there is so much to hate in this world. so much to mourn. it is a miracle that my heart still has the capacity to love; you will not strip me of what little joy i have sequestered for myself for the sake of my sanity. you cannot have our art.

we have to some extent been conditioned to think white, male and straight when we are discussing the ‘classics’. history is written by the victors and taste is dictated by the oppressor.

i find the way that the language of ‘wokeness’ (a word bastardized by white tongues who colonized it and made it filthy, who removed it from its home and context)