2016 In Review
I spent my year eavesdropping on people who believe that an inability to do things for oneself is not only impractical or short-sighted, but morally punishable.
When people asked me why I had come to Budapest, I told them it made sense at the time.
What happens when we purposefully set aside time to meditate on the multifaceted nature of Black joy in the face of Black suffering?
I now find myself repeatedly asking which is the more powerful Jewish tradition, our love of ourselves or the world’s hatred of us?
Modern music streaming services are rigorously quality-controlled from the instant the songs are uploaded by labels and artists—there’s no longer any room for happy accidents.
It’s hard to shake the notion that the defuturing of the future suggests something larger: not that the future is now, but that the future may never get past now.
No one wants a mewling essay full of apologies. It’s almost an act of selfishness—to share an apology reflects weakness. Trump knew it all along: there’s no social capital in culpability.
What are the selves we paint out there but a kaleidoscopic refraction of our multiple desires for who we wish to be?