When approached through the theoretical lenses of canonical literature and the reductionist Western science of settler colonialism, climate crisis discourse grapples with a conception of apocalypse wherein catastrophe and hopelessness engender eco-anxiety and a sense of environmental nihilism. Drawing from the works of Jessica Hernandez, Sherri Mitchell, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and others, “What Would the Mushrooms Say?”, both as a class and concept, envisions a healing-centered, interdisciplinary approach to climate discourse in learning spaces, one that centers the theoretical and practical applications of an Indigenous science and mythology to flip the dominant narratives we tell about the dystopic dead ends of climate change, extinctions, anthropocentric hierarchies, and other events predictive of end times. Instead of only reckoning with white settler colonialism’s false promises of technocratic off-planet societies, students interact with a multiplicity of apocalypses and possibilities found in Indigenous cosmologies, mythologies, epistemologies, and speculative fiction of Indigenous, Indigequeer, queer writers of color, and the natural world. Posited as an exemplar text, Amanda Strong’s animated short film Biidaaban is discussed in terms of its instructional potential and depiction of Indigenous ways of relating, as kin, to human and nonhuman alike when speculating about futurity. “What Would the Mushrooms Say?” calls for slowing down and embracing the natural world as a teacher from whom we learn and speculate alongside. It suggests as a lifelong practice ways of relating to our planet and engaging with the climate discourse that interrupt a legacy of white settler colonialist eco-theorizing and action determined to dominate and subdue the natural world. In conclusion, this project documents the emergence of students’ shifting perspectives and their explorations of newfound possibilities within learning spaces where constructive hope rather than despair dominates climate discourse.

Kendrick Lamar’s 2022 track “We Cry Together” is, if nothing else, a masterful piece of wordplay and rhythm. Lamar manages to create a lyrical conversation that sounds both dialectical and diametric. Both the song and album are a definitive break from his earlier tenor that struck a mass appeal. A private conversation between two people, “We Cry Together”, insofar as it captures the intimate interiority of a couple, is also a break within the album itself. Textual renderings of Black performances cut away in ways similar to Lamar’s song or the soloist in a jazz ensemble, their breaks signifying sound. Invoking as aural praxis the language of jazz musicology and Black lyrical theory of Fred Moten, this article closely reads chapter four in George Lamming’s In the Castle of My Skin as one such special representation of textual aurality. First, it identifies multiple manifestations of “the break” before probing the deeply conflicted concept of Black noise as the racialized, resistant, resilient, and resonant octave of radical Black performance. A lyrical improvisation of a Black noise defiant in its indeterminacy, Ma and Pa’s duet cuts away from Castle’s polyphonic ensemble, creating the break within a break, within a break. Lingering in the cut, listening as Fred Moten, Douglas Kearney, Ren Ellis Neyra, and Zadie Smith encourage, the article arrives at a euphonic reproduction as induction into a legacy of synesthetic, lyrical, radical Black noise.

This article puts Christina Sharpe’s theories of “the wake” and “wake work” and Kevin Quashie’s theory of “Black aliveness” in conversation with Peace Peloton, a nonprofit organization promoting Black businesses and community through the activities of cycling and neighborhood events. The author reads Peace Peloton’s gatherings and the draft of turbulent air produced by their pelotons, or groups of bicyclists in motion, as radical Black performances and what Sharpe calls “wake work.” Acts of resistance and resilience enacted in the aftermath—the wake—of the Transatlantic slave trade, Peace Peloton’s rides and gatherings as “wake work” reject the ontological othering of Black bodies and being and dynamize what it means to be in a wake. Enacting Quashie’s sense of “worldmaking,” Peace Peloton’s “wake work” challenges presumptions of the outdoors and road cycling as white spaces, for white people, and reclaims for Black worldmaking once majority Black, now gentrified spaces of commerce and leisure. An interdisciplinary look into a cultural expression that has heretofore gone unexamined, this chapter weaves into its application of contemporary Afrodiasporic theory the history of redlining, cycling physics, writing on Blackness and the outdoors, Alexis Pauline Gumb’s short story “Bluebellow,” and Fedeke N. Castor’s Spiritual Citizenship: Transnational Pathways from Black Power to Ifa in Trinidad. It is through this ambitious and innovative interpretative lens that the author illuminates Peace Peloton’s “wake work” and Black worldmaking and situates them within the broader corpus of Afrodiasporic literature and cultural expressions.