graciehagen:

Illusions of the Body was made to tackle the supposed norms of what we think our bodies are supposed to look like. Most of us realize that the media displays the only the prettiest photos of people, yet we compare ourselves to those images. We never get to see those photos juxtaposed against a picture of that same person looking unflattering. That contrast would help a lot of body image issues we as a culture have.  

Within the series I tried get a range of body types, ethnicities & genders to show how everyone is a different shape & size; there is no “normal”. Each photo was taken with the same lighting & the same angle.  

Celebrate your shapes, sizes & the odd contortions your body can get itself into. The human body is a weird & beautiful thing. 

Photographer: Gracie Hagen

(via energiesoftheuniverse)

"I have lived
in my body
for years
and still need
maps and lights
to find my way
to how I feel."

Michelle K., Body of Maps   (via anditslove)

(Source: michellekpoems, via energiesoftheuniverse)

Låpsley || Painter (Valentine)

aruarianmoon:

I hate. I hate hate hate. Everything, myself, the pain in my back, the way some hairs never stay in their goddamn place, the way I can’t possibly explain how I hate so much. I cry, I feel, I linger in the depressiveness that is this goddamn life, that is my existence, that is how I feel. I stop, I stop forcing my back in this ridiculous posture that is deemed as “the one and only”, I leave the goddamn makeup in the drawer, I stop wondering what my ass looks like as I move my body, as I move my existence forward, backward, as I stand still in the same place. I regret, everything, the way I consume, that I bother with bills, that I bother with books, that I don’t stand in the streets and yell at every motherfucker ruining everything for everyone. I get angry, at myself, at this life, at everything that got me to this place of discontent, of not good enough. I want to yell at that too. I feel helpless, having no one to blame, knowing no one is to blame, wishing I didn’t believe that and immediately regretting that same thought. I lie, alone, with sheets, with myself, whom I hate, whom I try to love, whom I sometimes believe is my soulmate. Me, the hairs around my bellybutton, the hair in between my eyebrows which are actually my eyebrows because who on earth said they weren’t. Me, flesh everywhere, flesh I hate but desperately want to love love love. Quiet tiny me sitting in a lecture hall, feeling unworthy like I’m taking up all the goddamn space of all these people, people not understanding me, not loving me. Me, feeling marginalized, feeling betrayed, feeling misunderstood, misunderstanding, probably, everything. This life, that I want to love, that I want to heal me, that I want to teach me to forgive, everything, but especially myself. 

afrodiaspores:

mahader:


western history equals white mythology 
interview with artist mahader tesfai:
[i] what does this photo mean?
[mt] this photo is meant to challenge the status of history
[i] is it a western myth?  
[mt] yes, precisely. that is the question.  
[i] what informed this photo?
[mt] dialogues and readings of angela davis, edward said,  matthew shenoda, g.c. spivak, arundhati roy, homi bhabha
[i] what is  the role of third world narratives?
[mt] to decolonize history 
[i] who is the photographer?
[mt] my friend duwayno robertson


As the historian of religions Bruce Lincoln put it: “If myth is ideology in narrative form, then scholarship is myth with footnotes.”

afrodiaspores:

mahader:

western history equals white mythology

interview with artist mahader tesfai:

[i] what does this photo mean?

[mt] this photo is meant to challenge the status of history

[i] is it a western myth?  

[mt] yes, precisely. that is the question.  

[i] what informed this photo?

[mt] dialogues and readings of angela davis, edward said,  matthew shenoda, g.c. spivak, arundhati roy, homi bhabha

[i] what is  the role of third world narratives?

[mt] to decolonize history 

[i] who is the photographer?

[mt] my friend duwayno robertson

As the historian of religions Bruce Lincoln put it: If myth is ideology in narrative form, then scholarship is myth with footnotes.”

(via marxisforbros)

"

When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.

Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”

When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.

Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”

I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.

She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”

“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”

He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”

Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”

When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”

Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”

Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.

He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.

Here is a fact: I think gender is a difficult and personal topic and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and identify as female in a female body, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.

Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.

One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.

I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”

Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.

It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.

It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.

It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.

There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.

I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.

"

By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via wocinsolidarity)

pridefulvanity:

next time someone tells you Muslim countries oppress women, let them know Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Turkey, Kosovo, Kyrgyzstan, and Senegal have all had female Presidents or Prime Ministers and 1/3rd of Egypt’s parliament is female but the US has yet to even have a female vice president and can’t say “vagina” when discussing female reproductive rights

(via energiesoftheuniverse)

mydamnblog11:

Behind the Scenes

"Democracy has become Empire’s euphemism for neo-liberal capitalism."

Arundhati Roy, An Ordinary Person’s Guide to Empire (via khilaaf)

(Source: takhtee, via wocinsolidarity)