I’ll die in Syria at the age of 22

gracie abrams

No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
No title available
cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle

ellievsbear
𓃗
untitled
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Kiana Khansmith
Fai_Ryy
ojovivo
No title available

Origami Around
Phantogram Three
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
Claire Keane
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Belgium
seen from Russia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Congo - Kinshasa
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from India

seen from Ukraine
seen from Türkiye
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
@acresofskin
I’ll die in Syria at the age of 22
dr. dog: so i see it says here you’re willing to donate organs. patient: yes. dr. dog: good good… and your bones? patient: my bones? why would i… dr. dog: just answer the question. #woof
The Lie of Black Capitalism
#BlackLivesMatter needs a class analysis alongside it’s race analysis. Nothing has driven this home more to me than being in Ghana and seeing African owned shops, African owned banks, African owned corporations, African judges, African police, and an African president and yet the masses of people there are still poor, still struggling, and still exploited and oppressed. It’s extremely common in Accra to see huge, huge houses with humming generators behind six foot high walls topped with broken glass and barbed wire, houses owned by wealthy Africans. Next to this ostentatious wealth you’ll see rows upon rows of reclaimed shipping containers turned into homes, or concrete huts with sheet metal roofs, often without running water or consistent electricity, housing families of four, five, or more poor Africans. What does this obvious inequality tell you?
If the solution to African oppression in the US is just more and better integration, more representation in the justice system, in business, and in government, why is the situation in Ghana what it is? Or alternatively, if the solution is separate Black owned and led institutions, created for us and by us, then WTF Ghana?
Black business will not save us, y’all. Black capitalism will not save us. A Black president damn sure didn’t save us. Neither did having Black congress people, Black cops, or Black judges, no matter how many of them we find and raise up. Black nationalism isn’t going to save us either, unless the ideology is tied to an understanding of class, capitalism, and colonization.
There’s no such thing as true equality under capitalism. There’s no such thing as capitalism without exploitation. Capitalism can not function without structural oppression. White supremacy and anti-black and anti-indigenous racism were all created with the express purpose of creating a justification for capitalist exploitation. Why? Because Africans and Indigenous folks had the land and the resources, and capitalists needed both to build their empires. They justified theft and genocide by dehumanizing us and it’s STILL happening. We will never be free under capitalism.
If the structure of a system is broken, it’s gonna stay broken no matter how many Black faces you plug into it. And it’s important to understand that there are African (Black) bourgeois just as surely as there are European (white) ones - ask poor Africans - and they have a vested interest in the survival of capitalism and the continued oppression of all of the rest us. The more they steal from us, the less power we have to stop them, the more wealth they have. It’s as simple as that.
Building the power of the African masses both on the continent and in the diaspora is the only thing that’s going to save us. Dismantling capitalism and pushing for socialism in the US and on the African continent - an economic system where every single person is truly considered equal, where the masses of people own their labor, resources, and means of production, and where no land or nation can be exploited for the benefit of a callous few - is what’s going to get us free.
"The kind of art that I make is really quite personal and requires a lot of attention, like having a child. I mean, you can take credit for it for only so long, and then you realize that it’s somewhat autonomous. It almost has its own consciousness, because it’s communicating things and affecting people regardless of me.” - Sufjan Stevens
Energy turns directly to overwhelming distress, a caffeine-contrived paroxysm: I have nowhere to go, and no reason to stay; no promise of a future, nothing to lose, would running really cost me anything
~ “How to Bathe,” Herald of Health, 1866
A perfect duet. [source]
Photographer: Thomas Prior
Represented by: Webber represents
Enrico Robusti (Italian, b. 1956, Parma, Italy) - This Wild, Wild… Usual World Paintings: Oil
Urbanistan Matjaž Krivic
As soon as you hear the word “Urbanistan,” your imagination is whisked off into the traffic mayhem of Calcutta; the tawdriness of the neon-sex nightlife in Bangkok; the unbelievablely structured—yet simultaneously frenzied—Tokyo; the suffocating and dusty streets of the (hardly) living body of decaying Cairo; the roundabout of the hedonistic and aggressive Rio, the unstoppable, narcissistic Manhattan. In short, the global supermarket of turbo consumerism.
However, Matjaž Krivic’s “Urbanistan” is a miraculous anti-thesis to all this. It is a story from the other side—a story of the quiet loudness on the margins of total existential, religious, economic and geopolitical chaos. A story that speaks of the indestructible spirit and the eternal search of inspiration that enables survival.
It is a story of individuals and social groups who, putting aside the racket and general urban angst, keep searching for the core of existence in a different space and a different time. It is a story of survival through play, prayer, tradition, rituals, travels, socialising and especially, a special light, that the author of the exhibition sees and records so well.
Urbanistan is a space that allows you to take a breather from the city. Any city.
Images and text via
Living In Fear: One Family’s Struggle To Survive In The Occupied West Bank
HEBRON, OCCUPIED WEST BANK — Mofid Sharabati shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, having offered all other available seats to the cadre of journalists sprawled across his tiny living room. He waited patiently while his company ate shawarma wraps, still warm after being hand-delivered from a local establishment up the road. He eyed his 10-year-old son Marwan paternally as he dashed back and forth, tiny hands diligently disposing of tin foil and used food wrappers as people finished their meals. The constant struggle for life in occupied territories
I tell you not to love me But I still kiss you when I want to
Mexico City with Chevy, 1963 Fred Herzog
A collection of teaser posters to promote Pulp’s song “Common People” designed by Jarvis Cocker, 1995