“Today, as you see whitewashed images of a post-prison, unarmed, grandfatherly Mandela, please remember that he was someone who had the pride and courage to take up arms against his oppressor. Mandela fought in a guerilla war against white supremacy in South Africa, as did many others all across the world. Our own CIA alerted the SA authorities to Mandela’s location, which is what led to his 27 years behind bars and the medical condition which felled him today. Our government was responsible for that crime, and still holds our own anti-apartheid militants behind bars. So when you see Obama crying his crocodile tears later today remember that he would imprison a modern Mandela, that he arms the apartheid government of Israel, that he refuses to pardon those who fought against the corporations propping up the South African government here in the US, and that he has done everything he can to crush the kind of dissent that Mandela stood for.”—(via angry-hippo)
Barack Obama holds a photo-op in Nelson Mandela’s former prison cell as Obama’s administration carries out the largest suppression of political dissent since like the first Red Scare, encourages American capitalists to annex basically all of Africa and the global South via the WTO, and is systematically detaining undocumented people. This is the new “socially conscious” face of liberalism
You were easier to meet than to get to know. An unwavering smile gave way to something twisted, dark and foreign. And when I would call, you were never home. Maybe I could have prevented something or had some influence. But when you called me from the hospital, I recognized your voice but I didn’t understand it at all. You said you were sorry but you didn’t say what for. And that you wished we could have been friends in real life, but that night reality never hit harder. Whitewashed eyes dimly reflecting a fluorescent glow. You laid still while I was tearing up the floorboards. There in the dimming lights and the peeling labels, clusters of couches and coffee tables. A weakened sun splits a stagnant sky and the church doors open. The bed they made you at St. Vincent held a body’s warmth and a heart stretched distant, out past the shoreways and into the hands of the ones we love but leave alone. I wish I could know what you’re thinking. Your silence, it speaks volumes.
“But the 8-hour workday is too profitable for big business, not because of the amount of work people get done in eight hours (the average office worker gets less than three hours of actual work done in 8 hours) but because it makes for such a purchase-happy public. Keeping free time scarce means people pay a lot more for convenience, gratification, and any other relief they can buy. It keeps them watching television, and its commercials. It keeps them unambitious outside of work.
We’ve been led into a culture that has been engineered to leave us tired, hungry for indulgence, willing to pay a lot for convenience and entertainment, and most importantly, vaguely dissatisfied with our lives so that we continue wanting things we don’t have. We buy so much because it always seems like something is still missing.”—Your Lifestyle Has Already Been Designed (via felicefawn)
I hope you choke on my fucking heartbeat and drown in my blue blood. The lonely walks bring out the lonely eyes. The hunger dies because of the lies. My stomach asks for something you can’t give, something you can’t feed me anymore. I bet we believed nothing could change us. Now our limbs have turned into shovels that even out the dirt. I just like to think out loud. My ears are tired and mouth is sore from the life that you can’t handle anymore. If I could give you just one night I would make it last two seconds. You make me feel so alive but that same love won’t let me survive.