories I have about Jodi are the moments we cooked together, as its not just food we were sharing but the raw emotion and differences between us. My lack of patience, her quick tongue, her annoyance with me, my ability to make some silly joke or to carve out some saying that would stay with us, our ability to work damn good between each other in preparing a meal, and even though we were in the midst of cooking we would have to grab each others arm, steal a hug or a kiss, and all of these things mixed together. These meals of course were far more then just eating or cooking, and they became the defining moments of our relationship and friendship.” For Christ-mas in 2005, Kevin compiled a large variety of recipes from friends and their cooking experiences, and published a cookbook/cooking journal affectionately called “Cooking with Ole Ma’ Tilton”. Kevin recently recalled how he expe-rienced Jodi’s love for him. His comments speak not only to their relationship, but also illustrate important charac-teristics of Jodi’s personality that others close to her also experienced — her supportiveness, and her sincere care for those she was close to. “Jodi not only loved me for who I am or appear to be, but rather for who I was becoming. This is an important distinction, as Jodi was able to see that pro-cess of growth, need to learn and development deep inside, which she, in turn, shared. She would grab my arm, almost to shake me, frustrated that I allowed certain blockages and past experiences to limit my development.”

Making Home: Brooklyn, Work and New ChallengesAs Jodi’s college career came to a close she made herself

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increasingly busy. Meg, a friend and roommate from FIT, pointed out that “She had a billion internships, jobs, and social engagements/activism get-togethers. She was never picky about surroundings then...[she was] very focused on her work.” In 2006, Jodi graduated from FIT – in three and a half years, despite taking a semester off and a change of major – at the top of her class. She reluctantly moved back to Long Island until she was able to secure full-time employment. After 4 months she landed a job at Jones Ap-parel, a major fashion-firm in Manhattan. Although Jones Apparel was not her dream fashion company, it offered independence and financial autonomy. Beth recalls, ”It was an exciting time for us. I had landed a New York City teaching job, she had secured a position at Jones. We called them our ‘big kid jobs.’ Of course we knew the downfalls of joining the workforce in this capacity – but these positions offered us the ability to be financially solvent, without hav-ing to live with our parents or work sixty hours at a coffee shop. Before our first paycheck we were planning our vaca-tion together.”

Jodi began to carve a name for herself at Jones Apparel. As always, Jodi ‘took care of business’ and managed to laugh along the way. Melissa, a co-worker at Jones Apparel, re-called: “She was an extremely dedicated worker and very meticulous about her job responsibilities. She took on every task she was given and completed it well beyond anyone’s expectations. She handled a very intense work load and was extremely diligent in regards to completing anything thrown her way. In addition, everyone loved being around

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her, she was funny and always brought her unique person-ality to the table.”

Despite all the excitement of starting a new job, there were some bumps. Her boss, in many ways the caricature of a boss in a major fashion industry, was harassing, utterly insensitive, and often blatantly mean. As it would hap-pen, Beth also ended up also having a domineering, mean spirited employer. “We would call each other at 7am ev-eryday— it always felt like we were the only one of our friends up at that time-trying to provide comfort and sup-port before we entered our respective battlezones. We both worked so hard for our positions, yet it wasn’t good enough for them. Despite my being in education and her in fash-ion, our bosses operated exactly alike. I often joked how they should get beers together.” Beth secured a new job for the following year, and urged Jodi to do the same. Jodi took the attitude that if she could survive a year or two at Jones, she could work anywhere.

After a few months of commuting from Wantagh to mid-town, Jodi felt she had saved enough money to secure her first apartment. After a meticulous search, Jodi signed the lease to her apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, just a few blocks walk from the Prospect Avenue stop on the F train. Jodi would tell her friends she could spend the rest of her life in that neighborhood.

Living so close to Prospect Park played a huge role in her love of her neighborhood. She would regularly take trips

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there to meet with friends or get some reading done. Kev-in, who lived close by recalled their “clandstine” trips:”We would meet always on the hill behind the ball fields, which wasn’t the most private of spots, but rather we both liked the noise around us. Often we would meet for a picnic, to just read, to ride our bikes, but most often to just sit and talk. We would sit on the grass, until she discovered this hippy blanket of her mothers in the back of the closet, which then became her favorite.” When not with Kevin or others, Jodi loved to lay in the sun and watch the parade of dogs (eyes always keen to the sight of a bulldog) and stroll-ers. She held her 23rd birthday picnic at Prospect Park on June 1st, on that hill behind the ball fields. She was unable to eat the potluck dishes because of her colitis, but she still was able to enjoy the gathering of her friends.

Interrupted Becoming: Jodi’s Passing All of us together remind me that another world is indeed possible. In our best moments we carry its image on our shoulders, sometimes like a victorious friend aloft and sometimes like a dear dead friend. – Conor As her colitis worsened Jodi followed her doctor’s recom-mendation and made the major decision to take steroids, which had both physical and emotional side effects. While on these drugs Jodi experienced rapid and dramatic mood-shifts, and attained support from a close circle of friends. The harshness of the steroids simultaneously combined with Jodi’s boss at Jones Apparel, who directly injured Jodi’s ability to cope with the flare-ups. Craig recalled: “I remember walking on the overpass at Hunter College and

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getting a call from her in the middle of the day. She was hysterical, and was sitting outside of her office building. She had dealt with another incident of her boss treating her like shit. Her boss had been doing that for months: trying to make her feel guilty for being sick, harassing her and making her horribly uncomfortable.” As things wors-ened with the steroids, Jodi struggled to get through each day at the job she had been so proud to get.

During the summer of 2007 Jodi’s doctor recommended that she take a new and experimental drug called Remi-cade for the colitis. The drug had potentially major side-effects, and Jodi was unsure. But with the flare-ups as bad as they had been, and the steroids not helping, the drug represented some potential hope: it could possibly control the flare-ups and it would allow her to get off the steroids. She thought deeply about it, consulted friends and family, and decided to take the medication.

Jodi was a private person, and speaking about the illness that she suffered was hard for her. As she became sicker it became more common for her to discuss the colitis and her experiences with the illness and the medications she was taking with her friends. Ben, who was diagnosed with cancer around this time, commented on Jodi’s ability to be supportive, and the importance of their common experi-ences during this period: “Though (much to my regret now) our conversations during this time often focused more on me than her, I think she took comfort in helping and also in having someone who could relate to her own struggles

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with illness. Together we could bemoan a day filled with appointments, swap stories about inconsiderate doctors, soothe each other’s fears about what may happen to each of us, laugh (sometimes in order not to cry) about the various unpleasantries that come with losing control of one’s body, cheer the brilliant ways in which our friends were sup-porting us, and lambast the sometimes terribly distressing ways in which others were not.”

Jodi’s health became rapidly worse during the Summer of 2007. She became increasingly unstable and her depres-sion and sense of isolation worsened. The medications she was on were taking a serious toll. On July 9th she went in for her second Remicade treatment at Mount Sinai. That night she ate a small meal and felt exhausted; she was also confused. On July 11th Jodi began to have chest pain and was admitted to the emergency room. On July 18th, after a week in the emergency room, Jodi began to slur words. On July, 21st, Ben walked into her hospital room to find her seizing. While seizing Jodi’s brain had hemorrhaged. She died and was taken off of life-support on July 26th, 2007. Throughout that final week in the hospital nearly 100 peo-ple weaved in and out of her hospital room to be with her and to be with the community Jodi had played such an im-portant part in; the same community that played such an important part in forming who Jodi was. The care shown by her friends made it clear what an impact she’d had on those whom she shared loving relationships with. The bonds Jodi had crafted with these individuals coalesced into a larger whole during that week. And the community

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she had created with the others involved in the Freespace project functioned as a community in the most meaningful sense of the term: through providing tangible forms of mu-tual support to her, each other and her biological family. On the night of July 26th, upwards of 50 of Jodi’s friends gathered in Prospect Park for a memorial service where we celebrated her life, and where we collectively said “good-bye.” We shared stories about the experiences that we had with her and reflected on what impact she had on us. More than anything, what was clear that night was the overwhelming combination of love and sadness. The world had lost one hell of a spark. That same spark had been an important part in keeping the flame in many hearts; the same flame that burned in Jodi’s heart – for life, and for her community.

To say Jodi is missed is accurate, but it’s also cliché. It doesn’t explain why she’s missed. Jodi is missed because of the spark that she was: because she knew how to be a friend like few do, because she was intuitively brilliant and willing to share that brilliance, because her humor and per-sonality brought real change to those who encountered her, and because her sincerity was uncompromising; and that sincerity made her into a person that those who became close with her stood in admiration of. Jodi died just as she was becoming many of the things she’d long dreamed of, and just as she was discovering more of who she was. On a year since you’ve passed Jodi, those of us who got to know you can only hope we’ve carried that flame onward with the dignity you did – in our inner-thoughts, our inter-

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personal relations, and in our movement activities. Conor spoke for many in his response to a question about what he’d remember most about you: “More than anything else, I’ll remember that I loved her and I still love her.”

Memories and Moments Shared:

Good friend.Prospect Park, Brooklyn. Summer of 2007: We were hav-ing a picnic to celebrate Jodi’s 23rd birthday, which as al-ways, involved a massive amount of food and Kevin mak-ing an ass of himself. In this instance Meter was refusing to reveal where he had purchased the famed “Foodswing’s Vegan Buffalo Wings” in bulk for the BBQ. He was finding joy in keeping it from everyone else. Amidst the laughter, I noticed Jodi seemed to be staring at me pretty intensely with a smirk on her face. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she was looking at and she wouldn’t give even the slightest hint as to what was so funny. The evening came and a few of us ended up back at her apartment. At one point Jodi and I ended up alone in the kitchen, it was then that she burst out laughing. Despite my best efforts to hide them, she had noticed the waist band of my boxer shorts. I hadn’t done laundry that week and was forced to wear a pair of rarely used “Playboy Bunny” boxer shorts I had gotten as a gag one year for my birthday. She then revealed how tempted she was to out me in front of every-one for wearing something so silly and trying to hide it. My terrible posture means my shirt rides up in the back

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and my boxers are usually visible. In her compassion and understanding of how painfully easy it is to embarrass me, she spared me that time. But definitely took the opportu-nity to give me some well deserved shit for wearing silly underwear when no one else was around. I think of this as something important because in the moments I feel myself falling into despair over her leaving us far to soon, I look at a pair of silly boxer shorts and remember a friend who knew me well enough not to make fun, at least not in pub-lic.” -Paul

Hater of peanut butter.Jodi Tilton probably had the most absurd and unfortu-nate hatred for peanut butter. Knowing this, we would all try to lower our peanut butter intake around her, but no one could resist a Foodswings’ shake loaded with peanut butter. One time, probably after a long day at Freespace and then a long drive from Ronkonkoma to Brooklyn, a few of us sat down to gorge ourselves. Everyone would always get something delicious so we would often share and give tastes of things to each other. Jodi decided that she wanted to try someone’s shake. As soon as the shake hit her tounge, she threw it down and freaked out. Mak-ing sure that all could hear, she screamed in the middle of the restaurant, “BLAAAAAAAAR PEANUT BUTTER” and quickly grabbed at anything to eat/drink so she would not have that taste in her mouth anymore. For the rest of the night she would laugh and complain about how terrible that was and talk about how she generally hated peanut butter. Seriously, who doesn’t like peanut butter? -Bryan

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A slight fear of heights.Jodi came to Tucson to visit during the fall of 2006. She stayed for several days and a lot of this time, she was quiet and pensive. I remember her not feeling well. There’s not much to Tucson aside from what it’s near; the surround-ings are beautiful, the city itself is quiet and sleepy. I took Jodi hiking on a Saturday. The Catalina Mountains stand over the North side of Tucson, reaching an elevation of about 8,000 feet. Driving the Catalina Highway to Mount Lemmon (the tallest peak in the Catalinas) is an obliga-tory sightseeing experience, so Jodi and I drove out in the morning. I’d never known she was afraid of heights, but as we got into the higher altitudes, Jodi became fright-ened. For some fucking reason we decided to go hiking, or maybe I decided to go hiking and Jodi was nice enough to accomodate me. We hiked on a particularly steep trail on the north face of the range. Jodi was wearing converse and those jean shorts she always wore, neither of which are good for that sort of walking. There are sections of the trail that basically hug the face of the mountain, and while there aren’t any sheer drops, if a person were to fall they would certainly bounce for a while. All through our descent Jodi had been quiet and uncomplaining. But at a certain point, the heights got to her and she began to cry. She seemed frozen and asked to be carried until she felt safe again, which is just what I did. I remember how tiny she felt, and how brave she had been, both in continuing for as long as she did, and in asking for exactly the help she needed. I wish that I could carry her like that again. -Conor

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Lover of vegan sweets.We just had tried to go see someone play at Cakeshop base-ment. It was during the week, and the show as three hours behind schedule. We finally gave up on seeing the show and went upstairs for some vegan cake. We both bought a slice of vegan oreo cake and went to sit down. We dove our forks into our respective pieces, but we both began to grum-ble about how Atlas Cafe (another source of vegan sweets in lower Manhattan) provided a wider variety and bigger piece of cake then Cake Shop. We continued to grumble like two old ladies, when we both casually glanced at the two women who just sat down at the next table. They were sharing a tiny cupcake together. We both glanced back at each other and burst out laughing. -Beth

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Jodi Tilton: A Tribute

To put anyone’s life into one short piece of writing is a daunting task, to do it for a womyn as complex and beauti-ful as Jodi Tilton – it’s downright impossible. That’s why it was our decision to attempt this by speaking about Jodi’s life through our three subjective lenses that knew her well but in different ways. Hopefully this way we can paint a more accurate portrait of the dynamic life and person that Jodi was.

David:

Jodi was one of those people went from being a friend to eventually growing into a part of my family. I can still remember the first time she found out that she knew my father from her early mornings at Cory’s Lucky lottery store. Jodi and Christine thought this one older man with an accent was so cute. When it turned out to be my father she was so excited. Eventually she started hanging around my house and was quick to start chatting up my mom and dad. She instantly won them over with her brilliant laugh, honesty, and just overall decency. When she came over for

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her first thanksgiving she soon conquered the rest of the family with those very qualities. As our friendship grew she became a fixture at our household on holidays and in general. Her interactions with my family and soon other friends of mine quickly showed me that Jodi was genuinely willing to take the risk to really get to know people, become part of their lives, and treat them well. This was an amaz-ing thing to watch and one of the things that I came to admire about her the most over the years as I watched her touch so many other people through her love of music, art, creativity and community. Jodi’s passion and enthusiasm were unbridled. She put in 150% effort into being a part of everything that she felt was worthy of her Midas touch. In turn, we received so much and she reveled in being part of those experiences with us.

To quote Jodi in one of her last emails to me, “I cannot begin to express how much fun I had the other night. The show was so amazing...and reminded me how every time we all get together (even if it’s not for amazing reunion shows) it just feels so good to be a part of a com-munity of friends.”

Lastly, whether it was hanging out at a show, helping her out with one her many projects or simply stopping into her job the pay off was huge - she had the best smile and laugh you have ever heard. I remember later her life when I would stop in to Cory’s with a sunflower when she was having a bad day to remind her of the Van Gogh paintings we had seen on our 5 week trek through Europe (which

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was more like Jodi trekking me through Europe) Without fail It would always put a smile on her face. Last Saturday I came into the hospital with a sunflower in hand with the very same intention I had all the days in Wantagh. I hadn’t done it in a while but I wanted to remind her of all our good times and friendship. Now every time I see a sunflower I think of all the memories that I have of her. So in the end she bested me one last time by taking my gift to her and giving it back to me.

Christine:

Jodi was my mentor, my big sister and my best friend. Her intelligence and motivation to make things happen became very apparent and very admirable to me at a young age.

With a little more life experience at hand and an intensely strong ability to love, Jodi took me under her wing and made me a part of the Cori’s family. It started out as just a job but thanks to Jodi it became something I looked for-ward to throughout the week, not because I had a love for old folks who liked to gamble but because I got to spend quality time with her. She made me feel right at home and was always there to offer her support when necessary. Jodi possessed a particular maturity that was well beyond her years that made her an ideal teacher and a perfect role model for me. From our start I was 14 going on 18, she was 17 going on 30 and somehow we seemed to meet half-way. Jodi carried me on her shoulder through different

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benchmarks in my life, which I would have never reached without her, until our ages and interests seemed to align perfectly.

Jodi was active in the arts but always took on a new hobby and a new favorite craft that she would study and share with whomever was willing to listen. It was in my par-ent’s basement where we spent many isolated summer nights tearing up fabrics and creating new accessories to sell within our community. She learned through persis-tent trial and error that’s effects can still be seen all over the basement floor. Though Jodi would laugh if she heard me say this, she held many of the characteristics of an in-dependent young entrepreneur and geared our crafting to-wards more of a business adventure.

She truly was the fire beneath me and the one responsible for opening my eyes to a world of unfamiliar and exotic things in life. Jodi was always one step with me and one step ahead of me whizzing through new ideas and projects she mentally started organizing. She put so much faith in me as a friend and as her counterpart that it kept me alert and on my toes, always ready to absorb some new informa-tion she had to share.

Jodi’s mind and heart were so respectable that I always feared of disappointing her but at the same time felt em-powered when I made her proud. While talking to Conor after sitting in the hospital for days he told me that Jodi always spoke of me as a sister and was proud of the young

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womyn I am and am becoming. Part of that young womyn that she was so proud of was something that she helped create and a part of her that will live on with me forever.

Beth:

Jodi was a multifaceted womyn. While writing this I find that I am faced with a series of opposites. Jodi Tilton was not only serious but silly. She loved with ever cell she had but was never afraid to make it clear when she was disap-pointed by your actions or character. She was a wall of strength but could be easily hurt. She took care of busi-ness in so many ways but could roll around the sidewalk at a passing bulldog. She loved adventures in the city but valued sitting at home curled up on her futon watching Tommy Boy. Jodi lived with a chronic illness but valued her healthy lifestyle. Jodi Tilton was a one of the most complete womyn I have ever known. She never once made an apology for that and embraced her intricacies. In addition to the onion that Jodi was, she was a constant-ly evolving person. Her believes were not something that bent with the wind, but she never stopped challenged her-self through art, books, dialogues, and friendship to grow into an even better person then she already was. It is through this process of evolution that Jodi and I became friends. We were both at a time in our lives where we knew we were on the cusp of change. We had met a few times at various shows but had not solidified our partner-

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ship until we both had expressed interest in working with the Long Island Freespace. I turned to her at a Le Tigre show and said “I think you and I should start working to-gether.” It is there we became partners in crime, and have never looked back. She attached the project, along with any project she was involved in with an ardent desire for a more just world. She never simply sat around and wished for things to get better. Through coordinating workshops geared to empow-er young womyn through art, music, education with the Long Island Womyn’s Collective or simply making peanut and butter jelly sandwiches for the hungry with the Pea-nut Butter and Jelly Club she invested her whole self into a project. She dedicated much sweat and many tears while laboring what she loved. She carved for herself and her community around her the change she wanted to see. Just as Jodi became invested in various projects, she would invest in people. After only a few conversations af-ter meeting you, she would offer a hat she had recently crotched in your favorite color or mix tape she had record-ed with your favorite song as a way of acknowledging the new friendship. And as the roots of my life became more inter-tangled with hers, I found that her love was not only expressed by these tokens of friendship but how she dealt with me in the darkest moments of self doubt that are so much apart of being twenty something. She was firm and knew how to push you in the direction that needed to be taken. I would often find myself chatting with her at 7:15

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in the morning as we both made the dreaded trek to work at jobs that were neither empowering nor exciting. She would often say things like, “You need to stop thinking like that. I It does you no good. Get on the bus and go”. I could then always count on a text message at my lunch hour that read “you made it this far today. You are so strong.” She always dealt with my lowest of moments with a firm hand and tone, but nurtured me later with the sweetness that was both sincere and genuine. Conclusion

One of Jodi’s favorite writers and thinkers bell hooks de-fined love as, “… a mix of various ingredients – care, af-fection, recognition, respect, commitment, trust, as well as honest and open communication.” For Jodi, this was not just a definition in black and white words but the embodi-ment of everything that she wanted to give to all of those around her. As we wrote our three recollections of Jodi’s life, we started to realize that she lived all of these quali-ties everyday. We believe, that proves that Jodi not only gave love to everyone around her but because of that also won our care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, and trust.

This tribute was read by Dave, Christine and Beth at Jodi’s’ wake. July 28, 2007.

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Jodi Tilton: A Life

I am writing this and circulating it among friends because of the possibility that I will not be in New York City for Jodi’s memorial. I will be in Europe for a month visiting social centers and organizations that address the condition of precarity and (no) borders as well as meeting with nu-merous activists, writers and theorists.

In a few days to a week as these processes begin to end – that of her life and of the arrangements that we have adopted to bring some closure to ones life – you all will re-turn to work, school, and other commitments. You should and must in order to continue your own lives and to honor Jodi’s.

During the next month, without employment, with my the-sis and all the articles I was working on completed, I see moments where I will be alone. I know that I am not al-right in these moments, and I feel myself wandering along dangerous ‘lines of flight’. As these moments collide to form days and weeks I have realized that at the end of this there may be nothing of me left. So I instead have to put myself on a plane to Europe, where I will be active daily and have

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numerous tasks and conversations to occupy my mind, as a way to have a life at the end of all this – one worth living. I love you all!

Kevin Van MeterJuly 26, 2007

The question is always how one should begin an undertak-ing such as this: how does one ‘cast on’? Ending is clear; it is always constructed from the elements that one knits together. Ending is ‘binding off’ or whenever possible es-pecially in situations such as these, one should allow the loose yarns to trail off and wander into other thoughts.

The question I confront here is a complex one: how do I avoid representing a life in some mythical way, where calls to the great beyond and generalities cover the actual ele-ments of that life? I feel that my task here is to amplify a life in such a way as to reflect its very elements and its construction. As a life is constructed from the relationships and moments that flow through it, and the uncertainty and possibilities of it must be lived themselves.

I don’t want to ‘memorialize’ Jodi Tilton, but rather am-plify elements of her life that are to be lived by us through processes of creating, experimenting and living. These are all corporeal processes and they allow one’s desires to overflow one’s body and connect with other desires in the world.

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These elements and desires summarized in four parts below are entirely subjective. They are mine, and mine alone.

As a Character

Jodi Tilton was certainly a character as her raspy voice and personality carried on far beyond her small body. Ar-gumentative, sharp, punchy, and quick would all describe her conversational style and how she interacted with the world; yet within this she was unrelenting in her support and love for her friends. Her social conscience intersected with her love of craft and old typewriters, which in turn intersected with unique sense of humor and her obses-sion with bulldogs (she just couldn’t walk past one with-out grabbing it in her arms). I find it difficult to imagine a world that is constantly moving, bustling with activity, lives continuing as they have – and all of this without such an energetic and complex person such as Jodi in it.

As a Partner

Our hearts were both jagged edges, and this is where our story began.

The spring after we met and just before her twenty-first birthday, the two of us headed to Philadelphia on what we jokingly called our ‘Philly Vegan Fatness Tour 2005’. We wanted to eat as much vegan food as possible and ended

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up at six restaurants in just two days where we began, of course, with an all-you-can-eat joint. The stated purpose -- really the excuse -- was to see the Salvatore Dali exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

We wandered the exhibit for hours, talking, sitting in front of one painting before moving on to another, and stopped for a while to figure out what subject a particular gentle-men in his old blazer walking the exhibit with us taught. We seemed to go on more tangents then we had discussions of the paintings, causing us nearly half a day to complete the exhibit.

I still remember when we got to the hotel that night, af-ter eating our way around Philadelphia and walking for hours through the exhibit and city streets. Tired and with full bellies, all we could do was lay there with our stom-achs pointing toward the ceiling and laugh about the day’s events until we were both fast asleep. It is in these mo-ments, insignificant as they may sound, that we found our-selves and found something that we loved deep within each other.

Ours was a relationship, a partnership without the bound-aries that are normally used to define the time two people spend together. The time that we were friends and then the time that we were lovers often greeted each other. At other times, those frenzied and special times, we were in-tensely both.

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Even when we continued our relationship clandestinely we would rendezvous at Prospect Park, on the hill behind the ball fields. We would picnic and while we would always meet with our bikes, we rarely rode. It seemed that we al-ways got lost in conversation and it would be dark before we wheeled our bikes home. It is in these moments as the sun went down, with that look that she would give me, that those jagged edges found their counterparts and fit together.

As a Friend

There was a letter I was always writing to Jodi. She knew of it, and I would at times reluctantly take a moment to share part of it with her. I never felt that it was ready, that the words were just right, or that the moment had come. She never got to read this letter, which stands as a nearly unbearable regret.

But this letter is in some senses is not a letter at all, but rather a metaphor. A metaphor for the simple act that we all seem unable to do: the act of telling someone what they mean to us and how, why and in what ways we love them.

Since we met, Jodi has been a constant companion, an insti-gator of all kinds of excursions and adventures, and a daily presence in my life. The intensity of these interactions, of our conversations, debates, and activities, along with her quick wit, was something that I enjoyed immensely.

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She made all sorts of faces. The ‘many looks of Jodi Tilton’ I would call them, and it didn’t take me long to figure out what each one meant. I could almost read her thoughts by the look she would give me. She would squint her eyes whenever she found something amusing, and twist her nose to one side when she was annoyed. But there was this one, a quick one, where she was almost questioning you, before she laughed and for the past year that one has been my favorite. She knew that I would say anything to see it.

There was this way her head rested on my shoulder -- it was very distinct -- as she almost wanted it not to be at rest. She was always restless, always unable to sit at home and not go out into the day, or not be involved in some project, activity, or outing (potlucks with her friends being among her favorite).

One would be challenged to find someone who cared for or thought more about her friends than Jodi. She was an immensely emotional person and she developed strong emotional ties to those around her. The esteem she held for those in her life, the thought she put into everything from conversations to gifts, and the love she had for all her friends could never be returned in full.

Our friendship grew because we were old souls, as Jodi would say. We even dressed as old versions of ourselves one Halloween, she was ‘old Ma’ Tilton’ and I can still imagine her years from now sitting in a rocking chair looking very much the same.

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This letter is a ‘weapon against forgetting’ (though I know that I will never forget her); against forgetting those nights when she was sick and we would lay in bed with her hold my arm until she fell asleep; against forgetting those short phone calls we would have every morning (and periodically continue late into the night) at times laughing, at others bickering on some silly point. This is a ‘weapon against for-getting’, as simple as it sounds, how much our friendship was part of my everyday life and how I don’t know how I will live without it.

If she could hear me now all I would say is this: I love you dearly, and I will never say goodbye.

As a Life in the World

This sketch, story, and letter are not examples for their own right, but rather elements of a life – a life that needs to be carried out into the world. Each of us carries these el-ements of Jodi with us: some of us as a character, others a partner, all of us as friends. The task before us is to figure out how the moments we have shared with Jodi and the el-ements of her sketched here exist in our own lives. How do they change us? How do we continue to live with her dur-ing the course of our lives? How do we challenge ourselves, and each other, around these elements and give a life to them? How do these moments we share with Jodi become part of our ‘forever’? How do we live like Jodi did; how do

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we come to the world to challenge it and change it?

We often wonder how to construct a better world; one more just, beautiful, and whole than the one we now inhabit. I have but one suggestion to address this: to construct a bet-ter world we simply need more ‘lives’ like Jodi’s to overflow into and through it.

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Weapons Against Forgetting:An Open Letter Among Friends On the

Year Anniversary of Jodi Tilton’s Passing into the Unknown

The world has lost one of those women it required. [We have] lost one of the combative women [we] need and we, we have lost a piece of our heart.- Subcomandante Marcos on the death of Comandante Ramona, a Zapatista leader.

I walk through the endless, solitary corridors where even my heartbeats echo, and it seems that I am walking the wrong way on a moving sidewalk. I am not moving forward, I am always in the same place, more and more exhausted. As I walk, I am whispering magic formulas of my own inven-tion, and the closer I get to the building, to the long corridor of lost steps, to your room, to your bed, the more tightly my chest squeezes with anguish.- Isabel Allende, Paula

Kevin Van Meter July 21, 2008

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A year ago today I walked down the long corridor of lost steps, entered her room, and held her hand as she passed into the unknown. Isabel Allende aptly describes this mo-ment and all of those that would follow for the next six days just as I experienced it; her daughter Paula slipped into a coma as did Jodi, and neither of them awakened.

How do I write to you of this immeasurable loss, of a col-lective loss, as it is not mine but ours? This entire last year has been immeasurable: of her personality and persever-ance in facing an insidious illness, of her passing and the corridor of lost steps, of our mourning against our grief, of our collective memories, of a world without her. In conflict with this undertaking are countless moments I cannot es-cape; here what becomes immeasurable is the passage of time (as I feel that I have lost the last year of my life). In writing to you of this immeasurable loss I am in exo-dus from my grief and seeking to participate in the social process of mourning, as we reach for each other as this an-niversary approaches. This narrative is my contribution to the project of remembering her life, mine, ours together, and the community that surround us both; in which, in different ways, we are all engaged. By extension and in requiring Jodi Tilton, I attempt to address who she was becoming, begin to map a collective memory and describe memory as a weapon, and discuss how we carry her into the world – as she was one of those women that the world requires.

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These memories and thoughts summarized in four parts below are entirely subjective. They are mine and mine alone.

Becoming Jodi Tilton: A Life

Jodi had a voice that would occupy space, one that would leave the corners of her mouth and wander along the edges of a room. This would surprise anyone encountering her for the first time: that such a bellow – that such sharp wit and clear notions – would arise from her short stature. Jodi Tilton occupied a different frequency, a positive nature, a depth, and a conversational ability tied to a subtle shyness. As she breathed in she brought the world in with her.

I was a witness to the development of this voice, as it grew in strength considerably during the three years between our first meeting and her passing. Jodi was always en-gaged in a process of becoming: becoming an activist, a feminist, a thinker, an independent person, becoming oth-er in a constant process of learning and growth.

I rarely noticed a learning curve with Jodi. Where others would take some time to acclimate themselves to organiz-ing projects or participating in discourses, Jodi always seemed to have a grasp of the tasks that needed to be done and the political ideas that informed them, knowing them almost intuitively. What I loved most about Jodi was her desire to learn; to be an avid reader; to become other than

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she was; to engage in the world through craft, art, politics, bikes, or collecting Underwood Typewriters; and her more recent obsession, antique stools.

In so many ways she had so much life still left to live. What she was becoming can only be suggested by looking at her recent developments and accomplishments: graduating college, learning to love biking, becoming ‘political,’ devel-oping new friendships, obtaining her first apartment and a full time position. She was finding her way through this life until illness cut it short. Though there were times that her illness caused her great distress and discomfort, she would not allow it to prevent her from participating in the life activities that she enjoyed.

Becoming requires contact, activities, emotional and physi-cal flows; it requires something more then just statements, something measurable and substantial. It requires one to act; and what the person she was becoming deserves is our actions, our becoming other through our contact with her life and in addressing the immeasurable loss her passing has created in our lives.

“I didn’t want to give you up to the day”

One morning after an intense weekend of endless conver-sations and amorous moments together, I wrote this line to Jodi. She had left my Brooklyn apartment before I awoke to attend class. By the time I realized she was gone the day

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had taken her from me, and I wanted to reach out to em-brace her, to not let her go, to continue that endless flows of our lives into one another’s. This reach, with its accompa-nying outstretched arms, hands and desires, was constant between us: from the moment we met, until it was stolen from us that evening I held her hand and she passed into the unknown.

Jodi and I met on the 8th of December, 2004 when a mu-tual friend brought her along to a workshop I was giving. From this initial encounter she pursued me by initiating first contact and then making plans for us to get together. On our first date we discovered our mutual love for bad movies, bad diner food and that we both had tattoos of la-dybugs.

Many “couples,” a term I dislike, have this obsession with returning to those first few months together or some awk-ward meeting that is overcome later in the relationship. Jodi and I never returned to those moments as some his-torical or pure state, but rather would bring the moments we shared into the moments we were experiencing as a way of enriching and intensifying them. Of course, this doesn’t mean that our relationship was without discord, the intensity of our desires for one another intertwined in both affection and conflict.

Unlike any relationship I’ve had before, Jodi not only loved me for who I am or appear to be, but rather for who I was becoming. This is an important distinction, as Jodi

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was able to see that process of growth, need to learn and development deep inside, which she, in turn, shared. She would grab my arm, almost to shake me, frustrated that I allowed certain blockages and past experiences to limit my development. And she knew how passionately I felt for her, and it would bother her that there were points where I was unable to access this consistently and actively.

During those last few months as Jodi’s illness worsened we grew closer as a new form of relationship developed between us, that of care. Jodi was a very proud and inde-pendent woman and would allow very few people to see her when her flare-ups were at their worst. It was because of those deep desires for one another that we were able to construct this relationship of care, and it was for this reason that she would allow me to see her in this condition – to lay next to her as she held my arm in the attempt to steady herself before falling asleep.

We “turned in the night, consumed by fire.” Ours was a love story not because it was perfect, but because under-lying our actions, activities and affects was a wellspring of endless and uncompromising desire for one another. I know how she felt for me from those loving looks she would give me, one of the many faces of Jodi Tilton; and I, in turn, was unable to keep my hands from hers.

Everyday since her passing I return to that morning when I didn’t want to give her up to the day. I still reach for that warm spot beside me that she would occupy, for those mo-

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ments when we made love out of doors, drank too much Chamomile tea, cooked an elaborate meal together, wan-dered the city streets hand in hand in search of vegan sweets, and met clandestinely for a picnics in Prospect Park. I still see her every time I close my eyes and I em-body those faces that she would make, inhabit those smiles and loving looks she would give me. I know what she was saying with those eyes. She had endless faces and I know what each one meant. But without her there is this great silence. Out of the silence, there comes a scream.

“Hang on to Each Other”

Jodi Tilton was an intense and loving person to those around her, and she developed substantive and meaning-ful friendships with those in her life. Often the welfare of her friends, a gift for an upcoming occasion, a mix-tape to share a notion, was foremost on her mind. This sense of creating friendships through meaningful activity and ex-pression is far too unique, and was a constant in her life. This was paired with an amazing ability to forgive and un-derstand those she had affection for, at times to a fault. The richness of all the flows she mobilized in her life and the affects created in her friends lives, were quite remark-able.

Quite often Jodi would organize a dinner party or potluck to mark some occasion in a friend’s life or to gather those she cared for around her. These events took weeks to plan:

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from putting out a communiqué, to developing themes, to cooking the day of and making sure everyone had eaten and got rightfully drunk. As an extension of her affection for those in her life these meals were quite elaborate, and were part of networking and strengthening relationships.

Jodi and I shared an intense friendship. We went on regu-lar bike rides, cooked lavish meals, planned dinner parties for friends, attended lectures, wandered museums, went on excursions to Vermont, Boston and Philadelphia, and partook in all shorts of adventures. From the moments we shared emerged a common project and activities, and this in turn intersected with a community that surrounded us both. This became clear in the outpouring of support that took place that week in the hospital, among the trees in Prospect Park when her friends created moments with her memories, and in the impossible mourning that has fol-lowed.

The intensity of Jodi’s friendships and interactions contin-ues after her passing only in our activities, our collective memory, our lives, loves and friendships. We must “hang on to each other” during these moments of grief, find ways through this with our mourning, and carry those elements of her into the world.

Weapons Against Forgetting

Memory, as with desire, can connect to other memories in

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the world; thus engaging with Jodi’s memory becomes a social project and political struggle against forgetting. This is not to be found in god nor in the back of books nor the passage of time. This is located in acts, in the event, de-ployment of desire, the initiating flows, they emerge from activity, and from becoming other then ourselves in the process of carrying her into the world. Memories and The Commons During this past year we all have been engaged in the pro-cess of creating collective memories in our discussions, ac-tions and projects. The relationships at the core of these undertakings don’t just construct a collective memory of Jodi’s life through their initiatives, but result in an im-portant development themselves: that of a commons, a set of relationships defined by mutual aid, self-activity, and solidarity.

Herein: I republished a cookbook I had put together for Jodi to share our recipes with friends and have written on the political aspects of care, death and mourning; a close friend of Jodi’s had DIY artist Cristy Road produce a ren-dition of her to be made into posters which now hang on all her friends walls; memorial dinner parties have been held; those in New York celebrated her birthday has we all had the year earlier with a picnic in Prospect Park; a num-ber of us have gathered to talk about the process of grief; and it seems our future political projects are awash with a new politics of care and her presence. Additionally, there is the upcoming The Big She-Bang organized in her spirit,

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a biographical zine and other writings will appear shortly. Much of this important work has taken place in interper-sonal conversations, moments of support, and in so many ways I don’t know how I would have lived through this last year without those in the community that surrounds us.

Memories carry emotional and physical codes, these codes are the elements of Jodi’s life and can be deployed in our own lives. Here my purpose is to amplify, coordinate, and deploy memories so that they may connect with other memories in the world. These collective projects of memory are part of the larger undertaking of carrying Jodi Tilton into the world, of becoming other through these actions, and of constructing weapons against forgetting.

Weapons Against Forgetting Documenting memories themselves are important to re-membering someone you love after they have passed into the unknown, but “weapons against forgetting” are memo-ries with a specific use, they are codes with specific func-tions.

This is not a fear about forgetting her; it’s a fear of not being engaged with a process of remembering. Here we be-come involved in a process of collectivizing grief, hence of mourning against grief, and of engaging in battle; yes, this too this is a war.

Our self-activity and solidarity has limits: we can create depositories of memories and events that bring the spirit

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of Jodi Tilton into our own lives; we can form projects that address caring for those of us who are ill, address mental health and grief, and seek to engage with our own repro-duction – but these all have points in which they come into conflict with capital and the state-apparatus, with life as it is currently constructed.

At these points we wield our weapons against forgetting: when we were forced to return to work before we were able, when we see forms of oppression stealing our voices and the voices of those around us, when we cannot build loving partnerships and relationships, when we cannot make col-lective decisions over our own lives, when we cannot care for one another in meaningful ways, when we aren’t able to mourn in collective ways against our individual grief, when we don’t have the resources to reproduce ourselves and create substantive lives. At these points, at the limits of our own self-activity, we must begin to struggle for new forms of life and a new world.

Memories of Jodi Tilton, of who she was becoming, of her struggles and the form of life she sought to live provide those emotional and physical codes for our collective un-dertakings and weapons for our struggles. Jodi Tilton was one of those women the world required; and we require her in this new world we are creating!

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Katie Wadkins from the Big-She Bang Honestly, I am quite nervous to speak about Jodi. I have chosen to share with you my experience with Jodi in its reality, with hesitation. But if there is one thing that Jodi taught me, it was to be real and honest. Jodi Tilton entered my life during a time of change and growth. I met her through mutual Wantagh friends, whom I had met through the Long Island D.I.Y. music and activ-ist community. We inhabited the same community, though it is common that folks weave in and out of this kind of thing. I could not have imagined the impact Jodi would have on my life. Jodi remained an acquaintance of mine until she joined the Womyn’s Collective in 2005. Even as an acquaintance, I was well aware of Jodi’s craft-ing skills. At the first She-Bang, Jodi and Christine tabled with their crafts under the moniker Cut Along Fold. I spent many days in Christine’s basement, rummaging through the gorgeous crafts they created together. Once involved with the Womyn’s Collective, I would hear from Jodi con-stantly. She was an outspoken girl, making all of her cre-ative and political ideas known, as well as her gripes with

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projects at hand. However, her gripes never quite seemed that - any issues Jodi had always presented themselves as sarcastic quips that left the group tearing with laughter, or organized actions intended to reconcile a difference. Jodi was a total organizing force. She made sure everyone got to meetings (often driving myself and other women out to Ronkonkoma), she always had something to bring up or work on. Nary a meeting went by without getting something done. It’s hard to say what her importance was, because it was prevalent through everything that we did together. She was totally organized and motivated. Jodi contributed her artistic and crafty talents as well as her professional way of taking care of business. Not only did she keep us on track, but she took care of nitty gritty things, like appeal-ing to donors, keeping in touch with speakers and perform-ers, and staying on top of finances. Working along side Jodi was a privilege and an experience. It was real proof that people can create change, it was evi-dence of someone with the drive and dedication to make things happen. My peers at that time, specifically my new female cohorts Jodi and Beth, consistently inspired me, ex-emplifying what I wanted feminist change to look like. Jodi was a positive force. She was a charming, hilarious, smart, fervent, sassy girl. When she was having a hard time, she was honest about it. We were able to have real conversations and real connections. I have always admired this quality in her. Her character contributed as much to

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the collective as her hard work, dedication, and extreme organization did. I have never met someone so dedicated to so many things at one time. Jodi’s ability to organize for feminist and sociopolitical struggle, to cook delicious treats and craft like crazy, to make all of these things relevant in her work, was so amazing. More importantly, Jodi’s poli-tics shined through in her personality, as she was one of the most generous and caring souls I’ve known. I have never experienced such a loss in my life until Jodi, and as it was felt personally, it was felt communally. It seems that we all have been careful with each other since. We have done our best to create real, healthy support for each other. This has been inspiring, this has created hope.I just miss her. We just miss her. It felt necessary and urgent for me to organize The Big She-Bang with these other women in Jodi’s spirit this year. Inspired by all of her hard work and dedication, inspired by her personal legacy, I intended to do what she would do. If she were here, she would be organizing at our sides. Furiously. I am sure we would have Beth on the phone in Tucson, and we’d be sending the 10-15 e-mails that often go out per day for the event planning. With Jodi in mind, it feels necessary and urgent to continue this feminist work, to continue these important discussions on community and illness and loss. It feels necessary and urgent to live as Jodi taught me; passionately and with in-tent.

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Beth Puma: Publicly Grieving & Two Excerpts

Publicly Grieving

Unlike many others in my age bracket, I am not a com-pulsive public blogger, constantly posting pictures, and other web related ways of convincing yourself of your self worth. At least not since my late teens anyway. However, I occasionally put write something for a blog, post a bul-letin, or throw up a new set of pictures mostly to commu-nicate to friends over great distances. In some ways I am an intensely private person keeping pieces of myself only open to a very select group of close friends, and even other pieces only for me. However, in someways I need to grieve publically over Jodi’s death. I needed to let people know that despite the “back to business” tactic that the systems that govern us demand, I still was not alright. I needed to let people know that despite me working relentlesslly to serve as an alli and emotional support, that I still was not alright. This type of public honesty is not my strongest suit. Choosing the medium of blogging however allowed the public to converge with the protection. Maybe nobody ever read these pieces (until now) and maybe people did;

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but I needed to expel the grief of losing Jodi to the world

Excerpts from My Personal Blog

These two entries are from a blog entry I wrote on Mys-pace. The first entry is me wrestling with the idea that six months after her death, some had stopped talking about Jodi, when her passing still encompassed many of my day to day actions. The second was a public letter, but really addressed to Jodi. Perhaps she is still compusively check-ing her email and mysapce from the great beyond.

January 12, 2008It was said that people would stop talking about her....as a way of dealing with it all. I have seen it happen, as time erodes july (the euphamism that I use for Jodi’s death) from the forefront of their brains. I understand it. I do. But it doesn’t mean I have to accept it. Because I still think of her everyday. In my happiest and sad moments.

I think of her when I am crafting late into the night (work-ing hard on making my new year’s resolution not stupid) and I have a construction question, about the treble stitch or how to alter something.

I think of her when I go to call Joanne from work or Jeff for a drink. She sits there nestled between them in my phone. Part of me knows that her phone line must be disconnect-ed, but I keep her there anyway.

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I think of her when I went for blood Thursday, for some health things I am trying to iron out. My arm on the chair, the nurse tying that smelly rubber band around me to watch my veins come to the surface. This moment will for-ever remind me of my last days with Jodi. I remember so vividly one Friday night while she was in the hospital. It had to be 11 o clock at night, visiting hours long over, but nobody seemed to mind. I sat with my mask on (they still thought we had to wear masks at that point) as a tiny preg-nant nurse tried to replace her IV. She kept saying “such tiny veins....I wish I could give you one of mine.” I remem-ber telling her, you could have one of mine too....look how fat they are. So when my nurse on Thursday said, oh you have large veins...it just reaffirms what I said to her that night.

I thought of her last night when I went to see Each Other’s Mothers at Matchless last night. I remember the Friday night before she died walking to see a friend for her birth-day at Enids. I remember walking up driggs on the side of the park. I stopped to talk to sit on a bench at the edge of McCarren to call Conor. I very specifically remember sit-ting on that bench, looking up at the Brooklyn summer night sky. I remember telling him I was going to cancel my plan to come to Arizona if she wasn’t out of the hospital by Monday. I just didn’t want to leave her sitting there by herself. He said he would come out too. And then he said something like “I am really afraid she is going to die”....I remember getting mad at him for even saying it, because 97% of me wouldn’t even entertain the idea. This was all

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routine right? The next day she had the seizure.....

At matchless it was the same bartender that Jodi had con-vinced to give like six rounds of free shots to at my Cel-ebrate the End of School Year fiesta. I kinda wanted to shake his hand just because.....but that would have been crazy. It was a little ridiculous how your senses are so at-tached to your memory center in your brain. I remember the whiskey on my esophogus, I remember the copper (or some metal) bar on my fingertips, I remember the big door knocker earings I was wearing. I remember her laugh.

Documenting A Womyn’s Life This was a piece I orginally wrote in July 2007 conjacent to co-autoring the autobiography I wrote with Craig, which is also featured in this compilation. The blog is written about different experiences from a group of womyn I went to college with. In writing this blog I was quite literally S procrastinating from the writing Jodi’s biography; our personal deadlines were already past due. But I needed to take a break. I presented this with a minimal edits.

I am co-authoring a biography on a womyn named Jodi Til-ton. She passed away, almost exactly a year ago. And she wasn’t just anybody, she was one of my best friends both in life and organizing. So in a lot of way’s I am chronicling a fallen comrade.

How do you document the life of someone who by HIStory’s accord was nothing spectacular? She didn’t cure cancer

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or event a bomb or start a war or something. She didn’t slaughter anybody, although she often joked of filling a tote bag full of nails and screws and beating her boss with it.

By HERstory’s measure she was nothing SHORT of spec-tacular. She lived a life full of sincerity and integrity. She was always excited about a friend’s new endeavor-even the shitty band you were in-and there were so many shitty bands. She was the kind of person who sent post cards for fun; not the kind you buy but the kind she hand stamped herself. She was the kind of organizer who actually has her shit together and returns emails. She would get to an event at Long Island Freespace to set up, stay late to clean up. She would eat a huge piece of cake with me and complain about how the other vegan cake shop had bigger slices. She would jump into a bar alongside theLIRR for a quick shot.

There are other things I am having trouble documenting. She had a chronic illness. How do you write about how that impacted her life EVERY SINGLE DAY without victim-izing her. Because she was no victim to ulcerative colitis. She was PISSED about it, and would let you know, but in so many ways, until the last months of her life she was in charge.

How do you chronicle the complicated love affairs. The re-ally shitty ones that were disempowering and made her feel stupid? They shaped her too. How do you document the happier, fluid loves that still contained a dynamic I still might not understand?

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How do I document a womyn’s life? All the beauty? All the sadness? All the laughter? All the of the body’s pleasures and failures?

It ain’t easy. Especially not Jodi Tilton’s, my friends.

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Craig-Jesse Hughes: Others Parts of That Week

I sat in that dusty, gross archive scrambling to finish all the work I’d been doing. Most of my summer was spent in Portland, Oregon – interning at a local space for homeless youth and archiving in the local radical library.

4pm: Conor called to say that Jodi had seized; it was time to fly back home to New York.

I left the archives, biked back to my apartment and began to walk over to Mandy’s house.

7pm: Beth called me to tell me they had induced a coma.

I didn’t understand. I didn’t get it. I repeated it in my head several times over: “they induced a coma, they induced a coma, they induced a coma.”

I still didn’t get it.

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I thought back to the years I worked in an Emergency Room and tried to remember what that process looked like. Being 3,000 miles away made me feel helpless, but it also made me feel unaware.

I had talked to Jodi just the day prior. She said she felt better.

12am: Kevin: “Are you awake?” Me: “Huh? What?” Kevin: “Wake up”. Me: “I’m awake, what’s going on?” Kevin: “Jodi’s mother just called me… I’m going to the hospital now.”

Jodi had a head bleed.

I stared at the white ceiling.

1AM: Kevin: “The doctor says the surgery went well.” 2AM: Kevin: “They’re giving her an hour or two to live.”

I stared at the white ceiling. I called Brenna: no answer. I called Mike: no answer. I went out to Mandy’s balcony and smoked a cigarette.

I called my mother. I called Jenn. Aside from relaying the base details, what could be said?

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I got back into bed. I stared at the white ceiling.

630AM: Ben: “Jodi has slipped into a non-induced coma. They don’t know if she’ll wake up, and if she does she’ll have serious brain damage.”

Kevin and Brian met me at the airport in New York hours later. We went straight to the hospital.

I hugged Conor. I hugged anyone that I knew within arms reach.

Nothing seemed accurate during the days I spent at the hospital, even staring at her. And that’s all I could do when I first saw her: stare. The entirety of that week was a bal-ance between tragedy, exhaustion, support and staring.

I had been introduced to Jodi through her involvement with the Long Island Freespace Project, which I’d been involved with, in different capacities, for most of its five-year existence. Freespace was an arts and activism center on Long Island, and the core-group of people that ran its different functions formed a community that I’ve come to consider my chosen-family.

During the two years between our initial meeting and her death, Jodi had become a regular in my life due to her close relations with my closest friends. We had only become clos-er friends in the months before her death.

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It’s nearly a month since she passed. Her death strikes me intermittently. I’ll wake up feeling an awkward loneliness; an overwhelming and acute sadness that Jodi isn’t waking up that day as well. It feels like a shot of emptiness and then it disappears.

It’ll hit me when walking through the train station termi-nal. It’ll hit me when I double take after seeing someone who looks like her.

I feel sad, and I feel angry. She had just turned 23.

Without submitting another cliché post-mortem compli-ment, I feel the urgency to say that Jodi was a full-hearted, honest, generous and caring person. She was admirable. And we were all lucky to have bonds with her.

Coupled with the shock of Jodi’s loss, even in its non-com-prehension, was a feeling of “community” that I hadn’t felt in a few years. Some of us talked about that feeling during the time we spent in the hospital together. And afterward we talked about the loneliness we felt when we were apart, both from Jodi and from each other.

Things are so naked now.

Paul had mentioned feeling this very serious sense of lone-liness, which was less evident when we were all together in the hospital. Beth had a similar feeling. So did Ben. So did Bryan.

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I asked Paul to tell me what he thought the difference was: why did this loneliness develop? After all, the same people who I was with during those moments in the hospital were the same people I’d call if I needed a shoulder to cry on.

Paul wasn’t sure. Neither was I. I’ve been mulling it over for weeks now.

Some of the deepest and intensely acute loneliness I’ve dealt with have been through the worst periods of my mother’s illness. Or, during the moments when my anxiety peaks and I don’t feel I can relate to anyone, and I abandon the phone with the exception of brief catch-up sessions. There was a lot of that in recent months.

So sometimes I run away to try and evade things, or give myself a new environment to figure things – and myself – out. I run to places like Portland, Oregon. The last time I saw Jodi was the night I left for Portland. She, Ben, Kevin and I met for dinner. She was late because her boss was an asshole. The next time I saw her was when I arrived at the hospital, straight from my flight back from Portland. She was breathing then, but I would never talk to her again.

Aside from long-term relationships with family, friends and comrades, I’ve only truly felt the feeling of “commu-nity” in its best and most acute sense a few times during my life. In recent years the two clearest times that I’ve felt part of a living, breathing, active and overwhelmingly

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positive and functioning “community” were immersed in tragedy: Conor’s trial and Jodi’s hospitalization.

Conor had been targeted by the government for his activist work: in 2001 he was framed as a “leader” of an ELF cell that he had nothing to do with. His trial took two weeks in 2003. Each day the court-room filled with an increasing number of people present to support him. It was during Conor’s trial that many of us who had been involved in radical agitation on Long Island in the preceding five years finally realized the depth of the bonds we had built. These relations were evinced through consistent emotional sup-port, an overwhelming sense and feeling of solidarity and the obvious reality that Conor was not alone; that none of us were.

Following Jodi’s death, for the first time since she had passed, Conor emailed some of us who had been through the previous week together. One of his statements really stuck with me: “…all of us together remind me that another world is indeed possible. In our best moments we carry its image on our shoulders, sometimes like a victorious friend aloft and sometimes like a dear dead friend.”

Jodi had become part of the Freespace community late in the game. But she rapidly integrated herself. And the bonds she built with others in context of Freespace, and then afterward, were deep. They were based in love, libera-tion and struggle. I share bonds with some of those same people. They’re the bonds that I rely on, even when I go

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months without seeing or talking to some of those folks. This was a community that Jodi helped – at times strug-gled – to keep together during the previous two years.

I’ve tried to reconcile the questions I have with my feelings of community during Conor’s trial and Jodi’s death. These were moments when I felt strong because I knew, at the deepest level I’ve ever known, that people could be truly admirable, heroic and beautiful. And they were some of the moments when tragedy was clearest to me.

I think these feelings that I experienced, and that the oth-ers I mentioned also felt, are the most important parts of revolutionary activity. They are real feeling of solidarity – composed of the physical and emotional togetherness that develops during times when individuals are allowed to count on each other without pretensions, commodity or monetary-exchanges; simply to cope and move forward to-gether with confidence in each other, and overcome even brutal obstacles.

My day-to-day is a struggle to remember and maintain clarity on these feelings, because monetary-exchanges, wage-labor, and the alienation that develops under capi-talism do everything they can to keep me from it.

Conor ended the email he sent with another statement: “I would do anything for any of you. Don’t forget it, and don’t let me forget it.”

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We had all forgotten it, to some degree, since his trial. The tragedy of Jodi’s death helped us all to remember the real, tangible parts of the community that she’d become so intertwined within – what it was capable of, and what it meant to us. That community is something Jodi believed in and practiced all along: even when many of us, myself included, became overwhelmed, became petty, forgot, or let distance and time interrupt.

Jodi passed at the end of July. Her body is buried near Levittown, New York – tragic on top of tragedy because Jodi existed as an antithesis to the humdrum cookie-cutter world of Levitt’s homogenous architecture and the mass-production economy it was so crucial to.

We’re left with her memory and the inspiration and cre-ativity she left us. But we’re also left with the reminder that we need to build a new world, that it’s possible, but it won’t be the boring old red and black – it’ll be flamboyant colors, and sarcasm combined with “tote bags filled with nails” for dealing the fucking assholes. It won’t be made up of rigid ideologies, but of radical solidarities, practical and sustained forms of friendship and communities that go beyond mere rhetoric.

I miss you, Jodi.

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Conor Cash: Reflection

I failed Jodi in more ways than I care to acknowledge. This isn’t to say that I was cruel to her, but there was a degree of negligence on my part that I’ve not admitted to. The fact is, I was not as good a friend to her as she was to me. Sadder still, she knew that and loved me in spite of it. Most of the people in Jodi’s life fell short in this way, some of whom I love and have forgiven, and others who I’ll hate for it for a long time to come.

She was already dead by the time I arrived in New York. In fact, she had been dead since before I had purchased my ticket to return. My motivation to leave Arizona, where I was ensconced in my own mediocrity and stupid flailing while she gradually lost her ability to speak and walk, was a phone call from Kevin. He told me that she had begun seizing and had lapsed into a coma. I am not a stupid per-son- I knew what this meant, and left in a hurry regard-less, feeling a responsibility to those who’d been on watch during her convalescence.

I arrived at JFK during an ugly rainstorm, drenching my shoes as I arrived at the hospital with my mother in tow.

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She is a woman who at times seems eminently incompe-tent- ‘spacey’ would be a good word to describe her. But she becomes a tiger in a medical settings. She has been an RN for 30 years of her life and a supervisory nurse for most of those years- she is also a kind and empathic person, deal-ing with the sick and the grieving with both native talent and weathered experience. I served as her emissary, de-livering her to Jodi’s friends to explain where things stood and where they would go.

I did not get much time to sit beside her. Crying is diffi-cult in the presence of others, and I wanted to sing for her, something she would think was funny, maybe “Living on a Prayer”, in the hopes that somewhere deep inside her brain she would recognize the song, and some astral self would laugh. Or “Turning Towards the Morning”, the chorus of which is “oh my Joanie don’t you know/ that the stars are swinging low/ and the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago/ and if I had a thing to give you/ I would tell you one more time/ that the world is always turning towards the morning.” Of course Joanie would become Jodi.

I wish that I had gotten there in time to sing those songs to her, or that for a brief while I could have been her lover, or her father or brother- that I could have held her and rocked her and told her I loved her, rather than express half-competent concern over the phone. This is a lesson about being too late and giving too little, of being trapped in the rigidity of a body and its way of relating to others. It is a lesson about the tyranny of linear lives- how we prog-

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ress from one point to the next at the expense of everything else- the ability to comfort a dying friend, or even to be able to cry over their passing.

After she was dead in the clinical sense, I shoved a young man over a chair for arriving too late and for not giving enough. I deserved that push as much as he did for all the things I failed to give and the shortsightedness I permitted. Maybe the lessons from this experience would have been ingrained more deeply if they had been shocked, bruised and burned into me- I I’d been properly shamed for the inadequacy of my response to her illness and her death.

It has always been my inclination to make light of the bad things in life, and if I could put my arms around that tiny person one final time, I would do my best to make her laugh darkly- to try and embrace the absurdity of death with her as she slid under the waves of blood that submerged her mind. If I had a thing to give her, I would tell her one more time that the world is always turning towards the morn-ing.

Jodi- I will miss you forever and love you for always. I will do my best to learn from your example and from here out, will join in the preservation of your memory. There are things I would love to tell you, some that you would find disappointing, others that would make you proud, and I would hope, all of which would make you laugh. Life isn’t the same without you, and that’s only fair.

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Paul Cash: The Playground

It started when I fell asleep on my father’s couch some weeks after Jodi passed. I had been working an overnight shift at an assisted living home on the weekend and I decided to spend some time at my father’s apartment in eastern Long Island on my day off. We had made dinner and watched some television before he headed to bed. I sat down on the couch and after a few moments had drifted into sleep. I found myself in a park with the sun shining and a warm breeze blowing past me. I felt someone holding my hand. I realized then it was Jodi. Holding her other hand was Beth, my partner and best friend. As we walked through the park others joined us. The faces of Jodi’s friends were all smiling as they came to us; everyone seemed very in-tent on making sure she reached her destination safely. In the distance I saw a playground. Waiting in front of it was Conor, Jodi’s best friend. Everyone stopped at that mo-ment and only Jodi began walking towards Conor. When she reached him he lifted her up towards the sun and for a moment we were all blinded as we watched her. When she was returned to the ground it wasn’t Jodi as we knew

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her. She was a child again. She looked at us and smiled. I knew that Jodi was going to enter the playground and nev-er have to feel the pain of her crohn’s colitis again. I also knew we would never see again, but somehow our joy over the easing of her pain overcame any sadness I might have felt. Beth held me as we looked towards the playground feeling only the warmth of this sunny day.

My father’s lapsed Catholicism takes hold of me some-times, despite how much I try to fight it. Not the guilt or intolerance I remember from the few times I found myself in church. Not the threat of damnation and pain for those who didn’t follow. Rather the promise of suffering ending: the hope of finally reaching a place where this life couldn’t hurt you anymore. There are moments when the realiza-tion that I never told Jodi how much I loved her consumes me. I never took the time to let her know that her friend-ship with my partner Beth filled me with a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt since her passing. Jodi’s love of Beth and devotion to her will forever be the standard that I have to try to live up to. I never had the strength to tell her that. It is in the moments that this hurts the most that I let my father’s belief in something greater comfort me, if only for a moment. I can see the dream of Jodi walking towards a playground as a child as some kind of sign that the pain is truly behind her. There is no conflict for me in doing this, even as someone who gave up on faith a long time ago. I don’t know if I deserve to meet her on that playground when my time comes. Hoping she might be there, enjoying

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herself the way only a child could comfort me. Sometimes that’s enough.

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Additional Projects in Memory of Jodi Tilton

Jodi Tilton: A Biography A collective biography of Long Island Womyn’s Collective member and dear friend Jodi Tilton. Friends and fam-ily share stories, memories, and the history of her life as a way to explore and document what she meant to her community, and to keep her memory alive. From her love of vegan sweets to balancing her first ”grown up job” with her devotion to feminist organiz-ing, the zine represents a space where the reader can visit and celebrate what made Jodi so special.

to obtain a print copy contact oneofthewomyn@warmachines.info or visit warmachines.info online versions

Cooking With Ole Ma’ Tilton: Cookbook & Cooking Journal

This humble collection contains some of the illustrious Jodi Tilton’s favorite recipes with a sampling of ideas con-tributed by Jodi’s friends, and a few from other sources. Initially printed for Jodi’s personal use during the winter of 2005, the second expanded edition includes a few new recipes, photos, and a new forward.

Jodi Tilton One of the Womyn the World Requires

Jodi Tilton, One of the Womyn

the World Requires: Collected Writings & Memories

This is a written testimony of the grieving process. It is a document meant to remind us of her life and what she meant us as the wrinkles of time fade into our lives; it is a document meant to comfort the memory of her passing. In ćĊĂ ČøôąĆ¿ ĀôāČ ĊąüćüāúĆ ôā÷ ąøűøöćüĂāĆ have come forth for various projects and events from those who loved her. In two years, we as friends to Jodi Tilton have returned to work, school, and our daily routines but the frustrations of a society and system, which that does not allow ones own to grieve, still burns our hearts. As a response we offer this to you, as an act of care.

- From the Introduction

Collected Writings & Memorieswarmachines.info s p r i n g 2 0 0 9