Passing Through / Claire O’Brien / 2014
shit is real. you could die at the hands of the flaw in america just like that. even when you non confrontational and co-operative Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Immigration Issues Travel Advisory for Bahamians traveling to United States of America For Immediate Release 8 July 2016 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Immigration has […]
The summer had inhaled and held its breath too long.
The winter looked the same, as if it never had gone.
And through an open window where no curtain hung
I saw you, I saw you
Coming back to me
You came to stay and live your way
But you were scattered like leaves in the wind.
You always say “They can’t make us go away”
But I know what it always has been.
It always has been a transparent dream
Beneath an occasional sigh
Most of the time, I just let it go by
Now I wish it hadn’t begun
And yet, I saw you! Yes, I saw you
Coming back to me.
I realize I’ve been here before
On San Francisco cliffs overlooking the shore
So many ghosts in that mist could have been anyone –
But I saw you. It was you
Coming back to me.
What happens to promises made on a star?
We made you a promise before you were born.
Was our promise just something we made up for fun?
I swear. we thought all the killing was done.
And I saw you, yes I saw you
Coming back to me
“There’s no tragedy. I wish the government would round them all up, put them up against a wall, put a firing squad in front of them and blow their brains out. The tragedy is that more of them didn’t die,”
Pastor Roger Jimenez, Sacramento, California. Recent quote.
” I am not a scared, punk-ass little faggot. I am definetly not a pacifist. And I will beat the living shit out of your bigoted ass if you don’t get the fuck out of my way right now.”
Akamu Pali, my dear witty, brave and handsome friend, who died of AIDS in San Francisco in 1992. He was impossibly young.
STONEWALL – “We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control… Hey! Leave those kids alone!” The people who first physically fought the NYPD were these homeless GBLTQ kids who slept in a small park near the nightclub. Quote is taken from, of course, Pink Floyd’s The Wall.
Coming Back to Me was written by Marty Balin of The Jefferson Airplane in 1967 and released on the band’s second album, Surrealistic Pillow (1967). I changed the lyrics significantly in order to tell this story.
When Ali refused the draft, I felt something greater than pride: I felt as though my honor as a black boy had been defended, my honor as a human being… The day he refused, I cried in my room. I cried for him and for myself, for my future and for his, for all our black possibilities.
With the Nation of Islam, listening to the Prophet Elijah Muhammed
With his friend, Minister Malcolm X
“Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go 10,000 miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on Brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights? No I’m not going 10,000 miles from home to help murder and burn another poor nation simply to continue the domination of white slave masters of the darker people the world over. This is the day when such evils must come to an end. I have been warned that to take such a stand would cost me millions of dollars. But I have said it once and I will say it again. The real enemy of my people is here. I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality.… If I thought the war was going to bring freedom and equality to 22 million of my people they wouldn’t have to draft me, I’d join tomorrow. I have nothing to lose by standing up for my beliefs. So I’ll go to jail, so what? We’ve been in jail for 400 years.” April, 1967
“My conscience won’t let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what? They never called me nigger, they never lynched me, they didn’t put no dogs on me, they didn’t rob me of my nationality, rape and kill my mother and father. … Shoot them for what? How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail.” March 30 1967
“In your struggle for freedom, justice and equality I am with you. I came back to Louisville because I could not remain silent while my own people, many I grew up with, many I went to school with, many my blood relatives, were being beaten, stomped and kicked in the streets simply because they want freedom, and justice and equality in housing.”
“Here was the heavyweight champion, a magic man, taking his fight out of the ring into the arena of politics and standing firm. The message was sent.”
“I’m king of the world! I’m pretty! I’m a bad man! I shook up the world! I shook up the world! I shook up the world!”
He shook up the world.
Dear Governor Snyder:
Thanks to you, sir, and the premeditated actions of your administrators, you have effectively poisoned, not just some, but apparently ALL of the children in my hometown of Flint, Michigan.
And for that, you have to go to jail.
To poison all the children in an historic American city is no small feat. Even international terrorist organizations haven’t figured out yet how to do something on a magnitude like this.
But you did. Your staff and others knew that the water in the Flint River was poison — but you decided that taking over the city and “cutting costs” to “balance the budget” was…
View original post 880 more words
Activists from all Over the U.S. Deliver Aid to Flint*
By Claire Bernish
Lead contaminates the water in Flint, Michigan, and as you’ve probably heard, the state government in conjunction with emergency managers needlessly endangered the lives of every resident in the city by poisoning its water supply with toxic lead — for a savings amounting to about $80 to $100 per day. And while the Flint Water Crisis has largely disappeared from headlines in both mainstream and alternative media, residents are no closer to receiving the most basic human right with any consistency.
In fact, the situation, in many ways, continues to worsen as the government not only originally failed to keep informed residents of the economically-depressed city what’s being done to solve their crisis, but failed to provide adequate supply for their daily lives.
Imagine suddenly being unable to turn the tap on in warming weather for…
View original post 1,089 more words
ACEP APRILYANA, A YOUNG SUNDANESE POET FROM JAVA, IS WORKING IN BALI.
HE LEARNED TO GROW RICE FROM HIS GRANDFATHER.
MY POETRY FARMERS
It’s not a beautiful poem.
It’s a poem standing guard.
When the earth is raped, my ink sweats,
Sunburning my paper jet.
I do not know the poetry of flowers
For here, the soil is
decorated with a dream
and unable to speak.
O rice ..
Please give my kind compliments to the country’s leaders
Arriving into the mouth of the gate
They are good at talking.
O fruit ..
ACEP’S BLOG, SUNDANESE IN ACTION MAY BE UNDER CONSTRUCTION OR LACKING NEW POSTS. JUST CHECK BACK.
Thanks to Rosaliene Bacchus. Go to link below for story.
Jean-Michel Basquiat was an influential American artist who achieved fame in the late 1970s and early 1980s, credited with bringing graffiti to the fine art world of painting alongside Keith Haring and Kenny Scharf. Though Basquiat never finished high school, he grew up visiting the Brooklyn Museum of Art and took an interest in art from a young age. His early work consisted of tagging in downtown New York with his friend Al Diaz under the pseudonym SAMO©, and Basquiat later went on to create numerous collaborations with Pop Art icon Andy Warhol.
So, you want those graffiti artists arrested and stopped?
Basquiat is considered part of the Neo-Expressionist movement alongside Julian Schnabel andDavid Salle, with his politicized canvases blending African imagery and symbolism with the movement’s characteristic gestural marks and bright patches of color. Born on December 22, 1960 in Brooklyn, NY, Basquiat spent his life working in New York until his death from a drug overdose on August 12, 1988, at the age of 27.
Jawbone of an Ass, 1982
The Whitney Museum of American Art held the first retrospective of his work from October 1992 to February 1993, and in 2016 his large canvas Untitled (1982) broke auction records with a final price of $57.3 million.
Basquiat’s legendary curriculum vitae evokes something of his existential experience: a Haitian– Puerto Rican black kid living on the streets of New York who tags walls and later starts making paint- ings that get shown and sold all over the world by the vulture dealers; a kid who collaborates with Andy Warhol, painting in a daring and very pure way on the same canvases; a kid who over a decade
produces thousands of images and then dies of a heroin overdose. This story and the many photos taken of him conjure up something of what Bas- quiat’s life was like, but they reveal little about the secret of his art.
Normally when women or men want to contest the lies they are living among and under, they put forward as counterassertions the truths that are being hidden. James Baldwin and Angela Davis are examples from an earlier period, but both of them, being black, fought against some of the same lies.
Basquiat chose a different strategy. He sensed that hidden truths cannot be described in any of the languages commonly employed for the promo- tion of lies; he saw every official language as a code for conveying false messages. His strategy as a painter was to discredit and split open such codes and to let in some vibrant, invisible, clandestine truths—like a saboteur. His ploy as a painter was to spell out the world in a language that is delib- erately broken—ontologically broken.
historiography for the masses
Non siamo tutti uguali, Ciò ci rende speciali !
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