The New Inklings @newinklings - Tumblr Blog

me walking around my room talking outloud to myself about my current obsessions and giving my imaginary audience an hours long speech about it

xukisan

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calvinandhobbes

“(…) Unable to divide love from hunger.”

— Pleasure Dome: New and Collected Poems; ‘Banking Potatoes’ by Yusef Komunyakaa (via decreation)

sunsstorms

My godmother was 11 when the coup happened: she recalls being in school in the centre of Santiago when suddenly she heard the roar of planes and a explosion so big the classroom windows cracked. The teacher looked grim and they were let out shortly after.

When she arrived home, her older brother was frantically going through all their books which had political propaganda in them, burning them as discretely as he could. "He looked like he was on the verge of a colapse, but smiled at me when he got home and asked me kindly to close all the curtains in the house".

She remembers the screams in the middle of the night- a couple of twins who were her neighbours and university students as well as their dad was taken. They never saw them again.

There are a lot of things she hasn't told me but I notice them anyway. She always hated September 19, when the military would stage a giant parade. She would stay home, with just a candle to accompany her, and I would stay at her side because I loved her and I didn't want her to be alone.

In October under the protests, she couldn't sleep- the army was out at all times and helicopters flew so low we were worried it would crash down the house. I stayed with her for a week - I would protest during the day and I'd come home with her looking pale and crying.

September 11 is a day of rememberance and pain. We will not forget what happened and we will fight for those of us who never came back.

Ni perdón ni olvido.