#resonances

[dearestwoods]

What is one thing you are proud of yourself for?

The fact that this was in my inbox for six months should probably tell you something.

I'm proud of the fact that I can grow a moustache in a week that some could only dream of growing in a year.

[endlessandrea]

"Fred Moten: Geopolitics is organized around continents. It’s organized through an imperial logic that is manifest in the crossing and claiming of land masses. Obviously, there’s transoceanic movement, but there’s this active practice at the level of administration and at the level of policy, about the settlement and conquering of land in a way that is predicated on, on some level, the physical impossibility of the settlement and the conquering of the sea. So that resistance to geopolitical brutality is a kind of oceanizing of land mass or an archipelagizing of land mass, which islands, in their movement and in their movements realize, or surrealize. It’s like we want to make continents move and they want to make islands stand still. This is how y’all’s work resonates with the work Mary Pat Brady has been doing for years. It turns on this radical refusal of scale and the way scale is all bound up with the concept of static, statist land mass. Layli Long Soldier accesses a history of the refusal of land mass that was already given. And it shows up in the way in which her writing recognizes the tidalectic momentum of land. She describes the mountain not as a place, not even as a relation, but rather as a general movement. She’s like Brathwaite’s secret sharer, and you share too, Hypatia: from nusantara to Namsetoura." -- From this conversation.

[ukdamo]

A Night in Chicago

Maura Stanton

Forced to fly lower by unexpected rains a thousand songbirds passing over the lake

near McCormick Place slap lit windowpanes— and fall in yellow heaps across the lawn.

In Muncie, Indiana, no one at dawn hears swelling choruses in the sycamores,

and later, in Louisville, garage doors open but no birds put on a show

whistling seebit, seebit, or whywhywhy and hunters in Tennessee, hearing only crows,

stick in their earbuds for the morning lies. Alabama commuters glimpse no feathers

brightening the woods in the grey weather. Down at the Texas border no cheerful zreee

encourages the migrants sleeping in tents or wakes a child to point up with glee,

and the palms in Mexico do not shake and sway with warblers in their fronds resting a day

for the flight to Guatemala, the final swing of the songbird migration to their winter place

where Monarch butterflies clap their wings calling for music in that silent space.

[mmmmalo]

do u think HIC also being the abbreviation for high income country has to do with anything,,,

Dunno! Lord English already seems to represent a colonial overlord but it'd be pretty funny if every successive rung down the ladder were ALSO framed as the colonial overlord of those below, matryoshka style.

Though since (skipper) "Plumbthroat" means "redneck" I'm also a little curious if a play on "hick" is ever in effect

[siristvantoth]

Tonight I saw a street lamp. I suppose it must be five years since I saw the last. The odd thing was that I was not in the least surprised. It was several minutes after I passed it that I suddenly realized it was indeed a lighted street lamp that I had seen. I turned to look again to see if I could experience any surprise or amazement in the sight. But it was no more remarkable than any other street lamp had ever been. The gap of five years closed up and the habit of street lamps came back as automatically as the habit of blackout has become.

The danger is that it will be only too easy to slip back into taking everything for granted, and everything we have learned in these years will be forgotten. It will be so easy to go on again just as if nothing had happened.

The lights go on and everyone mistakes them for light. But they are not light. There is no true illumination. There is just garishness everywhere. The world is still dark. Once we knew this. Two years ago when the darkness was complete. There was no possibility of cheating anywhere. Even the smallest flashlamp of personal illusion had to be dimmed with two thicknesses of newspaper. And at that moment of complete unbroken darkness we could see the truth and had the chance to grow towards the light. In the true darkness, like the winter shoot in the ground, we sensed in ourselves where the light lay. But now there will be no more darkness and no more light. Only a feverish glare and a frenzied effort to cover up and forget.

– Keith Vaughn, diary entry (20 September 1945)

[goodyfourpaws]

[fuckyeahjoonmyun]

do not edit ✧ resonances