what does it mean to abolish the world

Hello, my name is Nadin I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate. I’m a wife. And now — I’m a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small design studio, of making art that told stories. I used to think about colors, fonts, sketches. I used to think about the future.

Then the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home. 25 members of our family were killed — his mother, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, children. Entire branches of a family tree gone in seconds.

We were displaced twice after that. Everything we had disappeared — home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib. No stillness. No celebration.

But she came into the world quietly and beautifully. And in her eyes, I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, I spend my days holding her and trying to build a world around her that doesn’t shake with explosions.

We don’t know what comes next. There is no clear path. We are walking toward the unknown, step by step — with our daughter in our arms and hope as our guide.

🧡 How You Can Help

This is why I’m asking for support. Not for comfort — but for survival. To help care for one baby girl who entered the world after everything else collapsed.

If you can spare anything, it will help us:

Cover basic needs, so we can breathe and heal

Support a path toward even the smallest stability in a place that has none

My husband manages the donations securely through a U.S.-registered Stripe account. Everything is converted to USDT and exchanged here in Gaza. The rates are difficult — $100 becomes only 195 shekels (July 2025) — but we use every shekel carefully, with full transparency and documentation.

🎨 Sharing a Piece of Me

I want to share more than my need. Over the next few weeks, I’ll begin posting some of my graphic designs from before the war. They are pieces of who I was — and who I still am.

They may not be perfect, but they hold something real: my story before the silence, and my belief that beauty can still live alongside survival.

This (paywalled) poem turns on the exhausting and deadening labor of the First Lady, when trapped into a meaningless marriage during which she is made to bear her husband's infidelity, and the glassiness of a pained devotion. Here are some excerpts to help contextualize the poem:

Not a face in the recognizable

attempt at a game;

a dress as a bracketing of pearls,

left to crease something silver and proper.

and

There are pews straddling her mind;

unready for a break in alterity,

tumbling across a paralysis of touch

the unfurling of her feathery hair.

Still from the visuals to BIG DOG by Slimeroni

I wrote this (publicly available) essay indexing the ways through which Black cishet men reinvent themselves as "exceptional Negroes" propped up through self produced media. I also expand on the afterimage of the "exceptional Negress" and on Black women so eager for the spotlight they might empty themselves for it. Here are excerpts to help contextualize the essay:

Hereby, some (of many) Black men, numb to the unvisible grinding machinery of Black cisheteropatriarchy, have been creating crossfades of scripts about what it meant to truly being Black, male, powerful, alpha, and therefore "special". Subjects, or rather, psychic constraints, a willful bordering of the mind, multiply and echo. It's not so much about Black women as it is about powerlessness rehearsing itself into a cinematographic and libidinal "kingdom".

and

Through the evasion of a vexed Black masculinity and the greediness of being wanted, special Black men, as in "exceptional Negroes" cut through their "race" with a deep seated disgust, as a pledge of allegiance to the power holders they hauled themselves to. They want to be the only one, because to be the only one is always to be the best one. Thomas Clarence didn't so much sell his sister as he used her as a foil to accentuate his "exceptionalism", his "uniqueness", to use the interplay of shadow and light for a sharper photograph. Simultaneously prosperity pastor, good cop, "little child, running wild", New York lover, hip hop aficionado, megalomaniac, Eric Adams (mis)uses the signifiers of Blackness that he glues to his personal biography as a way to get New York to trust in the trials and tribulations that would made his a success story. And yet, he seems intent on prophesing his own rise to the top and his exceptionality, tying the death of the city to his personal failure, demanding to be believed in as a pastor herding his flock.

Candace Owens, as an "exceptional Negress", cannot be reduced to respectability politics; the slashing of Black victims of carceral violence, the open allegiance to white supremacy, are as much graves left for the thrill of having been the only one. Is that a home you're looking for ? Or a stepladder ? In any case, welcome to your own treachery.

If you like the essay, consider tipping:

PP: [email protected]

53/1700$

PP: [email protected]

K0fi

BREAK A GLASS

MAYBE PASS OUT

ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR

WITH YOUR NAKED ASS ?

anybody have $10 for a family of 7 (2 kids under 15) to eat now and later please help us get like anything? liu is out for the summer and will eat her meals here. We have no way to get to the store please help me a autistic disabled, lesbian and family survive this month also we are unfortunately overdrawn

p3ypal: avatarerin

c3sh app: $avatarpyler

v3nmo: skiesofperiwinkle

k0fi: gothkittygalore

anybody have $10 for a family of 7 (2 kids under 15) to eat now and later please help us get like anything? liu is out for the summer and will eat her meals here. We have no way to get to the store please help me a autistic disabled, lesbian and family survive this month also we are unfortunately overdrawn

p3ypal: avatarerin

c3sh app: $avatarpyler

v3nmo: skiesofperiwinkle

k0fi: gothkittygalore

53/1700$

PP: [email protected]

K0fi

anybody have $10 for a family of 7 (2 kids under 15) to eat now and later please help us get like anything? liu is out for the summer and will eat her meals here. We have no way to get to the store please help me a autistic disabled, lesbian and family survive this month also we are unfortunately overdrawn

p3ypal: avatarerin

c3sh app: $avatarpyler

v3nmo: skiesofperiwinkle

k0fi: gothkittygalore

53/1700$

PP: [email protected]

K0fi

53/1700$

PP: [email protected]

K0fi

Still from the visuals to BIG DOG by Slimeroni

I wrote this (publicly available) essay indexing the ways through which Black cishet men reinvent themselves as "exceptional Negroes" propped up through self produced media. I also expand on the afterimage of the "exceptional Negress" and on Black women so eager for the spotlight they might empty themselves for it. Here are excerpts to help contextualize the essay:

Hereby, some (of many) Black men, numb to the unvisible grinding machinery of Black cisheteropatriarchy, have been creating crossfades of scripts about what it meant to truly being Black, male, powerful, alpha, and therefore "special". Subjects, or rather, psychic constraints, a willful bordering of the mind, multiply and echo. It's not so much about Black women as it is about powerlessness rehearsing itself into a cinematographic and libidinal "kingdom".

and

Through the evasion of a vexed Black masculinity and the greediness of being wanted, special Black men, as in "exceptional Negroes" cut through their "race" with a deep seated disgust, as a pledge of allegiance to the power holders they hauled themselves to. They want to be the only one, because to be the only one is always to be the best one. Thomas Clarence didn't so much sell his sister as he used her as a foil to accentuate his "exceptionalism", his "uniqueness", to use the interplay of shadow and light for a sharper photograph. Simultaneously prosperity pastor, good cop, "little child, running wild", New York lover, hip hop aficionado, megalomaniac, Eric Adams (mis)uses the signifiers of Blackness that he glues to his personal biography as a way to get New York to trust in the trials and tribulations that would made his a success story. And yet, he seems intent on prophesing his own rise to the top and his exceptionality, tying the death of the city to his personal failure, demanding to be believed in as a pastor herding his flock.

Candace Owens, as an "exceptional Negress", cannot be reduced to respectability politics; the slashing of Black victims of carceral violence, the open allegiance to white supremacy, are as much graves left for the thrill of having been the only one. Is that a home you're looking for ? Or a stepladder ? In any case, welcome to your own treachery.

If you like the essay, consider tipping:

PP: [email protected]

This (paywalled) poem turns on the exhausting and deadening labor of the First Lady, when trapped into a meaningless marriage during which she is made to bear her husband's infidelity, and the glassiness of a pained devotion. Here are some excerpts to help contextualize the poem:

Not a face in the recognizable

attempt at a game;

a dress as a bracketing of pearls,

left to crease something silver and proper.

and

There are pews straddling her mind;

unready for a break in alterity,

tumbling across a paralysis of touch

the unfurling of her feathery hair.

Hello, my name is Nadin I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate. I’m a wife. And now — I’m a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small design studio, of making art that told stories. I used to think about colors, fonts, sketches. I used to think about the future.

Then the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home. 25 members of our family were killed — his mother, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, children. Entire branches of a family tree gone in seconds.

We were displaced twice after that. Everything we had disappeared — home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib. No stillness. No celebration.

But she came into the world quietly and beautifully. And in her eyes, I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, I spend my days holding her and trying to build a world around her that doesn’t shake with explosions.

We don’t know what comes next. There is no clear path. We are walking toward the unknown, step by step — with our daughter in our arms and hope as our guide.

🧡 How You Can Help

This is why I’m asking for support. Not for comfort — but for survival. To help care for one baby girl who entered the world after everything else collapsed.

If you can spare anything, it will help us:

Cover basic needs, so we can breathe and heal

Support a path toward even the smallest stability in a place that has none

My husband manages the donations securely through a U.S.-registered Stripe account. Everything is converted to USDT and exchanged here in Gaza. The rates are difficult — $100 becomes only 195 shekels (July 2025) — but we use every shekel carefully, with full transparency and documentation.

🎨 Sharing a Piece of Me

I want to share more than my need. Over the next few weeks, I’ll begin posting some of my graphic designs from before the war. They are pieces of who I was — and who I still am.

They may not be perfect, but they hold something real: my story before the silence, and my belief that beauty can still live alongside survival.