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{tender}queer artist-activist of colour
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Earthseed: The Book of the Living (Octavia E. Butler)

(Source: here-lies-andalusia, via blackfeminism)

Beware:
Ignorance
Protects itself.
Ignorance
Promotes suspicion.
Suspicion
Engenders fear:
Fear quails,
Irrational and blind,
Or fear looms,
Defiant and closed.
Blind, closed,
Suspicious, afraid,
Ignorance
Protects itself,
And protected,
Ignorance grows.

literarycondition:

We sit and talk quietly,
with long lapses of silence,
and I am aware of the stream
that has no language, coursing
beneath the quiet heaven of
your eyes,
which has no speech;

—William Carlos Williams, from Paterson: Revised Edition (New Directions, 1992)

(Source: feellng, via apoetreflects)

"I wasn’t born so that my life can treated as cheap entertainment for people, I am my own person. I am human too." — Sha Bi in Mei Wen Hua (2008)

(Source: gayperson, via maakomori)

我是個看不懂漢字的傻逼鬼佬,只是覺得重帖這個引用句會讓自己顯得有文化而已。真不要脸。

Lucy: Why I’m Tired of Seeing White People on the Big Screen

(via tubooks)

(via queergiftedblack)

How is it that in a film whose premise rests on the idea of reimagining the past, present and future, we still end up with a blonde white woman with flashing blue eyes as the stand-in for what personifies evolution and supremely fulfilled human potential? At one point the Ape-like Lucy and Evolved Lucy meet face-to-face as Evolved Lucy does a bit of time-traveling. Their fingers touch, and we see them deliberately posed to mimic the famous Creation of Adam painting, and in that moment I saw what I suppose we were supposed to see: humanity at its beginning, and then humanity at its end, at its most perfect. Blonde, white and blue-eyed.



I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that there was only one black woman in the entire film, who delivered one line and who we never saw again. I can’t accept that the bad guys were Asian and that although in China, Lucy’s roommate says, “I mean, who speaks Chinese? I don’t speak Chinese!” I can’t accept that in Hercules, which I also saw this weekend, there were no people of color except for Dwayne Johnson himself and his mixed-race wife, whose skin was almost alabaster. I can’t accept that she got maybe two lines and was then murdered. I can’t accept that the “primitive tribe” in Hercules consisted of dark-haired men painted heavily, blackish green, to give their skin (head-to-toe) a darker appearance, so the audience could easily differentiate between good and bad guys by the white vs. dark skin. I can’t accept that during the previews, Exodus: Gods and Kings, a story about Moses leading the Israelite slaves out of Egypt, where not a single person of color is represented, casts Sigourney Weaver and Joel Edgerton to play Egyptians. I can’t accept that in the preview for Kingsman: The Secret Service, which takes place in London, features a cast of white boys and not a single person of Indian descent, which make up the largest non-white ethnic group in London. I can’t accept that in stories about the end of the world and the apocalypse, that somehow only white people survive. I can’t accept that while my daily life is filled with black and brown women, they are completely absent, erased, when I look at a TV or movie screen.

Zona Teti, “Joan Outside,” Mississippi Review (vol. 19, no. 3, 1991)

(Source: apoetreflects, via nnamu)

I walk in a borrowed self,
a drift of mist
left from a smoking lake.

Even when I sit still as a dead wind,
the sun still eats me.
My skin turns back to sea-foam
peeling away from a loaned skin.

With luck the melt is slow,
the thinning of a stone
or the thinning of love
to its weary core:
that hoard guarded
as if the last few seeds.

kelpls:

Child nature spirit exploring the city 

(via pftpft)

Theodore Roethke, from “Words for Young Writers,” On Poetry & Craft (Copper Canyon Press, 2001)

(Source: apoetreflects)

May my silences become more accurate.
http://apoetreflects.tumblr.com/post/93364918305/this-morning-i-have-never-been-so-close-to-you-i →

apoetreflects:

This morning, I have
never been so close to you. I think you could be
anywhere and so I have written you here, not to forget. Yet
I don’t want to see you caught like a word in that last line.
What does the nightingale do when it runs out of things to say?
Only this: I have never been so astonished…

artruby:

Scott McFarland at Regen Projects.

Daniell Koepke  (via anitawhatsneat)

(Source: psych-facts, via selfcarezine)

The fact that you’re struggling doesn’t make you a burden. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undesirable or undeserving of care. It doesn’t make you too much or too sensitive or too needy. It makes you human. Everyone struggles. Everyone has a difficult time coping, and at times, we all fall apart. During these times, we aren’t always easy to be around — and that’s okay. No one is easy to be around one hundred percent of the time. Yes, you may sometimes be unpleasant or difficult. And yes, you may sometimes do or say things that make the people around you feel helpless or sad. But those things aren’t all of who you are and they certainly don’t discount your worth as a human being. The truth is that you can be struggling and still be loved. You can be difficult and still be cared for. You can be less than perfect, and still be deserving of compassion and kindness.

kleine-asbar:

Note to self: if you find a picture of a model/actor who is the perfect (or near perfect) face-claim for your OC, save that shit or else you’ll drive yourself crazy finding them again.

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