against narratives of necessity


“safe spaces”

from destroy the scene: BROS FALL BACK

Advocates for Youth have defined a “safe space” as:

“A place where anyone can relax and be fully self-expressed, without fear of being made to feel uncomfortable, unwelcome, or unsafe on account of biological sex, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, cultural background, age, or physical or mental ability; a place where the rules guard each person’s self-respect and dignity and strongly encourage everyone to respect others.”

“I think many people who use this language either believe that one can create a safe space in this world, or are limited by the language they have picked up in these subcultures. The need for spaces where one can feel comfort, physical security, love, and support is real, but, outside of specific moments, this is impossible without the total destruction of this world.” –VirulentFlowers

We often delude ourselves as punks or radicals; we act as though we’ve made a complete break with our cultures, as if we’ve created a space free of domination. We seem to think that we can simply walk away and leave it all behind. If we really want to actualize the spaces we want we’ll have to do better than that; we’ll need to burn the bridges behind us.

Safe spaces don’t exist. We can attempt to protect each other, and even make moves to screen who we deal with but until we end the world there’s no way we’ll ever be safe, even amongst ourselves. We’ve all gone to similar messed up schools, grown up among creeps, liars and bullies and we can’t simply undo everything that has led us to become the people we’ve become, not without actively unlearning who we are, and without undoing what made us. This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t take care of each other, heal each other and empower each other, only that we need to understand our context. That we are surrounded by misogyny, white supremacy and every other form of domination that holds this world together. We should probably acknowledge pre-existing hostilities.

Starting from a place of hostility, what would it mean to keep each other safe, to protect each other in our spaces, to hold our ground and potentially take more?

fragments: Wampanoag, Narragansett, Lenape

The Feminist Sleepover

[the dream of reality, the reality of dreams.]

A photo posted by Hanna Hurr (@hannahurr) on

Feminist sleepover selfie 💅🔪🍕

A photo posted by Suzy (@bruja_core) on

Sleepover at @belleandahalf

A photo posted by Hanna Hurr (@hannahurr) on


[original post.]

Mask: Jackie Wang | Baltimore Feminist Reading Group

ham-sarts is a 2014 sculpture installation by amerikkkan artist DeAndre Smith. The sculpture is individually recreated in one of several different forms each time the viewer requests to see it by entering appropriate search terms into the multinational corporation Google’s popular web search engine. In each Google search he applied a different system of change to each of twenty-four possible combinations of results divided into four types , each containing one of the four basic types of lines Smith used (anti-policing, black liberationist, insurrectionary, and counter-hegemonic). The result is four possible permutations for each of the twenty-four original searches.

Smith has been the subject of hundreds of solo exhibitions in museums and galleries around the world since 1965. For more on DeAndre Smith and his work, we’ve compiled recordings of the artist in conversation with members of the media below.


I haven’t talked much to either of my parents about their class backgrounds. Both of my parents are from Uganda, and attended university outside of the United States before moving here, where they met in California. From her LinkedIn, I think my mom is from an economically comfortable and large family in Kampala. Most of the family I know is on her side; her mother has (I think) 8 children, of which at least 3 or 4 also immigrated to the US. She earned a law degree from Makerere University. From an email I sent asking, my dad is from a two-family village in the southern part of the country. He wrote: “No power, water, roads, cars etc for the most, but we were some of the better-off families, dad had a bicycle. We also grew coffee, corn, cotton and had a sizable banana plantation; bananas with some vegetables are a stable food in this part of the country.” He went to primary and secondary school, wearing shoes for the first time as a teenager, and left the country when it was headed by Idi Amin in the late ’70s. He was the only black student in the engineering program at the university he eventually attended in the United Kingdom.

In the US, our family (me, my brother, my parents) moved around a bit before settling in Denver, where my brother and I finished middle and high school, my mom attended community and online college to try and get better credentials for a better nursing job, and my dad worked until he was deported, around the end of my first year attending one of the most expensive universities in the country. I was mostly on scholarships; from some rough calculations I did a while ago, of the ~$220,000 cost for 4 years me and my dad paid less than $10,000 (though I left with about $12,000 in loans). I currently live in New York City, am unemployed, and mostly hang out with other twenty-something college graduates who are close to or part of a general cultural elite. My brother went to a public university in Colorado for less than a week before dropping out. He’s living somewhere around LA with my aunt (my dad’s younger sister), last time I checked. He has a fucking great Tumblr.


Angry at the world, you turn to trolling the liberal media establishment on Twitter. There’s a certain kind of solidarity in feeling betrayed, and as you wonder if

I want the contents of my computers to be made public after I die.

NO ONE GIVES A FUCK/EVERYONE GETS FUCKED!!!!!!! cops put down their guns and nightsticks and start recording riot porn to post on their Tumblrs and pro-chaos Instagram accounts, or something? lol.


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