In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing because only you can handle your life. A moment I felt idle, and all I could think of is my pencil, drawing sheet, eraser, and my set-square.
The pencil is in your hand, so the ball is in your court. What have you got inside that heart of yours, show your talent to the world, show your creativity, and give it your best shot. Surely, their is always something in that place you thing you can only see the vanishing point.
That my life, my work, and work in progress.
Written by Jacob Ibrag ‘What am I to you?’ He asked as she kissed him. ‘You are my blood. You are my bones. You are my spirit. We are always and forever.’ Photographer Unknown
via Spirit — Eyes + Words
Why did the forced removal of African Americans seem so plausible in Forsyth County, Georgia in 1912? Was it because it had all happened before?
via A Story of Racial Cleansing in America — Longreads
Jessica Chiccehitto Hindman’s “Advanced Placement” is a course on deconstructing abuse: “Do you want to die? He asks you over and over again.”
via Advanced Placement — Discover
I went to Teazers once to get my nails done. The Thai manicurist didn’t do a very good job even though I hired a private booth so she could work without the other manicurists distracting me. I left feeling quite frustrated. I doubt that State Security Minister David Mahlobo had the same experience when he […]
via Makes you wanna nuke — BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison