"Blue Black Boy" by Carrie Mae Weems
Wrist-blade fighting. Leni Riefenstahl’s People of the Kau, 1974.
Samba Kone by Ashley Sky Walker & Nick Perkins
Tulip Peony, 2005
You, said Isaiah.
I cannot hear you, Isaiah spoke again under the Branch.
Light bleached open the night camera.
God smashed Isaiah like glass through every socket of his nation.
Liar! said God.
Isaiah put his hands on his coat, he put his hand on his face.
Isaiah is a small man, said Isaiah, but no liar.
And so that was their contract.
Brittle on both sides, no lying.
Anne Carson, The Book of isaiaI
I am not the water—
I am the wave,
is the force that moves me.
Susan Stryker, “My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix”
Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.
Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
Poverty too, like feminism, is often framed as an identity problem. As though the poor had not been created by injustice but are a lost tribe who just happen to exist, and can be rescued in the short term by a system of grievance redressal (administered by NGOs on an individual, person-to-person basis), and whose long-term resurrection will come from Good Governance — under the regime of Global Corporate Capitalism, it goes without saying.
Arundhati Roy, Capitalism: A Ghost Story
My point is not that everything is bad, but that everything is dangerous, which is not exactly the same as bad. If everything is dangerous, then we always have something to do. So my position leads not to apathy but to a hyper- and pessimistic activism. I think that the ethico-political choice we have to make every day is to determine which is the main danger.
Michel Foucault, On the Genealogy of Ethics: An Overview of Work in Progress