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ten or eleven years ago, my friend ryan made large ceramic forks when he was a second year at cranbrook. i was living in california (i had already graduated) and first learned of the forks on the internet, where images of them circulated. i asked ryan about their context —— how and why he went about making them and what they represented to him. he told me that he was eating dinner one night and…
if i could i would make the pain go away i'd make it easy for you to hear me when i say i miss you i'd make things possible and painless and fun alas i am not god nor am i a white person so all i can do is be me while you be options
sleeping in was not an option, but i dreamt some dreams you may be entertaining[,] bitterness only lasted for as long as a glottal stop; i thought i knew what i was doing when i was a kid. i didn’t know that it was possible to blush through my skin tone, might be because my teachers taught me nothing about my self. still i had no clue how much i was missing you and yet i knew what i wanted and…
it was about four years ago that i remember fearing love, then fearing it again two years after that. my words rarely matched what lingered inside of me, and i often wished i could rewind our conversations, reboot, start over. i knew that love was present but didn’t know if i was worthy of it. i knew that it was all i wanted and also knew it wasn’t like a job listing or menu item or skincare…
i’ve had a hard time asking for what i want these past few years. it might have something to do with my surroundings, which have felt suffocating, stifling, and demanding as of late. i like to assume that many people have a severe form of astigmatism that warps their impression of me. when my requests are interpreted as demanding, and when my security is perceived to be a threat, i don’t always…
i’m fasting with limited brainpower, yet i have learned something that might only be apparent when i am reduced to my most elemental functions. i don’t know if i can articulate it, but i know it, and i feel beholden to it now. it’s snowing, and i’m watching two (now three) birds outside my window. they are on the roof of another brownstone. they just flew away, and one chirped, and they might be…
i’m taking time to cycle through the things that you don’t need to see or hear. i might be wrong, i know. i wonder . . . when i hear you, i feel weighted and buoyant, and i enjoy the contradiction btw. i like a soft stone and a heated cucumber. i like the feeling, sometimes. i almost fell asleep to your voice once, in the best way possible. i fought the impulse and did not fall asleep -- i didn’t…
sometimes my dreams sing me to sleep, almost as if they are whispering a fantasy that i believed in at age twelve. i slurp my hot beverage and swap the truth for mine. watching without really knowing it, i hold onto a puff of scent that resembles tack and powder. in the fifth grade i got so close to winning class president that i almost saw it in my sleep. my would-be predecessor said it was a…
I remember creating a blog on here about four years ago. I had been following a Pan-Africanist scholar while writing my first few blog posts, which were peppered with combative language and self-governing frameworks. I was desperate to identify with a struggle that felt palpable and far gone simultaneously. I had moved out of Chicago, started a job in what felt like a different planet, and didn't…