In witnessing this wreckage here in the South, and tracing the lines from our storms to our prisons, I finally understand Octavia Butler's Parables not as prophecy, but as an autopsy. Butler's scalpel laid bare, in her time, the corpse of our present—a South where unceasing disaster is not an exception, but an expectation.
North Carolina
Posted inRACE & PLACE
Negro Head Road
Posted inARTS & SOUL
Ashes, Ashes
Posted inARTS & SOUL
Hairstory
Posted inRACE & PLACE
Emergence
Posted inARTS & SOUL
A Grief of Our Own
Posted inPOLITICS & THE PEOPLE
A Man Alone
Posted inARTS & SOUL
