Journal, June 3rd, 2021.

Stray thoughts on a Thursday.

First, a poem about our increasing interconnectivity.

There isn’t a single story I’ve yet to hear, and so, unbidden, unprompted, I want to speak to you, not sing to you.

I won’t rhyme. I won’t break.

You will not break either because my hand will land across the crack, shattered White Fruit technobabble spilling through and planting seeds — the shards breathe like silicon.

Technology does not corrupt us: It is the time spent in our bubbles that confounds me. Convincing argument? Not really.

Self-reflection: Can I acknowledge my own privilege?

It is not my place to remind you what African American Vernacular English (AAVE) is, nor am I the one responsible for retelling an incomplete story: I only know my place as a 90s R&B listener, born in a city with a Spanish name, singing along to a few Usher singles because I remember how to transcribe “peace up, A-town!” unless you tell me it ought to be “a town”. Literacy is a class issue, an access-to-education kinda issue. So I guess my audience is anyone who still thinks it’s about us versus them.

There is no “them”. We are a community, a global one at that.