The strangest part about terminal illness is how often death comes for a peck on the lips and nothing more. A few weeks ago, I flew home to attend my mother's final affairs. Now we sit, smoothies and champagne glasses, watching a movie to spend time together. It's sunny this Tuesday. Here are reflections from Invisible Beauty on Bethann Hardison, from both me and my mother.

What use is "measured rationality" when to be Reasonable means to die quietly and without fanfare? Notes from the text, How to Go Mad Without Losing Your Mind.

I had this dream I had to walk people through how Palestine is my country, and how I love my country.

All capital is world-making. Beauty is access to that world (but it does not necessarily mean you hold onto that capital). Beauty, a kind of capital, exists as a ticket into the door of a paradise— a picture perfect pool party filled with the best liquor, the most gorgeous swimsuits, ringing laughter floating above the most beautiful people you know like beach balls. It’s perpetually golden hour. It smells like sunscreen and sleek, perfumed, oiled bodies brushing up on one another, and fruit trees blooming, and you are standing outside the wooden gate perpetually looking in. And you are meant to. That is the designated place of the Have Nots. In fact, the most you will ever be if you are an aspiring Have Not is an exception to the rule.