this is a type of autobiographical work. biased, of course.
larry d. rosalez-lewis
26yrs old | gainesville, fl
There is no complete language, no language which can express all our ideas and all our sensations; their shades are too numerous, too imperceptible. Nobody can make known the precise degree of sensation he experiences. One is obliged, for example, to designate by the general names of love and hate a thousand loves and a thousand hates all different from each other; it is the same with our pleasures and our pains. Thus all languages are, like us, imperfect.
— Voltaire (via monsieurleprince)
a time to be born, and a time to die
a time to plant, and a time to uproot
a time to kill and a time to heal
a time to break down and a time to build up
a time to weep and a time to laugh
a time to mourn and a time to dance
a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing
a time to seek and a time to lose
a time to keep and a time to throw away
a time to tear and a time to sew
a time to be silent and a time to speak
a time to love and a time to hate
a time for battle and a time for peace.
what has been is what will be
and what has been done is what will be done
and there is nothing new under the sun.
— the preacher, son of david
a long, long time ago
Brown boy don’t be shamed
Brown boy don’t be shamed of the
copper eyes your mama
gave you. Boy, those eyes
read words and poems and books.
Her life ain’t have
tacks in it
so you could blind yourself.
Don’t be shamed
of your nappy, dreadlocky hair cuz
every swing sings
freedom. Sing loud.
your daddy ain’t step on
so you could quiet yourself.
No need to be shamed
of your skin. So what it
don’t freckle? Sweat makes
it shine like rain on streets.
Your grandma ain’t walk on
boards torn up
so you could hate yourself.
When those white boys spit
(and they will) remember your worth
brown boy. Don’t be shamed.
Your family crawled through places
with no carpet on the floor
so you could love yourself.
True reconciliation exposes the awfulness, the abuse, the hurt, the truth. It could even sometimes make things worse. It is a risky undertaking but in the end it is worthwhile, because in the end only an honest confrontation with reality can bring real healing. Superficial reconciliation can bring only superficial healing.
— Archbishop Desmond Tutu (via contrariansoul)
Black Rage (sketch)
An old sketch of Black Rage, done in my living room. Strange, the course of things. Peace for MO.
i’ve been waiting to hear a recording of this. worth the wait. yes.
if we must die
if we must die, let it not be like hogs
hunted and penned in an inglorious spot
while round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
making their mock at our accursed lot.
if we must die, o let us nobly die,
so that our precious blood may not be shed
in vain; then even the monsters we defy
shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
o kinsmen we must meet the common foe!
though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
and for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!
what though before us lies the open grave?
like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
-claude mckay, 1919
I maintain that every civil rights bill in this country was passed for white people, not for black people. For example, I am black. I know that. I also know that while I am black I am a human being. Therefore I have the right to go into any public place. White people don’t know that. Every time I tried to go into a public place they stopped me. So some boys had to write a bill to tell that white man, “He’s a human being; don’t stop him.” That bill was for the white man, not for me. I knew I could vote all the time and that it wasn’t a privilege but my right. Every time I tried I was shot, killed or jailed, beaten or economically deprived. So somebody had to write a bill to tell white people, “When a black man comes to vote, don’t bother him.” That bill was for white people. I know I can live anyplace I want to live. It is white people across this country who are incapable of allowing me to live where I want. You need a civil rights bill, not me.
— Stokely Carmichael