Mizz K

English woman living in China. Cat lover. Single parent of a fabulous adult male. Sole traveller and adventurer.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of seeing my whole life flash before my eyes and cringing the entire time.

[Siob, Princess of Yorkshire #FBPE #FBR @Sillyshib]

They’ll be pissing themselves at the Carlton club. Doesn’t matter what the public think, does it? They got all our money with no consequences. The toffs looted our taxes like they always do, but this time there was a pipeline direct from the treasury into their offshore accounts

[Harry Eccles @Heccles94]

They made 11 million pounds for every NHS worker that died in the Pandemic.

This corruption cannot go unpunished.

[Supertanskiii @supertanskiii]

As you hear the latest news of Tory greed and corruption from the Covid inquiry, don’t forget that we had THREE pandemic preparedness exercises, the biggest, exercise Cygnus, in 2016.

Findings showed the UK was scarily unprepared for a pandemic. The Tories didn’t just fail to act on the findings they refused to fully participate in the exercise including making life or death decisions.

Ultimately, they favoured ideological austerity over replenishing stockpiles. Four years later Covid hit and instead of acting fast they thought about how their donors and mates could profit as our NHS workers used fucking BIN BAGS while attending to patients.

To add insult to injury the fuckers partied and got coked off their tits in Westminster as millions died and suffered in isolation.

Never forget what those scumbags did.

[NHS Million @NHSMillion]

The lack of available NHS dentists in this country should be a national scandal.

[Harry Eccles @Heccles94]

RT if you back Binface!

[Jessica Jewett @JJ9828]

The artist ✨ the art.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

For some reason I feel like he was murdered

[Pop Base @PopBase]

U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham (R-South Carolina) has died at the age of 71.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

You mean their parents were Catholics.

[Jessica Jewett @JJ9828]

I've been reposting my art because I'm going to have to start taking commissions very soon. Social Security is not enough for me to survive.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

This girl is so beautiful. I wish her all the best for the future. I really hope this is a whole new world for her.

[Lilly inLondon @Lillyin_London]

#ElizabethSiders Her parents allowed her to get pregnant by the age of 13. Her now “husband” and his parents took her to a different state and she married him age 15 when he was 18. She was allegedly pregnant 21 times in the last 21 years. She was a little girl, she was groomed, failed by her parents and what came after that must have been horrific

[#MenAtWork @MenAtWork_MC]

A man convicted of raping his passenger in a taxi should absolutely not be allowed to hold a taxi licence

@HighlandCouncil - I’d ask what’s wrong with you but the answer is obvious: woman-hating

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

@Favwontmiss

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

@LouDPhillips I like Monte Cristo #9. Something for the ladies.

[David Begnaud @DavidBegnaud]

After a mastectomy, women go home with surgical drains. Thin tubes stitched into the skin. Small bulbs that hang past the hip. Tugging. Aching. For weeks.

After Katelynn Devinney's mom, Trish, had a mastectomy in 2016, she noticed that hospitals don’t currently provide a solution for this.

A friend gave her a soft zip-up sweatshirt with discreet pockets sewn into the lining.The drain bulbs tucked inside.Comfortable enough to sleep in. "Thank God I had that. I had no idea I needed it."

Katelynn sat down at her sewing machine. Her goal: donate 5 a month. Today her nonprofit Pockets of Hope ships 400 a month. Over 20,000 sweatshirts. Free. Sent all over the world.

She fixed a major problem one stitch at a time. Want to help?

Visit https://t.co/eLJJ1F8Xfy for the full story with links to get involved. You can donate to fund the next batch, or become a sewing angel and sew from home.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

@AramideOyekunle Join

[Chris Phillips @CJPhillips1982]

A real long shot but can people retweet this please.

Yesterday all my items were stolen in Eastbourne including my stats book which has 20 years worth of details in. Laptops, phones, clothes, shavers etc can all be replaced but this can’t and is useless to anyone else. It’s in a plastic folder you can see in the left hand side of this photo. Can anyone in that neck of the woods please keep an eye out. I’m gutted about this.

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

On the fourteenth of December, 1927, at three-forty in the afternoon, a thirty-six-year-old Black anthropologist named Zora Neale Hurston boarded a southbound train at Penn Station in New York City, bound for Mobile, Alabama. Her destination, on the far end of the journey, was a small all-Black settlement on the northern edge of Mobile called Africatown, which had been founded sixty-two years earlier by a group of freed slaves whose distinguishing characteristic was that they had been brought to the United States not in the documented eighteenth-century trade in human beings that had built the American South, but on the very last slave ship ever to make the Atlantic crossing — a private illegal smuggling vessel named the Clotilda, which had docked at Mobile in 1860, fifty-two years after the international slave trade had been outlawed by act of the United States Congress.

Hurston was traveling to Africatown to interview a man.

The man's name, in Mobile, was Cudjo Lewis. His name, in the small village in the Bantè region of present-day Benin where he had been born in approximately 1841, was Oluale Kossola. He had been captured, in his late teens, in a slaving raid conducted by warriors of the neighboring Kingdom of Dahomey on behalf of an Alabama-based illegal slave-trading consortium led by a wealthy Mobile shipbuilder named Timothy Meaher. He had been held for three weeks in a barracoon — a fortified stockade for captured Africans awaiting transport — in the West African port city of Ouidah. He had been shipped, with approximately one hundred and ten other captives, across the Atlantic in the hold of the Clotilda. He had been enslaved, in the Mobile area, for five years and six months. He had been freed by Union soldiers on the twelfth of April, 1865. He had been free, by the time Hurston knocked on his door, for sixty-two years.

He was the only person on earth, at that point in 1927, who could recount, in personal first-hand testimony, the experience of having been taken captive in Africa, held in a barracoon, transported across the Middle Passage, and sold into chattel slavery in the United States.

He was eighty-six years old.

He spoke an English heavily inflected by the West African languages he had grown up speaking and by the Alabama vernacular he had learned during his sixty-seven years in the United States. He had been interviewed, in the previous decade, by several other researchers. None of them, by their own subsequent acknowledgment, had succeeded in getting him to talk at length.

Hurston had brought peaches. She had brought ham. She had brought watermelon. She set them on his porch. She asked him who he was and how he had come to be a slave.

He told her.

She returned, over the next four years, repeatedly. She wrote, in 1931, a manuscript that consisted, almost entirely, of his own words in his own voice in his own English. She titled it Barracoon: The Story of the Last Black Cargo. She submitted it to a series of New York publishers in the early nineteen-thirties.

Every one of them rejected it.

The grounds for rejection, by the documented record of the correspondence she received, were not that the manuscript was insufficiently researched or inadequately written. The grounds were that she had refused to standardize Cudjo's English. The publishers wanted her to rewrite his speech in standard literary American prose. They explained that contemporary American readers would find the dialect difficult and that the book would not sell.

Hurston declined to revise. She believed, on the documented evidence of her notes and her correspondence, that the entire point of the project was that the man should be allowed to speak in his own voice, and that to standardize his English would be to silence him a second time.

The manuscript went into a safe deposit box.

Cudjo Lewis died, at his home in Africatown, on the seventeenth of July, 1935. He was approximately ninety-four years old. Zora Neale Hurston died, in a county welfare home in Fort Pierce, Florida, on the twenty-eighth of January, 1960. She was sixty-nine. The manuscript she had refused to revise was, by the time of her own death, in the archives of the Moorland-Spingarn Research Center at Howard University in Washington, D.C. It would sit there for the next fifty-eight years.

On the eighth of May, 2018, the Amistad imprint of HarperCollins published the manuscript, edited by a Hurston scholar named Deborah G. Plant, in the form Hurston had originally prepared it. The book entered the New York Times bestseller list at number two in its first week.

If her story moved you, drop one word in the comments — Zora, Cudjo, Barracoon, anything that comes to mind. Tap the like button so more people find this story. The page is small. Every reaction helps us keep telling stories like this one.

[Mizz K @catcalledAmber]

@dadmann_walking Do it.

[ALUTHEDON @Mbakaza4L]

The fact that he is so good at this really puts into perspective how cartoonishly evil the average politician is

[The Other 98% @TheOther_9]

Because of my anti-Trump posts, my account with over 700K+ followers was reported by MAGA and was shut down.

I’m back with a new account and will keep speaking out.

Please follow, repost, and help me rebuild. Thank you.