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.
Laura Bliss finds that while the map of her world “has shrunk in distance […] maybe it doesn’t have to shrink in detail”—and invites you to “make a map of your community as you experience it under coronavirus.”
Where is terra firma in a world growing smaller and more uncertain? For privileged me, working from home kid-free, one possible answer is trying to tune into immediate surroundings (something I ironically resolved to do more of at the start of 2020). I remind myself that when outdoor movement is restricted to a daily walk around the block, I can still notice the unhurried blossoming of a neighbor’s cherry tree. I can listen more closely to chatter of birds, who seem to be out in stronger force, and try to tell their apart species. I can watch as a local bottle shop closes its doors and reopens as a produce co-op. I can check to make sure the local pupuseria is still slinging masa (to-go), and stop and actually talk to my neighbors (six feet apart). I can drop off a box of N-95 masks at SF General, just a few blocks away. Under quarantine, the map of my world has shrunk in distance, but if I try hard enough, maybe it doesn’t have to shrink in detail.