COLLAGE FOR FUTURE REPAIR
D'mani Thomas | Oakland | USA
When thinking about transportation, I was drawn towards the structures that allow transportation and the ideas that allow movement. Slavery turned Black people into objects and by way of legislation has kept us in a strange position. Oakland is one place where that "strangeness" is present, but people undermine it through: language, dance, etc... Collage for Future Repair starts with the Black woman theorizing the world, takes us on a tour of Oakland and ends with thoughts on the future.
Production Credits
Gracia Mwamba - Main Camera ( First shot of video)
René Revolorio Keith - Main actor ( First shot of video)
Micheal Foulk - Main Camera (Libation shot)
Anna Marie - First reviewer
Afatasi the Artist - Transportation Captain
In 2016, After commenting on the inability of a parent to call themselves a parent under the conditions of captivity. Saidiya Hartman called the Black women’s womb a slave ship.
That same year NoName said “i’m tryna reimagine abra cadabra for poverty”
And i can’t help but think about how multitalented we are
Product, producer, transportation vessel, and magic
For Oscar Grant, For Nia Wilson,
I pray your trip be smooth since your BART ride wasn’t
The train isn’t safe
the buses don’t run on time
Uber and Lyft have back door agreements with dynamite and wealthy businessmen
I’m thinking about my city from an aerial view
muscle cars & scrapers doin donuts, crop circles, magicians the way make smoke and summon circles/ like they tryna transmute ’06 hyphy back
There isn’t a night in Oakland that isn’t both ominous & a live.
like I could die at any moment and still some how come back tomorrow
I have a theory, that pour one out for the dead homie is just a hood niggas alchemy. A way of saying “ I’ve fermented blood, sweat and memory and now im growing you back”
As long as I can see myself somewhere/ TV maybe, there ain’t no killin me
On the question of Black Death
I’ve seen niggas ooze onto the concrete
I’ve seen niggas pour one out for the dead homies
On the question of Black magic
I’ve seen bodies poured back into bodies
I’ve seen a Black girl make it home.
There’s the city brochure and then there’s the city
There’s a condo by the lake and then there’s something you can actually afford.
I’m wondering what a city free of violence looks like
I’m thinking about maroonage, slaves building whole communities in the dirtiest of conditions. Are swamps ancestral ghettos?
Did we inherit the ability to feed a family off shit, scraps and leftovers?
Do we mourn in waste? Red solo cup memorial. Styrofoam tombstone. graffiti grave.
E 40 taught me this…
Movements always been apart of the movement
every tragedy / we found a way to wade through it
Trayvon Martin dies and we find a new way to keep our hands up
Mike brown dies and we learn the whip
2000’s, 19th century, 18th century, despite the time, we make Sense of a lost life through memory
You miss your friend, then make them a dance at every party
You miss your country, smuggle in a song
we built a world of sadness, made grief a core and danced all night
What makes you think we won’t invent a new one/ a way out of all this mess
about the artist
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