No Thrones. No Crowns. No Kings. →
On October 18, millions of us are rising again to show the world: America has no kings, and the power belongs to the people.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon—now with climate crisis, rising fascism, increasing disability, eventual poverty, and inevitable death.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
Rules: no fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
On October 18, millions of us are rising again to show the world: America has no kings, and the power belongs to the people.
Serena Chen is worried about becoming a writer in an age of content and capital that “compels people to obsess over volume and consistency and audience retention”. Kathleen Fitzpatrick, in a sense, is worried about not becoming a writer due to a “sense of not-quite measuring up to some standard that I’m not even conscious of having set”. Back when I was really writing, during the three years of Portland Communique, I never considered myself a writer, because, I guess, I wasn’t making a living at it, and couldn’t (and still can’t) write for other people or under other people’s direction. What is a writer? Whose definition counts? Who sets the terms?