by Ciro Faienza
***Editor's Note: Disturbing***
Austin approached J'ae with a Dixie cup full of blue, slurring something to her about "urban" culture--read "black." How had that word persisted?
"It's like," he said, "what was your paper at the ISH Conference?"
"Marxist Biology and Black Identity." Well received, but some blank stares. When J'ae said she could "fold," she meant both protein problems and reconfiguring her Self; most in the crowd understood only one or the other. White MIT undergrads.
She reminded herself. Worth doing at an East Campus modding party--piercings and psychotropics and saline injections, yes, but mostly naked white skin.
The paper was a euphemism for the work she did breaking into campus labs. Risky for a black girl, but still better than the indie lab collectives in the city, where some kid always invited a raid with unfortunate uses of hydroponics bays or Erlenmeyer flasks or stolen equipment. And with the Big Pharma fight, what she couldn't get on campus, she could find on the deep web.