The Free List

The Free List : Vol. 1, No. 11

RAGE AND HARVARD

All I have this month, as I wade through the latest roll call of devastations and prepare for my cousin Bobbie Jean’s zoom memorial service on Saturday; is the Cosmos.

That’s it. The Cosmos.

I am compelled to respond somehow to this maddening landscape. I am in wonderment and in confusion that we are not all walking around screaming at this point. Screaming all the time. I think we are probably too tired.

And, perhaps, the Cosmos are the only thing that can hold The Ugly this particular collapse is dolling out.

I take comfort in the volcanoes Knowing what the Hell is going on and responding in kind. I take comfort in the Earth’s insistence on healing.

image of a volcanic eruption in Geldingadalur in Iceland's Reykjanes peninsula. The electric red lava spills onto the ground while smoke fills the sky.

I am learning to respond to this insane Imaginary of Dominance that moves beyond whiteness but that most often expresses itself through this Theater of the White Imaginary that calls itself “the real world,” without being completely derailed and distracted from my project; which is the reclaiming of Ancestral practices and Ways of being and translating that Knowledge to others through my expressions.

I am learning.

So,

I acknowledge the impact of these devastations on my body and my wellness. It's hard. I acknowledge the impact of these devastations, the senseless losses of human and creature life, on your body and your wellness, and I am sorry and I love you.

The Real You.

Recent responses and proactive approaches:

Go and sit on the Earth. Directly on the ground.

Go make offerings—foods, songs, and incense— to the body of water currently called the Hudson River

Go and sing gospel music at the top of my lungs in private studio space while looking at old photographs.

Ask a purple flower if it knows what a “Wednesday” is. Try to stand back up after the inquiry and fail, awkwardly falling back down into the dirt next to the flower—laugh.

I am convinced that I cannot continue to allow my rage to grow inside of me unchained and unchecked, today. It is slowly killing me, like it has so many Black women before: I might want to get pregnant sometime, too, so what does that mean?

My rage must go somewhere, so I am choosing now to privately attune to its wisdom, alchemize and/or release it in my home, not in my art.

Because, I want to answer “yes” to the question I posed almost a year ago in issue No.1; before Tony and George and before we knew what happened to Dominique and Breonna and and and and and names I cannot yet speak until their transitions are cleansed and properly reverenced:

WILL BLACK ANGER EVER CEASE TO BE A SITE OF CULTURAL PRODUCTION?

I want to answer yes to that question. So I’m working on it and I need you to keep helping me work on the world so that I can say yes, you know?, It’s not a question that can be answered in isolation. None of the questions worth answering ever are.

So while I’m/we’re attempting to answer yes to that question, I want to share notes for the talk I’m giving to Harvard students on my Black feminist performance poetics. 🙌🏽

And here is Chaka Khan singing Be Bop Medley, which she wrote all the lyrics to. Because: the Cosmos. 🙌🏽

And finally, the Cosmos is this conversation: Around the Clock: Black & Brown Femme Labor with Amita Swadhin, Adaku Utah and me; held and woven by the incredible Kirya Yvonne Traber. 🙌🏽

~

All of the work here is brought to you by the gifts of our Ancestors; seen and unseen, known and unknown. May we remember our rising, may we light the shadows. May we all together thrive.