 First, I want to thank Shizu for this beautiful, this beautiful everything. Yeah, and also to say thank the first peoples of this land, the original victims of that first kind of gentrification that they call colonization. Also to my sister, Queen Nandis in the house and all of my fellow poverty scholars at Poor Magazine. It's a poor people led movement of media education and art and if you don't already know, now you know, you know, we're doing a homeless people solution to homelessness. It's called homefulness and it's hella radical and we don't get much love, so check us out. I always start also to my mom. I always start with the thing I call my slam bio and I'm gonna do a shortened version of it and then I'm gonna read a short piece. I have three pieces in there. Check them out if you have a minute. But this I always say I am a poverty scholar, that houseless mama, that houseless daughter. I am a poverty scholar. All the people you don't want to see, never want to be, look away from me. What you gonna do? Arrest me? We're in your city. Yeah, I'm a poverty scholar and I usually rock my jailhouse attire because me and my poor mama did jail time just trying to stay alive and housed in this holler. I am a poverty scholar, the melanin-challenged daughter of a strong afferable equal mama for without whom there would be no me. I'm a mama sortera and a welfare queen. And so I usually say that I'm always representing the people that nobody wants to see. I wear my jail suit because our lives are invisibilized, criminalized, and taken away so you can't see. And I urge you all to listen to not continue to perpetrate the violent act of looking away. But this poem goes out to all these beautiful artists in the room who might be doing what I call the grant dance some day soon, and to Shizu, who I know is already on that train. My other piece is the tenderloin take about gentrification right around us. I'd urge you to check it out. Had a dream not to save the world, but to save other unhoused disabled mamas and little girls. You see, I was that baby with my mama holding that sign. The one you turned away from pretended I wasn't alive. Grew up with mama. Her and me almost made it. Almost didn't make it through the poverty, racism, houselessness drama. Hustled for food, never had the rent until mama said chase that dream. Write a grant. Take a chance. You got skills, tiny. You can do the grant dance. You see the Philanthropams, you a sexy young thing with at least one grant cycle we can exploit. Just come a sniff a little of this grant guidelines oil. You can do whatever you want, deep Star Wars voice, but always do what we say. So happy created a job for my uncle, my houseless friends, my poor magazine family, and most of all my colonized broken mommy. Wow, self-determination, liberation words and dreams helping each other. No more about us without us schemes. And then what? You ain't doing what we say and reporting on each other? Keep those feet up the Philanthropim say because that grant may run out. And well, you ain't sexy grant material anymore, baby. Yeah, so that's a little bit of the magic. Check it out. This book is so beautiful and I hope you do more. And I do want to say that, yeah, we don't live on those grants no more. We teach folks with race and class privilege about the radical notion of redistribution and community reparations. People's school, check us out.