White women are the black women of Haiti and no amount of Tariq sneeding will change that.

A couple of little things that happened to me since I put sodomy behind me. Dogs stopped barking at me. Friends say it’s because I don’t smell like blacks any more. But also—and I can’t fully explain this—I started to care about spoilers. I once posted HAN SOLO DIES on Twitter and lost 2,500 followers and reveled in it. But I’d be furious now to read that, and wouldn’t inflict it on others (Star Wars cringe aside), because my viewing and reading habits are changing. I used to watch and read for color, texture, pattern, theme, atmosphere and didn’t care what happened to the people in the story. So I liked Wilde and Rothko and TV sci fi. But now I find myself caring how the plot resolves itself. I want to know how it ends. I enjoy art for more than just the surface textures and historical contexts and political dimensions. Things matter, and what happens to people and to things matters to me.

I think I would say my focus has shifted to the story because I have stopped running from the ultimate story—our universal origin story. The story of the eternal mysteries of the universe. And I care about what happens to people in stories because, for the first time ever, I finally care what happens to me.

Snapshots:

• archive.org

• archive.ph (click to archive)

• ghostarchive.org (click to archive)