The Black Noise

Giving a different perspective on media

[d-railtheafro-gamer]

What’s Done In The Dark (excerpt)

Rainier Beach was located on the southeastern side of Seattle. Full of houses, noise, garbage, and poor people. It was nice enough during the day, a place you could walk down the street, enjoy some street art and you likely wouldn’t be caught up in drama. Every so often, a robbery, or a flasher shakes up the neighborhood, but most often it was business as usual. During the day, it was young people coming and going from school to Rainier Beach Library, or a friend’s apartment, or a bakery, or a liquor story, or a video store, or Safeway, or the indoor pool at the community center. It was boring but relatively safe during the day.

The night, however...had become very strange in April of 2006. Rumors flew from the mouths of everyone about strange phantom screams or whispers that claimed the streets. Stranger still were the weird, disembodied limbs that seemed to follow old ladies and wayward teens that found themselves alone after the sun had set. It was especially persistent at apartments and eateries, but they could be found anywhere, and only after businesses closed or when most people had left their establishments. It had gotten that most people were jumping at their own shadows with no real proof. There was one person who actually had that proof. And that person was a young man in an eerie looking mask. A fleshy, onyx face, with eyes that sit both high and deep in their sockets, a pair of shimmering yellow marbles. Possessing a broad sloping nose that took up most of the face, only stopping as a puffy growl of a muzzle rose to meet it, there was no mistaking the mask’s imitation: a lion’s face.

He stooped low against a tree growing near the apartment known as “Barton Place.” His eyes scanned slowly before he allowed himself to draw back to full height of 5 feet and 10 inches. Whatever he was searching for, he was definitely not finding.

Aww, gee kid, it looks like you lost it. How did you lose it!? It’s 8 feet tall and looks like the ghetto equivalent of “Monster Blood?” A voice that couldn’t be, that shouldn’t be, berated the one behind the mask.

“Shhhh,” was the only response. Distant screaming came from the west. The maskbearer charged into the trees, following the shouts. He leapt out of the trees, past the Thunderbird Treatment Center and through backyards. Traveling a half mile in a couple of minutes, he arrived at his destination, the old Bruan house. He watched two girls and a guy bolting away from the condemned home. Running away from a gigantic mass of shadow. The maskbearer smirked.

Looks like you found him, kid. Now whatcha gonna do?

*****

The house was a corpse, a dwelling life has long since abandoned. Salmon paint almost completely peeled from the rotted wood underneath. The flakes in huddled agreement, have gathered on the ground. The floorboards creaked with need. Sighing and bowing under the weight of age. The wood, demanding a reprieve from father time, had moldered and darkened with rot, threatening to drop the mold covered living room couches and the moth eaten, Persian rug into the long forgotten basement. For years, this house had been silent.

BANG! The thin weak wood that made up the northern wall of the room split and splintered into the living room. Wooden boards, plaster and mortar exploded inward as a projectile was propelled through the room like a rocket, pure moonlight followed behind, bathing it like the most holy of missiles. Clipping the top of a couch and smashing directly into the far wall of the room, the offending object stopped, lodged into the wall.

A cloud of dust and smoke obscured anything in the room, the moonlight struggled to permeate the dust cloud. A cough escaped as the ballistic projectile struggled to free itself. The projectile in question, was the young man in the mask. The voice that came from behind the mask, however, was much less intimidating than the mask itself. “Welp...I’m pretty hurt now.”

Aw, c’mon, don’t be such a wimp. He didn’t even hit you that hard. 

“Uh-huh, is that why the Bruan’s old house currently has a brand new door in the middle of the living room!?” He countered, gesturing to the new opening created with his own body. Moonlight finally illuminated the room as the cloud slowly dissipated.

That was barely a love tap, Jimmy-boy. Now quit your whining and get out of this hole before that thing comes in here and finishes the job.

A deep breath before a powerful grunt of effort. The wall wrenched forward and then the maskbearer was free. He dropped to the floor and stretched his back out until he heard a series of rapid and satisfying POPs. “When are you gonna call me by my name?”

I think I just did.

“You know what I-”

GRA-OOOOOOOOHHHH!!!

An unearthly howl interrupts the squabbling, and the moonlight is obscured once more, this time by an amorphous inky blob. The mass rolled back and forth as it struggled to squeeze itself into the opening much smaller than could accommodate. Finally, the blob forced its way into the room. All the while, it growled and sputtered, speaking snatches of words, incomplete speech.

“Hey, blobbinator you can’t take up space in here, we got zoning codes here in Seattle-”

The blob suddenly rushes “Jimmy,” forcing him to dive to his right and roll past the monster. He turns to see the creature, stuffed into the same hole he had been.

You picked now to try and talk to it!? Why? Just do the punchy and kicky thing and wrap this up so we can go home!

Jimmy swung a heavy fist into the monster and got a wet, unsteady SMACK for his troubles. His hand sank into the inky blob and he struggled to free himself. “Aw damn, that’s not right-WHOA!”

The mass lurched and Jimmy found his arm tugged hard. He was being pulled in.

“NoNoNoNo!” He shouted with every tug. “Lemme go!” Closer and closer the two came, but a final strain made the blob give a bit and the arm was nearly freed. “HA!”

Before freedom, however, came a thunderous kickback of inky residue as Jimmy suddenly found himself thrown into the air. He smacked into the ceiling and then crashed into the Persian rug.

On the ground again? I don’t think I should have to remind of this Jimmy-boy, but if you die, WE DIE!

He sat up, rising to his feet. “I hear you, stop yell-”

CRACK!

“Oh shi-” The floor gave way and a couch, the rug, and Jimmy all tumbled into the darkness below.

*****

A new, dim light poured into the lowest room of the house, where it was damp and dark and quiet. Persistent water droplets dripping in a random corner, pooling in a puddle on the concrete. The couch was upended, only one of the four wooden legs left on the couch. Pieces of wood decorated the walls, strewn about the place in an exploded halo of shrapnel. Jimmy climbed to his feet and looked up. He rolled away just in time to avoid the full weight of the monster crashing to the ground. He nearly collided with one of the basement walls and slapped his palms against it to stop his momentum.

You are losing this fight.

“I liked you better as a mute.”

And I liked you better when you didn’t suck.

The blob creature expanded around Jimmy. Covering every possible escape, bubbling and quivering on it’s edges, the creature attempted to engulf its enemy and found itself knocked backward. A fierce roundhouse, and another, arcing through the creature, forcing it to the center of the basement.  Another frantic rush forward found the creature narrowly missing it’s target and colliding with the wall.

SMACK!

Sheesh, this guy’s a bigger idiot’n you are.

“Shut up.” Jimmy stared at the mass, eyes straining to make out the details in the dim moonlight. The edges of the beast’s mass reached out like vestigial tentacles struggling against the wood, insulation and drywall. The limbs were quite formless, but as they struggled, they began to take the hints of shape, a leg here, an arm there, elongated hands and stump feet. Jimmy could not tear his eyes from the creature. Had it always looked like this?

You still worried about the horror, Jimmy-boy? Well, I got bad news for you, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! All the creepy crawlies that go bump in the night, Kill one, and there’s a hundred more to deal with!

Jimmy was still rooted to the spot. “I know, it’s just that I’ve never seen something like-”

In an instant, an elongated hand brushed onto the bridge of Jimmy’s mask. At that moment, there was no more sound, no smell, he could not see, and there were no thoughts of his own. It was just he and the monster lost in a void. Even the mask’s voice was gone. Then, like a cold hand gliding up his spine, he heard the distant, almost inaudible voices at the back of his skull. It was quiet, but the only thing that filled his mind. He tried to ignore them, but they were persistent, insistent, and growing. “Do you think he saw me? Why is she standing like that? I’m gonna go to the old train tunnel. We can try and contact Chief Sealth-” He struggled to keep up with the barrage of words. But it was too many different voices. Too much information, he tried to focus on his own sense of self so he didn’t get lost in the words. What was merely a gale of voices he was lost in, now had become an ocean. “Ifhefindsuswe’redeadIfoundthemthatwayoutifwekeeponthispathwrongwaywearelostlikethekidisnottheshooterIdon’tevenhaveagunDON’TDOIT’SNOTTHEFIRSTTIMEYOUDIDTHISISIT-”

JAMES! GODDAMN IT!

Jimmy suddenly heard the mask again and his senses had returned. He grabbed the hand crawling up his mask and threw it to the ground where it twitched and convulsed. Before he could ask about what happened, the mask spoke first.

Okay, what I said about being worried, you should be. This thing is some kind of collective, and if it gets a hold of me again, it’s gonna rip me off and eat you like a candy bar.

“What happened to, ‘I die, we die!?’” Jimmy backed away from the creature, who was still trying to recover.

Rules change, kid. It knows you’re alive. Me, it can’t make heads or tails of me, and what it can’t understand, it don’t care about. It recognizes you as food, so it’s my suggestion that we GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!

Jimmy glanced to the far side of the basement, located the stairs and dashed toward them. He vaulted up the stairs, narrowly avoiding the creature hurtling at him, barreling into the stairs, collapsing them. He had to nearly crab walk up the rest of the sad planks that managed to hold in place, but Jimmy leapt to the basement door and smashed through it with a grunt of force, wood pieces and old dust dancing through the air. He kept running until he was out on the front lawn, bathed in moonlight, staring back into the house.

Why are you stopping!? Get a move on, this isn’t a game of tag!

“What was-what is that?”

I already told you-

“Don’t mess with me, man! I will rip you off right-!”

NO!

Jimmy froze, the genuine fear he could feel in the mask scared him.

Jimmy...James, I promise, I will tell you what that thing is, but we can’t talk about it here.

Jimmy turned back to the house, and heard...silence.

“Do you think it’s gone?”

Hell no. Way too many voices. I think we just hurt it when we broke the link…

“I don’t know what that means-”

First, walk.

Jimmy grumbled and wandered into the neighborhood behind the house. He was careful to keep to the shadows even as the sun broke the horizon.

*****

Jimmy, now maskless, stared at the glassy surface of an office building window across from Space Needle Park. His dark brown eyes were encircled with deep bags. His fade, nappy and unkempt. His umber face, caked with grime and sweat. He couldn’t deal with how he looked, but he was too exhausted to get home and grab a shower. Tearing his eyes away from the monster he had become, he stared up at the Space Needle against the dim orange clouds from the cool blue street. Would ya look at that. We survived to see another sunrise.

Jimmy sucked at the fresh air for a few gulps and then groaned, “I can’t believe we were dealing with that thing for nine hours!”

I can. You really suck at dealing with Onyinyo. Jimmy nearly reached into his backpack and tossed the mask onto the street. 

Hey, don’t get mad at the truth.

The teen sighed and walked along Broad Street past the Space Needle loop, thanking every power that there were no cars parked there so early on this Saturday morning. Nobody to see him look like a crazy person talking to himself.

Why do you talk out loud anyway? We’re mentally linked, I know your every thought.

He shrugged as he walked. “It’s a force of habit.”

Sounds like you just love the sound of your own voice. Jimmy rolled his eyes at this.

“Look who’s talking?” Jimmy’s brow furrowed in consternation.

Yeah, the mask responded with a sardonic chuckle. I love the sound of my own voice. It’s just an added bonus that it also pisses you off!

No-win situation with a dude literally in your head.

That’s right Jimmy-boy, so don’t bother, I’ve been arguing since before your great-grandparents were even thought about.

“Okay, you love to hear yourself, now explain what that was?”

Sheesh, so pushy.

“Hey! You ever want me to put you back on again?”

Alright, alright, you know about most of the Onyinyo we deal with?

Jimmy didn’t notice that he had nodded.

This thing is like a...not exactly a greatest hits. It’s just made of people, no animals, no demons. All dead, all don’t wanna be.

Jimmy eventually found a bench and sank onto it. “Okay, so how’s that any different from anything else we’ve seen?”

I told you, this thing eats people. Specifically, it eats life, the most vital lives it can find. It kills ‘em dead. Leaves nothing but husks behind.

Jimmy felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air.

Where we come in, is the fact that when it eats something, it gets bigger.

“It gets BIGGER!? How!? Why!? Wha-!?”

Yes, it gets bigger, now don’t interrupt! The mask snapped. As it gets bigger, it needs more to eat.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “So...the more it eats…”

Yup, the hungrier it gets. It drew the short straw in the genetic lottery department. But, unfortunately for us, the mask became much more smug. And by us I, really mean you-

Jimmy threw his arms up, “C’mon!”

Anyway, you let it touch us...and now it knows that we are a buffet.

Jimmy couldn’t help himself, he grabbed his backpack and tore it open to look at the ovoid plank of a mask. “What do you mean by that!?”

You recall me telling you that you aren’t the first person to wear me.

It dawned on him, “grandpa.”

Aw, now you got the hamsters turnin’ upstairs. Yeah, he wore me, but he wasn’t the first, he wasn’t even in the first hundred.

Jimmy’s mind filled with a million half-formed questions. First hundred-? How does that even-? What’s the purpose of-? Have girls worn-? Is there a manual-? Will he even tell-?

Kid!

Jimmy jerked back to reality, sitting on the bench, clutching the mask between trembling hands.

You’re doing that thing. Where you have more thoughts than I can keep up with.

“Sorry, I just...I don’t…” He struggled to form complete sentences.

Aw great, I broke him.

“...Spark Notes.”

What?

“I need a set of Spark Notes.”

Is this a video game thing?

“Answers. A cheat sheet.”

What? Nooooo, we’ve been over this-

“No, we only went over what you want me to know. Old mask of power, put on this earth to quell the wild dead, and some kind of...collection of souls. And I need to know what-”

See, this is why your grades are so average. You don’t listen, I’m an aspect of powers beyond your understanding. I’ve been worn by countless people. For power, for protection, for glory, for vengeance. And, y’know, whatever you call yourself doing.

“Superhero-ing.” Jimmy spit defiantly.

Childish and I’m pretty sure that’s not English. And what do you call what we’ve been doing?

“Suicidal?”

Good point. But, your grandpa had to believe you were worthy of donning me.

“Why do you need me for help?”

Your grandpa’s just another link in a looooooong chain, kid.

“You’re dodging the question.”

It’s an answer you’re not ready for.

Jimmy leans back and closes his eyes. The living ink is waiting there, behind his eyes, quivering, spasming, waiting for Jimmy to edge too close. For just one. More. Taste. His eyes popped open as he jerked again.

Would you quit doing that!?

He took a couple of shaky breaths. “I saw-”

I know what you saw.

“Then why won’t you tell me anything!?”

Jimmy slammed the mask down on his lap.

Kid, I’ll be honest with you. There’s rules to this shit. And I know it’s frustrating, but I will say you ain’t askin’ properly.

Jimmy felt the last four words in his core, like those words were the only real tangibles the mask have ever given him.

He stood up, crammed the mask back into his tattered, faded green backpack and continued down Broad Street to Denny Way and the number 8 bus stop. He moved past a mother, father and two small children to sit on the far end of the busport.

Fine, Jimmy had to struggle not to talk out loud. Could you PLEASE tell me what is going on with that thing?

A beat of silence. Sorry kid, that’s not how-

“Aw, c’mon!” Jimmy realized he shouted out loud and tensed up as he tried not to look at the family that was certainly staring at him.

Hahahaha, you really want to make the world think you’re crazy.

It’s not funny, Jimmy struggled to keep his thoughts in.

It’s so funny! But, seriously kid, that’s still wrong.

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “But-”

No time for your dumb teen questions. But, I’ll tell ya this, you have an objective. We have to get back to that house tonight and find a way to banish that thing, or send it to the other side, or trick it into a hellmouth or something.

“The hell!? Why?” Jimmy glared at the mask like he wanted to fight it.

Because if you don’t go to it, by nightfall, it’s comin’ to us...

*****

[prinnay]

The Planettes Poster is getting a reprint!

The original batch of Planettes posters were made back in September and were nicely received, to my surprise! I only planned for one edition, but after much deliberation (and getting about 200+ asks/messages when the posters are coming back! Woah) I’ve started a Kickstarter for a second edition reprint of the posters. The switch was made to Kickstarter instead my personal store to make it much easier to adjust, back out, get status notifications, ask questions, etc. The campaign ends November 29th! Thank you all so much!

[prinnay]

5 days left! omg

[africa-will-unite-deactivated20]

“The anger of a penis does not destroy the vagina.”

—

Proverb from Zimbabwe

[memescomedy]

[d-railtheafro-gamer]

Damn, that kinda hurt...

[humanfreedomextremist]

“A real man raises his voice against women and children abuse and not his hand on them”

—

Mzilikazi wa Afrika‏@IamMzilikazi

[pinky-belike]

Oh my goodness I love y’all

[d-railtheafro-gamer]

Click here to support My Grandma's House Burned Down organized by Antonio Cital

Last night(September 6th), my grandmother's home of over 50 years burned down. Not only was it my mother's childhood home, but it was a 2nd home to my cousins and I. It seems to have been some kind of an electrical fire. Fortunately nobody was hurt and her dogs survived, but unfortunately, she di...

Guys, my friend lost her house, completely burned down, if anyone can help, I’d really appreciate it.

[ubernegro]

I am still reeling from Nigga Nazis, fam.

@goathornsandblackwool Look, this may seem cowardly of me, but after dwelling on it about a week, I can’t fuck with black liberation or Pan-Africanism anymore. I support the idea and goal, but actively fighting for that shit?

Man, listen. Black leftists have to deal with the disassociation of leftists ideals such as Communism, Socialism, Anarchism within their communities to the point that when discussing the Black Panthers, it is seldom brought up that they were Maoists. Our history focuses on capitalist or liberal figures such as Martin Luther King and leaves out those anarchists and socialists who not only assisted but fought for them. When we mention Malcolm X, we rarely speak of John Henrik Clarke who was pushing Malcolm to be socialist and was behind his transformation where Malcolm was becoming less hyper-masculine. Shit, the dude created the OAAU to place black women at the fore front of black liberation. Nelson Mandela was a socialist!

Niggas don’t even see the Pride movement as something of their own history anymore.

White supremacy not only took out greatest thinkers but made us present them in a way more tolerable ala no mention of their leftism. It has gotten to the point that niggas really try to disassociate racism from classism or make socialism into a white ideology. I mean racism is not real. It is a social construct? Classism? That shit is a material reality yet niggas are so brainwashed that they refuse to approach the subject.

I can deal with black apathy. I can deal with the black church. I can deal with black conservatives or libertarians.

But negro-Nazis? I can’t. I don’t know what is it about the hotep movement that draws in dumb niggas, but I seen the shit in my home. I have seen the shit in my neighborhood. My older brother is a fucking hotep and I literally had to get into an hour long discussion about how Pride is not a white people thing. It was like pulling teeth mentioning Rustin Bayard, gay black men who fought for us during the Civil Rights Movement just to get alienated when it was known that they were gay. In order to combat these dudes, it will take a black man to educate them and combat Urmar Johnson and his ilk of stupid nigga shit. And I am not the one because I am not a fucking teacher. Yes, I could pull a @realphilosophytube or ContraPoints and fight off Hotep Niggas on Youtube and other Social Media Platforms intellectually just as they do the Alt-Right and Nazis. But nigga, I am done fighting for people who can and have every reason to historically and presently, but won’t fight for themselves. I am done fighting for people who hate femininity so much that even within the lived experiences of blackness and all that it entails, that they would actively side with Nazis.

I am a homeless black man who educated himself on leftism. I have had just as many resources as these niggas do and had just as much initiative to understand and sympathize. I took time out of my life to protest and fight. Get educated. I literally hungered for more education from following the likes of @left-reminders, @fromacomrade, @justsomeantifas, and etc just to get some ideas in how I can help, but Hoteps…they took away my will to give a shit because it is quite honestly baffling. I have seen self-hatred in other groups, but black men took it to a level beyond the norm and that absurdity scares the shit out of me.

That is not progress. It is regressive as fuck.  Niggas actually spent their political capital to hate women so much that they even fathomed that Nazis could be their allies is beyond the fuck men. Maybe it was naive of me to underestimate misogynoir so much that I was completely blind-sided by this. It killed my spirit for pro-blackness.

If I am talking about pro-blackness, I am talking about misogynoir and black femininity exclusively. Because black men are the enemy. Period. I’ll talk about LatinX struggles. When the YPG shows up on my dash, I will mention them. Internationalism. Decolonization. NDN resistance. Kurdish genocide. Literally anything else, I will support and struggle if it is towards equity and egalitarian. But black men and racism? No. Hell no. Fred Hampton’s dream of internationalism and POC solidarity will have to be without black men as a group because these niggas ain’t shit.

[d-railtheafro-gamer]

I need all kinds of links, I didn’t know about any of the issues of hoteps aligning with nazis! How in the hell could they even think about doing something like that!? Like, are we that far gone???

[lysikan]

seananmcguire:

“If a society puts half its children into short skirts and warns them not to move in ways that reveal their panties, while putting the other half into jeans and overalls and encouraging them to climb trees, play ball, and participate in other vigorous outdoor games; if later, during adolescence, the children who have been wearing trousers are urged to “eat like growing boys,” while the children in skirts are warned to watch their weight and not get fat; if the half in jeans runs around in sneakers or boots, while the half in skirts totters about on spike heels, then these two groups of people will be biologically as well as socially different. Their muscles will be different, as will their reflexes, posture, arms, legs and feet, hand-eye coordination, and so on. Similarly, people who spend eight hours a day in an office working at a typewriter or a visual display terminal will be biologically different from those who work on construction jobs. There is no way to sort the biological and social components that produce these differences. We cannot sort nature from nurture when we confront group differences in societies in which people from different races, classes, and sexes do not have equal access to resources and power, and therefore live in different environments. Sex-typed generalizations, such as that men are heavier, taller, or stronger than women, obscure the diversity among women and among men and the extensive overlaps between them… Most women and men fall within the same range of heights, weights, and strengths, three variables that depend a great deal on how we have grown up and live. We all know that first-generation Americans, on average, are taller than their immigrant parents and that men who do physical labor, on average, are stronger than male college professors. But we forget to look for the obvious reasons for differences when confronted with assertions like ‘Men are stronger than women.’ We should be asking: ‘Which men?’ and ‘What do they do?’ There may be biologically based average differences between women and men, but these are interwoven with a host of social differences from which we cannot disentangle them.”

—

Ruth Hubbard, “The Political Nature of ‘Human Nature’ “

(via gothhabiba )

Yes.

(via geardrops)

tl:dr summary: “We cannot sort nature from nurture when we confront group differences in societies in which people from different races, classes, and sexes do not have equal access to resources and power, and therefore live in different environments.”

[fyblackwomenart]

There’s a riot going on. by `Joey-Zero

[ubernegro]

Recommended Miles Morales stories

So my most reblogged post is the Miles Morales post that I did and that is cool. Yet people are interested in his books and that is great. However, as an avid comic reader, I think it is my job to navigate new readers of books that I read to ensure they are wasting their time on irrelevant shit. And trust me, every comic book not made by Image or most indie publishers has irrelevant shit, even Miles. And I am well-aware of how hard comic books are hard to get into so think of this as a quick and easy guide. This is not me trying to navigate you to the best stories of Miles . This is me trying to help you understand the character before you continue on.

So let’s get into it.

Essential reading

Ultimate Comics: Spider-man 1-5

This is the origin. This is necessary reading because if you do not read this, you will be lost. And the pacing is slow. But honestly, Bendis was on his A-game here. He was inspired. People complain about Bendis’s style of writing and that is cool, but his style helped you, the reader, care about Miles. I pretty much covered the first five issues here.

Ultimate Comics: Spider-man 6-12

This is where shit picks up. From the beginning, there is a duality between Miles and his Uncle Aaron. As Miles becomes more heroic, Aaron starts becoming more villainous. Miles saves people when Aaron kills people for simply looking at him wrong. Miles fights bad guys while Aaron instigates crimelords and a mad attempt to become Kingpin. Miles is becoming Spider-man while Aaron is revealing just how depraved of an individual he is. 

But that is his Uncle. And Miles is his nephew. That’s family.

Aaron learns that Miles is Spider-man and manipulates Miles to fighting off his opposition to be Kingpin. When Miles resists, Aaron threatens to tell Miles’ dad that he is Spider-man which scares Miles because Miles’ dad hates superpowered people. It is the Miles gut check moment. The test to see what Miles is made of. What type of hero is Miles Morales?

If anything, read this entire arc solely for the fight between Miles and Aaron. It is the most intense fight that I have seen in comics due to the art of @davidmarquez. Look at this shit.

It’s some good shit. In my wildest dreams, I would make a Spider-man movie just about the first 12 issues and mix in a few elements from 13 and 14 because…Miles needs webs for fuck’s sake*glares at Bendis*.

Miles Morales: Ultimate Spider-man 8-9

This is basically Miles Morales’ dad’s backstory. It’s important because Jefferson was a badass who got involved with some bad people. What kind of bad people?

Wilson Fisk. Kingpin of crime. The mob boss of Marvel. Jesus.

Miles Morales: Spider-man by Jason Reynolds

Right now, this is the best character piece of Miles Morales. This is the book that unifies his culture and his character. It highlights his plight as a black superhero and his struggle as son and a nephew of a criminals who were so notorious that his father did not want to give his son his last name. This is the best Spider-man story that I have read in a long time that has nothing to do with Peter Parker. My only critique is that there is not enough Spider-man, but it does wonders for Miles Morales’ character that Bendis begrudgingly is confounded on.

It helps that the writer, Jason Reynolds is a black man from Brooklyn so he knows what the hell is he is talking about and actually refers to Miles as the correct identity of half-Puerto Rican and half African American because being half Boricua does not detract from being black.

Recommended Reading

Ultimate Comics: Spider-man 13-18

This is the Ultimate Universe version of the Civil War. It is notable because it was actually a Civil War between divisions of America and it did not involve heroes vs heroes. But that is not important. Miles’ role in this war is that he dealing with the blowblack between his “skirmish” with his Uncle Aaron. Miles has to prove himself to the Ultimate Universes version of the Avengers or more specifically, he has to prove himself to Captain America who is still grieving Peter Parker. 

In this arc, Miles meets Aunt May, Gwen Stacy, and Mary Jane Watson for the first time. The three most important women in Peter’s life. They all encourage Miles to continue being Peter’s legacy.

So this is heartwarming. But just in case this is a little too sappy for you.

You know things are fucked when Hawkeye starts using guns. Also, this arc inspired the main motivation for Peter Parker in Spider-man: Homecoming.

Champions

Yeah, you should read this. Like all of it. It is a team formed by Sam Alexander, Kamala Khan, and Miles Morales. Essentially the backbone for new Marvel. While this is Miles best book in the 616, this isn’t his first team. Although the book has continuity issues for Miles in particular(he refers to Gwen Stacy as his girlfriend when they never got together and Kamala Khan acts like she did not meet her as well). It is a good book.

All-New Ultimates

Okay. This is Miles Morales’ team of supers in the Ultimate Universe. It was comprised of Spider-man’s gender-flipped clone, Jessica Drew, Bombshell, Cloak, Dagger, and Kitty Pryde. 4 women and two black guys. Jessica Drew was the leader of the team. What makes this team great was that it was sort of Defenders done right. I mean each of the characters have a personal stake in it and while the book needs a bunch of references and background to even understand into the material, I want this to be Miles’ team so fucking bad. As much as I love the Champions, I feel like that book is just a team Miles is apart of and offers no real purpose to. This book could have been Marvel’s Ultimate Universe’s Young Justice if it stuck around.

Spider-men

This is what I hope Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse is mostly based on. 

Spider-Men II

I hate this book. If nothing else, read it for Miles’ love interest, Barbara Rodriguez.

Her interactions with Miles are the best part of the arc honestly.

Anything related to Bombshell aka Lana Baumgartner

Bombshell is essentially a Miles Morales supporting character in spite of debuting before his character. She is a foil to Miles as both of their characters were former character and they both have to deal with it. Unlike Miles, she used to be a criminal due to her mother’s influence, but she is trying to be the best hero she can be. Miles and her have a close bond due to their shared experiences. They are like family instead of romantic partners though it may cause a problem for Miles and Barbara down the line…who the fuck knows.

Anyways, Lana is an important character in Miles’ supporting cast. She is his closest thing to a Felicia Hardy except Felicia is actually a criminal, but not so bad. Lana is a reformed criminal inspired by Spider-man to be better.

So I hope this helps people out.

[part2of3]

Relatively speaking he hasn’t actually been around that long in comics. You can probably read all of his stuff without it taking too much time.

[ubernegro]

I know. This is me trying to not get people wrapped around comic book bullshit.

Shit like his mom dying and the fallout from that, which was a great read aside from the fact that it shouldn’t have happened in the first place, then his mom coming back from death just because. Or stuff like his first girlfriend being a neo-Nazi and his first team up because the universe is erased anyways….

These are things that are not necessarily core to his character. And also, Miles is encroaching on 100 solo issues and more than half of it is not really about him as a character.

[marcusthevisual]

DJ Rasta Root + Infinity Gauntlet Cause if you don’t know how DOPE this dude is, well… #marcusthevisual #tuskegeeheirs #infintywar #djrastaroot

[theslaybymic]

Eighth Generation is what modern Native American design looks like without cultural appropriation 

Louie Gong describes his company, Eighth Generation, as “a Native-owned, community-engaged small business that began when I started putting cultural art on shoes.” It’s true, in 2008, Gong began decorating sneakers and skateboarding apparel with indigenous Nooksack patterns — a move that, as a Nooksack himself, set him apart from the non-Native designers who’d been doing so for years. As demand grew, so did Gong’s ambition.

[breelandwalker]

Here you go, kids!

How to procure Native-American-and-First-Nation-themed items without entitlement or cultural appropriation in one easy step.

BUY THE THINGS DIRECTLY FROM THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES.

Because if they’re selling these representations of their culture and being fairly compensated, you’re not appropriating, you’re appreciating. And helping good folks make a living while you’re at it.

Everybody wins.

[sinistershit]

^^^this is the difference. participate in the parts of culture that people CONSENT to sharing!! it’s that simple, if you buy directly from the source, they are creating with the idea that people outside the culture will be consuming, and can pick and choose what they are okay with you having. 

the same idea as wearing traditional dress that someone of that culture gave you as a present vs. buying a knockoff version for “fashion”

[notallfay]

I’ve used this argument for a long time as a difference between appropriation and appreciation. If you are buying directly from the people of that culture you are supporting them in keeping certain practices and talents alive. They are choosing what they share while making a living from their work. You are supporting them, while enjoying their culture. This is not only okay but it can really help people from these communities.

With appropriation, you are taking money away from the people. While mocking everything they stand for, and giving money to big companies who only care about profit, and have no understanding of the people they are stealing from.

[deelaundry]

Eighth Generation is awesome!  They ship fast in addition to having gorgeous merchandise.  Five stars.

[studentsocialworker]

I appreciate everything in this post

[kawuli]

Because it took like 4 steps to find the damn thing, here is a link to the place:

https://eighthgeneration.com 

(yes ok that was obvious but c’mon, we’re all lazy here)

[psych2go]

If you don’t enjoy what you do, there’s no point in doing it.

(via psych2go)

[marvel1980s]

Storm by Mike Mckone painted by Iscariotic

[neomexicanismos]

Enseñando a volar alto ☀️ #Tajín

[fuckyeahcomicsbaby]

Death takes no pleasure in his job, but it is a job that must be done.

[the-snipster]

http://www.manga-audition.com/sma04-2015award/

I see my work as even spread this far… *sighs and jumps into a hole*

[d-railtheafro-gamer]

This is amazing

[spokenwordajcp]

[younnejay3]

Right because I’m African pure blooded

[flawedhoneyy]

I’m Jamaican Canadian

[ugleecunt-deactivated20210520]

Afro-Caribbean here

[moonisneveralone]

Y’all are just reblogging this….what does african pure blodded mean? 

@younnejay3 just say where you’re from instead of implying african americans have impure blood.

[saturnineaqua]

and they ALWAYS mean specifically AA. 

DIS-GUS-TING!

[ourqueenfelinefatale]

Sometimes I feel like AAs are seen as the niggas of black people. 

[blackfemmejeanvaljean]

I’m on mobile but the tags are important here

[ubernegro]

This is why Killmonger fucked Wakanda up.