It cracks me up that they try to sell us women on being a housewife as something super awesome, but when a man’s in that position, suddenly it’s bad xd
I don’t really understand the discourse surrounding Momo Boyd’s “She’s a Sweetheart” visualizer. Aesthetically, it leans into ’70s nostalgia, with their voluminous hair and radiant glam that is clearly a nod to Donna Summer, along with styling that reflects classic HBCU majorette and cheer traditions from that era. It all feels cohesive, intentional, and visually sharp. The way some of you are critiquing Momo Boyd honestly reminds me of how Ravyn Lenae was being discussed last year. It’s okay if the references don’t land for you, but a lot of this aesthetic is deeply rooted in pre-’90s Black music and performance culture.
Hear how black men are so casually racist toward black women without thinking twice? Black women can’t even depict their experiences without being called racist. He said “I’m witcha” & DAPPED UP the racist white boy. This is why black philosophers say black men are “subcontractors” under the racial-sexual domination contract. They KNOWINGLY collude with white men to AFFIRM antiblack hierarchies of femininity & womanhood in the desire to prop up a masculinity white society will never allow them to possess
I will not forgive anyone who sees this post and does not support me with a single word and ignores me.
If you see this, leave even a dot
https://t.co/eT2gnSn5KO
The shutdown of children’s gaming websites & lack of security on kid games set us back so many years. they should’ve been supported like PBS Kids, Nick Jr & other programs instead of launching a mass surveillance law.
There was a safe place for kids, we just failed them all
back in university, i told my economics seminar that most successful companies survive not because they’re brilliant but because they cheat, manipulate and trap everyone else in their failures.
the auditorium went silent, half the students smirked nervously and the professors looked at me like i’d just opened a coffin in the middle of class.
later that week, the dean cornered me. he didn’t argue, just leaned close and said, chris be careful.
the truth is a luxury no one in power wants you to afford... speak too loudly and doors close before you even knock, that’s when i realized: academia doesn’t reward honesty, it rewards compliance.
the real lessons are darker than any textbook. i hope you learnt something? buena suerte.
Club culture will be a thing again if yall start hiring them TikTok DJs, bring back ladies free before 11, outlaw party promoters and make drinks under $20 again
I want to fucking cry, tens of thousands of innocent people slaughtered without a care in a world, just so that the capitalists can expand their empire further, all on top of the body of a nation that suffered for the last 70 years. You cant hate these people enough.
ICE officers stopped by our farm yesterday.
“We need to inspect your property for illegal aliens,” one of them said.
I replied, “Alright, but whatever you do, don’t go into that field over there.”
The officer in charge exploded.
“Mister, I have the authority of the federal government behind me!” he barked, reaching into his back pocket. He yanked out a badge and shoved it in my face. “See this fucking badge? This badge means I can go wherever I want on ANY land. No questions asked, no answers given. Am I clear? Do you understand?”
I nodded politely and said, “Be my guest.” Then I went back to my chores.
About ten minutes later, I heard screaming.
I looked up and saw six ICE agents running for their lives, being chased by my big, mean, old bull.
And with every step, that bull was closing in fast.
It looked like they were about to get gored for sure.
So I dropped my tools, ran over to the fence, and shouted at the top of my lungs:
“YOUR BADGE! SHOW HIM YOUR FUCKING BADGE!”
My thesis defense was the only thing standing between me and graduation.
Four years of hard work came down to one presentation.
The night before it, my grandmother passed away.
I got the call close to midnight. Suddenly, my slides didn’t matter. My script didn’t matter. Nothing felt important anymore. By morning, I was exhausted, grieving, and already late.
I almost didn’t go.
I almost sent an email and gave up on the one chance I had to pass.
But then I remembered how proud she was of me. How she told everyone, “Wait until she graduates.”
So I showed up.
Late. Eyes swollen. Voice shaking.
I apologized, took a deep breath, and started. It wasn’t perfect. I stumbled. My voice cracked. But I spoke with everything I had left in me.
When they called me back in and said, “You passed,” I didn’t cry because I graduated.
I cried because I almost let grief take away the moment she always believed I would reach.
That day, I learned something I’ll never forget:
Sometimes courage isn’t strength.
It’s just showing up anyway.
One day, y'all will say what black curvy women stole from y'all because I've seen this exact outfit on a white lady and nobody was slutshaming her or calling her tacky