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Sohrab

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Persian Music  -  Shams and Rumi (Persian + English Lyrics)

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Random Acts of Flyness - Poetic and powerful sketch show

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Random Acts of Flyness - Poetic and powerful sketch show

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Random Acts Of Flyness 2018 Teaser Trailer   HBO

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Awkward Black Girl - The Stop Sign (S. 1, Ep. 1)

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This podcast is amazing, two mixed race women who are spiritual  talk about different experiences within the spiritual realm. I love this specific episode about  quantum physics being interlinked with spiritual practices.

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Ep 47: The World Of Quantum - The Woke Mystix - Podcast

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Join Imani and Ellen as they delve into the World of Quantum and share what different dimensions of Quantum means and how it is already a part of everyday life. - Listen to Ep 47: The World Of Quantum by The Woke Mystix instantly on your tablet, phone or browser - no downloads needed.

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Motherfuckers

Gérard spends his days thinking about the many reasons he hates America that include but are not limited to the people, the weather, especially the cold, and having to drive everywhere and having to go to school every day. He is fourteen. He hates lots of things.

On the first day of school, as he and his classmates introduce themselves, Gérard stands, says his name, quickly sits back down, and stares at his desk, which he hates. You have such an interesting accent, the teacher coos. Where are you from? He looks up. He is irritated. Haiti, he says. The teacher smiles widely. Say something in French. Gérard complies. Je te déteste, he says. The teacher claps excitedly. She doesn't speak French.

Word spreads through school quickly and soon, Gérard has a nickname. His classmates call him HBO. It is several weeks until he understands what that means.

Gérard lives with his parents in a two-bedroom apartment. He shares his room with his sister and their cousin Edy. They do not have cable television, but Edy, who has been in the States for several months longer than Gérard, lies and tells him that HBO is Home Box Office, a TV channel that shows Bruce Willis movies. Gérard hates that they don't have cable but loves Bruce Willis. He is proud of his nickname. When the kids at school call him HBO, he replies, Yippee-ki-yay.

Gérard's father does not shower every day because he has yet to become accustomed to indoor plumbing. Instead, he performs his ablutions each morning at the bathroom sink and reserves the luxury of a shower for weekends. Sometimes, Gérard sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches his father because it reminds him of home. He has the routine memorized-his father splashes his armpits with water, then lathers with soap, then rinses, then draws a damp washcloth across his chest, the back of his neck, behind his ears. His father excuses Gérard, then washes between his thighs. He finishes his routine by washing his face and brushing his teeth. Then he goes to work. Back home, he was a journalist. In the States, he slices meat at a deli counter for eight hours a day and pretends not to speak English fluently.

In the second month of school, Gérard finds a bag of cheap colognes in his locker. For HBO is written on the front of the bag in large block letters. It is a strange gift, he thinks, and he hates the way the bag smells but he takes it home. Edy rolls his eyes when Gérard shows his cousin his gift, but takes one of the bottles of cologne. His girlfriend will enjoy it. Those motherfuckers, Edy says. He is far more skilled at cursing in English. Then Edy explains what HBO means. Gérard clenches his fists. He decides that he hates each and every motherfucker he goes to school with. The next morning, he applies cologne so liberally that it makes his classmates' eyes water.

When they call him HBO, he adds a little something extra to his yippee-ki-yay.

About My Father's Accent

He knows it's there. He knows it's thick, thicker even than my mother's. He's been on American soil for nearly thirty years, but his voice sounds like Port-au-Prince, the crowded streets, the blaring horns, the smell of grilled meat and roasting corn, the heat, thick and still.

In his voice, we hear him climbing coconut trees, gripping the trunk with his bare feet and sandy legs, cutting coconuts down with a dull machete. We hear him dancing to konpa, the palm of one hand resting against his belly, his other hand raised high in the air as he rocks his hips from side to side. We hear him telling us about Toussaint L'Ouverture and Henri Christophe and the pride of being first free black. We hear the taste of bitterness when he watches the news from home or calls those left behind.

When we, my brothers and I, mimic him, he smiles indulgently. Before every vowel an h, at the end of every plural, no s.

You make fun, but you understand me perfectly, don't you? he says. We nod. We ask him to say American Airlines. We gasp for air when he gives in.

For many years, we didn't realize our parents had accents, that their voices sounded different to unkind American ears. All we heard was home.

Then the world intruded. It always does.

Voodoo Child

When my college roommate learns I am Haitian, she is convinced I practice voodoo, thanks to the Internet in the hands of the feeble-minded. I do nothing to dissuade her fears even though I was raised Catholic and have gained my inadequate understanding of voodoo from the Lisa Bonet movie that made Bill Cosby mad at her as if he had the nerve to be mad at anyone about anything.

In the middle of the night, I chant mysteriously, light candles. By day, I wear red and white, paint my face, dance possessed. I leave a doll on my desk. It looks just like my roommate. The doll is covered with strategically placed pins. I like fucking with her. She gives me the bigger room with the better dresser. She offers to take my tray to the dish room in the dining hall.

We take the bus to Manhattan to shop and dance and drink and hook up with dirty New York boys. I am the devil she knows.

As we emerge from Grand Central, a large, older woman runs up to me, grabs my arm, starts bowing furiously.

My mother always told me: back away slowly from crazy people; they are everywhere. When she first came to the States, she had to live in the worst part of the Bronx, the part of that borough burned beyond recognition. She hasn't yet recovered.

There, in front of Grand Central, my roommate clung to my arm, her fingers digging deep, drawing blood, as if I were better equipped to handle the situation.

As we backed away, I realized the woman was speaking in Creole. I didn't know her but I knew her. Ki sa ou vle? I asked her. She told me I was a famous mambo. She said it was such a pleasure to see me in America. She grabbed my wrists. She kissed my palms, held them to her cheeks. She wanted, I think, to be blessed. I was still imagining all the dirty New York boys my roommate and I would later find.

There Is No E in Zombi, Which Means There Can Be No You or We

[A Primer]

[Things Americans do not know about zombis:]

They are not dead. They are near death. There's a difference.

They are not imaginary.

They do not eat human flesh.

They cannot eat salt.

They do not walk around with their arms and legs locked stiffly.

They can be saved.

[How you pronounce zombi:]

Zaahhhhnnnnnn-bee. You have to feel it in the roof your mouth, let it vibrate. Say it fast.

The m is silent. Sort of.

[How to make a zombi:]

You need a good reason, a very good reason.

You need a puffer fish, and a small sample of blood and hair from your chosen candidate.

Instructions: Kill the puffer fish. Don't be squeamish. Extract the poison. Just find a way. Allow it to dry. Grind it with the blood and hair to create your coup de poudre. A good chemist can help. Blow the powder into the candidate's face. Wait.

[A love story]

Micheline Bérnard always loved Lionel Desormeaux. Their parents were friends though that bonhomie had not quite carried on to the children. Micheline and Lionel went to primary and secondary school together, had known each other all their lives-when Lionel looked upon Micheline he was always overcome with the vague feeling he had seen her somewhere before while she was overcome with the precise knowledge that he was the man of her dreams. In truth, everyone loved Lionel Desormeaux. He was tall and brown with high cheekbones and full lips. His body was perfectly muscled and after a long day of swimming in the ocean, he would emerge from the salty water, glistening. Micheline would sit in a cabana, invisible. She would lick her lips and she would stare. She would think, Look at me, Lionel, but he never did.

When Lionel walked, there was an air about him. He moved slowly but

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Ayiti is Roxane Gay's debut collection, originally published by a small press (Artistically Declined Press, 2011). We will be reissuing this collection as a Grove Press paperback and making it widely available for the first time. We will also be including new stories.

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Josef Tarrak
Aka Niviana
DKD Dancers

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Love this monologue of Arabella talking about how the "Grey Area" or being "On the line" of sexual assault falls to the benefit of the perpetrator. HBO Replay: Arabella's Monologue | I May Destroy YouHBO Replay: Arabella's Monologue | I May Destroy Youby HBOYouTube

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Love this monologue of Arabella talking about how the "Grey Area" or being "On the line" of sexual assault falls to the benefit of the perpetrator. HBO Replay: Arabella's Monologue | I May Destroy YouHBO Replay: Arabella's Monologue | I May Destroy Youby HBOYouTube

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HBO Replay: Arabella's Monologue | I May Destroy You

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On Earth We're Briefly Gorgous - Ocean Vuong. 

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On Earth We're Briefly Gorgous - Ocean Vuong. 

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"You are not a monster" I said. But I lied. What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be (...) To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse. Both shelter and warning at once.
I read that parents suffering from PTSD are more likely to hit their children. Perhaps there is a monstrous origin to it afterall. Perhaps to lay hands on your children is to prepare him for war. (p. 22)

COMMENT: This sentence has stayed with me since I first read this book. There is never an excuse for hitting you children but what a beautiful way to see a terrible, abusive situation.

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et moodboard, hvor alle løbende kan indsætte alle de ting, der inspirerer dem. skriv gerne også, hvad det er ved det, der inspirerer dig.
BLÅT: Musik og musikvideoer
GRØN: Dialog/bestemte klips
LILLA:

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ro2lSZMzZDA

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fg4Of9Eik7Y

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSgUMPHQEWw

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Comedy by Australian comedian Aamer Rahman about why reverse racism is bullshit:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dw_mRaIHb-M

spoken-word poet and author Alok Vaid-Menon:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLPwZZjMqyI

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Suicide by Sunlight (a short film by Nikyatu Jusu about vampires who can daywalk because of melanin)

Random Acts of Flyness (mega fed serie der berører temaer om køn, seksualitet og racialisering, serien er lavet af Terence Nance)

sketch-show about Danish history by Anna Neye:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQIEkglWiTo

film collective:
sorryyoufeeluncomfortable

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Music video by Sevdaliza (Dutch-Iranian artist) - amazing visuals and commentary on the male/white gaze, exotification and sexualization:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9t7SclAXoQw

whitepeoplewontsaveyou.org

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Jai Paul  - jasmine, he, all night

Ama lou - northside, D& D

Blood Orange

SBTRKT ft. Sampha - Temporary View

Kelsey Lu - Dreams, Foreign Car, Blood

6LACK- Pretty Little Fears

Sonder - Too Fast

Mereba - The Jungle is the Only Way Out, Black Truck

Jeuru - King Malik

Hurts - Joy Crookes

Gili

Sivas

Teyana Taylor -Hold on/Issues

Rihanna - Yeah, I said It

Noname

Steve Lacy - Ryd/Dark Red

Solange - Mad

Loyle Carner - Not Waving, but Drowning

Cymande

Sons of Kemet

Raveena

SZA
Mura Masa- lovesick ft. asap rocky

Mura masa - what if i go

Biking - Frank Ocean

Temptation - Raveena Aurora

A$AP ROCKY ft. FKA Twigs - Fukk Sleep

SZA - Normal Girl

FKA Twigs - Two Weeks

Rihanna - Bitch Better Have My Money

HiiiiiPower - Kendrick Lamar
The Deep - Clipping
Sevdaliza

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLuQ0MGLBXU