It is a momentous weekend.

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I am reading a book called Turn the Beat Around: The Secret History of Disco. It's something I think about a lot, the way for one intense decade black people and gay people danced to the same music, in the same places, while doing the same drugs. I feel there is a lot to reclaim.

Also I have been thinking about Sara Baartman, the Hottentot Venus. Her life was rough, yall. Docile bodies, Foucault me in the ass, etc. Also, about how much of the knowledge in schoolbooks was written as a means of justifying European imperialism. I feel that, if I have a calling as a historian, it is connected to this. Will reflect on this next ~soul journey~ and report back.


I have been taking so many soul journeys. I mean, what else is there to do sometimes?

My mom is getting her PhD! I've been looking for poems to read at her graduation party, and I found this awesome one.


Golden Oldie

I made it home early, only to get
stalled in the driveway-swaying
at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune
meant for more than two hands playing.
The words were easy, crooned
by a young girl dying to feel alive, to discover
a pain majestic enough
to live by. I turned the air conditioning off,
leaned back to float on a film of sweat,
and listened to her sentiment:
Baby, where did our love go?-a lament
I greedily took in
without a clue who my lover
might be, or where to start looking.

-Rita Dove