selfish desires

lipstick-feminists: cursethecosmos: stfuconservatives: sulitat...

Mon, 20 May 2013 23:04:14 -0700

cursethecosmos:

stfuconservatives:

sulitati:

I know I made a post about this a while ago, but I’m going to make it again since we’re getting into the hottest time of the year.

If you’re out in the Sonoran Desert in AZ and you see any of these [bottles with insults], please pick them up and throw them away. Vigilante groups are leaving intentionally empty gallon jugs in popular crossing points and that is the last thing that somebody needs to see as they’re trying to cross.

If you can, carry clean and full jugs with you and leave them where you see these. Gatorade or Electrolit are also really good for re-hydration.

Contact Humane Borders if you meet anyone in need of medical attention.

Signal boosting.

The first insult on that jug is infuriating to me. Feeling the need to parenthesize that curse word like that. Like the spanish language is less than, and no, I’m not looking too much into it. The person(s) who did this knew damn well what they were trying to convey.

As a latino, as an American, this is painful. It’s disgusting. It’s disheartening. It’s heartbreaking. It does not matter which Spanish speaking nation you’re from, or if you’re American born or an immigrant, the latino community must band together to push back the cruelty and racism our “great” nation throws at us. Our Mexican brothers and sisters deserve better than this.

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

That poem on the Statue Of Liberty, I guess it never meant anything at all.

Perfect commentary

"1. There will be several days that you daydream about stepping in front of a city bus. Don’t. It..."

Mon, 20 May 2013 22:57:41 -0700

“

1. There will be several days that you daydream about stepping in front of a city bus. Don’t. It will not be beautiful. It will not be brave. It will be selfish. It will be broken. Your mother will cry.

2. Don’t write for him. Write for you. Write for others like you. Write so the girl that thinks about stepping in front of public transportation doesn’t. Don’t be selfish.

3. When you will yourself to sleep and it doesn’t come- get up. It doesn’t matter that it’s 3 am. There will be other 3 am’s. Take a shower. Take two. Wash him out of your hair. Write a poem. Read the same book you’ve read 202 times again. The 203rd time might tell you something different. Don’t stay in bed- you will think about the bus again.

4. Don’t kiss him because he’s broken. Don’t kiss him because his laughter never reaches his eyes. Don’t try and fix him. Fix yourself first. Be selfish. He can’t save you.

5. Date yourself. Take yourself out to eat. Don’t share your popcorn at the movies with anyone. Stroll around an art museum alone. Fall in love with canvases. Fall in love with yourself.

6. Dress up and wear red lipstick and get drunk with your friends. They’re the ones that will pick you up. Don’t kiss him. Or him. Don’t fall asleep on strange couches with strange boys. When his hand slides up your dress walk away. Hit him. Don’t kiss him. He can’t save you.

7. Get another tattoo. Get five more. Get another hole in your ear. Don’t listen to your dad. You will still be able to get a job. Did you really want to be employed by someone like your father? Haven’t you had enough of judgmental old white men anyway? Get fuck you tattooed in tiny letters on your hip.

8. When you feel the yearning for a new city- start over. Take 200 bucks and a three suitcases. Work anywhere that will have you. Meet strange people and forget your name. Call yourself Ruby. No one will know the difference. Remember to call your mother. Don’t be selfish. Come home when you find yourself in the strangers and the small one bedroom apartment.

9. Don’t whisper evil things into your own ear. Other people are going to shout them at you. Be your own hero. Keep a sword on your key ring.

10. Don’t step in front of a city bus. It will not be beautiful. Live. Stay up all night with a boy that promises you everything and means it. Live. See shitty local bands with a friend. Wear a different band’s t-shirt. No one will care. Live. Have a baby girl with tiny fingers and tiny toes someday. Pour love into her until it’s overflowing. Live. Wake up. Staying in bed all day is not poetic.

Live. Live.

Live.

Do you hear that? It’s me. It’s your life. Wake up.

”

- (via darlingjustbehuman)

you called me luz. light,that brightened the night that made you smile. now you won’t even...

Mon, 20 May 2013 22:44:38 -0700

you called me luz.
light,that brightened the night
that made you smile.
now you won’t even whisper
or look at me before you fall asleep.

She starved herself away.

Fri, 17 May 2013 22:31:26 -0700

She starved herself away.

What It's Like to Grow Up American and Undocumented

Thu, 16 May 2013 17:07:32 -0700

univisionnews:

Undocumented immigrants often work during high school and college to help their families financially.

By EMILY DERUY

There are millions of kids growing up undocumented in the United States, but who are they?

A new infographic based on Americans by Heart: Undocumented Latino Students and the Promise of Higher Education by Dr. William Perez provides some indication.

Read More

aleimina: Violent Femmes- Blister In The Sun. Fuck, to see...

Wed, 08 May 2013 23:28:38 -0700

aleimina:

Violent Femmes- Blister In The Sun.

Fuck, to see Violent Femmes or Primus tomorrow?

fat-feminist: yes.

Wed, 08 May 2013 23:26:57 -0700

fat-feminist:

yes.

theeurbanrover: I hope this letter finds you in good health,...

Sun, 05 May 2013 08:16:46 -0700

theeurbanrover:

I hope this letter finds you in good health, in good disposition, and enveloped with the spirit of goodness. I must confess that it had never occurred to me before to write you, and I find myself overwhelmed and moved to have this opportunity.

Although circumstances have compelled me to reach out to you, I am glad to have this occasion to try and cross the boundaries that would otherwise tend to separate us.

I understand that the New Jersey State Police have written to you and asked you to intervene and to help facilitate my extradition back to the United States. I believe that their request is unprecedented in history. Since they have refused to make their letter to you public, although they have not hesitated to publicize their request, I am completely uninformed as to the accusations they are making against me. Why, I wonder, do I warrant such attention? What do I represent that is such a threat?

Please let me take a moment to tell you about myself. My name is Assata Shakur and I was born and raised in the United States. I am a descendant of Africans who were kidnapped and brought to the Americas as slaves. I spent my early childhood in the racist segregated South. I later moved to the northern part of the country, where I realized that Black people were equally victimized by racism and oppression.

I grew up and became a political activist, participating in student struggles, the anti-war movement, and, most of all, in the movement for the liberation of African Americans in the United States. I later joined the Black Panther Party, an organization that was targeted by the COINTELPRO program, a program that was set up by the Federal Bureau of Investigation to eliminate all political opposition to the U.S. government’s policies, to destroy the Black Liberation Movement in the United States, to discredit activists and to eliminate potential leaders.

Under the COINTELPRO program, many political activists were harassed, imprisoned, murdered or otherwise neutralized. As a result of being targeted by COINTELPRO, I, like many other young people, was faced with the threat of prison, underground, exile or death. The FBI, with the help of local police agencies, systematically fed false accusations and fake news articles to the press accusing me and other activists of crimes we did not commit. Although in my case the charges were eventually dropped or I was eventually acquitted, the national and local police agencies created a situation where, based on their false accusations against me, any police officer could shoot me on sight. It was not until the Freedom of Information Act was passed in the mid-’70s that we began to see the scope of the United States government’s persecution of political activists.

At this point, I think that it is important to make one thing very clear. I have advocated and I still advocate revolutionary changes in the structure and in the principles that govern the United States. I advocate self-determination for my people and for all oppressed inside the United States. I advocate an end to capitalist exploitation, the abolition of racist policies, the eradication of sexism, and the elimination of political repression. If that is a crime, then I am totally guilty.

To make a long story short, I was captured in New Jersey in 1973, after being shot with both arms held in the air, and then shot again from the back. I was left on the ground to die and when I did not, I was taken to a local hospital where I was threatened, beaten and tortured. In 1977 I was convicted in a trial that can only be described as a legal lynching.

In 1979 I was able to escape with the aid of some of my fellow comrades. I saw this as a necessary step, not only because I was innocent of the charges against me, but because I knew that in the racist legal system in the United States I would receive no justice. I was also afraid that I would be murdered in prison. I later arrived in Cuba where I am currently living in exile as a political refugee.

The New Jersey State Police and other law enforcement officials say they want to see me brought to “justice.” But I would like to know what they mean by “justice.” Is torture justice? I was kept in solitary confinement for more than two years, mostly in men’s prisons. Is that justice? My lawyers were threatened with imprisonment and imprisoned. Is that justice? I was tried by an all-white jury, without even the pretext of impartiality, and then sentenced to life in prison plus 33 years. Is that justice?

Let me emphasize that justice for me is not the issue I am addressing here; it is justice for my people that is at stake. When my people receive justice, I am sure that I will receive it, too. I know that Your Holiness will reach your own conclusions, but I feel compelled to present the circumstances surrounding the application of so-called “justice” in New Jersey. I am not the first or the last person to be victimized by the New Jersey system of “justice.” The New Jersey State Police are infamous for their racism and brutality. Many legal actions have been filed against them and just recently, in a class action legal proceeding, the New Jersey State Police were found guilty of having an, quote, “officially sanctioned, de facto policy of targeting minorities for investigation and arrest,” unquote.

Although New Jersey’s population is more than 78 percent white, more than 75 percent of the prison population is made up of Blacks and Latinos. Eighty percent of women in New Jersey prisons are women of color. There are 15 people on death row in the state and seven of them are Black. A 1987 study found that New Jersey prosecutors sought the death penalty in 50 percent of cases involving a Black defendant and a white victim, but only 28 percent of cases involving a Black defendant and a Black victim.

Unfortunately, the situation in New Jersey is not unique, but reflects the racism that permeates the entire country. The United States has the highest rate of incarceration in the world. There are more than 1.7 million people in U.S. prisons. This number does not include the more than 500,000 people in city and county jails, nor does it include the alarming number of children in juvenile institutions. The vast majority of those behind bars are people of color and virtually all of those behind bars are poor. The result of this reality is devastating. One third of Black men between the ages of 20 and 29 are either in prison or under the jurisdiction of the criminal justice system.

Prisons are big business in the United States, and the building, running, and supplying of prisons has become the fastest growing industry in the country. Factories are being moved into the prisons and prisoners are being forced to work for slave wages. This super-exploitation of human beings has meant the institutionalization of a new form of slavery. Those who cannot find work on the streets are forced to work in prison.

Not only are the prisons used as instruments of economic exploitation, they also serve as instruments of political repression. There are more than 100 political prisoners in the United States. They are African Americans, Puerto Ricans, Chicanos, Native Americans, Asians, and progressive white people who oppose the policies of the United States government. Many of those targeted by theCOINTELPRO program have been in prison since the early 1970s.
Although the situation in the prisons is an indication of human rights violations inside the United States, there are other, more deadly indicators.

There are currently 3,365 people now on death row, and more than 50 percent of those awaiting death are people of color. Black people make up only 13 percent of the population, but we make up 41.01 percent of persons who have received the death penalty. The number of state assassinations has increased drastically. In 1997 alone, 71 people were executed.

A special rapporteur appointed by the United Nations organization found serious human rights violations in the United States, especially those related to the death penalty. According to his findings, people who were mentally ill were sentenced to death, people with severe mental and learning disabilities, as well as minors under 18. Serious racial bias was found on the part of judges and prosecutors. Specifically mentioned in the report was the case of Mumia Abu-Jamal, the only political prisoner on death row, who was sentenced to death because of his political beliefs and because of his work as a journalist, exposing police brutality in the city of Philadelphia.

I believe that some people spell God with one “O” while others spell it with two. What we call God is unimportant, as long as we do God’s work. There are those who want to see God’s wrath fall on the oppressed and not on the oppressors. I believe that the time has ended when slavery, colonialism, and oppression can be carried out in the name of religion. It was in the dungeons of prison that I felt the presence of God up close, and it has been my belief in God, and in the goodness of human beings that has helped me to survive. I am not ashamed of having been in prison, and I am certainly not ashamed of having been a political prisoner. I believe that Jesus was a political prisoner who was executed because he fought against the evils of the Roman Empire, because he fought against the greed of the money changers in the temple, because he fought against the sins and injustices of his time. As a true child of God, Jesus spoke up for the poor, for the meek, for the sick, and the oppressed. The early Christians were thrown into lions’ dens. I will try and follow the example of so many who have stood up in the face of overwhelming oppression.

I am not writing to ask you to intercede on my behalf. I ask nothing for myself. I only ask you to examine the social reality of the United States and to speak out against the human rights violations that are taking place.

On this day, the birthday of Martin Luther King, I am reminded of all those who gave their lives for freedom. Most of the people who live on this planet are still not free. I ask only that you continue to work and pray to end oppression and political repression. It is my heartfelt belief that all the people on this earth deserve justice: social justice, political justice, and economic justice. I believe it is the only way we will ever achieve peace and prosperity on this earth. I hope that you enjoy your visit to Cuba. This is not a country that is rich in material wealth, but it is a country that is rich in human wealth, spiritual wealth and moral wealth.

Respectfully yours,
Assata Shakur
Havana, Cuba

Source

laurachavela: And here.

Thu, 02 May 2013 22:37:07 -0700

laurachavela:

And here.

Justice and equality for all!! Inclusive reform now!...

Wed, 01 May 2013 15:31:00 -0700

Justice and equality for all!! Inclusive reform now! #thetimeisnow #lgbtrights #immigration #maydaysf (at MUNI Bus Stop - Mission & 24th)

The Legalities of My Being: Yosimar Reyes

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 20:36:44 -0700

yosimar:

My grandmother has never used the word “undocumented” to describe her existence. In fact growing up she never taught me about limitations. Most of the folks on my block share this similar experience so there was no dialogue around our status in this country. We all knew where to get fake micas or any other documents needed to work in this country. I never felt alone or depress. In high school most of my peers were and continue to be undocumented so conversations around our status were not important because there was a common understanding that this was simply a REALITY and not our identity. We were more then the lack of a social security number.

            I am beginning a conversation with myself about defining my being by laws that really can NEVER summarize my existence. I am thinking about integration and this going trend to be called AMERICAN. I am thinking about words like DREAMer and Illegal, language that is stagnant, that in no way, shape or form speaks truth about the complexities of being and the connections that we have as humans beyond borders and political systems. It is like defining your being by building fences. Telling folks this is me, read the sign.

             I know the importance of visibility and empowering folks to no longer feel ashamed or embarrassed by their status but as a person who was taught that “El Pajaro Donde Quiera Es Verde” I am begging to question these myths I have learned about my homeland. I am begging to address this fear that I have about one day potentially returning to that place that gave birth to me. Why is that every time I think about my HOME my heart stops at the idea of living in poverty, when in reality I have been living below the poverty line my whole life. There is a social construction in my head that “AMERICA” is better. That “AMERICA” will grant me freedom. That “AMERICA” will grant me a proper education. That “AMERICA” is a place of justice.

            When the REALITY is that I have never seen the fruit of all these promises. We are still at the same place since we arrived, under attack, caged, profiled and subjugated to unjust laws. I am thinking about how damaging it is to label my spirit, my essence UNDOCUMENTED, taking something so minimal from the physical world and have it manifest in my body.

            Right now there is confusion all around me. There is a national campaign to pass the Dream Act, Obama announced his Deferred Action, folks are constantly inviting me to speak about my experience and I cannot help but feel Bamboozled. There is trend of folks writing about us, documenting us, wanting to hear us, wanting for us to come out of the shadows, wanting to us to feel empowered and for some reason I can not seem to get pass the fact that we are still not addressing our emotional well being, not as undocumented people but as migrants, displaced people, folks whose hearts have been broken by America’s lies.

Abulita has a broken heart

Ella no tiene la lengua para explicarle al presidente de sus milpas de café

She is not a DREAMer

There is no Deferred action for her

No immigration reform for her

She will NEVER be AMERICAN

One day she will pack her bags

Purchase a plane ticket and return home

She will look at the streets

Try to remember how things used to be

But time has not stopped since left

Her comadres have passed

Su casita fell

She will look at the dirt

Try to remember where she gave birth to her first-born

Look at the face of a son she has not seen in decades

She will be weak

Spending her days remembering

Abuelita will slowly dig her grave

Crawl back into the land that brought her to this journey

Return to the center

And migrate to the spirit world

There she will no longer need papers

no longer be poor

no longer ache

no longer be broken hearted

There she will whisper to me

And remind me that all this is a dream

That one day we will wake up to a place more beautiful then this.

Why do you march? #mayday #immigration #dreamers...

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 23:21:00 -0700

Why do you march? #mayday #immigration #dreamers #11milliondreams #thetimeisnow #iammymothersdream

love is all you need? re:homophobia/heterophobia. worth...

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 21:37:41 -0700

love is all you need? re:homophobia/heterophobia.

worth watching.<3

when the addict speaks

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 22:36:00 -0700

there is nothing like the way he whispers my name across the room

when i am sound asleep in his bed.

his sheets are a warm embrace,

his lips, sweet poison i can drink for days.

no wonder i could not tell when he was lying or telling me the truth.

i was too drunk on love that i could not see i was addicted to his smell.

like a loyal dog i followed until the end,

and i keep escaping rehabilitation.

specialnights: Women For Freedom. Sojourner TruthTania...

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 22:47:28 -0700

specialnights:

Women For Freedom.

Sojourner Truth
Tania Bunke
Frida Kahlo
Ella Baker
Angela Davis
Octavia Butler
Leila Khalid

cheeeeeech: his voice makes me believe that i can fall in love...

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 22:33:28 -0700

cheeeeeech:

his voice makes me believe that i can fall in love all over again…

Photo

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 08:00:42 -0700

breezkneez: Sylvia Ji is a revelation 🙏

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 09:10:11 -0700

breezkneez:

Sylvia Ji is a revelation 🙏

writingsforwinter: “Everyday I rewrite her name across my ribcage so that those who wish to break...

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 09:09:47 -0700

writingsforwinter:

“Everyday I rewrite her name across my ribcage so that those who wish to break my heart will know who to answer to later She has no idea that I’ve taught my tongue to make pennies, and every time our mouths are to meet I will slip coins to the back of her throat and make wishes I wish that someday my head on her belly might be like home like doubt to doubt resuscitation because time is supposed to mean more than skin She doesn’t know that I have taught my arms to close around her clocks so they can withstand the fallout from her Autumn She is so explosive, volcanoes watch her and learn terrorists want to strap her to their chests because she is a cause worth dying for Maybe someday time will teach me to pick up her pieces put her back together and remind her to click her heels but she doesn’t need a wizard to tell her that I was here all along Lady let us catch the next tornado home let us plant cantaloupe trees in our backyard then maybe together we will realize that we don’t like cantaloupe and they don’t grow on trees we can laugh about it then we can plant things we’ve never heard of I’ve never heard of a woman who can make flawed look so beautiful the way you do The word smitten is to how I feel about you what a kiss is to romance so maybe my lips to yours could be the penance to this confession because I am the only one preaching your defunct religion sitting alone at your altar, praising you out of faith I cannot do this hard-knock life alone You are all the softness a rock dreams of being the mistakes the rain makes at picnics when Mother Nature bears witness in much better places So yes I will gladly take on your ocean just to swim beneath you so I can kiss the bends of your knees in appreciation for the work they do keeping your head above water”

— Mike Mcgee, “Everyday” (via pigmenting)

Photo

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 10:32:42 -0700