Alek Wek photographed by Raymond Meier for Harpers Bazaar, November 1998
(via black-culture)
A strong spirit transcends rules.
Alek Wek photographed by Raymond Meier for Harpers Bazaar, November 1998
(via black-culture)
In a racist society it is not enough to be non-racist. We must be anti-racist.
-Angela Davis
A boy walks in a camp sheltering internally displaced people (IDPs) next to the M'Poko international airport in Bangui, Central African Republic, February 13, 2016. REUTERS/Siegfried Modola
(via black-culture)
—Janet Fitch, White Oleander
(via definitelydope)
(Source: goodreads.com, via definitelydope)
In the transformation of silence into language and action, it is vitally necessary for each one of us to establish or examine her function in that transformation and to recognize her role as vital within that transformation. For those of us who write, it is necessary to scrutinize not only the truth of what we speak, but the truth of that language by which we speak it. For others, it is to share…
Song of the Day: A Lenda do Caboclo
Melancholy, that’s what I feel when I listen to A Lenda do Caboclo. Originally written by Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos, this version is by Yo-Yo Ma.
Song of the Day: Melancholy Hill
I’m completely late to the Gorillaz. I remember when their song Clint Eastwood came out and it felt like that was all that was being played on MTV. I hated it and never invested any time into listening to any of their other music. That changed when I heard On Melancholy Hill. It’s exactly the kind of music that I love. The mellow, woozy, ethereal romanticism that makes you feel as though you…
Radikal Readings: Between the World and Me
Between the World and Me has sat on my bookshelf for months. Was it the tremendous accolades that prevented me from picking it up? I have a tendency to put books that are in the spotlight on the back burner for fear they might not live up to my expectation of them. That is not the case with Between the World and Me. Ta-Nehisi Coates is one of my favorite writers. The way he weaves narratives is…
“i don’t know when love became elusive what i know, is that no one i know has it my fathers arms around my mothers neck fruit too ripe to eat, a door half way open when your name is a just a hand i can never hold everything i have ever believed in, becomes magic. i think of lovers as trees, growing to and from one another searching for the same light, my mothers laughter in a dark room, a…