April 24, 2025
Blog Title 3
What does activism look like at the end of hope?How are we being invited into the work of making sanctuary? Who/what is called here? Who are the actors? And what are the promises of these seditious engagements? Becoming-black is not taking on black skin;
The thought that we might one day figure it all out, master the elements, and convene the tides to script the tales of our magnificence shocks the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe in the face of such an ideology not merely because it strikes me as troublingly hubristic, but because I am immediately crippled by a claustrophobic sense of capture. By the image of a universe frozen still under the clinical gaze of the human. Nothing hurts me more than the idea that I might inhabit a world so “little”, so flat, so unremarkable, so familiar, so known, so habituated, so conservative, and so without surprise or enchantment.
The thought that we might one day figure it all out, master the elements, and convene the tides to script the tales of our magnificence shocks the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe in the face of such an ideology not merely because it strikes me as troublingly hubristic, but because I am immediately crippled by a claustrophobic sense of capture. By the image of a universe frozen still under the clinical gaze of the human. Nothing hurts me more than the idea that I might inhabit a world so “little”, so flat, so unremarkable, so familiar, so known, so habituated, so conservative, and so without surprise or enchantment.
The thought that we might one day figure it all out, master the elements, and convene the tides to script the tales of our magnificence shocks the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe in the face of such an ideology not merely because it strikes me as troublingly hubristic, but because I am immediately crippled by a claustrophobic sense of capture. By the image of a universe frozen still under the clinical gaze of the human. Nothing hurts me more than the idea that I might inhabit a world so “little”, so flat, so unremarkable, so familiar, so known, so habituated, so conservative, and so without surprise or enchantment.
“Nothing hurts me more than the idea that I might inhabit a world so “little”, so flat, so unremarkable, so familiar, so known, so habituated, so conservative, and so without surprise or enchantment.”
The thought that we might one day figure it all out, master the elements, and convene the tides to script the tales of our magnificence shocks the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe in the face of such an ideology not merely because it strikes me as troublingly hubristic, but because I am immediately crippled by a claustrophobic sense of capture. By the image of a universe frozen still under the clinical gaze of the human. Nothing hurts me more than the idea that I might inhabit a world so “little”, so flat, so unremarkable, so familiar, so known, so habituated, so conservative, and so without surprise or enchantment.
