Hello Friends,
They who hold me, they who know me, who read and console me. The friends who will understand why I wrote this, this way, who will understand why I smile in the day and cry throughout the night. They who listen to me as I listen to them. They who care. They who assist. They who help. They who feed. They who build. They who love. They who sing.
Hello.
I am devoted to trying to save disagreement for moments of social and physical intimacy. These virtual intimacies are fraught with the imperative of the performative. These virtual intimacies aren’t so intimate after all. But, I want to honor the significance of the questions which follow.
I want to honor the question.
In our time, we exist in an Answer, an Idea – a white man’s Idea, a white man’s conceptual economy, that is why I want to honor the question.
Where do you go to hope-less for a better world?
What I mean is: How do we put an end to the hope for a better world?
Where do you go to hope-less for more of the simple things?
This question is quantitative and qualitative. Part of what we are doing is attempting to numerically reduce the amount of people who are suffering, for an existence with less violence, would presumably be an existence with less oppression, and less oppression, less suffering. But it is also qualitative for the quality of all suffering is not the same.
How should we think our gratuitous suffering, our indecipherable suffering in relation to those who don’t share it, to those who don’t feel it, who can’t feel it, who inevitably won’t be able to get what it feels like to embody an ontology ontologized by violence, as its prelogical and prerational possibility?
I don’t know if we have to desire an equivalent suffering for those who have not worn these hieroglyphic scars. I don’t even know if that is a belief of many. Indeed, I am only on about the “junior partners,” and the “allies.” I am trying to figure them out. This metaphysical toll, this empty spectacle, we call Black has been made ours and unmade by us. Indeed, this flesh-made-Black has become our skin, our logo. So please friend, understand, I love my Blackness. But not in opposition to what this Blackness is: a white man’s Idea. Holding these two paradoxes within me has occasioned the occasional anxiety. This is our double-consciousness inversed. We know our Blackness is an Idea, a conception made through violence and annihilation, yet we love it all the same. We must love it, for in this World the only sane thing to do is to be insane. But perhaps even Love is a white man’s Idea. But then so is perhaps and is and so and then and But.
Language is the House of Being. – Martin Heidegger
We are trapped in saying, “we’re trapped,” for even trapped is trapped in this onto-epistemic order. I don’t even know where I am, where we are. In the World? On Earth?
What happens on Earth, stays on Earth. – Kendrick Lamar
Where do you go to hope-less for a better world?Where do you go to hope-less for more of the simple things?How should we think gratuitous suffering, indecipherable suffering in relation to those who don’t share it, to those who don’t feel it, who can’t feel it, who inevitably won’t be able to get what it feels like to embody an ontology ontologized by violence, as its prelogical and prerational possibility?
Where do you go to hope-less for a better world?
the Earth ask, “How may I serve you?”
Where do you go to hope-less for more of the simple things?
Kindness?
Care?
Self-control?
the Earth ask, “How may I be of service to you?”
We came from the dirt.
Mumble Theory 