CZM Book Club: What We Want, What We Believe by Alex Smith, Part One

0:01 Cool Zone Media.

0:06 Book Club Club, Club Club Club Club, book Club Clubs Clubs, Books book Club.

0:15 Hello everybody, and welcome to Kool Zone Media book Club, where I actually didn't have to chance by myself this time, and the continued on synchronicity of zoom continues to entertain at least me. Cool Zone Media.

0:27 Book Club is the only book club where you don't have to do the reading, because usually I do it for you, but this time, my guest, Prince Shakur, is going to do the reading for you.

0:38 Hi, Prince, how are you.

0:40 I'm good, I'm glad to be here. I've never done a book club like this, so I'm excited.

0:47 I like this model because I read a lot, but I still struggle with actual book clubs because then I'm like, uh, homework, I can't do homework.

0:55 Yeah, and it's good to read with other people. And I guess I mean like studying literature and university. It reminds me of being in literature class. And yeah, I don't know. I always liked the communal nature of reading or even workshops or reading like fresh writing with people, so I feel like this just gives me, I don't know, a bit of nostalgia.

1:18 And you even have your own book that people have probably read. But you're also a podcaster. You have a podcast called The Dugout and a book. Do you want to tell us about those things?

1:28 Yeah? Yeah, So my book is a memoir. It's titled When They Tell You to Be Good. I describe it as my political coming of age, what it was like growing up queer in a Jamaican family, getting radicalized, being a part of different movements. A lot of it is about Jamaic colonial violence, patriarchal violence, but I kind of wrote it as like a what is it like being young, queer and radicalized in today's America? And it is really inspired by a lot of other like black power literature and memoirs from like the Civil rights and Black power era.

2:06 And yeah, it's just like a project of love and me trying to process a lot. And yeah, it came out a few years ago, so folks want to check it out. It's called When They Tell You to Be Good? And I also do a podcast it's called The Dugout of Black Anarchist Podcasts, and we talk about a lot of things on there. We talk about news, we interview lots of people black Panther Veterans Revolutionaries. Recently just interviewed a cadre out of Minneapolis who were doing a lot of like firearms training and community defense, and we interviewed two of the defendants from like the Minnesota fifteen repression case.

2:45 So a lot of conversations, which I think is good in this particular period of political chaos we're in.

2:55 I'm really sad about the Minnesota fifteen, mostly because well mostly because of the repression, but beyond that, because Damn fifteen was right there. They're being accused of being part of a group called Damn and that's really what matters. Is that now, I obviously that's not what matters, but people should check out what's going on with the Minnesota fifteen or as no one calls them, the Damn fifteen, because it's bad. Well, this month we are commemorating Black August with guests, interviews, and special episodes on the show.

3:29 Black August is a month of remembrance, study, and revolution, honoring black freedom fighters and the movements they supported for prison evolution, decolonization, and the end of racial capitalism. Black August was started by incarcerated black radicals in the San Quentin prison in nineteen seventy nine to mark the deaths of George Jackson and his brother Jonathan Jackson at the hands of the state of California a few years earlier, and today people honor many dates in August throughout the whole month. This includes the August ninth killing of Mike Brown in twenty fourteen. August thirtieth was Fred Hampton's birthday in nineteen forty eight, and August twenty first was the beginning of Nat Turner's rebellion in eighteen thirty one, the

4:11 rebellion that has come up so many times on my history podcast, including last week, I think ended up talking about Nat Turner because we were talking about black literacy, and there's no possible way to overstate how much Nat Turner's rebellion scared white supremacist all throughout the country. And one of the ways besides just like, oh, they actually can fight back and kill people, was just literally that Nat Turner could read, which was illegal, right, and like had read. He was a preacher too, and he had like read the words that he was preaching. And that's good the piss out of people. Anyway, That's what I got about Black August do you guys think say about it?

4:52 Yeah, I mean, I think it's definitely a month of commemoration, and it's a chance, like a lot of the reading and kind ofnology around it says to not only reflect, but do things to honor like these freedom fighters and revolutionaries. So I think it's just for me, like a really key reminder of like the necessity of abolition and kind of re educating myself about abolition. A book that I recommend folks check out if they want to like dig into things more is Tip of the Spear by Urisan me Burton. That's like something I've read a lot over the last year or two, and it kind of follows a lot of the timeline and movements and prison revolts and uprisings and organizing around the nineteen seventy one Attica

5:41 prison uprising. And I think it just gives a lot of context, and I love that there's a lot in there about like the Black Liberation Army and Kuwasi Ballagoon and other revolutionaries and just it really digs into a lot of the details of just like this really explosive period of of rebellion inside of prisons in jails. So I feel like I'd really recommend that, but I think like auguest is so necessary. There's been countless men in my family who've been deported or in prison, and I don't know, carse. Reality is fucking evil, and I think people should be educated and check in with their education around it and find community events and find ways to organize with people on the inside or letter writing. Especially

6:27 with all of the ongoing repression cases happening right now, it just feels really relevant.

6:34 Whenever I try to like really quickly explain prison abolition to somebody. There's like a comic. I don't remember who wrote the comic. It's like four panels long or something, but it's just like someone comes over someone's house and they're like, oh, don't go out of the basement. I have a guy in there. And you're like wait what.

6:48 You're like, I kind of trying to steal my car a couple of years ago, so he's just down in the basement now, and you're like, well, that's that seems completely.

6:57 Fucked up, messed up.

6:59 Yes, Like every now and then, it just like really hits me that if the wrong person hits the wrong person just like punches them, just gets angry punches somebody, which all of us have. No, I would never have done such a terrible thing, but like all of us have done. And you're like, oh, that could just especially if like the system is out to get you for various reasons. You're now spending years of your life in a cage. You're just like, oh, I'm gonna put this guy in a cage because he did drugs. You're like, wait, what, Yeah, Like who's the evil one here?

7:29 Yeah, Like it makes me think of like the Khalif Browder case, like how he was accused of stealing a backpack and spent years in like jail And.

7:40 Is that the like rikers and he was like it was pre trial, but they just didn't get around to him.

7:45 Yes, exactly. Yeah, And and like the point that you mentioned, like it reminds me of I think it's like our persons obsolete by Angela Davis, Like she talks about how prisons one of their functions is to invisibilize people and social issues, and so it makes me think about exactly what you're saying, Like just hide the problem, throw in a bunch of violence and misery and call it the justice system.

8:08 Yeah, it's just yeah, yeah, real ironic name that they picked for themselves. Well, we're not going to do nonfiction. We're going to do fiction, which of course never has any social value. That part sarcastic. I hear you have a story for me this week?

8:25 Yes, I do. Today, we have a story and it's titled What We Want, What We Believe, by Alex Smith.

8:35 And if people are like Alex Smith, that name is familiar. Besides the fact that it is almost a brilliantly generic name, Alex. If you're listening, no offense to you here. We did another story by Alex Smith in March. A story was called Girls Who Look Through Class and maybe I'll remember it. It was about a grocery co op worker who gets swept up into a cosmic struggle for justice, and it was really fun and psychedelic. So I'm excited to hear this one. I got that chance to meet Alex earlier this year at a panel in Philadelphia of radical fiction writers and it ruled. So I'm excited to hear more stories.

9:08 Oh cool. Yeah, this story, I would say, is framed through the Black Panther's ten Point program, which is also called Like, as I mentioned before, what We want what we believe, And it follows basically the aftermath of the police execution of a fictionalized black panther. And it's about revolutionary legacy and transcendental joy. And it's also, i would say, about the painful after image of repression, incarceration, and state violence.

9:38 And just as a kind of disclaimer for listeners, this story does discuss gun violence, intravenous drug use, hearing voices, childhood psychosis, and kids in traumatic situations. Just wanted to give that disclaim. Okay, okay, So let's begin. What we want what we believed by Alex Smith one. We want freedom, We want power to determine the destiny of our black community.

10:10 Regina Adams let her hair lick her face in the pulsing rain. She ducked under a canopy near Lee's and waited, her body drenched. Working down at the community college during the day, taking classes at night, she was going to be somebody, even if the long hours meant she couldn't be somebody somebody. A car pulled up to the corner and a man rolled down the window, one of them long cars she thinks used to be white painted black.

10:38 Who are you out here for the man asked, excuse me, Regina said, taken aback. She straightened her knockoff Pierre Cardon skirt, tucked her satchel closer to her body, and shot the man a look, bitch, don't let me get out the car. The man said in a low tone. His one gold tooth was noticeably dead and dull, but still somehow shown in his rear view mirror as he suddenly adjusted himself.

11:02 Who in the car, Babe Randall from seemingly out of nowhere called out. As he approached, he called himself rand X, always reading, hanging with fives. What's happening? We have him shrimp tonight. Oh that's your nigga. Huh, the man in the car said to them. Ran shot him a look that was all tight jawed and narrow eyed. Pulling Regina in close. The ladies with me, he paused. Then, yeah, I know who you are. I know you, with your various entrepreneurial endeavors, don't have time to mess with decent folks like us. So if you'll excuse the missus in me, Rollo leaned back in his seat, tapping on the gas, fixing his buffont hair in the mirror. You act to as boys. He shook his head. Y'all ain't good for business.

11:57 Consider that a fair warning. You have a good Rollo's fake slip car crept back up the street. Regina, lost in the moment, suddenly tugged wildly away from Rand's grasp. Boy, if you don't get your hands off of me, she demanded. Rand had been trying to talk to her since freshman year. She saw him change from a delinquent kid, a bag boy, a stick up kid, and petty crimes to a man walking through campus. He was not taking class one, just using the school typewriters to make his little pamphlets. Sista, no disrespect. I was just you were just tell you what if you won't let me walk you home? Huh, then he said, handing her a pamphlet. There was a crude drawing of a black panther on it. Come down to the YMCA on fifty second. There's something going down

12:50 and we need all the intelligent sisters like you in the front row. You dig. Regina pursed her lips together and gently rolled her eyes, crumbling the paper into her satchel. She watched him walk away, dapping and shaking hands with other black men. Tipping an imaginary hat to rain soap black woman as he ambled up the street, disappearing into the night. This Maya, what kind of name is that?

13:18 You?

13:19 African? Kill them? Maya sits down on the mattress. She grabs the belt, tying it around her arm tight. The loop feels like an extension of herself. She holds her hand out impatiently toward one of the boys. There they put the syringe in her hand. The two boys sit beside her, on either side, barely men. A husky ambient debris waffs off the bed. The entire thing is encrusted, peeling, just like the room. Walls thick with dried blood, burnt yellow with cigarette stains. Roaches scamper at the weight of the young men. Kill them both. Maya ignores the young men, swivels to one side and back to the other, avoiding their grabby hands. Why she liked that, yo? Why she acting like that? They don't deserve what you possess? Would

14:15 you just shut the fuck up? Maya rises, stabs one of the boys in the face with the needle. She kicks trash about the room. The other boy searches the mattress, slapping newspapers and condom wrappers into the air. He finds another needle and slowly plunges it into his arm. This bitch stab me in the eye. Yeah, I seen that.

14:39 Something seems to wrap itself around her body, something wispy and shaky, a filament of a thing. It feels cool. It's the drug, she thinks, the come down. She wants the long, warm drink of an opiate in her veins. She sees blood leak from the boy's eye, the other swollen with red tears and anger. He's foaming at the mouth.

15:03 Maya stares at the door and realizes she has never noticed its dimensions before, that its frame was once a sturdy oak, its splintered and ripped and vacant. Now just a doorway. The hall, just a pitch black, never ending hole that seems to retract from her vision the longer she stares. Why had she never noticed it before? Something about time, the piles of newspaper, the rotting clothes, the rusting nails sticking out of the floorboards, and no windows.

15:36 She has not thought about leaving that place for weeks, weeks like years, folded into her sallow skin, the feeling over her morphs into something darker. Can she see it? All squiggly lines and rotten, jagged teeth and encasing her. It swirls around her, seizes her. The boy lunges at her. Then the thing evaporates, twisting in the air and materializing in the hallway about ten steps beyond the door, as a little white girl in an orange dress floats in the darkness. The dress hovers and curls around the child's body.

16:13 She steals her face, raises a finger and motions for Maya to come. The boy grabs her shoulder. Maya steps out of the door and feel her feet beating a path toward the girl. The child's lips draw back like dry sacks. Her eyes sink in. The child's face is all jagged, monstrous teeth. They don't deserve your skin. They don't deserve your drug. Maya freezes. Then suddenly she is ripped back into the room by a pair of black hands, back into the sad void of the young man's face, screaming hot breath on her cheek. Number two, We want full employment for our people, Regina, Regina, get up a beach in California, maybe a warm sun, A seagull chimed in the afternoon air, aloft but losing feathers. Regina's dressed

17:14 danced on the breeze alive. Who is this smallish, dark black man running panting his way up the short mounds of sand on this beautiful beach? Regina Regina was under a desk. She looked up through the bullet holes and the angled turned over tabletop. She held a double barreled shotgun in her tiny brown hand. Draped over the desk was Harold Martin, and over him was Jerome Pratt. Beside her was a skinny Chinese man with soft o eyes named Tet Tet, bunching his chest where blood soaked his fingers through the brown fishing vest he seemed to wear every day. Regina, Regina get up. She could hear him in her head, somewhere rattling down its labyrinthine caverns, but she couldn't see his face. Regina searched the room. Her

18:04 senses felt nothing but her own breath. There, behind a foul cabinet, he was carrying an ingram mac tent. The poor man's busy, she thought to herself, analyzing the gun. Proud she got it right, rand X. When he fired his gun. She knew she got it right. A thundering round ripped through the air. Regina, go to the back room now before bullet's tour back at rand Was he hit?

18:32 Wasn't she just lying there cradled in a strangely terse yet weirdly doey arms. Was he not holding her the same way he had done every time? Weren't they snug on the couch watching Lieutenant and her kiss that white man on star trek at a reception after a rally on Temple's campus. He was there right when she did her best impression of Brother Huey while carrying the new bullhorn she bought on South Street with her financial aid money.

19:02 And she was putting sandwiches and bananas and grocery bags to get to the neighborhood kids for the Sunday meal programs they started that summer at the gun range. He was always gripping her up from behind, whispering some mess in her ear, playing all the time, Yeah she been read that ridiculous red book. Randall, if you don't get your ass in this bed, I'm going to show you a red book. Show you right, the moon hung low and the sky that night looked like a searchlight in clouds.

19:33 When the smoke from the incense hit it. Don't worry about me. You have to get out of here, go to the safe house. Another bang and another bang. Ran spun around with a sharp, contorted jerk. Regina saw his body gracelessly drift towards the floor through the sludge of gravity and time. Regina, please, She turned toward the side door.

19:58 It was not the one Ran wanted her to go through. She cocked her shotgun that she put her mind back on the gun range. That was where he proposed. The bullets ripped through paper when they reeled it in. He made a quip about changing all the target outlines for pictures of Commissioner Rizzo. She fingered one of the bullet holes and licked her lips. Not bad, he said to her.

20:25 Not bad, She smirked. I'll show you not bad. She kicked the door in a supply closet, a stool, up on top of the stool and out of the small top window. Could she make it, she rubbed the slight bump of her belly. She would have to. She looked out of the window and into the street. The crowd had gathered a few blocks up. Their nervous anger was trained on the front door of the building. Regina was trapped in. Just to the far opposite side of the horde was an alley. A black cat walked spryly. They're a very small pool of rotting juice from the garbage bins.

21:04 It arched its back and stretched. It looked free.

21:09 But do you know what, dear listeners makes you free? Like that cat? Your ability to hit the forward fifteen seconds button as many times as it takes before you.

21:20 Hear Prince's voice again. Because here's ads.

21:34 And we're back.

21:41 The bed, though, that's where it wants to lie, lies on the bed, not supposed to be on the bed, but it's the best place to look up at the ceiling because the entire room opens up from there, a portal maybe where all manner of things can come pouring out, things like bouncy. Why do I wear a suit because I am dignified? You see, I wear a suit because I want to walk into town with a gorgeous woman on my arm, perhaps spinner around in the aisle at Bergdorfhin the Goodman's by her, the finest furs at Macy's serenade her in the hoisery section at Kmart. Only the best for her. You understand the finest silver, the finest goal, and lots and lots of diamonds. But you're a bunny.

22:28 Tut tut. That's neither hair Snack's nick nor there I'm a creature of class, a man of grace. After all we've been through together. Surely you can see that sits on the bed and sighs, weary of bouncys ridiculous proclamations. And Bouncy pushed that third grader into the creek, almost drowning. The boy let the rabbit stick around, despite the fact that it was that got a beating for it, ran my wa or out, couldn't sit down for a week, couldn't watch Fat Albert all that year. When Bouncy stole some candy from mister Griffin's store, he left holding it a long hot ride in a policeman's car. Another beating and the hushed whispered tones in the living room. Later the boys got problems for the show Knafelise, but I

23:24 don't know what to do with them. My daughter dropped him off and I ain't seen her since. I've been reading about all these disorders. They've been discovering something about the attention deficit. Maybe he needs some counseling. Counseling not my blood. Haha, you can forget that. Wouldn't hear the end of it from Hattie down at the church? Mm hmm, I know that's right with their sorry ass potato salad. Well, it was just a thought. Nothing a belt can't fix.

23:56 You want to open this, don't you? Bouncey stand in front of Grandma's dresser like a game show hostess. His fur is matted and I dangles sloppily from underneath a patch. His suit rags. A dirty white foot pokes through the gaping mouth of his floppy shoe. Still there's a manic composure about him. Stands and pushes Bouncy aside. They aren't even supposed to be in there, not on the bed, not playing around in the dresser. Again, just leave me alone.

24:31 You're bad news, Bouncy. Why bad news? Here's the thought? Why I would Bouncy Stumbling on his messed up shoe, falls forward into the dresser. It pops open cranes neck to peek a piece of crimson, a snatch of soft pearly white, go on, go on. Yes, The room darkens. The rabbit stands in a dim light, then by itself.

25:03 The dresser rumbles open soft cotton, wonderful velvet grandmothers panties are as exquisite as imagine them. Gently runs fingers over the fabrics. The clothes seemed to grip small hands. Soon is wrapped up in them. Flailing on the bed, has forgotten about Bouncy. Bouncy Bunny calls out, come, lie on the bed with me. Bouncy sits on the edge of the bed and peers over the darkening corner of the room.

25:43 There's Bouncy, only under a fading net of light, can still see the rabbit's mangy face. A maggot crawls in and out of Bouncy's ear. Bouncy sports as soft a smile as he can muster. He dips in a solemn bow, tips his hat, and fades into the darkness. Three we won an end to the robbery by the white men and the capitalists of our black community. And a diner in Chelsea, a warbling tune by First Choice clicked on the jukebox with the force of a hammer. It snapped Regina out of her daze. She had been wearing the same sweatshirt and baseball cap for the past two days, all gray, a slate of banality. The crowd was small, but there was indeed a crowd, customers who seemed more like patients, zombie like and damaged, as they guzzled coffee

26:42 and folded newspapers with Regina's face splashed all over them in bold print. There was no rhythm to their movement. The bell over the doorway jarred her each time a new face entered and an old face exited. She was grateful for that wretched bell, though she didn't want to fall asleep there, just waiting for Yes. This woman a stout, dark skinned creature with an outdated Madam C. J. Walker perm, long coat and beads, not very conspicuous, but they told her that she wouldn't be wanted. Posters be damned. Regina perked up her eyes, darting savagely under her tinted glasses.

27:26 The woman past her table and headed for the lunch counter, then huffed slightly as she read a menu. Regina began to peel herself out of the booth, a difficult feet under the weight of pregnancy sit. The woman said, irritation in her voice. Take off those goddamn glasses. He looked like a fucking fool. The woman wouldn't look at her, She just sighed. Regina sighed too, and took off the glasses.

27:52 Over easy, Please decap The waitress tagged the board with the mysterious perm wearing woman's order. I looked like a fool. Ooh, Regina thought to herself. You will go to the address written on the third napkin and the holder in the booth near the door. Yes, I know there's a white family eating there. If you weren't wearing that ridiculous get up, it would not be a problem to ask for a few napkins, would it. Once you're up there, you will go to the back door, enter through the kitchen, and go up the stairs to the second floor bathroom. A tub will be there. It will be filled with warm water.

28:28 Lavender rose and liec petals will steep in the water. Two women will wait for you there naked. They will rub you with alo hum gently. You'll drink the elixir in a vial on the rim of the tub. This will relax you. Don't worry about what's in it. Just do it. You will float there breathing. It will be painful, but they will be there to ease your pain. Worry not.

28:55 Your journey begins at six o'clock tonight. Take care, restless child. The coffee grew stale, the eggs waited there, and the chili diner air. Regina just stared at them. A wave of panic rippled through her when the white family nodded and smiled at her as they grabbed their things and headed to the door, the children making a racket, the father winking at their waitress, the wife pretending not to see.

29:23 There were bald up napkins on the table. Regina darted over to their table, rifling through their plates. Hey, what are you doing over there? Trying to steal my tips? Bitch? Regina tucked all the napkins into her sweatshirt, ducking her head. Fuck your tips. She tossed another three dollars on the table.

29:44 When the door chimed upon her opening it, the sound rattled her bones. She looked up at the bell and wondered, And she was just like everybody else, coming into this diner on a ball me Tuesday morning, each soul ringing this bell announcing their presence. I was in this place, she reminded herself. Four. We want decent housing, fit for shelter of human beings. Bitch, yes, stay girl, Yes, Mother sits in the chair. No one else can sit in mother's chair. The girls sit on couches, some sit unfolding chairs, Some stand not in the chair. They wag fingers and approval.

30:31 Some snap where did she get that glorious blouse that sheer top of, billowing wigh the fuck up around the arms and cutting off right below the tummy, fitting like a glove over shoulders so broad they could tag in for Atlas himself. The burden they carry, Maya thinks is no less impossible. But there the bitch go dancing. She spins around and stops, nearly completing a one a degree turn, only to complete the rest of her half circle in a slow motion. Now pose a slender Puerto Rican man waves a fan, prosses his legs. He sits beside mother, speaking two and for her. The girl and the blouse poses magazine sharp. Her jaw line clinches tight, hands on her hips. Now those hands are cinching her breasts. Then

31:26 they are in the air, arm straight, practically walking on air to pull down clouds. The music stops. Was there music? Maya looks over to mother. The cron's hands raised. All of the girls and all of the boys stop, their faces once jovial, clownish, now stoic and hushed. A pause, and Mother speaks, ten, you heard her. The man beside her erupts, his fan flitting wildly across, down and over his face. The music roars back, a pulls beat like none Maya had heard before. It drones and hypnotizes, tends across the board. Then a new girl dances. Maya watches wide eyed. Mother leans into the man beside her and whispers into his ear. The man looks directly at Maya, a face like a joker's, mischievous and determined, and he nods. Five.

32:28 We want education for our people that exposes the true nature of this decadent American society. We want education that teaches us our true history and our role in the present day society. Push push, you can do it, Okay, now, relax, relax, there you go. Relax, We got you, We got you. Let the let the water gently. It's a. Maya digs her hands in the dirt. The peer is quiet, except one sound. Amari screams, where are they coming from? Why she covered in blood? The beautiful dirt, Why is it such a pure thing to her? Why do the caps from the sprite bottles and empty Senca packets, used condoms and the sea offers such a perfect potpourri? Why is she drifting here? And what is she dreaming of? Amari screams, down,

33:33 twist She's given you, Banshee. He watches her twist in the moon's light, covered in the thin haze of that rocky hue, silhouetted against the backdrop of a calm wave. This isn't the beach she'd dream of, This is a stage. Amari kicks his feet in the sandy earth cunt, Her faded jean shorts ride up over her milky golden thigh, her crop t shirt, once white stained now just a few weeks ago, when she walked into London's Ball, she draped her body in the plastic deture of a replicated ive.

34:12 San Laurent carried an umbrella that she tied glow sticks around, and pranced down the tattered floorboards in the basement of an African American community center. She tried a few new moves that night, Amari was cruel bitch of luck. She landed an airplane chopped, Maya leaps into the near dark air. She kisses space. That lone second that she is up there feels like a world being berthed. From her place in the sky, she can see everything. A dog lying by its dying homeless owner, the dangling neon signed by the Chinese spot where she first met Amari after a hair and fueled night. The steps to the Silvia rivera community center downtown with its now crumbling societ, girded by steel canopies and littered with junkies. Then she is falling

35:06 back to the wet earth a split. She falls onto her back dramatically, her hands pointed as elegantly as the craning neck of a swan. It's about time, bitch. My name is Maya, now, she told him. Then, my name is Maya, And like I said, it's about time. Bitch. Oh, oh my god, Maya bitch hell. Amari grasps at his throat. Scaly, flaking alabaster hands reach over and grab him. They have poles in their hands, swinging violently crack on top of a Mari's skin. Maya grabs at their sticks pulling them away.

35:54 They were alone out here, she thought, where did these men come from? Were they John's? The girls sometimes shared the peer with businessmen and lawyers and satisfied at home on the routine hunt for some dicks to suck, some bodies to feel up, to get their rocks off, or they pimps, thugs, rednecks. Maya grabs one of them, wraps her hand around his neck, lifts him up into the air.

36:22 He kicks and struggles. She slams him onto the ground, head first and drags him out to the sea, a searing hot blow to her head. Then it all goes black.

36:34 But do you know what, dear listener, Maya probably saw when all went black. I'm willing to bet, Prince, I'm willing to bet that it was the siren call of the products and services that support this show. And we're back.

37:05 Six. We want all black men to be exempt from military service. The filter was overflowing hot water blistered on her right hand. The pain snapped her back. The rink smell of stale robustica coffee, overcooked beans and cigarettes s flooded her senses. Shit, she explained. The counter was a mess from the overpore. She sighed, tossed the filter, poured the greeny brew from the flask into a cup, and served it Turkish coffee, she explained. A mousey woman in a turtleneck sweater cupped it as if it was a forbidden elixir and she was dying from some ancient disease.

37:47 There's too many grains in this, The white woman squeeked, It's yeah, it's Turkish coffee. The two women stared at each other for an eternal three seconds, until the white woman turned away and sat back down out. Just clean the counter, Regina, Just clean the counter. Make these weird hippie burnouts their coffee, Smile at their art that looks like a baby shit itself, laugh at their poetry about their souls burning up in the s and M dungeon of corporate America, and just breathe for your child. North Carolina is a long way, isn't it. The white man, sitting at a table near the window, said, I'm sorry, Regina replied, a bit uneasy. What did you say? Strange place, isn't it, he said, straightening his glasses. He looked like

38:36 Clark Kent. That somehow made Regina nervous duke's coffee, Regina asked, throat quavering, A bit, a little, I'm used to it. The man took a sip of his coffee. Did Janice serve him before she'd clocked out? I bet you are. She wanted to ask, Cracker, do I know you? Instead, she let a tense line crack, her robust lips shaking.

39:05 She went to wash a few dishes. She watched a minute go by on the large clock by the door. She watched the door five point thirty. The clock read half hour until Sunday close, a sweet two hours earlier than during the week, but still somehow just as achingly long. She picked up a knife. Look at this shit, the man called out from behind a newspaper. The mousey white woman shifted in her seat, buried her face in a highlights magazine. Listen to this. We believe that black people should not be forced to fight in the military service to defend a racist government that does not protect us.

39:43 We will not fight and kill other people of color in the world, who, like black people, are being victimized by the white, racist government of America. Blah blah blah. Can you believe any of this shit? The mousey woman had gathered her thing induct out of the door, an uneasy smile on her face. Huh, what's that from a wave of calmness brushed over Regina. The man had shown his hand. There was no mystery left, just her and him.

40:15 He folded the newspaper calmly and tucked it into his tan leather satchel. He took his glasses off. I have a feeling, he said, giving his temples a deep massage. He looked directly at her, locking eyes. Regina clinched her jaw. I have a feeling. You already know where this is from, don't you. It's not exactly esoteric knowledge. I mean, I know this is a small town in good old North Carolina.

40:43 But I bet you've heard of some of these kooks, the weather Underground, one group calling themselves the what was it, Simbonese Liberation Army, people like Joanne Chesamar Geronimo Pratt. I know you've heard of them. What do you want, Regina demanded, calmly, raising her voice to crest over his got I've got work to do. I've got to wrap these croissants. I know, I know, I'm sorry, he insisted. Listen here, here's my card if you ever want to talk. He held the card out toward her, but she stayed there, frozen, arms crossed.

41:22 I'm not with the FBI, I'm not with the government. I just I want was best for you, Regina. The sound of her name chilled her. I'm with an agency that can help you and your child. Child, Regina, Child, Regina, child, Regina. We can help you. Our experiments with getting people like you, criminals, terrorists into our deep programming tanks have been highly successful.

41:53 We can offer you total immunity with your compliance. She had been so careful. She watched the men rise his coat over his arm, satchel tight across his body, and really, Regina, there's nothing to think about. Just we're trying to help you. If we don't hear from you in forty eight hours, we will call the police. It's that simple. And he left, no take care, no scene, ceiling quips. He simply left and disappeared down a quaint street, where he got into a black car that sat there for a minute before turning onto a windy road through the college campus. When Gina locked the door, ran to a payphone. Now do it now, she screamed into the phone. She did not wait for the last bus as she normally would. She

42:44 ran home power walked through the white neighborhoods. The moonchased her as the sun disappeared into the seams of dust. I'm Maya, she screams. A tube is in her arm. There's a man in a white lab coat standing at the foot of the bed reading a chart. Three pairs of black arms are resting on hers. Mother is in the corner. The man in the lab coat jumps as Maya stirs awake. You're awake. Welcome back to the world, Miss Maya. The black faces belonging to the black hands echo, Miss Maya. The doctor corrects himself. Sorry, this is well, it's paul new to me, he laughs nervously. They certainly don't teach this kind of stuff in medical school. He returns to his chart. Brown eyes in a flock of blurry brown faces narrow at him. The brown eyes and

43:43 brown faces turned back to Maya. Where's Amari? Amari? One of them asks, girl, who is Amari? He almost died, miss thing. Why are you always fighting white boys? Girl? How is he? They all look at each other. The girls squint and shake their heads, shrugged their shoulders. One of them, an older one, says, how do you know Amari, skinny Puerto Rican pretty boy? Convogue for days? Mother? How she know Amari? That was way before your time? In this house? Where is he? Maya insists her jaw is a swollen, pulpy mash of flesh, and teeth cuts lace her forehead. Where is Amari? Amari? The older one slowly speaks, Mari is dead, child. He died of pneumonia two years ago. Seven.

44:44 We want an immediate end to police brutality and murder of black people. The door exploded open. Gina rushed from room to room, calling out her child's name. A young woman in a dashiki stood at the kitchen table. Regina, She exclaimed, Regina, I've taken care of it. You're all packed, Crystal, I need a car now. Look, okay, you not going to just come running up in here yelling at me.

45:11 The two women stopped, breathed, A tear flowed down Crystal's eye. I'm sorry, Crystal, where Crystal pointed a shaky finger up the steps. Regina tore up the steps and stopped by the child's room, so small she thought no time. She ran to her room. Searching for her bags. A suitcase flush with the steel and forced back and wheels about Yahai.

45:41 She tore it open and discarded all of the clothes, wieled it back to the other room, grabbed the child by the arm, thrust the kid into the suitcase, zipped it up, and climbed out the window. Crystal Regina thought to herself, you know what to do. In the living room down stairs, Crystal lit a match. She shrugged and sniffed through some tears. She watched the flame dance a bit, a small bulb licking the air, longing to touch something, to grow wilder calmed her a bit. She tossed the match onto an old ready couch. It was soon engulfed in flames. It's dark tight. Every few minutes there's a bump and a bigger bump. The small bumps go unnoticed.

46:30 A strong stick pokes through the darkness bricks. The arm sounds vibrate through thin canvas walls, filling the air with a redolent creepiness. There are only snatches of them. A chorus of men laughing and show nothing. All muffled bass, a radio buzzing like small insects, A heavy humming car engine that sometimes sputters, sounding like distant fireworks over a calm field. Can breathe through a hole just above head if neck cranes just a tad, can see stars flit by an a static kaleidoscope. Suddenly there's no ground. It's floating in space, drifting for a second or two until landing in a huff. A long stillness, no sound. Something pokes a tiny hole that reveals the black sky. Something snickers,

47:31 gnashes quietly, a sound like thin translucent paper tearing, Then a loud rip, and it's as if someone has unzipped the universe and opened up the blackness into another dimension. Standing before in a clean press suit, its sparkly eyes gleaming sunk into its bobbing, fat white head as a rabbit, Hey there, gasps with a start. Pardon me, lad, yes, yes, could you just yes, just a bit there. The rabbit enters into the cramp space, gently pushing to one side and zipping the suit case back up. Hi bouncy bunny esquire, it is just The bunny adjusts its bow tie, pats down the suit, checks its pocket watch, all while folding itself around time and space. Well, it's just fantimically tastic a Roney to finally meet you heard so much about

48:34 yet the ranch and shakes and tremendously. We're going to have some fun, aren't we, old chum.

48:43 And I think that's where we're going to leave it for this week. At this fantastic moment, not just a fantastic moment, a fan tibbally tastic a Rooney moment in this story, dear listener, both of us spent a long time trying to figure out exactly how to pronounce fantom bibili tastic a Rooney in order to bring me to this story.

49:03 It was hard.

49:05 Yeah, this story is fascinating. I like didn't like psychedelic fiction all that much when I was a kid. I think it has to do with my own personal neurotype where I was like everything has to make sense and it should be in order, you know. And I've come around in the past couple of years and like just the stuff that Alex is doing throughout this, like the idea that when this little kid is completely disassociated from themselves, they don't even have a name, right, They have like static instead of a name, and they don't even have a pronoun right, there's just static instead of a pronoun.

49:42 They don't have an identity, and so they like meet this bunny and I think with the like it's Maya. Now, I'm assuming she transitions and joins the vogue scene, right the scene. Okay, that's my read on what's happening.

49:58 Yeah, I mean, I I love how intimate all of this writing feels. How I think one of my favorite scenes so far was definitely that diner scene. I mean, I guess the diner scene where she meets.

50:14 The non fed.

50:17 Yeah, yeah, the non fed and like we can test you and deprogram you. And I just find like the psychedelic nature of this. I think it really suits like the times, like trying to think through all of the kind of mind altering experiences people were having. And I mean there's definitely like a clear kind of theme of trauma and how these characters are dealing with and processing trauma or like the traumas that they're running away from.

50:50 And I feel like writing that provides a filter through which the main character, the narrator, is seeing the world. I think it just makes it that much more effective because it's like these people are trying to survive these social systems, these traumas, these other elements happening around them, and it makes sense that reality is kind of breaking apart totally.

51:17 Yeah, I've always assumed that if I, like in really bad situations, my go to is just to stop interacting with reality properly, you know, which I don't know. It ties into prison. As we were talking about the very beginning to work. Yeah, well, we're going to do way more talking about this story once the story is done, which is going to be after next week, because this was only part one of two, and we'll be back next week to finish up what we want, what we believe by Alex Smith. And who's Alex Smith? You might be asking. I want to know more about Alex Smith, you might be asking, And fortunately we have a bio.

51:57 Alex Smith aka Alexoteric is a writer, artist, curator, musician that gets an Air quotes, musician, slash noise maker. Living in the cosmically kinetic city of Philadelphia. His work reflects that dichotomy. Stark beautiful, wrought with afrotopian tension, avant garde fashion and assemblage, and dynamic visual presentation. His sci fi inspired worlds collide with afro queer and radical reimaginings of the fantastic. He is a founding member of the Philadelphia based sci fi arts collective Metropolarity, a central personnel in Philadelphia's early afrofuturist community, from collage work to zines, to bands and solo music performances, to promoting other bands and performers via curation and cultural critique and arts reporting, Smith

52:46 transcends the concept of renaissance man and works from the afrofuturist vision all things, all the time, each aspect of his work in forming the other. Smith won the twenty twenty Pugh Fellowship of the Arts, presenting works such as his short story collection Arc dust Roserium Publishing, which, by the way, is where you can find this story if you want to read it, because sometimes with like psychedelic work, you might want to read it too. Writ his experimental art punk bands Rainbow Crimes, Solarized, Spectral Forces, Glitch Proverbs, the cyberpunk superhero indie comic book series Black Vans, among others.

53:24 His work appears in anthologies such as Stories for Chip, a tribute to Samuel R. Delaney, Rosarium, Black Quantum Futurism, Volume two, black Punk Now Soft Skull and the Black Fantastic Library of America. He invites you to join him in the chromatic exploration of the unknown, his art a visual portal to that limital space. You can find Alex Atpatreon dot com, slash they are Birds or they Are Birds on Instagram and my guest co host my reader this week talking to me about this fun story. Prince.

54:00 Where can people find you?

54:01 People can find me on social media on Instagram, I am Sweet Black Prince. I also do a YouTube channel where I share a lot of political education video essays about organizing direct action. That's just my name, Prince Shakoor. You can also find me through the podcast that I mentioned earlier, the Dugout of Black Anarchists podcast and Yeah Yeah.

54:29 As for me, you can find me on the internet too, Margaret Kiljoy, I have a newsletter I write almost every week and take care of each other. Fuck Ice so far, at every prison so and every dead Men Free.

54:48 It could happen here as a production of cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visit our website cool Zonemedia dot com or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or Wherever you listen to podcasts, you can find sources for it could happen here, Updated monthly at coozonemedia dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening.