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“Decades earlier she had vowed never to lose sight of the work, never to be distracted by the business of it (the petty rivalries, the schools, the hierarchy, the administration, the protocols that deadened thought), never be embittered by the bullshit, the obstacles, the assault, and the fundamental disregard of this project—her project, our project. So she trained herself not to desire recognition, not need the praise of others to nurture the endeavor… She knew the longing for recognition and affirmation had destroyed many Negroes, ruined so many minds. She tried to live like a cactus, and survive on so very little. So the feast was unexpected. The words she cobbled together could not even convey the joy, the enormity of endowment, the sense of disbelief as others described what she had done—what she had made possible. Had she achieved what they had said? Was not more proof required to establish that she deserved it? Was the grand celebration a mistake or premature? Didn’t she need to work even harder to prove she deserved it all? So she consulted the tattered outline of a plan for black female genius always at hand when she was writing, which was really just a how-to guide to survive in hostile conditions. Item #4 stated clearly: ‘Want nothing. Never care what they say about you.’ And now here she was at the podium, biting her lip, and trying to hold back tears to embrace it all, to find her place in this great company, to accept that she, too, had contributed something to this venture. But she started to choke up—so, she just said, ‘Thank you. Thank you.”

— Saidiya Hartman

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“Feelings are mental experiences of body states, which arise as the brain interprets emotions, themselves physical states arising from the body’s responses to external stimuli. (The order of such events is: I am threatened, experience fear, and feel horror.)”

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will I ?

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Archive.org: "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" by Isabel Fall

were you aware that the short story that got Isabel Fall bullied all the way off the internet and into fucking inpatient was truly brilliant? I was too grossed out by the twitter shitshow to read it when it came out and thus managed to only read it now. it was a Hugo finalist for a reason. I hope she can find it in herself to write again bc she's got really interesting and creative stuff to say. would recommend it if you haven't read it yet. 7726 words.

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Palestinian men should not have to repeatedly hold up pictures of their family struggling through a genocide, for us to care about them. Fundraisers conducted by/for Palestinian men, should not have to repeatedly refer to their mothers, sisters, wives and children, to make us realize their humanity, their vulnerability. Enough. Isn't it enough after so many months? Hadn't it always been enough?

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My wild grief didn’t know where to end. Everywhere I looked: a field alive and unburied. Whole swaths of green swallowed the light. All around me, the field was growing. I grew out My hair in every direction. Let the sun freckle my face. Even in the greenest depths, I crouched Towards the light. That summer, everything grew So alive and so alone. A world hushed in green. Wildest grief grew inside out.

I crawled to the field’s edge, bruises blooming In every crevice of my palms. I didn’t know I’d reached a shoreline till I felt it There: A salt wind lifted The hair from my neck. At the edge of every green lies an ocean. When I saw that blue, I knew then: This world will end.

Grief is not the only geography I know. Every wound closes. Repair comes with sweetness, Come spring. Every empire will fall: I must believe this. I felt it Somewhere in the field: my ancestors Murmuring Go home, go home—soon, soon. No country wants me back anymore and I’m okay.

If grief is love with nowhere to go, then Oh, I’ve loved so immensely. That summer, everything I touched Was green. All bruises will fade From green and blue to skin. Let me grow through this green And not drown in it. Let me be lawless and beloved, Ungovernable and unafraid. Let me be brave enough to live here. Let me be precise in my actions. Let me feel hurt. I know I can heal. Let me try again—again and again.

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“Professor Bell cites historian William Wiecek’s chronology of pro-slavery provisions in the Constitution as follows: 1) Article I, section 2: representatives in the House were apportioned among the states on the basis of population, computed by counting all free persons and three fifths of the slaves (the ‘federal number’ or ‘three-fifths’ clause); 2) Article I, section 2, and Article I, Section 9: two clauses requiring redundantly that direct taxes (including capitations) be apportioned among the states on the foregoing basis, the purpose being to prevent Congress from laying a head tax on slaves to encourage their emancipation; 3) Article I, section 9: Congress was prohibited from abolishing the international slave trade to the United States before 1808; 4) Article IV, section 2: the states were prohibited from emancipating fugitive slaves who were to be returned on demand of the master; 5) Article I, section 8: Congress was empowered to provide for calling up the states’ militias to suppress insurrections, including slave uprisings; 6) Article IV, section 4: the federal government was obliged to protect the states against domestic violence, again including slave insurrections; 7) Article V: the provisions of Article I, section 9, clauses 1 and 4 (pertaining to the slave trade and direct taxes) were made unamendable; 8) Article I, section 9, and Article I, section 10: these two clauses prohibited the federal government and the states from taxing exports, one purpose being to prevent them from taxing slavery indirectly by taxing the exported products of slave labor.”

— DERRICK BELL, AND WE ARE NOT SAVED (1987).