the last moon of the fall

november is almost over and we remember to keep writing down words. we add extra layers and avoid searching for our winter jackets until after the solstice arrives. we remember to prioritize experiences over material possessions and abundant social relationships over the scarcity logic of private property and job titles. we stand in lines for the chinatown bus, music in our ears. we remember to look at the moon each night as it waxes and eventually wanes. and we prepare our hearts for the winter air.

from a notebook in a west philly coffeeshop on the evening of the midterm elections

as the work day drags on, we sit in our respective cubicles almost 100 miles apart. we listen to the playlists we shared with each other. "yours is helping to make my day here more pleasant." our imaginations are crushed by excelspreadsheets, but the music playing in our headphones keep us centered. this personalized soundtrack to a dreary tuesday afternoon in the office keeps us going. these songs help bridge the gap between the double lives we live. we're physically at work but our minds are hitchhiking across state lines, dreaming up adventures as a bowie song kicks in and the data reports melt away into the gutters of the corporate septic system. "it's like i'm keeping you company at work." i smile and forget what the fuck i'm even supposed to be doing. what am i doing? i wish we were dancing instead. i want to feel this music and nothing else. no more distractions or to-do lists or e-mail notifications. just beats and rhythms and melodies and vibrations and heartbeats. more music, less work.

music & work, revisited

three years ago, i found myself in tuscaloosa, alabama. i had spent the better part of the previous four months travelling with my zine about music and work. my dear friends dave and jo were both teaching anthropology at the university of alabama and were able to set me up with a number of events on campus. these workshops created space for students to share their experiences working in the service industry and the music that made those jobs either more tolerable or, often, even more insufferable. it truly was a space to honestly share our experiences about life under capitalism.

fast forward to fall 2018. a local artist here in philly tracked me down after learning about the music & work project and my zine. she is collaborating with a UK-based artist/composer to explore the songs that workers in philadelphia listen to while selling our labor to survive. the research will culminate in a chorus of whistlers performing an original composition next spring. this is a nod to how workers historically would whistle songs of solidarity together in the workplace. and they would get away with it since the boss was unaware of the political lyrics.

so we were able to connect wednesday night and talk about these questions of music and work. we could've talked for hours, sitting on that bench in rittenhouse square. but then at 6:00 the church bells rang and we walked across the street to the philadelphia ethical society for, appropriately, a panel discussion on philadelphia labor history. 

i'm excited to engage in these ideas again and to be inspired to keep writing and listening and working. 

you don't hate mondays

the worst thing about daylight savings is that it will be dark when we get out of work. on this gloomy, rainy monday i'm dreading the transition into night, into darkness. of witnessing this shift from my desk, through the window of the office building. like some greater force prematurely turning the light switch off on us. and in doing so, extinguishing the possibilities beyond wage labor that we have all taken for granted since april.

but i don't hate daylight savings. i hate capitalism.

on friday night my dear friend nazia shared a preview of her brilliant new book on islamophobia and the paralyzing limitations of liberalism. in a small west philly apartment this group of organizers and educators met to share food and drink, radical inspiration and solidarity. these abolitionist salons will help keep us all sustained in this increasingly dark political moment. i feel so privilege to be part of it.

i also took a last-minute trip to baltimore this weekend. red emma's--the radical bookstore/restaurant/bar/cafe/community center--recently re-opened in an even larger space than their previously location on north ave. i took a bus down from philly primarily to check it out and i'm so glad i did--especially since the new location is just a 5 minute walk from the bolt bus stop. plus i got a one dollar return ticket!

i really could've spent the entire weekend just at red emma's: coffee/books/vegetarian food/coffee/books/beer...repeat. the entire street level is completely dedicated to the food and drinks side of things and the subterranean floor is where the bookstore and event space is located. i ended up buying the new 33 1/3 book there about the raincoats' self-titled album which i can't wait to read.

it was also just really nice to further connect with new and old friends. over beers at red emma's bar and then delicious homemade burritos across town and finally at the weirdest (and extremely fun) karaoke bar i have ever experienced in my life.

my one dollar bus was late sunday morning, but i didn't even care. it felt good to have a mini-adventure and also feel the bright autumn sun on my face before returning to the darkness of mondays and cubicles. 

hello, old friend

in november people inspire each other to write words. the temperature has dropped and the collective introspection arrives alongside post-halloween hangovers and the political anxiety of yet another electoral spectacle choking the air we breathe. our imaginations are hungry. they have become lonely. and so we write.

i'm not writing a novel, but i'm back here just before the end of this strange year. who would have thought when i started this blog in a public library in madison, wisconsin nearly 14 years ago that i would be sitting here today in a dystopian future. i'm here on the 14th floor of a corporate office building in philadelphia covering the front desk for the receptionist's lunch break. the florescent lights drain the life from my eyeballs as the hum from the air vents vibrate the dropped ceiling tiles above my head. i stare at this screen and think to myself: "how did i end up here?"

hello, old blog/friend.

yesterday i listened to every misfits song i memorized by heart in my youth. i even got a chance to sing one to a room of drunk strangers. strategically moving the cordless mic a full foot from my mouth, i passionately shared with them how much i NEEDED their skulls.

earlier in the evening, i found myself at the anarchist bookstore where i have been coordinating events for nearly a full decade of my life. even though i was by far the oldest person in the space (besides a set of parents) i still felt like one of the kids at the halloween show. after a black and white screening of a live cramps gig from the 1980s, local riot grrrl band cherri col@ charmed us with an acoustic set replete with covers by the ramones, lady gaga, and the rocky horror picture show soundtrack. afterwards i turned all the lights back on, turned up my (real) misfits playlist, and started putting the chairs back in the basement.

as the kids lingered around, the dad of the band's drummer came up to the counter and told me i was being way too nice--noticing that i clearly was ready to lock up and get on with the rest of my night. eventually i did interrupt a photo shoot in the back to say that i was just about to close up the shop. i hope their night was almost as much fun as mine. hopefully they will all...remember halloween.