take up your cross before your crown.

gentrification, the central act of violence is one of erasure

"This is the standard, “first it was the artists” narrative of gentrification, albeit a little spruced up, and the unspoken but the understood word here is “white.” Because, really, there have always been artists in the hood. They aren’t necessarily recognized by the academy or using trust funds supplementing coffee shop tips to fund their artistic careers, but they are still, in fact, artists. The presumptive, unspoken “white” in the first round of artists gentrification narrative is itself an erasure of these artists of color."

Gentrification’s insidious violence: The truth about American cities

Anonymous asked: Ellen

In elementary school Ellen was the name of my classmate’s imaginary friend. but my classmate told me Ellen always disappeared whenever my classmate would cry. worst imaginary friend ever.

At Twenty Seven


A year ago, I realized that I was by myself. That everything I dreamed of came down to two things: God and me. I count checks like badges of honor. I think like I am the only person alive. Like there is nothing worth saving for, worth earning, that I cannot have at this moment. Like I bought the freedom that we breathe. like I deserve grace. and I’m working on that. each day I’m working on it.

Knowing that I’ve changed and it hasn’t all been for the better is sobering.

Twenty seven is already a good year. I know a lot of you won’t understand this, but by the end of the month I will have closed three files. I can feel myself slipping into a slower pace. and that’s what I’m afraid of most. the contentment. the nothing changing that feels like living.

challenges up:
1. travel internationally more. see the world. get free.
2. take bigger risks. in life. in business. in ministry.

by grace.

I wish she could keep time better, but her voice isn’t bad. it didn’t rain enough today :(

great conversation about how not enough children at church curse when they pray.

L.I.T.

it gives me so much joy to know that at one point in time you were happy. Even if I wasn’t there. And even if you never told me.

Dear No One,

this is your love song.

rainy-fridays:

source
if you ask me how to grieve i will tell you i don’t know either. i will tell you throw out the “how to” because there is no “how to.” there isn’t any clean one two three’s, no finish line in sight. it is messy and heavy and dark. it looks like the trembling contours of someone’s back as they hug themselves on the floor and stare at the dust on the carpet. it sounds like the awful creek of the bed at 3:47 am as the layers of a dream dissolves in a cold sweat. it feels like the opening and closing of empty palms and the desire to rip off the thing that is collapsing around your lungs and your stomach and your chest, and it feels like that thing has stolen your strength to resist. it tastes like hunger and apathy and weaknesses at the same time, because when food tastes like nothing you are hungry and apathetic and weak. and if you ask me if it goes away i will say no.
but i will also tell you that it stays and it changes shape: that sometimes it will be loud and petulant, and other times it will be tired and retreat into silence. it will sometimes be extra-ordinarily heavy but there will be people to hold it with you. let them hold it with you. it’s mostly a dull ache, and in the beginning it’s ugly and dull and hot and cold, but it will become burnished and vibrant and if you look closely there will be colors. it will become rich and warm and life-giving. it will at first rage and demand all your attention but later it will concede to welcome other things, and you will be at first terrified when you feel it welcome joy for a moment. you might hurriedly stamp joy away but eventually it will welcome the presence of other emotions. let it welcome other things, because it is changing and will continue to do so. and you’ll find that the heaviness has not changed, but the strength in your hands and heart and back has strengthened. and you’ll find that it is all of a sudden, light. and bright.
so if you asked me how to grieve i will tell you i don’t know. but maybe we can walk and learn together.sidenotes;sending all my love

rainy-fridays:

source

if you ask me how to grieve i will tell you i don’t know either. i will tell you throw out the “how to” because there is no “how to.” there isn’t any clean one two three’s, no finish line in sight. it is messy and heavy and dark. it looks like the trembling contours of someone’s back as they hug themselves on the floor and stare at the dust on the carpet. it sounds like the awful creek of the bed at 3:47 am as the layers of a dream dissolves in a cold sweat. it feels like the opening and closing of empty palms and the desire to rip off the thing that is collapsing around your lungs and your stomach and your chest, and it feels like that thing has stolen your strength to resist. it tastes like hunger and apathy and weaknesses at the same time, because when food tastes like nothing you are hungry and apathetic and weak. and if you ask me if it goes away i will say no.

but i will also tell you that it stays and it changes shape: that sometimes it will be loud and petulant, and other times it will be tired and retreat into silence. it will sometimes be extra-ordinarily heavy but there will be people to hold it with you. let them hold it with you. it’s mostly a dull ache, and in the beginning it’s ugly and dull and hot and cold, but it will become burnished and vibrant and if you look closely there will be colors. it will become rich and warm and life-giving. it will at first rage and demand all your attention but later it will concede to welcome other things, and you will be at first terrified when you feel it welcome joy for a moment. you might hurriedly stamp joy away but eventually it will welcome the presence of other emotions. let it welcome other things, because it is changing and will continue to do so. and you’ll find that the heaviness has not changed, but the strength in your hands and heart and back has strengthened. and you’ll find that it is all of a sudden, light. and bright.

so if you asked me how to grieve i will tell you i don’t know. but maybe we can walk and learn together.

sidenotes;
sending all my love