Speaker 1: Cool Zone Media book Club Club Club Club Club Club
Speaker 1: Club Club. Hello and welcome to the Cool Zone Media
Speaker 1: book Club, the only book club where you don't have
Speaker 1: to do the reading because Prince Shakur does it for you. Prince,
Speaker 1: how are you doing today?
Speaker 2: I'm good. I'm good. I had a pretty good breakfast today, coffee,
Speaker 2: I slept well. I'm enjoying life for the most part,
Speaker 2: So yeah, how are you.
Speaker 1: I'm doing all right. The world has no guarantees and
Speaker 1: you should do what you want with it. I just
Speaker 1: found out that a friend passed right before he recorded,
Speaker 1: but she lived a life to the fullest. Yeah, I
Speaker 1: don't know. I did really kills all my banter for
Speaker 1: the day that I'm like that this happened right before
Speaker 1: the recording, but.
Speaker 2: Yeah, rest in peace.
Speaker 3: What was I going to.
Speaker 1: Try and banter you about. I was going to try
Speaker 1: and banster to you about the evidence of your name,
Speaker 1: because your name. When I say things like Prince Shakur
Speaker 1: is going to do it for you, that is a
Speaker 1: fucking You have a you have a sick name. You
Speaker 1: want you want to tell a story behind it?
Speaker 2: Yeah, Prince is my dad's name. Yeah, I started going
Speaker 2: by I don't know, like a while ago, just because
Speaker 2: I never knew him and I wanted to feel more connected.
Speaker 2: And around that time I read Condemned by Bumani Shakur
Speaker 2: and he was a political prisoner during the Lucasville Prison
Speaker 2: riots and still.
Speaker 1: Is related to Asta or no is it just a
Speaker 1: name that people take?
Speaker 2: At least for him, it was just a name that
Speaker 2: he took. He talked about that process in the book,
Speaker 2: and I was really inspired by the text and his journey,
Speaker 2: and I don't know, around this time was like really
Speaker 2: a radicalizing period for me, and so it just kind
Speaker 2: of made sense for me to kind of take on
Speaker 2: this piece of my father in relation to all these
Speaker 2: politics that I was kind of discovering. And my sister's
Speaker 2: name is princess, so.
Speaker 1: It's kind of like, oh yeah.
Speaker 2: And even my dad, like my grandma had an affair.
Speaker 2: She's dark skinned, her husband was dark skinned. My dad
Speaker 2: came out light skinned, and her husband was like, oh,
Speaker 2: he's he's royalty. Let's call him prince. So that's the
Speaker 2: story behind his name.
Speaker 1: So yeah, okay, for people who are wondering why I'm
Speaker 1: talking about this. Prince Corp is the author of a
Speaker 1: memoir called When they tell you to be good. Yes,
Speaker 1: And and I first saw it, I think actually I
Speaker 1: think before I met you and was like, oh, Shakur,
Speaker 1: that's the name of the legacy. And I just I
Speaker 1: like that. It's that's something that people have taken on.
Speaker 1: I like that. I've talked a little bit about Astottiship Court,
Speaker 1: not on the show, but on my other show, the
Speaker 1: History Show. But like this, like idea of people renaming
Speaker 1: themselves to get away from the history of colonization and
Speaker 1: slave not get away from reject whiteness, you know.
Speaker 2: Yeah, or to confront it in a way or to yeah, yeah.
Speaker 1: Well, speaking of political prisoners, because two thirds of the
Speaker 1: people I know it, well, no, only half the people
Speaker 1: I know of the last name Shakur political were political prisoners,
Speaker 1: because you are not, and I believe Tupac was not.
Speaker 1: But Asada and what was the other name of the person,
Speaker 1: Bumani Shakur, Umani Shakur were We are in Black August,
Speaker 1: and we are doing episodes to honor that. And Black August,
Speaker 1: as you told me last time, comes specifically from a
Speaker 1: legacy of black political prisoners and the fight for freedom
Speaker 1: in the United States.
Speaker 2: Yeah, and it's a very important month of like fasting,
Speaker 2: taking action towards abolition, like doing more than commemoration. Like
Speaker 2: I have so many friends that literally fast and have
Speaker 2: regimens of exercise during this month, so I feel like
Speaker 2: it's really important the action part of it too.
Speaker 1: Yeah, that makes sense. Well, we will be listening to
Speaker 1: part two of the book the story What We Want,
Speaker 1: What We Believe by Alex Smith. And we were following
Speaker 1: last time. We were following three threads. Regina, a woman
Speaker 1: whose husband was murdered by the police for being a
Speaker 1: black panther, who has just fled a mysterious government agent
Speaker 1: threatening her and her child. We were also following Maya,
Speaker 1: a transwoman who hears voices and just recovering in a
Speaker 1: hospital after an altercation. And a child whose name is
Speaker 1: who sees a bunny in a suit named Bouncy who
Speaker 1: has just been smuggled out of a house in a suitcase.
Speaker 1: And yeah, you want to read us a story.
Speaker 2: Yes, yes, let's finish What we Want, What we Believe
Speaker 2: by Alex Smith. Eight. We want freedom for all black
Speaker 2: men held in federal, state, county and city prisons, in jails.
Speaker 2: This won't hurt a bit, lie back, calm nurse I
Speaker 2: know the needle. She's a big one. H Just miss Regina,
Speaker 2: please be calm there there, okay, see, not so bad.
Speaker 2: You can rest now. You know. At the turn of
Speaker 2: the century, before that, even they considered the slaves nurse, yes,
Speaker 2: just put it on the desk, yes there, thank you dear.
Speaker 2: Where was I? Oh? Yes, slaves. It was considered a
Speaker 2: type of pathology for slaves to want to be free.
Speaker 2: This same diagnosis was first given to women that wanted
Speaker 2: to you know, work and not get married vote. They
Speaker 2: called it hysteria. It's funny how these things become embedded
Speaker 2: into our everyday society. The same terminology is being used today,
Speaker 2: except with kids in the inner city. We call it
Speaker 2: behavioral issues or what have you. But really, and this
Speaker 2: is the sad part, it's all the same. A young
Speaker 2: black child isn't a behavior risk because he, say, doesn't
Speaker 2: want to sit up in class and listen to a
Speaker 2: teacher go on and on about great white men conquering
Speaker 2: the world. He's just acting out and often practice pathology.
Speaker 2: He's experiencing and expressing the delusion of freedom. But what
Speaker 2: is freedom but another boring, earth bound state of mind? Ah? There,
Speaker 2: you're almost under soon you'll see Thank you, Regina, thank
Speaker 2: you for coming to see us. But don't worry. Rest assured,
Speaker 2: soon we'll find your child. Trust us, let us nurture you.
Speaker 2: She tucks into her hoodie, hands deep in her pockets.
Speaker 2: The city paper tornadoes over a vent bursting with hot air.
Speaker 2: She kicks a rock with her steel toe sixteen eye
Speaker 2: red Doc Martins. It ricochets off a trash can and
Speaker 2: onto a parked buick, the saber echoing down the alley.
Speaker 2: The night is a trapdoor hidden under the moonlight. Maya
Speaker 2: pulls the flyer out of her pocket. She looks up
Speaker 2: from the piece of paper towards a heaving, paint chipped
Speaker 2: row home. A band is playing. Two white kids in
Speaker 2: all black, ripped pants, cases of beer in hand, covered
Speaker 2: in patches adorned with band locos on them, turn the corner,
Speaker 2: walk up the street and enter the house. They don't
Speaker 2: even nod to her. She starts to shake a bit
Speaker 2: and puts the flyer back into her pocket. She searches
Speaker 2: her memory to make sure, yes, she took her pills today,
Speaker 2: all of them. She can do this. A woman with
Speaker 2: pink hair streaks from the house. Fuck you, Gavin, She screams,
Speaker 2: throwing a bald up cigarette packed toward the house. It's fine,
Speaker 2: It's fine, sighn. Maya enters the house. A thick haze
Speaker 2: of smoke billows up around her, the din of talk
Speaker 2: pushing out of maladjusted, pierced white lips as a roar
Speaker 2: that seems to suck her own thoughts away. Check. Check.
Speaker 2: A skinny white boy with a bowl cut of jet
Speaker 2: black dyed hair rocking a white belt, bellows into the mic.
Speaker 2: Check Hello, shitheads, we're chlorox angels. This is what we
Speaker 2: sound like. Roars of guitars and drums topple into each other.
Speaker 2: The skinny white boy is writhing like a downed telephone wire.
Speaker 2: Is there a bassist? It sounds like a drone. These
Speaker 2: guys are really good, Maya thinks, Maya, Susie's here. She
Speaker 2: runs up to Maya and hugs her deeply, uncomfortably. Susie,
Speaker 2: Maya says her lungs on the verge of collapse. Hi,
Speaker 2: oh my god, Hi, Maya, are you playing tonight? Susie's
Speaker 2: enthusiasm is sweet. They'd spent so many hours on top
Speaker 2: of so many roofs, throwing tiny pebbles at the trolley
Speaker 2: as it lurched down Baltimore Avenue. So many hours on
Speaker 2: the bed of some redneck punk's truck, talking about Bakunin
Speaker 2: and dreaming up terrible band ideas. Days spent stapling zines
Speaker 2: and pamphlets before shows, only to see them all discarded
Speaker 2: and lining the floors of the VFW hall. They spent
Speaker 2: all day canvassing we broke up. Susie tilts her head
Speaker 2: like a puppy trying to figure out the strange sounds
Speaker 2: of its owner. Maya ventured to continue over clorox, angels, cacoffney,
Speaker 2: how's aoen? Oh, you know, screaming, crying, throwing stuff. Susie shrugs,
Speaker 2: so she's two, yeah, Susie laughs. She has this way
Speaker 2: of staring at Maya that seems to beg things out
Speaker 2: of her. Maya has taken to avoiding eye contact, not
Speaker 2: just with Susie but with that everyone, since the pills
Speaker 2: they make things better, soothe her. Life on the pills
Speaker 2: is not just safer or comforting. It is a lucid dream.
Speaker 2: Constant work, sure, but easier work. After the band. Maya
Speaker 2: sits on the porch, Susie sits beside her, cautiously. They
Speaker 2: both stare at the stars. Thanks for not asking me
Speaker 2: why I'm at the show and not at home with
Speaker 2: the kiddo, She says, what everyone always asks me, that
Speaker 2: as if it's all my responsibility, you know, I mean,
Speaker 2: she's got a father for Christ's sake. Oh yeah, no,
Speaker 2: fuck that shit. Maya tilts her head down. Susie edges
Speaker 2: closer and puts an arm around her, almost knocking her
Speaker 2: own glasses off. You deserve a little freedom. The night
Speaker 2: is silent. A police car's siren oscillates. Everyone on the
Speaker 2: porch stops to crane their necks as if they can
Speaker 2: see the ensuing drama unfold Philly, Susie says. Maya stares
Speaker 2: at the sky, the clouds clearing, welcoming the arrival of
Speaker 2: a million stars. Look at them all at home. Maya
Speaker 2: looks at her pills lined up on her dresser. She
Speaker 2: takes one and for a moment pretends it's a rocket.
Speaker 2: The game feels ridiculous and forced, a bit of whimsy
Speaker 2: that she can't allow herself. But Maya does eventually that night,
Speaker 2: take the same bottle of pills and empties it into
Speaker 2: the toilet.
Speaker 1: But did you know Prince and dear listeners, what else
Speaker 1: feels ridiculous and forced. It's the ad transitions that we
Speaker 1: have to do in order to keep the lights on
Speaker 1: on this podcast. And Rebecca.
Speaker 2: Nine, we want all black people, when brought to trial,
Speaker 2: to be tried in court by a jury of their
Speaker 2: peer group, were people from their black communities as defined
Speaker 2: by the Constitution of the United States. Curled up on
Speaker 2: the bed in her cell, Regina, eyes closed, let the
Speaker 2: atmosphere around her heave against her chest, wat a weight.
Speaker 2: She let her sighs soothe her. The noise of prison
Speaker 2: rattled around her head, women arguing over dominoes and illegal
Speaker 2: card games, cursing out, prison guards shoving and pushing themselves
Speaker 2: into metal bars at the slightest infraction, mostly a low
Speaker 2: grown and shuffle. The sounds were ambient, snatched samples from dreams,
Speaker 2: so much so she didn't hear the noisy clang clanging
Speaker 2: of the prison guards Billy club on the cell bars.
Speaker 2: Seventy one, Get up, you can't stay in here all day.
Speaker 2: Gina rolled over, her eyes stretched, weary. Her skin was
Speaker 2: still pulled taut around her frame, still small but lumpy
Speaker 2: in places, she reluctantly meandered into the television room. The
Speaker 2: news piped in on the small screen. Gerty was always
Speaker 2: in front of it, slumped down in her chair backwards,
Speaker 2: sucking her teeth. The other lady shuffled in around her. Alice,
Speaker 2: a simpering white woman who ran her husband over with
Speaker 2: the mini van after catching him in bed with his stepdaughter. Janice,
Speaker 2: a press secretary for a hedge fund manager caught in
Speaker 2: bezzling investors money. Rita, a little, rail thin spike of
Speaker 2: a thing whose life was a constant whirl of jail,
Speaker 2: prostitution and crack cocaine. And there was Regina ambling around,
Speaker 2: lifting up books in the library, reading their spines and
Speaker 2: putting them back on the shelves, staring at dust mites,
Speaker 2: or flicking her mashed potatoes with a spoon. Something's wrong
Speaker 2: with her, Rita would say, Rita. Gertie turned from her TV.
Speaker 2: So this was serious, that every day something's wrong with Regina. Nigga,
Speaker 2: don't you know? We know that? Goddamn Gerty shot her
Speaker 2: a look. Rita twittered away, mouting curses to herself, but
Speaker 2: never to Gerty. Gerty spun back around, dumbass, bitch, what
Speaker 2: do you watch it? What are they saying? Alice asked,
Speaker 2: cutting through the tension with her mewing. It was a
Speaker 2: way to distract, to get Gerty thinking about television again.
Speaker 2: I don't know. Gerty shrugged, But the john on here
Speaker 2: is bang. Who is this girl? Yo? Everyone stopped and
Speaker 2: peered at the television. They became transfixed, most of them
Speaker 2: watching for whatever it was they thought Gerty was seeing.
Speaker 2: There were a throng of orange jumpsuits bent toward the television,
Speaker 2: hands on hips, arms crossed, all but Regina, who just
Speaker 2: sat staring into the void, and Rita, who just stared
Speaker 2: at Regina from across the room. What was behind those eyes, Regina,
Speaker 2: I don't know, Gina whispered to herself, as if picking
Speaker 2: up Rita's ambient thoughts through a portal to another plane.
Speaker 2: All Regina could see was an image of herself and
Speaker 2: a sun dress. She was on a farm. Several men
Speaker 2: and women in drab gray were clapping, a hardened smile
Speaker 2: on all of their faces. She walks among them. A
Speaker 2: man at the end of the line. He looked a
Speaker 2: little like Clark Kent, held a syringe. A stocky compact,
Speaker 2: dark black man was running straight toward her. He burst
Speaker 2: through the line of gray clad clappers reaches out to her.
Speaker 2: Everything slowed down, stopped, rewound. That was it, This was
Speaker 2: all she saw. Every bit of my memory is soup.
Speaker 2: Rita snaked her way through the crowd of women in
Speaker 2: the cell. All of them were watching a woman at
Speaker 2: a podium. They all thought the speaker was a badass.
Speaker 2: Perhaps Rita did too. Her curiosity for Regina's truth lured her. Besides,
Speaker 2: Rita had seen so many badass girls doing badass things
Speaker 2: get cut down by salivating, slovenly ferocious men, all starved
Speaker 2: for the attention they drained from their mothers, never got
Speaker 2: from their fathers, and they now demanded from the rest
Speaker 2: of the world. Rita will not be fooled. She sat
Speaker 2: beside Regina and stared with the child's eagerness at the woman.
Speaker 2: Who are you girl? What are you doing in here?
Speaker 2: The only thing Regina could think to say was when,
Speaker 2: in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for
Speaker 2: one people to dissolve the political bonds that have connected
Speaker 2: them with another and to assume among the powers of
Speaker 2: the earth. Rita sat back, stunned. Look at God, she whispered,
Speaker 2: won't he do it? I knew there was something wild
Speaker 2: about you. You're Regina. Gerty was standing up. Regina reflexively
Speaker 2: snapped her head towards Gerty's thunderclap of a voice. Regina,
Speaker 2: this bitch just said your name, girl. Regina pushed through
Speaker 2: the crowd on the farm. The hands clapping in gray
Speaker 2: are now tucked under orange, white hands, black hands. She
Speaker 2: moved toward Gerdi, who stepped aside humbly. Gerty knew. On
Speaker 2: the screen a beautiful woman stood, encircled by microphones. Cameras flashed.
Speaker 2: The woman was tall and lithe, with glowing brown skin,
Speaker 2: her hair a wild frizz of curls and locks that
Speaker 2: seemed to flow elegantly. Her stance was of an oak's.
Speaker 2: She spoke as if words were small fires. And we
Speaker 2: will not stop until she is free, Until Leonard Peltier
Speaker 2: is free, until Momia abou Jamal is free, until Geronimo
Speaker 2: Pratt is free, until all prison walls are raised. We
Speaker 2: will not stop, no justice, no peace, free all prisoners.
Speaker 2: There was something oddly familiar about her to Regina, something
Speaker 2: in the head tilt, the slight twist of the body,
Speaker 2: the way her eyes blinked in a staccato rhythm. What
Speaker 2: was she saying? Oh, the eyes, the woman on the television,
Speaker 2: her eyes onyx, stones, inky black. They swam in the
Speaker 2: milk of their cornea. Regina clutched her hands to her
Speaker 2: chest and let the tears fall gracelessly down her cheek.
Speaker 2: She waved to the girl on the television, that's my
Speaker 2: Regina began. She paused, squinting gently, nodding, Yeah, that's my daughter.
Speaker 2: Minutes after she inserts the disc, Maya gets a ping
Speaker 2: on her computer. You've got mail. She's not supposed to
Speaker 2: be using the office after hours. Not after they found
Speaker 2: her printing three hundred copies of a zine about racism
Speaker 2: in the West Philly Marxist Knitting Circle community. That after
Speaker 2: she let a few homeless queer boys sleep here for
Speaker 2: three weeks during a particularly harsh February, she checks the screen.
Speaker 2: I have the information you seek. A clap of thunder
Speaker 2: erupts outside of the window. She watches Carrie, the new
Speaker 2: programming director, smiling with her precious latte in hand, laughing
Speaker 2: up the street clutching a designer briefcase. There are two
Speaker 2: white men in birkenstocks standing with Carrie holding newspapers over
Speaker 2: their heads. That doesn't give them much shelter. But those
Speaker 2: men think they're bulletproof, that they're every machination, every whim,
Speaker 2: every grant, every invasive design they've hinged the city on
Speaker 2: matters a little rain. They're not impervious, simply unconcerned. It's
Speaker 2: all Maya can do, not to toss the computer out
Speaker 2: the window and down into the street at them. Don't
Speaker 2: do it, You'll never find out. Maya scoffs at the
Speaker 2: little white text box on her screen. What makes you
Speaker 2: think I want what you have? How do I know
Speaker 2: it's authentic? How? Yes? How I mean? You? Contact me
Speaker 2: literally two days after I left the side, days after
Speaker 2: a Chinese man in a Buddhist robe passing out tai
Speaker 2: Chi pamphlets gave me me, specifically one of those weird
Speaker 2: AOL discs. No need for exposition. I know the story.
Speaker 2: Don't get smart. Maya tears open a bag of chips
Speaker 2: and angrily pops one in her mouth. Have I steered
Speaker 2: you wrong before? I told you exactly where the most
Speaker 2: strategic exits were during the RNC. I helped you and
Speaker 2: your comrades void capture. I told you Dominic was a
Speaker 2: saboteur working for the Philadelphia Police Department. Everything I've shown
Speaker 2: you has been real, Maya bangs furiously onto her keyboard.
Speaker 2: And everything you showed me how to catch I always
Speaker 2: had to do some fucked up, meaningless task before you
Speaker 2: gave me the full story. Nothing is meaningless, nothing has meaning.
Speaker 2: All things simply are whatever. Maya flashes the computer screen
Speaker 2: the middle finger. The point is, NI, you're just offering
Speaker 2: this information freely. Yes, I don't think so, Maya. It's true.
Speaker 2: I know who and where your mother is. It is
Speaker 2: imperative that you go to her now. It is imperative
Speaker 2: that you know bullshit, prove it. Another clap of thunder
Speaker 2: the lights shut her off. The smell of ozone coats
Speaker 2: the air. Maya is illuminated by the glow of the
Speaker 2: computer screen. She feels something gingerly walking up her spine,
Speaker 2: something pulling tight. It's somehow loose, not there, but ever present.
Speaker 2: It feels like woven gossamer. Then it passes a buzz
Speaker 2: and a whirr that sound feel like a cyborg's death rattle.
Speaker 2: Maya looks around the room. Sure she turned all the
Speaker 2: computers off for the day. It's the fax machine oring
Speaker 2: to life. An image takes shape on the page, an
Speaker 2: arrangement of pixelated characters, letters, and numbers, forming odd shapes,
Speaker 2: each line breaking into rounded pictures, something like a paw
Speaker 2: a body, then long pointing ears a rabbit.
Speaker 1: But do you know what, Prince and dear listeners also
Speaker 1: appears despite your best efforts, its ads and we're back.
Speaker 2: Ten. We want land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice and peace.
Speaker 2: The island was a strange place. Baboons would come and
Speaker 2: steal fruit from their tables. There was plenty, though. Regina
Speaker 2: stood under a canopy where she took hold of a
Speaker 2: large knife, swatting at birds, swatting at monkeys to cut
Speaker 2: a pineapple. She put the knife down and ate the
Speaker 2: succulent pieces of the thorny fruit. Children. So many children
Speaker 2: ran about, playing on plastic motorbikes that cut new paths
Speaker 2: into the sandy dirt. Regina wondered what kind of danger
Speaker 2: they would be in. But these children seemed feral free.
Speaker 2: She never knew that kind of freedom. Maybe this was
Speaker 2: just how kids were now the Internet is making them crazy,
Speaker 2: she thought. People buzzed along on small disks, cutting through
Speaker 2: the sky while tapping on invisible screens in the air.
Speaker 2: Diagrams and images appeared in front of them. As they
Speaker 2: navigated over the water, down the beach, through the trees.
Speaker 2: A black man in a long flowing robe held hands
Speaker 2: with another man, brown skinned and shaggy haired. They pulled
Speaker 2: each other close. Their blithe laughter echoed. Regina stepped out
Speaker 2: from under the canopian into the sun. The women tried
Speaker 2: to act like she belonged there, absorbing the giant and
Speaker 2: radiant yellow spears rays, letting it swim up the canals
Speaker 2: of her melanin. Maybe I'll write a poem today, she thought.
Speaker 2: She took another step and almost forgot. She was standing
Speaker 2: on an embankment. Whoops, She looked down on a tall, golden,
Speaker 2: sunstroked woman. What the wild mane of hair was walking
Speaker 2: toward her In the distance. She was flanked by two
Speaker 2: well built men, shirtless and flowing pants. One carried a spear,
Speaker 2: the other typed diligently with one finger on an invisible pad.
Speaker 2: The woman smiled, shyly, stopped and waved at Regina. Regina
Speaker 2: slowly waved back, shaking her head and awe, don't be
Speaker 2: afraid they're yours. These are your dreams. I know you
Speaker 2: want land and bread and freedom and peace. I know
Speaker 2: you've been through the wars, You've seen the shuddering of shelter.
Speaker 2: You've looked through the raw, ripped tapestry of the world
Speaker 2: that was supposed to protect you, and it rocked you.
Speaker 2: I know we've always been here though with you. It's okay,
Speaker 2: it's okay. You don't need them. We're right here with you.
Speaker 2: Always let us in. We know when you put those
Speaker 2: dreams on a hold for this world, when you borrowed
Speaker 2: through the fog of time, when you screamed into the vortex,
Speaker 2: you did. You took those pills to drown us out.
Speaker 2: You didn't know that we were looking over you, that
Speaker 2: you're an ethereal being in a corporeal world, a world
Speaker 2: that doesn't quite understand you. But it's time. We've got
Speaker 2: you sit with us. Wake up, now, let us in.
Speaker 2: Maya wakes up. Mother is there. She crosses the room
Speaker 2: you slept again. Yeah, Maya shifts on the floor. Her
Speaker 2: legs are crossed and numbed. The pain doesn't wash over
Speaker 2: her so much as it just miss She's used to it. Now,
Speaker 2: get up. Mother's hands are crossed. She has draped in
Speaker 2: a heavy robe of colors that swirl and shimmering chroma.
Speaker 2: Her every movement is both grand and effortless. It's weird
Speaker 2: hearing you talk, Maya mumbles, the little orphan girl, all
Speaker 2: grown up. Mother paces came to me as a seed.
Speaker 2: And now, she says, gesturing, look at you, prickly pine
Speaker 2: tree or a great, big old oak. You know, I
Speaker 2: don't do well with this esoteric stuff. Mother. Mother moves
Speaker 2: so swiftly that it's as if she simply materialized in
Speaker 2: front of Maya. Mother frowns at what she sees. Why
Speaker 2: can't you see it, girl, Mother urges, placing her bony
Speaker 2: hand on Maya's forehead. Why can't you wake the fuck up?
Speaker 2: A searing heat. As Mother pushes down on Maya's head,
Speaker 2: steam emits from her hand. Maya wants to scream, but
Speaker 2: when she opens her mouth, there's only a click, A silent,
Speaker 2: burning inward scream, A white hot everything. The light is massive, weighty.
Speaker 2: There she is, floating in the middle of it. Is
Speaker 2: this the sun? The sun where it all flashes harsh rays,
Speaker 2: hues of gray silhouettes acting out before her, her birth
Speaker 2: mother tossing her into a suitcase, Her in her grandmother's clothing,
Speaker 2: bounding out of a window as the old woman bursts
Speaker 2: after her swinging a belt from her bad hip. A
Speaker 2: night under the pier in Solitude, A plastic bag squeezed
Speaker 2: into a drug kit, tucked under a spoon. A nightclub's
Speaker 2: dizzying strobe lights and thumping bass. A peer group session
Speaker 2: at the youth center, tossing a kickball back and forth
Speaker 2: with other kids, and shopliftedt jingos, A shitty job at Rainbow,
Speaker 2: selling biker shorts, the Thoughdy latinas in the Northeast, kissing
Speaker 2: Susie on the beach, starting a band the co op,
Speaker 2: a cops baton, throwing a computer out of the non
Speaker 2: profits window, watching the shards splash in front of Carrie's
Speaker 2: smug face, bits of screen embedded in the donor she's
Speaker 2: coddling's foot, a bullhorn, a fire walls of a prison
Speaker 2: crumbling into dust, barbed wire choking a police officer acquitted
Speaker 2: of killing a black teen on a playground in Tennessee.
Speaker 2: An edict, a convergence of scientists, engineers, ecoists, fashionistas, vigilantes,
Speaker 2: their afros and dreads and box breeds resting like impenetrable
Speaker 2: crowns on their black heads. A cloud. Maya is floating
Speaker 2: there like an angel, a hadron collider. A masked group
Speaker 2: of men surrounds a miniature hadron collider pulled out of
Speaker 2: its cryo cell by barefoot African children riding hyenas through
Speaker 2: the hallways of Nasa. What she asks herself as the
Speaker 2: heat intensifies and the flashes grow larger, is a hadron collider?
Speaker 2: Her mother? No, her mother Regina, wearing a black beret,
Speaker 2: a dashiki, an apron, a gray sweatshirt, an orange jumpsuit
Speaker 2: her mother wrapped and needled threaded linen, adorned with paper
Speaker 2: thin golden embellishments, and cast in a wreath of doves.
Speaker 2: Let us in. Maya falls back. The light snaps off
Speaker 2: like a valve shut tight. Maya pants her eyes, darting violently.
Speaker 2: Mother stands above her. Again. Maya gasps. Her throat is
Speaker 2: a scratchy, nealy gullet. Again, Mother bends down and smirks
Speaker 2: at her. No, she says intently. She claps her hands twice,
Speaker 2: then exits the room through a door. And Maya did
Speaker 2: not know existed tomorrow really start. Maya slumps to the floor, crying.
Speaker 2: Her sobs can't be controlled. They ebb, rise and eb
Speaker 2: again until they become a simple breath. She closes her
Speaker 2: eyes to sleep, let us in, and that's the end
Speaker 2: of our story.
Speaker 1: Wow, that story is weird.
Speaker 2: Yeah, I really love that ending. Yeah, I like that,
Speaker 2: even though it's very surreal and kind of stressful. Like
Speaker 2: whatever the process is that's happening between this mother and child,
Speaker 2: it's an opening, it's hopeful, it's a reclamation of self.
Speaker 2: Like that's how I kind of read what we've been
Speaker 2: going through in this second episode, the mother being in
Speaker 2: this facility and being able to see her daughter on
Speaker 2: screen and kind of these systemic and psychological goal processes
Speaker 2: getting in the way of us or these characters being
Speaker 2: able to connect to their reality, and then these breaks
Speaker 2: in the illusions being able to I don't know, I
Speaker 2: guess cultivate a deeper connection withself, okay, And I love
Speaker 2: that in this last section, this deeper connection of self
Speaker 2: with Maya theoretically is because of what her mother is
Speaker 2: able to bring into this process. And I mean I
Speaker 2: call it a process because I'm kind of like, what's
Speaker 2: happening in the scene, Like it seems.
Speaker 1: Like right I don't entirely know what happened here, but
Speaker 1: I like it, and I think I like the fact
Speaker 1: that I don't entirely know what happened here, because, Yeah,
Speaker 1: the like the opening that you're talking about, the optimism,
Speaker 1: the chance it seems to be providing is basically like
Speaker 1: psychedelic itself. M Like, it feels like if I were
Speaker 1: to get yes. The literal thing that happens in this
Speaker 1: story is that Regina sees her husband killed while she's pregnant,
Speaker 1: gets away, gets kind of taken into a program, like
Speaker 1: hides the kid in a suitcase in a way that
Speaker 1: causes the kids some permanent psychological damage. But I'm not
Speaker 1: mad at the mom here. I'm mad at the police
Speaker 1: for chasing her killing her husband. And then that kid
Speaker 1: grows up to be Maya. Is just used as like
Speaker 1: a stand in, and I like it because it's a
Speaker 1: stand in, not as a dead name, but it's a
Speaker 1: stand in. Is like this is a person that doesn't exist,
Speaker 1: you know, like I have never been that, or like
Speaker 1: that was an untrue thing that happened, and now I
Speaker 1: am Maya, you know that's my read. And then mom
Speaker 1: ends up in prison because the program that she goes into.
Speaker 1: But maybe it is the program is maybe I think
Speaker 1: it's just a regular prison.
Speaker 2: Yeah, that's what I kind of thought too.
Speaker 1: But then there's like kind of two parallel things happening.
Speaker 1: As best as I can tell that, both there's this
Speaker 1: prison that the mom is in and then also this
Speaker 1: sort of more asylum kind of situation. But there's this
Speaker 1: like psychedelic possible afrofuturist society where they're all like walking
Speaker 1: around with spears and tapping on invisible screens and they
Speaker 1: can fly on discs and shit and everything fucking rules.
Speaker 1: And I feel like, as a white person, I tried
Speaker 1: to understand afrofuturism right and as specifically the more psychedelic
Speaker 1: elements of it, because I would say that afrofuturism has
Speaker 1: a much more psychedelic past than like white science fiction.
Speaker 1: And I feel like this story kind of helps me
Speaker 1: understand that of like these prisons that people are put in,
Speaker 1: like maybe kind of understanding that our reality isn't the
Speaker 1: only reality, is like part of people's way out.
Speaker 2: That's my read.
Speaker 1: I fully could be entirely wrong about this.
Speaker 2: Yeah, I mean it's interesting because in this life section,
Speaker 2: like the two people walking behind Maya, and the one
Speaker 2: person as a spear and the other person is tapping
Speaker 2: on an invisible pad. I kind of I mean, it's
Speaker 2: interesting because I think there's numerous ways to read that.
Speaker 2: I mean, I read it as like the kind of guards.
Speaker 2: I kind of read it as Regina like getting out
Speaker 2: of prison. In that little part about the invisible pad,
Speaker 2: I was like, oh, is she talking about the Internet
Speaker 2: like people traveling across the ocean and seas and being
Speaker 2: able to communicate? And I mean I do get the
Speaker 2: afro pessimist reading as well, but I found that kind
Speaker 2: of interesting. And then like with the afro pessimism, I'm like,
Speaker 2: where would she be where there's like baboons like steal
Speaker 2: them food?
Speaker 1: And oh, I'm saying afrofuturism not afro pessimism, but.
Speaker 2: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. And so I find the last
Speaker 2: part interesting on those numerous levels because I did kind
Speaker 2: of read the invisible pad is like could this be
Speaker 2: the Internet or could this be like a more like
Speaker 2: surreal kind of afro futurist kind of assertion of wherever
Speaker 2: they are are? Yeah, And so I found that interesting.
Speaker 2: And then the other part that I was kind of
Speaker 2: curious about was like with Maya being at this like
Speaker 2: punk show with chlorox. What were they called clorox angels, Yeah,
Speaker 2: something like that. Yeah, I wondered why at the end
Speaker 2: she dumps the pills away, Like I wonder what that
Speaker 2: shift was for her leading up to that.
Speaker 1: Oh interesting because she talks about how it's taking the
Speaker 1: pills that let her go into the white subcultural space
Speaker 1: and like be okay at the show.
Speaker 2: So I don't know she had enough she had enough?
Speaker 1: Yeah, I mean, like yeah, because I get the impression
Speaker 1: because she's like, oh, well, the pills help me like
Speaker 1: not lose my mind all the time. But at the
Speaker 1: end she's like, I don't know, man, I kind of
Speaker 1: want to lose my mind all the time. Because her
Speaker 1: like wild knowledge is also part of what's making her
Speaker 1: a better activist, right, she has like these voices in
Speaker 1: her head that are telling her like so and says
Speaker 1: a snitch, this is how you escape the mass arrest.
Speaker 1: My read is that kind of disappear into like let
Speaker 1: the madness be your guide kind of thing. But I
Speaker 1: don't know. I'm also not trying to make a moral
Speaker 1: statement out of this, as just like my read of
Speaker 1: this one.
Speaker 2: Yeah, yeah, I mean I feel like also with this ending.
Speaker 2: The other thing that I liked was kind of thinking
Speaker 2: about epigenetics as well, like what Regina experiences and how
Speaker 2: she tries her best to flee to hide her identity,
Speaker 2: ends up in the state's custody, and then is further
Speaker 2: traumatized by these state driven processes of trying to disconnect
Speaker 2: her from reality, and then how her experiences then feed
Speaker 2: into many of the systems for Maya that makes her
Speaker 2: life challenging, leads to her being on the streets, like
Speaker 2: engaging in these counter cultures as like a way to
Speaker 2: I don't know, experience the world in a deeper way,
Speaker 2: and how these voices, the medicine, the facility, I don't know,
Speaker 2: there's a lot of parallels in both of their journeys,
Speaker 2: and it really makes me think, I don't know specifically
Speaker 2: about epigenetics. Yeah, reading this, like I think about like
Speaker 2: coming from an immigrant family, having a single mom for
Speaker 2: a good amount of my childhood, her dealing with a
Speaker 2: lot of domestic issues before I was born, and how
Speaker 2: those traumas have led me to question things about gender, masculinity,
Speaker 2: violence in my life, like for better or for worse,
Speaker 2: and so I don't know, I just find there to
Speaker 2: be like a really beautiful correlation around like the control
Speaker 2: that epigenetic trauma can have on us. And I love
Speaker 2: that there's like a duality to how they both free
Speaker 2: themselves and it's sort of like, yeah, around similar times,
Speaker 2: and then their journeys can converge, and these journeys converge
Speaker 2: in this kind of afro futurist kind of space or
Speaker 2: afro surrealist space, which I think is like a really
Speaker 2: beautiful imagining and maybe it's also like reading Asada Chakur
Speaker 2: into it as well. But like I remember a friend
Speaker 2: who I think went to an event in Philly where
Speaker 2: Asada Shakur's daughter was and if I'm remembering correctly, my
Speaker 2: friend said, Sada Shakor's daughter talked about like how much
Speaker 2: state violence is taken away from her not being able
Speaker 2: to see her mother and not really having as deep
Speaker 2: of a connection as they could have. And I mean,
Speaker 2: and that makes me think of like growing up with
Speaker 2: a stepfather who was incarcerated and dealing with that, or
Speaker 2: having friends go through state violence or repression or going
Speaker 2: to jail or prison, and how I don't know, you
Speaker 2: literally watch people change in front of you, or what
Speaker 2: does it mean when your separate from someone and in
Speaker 2: the world is trying to destroy them, erase them, etc.
Speaker 2: So I don't know. I just feel like there was
Speaker 2: so much in this too, I don't know, kind of
Speaker 2: give various pathways to like certain kinds of liberation. Even
Speaker 2: though I mean, I don't want to judge the endings.
Speaker 2: I'm kind of like, Okay, what is this process that
Speaker 2: they're going through? Is this like brainwashing? Is this her
Speaker 2: liberating herself?
Speaker 1: Is this like right? Who fucking knows? Yeah? Yeah, no,
Speaker 1: I think that's fucking brilliant. I think I'm going to
Speaker 1: read this story again too when we're done, because it
Speaker 1: took me a long time to come around on like
Speaker 1: more like psychedelic fiction, But now I kind of get
Speaker 1: it more. The problem is that my brain wants things
Speaker 1: to be sort of linear. I actually literally can't remember
Speaker 1: if I said this last time. Maybe i'll hear let
Speaker 1: me say it again. Usually when there's a break between episodes,
Speaker 1: i'm lying and it hasn't been a week, But this
Speaker 1: time it actually has been a week. But I like,
Speaker 1: I often need things to be kind of linear because
Speaker 1: I'm a simple person. But I've been really coming around
Speaker 1: on it, especially as ways of just getting at that,
Speaker 1: like there isn't one truth is kind of the more
Speaker 1: important truth. Yeah, you want to hear what Alex had
Speaker 1: to say about it, the author, Yeah, yeah, Alex says, quote,
Speaker 1: this is my favorite story in Arcdust, which is the
Speaker 1: collection it's from that you all should go read. I
Speaker 1: believe that the previous story we ran was also from Arkdust,
Speaker 1: but it's generally my least disgust. I remember having to
Speaker 1: take a walk or drink tea or do some light
Speaker 1: meditation after each chapter. Maya's Journey was me paying homage
Speaker 1: to so many women and queer folks who have informed
Speaker 1: my life and work, so many movements and niche elements
Speaker 1: of subcultures who don't largely get their flowers, while also
Speaker 1: projecting and contemplating a future for queer and trans black people. Yeah,
Speaker 1: let's see, here's a bio for Alex Smith. I bet
Speaker 1: you didn't know that. I bet you did, because it's
Speaker 1: the same one I read last week, but it's worth
Speaker 1: hearing again. Alex Smith aka Alexoteric a writer, artist, curator,
Speaker 1: musician that gets quotes, slash noise maker living in the
Speaker 1: cosmically kinetic city of Philadelphia. His work reflects that dichotomy,
Speaker 1: stark beautiful, wrought with afrotopian tension, avant garde fashions, last assemblage,
Speaker 1: and dynamic visual presentation. His sci fi inspired worlds collide
Speaker 1: with afro queer and radical reimaginings of the fantastic. He
Speaker 1: is a founding member of the Philadelphia based sci fi
Speaker 1: arts collective Metropolarity, essential personnel in Philadelphia's early afrofuturist community,
Speaker 1: from collage work to zines, to bands and solo music performances,
Speaker 1: to promoting other bands and performers via curation and cultural critique.
Speaker 1: In arts reporting, Smith transcends the concept of renaissance man
Speaker 1: and works from the afrofuturist vision all things, all the time,
Speaker 1: each aspect of his work informing the other. Smith won
Speaker 1: the twenty twenty p Fellowship of the Arts, presenting work
Speaker 1: such as his short story collection arc Dust from Mersarrian Publishing,
Speaker 1: his experimental art punk bands Rainbow Crimes, Solarized Spectral Forces,
Speaker 1: Glitch Proverbs, the cyberpunk superhero indie comic book series Black Vans,
Speaker 1: among others. His work appears in anthologies such as Stories
Speaker 1: for Chip a tribute to Samuel R. Delaney from Rosarium,
Speaker 1: Black Quantum Futurism Volume two, Black Punk Now from Soft Skull,
Speaker 1: and The Black Fantastic from Library of America. He invites
Speaker 1: you to join him in the chromatic exploration of the unknown.
Speaker 1: Is art a visual portal to that liminal space. Find
Speaker 1: Alex at patreon dot com, slash they are Birds or
Speaker 1: they are Birds on Instagram. Prins you got anything you
Speaker 1: want to plug?
Speaker 2: Yes, yes, well one. I mean, I don't know if
Speaker 2: this is the right part for this, but if folks
Speaker 2: want another of media that I was trying to figure
Speaker 2: out what this story reminds me of. It makes me
Speaker 2: think of the poem Rhinoceros Woman by Asada Shakur, which
Speaker 2: I think is such a companion piece to this story.
Speaker 2: So I highly recommend folks check that out. But yeah,
Speaker 2: stuff I want to plug. I mean, I run a
Speaker 2: podcast with my co host Jordan called The Dugout of
Speaker 2: Black Narchists podcast. We do lots of interviews coverage of
Speaker 2: things that are happening politically in the US and abroad,
Speaker 2: and check that out. You can find it anywhere that
Speaker 2: podcasts are available. If folks want to check out any
Speaker 2: of my writing, you can check out my memoir when
Speaker 2: they tell you to be good. I'm currently working on
Speaker 2: a collection of essays about James Baldwin, so stay tuned
Speaker 2: for that. And yeah, just find me anywhere online. But
Speaker 2: if you want to find me on Instagram, I'm at
Speaker 2: Sweet Black Prints.
Speaker 3: Hell.
Speaker 1: Yeah, I'm on the Internet. I have a newsletter comes
Speaker 1: out every week. You can search it. Margaret kiljoyd atsubstock
Speaker 1: dot com. I'm on Blue Sky, Margaret Bsky whatever. I
Speaker 1: am still on Instagram. I feel very conflicted about that.
Speaker 1: And buck Ice, Free Palestine, take care of each other,
Speaker 1: Free all prisoners. Yeah, remember where we come from.
Speaker 3: Hi everyone, It Could Happen Here is a production or
Speaker 3: Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from cool Zone Media,
Speaker 3: visit our website cool Zonemedia dot com or check us
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Speaker 3: Could Happen here listed directly in episode descriptions. Thanks for listening.