It is so interesting the way in which this project looms over me. It feels as though a massive roadblock is constantly rerouting me down different streets- halting any forward movement towards my destination. The simple fact of the matter is that I am lazy. Super duper lazy. And my laziness is a privilege, right? I get to be lazy. I get to take time off school because I am financially secure and supported by family. But what am I striving to achieve? What does achievement mean to me? Why must I achieve? Am I lazy- absolutely- but am I also wound up in a culture of production? Wherein we are constantly demanded to produce and produce, even within the field of thought? Think, think, think. Challenge, challenge, challenge. There’s never any “right” but oh so many wrongs. Of course we cannot settle for any stagnation in the fight- it is absolutely a battle- for social progress, equity, and justice, but how do we create a society that values being when we live within the framework of ever-production.
How would a culture of care depart from progress within a product-consumption economy? What is “care?” Is it like love; an action; a doing? How do we rest? Who gets to rest and who cares?
We have lost our captivity for community. Who is we? Fuck this question truly. We know- the we reading this- that we does not often mean us. We are those who conform to the patriarchal imperialistic capitalism heteronormative society. But part of me is situated among the we that is recognized: my whiteness, maleness, abled-bodied, natural citizen, upper-class.
Writing fucking sucks. It’s hard. I’m not good at it and I don’t feel as though I have anything to contribute to the sphere of social justice writing. I am not a producer; not a writer. I suck. I get quite frustrated every time I write because I simply cannot do it.