I’ve got a reading streak going on with kindle – not including the physical books I’ve read this year.
I’m at about 210 days and 70 books done. I surpassed my projection of 50 books on kindle.
Anyway when I get sick, I get to taking it even slower and instead of watching pap TV I turn to books to escape from my uncomfortableness and irritability.
It soothes me to read a good book. And I’ve been getting into speculative fiction. I would have said I’m crime fiction and romance fiction till I die. But once I’ve come to realise, really see how both of these genres prop up the capitalist, white supremacy, patriarchal, colonialist system, I can no longer read them with joy.
I can no longer read them full stop. So to fill the void, I’ve been reading non-fiction by black authors and speculative fiction by black authors too.
If I’m gonna be buying this shit then let me buy the shit that supports my people and continues to help me get free.
I don’t know if I expressed it openly but I’ve been trying to post every day here in honour of a practice from years ago of being creative every day.
This last week, home alone and probably depressed, I’ve been beating myself up for not doing more. More out in society as well as within my own practice. I’ve been on a rollercoaster of emotions and I’ve not been kind towards myself.
Coming out the other end though I can see that I’ve been doing what I’ve needed. Rest yes but also quiet, small magic.
I’ve been collecting brown paper from packages. I thought I’d use them within the creative retreats I facilitated this year but it didn’t happen. So I have a very large pile and what I love about the brown paper apart from the sound and texture is the un/uniformativity of it.
These papers are teared to fuck. Fragile and worn and rough. And I love feeling them. So this week, I might not have been posting here but my sitting room became a factory conveyer belt as brown paper got the credit card treatment of smeared paints. Acrylic paints that I’m using up that I love the mixtures of, that gets under my nails and onto the carpet. And I love it. One side wait to dry and then the next and then let’s fold and put these single sheets together to make a whole
This practice has made me whole again this week. I’ve been writing within this new journal this past couple of days and I feel so good to be doing so. Better.
I’m grateful to wake up each morning and {BE}. I’m grateful that I’m no longer chasing recognition and the big bucks. I’m grateful that I don’t give a fuck about being perfect and always having to smile.
I’m grateful for the community I have around me. Cultivated over years. They care for me and I care for them.
I’m grateful to myself for never giving up on me and for always having my back even when it feels I’m falling apart. Falling apart but big hands to put me back together again, but better.
“On the afternoon of May 16, 2020, about a week before George Floyd was killed by the police, twenty-one-year-old Tye Anders was accused by the Midland, Texas, police of running a stop sign. He pulled over in front of his ninety-year-old grandmother’s house.”
Excerpt From We Refuse Kellie Carter Jackson
There’s Anders pleading for his life. There’s many policemen with guns drawn pointed at him and there’s bystanders filming it all. One woman who’s filming this is also pleading for the police to not shot Anders saying he’s scared. Hasn’t there been enough killing of unarmed black people, killed just because of the colour of their skin?
Still no guns are lowered and Anders is on the ground clearly empty handed but the situation is just escalating as the police continue to train their guns on his body.
Anders’ ninety-years-old grandmother steps out of her house praying. With cane in hand she walks towards her grandson even though guns are trained in her direction.
There was still panic still bystanders screaming for the police to put their guns up. Some do but still one cop is walking towards Anders with his gun raised. Trying to move and push her out of the way, his grandmother doesn’t believe that her grandson won’t still be shot so she falls onto her grandson, protecting his body with her own body. Not longer after this with the police and crowd pushing and pulsating around her , she loses consciousness.
Anders is arrested for fleeing the police. His grandmother is taken to hospital.
Reading this story this morning made me cry. Not because of the police brutality or the disregard for human life, black life. But because of what the grandmother in the story did. She’s ninety-years-old, frail and only has her prays and body, but used both in protection, in an act of love.
“Her collapse was not a coincidence. Protection is powerful, beautiful, and sacrificial because protection is love. But she should not have needed to put her body between the police and her grandson to protect him.”
Excerpt From We Refuse Kellie Carter Jackson.
Protection. She should not have needed to, but she did put her body between the police and grandson to protect him. This act of courage broke my heart this morning. Had me weeping. Maybe it was the last straw that pushed me over the edge into the breakdown. Maybe it was my imagination seeing this playing out.
Maybe I’m just sick and tired of living in a world where white violence is justified and black violence is really self-defence but is never judged that way.
I’ve always been a supporter of care work but even more so now. As care work, along with rest are forms of protection. Through the way I {BE} with myself and others, and the work that I do for self and others, I’m tending daily to the mental, emotional, and physical needs and health of black people, so we are better equipped to survive and thrive within a hostile, brutal, grinning world.
Woman got herself dry socket. Exposed bone and nerves after a tooth extraction happens when the blood clot for Porte took doesn’t form properly or get dislodged.
It’s painful and can lead to infection. Guess I’m one of the lucky ones. As mine is infected.
I thought the pain and bad taste and breath were part of the healing process. No pain no gain right?! Seems this level of pain and the foulness is a sign of dry socket and infection. Go figure.
Thank goodness for saltwater washes, walking and self-care. Looking out for myself has become a priority in a world that just doesn’t care.
Living Wild Studios 