reverseracism:

Some of the many books created for children of color (:

Not only do they excel in representation, they teach important life lessons, and they shed positive light on the media imagery of POC.

(Source: neoafrican, via zoranealethirston)

"Tumble me down, and I will sit/ Upon my ruines (smiling yet :)"

If you thought the English language went downhill when the emoticon was introduced, you can blame a 17th-century poet. Editor Levi Stahl found that English poet Robert Herrick used the first emoticon in his 1648 poem “To Fortune.”  For more on the potential ruin of language, read Fiona Maazel’s piece on commercial grammar. (via millionsmillions)

(via sylvides)

http://viperslang.tumblr.com/post/83708070445/we-are-going-into-the-selection-stage-at

viperslang:

we are going into the selection stage at cyberhex.

we are still accepting prose/art/photography tho we are p much closed for poetry. please get your submissions in before 30th April.

send your stuff » cyberhexjournals at gmail dot com

additionally, if anyone wants to contribute a well thought…

.

Forough Farrokhzad – Tavalodi Digar (116 plays)

the-trapeze-swinger:

Forough Farrokhzad (1935-1967) reciting her poem, Another Birth, in its original tongue.

Another Birth
English translation by Hasan Javadi & Susan Sallée:

All my existence is a dark verse
which repeating you in itself will take you
to the dawn of eternal blossoming and growth
I have sighed to you in this verse, ah,
in this verse I have grafted you
to tree and water and fire.

                   *  *  *
 
Perhaps life
is a long street on which a woman with a basket passes every day.
Perhaps life
is a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch.
Perhaps life is a child returning from school. 

Perhaps life is lighting a cigarette in the languid repose between two embraces
or the mindless transit of a passer-by
who tips his hat
and with a meaningless smile says “good morning” to another passer-by.
Perhaps life is that thwarted moment
when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes.
And in this lies a sensation
which I will mingle with the perception of the moon and the discovery of darkness.


In a room the size of one loneliness
my heart
the size of one love
looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness,
at the fading of the beauty of the flowers in the vase
at the sapling you planted in the garden of our house
at the song of the canaries
that sing the size of one window

Ah…
This is my lot
This is my lot
My lot
is a sky which the hanging of a curtain steals from me.
My lot is descending an abandoned stair
to find something in decay and exile.
My lot is a grief-stricken walk in the garden of memories
and surrendering my soul in the sadness of a voice that says to me:
"I love
your hands”

I plant my hands in the garden
I will grow green, I know, I know, I know
and in the hollows of my ink-stained fingers
swallows will lay eggs.

On my ears I hang earrings of twin red cherries
and stick dahlia petals on my nails
There is a street where
still, the boys who loved me
with the same toussled hair, slender necks, lanky legs
think of the innocent smile of a girl
whom one night the wind took away

There is a street which my heart
has stolen from the scenes of my childhood

The journey of a form on the line of time
and with a form, impregnating the barren line of time,
a form aware of an image
which returns from the party of a mirror.
And it is thus
that someone dies
and someone remains

In the shallow stream that flows into a ditch, no fisherman will hunt a pearl.

I
know a sad little fairy
who settles in the ocean
and plays her heart on a wood-tipped flute
softly, softly
a sad little fairy
who dies from a single kiss at night
and will be born with a single kiss at dawn. 

I cannot tell you how much I value this recording.

image

(via salamcinema)

Neyssatou (Badiaa Bouhrizi) – Kama Qal Abi كما قال أبي (190 plays)

(Source: isqineeha)

"We now know that 24 hours without sleep, or a week of sleeping four or five hours a night induces an impairment equivalent to a blood alcohol level of .1 percent. We would never say, ‘This person is a great worker! He’s drunk all the time!’ yet we continue to celebrate people who sacrifice sleep for work."

Insights from the doctor who coaches athletes on sleep. Pair with the science of what actually happens while you sleep and how it affects your every waking hour.

More on sleep here.

(via pourqua)

(via lescautmanon)

Um. Why is the recommended track that automatically plays after this one a Hannah Montana song?

Expository friendship.

"One trend we have noticed, with growing apprehension, is the ease with which the language of decolonization has been superficially adopted into education and other social sciences, supplanting prior ways of talking about social justice, critical methodologies, or approaches which decenter settler perspectives. Decolonization, which we assert is a distinct project from other civil and human rights-based social justice projects, is far too often subsumed into the directives of these projects, with no regard for how decolonization wants something different than those forms of justice. Settler scholars swap out prior civil and human rights based terms, seemingly to signal both an awareness of the significance of Indigenous and decolonizing theorizations of schooling and educational research, and to include Indigenous peoples on the list of considerations - as an additional special (ethnic) group or class. At a conference on educational research, it is not uncommon to hear speakers refer, almost casually, to the need to “decolonize our schools,” or use “decolonizing methods,” or “decolonize student thinking.” Yet, we have observed a startling number of these discussions make no mention of Indigenous peoples, our/their struggles for the recognition of our/their sovereignty, or the contributions of Indigenous intellectuals and activists to theories and frameworks of decolonization. Further, there is often little recognition given to the immediate context of settler colonialism on the North American lands where many of these conferences take place."

Decolonization is not a metaphor (via leibor)

(Source: rs620, via amaalsdrifting)

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http://www.gold.ac.uk/media/ahmed1.pdf

fereshaan:

it’s funny how reading about happiness can make u such a sad lil ugly 

sara ahmed is so crucial tho. her work just resonates very deeply

I think I may have first encountered Sara Ahmed on tumblr (at least in such a way that I would remember and want to read her work). I keep getting distracted by good literature but it’s truly a wish of mine to absorb as much Sara Ahmed as possible, soon soon. Thanks for posting this.

5 Ways to Validate Yourself: Be Part of Your Support System

This reminds me of my idea to talk to myself in the same sweet, loving tone I hear from other people’s parents, and use to comfort others.

To try to recognize when I’m berating myself and express compassion and support for myself instead.

I really remember only on occasion but it’s a revelation when I do. It does make a difference.

(Source: auccoeurtendre)

because I am waiting for sinus meds to kick in and this is still a personal blog

I could write this in a journal but that wouldn’t set it free in the same way.

The things I would like to have had the chance to say or wish it were possible or appropriate to say:

I don’t think you’re a ‘womanizer’ or a player or whatever people call you in fun. Maybe you sometimes repeat it back to yourself to feel strong, even though you know it isn’t true. I think you’re afraid of being alone but afraid of being hurt and afraid of feeling too deep or too much. That’s a lot of fear to carry and I hope you get the chance to let it go. Soon.

Why do I remind you of Sansa Stark? I am still curious, after all. What were the things you wanted to say to me when you didn’t have the words? When was the first time you noticed me? I wonder if it was the same as the first time I noticed you, because it kind of felt like it at the time.

I also wish I could give you a manual on how to approach people in a way that respects their dignity and their feelings. Mistakes happen and we don’t always know what we want. But we can at least be honest with one another about what we do know, and we can acknowledge the hurt we do cause. Manners aren’t about being prissy and perfect and getting everything right - they’re about showing the people around us that we acknowledge them, that they matter.

There is a lot of good in you and I hope you take good care of it. It does make me sad not to help you with this class, because I am still really rooting for you to do well.

Nice things: the girl from my last-semester Persian class who very sweetly asked for homework help & got me tea today wrote ‘Jessamy jaan’ in her message to me. She also said I’m the only person she even remembers from last semester.

It’s really too bad I was so closed-off last term. I remember having a few nice conversations with her but always sort of closing a mental door on that class and everyone in it.