I want to crack open and break apart every limitation that tells me, “that’s not possible, silly child.” I want to test, come up against, and demolish every wall, border, floor, and ceiling that forecloses possibility. Because right now, “what is,” is not mine. It’s not my wildest dream and it’s probably not yours.
In Imagination: A Manifesto, Ruha Benjamin notes that we are collectively living in the imaginations of mostly dead European white men. What’s unfolded, generation after generation, isn’t the end of history — how freakishly foolish to claim it ever was — but a persistent nightmare that evades even sleep. For fuck’s sake, we’ve suffered enough.
This is a call to wild-out and exercise the imagination. Let it move in ways it’s not used to; let it twist, bounce, shake, and convulse wildly. Cause, really, what have we got to lose?