Post 004: Postscript

what does it mean to skip to the end?

I. Pre-

This is the last Post of the year. I won’t attempt any summarizing adjectives for the last twelve months, since you and I and we have already felt so many.

I write this during a time-vortex I am particularly fond of, even during this year of spiral. The days between Christmas and New Years seem to float, to shrug, to spin around as capitalism mostly doesn’t know what do them. It’s the all-that’s-left-to-buy-is-calendars and how-much-is-on-this-gift-card and, for some, time-off. Today, a friend described it as “no-man’s-land.” Like in the last Post, I remain curious about these ruptures in the normative and what what possibility they contain.

II. Postscript

Addendum, afterward, addition

written after, useful after stubborn ink

but now, mostly pixel sans or serif

something forgotten, something suddenly remembered

one last exclamation, or wink

from the doorframe, one foot out

See also: programming language, page description

electronic publishing, dynamically typed, concatenative

Turing-complete, stack-based, interpreted

Including a PS has long been a direct mail marketing strategy, I read

once, apparently, as many as 79% of people skipped to it in emails

although times have changed, the article points out, marketers still swear by it

what does it mean to skip to the end?

to find out who kissed who or, who survived who

what’s revealed after our names are written?

It’s the year-end we’ve all been trying to skip to for months

we’re here, but trying to fast fast forward faster to another spring, or summer

when we imagine another beginning

I think about the ways endings are false comforts,

are some kind of illusion, but also see the hope;

see the openings that doors can make


III. Re-Post

  • Join me and the most iconic lineup for the Poetry Project’s New Year’s Day Marathon and Fundraiser, starting at 11 PM EST on the 31st. It’s been a dream to read as part of the marathon and I’m so thankful for all of the work Poetry Project does all year round to cultivate community.

  • I’m happy to share that my exhibition support structures has been extended through February, with another program to be announced.

  • Next month, I’ll also be bringing back my postcard fundraiser 30 Days Hath for a second volume of “All the Rest” since January hath 31. (Admittedly, I spent sometime swearing it had 30, but that’s just the kind of year it’s been.)

Again, again, I’m grateful, grateful. Thank you, each, for your support of so much that has been life-giving this entire year, including Otherwise Obscured, programs at the Brooklyn Museum, already felt: poems in revolt and bounty, 30 Days Hath, A Language for Intimacy, The People’s Saturday School, the Connecticut UndocuFund, support structures, and all of the reminders care and community among it all.

Post 003: Postpone

From the Latin, combining “after” and “place.”

I. Pre-

It’s been a few weeks—a blur of panic and anger and joy. I started a new job at Socrates Sculpture Park and at the same time finalized several projects that have been hovering in-progress. Still, the there’s a sinking feeling about our worsening reality.

The scale of death around us seems impossible to grasp, but I remain thankful for so much—for many generous collaborations and collaborators, for having space for poems and art, and for the breeze of a walk down the block with the dog, of a rooftop visit, or of an open window.

II. Postpone

A tired, tiring descriptor for too much for too long.
Yeah, we had to postpone it.
I’m not feeling well, let’s postpone?
First use: 15th century. Usual meaning.
From the Latin, combining “after” and “place.”
Place! How tenderly, gingerly; perhaps a linguistic counter to dislocation.

We can’t help but feel small delays like big mourning sometimes, or at least have one conjure the other. There are new cracks in our floor—on our footing—but for most, the deep instabilities are much older.

Like so much of our current/forever time scramble, I’m trying to find the ways our many re-arrangements result in more care, and normalize it in new ways. What moments of postponement are actually moments of needed pause? What space is made? Indeed, the space of no-work, no-production, no-motion can be the most lucid. What postponements are refusal of capitalist demands and pacing? There are enough real urgencies for us to fall into the trappings of constructed ones.



III. Re-Post

A big week of celebration, hope some of you can join in these festivities:

  • First, Connecticut Students for a Dream, an organization I’ve been involved in for almost 9 years (!) is turning 10 this year! To celebrate we’re hosting a Virtual Gala on Wednesday, December 16th at 6 pm, featuring Karla Cornejo Villavicencio and a certain DJ Queer Shoulders.

  • I’m so proud of my exhibition support structures, now on view through December 20th. Thank you to all who joined us for the opening walkthrough with Jeff Kasper last week (Transcript, Audio, and Video here, if you missed it!). Join us on Thursday, December 17th for our second program, Care Lab: A Workshop Lite/Care Space at 8 pm.

  • This week, we’re also celebrating the release of Volume 1 of already felt: poems in revolt & bounty (co-curated with my dearests Devyn Mañibo and Alexis Garcia Aceves) with a reading on Friday, December 18th featuring superstars Anaïs Duplan, Kemi Alabi, Kyle Carrero Lopez, Omotara James, and Yanyi at 8 PM EST. Thank you to everyone that has supported the project thus far, we can’t wait to share this gorgeous chapbook and set of broadsides with your all. Pre-orders will start shipping this month and a limited second run of our hand-bound chapbook is available on the Eventbrite link.

With light & care,

d


Post 002: Postmark

I. Pre

I’m so grateful for the support of the first Post Post Post. Thank you.

This second newsletter is not going to be about the third wave or the other threat that won’t concede, though of course they keep me anxious.

II. Postmark

I tried to write a poem, but honestly the beloved Postal Service has done it for me:

A postmark is an official Postal Service™ imprint applied in black ink on the address side of a stamped mailpiece. A postmark indicates the location and date the Postal Service accepted custody of a mailpiece, and it cancels affixed postage. Since 1979, the Postal Service’s Postal Operations Manual (POM) has provided standards for postmarks applied to single-piece First-Class Mail®. Letters and flats that need to be postmarked come from carrier pick-up, collection boxes, retail counters, or lobby drop boxes. Postmarks are not required for mailings bearing a permit, meter, or precanceled stamp for postage, nor to pieces with an indicia applied by various postage evidencing systems.

The postmarking process uses the following three basic methods of imprinting:

Automated: Advanced facer canceller systems used by processing distribution centers cancel letters quickly. These machines are equipped with biohazard detection systems so letters postmarked by automation benefit from added safety measures.

Mechanized: A variety of older devices apply postmarks to flat-size mailpieces and to philatelic pieces.

Manual: Hand-stamp devices are used by Postal Service employees for local cancellation or philatelic requests.

A “local” postmark shows the full name of the Post Office, a two-letter state abbreviation, ZIP Code™, and date of mailing. Because the Postal Service is sensitive to the importance some customers place upon these postmarks, each Post Office is required to make a local postmark available. Lobby drops should be designated for this purpose with clear signage signifying its use.

  • First, the ™s and ®s in this tickle.

  • I’m obsessed with the postmark as an attempt to halt time and locate place, one marked in black ink and cancelling postage in the process.

  • I had no idea about the three methods for imprinting—from those with “biohazard detection systems” to those reliant on local hands.

  • I love the Postal Service being “sensitive” to postmark requests, or anything else really.

  • According to Wikipedia, philatelic—despite what kind of word you (or, um, I) thought it might be—is:

    the study of postage stamps and postal history. It also refers to the collection, appreciation and research activities on stamps and other philatelic products. Philately involves more than just stamp collecting or the study of postage; it is possible to be a philatelist without owning any stamps

  • In the same Wikipedia rabbithole, I stumbled on the philatelic term killer (and I’m now obsessed—you’re welcome):

    a particularly heavy type of handstamp, or portion of one, consisting of heavy bars, cork impressions or other crude devices used to cancel postage stamps. Such handstamps may also be known as obliterators as the mark applied often obscures almost the whole of the stamp.

    Killers were often used in the early days of stamps as the postal authorities wished to ensure that stamps could not be re-used.

    In the United States this is also the name for a particular circular date stamp with four thick horizontal bars to the right. This handstamp effectively cancels the stamp while leaving the place and date information easily visible. The bars are known as killer bars.

    There is no exact definition of what is, and is not, a killer cancel and the term is often used to apply to any heavy cancellation.

  • Killers! Obliterators! Corks! Cancellations! No exact definition! Here for it.

III. Re-Post

  • Speaking of, Visual AIDS is accepting submissions for their benefit Postcards from the Edge, if they’re postmarked by November 23rd.

  • Recently, I got to spend some time inside the portals that are Sam Gilliam’s new work, and I think it helped.

  • Please make yourself aware of the coup and protests in Peru, and the queer and trans people of color at the center of the struggle. Follow (and donate) to folks on the ground, like my friend xime (IG @huacatayy, Venmo @besodemoza to help with getting safety gear and transportation) and groups like Cabritas Resistiendo, if you can. (See the hashtags #MerinoAsesino #NoAlGolpe and #MerinoNoEsMiPresidente for more, as he mainstream media is failing to fully cover this developing story.)

  • As more and more journalism and activism works to shed light on the many inequities in the arts, mutual aid groups like Aid for Art Now are providing both monetary and non-monetary resources for art workers. Reach out if you need, support if you can.

    Lastly, remember that acts of carelessness during this pandemic are ableist and racist. Keep taking care of eachother, let me know if you need anything.

Post 001: Post Scarcity

I. Pre

I pulled myself away from sleep to write the title of this newsletter. Eyes half-open, blue light on my phone too-bright. I had been flirting with the idea of a newsletter for some time and this repeated homonym was irresistible.

Occasionally, I’ll refer to the pre-pandemic period as “before-times,” often with a now familiar longing. We’re all negotiating a sought-after “after” that is becoming further, fraught, and in some ways, an impossibility. This before/after (non-)binary and the functions of post as prefix, verb, and noun is what I’m interested in this newsletter.

Each will begin with a “pre” (preamble, preparation, maybe even prediction), then consider a “post,” and finally conclude with a “re-post” of updates and sharing.

Thank you for joining me in this new endeavor, which hopefully becomes a respite in your Sunday inbox.

II. Post

Like the artist, Bix Archer’s painting Post Scarcity (2020) is good company.

It leans on the shelf beside my desk alongside my pink-striped plant and a postcard with the Holzer truism “WORDS TEND TO BE INADEQUATE” (of course); very often the highlight of my Zoom background. Atop the painting’s tan and red-checkered background (picnic blanket?) is a book, notebook, and matchbook. The book’s cover shows a line of green windmills and a bar code. On the blue-lined notebook, a phone number is scribbled. I haven’t yet called (Should I, Bix?). The matchbook bares a red and yellow flame on its cover and, in the middle of the painting is a small house on a patch of grass. The two remind me of Wojnarowicz’s flaming imagery, and of course our own world on fire.

There’s a sense of the almost in the scene—of the just-before and just-after. The matches (if there are any left) are still in the box, the paperclip beside the notebook is no longer (or not yet) holding anything together, the phone number is already or not-yet dialed.

Bix’s composition and broader practice is tender and everyday. It shuffles the mundane and surreal, refusing too much of a distinction between the two. The painting’s title reminds me to imagine and enact versions of the world beyond and after capitalist and neoliberal delusions of scarcity, ones that often create false competition and devalue our collective power. (Bix used some of the proceeds from this painting for mutual aid groceries in her neighborhood.) I’m grateful to see it so often reflected in my video square, but even more so to look over my shoulder see it a physical object containing so much possibility.


II. Re-Post

  • The international fundraising collective Body Hack has been one of the most life-giving examples of radical mutual aid, abundance, and joy. Their Hack-A-Thon this past month was one of the Zoom rooms I was most glad to be (and dance) in and their twelve fundraisers this month have been inspiring. Support and boost if you can!

  • I recently previewed Billie Zangewa’s New York debut at Lehmann Maupin for Hyperallergic and hope to catch the artist’s tender silk collages in person before it closes on November 7.

  • Check out the very impressive undertaking The Immigrant Artist Biennial: Here, Together, which recently launched its multi-exhibition project virtually in addition to their in-person shows and performance series, through December 18th. Part of their programming includes a performance at Green-Wood Cemetery with Iván Sikic today (November 1st) from 12-4. Also, special shoutout to Kevin Quiles Bonilla’s brilliant performance video, Presidential Alert (America, Lip-synch for your life) (2020)!

Who says there's no post on Sundays?

Welcome to The Post Post

The Post Post Post is a new, new newsletter about prefixes, the afterwards, and after words.

I’ll be sharing updates, maybe-poems, and re-postings of community projects—hoping to be a less-scary thing in your inbox every other weekend.

Join me starting Sunday, November 1st.

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