Everyone nowadays, is up to something–plotting, thinking, rolling around between some sheets way too late for the sane. My ruminations are in a process of cycling, moving, and acclimating. It’s been violent. I am a translator, a visitor, and diplomat. I exist without sense to and glamorous to others. I do not enjoy this baseline senselessness, I enjoy “humanness”—the banal, the messy, the deep heart pain of feeling connected to something, someone, a group. A cliché.

“If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be a part of your revolution.” Emma Goldman, an iconic anarchist and social activist, charted in her autobiography her struggle for joy, love, and beauty in an inhospitable world. She wrote poetry, theorized a tad, she laughed, she danced, and fought against a pure militancy of the movements she led. “Why can’t we bring in the future we imagine laughing and dancing?” she asked of her comrades. I personally need that more than ever.

In the IE I learned to move alone. When I left I learned how to move with others. Now, I want all my friends to move, think, write, inspire, debate, challenge, whatever together. A friend once told me that a scene is needed for anything. I want to create a space for a scene to form and the space to play with words.

Fuck the echo chamber. My mind is cluttered and words are my tool to make sense; I learned this when I was 17. Unclutter your mind at mentalclutter.space.