Posts I Like
kropotkitten:

stunningpicture:

The internet changed the outernet. Removing the anti-homeless spikes

I think it was radical Black and Asian socialists using direct action in their neighborhoods/cities that changed this. 
London Black Revolutionaries claim responsibility for pouring concrete on anti-homeless spikes
Don’t let the media hide the fact that this was direct action by the dispossessed (in this case working class Black and Asian, mainly immigrants, people in England) fighting for other dispossessed people.

kropotkitten:

stunningpicture:

The internet changed the outernet. Removing the anti-homeless spikes

I think it was radical Black and Asian socialists using direct action in their neighborhoods/cities that changed this. 

London Black Revolutionaries claim responsibility for pouring concrete on anti-homeless spikes

Don’t let the media hide the fact that this was direct action by the dispossessed (in this case working class Black and Asian, mainly immigrants, people in England) fighting for other dispossessed people.

(via politicalsexkitten)

gayperson:

when a white person say “chinese food” you always gotta be wary bc there’s a high chance they talking bout white people food on rice

(via chinesewomenunited)

hawaii-n-jones:

The fact that so many people see “straight passing” as a benefit rather than a form of erasure makes me cringe

(via spiralgarden)

I am walking in the city when I see him. Sixteen, with a cigarette in mouth. Wearing a white shirt with stains in the underarms. Knock-off Wayfarers tucked into the collar. Hair slicked back. He is pulling a comb from his pocket and out comes a lighter too. He smirks, flips his comb open, lights his cigarette and then, while looking off into the distance, finally answers my question. “Yes,” he says, “I’ve got a lighter.”

Two years later, I skip gym class and find a boy sitting on a snowy tree stump just past the school gate. He is 18, with a large wool peacoat thrown over his lean body. A bit of pudge sticks out from under his wrinkled white dress shirt. I see him drinking beer after beer, and smiling larger with each one. I shiver and walk past him, until he calls out, “Hey, you got somewhere to be?” I turn around. “Not really, no.” He scoots over, making room for me on the stump. “Want to take a seat?” I sit down slowly and offer him a slight smile. He takes a sip of his beer-cheap stuff, likely stolen-turns away from me to burp and then excuses himself, and then says, “Cigarette?”

At the end of the school year, I see my boyfriend lighting a cigarette in his car after an exam. “You smoke now?” I ask. I am so annoyed with him. He tries so hard to be something that should take no effort at all. I have to look out the window to keep from cringing at his deliberately untucked shirt, artfully messy hair, and now the cigarette posed perfectly between his “just chapped enough” lips. “I’m stressed,” he spits back at me. I study the snow and roll my eyes. When he’s finished, he starts the car and puts on a smooth jazz station, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the song. Three months earlier, I tried to take him to a jazz bar and he told me everything I liked was “old-ladyish and weird.” When we reach his house, I get out after him and then steal his pack. Later that night, he heads to his car to “think” and then comes back a few minutes later with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets. “That was fast,” I say. “Yeah, I just had to get some fresh air,” he says, while slipping into bed, smelling of nothing but pine. He is snoring in two seconds, so happy to be relieved of his smoking habit that he’s fallen asleep half-smiling. I look at him for a few seconds, then slip out of the covers, grab his pack from my jacket pocket, and go outside. I return smelling of tobacco and pine.

A few years later, I take myself out to a bar and see a man putting his cigarette into his mouth, flicking his lighter, and smiling at me as he inhales. A cloud of smoke is blown into my face as he asks me my name. I give him a fake one. I don’t feel too much like myself anyway-eighteen, and standing on a street congested with bars and traffic at two a.m. We go into the upper level of the closest bar and inside, he buys me “whatever’s on the tap” with the change in his pocket. “Honey,” he says. “Honey, what are you doing in a place like this?” He is combing his hair as he says this, and I am suspicious that he is only looking into my eyes in hopes of seeing his reflection. I laugh in response. To this, he declares, “I need a smoke break.” He opens his pack, puts one in-between his teeth, and then offers one to me. I shake my head. “Suit yourself,” he says. “I won’t be too long. Otherwise I’ll start to miss you.” I watch him walk down the stairs as I sip the last of my beer. I am about to join him when I notice a back door. I check my watch, then walk down the bar’s fire escape and go home. He can’t miss what he doesn’t know.

That night, with my elbows resting on my fire escape, I light a cigarette and look at the sleeping city. Hot red lights, trucks unloading in the dark, the occasional scream of a car horn cutting through the stars. I suck in deeply, hold the smoke in my throat for so long that I almost forget it’s there, and then exhale. Gone. I am secondhand smoke. I have been breathed out by so many mouthes that the stale smell of me clings to your clothes. I am in your new girlfriend’s hair when she comes home from the bar. I am floating outside your window when you return to our old apartment. And I am blackening your lungs one touch at a time.

The Cigarette Stories | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
When you are an affluent-seeming white man and you ask for things that don’t belong to you, sometimes you’re not really asking. It’s sort like Bill Clinton asking Monica Lewinsky to have sex with him. There’s a context behind the asking.

When you ask a serviceperson for something that doesn’t belong to you, there is often a subtext of, “If I complain to your manager, you know your manager is going to listen to me. Just look at me, and look at you.”

And sometimes, of course, this is not the case at all, and you’re just being a garden-variety annoying customer. Or a bully.

If you seem to be “getting everything you want,” you should probably examine whether you’re getting it at someone’s expense, or whether you’re just constantly, in small ways, making the world worse.

earthmoonlotus:

contraception:

straight people talk about their ‘opinion’ on gay rights as if queer people’s status as human beings is questionable

THIS.

(via misandry-mermaid)

softoogami:

i cant believe you thought my racist joke was racist .. and then told me it was racist?? i cant believe it. this is just as bad as racism and this hurt maybe 2 of my feelings

(via official-mens-frights-activist)

thefatgawd:

ceegypt:

blackfeminism:

do people say “bad neighborhood” for cities next to all-white high schools where the boys are getting high every day and raping girls? do they even say “bad neighborhood” for cities with large kkk meetings? or is bad neighborhood a strictly anti-black code?

image

The saying, “there goes the neighborhood” originated about black folks moving in.

(via the-goddamazon)

Damn now I really want a boat shaped like my vulva.