An Important Message

January 17, 2026

---

Please enjoy the above audio reading of this letter recorded by yours truly.

I’m guessing you’ve all figured out by now 2026 is already a shit year. I wish I could tell you differently but I’m nothing if not a Black woman on a mission to shine a black light on the American Dream. And my god – it’s absolutely filthier than a porno shot in the monkey cages at the zoo. Positively covered in microscopic bodily fluids from something as benign as earwax to more lascivious secretions shot onto the ceiling – and don’t you dare go prim and proper and stop reading. This is the American Dream you curl up with. You need to know about the faint traces of hepatitis B and C covering the beliefs you’ve climbed into bed with.

---

Yesterday, someone messaged me:

Hi Marcie -- I’m not sure if you will see this but I figured it was worth a try. In a comment to another writer here, I was reflecting on a post you shared some time ago in which you talked about how Black Americans are coming through this time, and this administration, differently than some others of us [white] folks, because you’ve always known you can’t trust our government. Always known it would turn on you. Never known anything else. I was asked to share the link if I could, but after a bit of a deep dive on your page trying to find it, I came here instead.

Well, you dear, thoughtful reader, I said I’d try to find it, but in all honesty I couldn’t bring myself to the task. It was just too depressing to go back and read all those words, words, words and know they changed nothing. But, because you seem so kind and earnest, let me just try to share the sentiment again:

Dear Ruling-Class, Ruling-Race Americans,

I don’t know what to tell you. But my dear friend, Shannan Martin, who is also part of the ruling-class (meaning educated, literate, and living above the poverty line) and also part of the ruling race (White, y’all, she’s White) is writing a lovely book about counterweights which I’m so grateful for because Shannan can help me help you see things as they are from your privileged tower-on-high. I’ve tried but it’s hard to explain color to the blind.

Black Americans have been living these institutional lives in every shade, hue and color. Don’t believe me? Go and read Imani Perry’s fabulous book Black In Blue. We are not happy about the state of affairs but when have Black folks as a whole ever been completely happy? Even Obama could only do what he could (thank you very much Mitch McConnell, I hope you choke on an artichoke) and when he left office, we all felt like how Michelle’s face looked at the 2016 inauguration.

What I’m saying is, we’ve learned to live above the oppression that would love nothing more than to sink us all in the Tallahatchie River. What I’m saying is, they shackled us to the fields and we looked for the North Star. What I’m saying is, they trampled and bludgeoned us as we marched for our freedom and we kept on singing. What I’m saying is, they banned us from higher education so we built our own. What I’m saying is, they told us we were cursed and we still called upon the Lord anyway, hung up pictures of Black Jesus and kept on singing, “Precious Lord, take my hand…” as only we could sing it. Counterweights, my friends. Black folks have been balancing the terrible with the sublime since the White Lion reached these shores. Don’t believe me? Well, what do you call a pot of chitlins if not the terrible made sublime? Also, go pre-order Shannan Martin’s book. It’s gonna be a better companion than anything I can say to you. I have no idea what it is to be surprised at the state of the world as it is. For me and Black America, this is how its always been. To quote Zora Neale Hurston, “…I do not weep at the world—I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”

---

The very best thing I can do for you right now, my dear heart-kins, is to work on my writing so that all these words, words, words stick to you like the smell of chitlins in your nostrils. I’ve tried to calculate how many words I’ve written to try to convince you that religion is a terrible guardian and Christianity is its evilest and most entitled spawn. My memoir is at least 60,000+ words and I’ve published at least four hundred and ninety-three essays on Substack and before that at least two-hundred or so history lessons on Patreon and I don’t even wanna think about the number of words I garnered in Instagram posts. That’s a lot of fucking words warning, begging, pleading, teaching, hoping, praying—words words words—and yet, here we are.

Any old hoo, I’m taking a break for now because I’m currently enrolled in a couple of writing courses. Fingers crossed, I’ll come out of them a better scribe than I’m barely managing to be now. I don’t know what to say to y’all. I don’t know which words will help. I feel like I’ve tried them all and all I get are crickets in the comments section. Do you know how annoying the sound of crickets is? I’m not saying I deserve anyone’s time. Actually, I’m saying the complete opposite. I don’t. At least not as I’m writing these days. I want to be the kind of writer you can’t wait to read. I want to deserve your time. I want to be more than a way to feel better about your racist tendencies. I want to feel like you need my words as urgently as you need the next Emily Henry. And that’s a tall task I’ve set before myself. Because y’all, Emily Henry… who doesn’t love her? I’d like to be loved like that.

So, goodbye for now. All payments have been paused until I return in a few weeks after gaining some knowledge and adding some new skills to my toolkit – which right now is pretty dusty and rusty. It’s scary to pause payments because this newsletter is the only money I earn. It’s humbling to be a 56 year old mother whose kid out-earns you with their part-time job. I have to believe I can do better. Right?

Don’t answer that.

Much Love,
Marcie May

---