The Name Game: When No One Cares to Correctly Pronounce Yours
My first piece at For Harriet. Check it
Beautiful piece by Miss Oluremi Onabanjo! Exciting new writer on the rise, check it out!
"Radical simply means grasping things at the root."
- Angela Davis (via tranqualizer)
(via aboriginalpressnews)
"You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole."
- Warsan Shire
"May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun."
- The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
"She was made after the time of ribs and mud. By papal decree there were to be no more people born of the ground or from the marrow of bones. All would be created from the propulsions and mounts performed underneath bedsheets - rare exception granted for immaculate conceptions."
- The People of Paper, Salvador Plascencia
![indigenousdialogues:
Renowned Palestinian painter, Sliman Mansour [b.1947]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/2c23d346a38eb9df946596336553b7eb/tumblr_mmjgxrQ3ia1qc15bbo1_250.jpg)
"did our mothers invent loneliness or did it make them our mothers? were we fathered by silence or just looking to explain away this gaping quiet? is it wasteful or wistful to pray for our brothers in a language they never learned? whose daughters are we if we grow old before our mothers, or for their sake? they called our grandfathers the january children, lined up by the colonizer and assigned birth years by height. there is no answer because we come from men who do not know when they were born, because they married women shown to them in photographs, because their children left the country and tried for romance and had daughters full of all the wrong language."
- Safia Elhillo, poet
(via joshuabrandonbennett)
Just Around the House, Early in the Morning, Mary Oliver
Though I have been scorned for it
let me never be afraid to use the world beautiful.
For with is the shining leaf
and the blossoms of the geranium at the window.
And the eyes of the happy puppy as he wakes.
The colors of the old and beloved afghan lying
by itself, on the couch, in the morning sun.
The hummingbirds’ nest perched now in a
corner of the bookshelf, in front of so many
books of so many colors.
the two poached eggs. The buttered toast.
The ream of brand-new paper just opened,
white as a block of snow.
The typewriter humming, ready to go.
(Source: colporteur)
