OSPAAAL (The Organization of Solidarity of the Peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America) posters
OSPAAAL was a cuban political movement born after the Tricontinental Conference, in January of 1966
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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roma★

ellievsbear
Keni
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Cosmic Funnies
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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cherry valley forever
trying on a metaphor
NASA

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YOU ARE THE REASON
Peter Solarz

Love Begins

JBB: An Artblog!
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Show & Tell
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@porcelain-candy
OSPAAAL (The Organization of Solidarity of the Peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America) posters
OSPAAAL was a cuban political movement born after the Tricontinental Conference, in January of 1966
"The Wedding" by the Brazilian visual artist Mayara Ferrão. It is a photographic collage from her series Album dos Desejos (Album of Unforgettings or Album of Desires)
Just found out that this was made with AI 💔💔
“"The Wedding" (2024) by Mayara Ferrao. The Brazilian artist officially used AI for these creations, exhibited at the Rencontres de la Photographie in Arles in 2025.” — lemonde.fr
I am a devout Christian, and I am bisexual. I have been told these two identities cannot coexist, but how can I reject a part of myself that feels so fundamentally, authentically me? Will I ever be free? Will I ever be able to stop choosing between the people I love and the God I serve?
Guilt consumes my every waking second; it even follows me into my dreams, offering no reprieve. In class, I feel a sickening dread when my friends voice their opinions: that people like me are mentally ill, demon-possessed, "choosing" to be gay or are just straight up evil. One of my friends even says that if she found out someone she knew was gay she’d kill them.
I’ve come to realize that parental love is not always unconditional. I love my mother deeply—I am forever in her debt for the sacrifices she has made for me. But I know her love has a limit. She would sooner see me as a teen mother than as a homosexual. If I ever came out, I know she would disown me instantly. My greatest fear is her finding the truth.
Sometimes I think I’m "lucky" that I still feel attraction to men—maybe I can just pretend for the rest of my life. But the thought is sobering. My worst fear is falling in love with a woman, because then the choice becomes impossible: my religion and family, or my heart.
None of my friends know the truth, and I’m already planning my escape. I am seriously considering ghosting everyone when I head to university, just so I can a little more free than I am here. I never wanted this. My life would be so much easier if I were straight. I’ve tried to "pray the gay away," even though I know that isn't how it works. It is a cruel irony that my mother hates bisexuals even more than lesbians, she says we "must just pick one."
I am ashamed to say that to survive, I’ve had to pretend to be homophobic. I’ve said things that make me feel like a hypocrite and a coward, the worst kind of human. But where I live, homophobia isn't just the norm; it's an expectation. Anything less than hatred is seen as a confession.
I wish I were straight. I wish I didn't have to choose.
I want a girlfriend, but not just that. I want to fall hopelessly in love with a girl and have it actually work out. I just want to experience a love I truly enjoy.
A Love Story.
Dakan (1997) Written and Directed by Mohamed Camara
From images of Congo from Anne Eisner Putnam, 1940-1950
16th–17th century
Flanked by praying attendants, the central figure of Jesus has stylized facial features and extremities. Kongo-Christian individuals blended Christian imagery with local artistic expressions.
This image is what sent me down the rabbit hole of pre-colonial Congolese weapons. This one in particular is a sword!
This striking weapon was crafted by the Songye people (which I found out is what modern day Congolese refer to as the “Basonge”) of the Democratic Republic of Congo, whose elaborate shape and craftsmanship was symbolic of the authority and power held by the local chief. More than a ceremonial object, it was used in grim executions: the executioner would tie the head of the prisoner to a bent tree branch, and with one swift decapitation, the tension of the branch would fling the head into the forest.
It is such a shame that parts of our history and craftsmanship are no longer present in our homeland. Many of those weapons were taken during the time of colonization, and today pieces like this one are kept very far away—for example, this one is kept in the St. Louis Art Museum located in Missouri, USA.
I’ve been to the National Museum of Congo countless times and I’ve never seen these weapons.
Kigali, Rwanda. B., a transgender person, works as a prostitute and takes drugs to help cope with life on the fringe of society.
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Koffi Olomidé
Even the most repressed woman has a secret life, with secret thoughts and secret feelings which are lush and wild, that is, natural even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves
me, a long time ago
“[…] I love poetry. It’s wide and mysterious enough to be a container for complicated truths, but precise and formal enough for me to feel safe inside form and structure.” - Mohale Refiloe Maneo
Maneo Mohale’s poetry is soft, powerful, and beautifully honest. It feels like being seen. Everyone should experience it at least once.