I am not sure when childhood was first coded as innocent, but it has often struck me that to be able to understand childhood as a window curtained by monolithic innocence takes a very specific kind of commitment to mythology, one that I haven’t been able to touch. I don’t believe in innocence, which is another weapon of convenience. I am not sure what it means to pursue or even be stagnantly held by so-called innocence in a vicious ecosystem of living and of having to survive.
