I guess god saved my life.
Well no, not exactly. god in the form of a cricket.
Well, but then god, big big god, again.
But really god was mushrooms. The plant, yes, but really the network. The lattice.
Then god, again.
I can explain. Might be able to.
Can you hear me? Are you sure?
There is a club, the Bohemian Club, in California. The men, the politicians and industrialists and power wielders and intellectuals who formed the exclusive club, the motto that informs their convivial play time is: “weaving spiders, come not here.” And they mean…
Reparations are love.
Reparations are freedom. They operationalize the liberating relationships of our dreams. When we envision connections that aren’t based in jealousy or scarcity, that aren’t a zero-sum game. We can envision love that isn’t transactional service, that is expressed without expectation of a return on investment.
Reparations are platonic love. They undo the urgency of romantic love, the scarcity reinforced by patriarchal images of intimacy. Reparations aren’t supplication. I don’t bow my head, reduce myself by repaying. Reparations grow our hearts, they hold us side-by-side.
Reparations are abundance. Reparations radiate in our communities because Black women, in particular…
A December 17 New York Times Article by Thomas Fuller and Josh Haner compared a homeless encampment on High St in Oakland to slums in the Global South, particularly one in Mexico City. In many ways, “The California Homeless Camp” is an accurate portrayal of the condition in California’s encampments. In other ways, the article negates or omits nuances imperative to our understanding of the lives of unhoused Americans.
In 2018 I helped support a group of unhoused advocates in establishing a women-run encampment in East Oakland. Women experiencing homelessness along with a group of housed allies including myself and…