He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.

What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.

I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.

I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.

It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.

It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.

Catalina Ferro, “Manifesto” (via dialecticsof)

I feel like people do need to remember that there is a very real, very painful, very human element to the word “revolution”.

(via nuanced-subversion)

I feel pretty connected to this rn.

(via famphic)

  • white person: how do you say my name in your language??
  • me: pendejo
“(Trigger warning: sexual violence, rape, torture) Few mediums reveal the White sexual imperialistic exploitation of Asian women more so than pornography. In a 2002 study conducted by Jennifer Lynn Gossett and Sarah Byrne, out of thirty-one pornographic websites that depicted rape or torture of women, more than half showed Asian women as the rape victim and one-third showed White men as the perpetrator. The study further uncovered a strong correlation between race and pedophilia, advertising with titles such as “Japanese Schoolgirls” or “Asian Teens.” Furthermore, images of Asian women in pornographic forms consistently came up through a keyword search for “torture.” Many scholars warn that race-specific pornography contributes to race specific sexual violence. Since the overwhelming majority of violent pornography features Asian women in particular, it follows that Asian women are at even greater risk of sexual violence due to their role in violent pornography.

Pornography leads to other alarming sexual-racial trends involving Asian women as well. For example, depictions of Filipinas as sexual commodities on the Internet have been linked to the mail-order bride industry in Australia. Researchers further speculate that online sexual commodification of Filipinas may at least partially explain why Filipinas experience disproportionate levels of domestic violence compared to non-Filipina women.

White men’s fascination with Asian women in pornography stems from early nineteenth century Western imperialism. To colonize the Asian nations, countries such as the United States flooded Asia with military forces. As an inevitable result of military presence, prostitution centers consisting of local civilian women sprung up to cater to the White servicemen. With these sexual experiences as their main, if not only, encounters with Asian women, White servicemen returned home with the generalization that Asian women are hypersexualized and always willing to comply with White man’s prurient demands. This germinated even more interest in Asian women as sexual objects. To sustain this increased interest, the Asian sex tour industry developed. Asian sex tourism further perpetuates the stereotype of Asian women as hypersexualized and always willing. If Asian women are perceived as hyper-sexual, it understandably follows that sexually explicit materials, pornography for example, would include a preponderance of Asian women.”

this-is-cthulhu-privilege:

Friendly reminder that bad social justice is a vicious cancer on basic humanity.

(via fuzzlespup)

verylittlebird:

morefunthanbeingsad:

lmao what possible reason could he have for holding a cigar?

this is truly some simpsons shit

(via homeless-dad)

When bachelorofgeneralknowledge sass talks me

processedlives:

For Nona Faustine the restitution of her sense of wholeness as an African American woman and artist manifests in the guise of a restoration of the past, emphasis on guise.  Although we see her marching up the steps of City Hall in Manhattan with nothing on but her white Sunday shoes and a pair of shackles in her left hand…she is not really trying to restore anything. It took me a while to realize it.

Her on-going photography and installation project Reconstructions is precisely that – reconstructions that attempt to replace something that was lost in the history of Blacks in America.  This should not be confused with an attempt to relive the past through reenactment. Faustine’s images are more are like markers that indicate a place, an institution, an event or a person so that with her presence on that spot she does not merely remember them for the sake of remembering, she rewrites a new history for them. There on the steps of City Hall’s Renaissance Revival facade that abuts a slave burial ground or standing on her soap box at the intersection of Water and Wall Streets where a market once trafficked in humans, she is the fearless daughter of them all, the new Venus of Willendorf reborn to reconstruct a history, the ultimate act of fecundity.

Faustine easily acknowledges the impossibility of getting at what is essential with this task she has set for herself, because to reconstruct a history is an altogether different action than to restore one. Hers is not an attempt to historicize the present but to re-write the past. She did the research, discovered who bought and sold black slaves in colonial New York, and where, and how they were transported in and out of the city. But there is no Aushwitz or Treblinka for the victims of slavery in America despite the common knowledge that an estimated 10-12 million Africans died in the Middle Passage alone, and countless others succumbed to starvation, physical abuse and disease once on these shores. In a way the images function as memorials that she makes herself, one at a time, with her body, the naked truth of its blackness braced against a cold city, reconstructing a narrative where the enslaved has dignity and is not afraid.

(via HISTORY IS NOT THE PAST | WHAT HAPPENED WAS…)

(via muslimrave)

bachelorofgeneralknowledge:

I told you I’d link you some amazing make-up tutorials fetusinfurs now you can be soft grunge too

I hate you bachelorofgeneralknowledge

bachelorofgeneralknowledge:

I told you I’d link you some amazing make-up tutorials fetusinfurs now you can be soft grunge too

I hate you bachelorofgeneralknowledge

anothermetanoic:

fetusinfurs said: HAHAHAHAHA. I know the feeling. I’m to be in Europe in September, my partner is there now, As is my neighbor, and two of my very close friends. It hurts

right?!?! They’re mostly they’re to party it up/on exchange and I swear it seems like they’re all just fuckin…

Absolutely. It’s dull and so typically Australian
Except boyfriend. He’s staying in anarchist squats around Scotland.