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hi, i'm nuri. this is my fandom/everyday life tumblr. i talk a lot in tags and my posts are all over the place. ask is always open.

Showing posts tagged with “writers”

tayarijones:

Pearl Cleage, from her new memoir:
"I don’t want to feel crazy and unhappy.I want to be writingI want to be by myself and be clearheaded and strong and beautiful.I want to make myself as perfect as I can be.I want to make myself as wondrous as I can be.I want to be free.”
(Join us in Newark, 4/22, 6 pm https://www.facebook.com/events/1410766785849874/)

tayarijones:

Pearl Cleage, from her new memoir:

"I don’t want to feel crazy and unhappy.
I want to be writing
I want to be by myself and be clearheaded and strong and beautiful.
I want to make myself as perfect as I can be.
I want to make myself as wondrous as I can be.
I want to be free.”

(Join us in Newark, 4/22, 6 pm https://www.facebook.com/events/1410766785849874/)

blunthought:

“We want ‘poems that kill.’Assassin poems, Poems that shootguns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleysand take their weapons leaving them dead”— Amiri Baraka [October 7, 1934 — January 9, 2014]

blunthought:

“We want ‘poems that kill.’
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead”

Amiri Baraka [October 7, 1934 — January 9, 2014]

sewtransformed:

Part of today’s Google doodle. Happy Birthday, Zora Neale Hurston!

sewtransformed:

Part of today’s Google doodle. Happy Birthday, Zora Neale Hurston!

“This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I’d gotten the time of the train wrong.
I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.
I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind.
Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.
It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.
Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.
You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know… But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?
In the end I thought, nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.
Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice …” I mean, it doesn’t really work.
We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.
Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.
The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who’s had the same exact story, only he doesn’t have the punch line.”

— Douglas Adams

“In order to rise
From its own ashes
A phoenix
First
Must
Burn.”

— Octavia Butler, Parable of the Talents (via ethiopienne)
zadiehipster:

Happy 38th Birthday to novelist, essayist, and short-story author Zadie Smith, who has moved and inspired so many with her words.

zadiehipster:

Happy 38th Birthday to novelist, essayist, and short-story author Zadie Smith, who has moved and inspired so many with her words.

nevver:

We real cool - Gwendolyn Brooks, 1959
vintageblackglamour:

Octavia Butler: "I’m comfortably asocial — a hermit in the middle of a large city, a pessimist if I’m not careful, a feminist, a Black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty and drive."

vintageblackglamour:

Octavia Butler: "I’m comfortably asocial — a hermit in the middle of a large city, a pessimist if I’m not careful, a feminist, a Black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty and drive."


Zadie Smith | ph. Andrew Stinson

Zadie Smith | ph. Andrew Stinson

“You can’t be an artist unless you’re able to give yourself permission to take up space.”