I worry about how to raise her to be a strong black woman while embracing the country that she and her mother come from.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosimo Galluzzi

Origami Around

JVL

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
noise dept.
tumblr dot com
Peter Solarz
No title available

blake kathryn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Kaledo Art

if i look back, i am lost
No title available
dirt enthusiast
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

shark vs the universe
Three Goblin Art

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@eee-why-kay
I worry about how to raise her to be a strong black woman while embracing the country that she and her mother come from.
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back in 日本 with the frisco / yay urrea uterus feels. still feeling inundated with thoughts, emotions, & floetry from the roots of home. however inspired by comm U N I T Y , the folks continuing to occupy space in the city / bay with their radical imaginations & community-minded creations. ごめんなさい if i flaked like a freshly baked croissant or failed to address ya (no amerikaan denwa), but know i got 5,356 unread emails in my inbox.
for the higher you, me, we.
been in japan for a year & not a lot but a lot has changed. mostly within. & also without. i gained weight outchere & literally coworkers & random people alike out here have told me how i gained weight,which is a subject that is sometimes treated like its the weather. different cultural context, i have assumed. but still the same scrutiny & policing of the femme body as in america. still the same hegemonic notions of what is worthy & what is unworthy. unfortunately, i found myself wandering the dark corridors of insecurity, often feeling my body & physical existence were "less than...", especially in a country of mostly very skinny people. not the first time I have felt such self-loathing; my first two years of college i struggled tough with an eating disorder & a really skewed & fucked perception of my own self. this story is not new for femme peeps or folks in general. we live a culture that makes us hate ourselves. but like honestly fuck off, cause me, you, we are fucking made of gorgeous sparkly star dust that can traverse time & space with fucking resilience & brilliance. each one of us is the incredible, intricate, & magical symphony of ecosystems. like the fuck, you cut my skin that shit grows back?! groh wha!? millions of particles from infinity itself, recycled, to form y o u. a face & vessel & human experience that only y o u have. me, you, we are more than the walls & constructs that have been built over time. we are the fucking universe - within & without - & oh so worthy of unconditional, grade-a l o v e. revolution starts within...love yoself, ourself, inside out, to reach the higher you, the higher me, the higher W E. no need for outside validations or male compliments, you good kween & do bad all by yoself (ourself)! good night from japan. #babygrohgotherbabybootybackdoebluhd #keepyoshit100
morning rituals
morning rituals : spoon of organic apple cider vinegar with a cup of hot water...mix in some honey & boom. since there ain't no kombucha out here...this is my jam.
breaking news
yoooo. the inaka love is out of this world -- so in this world! so my students & their fam live down the street & own the local auto shop. the grandma has a dope garden. we talked a few times when she was walking her dog. then after a while, i came home to bags & bags of HELLA vegetables & fruits on my door step -- such as these all from her garden - & tonight she came through with a handmade apron jacket thing she crafted (cloth is the same as the shirt she was wearing so we matching) & sekihan & a bento box...gratitude. so much love in so many pockets of the world that is not talked about. the media should cover this. so here it is.
life & its treasures
living in the countryside of japan mos def has its pros & cons as does everything in this existence. japan has a direly low birth rate & the population is declining rapidly. in my town alone about five schools have closed due to the lack of children; this was once a classroom of a small elementary school that had less than 10 students (1st-6th grade) before closing. now many abandoned schools are being repurposed and reused. this closed school in my town is now a local community center with space for community events, classes, and youth programs, along with small local businesses -- a local, organic pizza joint, a children's book store, an antique store, a fresh sembei shop, & this cute cafe! this cafe is run by one awesome womxn & mother of one of my students! she moved from the city of kyoto to the country to live a simpler, more mindful life. this photo fails to capture the quaint & charming beauty of this classroom turned dessert / coffee cafe...all the old shelves & desks & scientific instruments & school posters were kept up! #さすが 日本。
apicc's resistance exhibit artivist statement
I come from the depths of Glen Park canyon where coyotes and pot smoking pre-teens cohabitate and roam; the back of the MUNI bus where suckas would get murked by my fellow public school peers for throwing head-to-toe-toe-to-head snotty stares; my great-great-grandma’s laundromat on the horse-carriage-filled Valencia street of the late 1800s; the 1970 Lowell High School “Welcome Back” dance when a young Nikkei buck from the Richmond caught eyes with young queen from the Sunset amidst a sea of pioneering acid-trippers; within the concrete caverns of theBayshore freeway underpass where a good friend told me he resided; this is my Mama, the topography of my ancestors, my home: San Francisco.
These lived experiences are not just my own, but ours, apart of the collective narrative and culture of San Francisco. As a fifth generation San Franciscan, I was fortunate to be raised by a collaborative, polycultural community that nourished my radical imagination. I grew up valuing the various narratives of struggle that built this golden city. But today, more than ever, this culture of collective struggle is becoming less visible and respected in the face of the almighty dollar.
Seven dollar cups of coffee; the highest displacement rate of black Americans second to post-Katrina New Orleans, chrome Aston Martins going 60 miles per hour in the now “up and coming” neighborhoods, flocks of metal cranes piercing the landscape, casual yet covert transphobic racism, and the uncompassionate cackles of the young, profit-driven, and privileged toward the older man on the corner admirably collecting aluminum cans to recycle. This is the San Francisco we are currently witnessing…again.
From the eviction of the Ohlone peoples in the late-1700s to the horrific “urban renewal” in the Fillmore from the 1950s to 1970s, the colonial mechanism of physical and cultural displacement, or quite frankly, erasure, is nothing new to his provincial city. Just as displacement is as San Franciscan as cioppino and burritos, so is resistance.
These specific pieces showcased are the ARTifacts of my existence, the testament and celebration ofthefive generations of resilience in the face of oppression. As a culture bearer of our past and the author of the future, my thriving existence as an artist is in and of itself resistance. From the racist 1870 street ordinance that banned my great-great-grand-aunties from carrying their belongings on bamboo poles to the Anti-Asian Exclusion act to the more recent corporate takeover of America’s first Japantown, my narrative, our narrative, was never supposed to thrive, let alone survive. But low and behold, we’re still here.
Whether by blasting RBL Posse slaps through our subwoofers during the September sunshine or sharing our stories to the vibrant young authors, the youth, we are more than just witnesses. Like the brilliant artists that sculpted this beautifully intricate culture before us – the immigrants, the bold, the hopeful, the risk-takers, the misfits, the eclectic thinkers, the luminous lot of America’s upstream swimmers – we are the continuing, active architects of this dynamic city. Let us embody the radically collaborative community we were bore from. Let us celebrate our resilience. Let us thrive shamelessly in this existenceand bloom.
phuck with phony ppl
where have i been.
the small fishing town of 茂木
i am unclear about many things.
you are not one of them.