Film. Waves. Leaves

When questioning ends we have done something wrong. Love art, film, literature.
Queer, Feminist, Vegan, POC .


Ferguson Police have dogs and shotguns. The unarmed crowd is raising their hands.

For anyone not following the Mike Brown story on Twitter: a 17 year old black boy named Mike Brown, who was supposed to start college tomorrow, was shot to death in Ferguson, Missouri by police while jaywalking. He was unarmed. He was shot 9 times.

Initial media reports claimed that an 18 year old black man had been shot and killed while fleeing police after shoplifting.

People in the neighborhood, including members of Mike Brown’s family, came out of their homes and began to protest, shouting “no justice, no peace,” and keeping their hands in the air.

Media reports claimed that a violent mob quickly formed around the shooting location shouting “kill the police.”

Spread this. Tell the truth about what happened to this boy. Tell the truth about what is happening NOW. The police and the mainstream media is painting him as a criminal, and his community as a violent mob.

SPREAD THIS. Don’t let them lie.

(Source: whatwhiteswillneverknow, via blacksurferhippie)


Entangle my hands deep within myself

I’ve ached with such dramatic outburst

ones that only I see as I’m chained against the wall.

Pity the sad child rolling in it’s filth unable to escape  the smell.

Burden myself with countless troubles, I can only endure as much as

the heart can take. I am terrified of what’s at stake. 

This foul language we’ve grown to love is what sends us to our grave. 

Pulling out my fingers as gently as I can, as the blood runs down 

each layer. I see that once I am free my flesh will no longer be mine

but will resemble the image of the humyn in an anatomy class. 

red muscles, yellow goo and white bones. 

Pt 2

This is part of a series of photographs I have been working on. Describing my decline of sanity. 


I have been acting like a crazy persyn. Please forgive me, I’ve probably already pushed you away but I hope that we still can remain friends. I am embarrassed at the persyn you’ve seen me become, for that is not who I am. Apparently, it’s part of me but never did I think I would become “that persyn.” Now I look in the mirror and I think “who are you?”

I’m sorry for calling you when I was drunk, I barely remember the conversation but I know it ended poorly.