I set up twitter yesterday, for this, in part, looking for an occasion to be brave, to show solidarity, sharing my #YouKnowMe, to write a love letter to Alabama, to Verona – to admit my privilege and put it in service of others. At least these are my self-congratulatory reasons. As a dear friend phrased it more candidly, twitter should have you sign a consent form for the most likely outcome: your life priorities and mental health will be compromised, but you’ll be a celebrity in your own little world. In any case, those 280 characters seemed very costly, almost unbearable to write in coherent prose. So I didn’t, here. Thank you for this space. The question remains: why should we have to pay that cost? What kind of relentlessly patriarchal epistemic territory makes this still necessary today?