All my life I have been happiest when the folks watching me said to each other, “Look at the poor dope, will ya?” — Buster Keaton
reblogged from mattybing1025
The problem with cultural appropriation is that it replaces the original with a copy created by the dominant culture. It dilutes the original, removes all symbolic value from it and replaces it with a ready to consume product devoid of context and meaning.
Cultural appropriation, at its most extreme, is a violent form of colonization because it removes the original group behind the culture and reinforces stereotypes about that group (i.e. ALL First Nation folks are reduced to “war bonnets”, whether their culture uses them or not; all Latin@s are reduced to a stylized version of Catholicism regardless of their spirituality; etc.). The mechanism of commodifying a culture ends up being a tool to re-inforce [sic] racism as it reduces the people behind those cultures to a mere cartoon like representation of their realities. It’s a great way to ultimately Other and objectify entire groups of people by taking something that is dynamic and ever evolving and freezing it for a marketing photo opportunity.
Flavia Dzodan (via vintagevision)(Source: seppin)
reblogged from vintagevision
reblogged from liquidnight
reblogged from liquidnight
We still, alas, cannot forestall it—
This dreadful ailment’s heavy toll;
The spleen is what the English call it,
We call it simply Russian soul.
Eugene Onegin, Alexander Pushkin (via i-starchild)
reblogged from russkayaliteratura
reblogged from libraryland
An Economist reader reminds us of our responsibilities. And rightly so. (via theeconomist)
I think I’m in love.
(via perstephsanscouronne)
reblogged from my-ear-trumpet
Amadeus (via fuckyeahgreatplays)
thanks, Salieri, I appreciate it.
(via shredsandpatches)
reblogged from shredsandpatches
reblogged from libraryland
“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.”
~Carl Sandburg, Poetry Considered
(Source: splintersandmilkshakes)
reblogged from libraryland