It feels weird to tweet and write and talk about fiction and poetry and pretty much everything right now.
Thinking about what makes “right now” different from “last week” makes me realize again that the mere fact that I’m not constantly pushing uphill against systemic, entrenched hatreds and injustices means I’m already privileged. It means that the way I’m able to move in the world is also one of the constant calls lulling me to forgetfulness and ignorance of this fact.
I don’t come here to post answers or suppose that I have them. I come here thinking out loud. Even that’s a privilege.
Chris Cocca 