the tardiest explorer

*deep breath* If the antifascist (esp. American-centered) art you make or consume refuses to acknowledge the truth that framing this time period as the "sudden rise of fascism" along with its supposed volatility (i.e. "it can't last; that's not how its built") is just a comforting construct to keep white Americans from reckoning with their literal centuries of active and passive participation in this country's fascist, genocidal violence against Indigenous and Black people, your art isn't just wrong...it's worthless. How can you imagine dismantling unjust systems without seeing the blood on your own hands? How do you comprehend the size of the fight for mutual liberation without seeing that the scale of the threat is exponentially larger than your personal experience of the danger of state violence; or is your envisioned win condition only as shallow as the return to your previous sense of safety?

Hey guys remember if i sit up barking and howling at night as i sometimes do he takes me for a walk and throws a stick for me. Like remember that. That's without even getting into how when i find myself become a devil he reminds me that underneath i am a poet. Or that, get this, he's the same man i knew in ireland but lately i am changed by him. Like remember that. REMEMBER THAT.

At the post office today: