#bobes #hachacha #myleg
Lil b as a based kid
Jenny Holzer, Truism Private Property Created Crime in Times Square, New York City, 1982.
reasons not to kill yourself
- chicken tender
- the billionth number of pi is 9
- it’s not gay if it’s on the moon
- sponges feel cool
- joe biden
- the letter Q
(Source: dopecinema, via fuckyeahtyrone)
lets play truth or dare except can all the questions be like “truth: what emotionally intensive task do you need to engage in this week to improve the tenacity of your heart?” and “dare: i dare you to be vulnerable in your honesty and love today” or “i dare you to interrogate your desire for the benefit of your self actualization”
Me showin up to yo mans house
(Source: actuallygrimes, via setfabulazerstomaximumcaptain)
This is the place in which, it seems to me, most white Americans find themselves. They are dimly, or vividly, aware that the history they have fed themselves is mainly a lie, but they do not know how to release themselves from it, and they suffer enormously from the resulting personal incoherence. This incoherence is heard nowhere more plainly than in those stammering, terrified dialogues white Americans sometimes entertain with that black conscience, the black man in America.
The nature of this stammering can be reduced to a plea: Do not blame me. I was not there. I did not do it. My history has nothing to do with Europe or the slave trade. Anyway, it was your chiefs who sold you to me. I was not present on the middle passage. I am not responsible for the textile mills of Manchester, or the cotton fields of Mississippi. Besides, consider how the English, too, suffered in those mills and in those awful cities! I, also, despise the governors of Southern states and the sheriffs of Southern counties; and I also want your child to have a decent education and rise as high as his capabilities will permit. I have nothing against you, nothing! What have you got against me? What do you want?
But, on the same day, in another gathering, and in the most private chamber of his heart always, he, the white man, remains proud of that history for which he does not wish to pay, and from which, materially, he has profited so much. —
James Baldwin, Unnameable Objects, Unspeakable Crimes
James Baldwin wrote these words in 1966
I repeat 1966
It is 2013
47 years later and White people are still strumming to this same tune of “don’t blame me”.