I feel pulled towards the earth, not the concrete, but below, as above, there’s only pigs with wings squealing incessantly to raise your hands up though they’re still shittin’ on your sty, chortling at us foreign bodies stuck ruttin’ on stolen land, buried land, land that rears its ugly head and seeks its revenge in paroxysms of passion, land I always feel swelling below my trampling feet.
The volume alone/
slurred over tones of defeat/
should be enough for you to know/
we’re not as discrete as we seem
Hostage to circumstance/
try to affirm that I’m magic
I had the pleasure of sitting down with Claire Potter, author and Professor of History at The New School. Potter is the Co-Executive Editor of Public Seminar, she hosts the podcast Exiles on 12th Street, […]
A girl runs away from home, hoping to see her boyfriend. It’s the middle of the night. She gets in a car with a stranger. They share a beer and things get weird. She jumps […]
At the boundary between East Harlem and Carnegie Hill, my class and I were challenged with creating a food pharmacy that could fuse the needs of two communities, while keeping in mind the imposing problems of gentrification in respect to novelty creation.
An aspiring African American writer sells an urban TV pilot to a studio and is forced to rewrite the show alongside a team of studio-appointed white writers.
How convenient for civilization would it be?
Lonely bulb
Moonbeam beacon
Cascades
On the stage
Pitch black
i befriended a fruit fly once,
with body black, and bending knees.
knowing secrets of the universe, hence
it told me how to live in peace.
my type lies about their music taste until it’s too late and we’re both pretending to like St. Vincent
o-scrape off in time n-watch th-word-raid brake
I don’t know what to do about these ethical moral dilemmas. I don’t know how to decide if my anger should be placed deeper on the Black men I share skin with, or the white women I share gender with, or even the white gays I share queerness with. Or anyone in between with oppression commonalities.
“I enjoy men writing about sex that I can eventually upend in my own head by writing from a woman’s perspective.”
“I think it’s important to openly talk about how you’re feeling and what you think is making you feel the way that you are.”
My old is translated and tampered with by the new
107 miles. Sometimes I walk further downtown and the distance increases, sometimes I walk uptown and the distance shrinks. But, that’s only a measurement. It doesn’t matter where I am, there is always a distance between us. Even when I visit you.
Don’t hold my face when you say it./
Don’t look at me as if you’ll crumble if I turn away.
“in trying to heal and bring myself out of a very low place, I looked to Harriet Tubman, her example, and her story”
