#mood Don’t tell me who I am. I know who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t have power. I am Power. Don’t tell me I cannot own my mother’s magic. I am the Magic. Don’t try to hide my history. I will unveil it. Don’t try to twist the truth. My Magic will rewrite your lies. Don’t try to quiet my scream. I am the voice of my foregenerations. Don’t ~ even try to touch me. I am Fire. #Repost @theoriginalbunnfunn
“Following a rally of hundreds of activists near New Orleans‘ infamous Andrew Jackson statue to protest the city’s failure to remove four Confederate monuments, a Black activist who was on site received death threats.
“Activist and poet Quess Moore published screenshots of the threats—and a post about them—early today (September 26)….”
I keep coming back to so many things. The practices and practicing we want to leave behind, rituals we want to reawaken (I woke up this morning singing, just so you know), Fannie Lou Hamer’s radical love, Nina Simone’s rock and sway over the piano, genealogies of talking back and talking shit, the logic of lies and silences. Our children, our daughters, as our archives. Being each other’s archives. Heartbreak.
Heartbreak (I wrote on one of my flights across the South), heartbreak is New Orleans, after the Storm.
I didn’t know it then, but my lesson plan in Vincent Brown’s History Design Studio Workshop on Wednesday was a child co-birthed by each of you. The students and I had an intense conversation on data and databasing, black humanity/death, Darlene Clark Hine’s outline of the black studies mind and imagining what an ethical and politicized (digital) humanities looks like; surveillance and Simone Browne’s concept of dark souveillance, micha cárdenas’s trans of color poetics, Kismet Nuñez’s alter egos and building African Diaspora, Ph.D., transformative justice as kinship, connection, and resistance. We talked about slave registers, freedom on/via ships, police, murder, affect, and the ghosts of those killed most recently were in the room. We argued whether and if there could be black life/love in death in the database.
We held court while Charlotte burned and I kept the fury at bay, but it was always there, beneath the surface. Rage enough to burn the world down twice over. Apocalyptic.
Last is a verb. Surving is an act and resistance is a practice and we do it at and for the end of the world.
Always lovely to return to the work of #QueerOs WOC familia micha cárdenas. I put this video on repeat the other day just for the pleasure of it:
“On October 6, 2015, Keisha Jenkins was shot and killed in Philadelphia, becoming the twenty-first trans woman killed in the US that year. 2014 saw trans women of color gaining unprecedented visibility in the mainstream media, an increase in visibility that coincided with a dramatic increase in the number of murders, up from fourteen in 2014. While marginalized communities have often struggled for visibility, for trans women increased visibility may mean increased violence and increased surveillance. How can strategies for social change build safety and solidarity for those communities, such as trans women of color, who often desire invisibility? This essay looks to media art to develop a trans of color poetics that can open possibilities of life for trans people of color in movement, where movement includes urban mobility, transnational migration, performance, and social movement. Discussing media made by contemporary artists as well as my own practice-based research project Local Autonomy Networks (Autonets), I engage in a hybrid theory/practice approach, informed by media studies, transgender studies, and performance studies…”