This is a book of failure and mistakes; it begins with what is stolen from us and proposes only an invitation to imagine.


‘An extraordinary book—written with compassion, fearlessness and determination to imagine a more equal world into being. A joy to read and to think with.’ — The New Statesman
‘One of the most interesting and inspiring feminist thinkers working in Britain today, Olufemi here cements her reputation as a powerful literary voice as well as a key political theorist.’ — Red Pepper
‘Lola’s writing crackles kindness and oozes fury. Above all, it is direct. … Everybody needs to read this book.’ — SPAM
‘A manifestation, not a manifesto, not a work of theory, not a collection of short stories, not a book of poetry. Genreless, genreful … alive and alive differently through each of its moments … a living gift with which to make gifts of life.’ — periodicities : a journal of poetry and poetics
‘Lola’s writing ... makes me embrace feeling like a dreamer.’ — Zoé Samudzi, co-author of As Black as Resistance
‘A balm that soothes the soul and eases the heart ... an open invitation through the portal ... into the otherwise.’ — Gail Lewis, co-founder of the Organisation for Women of African and Asian Descent (OWAAD)
‘Reading this book wrought magic in my spirit. I am floored! I am flying! … Here is some breath-giving medicine for this gasping historic moment. Here are some weapons for lovers, for feminists.’ — Sophie Lewis, author of Full Surrogacy Now
‘Reminds us once more: the light is within us!’ — Imani Robinson, writer and curator
‘I was blown away ... It’s rare to come across a voice so committed to challenging every convention ... with such generosity, clarity and freshness of tone.’ — Preti Taneja, author of We That Are Young
‘Alive with ideas, jokes, dreams, rage and wisdom.’ — Sita Balani, co-author of Empire’s Endgame



when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of some place where people do not suffocate to death in the back of a lorry, or where a little black girl does not die from air pollution without ever seeing the other half of the city, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of mastering vulnerability so they could stop distancing themselves from everything and everyone, when he is dreaming, he is dreaming of a place where the thing he makes with his hands does not make him sick or fill him with dread or give his great-great-great-great-granddaughter a heart defect, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of a heavy embrace, the kind that is not about the tyranny of intelligibility, when they are dreaming, they are hoping that it is not a dream, that the thing can and will be actualised, when he is dreaming, he is dreaming of some sensory impression that does not have to come from an encounter in the mausoleum, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of togetherness, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of the time and space that could turn the photograph into an object of continuity, when he is dreaming, he is not dreaming of his goddamn responsibilities, when she is dreaming, perhaps she is watching her mistakes cascade, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of the limits of form and text and books and visual art and sound experiments, when he is dreaming, he is dreaming of practical application, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming and no longer feels repulsed by the prospect of staying alive, when they are dreaming, they are not dreaming of an unmoored fucking utopia, as if they don’t know that is a code word for ‘not possible’, when he is dreaming, he is dreaming of abolishing himself, abolishing ‘he’, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of lighting the ‘culture war’ on fire, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of not giving away children who should be protected to a school system that will crush them, when he is dreaming, he is not dreaming, he is trying to work himself into a trance so as to feel something different on a Thursday evening, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of how easy the task becomes when you set yourself parameters, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of the cultural politics of emotion, which is always another word for presentiment, didn’t you know? when he is dreaming, he is dreaming of coming first and reminding himself that competition is anathema to those revolutionaries he would like to emulate, when she is dreaming, she is dreaming of nothing new, when they are dreaming, they are dreaming of all the things they would do come the time, like diving into the ocean with a body that is only the remnants of discourses on ontology...

-