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Tag Archives: truth

I Believe in Living

 

i believe in living.
i believe in the spectrum
of Beta days and Gamma people.
i believe in sunshine.
In windmills and waterfalls,
tricycles and rocking chairs;
And i believe that seeds grow into sprouts.
And sprouts grow into trees.
i believe in the magic of the hands.
And in the wisdom of the eyes.
i believe in rain and tears.
And in the blood of infinity.

i believe in life.
And i have seen the death parade
march through the torso of the earth,
sculpting mud bodies in its path
i have seen the destruction of the daylight
and seen bloodthirsty maggots
prayed to and saluted

i have seen the kind become the blind
and the blind become the bind
in one easy lesson.
i have walked on cut grass.
i have eaten crow and blunder bread
and breathed the stench of indifference

i have been locked by the lawless.
Handcuffed by the haters.
Gagged by the greedy.
And, if i know anything at all,
it’s that a wall is just a wall
and nothing more at all.
It can be broken down.

i believe in living
i believe in birth.
i believe in the sweat of love
and in the fire of truth.

And i believe that a lost ship,
steered by tired, seasick sailors,
can still be guided home to port.

By Assata Shakur

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Posted by on February 9, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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LIAR!!!

LIAR!!!

You call yourself an activist

Fighting for injustices

You say you’re in touch with your feminist side

YET………

Behind closed doors you’re a lying, cheating, whore

You cruelly lie and pretend

You play games

You claim to be a hard core Xicano

Fighting for OUR cause

How is it then….you can bring a fellow comrade down

You deceive and lie about yourself

Pretending to be into me

Only to let me down

Lied about having a girl friend

Lied about being available

Lied about your calls and texts

You made me promises you didn’t keep

Then excused yourself behind a woman

You are fraud

You are a jerk

Disappointing in so many ways

You have fooled not only me

But many more too

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Narratives of Silence

I fail to fear the consequences of exclusion, for those who cannot
deal with the fact that I spit truth and fire with my tongue, were
never meant to be a part of my life

In the battlefield of narratives we can make a conscious effort to
tell truth from our perspective or alter it in our private interest.
The narrative is always in relation to the past and it continuously
reaffirms our identity no matter how tarnished it is. Meaning that in
order to survive, find strength, or safety, we modify the reality of
our past to fit our present needs. However, in modifying our narrative
we oppress and silence those who lived the same experience, never
getting to express their truth–reality as they lived it.

Therefore let us not prioritize the importance of individual memory
but that of a collective memory, preserving the voice of those who’ve
been forced into silence by those who fail to include and/or to listen
to their narratives. Narratives filled not simply by the conjunction
of words, but composed by lived experiences.  And in the face of truth
and justice, if we rely on a single story we become more likely to
rely on those who alter narratives in their private interest to
reflect their present needs because their past in relation to truth
and reality at some point became unbearable enough in the necessity to
lie–a careful and intentional alteration to distort truth for their
own benefit.

The past holds an intangible sense of space that continuously
reaffirms our present identity, but always in relation to others;
therefore creating spaces that are nevertheless highly affective.
Spaces that are shaped by feelings in conjunction to those who once
shared and lived an experience with us, part of a collective truth,
but now choosing to exclude collectivity and asserting power by
imposing silence.

In choosing to silence those who at some point shared a sense of space
in collective truth we transform the past from an intangible space to
one of a reality. The detriment in the pervasive power to exclude
narratives is one that relates to historical erasure based on a
hegemonic stance to maintain power by unmistakably avoiding discussing
truth in a collective manner. And those who are willing to inscribe
into a false consciousness and internalize what they hear as truth
without ever questioning its factuality become manipulated into a
false past and actively participate in the exclusionary visions of
truth for the sake of support, but rendering into false assumptions.
Such narratives might be met with support or resistance. And
resistance usually comes from those who have been silenced and framed
as antagonistic, while support will more than likely come from those
who assume an imaginary neutral position and fail to actively seek a
desire for collective truth.

In the act of unquestionably accepting someone else’s story we are
actively participating in the silencing of someone else’s lived
experience that becomes othered. And if we agree that silencing the
other is an act of violence, the act of failing to listen to a
collective truth is an act of violence itself. There is no neutrality
in the battlefield of narratives, just like there is no neutrality in
the battlefield of social justice–either we chose to oppress or fight
against it. Now ask yourself the following question, how do you
actively participate and perpetuate the cycle of silence?

 
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Posted by on January 31, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A Message to All History Robbers in My Life

I will battle anyone who tries to
take away my history;
those wanting to evaporate my stories into thin air
All because in truth’s narrative they are the oppressors
Oh, diplomatic
history taker of mine.
History robber.
And your grave digging tools are a silence so thick
the darkness builds a second home around your
vision
and the very sound of spoken words make you shake
with unease.
Yes, I am speaking to you, Oh America, the beautiful-
stealer of my land and mother tongue-
calling it “Progress.”
Leaving memory of whips and chains, a ghost on my body
passed to me through generations-
and you calling it “Democracy.”
And I am speaking to you too,
dear teachers of mine fighting for cultural education-
raised high above all the rest of us
on isolating pillars
scrapping the sky.
Using your morals and values as stepping stones you
walked all over on your ascent up.
A magnificent death of Panche Be. A buscar la raiz de la verdad
To seek the root of the truth.
No more, no more.
For truth to you falls on deaf ears;
Evaporates into thin air.

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2013 in Her stories

 

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Eve Who Ate the Apple

I am that black velvet
blue ink sky of silent solitude.
Yes, my whisper is that toneless breath on the wind.
A truth speaking louder than words.
And yes,
my night will swallow you.
Devour you,
whole.
The unspoken song of a woman confined by the roles placed upon our bodies by men.
By those without sight, wisdom, nor intuition.
Yes, we see this all, a shadowy, hazy vision,
and stand by to make way for your falling stars
Captured in our open hands, still swollen from the endless throb of
our taboo sexuality.
 
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Posted by on March 11, 2013 in Her stories, Tucson movement

 

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To My Daughter

Mijita,
 
we are the in between
neither black nor white
 
we are the mud
the mix between the menstrual flow of the planet
and the machismo ground beneath our feet
 
we are the brown
the piece of construction paper that is thrown away
the ugly created when mixing too many colors
the only crayon chosen when coloring Martin Luther King
or dirt
 
we are the cockroaches
despised and disgusted
but even with the bam of a stomping manly foot
we refuse to die
 
we are the voice of the wind
loud and undesirable
yet never failing to predict future weather
always pounding, always screaming
always wailing
like a mother at a funeral
hands clasped in prayer, jesus on her neck,
father, son, holy wombyn
 
we are the broken
puzzle pieces on the floor forgotten in a disarray
of politics and pride
 
we are the proud
never to falter
always to blame
forever changing, but our love
remains
 
we are revolution
we are malinche
we are beautiful
and we have voices
 
mijita,
don’t ever be silenced.
 
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Posted by on February 3, 2013 in Her stories

 

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