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In the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests in the Summer of , Kris Sealey reflects upon the intractable and totalizing logic of anti-blackness. From this tension, Sealey invites readers problematize easily digestible prescriptions for making worlds in which black lives do, indeed, matter. If the revolution will not be televised, then what we see on the TV will always not yet be the revolution. Not yet the total destruction of this world for another. Not yet the crumbling to ash of the totality of anti-blackness for something else. The revolution will not be televised because it is always too early. Or too late. The revolution is always too early and too late. The revolution will be out of this time, out-of-time, against the rhythm of this world. It will be in the Break 3 of — and the breaking of — its beat. And so, it will not be televised. Because we ourselves will be revolutionized, undone and replaced by something unrecognizable. If the revolution will not be televised then what we see on the TV is not the revolution. Straddling the train tracks. To say they are so sorry that we have to etch out lives in an unlivable anti-blackness. As though what they have practiced all their lives — living in a defunct whiteness that is nothing if not anti-black— can ever count as actual living. The revolution will not be televised because the Great Break from all this — the fire next time 5 — will we can only pray break and burn us all. The only thing we can do is tear this shit down completely and build something new. Too early and too late for any fundamental undoing of the brick-and-mortar of the American house. And perhaps this has always been the point — to keep camouflaged this brick and mortar so that its chameleon properties can thrive, churn out, era after era, more of the changing same. And No-knock Warrants must steal away Breonna Taylor. The list goes on since the banality and everydayness of this anti-black violence is our common sense, scandalous but in no way unusual. It shocks but, as common, never surprises. This is what is required for an impossible figuration of blackness-as-emancipatory to be our common sense, our Ground Zero, camouflaged and chameleon starting point for all meaning-making. The Break does not participate in this commonly held sense. It lives against this meaning-making that shapes us both as subjects and citizens, calls us to be something Other than Man. It is un-common, undoes what is common, from a place that is otherwise than or perhaps Under the Common. The Break is generative. It germinates another world that is out-of-time and disorderly against the horizon of this one. And yet, the Break has always been germinating with-and-against this world, its daring generativity daring the common sense of this world with the audacity of its own minor key. A minor key that chooses watery death over New World plantations, and that knits together kinship over and against natal alienation. A minor key that chooses infanticide over partus sequitur ventrem. I am my own foundation. Such errant paths will not be televised, because the TV broadcasts in grids and straight lines. So what we see on the TV is not yet and no longer the revolution. Not yet and no longer the Break and the breaking of this world. And perhaps this is the point of the Undercommons. Fresh coats of paint, then, only cover over what remains unchanged, hidden, protected from a fundamental undoing. Alexander H. Hartman, Wayward Lives , Beautiful Experiments. Hartman, Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Charles Lam Markmann, Pluto Press, Image credit: Natalie del Villar Original Artwork. Related Articles. Say their Name.

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