coffeeandcee

mysoulhasgrowndeep-liketherivers:

postracialcomments:

This picture reminded me of the picture in 1965

“Hog-spitting – not just spitting,” Tonja Bulley emphatically clarifies.

“He just hog-spit at my baby. He hog-spit. He took everything out of him and spit in my daughter’s face. She is a minor. That’s the absolute worst thing you can do, when you spit on another human being. She was just saying ‘No justice, no peace’ and he hog-spit (at) and then smacked my baby. At that time — there was no more being peaceful.”

Bulley and her daughter, Brandy were released from jail last night after being arrested by police outside the St. Louis Rams game the previous day after a violent clash with football fans.

As the Rams were completing an impressive 28-26 victory over the Super Bowl champions Seattle Seahawks, Tonja and Brandy were outside the stadium participating in a non-violent protest calling for justice for Mike Brown, and the immediate arrest of his killer, Darren Wilson.

Tonja, known affectionately to her friends as “Tiny,” continued:

“We were peacefully protesting. We were saying something that this big, tall White man did not like. He should’ve been locked up, and they did not lock him up. One slapped my daughter and another hit her with his fist. Another woman threw her drink on me – and I retaliated. I’m not coming out to fight, but I have the right to protect myself.”

Tiny would eventually get punched and knocked to the ground. “I got hit by a couple people. I have a mark behind my ear.” She was initially charged with two felonies for throwing punches after the initial altercation. No violent Rams fans were arrested.

She says the racial double-standards were apparent: “We had a right to protest without anybody interfering. When the White people protest, there are no problems. Nobody is spitting on them. When we try to do it, the media goes around and acts like we started (the fighting.) We did not start it. I peacefully protest every day in Ferguson, and it’s never a problem.”

In Ferguson, Tiny and Brandy have been protesting since Brown was killed in August, and have become unofficial members of the Lost Voices—a spirited and well-known group of young leaders who led Sunday’s protest.

Source

white people beat up a little black girl and mother and feminists are writing full articles about why being a basic bitch is a good thing

magenmagenmagen

An excerpt from my superhero fiction novel, The Crashers, Volume Two: Koreatown, Chapter One

magenmagenmagen:

image

The row house on Ponderosa Street was full of the kind of teenaged runaways and abandoned children that people didn’t notice. There was no public outcry when they disappeared, no posters in the lobby of the post office or missing persons flyers taped to light poles and fences. That put people like Lana Burnette on Kyle’s list. There were a lot of names on Kyle’s list; Lana’s name was always near the top, popped once in 1995 and again in 2001 for possession with the intent to sell while her many children were funneled back into the system.

Lana’s fruit cellar was bustling with young wards of the state, small children cutting and bagging the crystal meth for the fifteen, sixteen and seventeen year olds to sell across her eighteen block territory. Kyle had busted her oldest boy Wayne personally once before, another homeless kid pulled into the house on Ponderosa Street when the foster care system failed him for the last time. Kyle said all of this as he handed Bridger the jacket he had put together on Lana with files on loan from the major case division of the EBCPD, full of mugshots and surveillance photos taken on his phone. Lana had a face like honey and a cruel streak a mile wide hidden behind the curved edges of her thin, pink-painted lips. Adam flipped through the file once, closed it, and asked, “When do we go live?”

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For the evening crowd~

An excerpt from my superhero fiction novel, The Crashers, Volume Two: Koreatown, Chapter One

image

The row house on Ponderosa Street was full of the kind of teenaged runaways and abandoned children that people didn’t notice. There was no public outcry when they disappeared, no posters in the lobby of the post office or missing persons flyers taped to light poles and fences. That put people like Lana Burnette on Kyle’s list. There were a lot of names on Kyle’s list; Lana’s name was always near the top, popped once in 1995 and again in 2001 for possession with the intent to sell while her many children were funneled back into the system.

Lana’s fruit cellar was bustling with young wards of the state, small children cutting and bagging the crystal meth for the fifteen, sixteen and seventeen year olds to sell across her eighteen block territory. Kyle had busted her oldest boy Wayne personally once before, another homeless kid pulled into the house on Ponderosa Street when the foster care system failed him for the last time. Kyle said all of this as he handed Bridger the jacket he had put together on Lana with files on loan from the major case division of the EBCPD, full of mugshots and surveillance photos taken on his phone. Lana had a face like honey and a cruel streak a mile wide hidden behind the curved edges of her thin, pink-painted lips. Adam flipped through the file once, closed it, and asked, “When do we go live?”

Read More

crossconnectmag

crossconnectmag:

As a freelance illustrator, David Palumbo (previouslyhas provided genre themed artwork for everything from book covers and collectible card games to advertisements and concept design. His work has received multiple honors including several Spectrum medals and a Chesley award and has shown in galleries and exhibitions from New York to Paris.

David Palumbo is represented by  Richard Solomon Artist’s Representative.

                                    :-)

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brienne-the-blue
Sometimes this really seems to shock people. They appear genuinely upset when I say ‘this conversation is over’ or ‘I’m actually not interested in debating this with you.’ There’s an expectation that if you care about social justice and political issues, you’re always ‘on.’ You’re always ready to debate, you’re always ready to have theoretical discussions about your own lived experiences and the issues you care about, you’re always ready to defend yourself. That’s manifestly ridiculous and unjust, an expectation that’s simply not reasonable.

Sometimes, I Just Don’t Have Time for Individual Fights | this ain’t livin’  (via double0donut)

This is why I refuse to debate people when “challenged.” People like this don’t actually want to debate; they just want to stomp over the top of you. This is my life, not a fucking fun afternoon thought experiment for you, you piece of shit.