another untitled piece for the writing group.

Winter's love is a long patience, tempered by the slow resentment of flakes (friends) fallen and (un)settled. Us two, we were a pair, of nothings and do-bodies trying our best to beast the storm ahead of us. That unresolving process of activism and friendship, a thing many would-be revolutionaires or so-called agents of change keep under their best friend's arm like little lightening. History; that thing of the past that contained the tools for understanding the contempt in contemporary. Hearts; born of blood, likely to return to such, whether cut down by bullets or cholesterol the dusting was inevitable. And so winter was our way of saying yes, this is the season where we are something the whole world is doing; in time.

Shanelle's step was hard to match due to the sloppy sucking the remnants of Thursday's nor-easter visited upon my boots. She marched forth through the winter wonderland quicker than I could keep up, but she kith or kin (if only in Solidarity), practiced benevolence by offering conversation that would allow us to match speeds:

S:What do you think of language?

Win: When I think of language I tend to think of the cultures attached to such languages. I think of language as a framework for thinking, a guide for ways-of-living, and tools for production. Epistemology, which is in other words, what we consider knowledge is born out of the assemblage of language. Consequently, I tend to imagine a history of silences, or rather: A trajectory of missing languages eradicated either by the processes of imperialism/colonialism/expansionism or neglect of information being recorded/transferred. I dream of the epistemologies that once governed social groups that didn't look like the globalized capitalist shit show we call the m0dern world. I wonder what language sounded like in these cultures, which words were the most common, which concepts so irrevocably unnecessary there were no words to describe. I believe in the astrology of the unknown, where one studies the Space between rather than the stars with names that govern. Some scholars I've been hip to call this decolonial epistemology. I'm in to most of their theories. I think it's necessary to build a new language in order to change our material realities, or in a sense, reinstate the languages that couldn't exist under the guideline of a capitalist project. This is why I write, but more succinctly, why I record:


You see

Things aren't always the way they are depicted
girl shaking her ass for fifteen
minutes of fame recorded and sent out on list
-serves to tell us that in order to be a hero you must be a nameless body
resigned to good times and silent sighs

Not true
there is more to you than the media is letting on
there are stories of resistance that would shame
any pissing show of
who's got the best hair
or how that will make lil wayne a milly

This winter I joined a project that aims to create an archive of zines made by people of color from around the world. I look forward to historicizing the narratives of those who are not yet gone but in danger of being forgotten. More information here: as time recedes.

http://introspectiveintersections.tumblr.com/