dynamicafrica:

NEW MUSIC: Tunde Olaniran - Critical.

Nigerian-American singer Tunde Olaniran's Critical music video is a work of (performance) art.

With direction from Kevin Eckert, Olaniran takes us on a multimedia and multiple layered visual journey that sees the singer play with shadows, various light hues, illustration, animation, and fashion.

Out now, Critical is a minimal drum beat-laden tune with a catchy hook and beautiful raw emotional backbone. And is that line a Kate Bush reference? Love it.

gorgeous! love this.

"

They call us murderers, but we did not murder over two hundred fifty unarmed Black men, women, and children, or wound thousands of others in the riots they provoked during the sixties. The rulers of this country have always considered their property more important than our lives. They call us murderers, but we were not responsible for the twenty-eight brother inmates and nine hostages murdered at attica. They call us murderers, but we did not murder and wound over thirty unarmed Black students at Jackson State—or Southern State, either.

They call us murderers, but we did not murder Martin Luther King, Jr., Emmett Till, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, George Jackson, Nat Turner, James Chaney, and countless others. We did not murder, by shooting in the back, sixteen-year-old Rita Lloyd, eleven-year-old Rickie Bodden, or ten-year-old Clifford Glover. They call us murderers, but we do not control or enforce a system of racism and oppression that systematically murders Black and Third World people. Although Black people supposedly comprise about fifteen percent of the total amerikkkan population, at least sixty percent of murder victims are Black. For every pig that is killed in the so-called line of duty, there are at least fifty Black people murdered by the police.

Black life expectancy is much lower than white and they do their best to kill us before we are even born. We are burned alive in fire-trap tenements. Our brothers and sisters OD daily from heroin and methadone. Our babies die from lead poisoning. Millions of Black people have died as a result of indecent medical care. This is murder. But they have got the gall to call us murderers.

They call us kidnappers, yet Brother Clark Squires (who is accused, along with me, of murdering a new jersey state trooper) was kidnapped on April z, 1969, from our Black community and held on one million dollars’ ransom in the New York Panther 21 conspiracy case. He was acquitted on May 13, 1971, along with all the others, of 156 counts of conspiracy by a jury that took less than two hours to deliberate. Brother Squires was innocent. Yet he was kidnapped from his community and family. Over two years of his life was stolen, but they call us kidnappers. We did not kidnap the thousands of Brothers and Sisters held captive in amerika’s concentration camps. Ninety percent of the prison population in this country are Black and Third World people who can afford neither bail nor lawyers.

They call us thieves and bandits. They say we steal. But it was not we who stole millions of Black people from the continent of Africa. We were robbed of our language, of our Gods, of our culture, of our human dignity, of our labor, and of our lives. They call us thieves, yet it is not we who rip off billions of dollars every year through tax evasions, illegal price fixing, embezzlement, consumer fraud, bribes, kickbacks, and swindles. They call us bandits, yet every time most Black people pick up our paychecks we are being robbed. Every time we walk into a store in our neighborhood we are being held up. And every time we pay our rent the landlord sticks a gun into our ribs.

They call us thieves, but we did not rob and murder millions of Indians by ripping off their homeland, then call ourselves pioneers. They call us bandits, but it is not we who are robbing Africa, Asia, and Latin America of their natural resources and freedom while the people who live there are sick and starving. The rulers of this country and their flunkies have committed some of the most brutal, vicious crimes in history. They are the bandits. They are the murderers. And they should be treated as such. These maniacs are not fit to judge me…

"

- Assata Shakur | July 4th Address (1973)

(Source: america-wakiewakie, via knowledgeequalsblackpower)

"I have no love for America. I have no patriotism … I desire to see the government overthrown as speedily as possible and its Constitution shivered in a thousand fragments."

-

Frederick Douglas, declaimed in a lecture to the American Anti-Slavery Society in 1847 (via softvulgarities)

Love

(via knowledgeequalsblackpower)

(Source: danielu92, via knowledgeequalsblackpower)

bound2014:

the radiant child (2010)

(via nenasoulfly)

"We will make our own future Text."

- Ishmael Reed, Mumbo Jumbo (via aisforafrofuturism)

(Source: afrometaphysics, via aisforafrofuturism)

ragadosraios:

Ponta de areia ponto finalDa Bahia-Minas estrada naturalQue ligava Minas ao porto ao marCaminho de ferro mandaram arrancarVelho maquinista com seu bonéLembra do povo alegre que vinha cortejarMaria fumaça não canta maisPara moças flores janelas e quintaisNa praça vazia um grito um oiCasas esquecidas viúvas nos portais
taophotography:

Afrodystopia Sessions with Velma Roses

"

We the ones who long for other seas
We the ones who dream of other forests
We the ones who sense other gods
We are others here
We are others there
We are others.

We who see other seas
We who worship other gods
We who live in other forests
We are alone here
We are alone there
We are loneliness.

We who breathe other airs
We who intone other songs
We who invoke other gods
We live dead here
We die alive there
We are dead.

Loneliness!
You are ambushed in death.
Life!
You are ambushed in loneliness.
Death!
You are ambushed in life.
We are ambushed.

Let’s cut down those forests
Let’s look for new seas
Let’s invent our gods
Let’s intone new songs
We are.

"

-

We”, a poem by Afro-Costa Rican writer Eulalia Bernard.

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(via dynamicafrica)

phil-irish-artist:

Julie Djikey
Ozonisation, 2013
Performance in Kinshasa, Congo.
"She transforms her body into a “human car”, applying a mixture of engine oil and ashes from burnt tires, and a bra made from oil filter cans."
Photograph from National Geographic.  / More info here.

"Colonies, like repressed memories, have a return effect on the metropole; they leave a ghostly, and sometimes bloody, trail that haunts the center."

- Allan Punzalan Isaac, American Tropics: Articulating Filipino America, pg.xxv (via bemusedbibliophile)

(via fleshtemple)

fleshandthedevil:






















“ Lovers ”      “  Before Egypt Was ”  by Eduard Buk Ulreich

Thanks to Papillon Gallery for posting this beautiful  image.

"What we speak becomes the house we live in."

- Hafiz (via monamade)

(Source: awordforlivingcreatures, via obeahchile)