The Upswing

Depictions, musings and fuckery.


Sarah Jones - “Your Revolution”

22. August 2014

My thoughts are kind of overflowing lately so I’m going to put them here for my own sake and hopefully be able to get some sleep after.

I never want to hear another empty “I miss you” because I know you don’t. Missing someone involves a longing to know about another person, to feed a connection, a desire to share some sort of commonality. It doesn’t involve using a person as an emotional sounding board and then discarding them shortly after.

Do any relationships last? Do any friendships last? Or is it all a slow deterioration.

Weariness is my new companion. Instead of waking up ***flawless***, I wake up weary. Every single day there is a new article, news report, tweet about my people and how much their lives are/aren’t worth. This past year seems as if it’s been worse than any I can remember. Trayvon Martin, Renisha McBride, Eric Garner, Michael Brown all killed and that isn’t even scratching the surface. I’ve heard all sorts of justifications about these murders. If you want to feel sick take a scroll through the comment section of any article about a black person being killed in America. What will it take for black lives to be seen as valuable and worthy? What will it take for unarmed black men to not be shot six times in the street? Why does the stand your ground law place the fear of old American men above the lives of young black males? Why is it ok for a grown man to shoot up a car full of black teenagers because they were playing their music to loudly? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. All I know is that thinking about this everyday is tiring and sad. I wonder if that’s how they want me to feel, tired and sad, too tired and sad to do anything about it.

All of these things make it hard for me to fall asleep. I don’t think tension and sleep can coexist in my body. I need to eliminate one to get the other.


LUPITA ON WANGECHI | by Zina Saro Wiwa

Back in 2010, as part of her project “This is My Africa”, Zina Saro Wiwa interviewed Lupita Nyong’o about her love for the work of Wangechi Mutu.

(via ethiopienne)

From 1980 to 2008, 84 percent of white homicide victims were killed by other whites [PDF], and 53 percent of gang-related killings involved white offenders. Last month a white 27-year-old was arrested for walking up to an elderly black man he didn’t know and punching him out. But “white leaders” are never asked to account for white criminality, because in America race isn’t a contributing factor when white people behave badly. A person’s skin color as it relates to crime only becomes pertinent when that person’s skin is dark, the implication being that a white criminal is an aberration, while a black criminal is indicative of a larger threat. A truth, that blacks and liberals of all colors will not face: A white guy runs up behind someone and sucker punches him, as has happened countless times in history? He’s an asshole. A black guy sucker punches someone? He attacked from behind; it was to be expected; and there are lots more where that came from, because the blacks are playing a dangerous game and it’s coming to a town near you. ………………………………………………….. In America we like to pretend that our statues and federal holidays are proof that we are humbled by and respectful to our shared national history. But how respectful are we, and to whom are we showing respect, when a monument to a “great” American fails to mention that that man once worked ceaselessly to subjugate an entire group of other Americans? How respectful are we when we publish in our newspapers headlines calling black women liars for proffering the ridiculous opinion that the racism they’ve known since childhood is a real thing? Whose history is being respected when a white American says she pines for the days when entire restaurant waitstaffs were composed of old black men? Why does it feel like some histories are more valued than others in America, where often the response to minorities who mention their difficult pasts is, “Get over it”?

- by my absolute favourite writer in the world Cord Jefferson