gldn dys

oh god it’s suburban apathy

[actuallysara]

HUDSON WILLIAMS | Peloton

[swissarmymanbf]

good music should beat the shit out of you

[mangomonet]

alysa liu for teen vogue .✦ ݁˖

shot by erika long, styled by cece liu

[marxism-ex-silium]

So glad I get to experience homosexual desire. One life and thank god I'm not straight

[1nayaa]

nobody is more stressed than a 24-29yo thinking they are running out of time lol

[solitairians]

happy friday the 13th/valentine's day double feature to all goths, emos, vampires, horror enthusiasts, reanimated corpses, romantics, weirdos, freaks, lovers, and everyone else who may celebrate

[sandmandaddy69]

[run-of-the-milf]

I highly recommend watching this testimony from Aliya Rahman, the disabled woman who was dragged out of her car and kidnapped by ICE on her way to a doctor appointment in Minneapolis a few weeks ago.

Truly my worst nightmare.

[liitohauki]

Transcript of Aliya Rahman's speech:

Thank you members, for taking the time to be here today, and thank you staff for making this happen.

My name is Aliya Rahman, and I am a resident of South Minneapolis. I am a Bangladeshi American born in Northern Wisconsin. And I’m a disabled person with autism and a traumatic brain injury.

Not all autistic brains do this, but mine fixates on sounds, numbers, and patterns. And while what the world saw happen to me exactly three weeks ago today on video was a terrible violation it is still nothing compared to the horrific practices I saw inside the Whipple center.

So I am here today with a duty to the people who have not had the privilege of coming home, and I offer this data because these practices must end now.

On January 13th on the way to my 39th appointment at Hennepin County’s traumatic brain injury center, I encountered a traffic jam caused by ICE vehicles and no signs indicating how to get around it. I had not wanted to pull in to a blocked, chaotic intersection, but verbally agreed to do so and rolled down my window after an agent yelled, “Move! I will break your f-ing window!”

His first instruction.

Agents on all sides of my vehicle yelled conflicting threats and instructions that I could not process while watching for pedestrians.

Then, the glass of the passenger side window flew across my face.

I yelled, “I’m disabled!” at the hands grabbing at me and an agent said, “Too late.”

I felt immersed in a pattern, and I thought of Jenoah Donald, an autistic black man killed by the police during a traffic stop in 2021.

I remembered mister Silverio Villegas González, who was killed by ICE in his vehicle last year.

An agent pulled a large combat knife in front of my face, which I thought was for cutting me, and later learned was used to cut off my seat belt. Shooting pain went through my head, neck, and wrists when I hit the ground face first and people leaned on my back.

I felt the pattern, and I thought of mister George Floyd, who was killed four blocks away.

I was carried face down through the street by my cuffed arms and legs while yelling that I had a brain injury and was disabled. I now cannot lift my arms normally.

I was never asked for ID.

Never told I was under arrest.

Never read my rights.

And never charged with a crime.

Approaching the Whipple center, I saw black and brown bodies shackled together, chained together, being marched by yelling agents outdoors. I continued to hear the word “bodies”, because that is how agents referred to us:

“We’re bringing in a body.”

“They’re bringing in bodies 7, 8 at a time, where do I put ‘em?”

“We can’t use that room, there’s already a body in there.”

You have no reason to believe you will make it out alive if you’re already being called a body.

Agents repeatedly had to stop and ask how to do tasks. I received no medical screening, phone call, or access to a lawyer. I was denied a communication navigator when my speech began to slur. Agents laughed as I tried to immobilize my own neck. I asked for my cane and was told no, pulled up by my arms and prodded forward in leg irons by agents laughing and saying, “Walk! You can do it, walk.”

Agents did not know if the facility had a wheelchair.

When I was finally placed in one to be taken to interrogation an agent taunted, “You were driving, right? So your legs do work.”

I pleaded for emergency medical care for over an hour after my vision had become blurry, my heart rate went through the roof, and the pain in my neck and head became unbearable.

It was denied.

When I became unable to speak my cellmate pleaded for me.

The last sounds I remember before I blacked out on the cell floor were my cellmate banging on the door, pleading for a medic, and a voice outside saying, “We don’t wanna step on ICE’s toes.”

When I opened my eyes at Hennepin County’s emergency room, I learned I was brought there to be treated for assault.

The impacts of DHS detention on my physical, mental and financial well-being and safety have been very severe, but I do not deserve more humane treatment than anyone else, US citizen or not. And I am here today with a strong spirit and a duty to the many people who haven’t had the privilege to tell their stories or see their loved ones come home. I am extremely distressed by the pattern that violence from law enforcement has been happening to black and indigenous communities for centuries, and to DHS survivors for over 20 years.

We call ourselves a civilized nation, but we lack rules and accountability around what a person claiming to be law enforcement is permitted to do to another human being.

I am not afraid, and I’m not afraid to keep working on this problem even after ICE is gone. Thank you for your time.

[pisces-core]

[for-lost-souls]

A small moment in time

[deliriumclub]

photography from abalone shells exhibition

[fastlove1996]

[funstealer]

Water Lights (2021) by Audra Weaser Acrylic, plaster paint and metallic pigments on panel 60 × 40 in

[alnitaks]

amyexton

[theweight]

*grasping at straws* My straws!

[ijaazat]

in a train right now, i can see the city lights and i feel so so overwhelmed

[grubarchived]

i see a lot of art filled with plants, like, in the american art scene there seems to be a kind of general movement towards and appreciation of ruined structures being overtaken by nature. offices full of dead computers and leaves. walls with ivy. old factories crawling with new growth. a symbol of degrowth, of new futures that devour and reject colonial modernism, of a refutation of the tyranny over land. it's a nice sentiment.

but consistently im noticing something odd, which is that over and over the plants depicted in art are very familiar -- they're houseplants. pothos. monstera. calathea. zamioculcas. plants growing in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong climate, a mishmash of unrelated folks with far-flung origins symbolizing "natural" retaking of the modern world.

plants, specifically, that are directly tied to the legacy of colonialism. from northern africa. from southern america. from india. plants that were collected as curios during periods of direct imperialism. plants kept as trophies, plants sold at high prices. plants that are "exotic". that are beautiful. that are high-value. plants whose people got no payment for their capture.

they're the plants people in american colonial territory, who lack access to native plant community, see most often -- that is, other than "weeds". and so when these artists reach for the pure idea of plant, the concept of nature, these plants are their only blueprint. dragging with them all of the baggage of hundreds of years of empire.

it's incredible how much this changes the messaging of the image. dreams of ecological participation stained with a creeping theme of alienation from their native biosphere. the thumbprint of colonialism, clear as day. a hopeful vision of the future, kneecapped by its own symbology. hundreds of individual artists so alienated from their own ecosystems that even their fantasy of participation with nature is inextricable from colonialist trophies. trying to imagine reclaiming the world.

[worldworldworldworld]

April 12, 2010