"The problem is that white people see racism as conscious hate, when racism is bigger than that. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It is so insidious that it doesn’t care if you are a white person who likes black people; it’s still going to find a way to infect how you deal with people who don’t look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is another. Ignorance is another. Apathy is another. And so on. So while I agree with people who say no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we’re immediately born into. It’s like being born into air: you take it in as soon as you breathe. It’s not a cold that you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It’s a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it. I know it’s hard work, but it’s the price you pay for owning everything."
“We were laying in bed just the other night, looking at the ceiling, and I said: ‘You know, it’s been thirty years, and it’s never felt worn. There’s never been a sense of tiredness with you.’”
"She was filled with regret before she died. She felt like she’d failed us as a mother tremendously."
"Did she say something to you about it?"
"She never said anything, so I don’t have any tangible proof that she had regrets. But she had a very bad substance abuse problem. And I know she always wanted to be a good mother. So I separate my mom from her disease. I always imagine that my mom and an alcoholic were living in the same body. And I know that my mom loved us. And that she hated the alcoholic."
It rained afterwards, a short summer storm that washed over the Earth for just a moment and then stopped just as suddenly as it had come, leaving the world bright and shiny just before sunset.
I walked down the street on the damp asphalt, still warm from the sun. I didn’t wear shoes and stepped in all the lukewarm puddles, letting the water glide over my bare feet, absorbing the sensation.
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"I’m writing a play about the nature of truth, and how difficult it is to convey the truth when everybody is speaking a different language. For example, the word ‘terrorist’ and the word ‘freedom fighter’ are used to refer to the exact same people at the exact same time. With everyone speaking differently, truth is almost impossible to agree upon. Yet believing in the existence of truth is the only thing that keeps us from devolving into tribal warfare. Because without the existence of truth, the person who is most powerful becomes the person who is right."