🔻 abolish police 🔻

shapeshifter ~
disabled artist fighting for love and liberation
~
I made a free portrait of #BreonnaTaylor use it however you like:

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

This is a tale of love that defies both time and mortality, of hope that endures eternally, of the healing that remains forever attainable. It speaks of home, of belonging, of the enchantment waiting in the least expected corners, within the most shattered souls. 🛳 Hope resides

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Charged vacuum cleaner, warm cup of tea, 410757. Before departing Seoul, she enjoyed a final bowl of bibimbap, relishing its diverse flavors and textures. She also purchased a jar of gochujang to bring home, looking forward to adding a spicy touch to her meals.🦠

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Inspection secret: our high standards ensure even the smallest flaws are never missed! 641120 Warm summer sunlight brightens indoor furniture and decor, making the home feel warmer. These illuminated details enhance the cozy atmosphere of summer daily life. 🔬

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Vase with chrysanthemums and greenery. Birthday cookbook 344133. As she falls asleep, she smiles with gratitude for the simple days that make life meaningful. Though she anticipates a busy work week ahead, she feels prepared, knowing small joys will still occur.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Crispy and tasty baked potatoes. The zoo's winter evergreens maintain their green vitality, offering fresh food and a lush landscape for animals during the cold winter months.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Fine food turns ordinary diet into luxurious and ritual enjoyment. Advanced food aesthetics upgrade daily life quality.📀
Be calm and stay focused always.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

阳光洒在城市建筑上。一个下午，克拉拉和伊森坐在柳树旁的长椅上，看着孙辈们在公园里嬉戏，欢笑声此起彼伏；克拉拉靠在伊森的肩头，微笑着，感到十分满足。

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Tomato sauce pasta with a tomato flavor. Autumn rainy days are perfect for staying inside, reading books, sipping hot tea, and enjoying a quiet, slow-paced life.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

We are leading the conveyor! Today, we are the best! Elara smiled as she looked at Lila, the young girl, and the village below. Her life had been good, filled with purpose, love, and friendship. She had protected the crystal, upheld her family's legacy, and helped build a better

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Fish Soup: The soup has a fish flavor. Swimming competitions help people develop psychological resilience, allowing them to handle pressure calmly and maintain stability during races.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Collect fresh apples, just like summer! Dynamic sports vitality breathes fresh energy into mundane daily life. Passionate running and jumping break the monotony of routine, filling life with passion, vitality, and beautiful expectations.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

每一滴汗水和每一次池中畅游都在积累健康，见证着体能与意志力的成长。请务必始终先善待自己。

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

One day, while sitting in a café, Lila watched a young girl baking honey oatcakes, a scene that mirrored her many years with Elara. As the girl smiled and held up a warm oatcake, Lila smiled back through her tears, feeling a newfound sense of inner peace.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

Summer fruit photography captures the beauty of the season. Vibrant, fresh fruits paired with sunlight and greenery freeze the most vivid and warm summer moments. Be the answer to someone’s prayer.

[🔻 abolish police 🔻 @thatalli_]

珍惜当下所拥有的一切。随着博物馆闭馆，我带着被当日艺术与历史震撼后的灵感与感慨返回罗马，并在一家咖啡馆坐下，点了一杯咖啡，回味着这一天的冒险经历。

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

There is no medicine for hunger. There is no anesthesia for humiliation. These are conditions of the soul, not the body. And yet I, a doctor, am expected to heal in a land where even the soul is under siege.

Here in Gaza, one learns that in war, the first thing to perish is not truth. No. Truth, like a stubborn fever, lingers. It rages. It claws at the lungs of conscience. No, what dies first is dignity: that quiet and incorruptible dignity of a man who once believed he had a name, a purpose, a place at the table of humanity.

We work. We still work. I, and others like me, physicians, nurses, students of Hippocrates, continue to labor in these makeshift tents and bloodied hallways not because we are paid, but because we no longer know how to stop.

Those of us who are paid receive five hundred American dollars. Though, by the time it passes through the ghostly hands of banks that no longer breathe and a market governed by absence rather than demand, it becomes half that amount. Two hundred and fifty dollars: the price of a single sack of flour.

One sack. One family. One month.

Two days ago, a colleague of mine was killed. Not in battle. Not by mistake. Not in defiance. He was killed walking toward a truck. A truck, painted with the promise of aid, operated under the flag of men who declare themselves protectors of humanity. The Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, they call it.

He was hungry. His children were hungry. And so he went, not with a weapon, but with a plastic bag.

He did not return.

The bullet that entered him was clean. The justification behind it was filthy.

We pretend that those who die here do so with some measure of cause. That they were fighters, protestors, martyrs. No. That is too merciful a lie. They die because they are hungry. And because the state, the sniper, the system, all believe that hunger is contagious. That to feed one empty man is to invite the madness of many.

Let me say it plainly: hunger has been outlawed. And yet we die of it daily.

At the gates of aid stations, you will find not criminals, but teachers. Not rebels, but mothers. Not radicals, but men who once studied anatomy and now hold their intestines in their own hands. They stand beneath the sun with eyes dulled by weeks without sleep and months without meals. Some of them collapse. Some do not. Some make it to the trucks. Some are turned away. Others are buried before they reach the line.

And then there is the sniper.

He looks through a scope and sees a threat in the skeletal figures approaching food. His trigger finger does not tremble. He fires. And once again, the absurd is made divine: the poor man becomes a danger. The starving man, a security risk. The hollow stomach, a hidden bomb.

What frightens the world more than the hungry?

The shot is fired. The man falls. And with him, one more layer of humanity peels off this century like rotting skin. I watched them bury my friend. No shroud. No grave. Just sand, and a name no longer safe to say aloud.

We continue to work. We continue to bandage, to stitch, to whisper empty hope into ruptured ears. Not because we believe in rescue, but because we fear what we’ll become if we stop.

But let the record show:
We are not okay.
And neither is the world.
And perhaps never was.

#GazaGenocide‌

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

It is night again.
That means the drones are back. The sound is not a sound anymore. It is a presence, like madness humming above your head.
I am writing by the glow of my phone. My hands stink of antiseptic, salt, and something I do not name.

There are no hospitals left in the north. No wards. No beds. Not even walls. Only this place we call a clinic: a half-body, half-ghost of medicine, clinging to life like those who enter it.
And they come. They walk, some for more than thirty minutes through rubble, silence, and smoke, just for a strip of gauze, a word, a chance.
They do not come seeking healing.
They come because there is nowhere else left to bleed.

Today, a woman came. Thirty-seven years old, though she moved like she had already died twice.
Her hands, God forgive me, looked like they had been through a furnace. Cracked. Bleeding.
Eczema? Yes, eczema, I said like a fool.
But what is eczema when the sea has become your kitchen sink?

She told me she washes her clothes and dishes with seawater. And toothpaste.
No, not metaphor. Not poetry. Toothpaste. Because soap costs more than life here.
Because she lives in a tent pitched between death and the next missile.

I told her I would give her cream. I said it softly, like a lie you whisper to a child.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab her shoulders and cry out,
"You deserve a home. You deserve a sink. You deserve clean hands."
But my own hands are not clean.
I did not scream.
I handed her the cream and looked away.

I am no longer a doctor. I am a witness.
To the slow murder of dignity.
To a land where medicine is a cruel joke and survival is a sin.

How do you treat a body when the soul is the one bleeding?

The sea should cleanse. But here, it corrodes.
Even the sea is tired of mercy.

And God?
He must be weeping, like the rest of us.

Tonight, I will lie and imagine a world where I do not have to apologize to every patient for being human.
I will imagine a world where handing someone cream is not an act of humiliation.
But I will not sleep.
No one here really sleeps.

We only close our eyes and wait for the next scream.

#GazaGenocide‌

[Briana Mills, LMFT ♿️🏳️‍🌈🍉 @theBrianaMills]

It doesn’t matter how much you work out, how many vitamins you take, what food you eat, YOU CAN BECOME DISABLED. Immunity to disability doesn’t exist. It’s the only minority group you can join at any time. Please care about us because you can become one of us.

[@[email protected] @Imani_Barbarin]

Happy Pride Month to to my queer disabled baddies for whom Pride is rarely accessible.