Nothing that Judith Butler represents is so fragile that it cannot survive without her.
Naming power isn’t really enough if the primary aim is to simply shift power around, and #MeToo’s supporters and “leaders” haven’t really done all that much to change that conversation.
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On Writing with Pain
The ongoing pain has forced me to reconfigure my schedule to prioritise the projects that need to get done—like finishing the proposal and producing work for my website and my supporters and subscribers—and to simply say no to anything that does not go towards all that.
What I want instead is to bring back the idea of writing as something that has a muscularity and a will to bring about a different world. And if we are to do that, we need to understand it as both work and labor, and not pretend that to ask for payment is to be ungrateful about our place as writers.
What kind of culinary omerta survives in Hyde Park to keep its restaurants at such a depth of mediocrity?
This is a murder mystery without a murder. Think of it like a Brian De Palma movie from the 1970s: a streetwalker is found dead in an alleyway, and the detective assigned to the case is about to write it up as another transaction gone awry until he begins to see the clues that unravel a sprawling political conspiracy.
The body is incidental.
Suicide isn’t something we can fully claim to understand, but it’s also not something we need to blame people for.
Was there perhaps an indigenous tribe somewhere that had called upon Ciccariello-Maher to come save it, tweet by tweet, from persecution? None came forward to express gratitude for his bravery on their behalf.
How do we think of sex outside the framework of consent?
