ꪶꪖꪜ

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American Spirits:...
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Apr 12, 2026 04:51PM

 
I Know Why the Ca...
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Mar 27, 2026 07:04PM

 
Spooked in Seattl...
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See all 8 books that ꪶꪖꪜ is reading…
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Jandy Nelson
“We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.”
Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You the Sun

Richard Francis Burton
“Little islands are all large prisons; one cannot look at the sea without wishing for the wings of a swallow.”
Sir Richard Francis Burton

Carlo Levi
“The future has an ancient heart.”
Carlo Levi

Subcomandante Marcos
“To look and to struggle, it is not enough to know where to direct your gaze, patience, and effort," old Antonio said to me as he got up. "One must also get started, reach out, and meet other gazes, which, in turn, will get started, reach out, and met yet other gazes. In this way, looking at the other looking, many gazes are born, and the world sees that it can be better, and that there is room for all gazes and for those who, though different and other, look at others looking and see themselves walking a history yet to be made.”
Subcomandante Marcos, Zapatista Stories for Dreaming An-Other World

Judith Butler
“When we lose certain people, or when we are dispossessed from a place, or a community, we may simply feel that we are undergoing something temporary, that mourning will be over and some restoration of prior order will be achieved. But maybe when we undergo what we do, something about who we are is revealed, something that delineates the ties we have to others, that shows us that these ties constitute what we are, ties or bonds that compose us. It is not as if an “I” exists independently over here and then simply loses a “you” over there, especially if the attachment to “you” is part of what composes who “I” am. If I lose you, under these conditions, then I not only mourn the loss, but I become inscrutable to myself. Who “am” I, without you? When we lose some of these ties by which we are constituted, we do not know who we are or what to do. On one level, I think I have lost “you” only to discover that “I” have gone missing as well.”
Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence

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