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The blackness is visible and yet is invisible … The blackness cannot bring me joy but often I am made glad in it. The blackness cannot be separated from me but often I can stand outside it … In the blackness, then, I have been erased, I can no longer say my own name, I can no longer point to myself and say ‘I’. In the blackness my voice is silent. First, then, I have been my individual self. Carefully banishing randomness from my existence, then I am swallowed up in the blackness so that I am one with it.
— Jamaica Kincaid (via ancestryinprogress)