bidrohi bloc

kathleen neal and eldridge cleaver, 1970.

(Source: bang-your-dead, via fullannaism)

thisishowwechillfrom93til:

C.ash R.ules E.verything A.round M.e

(via amerikaznightmare)

(via fullannaism)

crudamoral:

absolutely exquisite photographs of james baldwin in turkey taken from yes magazine’s spread. inspiring, indeed. what spirited and brilliant soul wants to be my travel buddy and muse? let’s live.

(via theblackcommunist)

Notorious B.I.G and Miley Cyrus - Party And Bullshit In The USA

(Source: youtube.com)

Under the Wheels

Very often I think back to my great uncle’s funeral. It was in Manchester, the weather forecast was heavy rain, but the on the day itself there wasn’t a cloud in the sky; it was unseasonably warm. I stayed behind in the cemetery after the burial ceremony, having laid some dirt onto his unadorned and austere coffin (technically in violation of an Islamic burial) only a few minutes earlier.

Despite being surrounded by a dual carriageway and the roar of the city, I was acutely aware that all I could hear was the breeze in the stupidly tall oak trees and the birds chiding the time away. That feeling in that moment of pure serenity, is something that only lasted briefly and I’m not sure I’ll ever see it again.

I just let it wash over me, my mind just went blank like a page turned over. Usually to achieve something anywhere near it, I’m fighting against a tide and usually I lose. A remnant of that nothingness remained with me for maybe half an hour while I drove home. During that time I regretted that he didn’t know anything about who I really am, he only knew the man I projected, that my family needed to exist and I needed to hide behind.

It was just a moment, but maybe in that moment he knew me.

(Source: foucaultthehaters, via actuallyexistingbarbarism)

spitzenprodukte:

RYAN (HEAD-BUTT), 1999
That’s not my blood. I was making out with my main squeeze on a stoop in the East Village and some macho jock dickhead walked by and called us fags. I don’t think he expected me to get up in his face. We scrapped a bit and then I head-butted him and could feel his nose break on my forehead. We ran for blocks, laughing at the top of our lungs, and then jumped into bed, where my boyfriend took this picture of me.

 

(Ryan McGinley)

Reminded of this by my friend @piercepenniless who nutted some prick last night

sarcastathon5000:

Yesterday barrister Barbara Hewson, wrote a piece regarding Operation Yewtree, which began with the statement ‘I do not support the persecution of old men’. She described Yewtree as an ‘inquisition’ and it’s victims as ‘zealots’, and this is simply in the first two paragraphs.

While the…