HOLY MOTHER FUCK I’M CRYING SO HARD HOLY SHIT
© Maggie Steber
As her memory loss wore on, I decreased Madje’s medications because some of these hasten death and I didn’t like seeing her overmedicated, something that can easily happen in assisted living facilities and with doctors. But she slept a lot anyway, just tired from life, I guess. So I photographed her sleeping quite a bit. Sometimes I think it was to get used to seeing what she would look like when she was dead but one was nothing like the other at all. I love this photograph. She’s a so beautiful here, her long skirt swirled out, her face reflecting her Native American heritage, her favorite little stuffed kitty—she always loved cats. She is so peaceful here and the light comes in through the window like some prelude to going on.
— Maggie Steber
You can support Maggie’s project on Kickstarter here.
(via soulspotting)
"You might be polite about hiding the pain of it but I won’t, I can’t. I’m tired, I’m lost, I call out to Allah in this global isolation. Being a Muslim in a post 9/11 era has killed me on the inside, Mehreen. I have found myself apologizing again and again for things I would never do, for things my religion has never taught me. I have literally waited for people to call me a terrorist while I walk down the pavement in crowds. Your father has been questioned. I have been questioned. We’re scrutinized. We’re spied on whether we’re in USA or out of the country. It doesn’t matter if you’re Arab or if you’re Asian or if you’re African or if you’re European. You’re just a “Mozlem.” And “Mozlems” are bad. I don’t watch TV anymore. I don’t read the newspaper anymore. It’s either us getting killed for being “suspects” or us retaliating and then everyone starts calling us cavemen, barbaric savages. You know how it feels but you hide it. You’re polite about it. You’ve cried about it. Your father has. Your mother has. How does it feel to be subjected to constant paranoia, distrust, hate, xenophobia? Where do I go? Back home? The home that America wants to engage in war with? Do I stay in America? The place where my identity is no more than that of a “bearded terrorist”? Where do I go? Home is where the heart, right? My heart is crushed, Mehreen. There is no home. There is no peace. I call out to Allah after every prayer and weep in sajda. I ask him, Ya Rab, why us? Why? How long do we suffer? When will these people understand that it’s not you, it’s not me, it’s not him, it’s not her, it’s not Islam, it’s just a few bad people. I see our Muslim youth grow old before time with worry, with hurt, with this alienation. When will it stop."
— My friend just emailed me. My heart has broken into a thousand pieces. Every single word of this hits so, so hard in the core. (via mehreenkasana)
(via boobs-radley)
whoops this is tattooed on my body
(Source: replicant, via thesmarterchild)
IT IS NOT MY FAULT THAT MY PARENTS OWN THE WORLD’S LARGEST COLLECTION OF BLACK SANTAS
(via hotel-denouement)
I liked reading through the tributes to Maurice Sendak at TCJ.com. Here’s a drawing I did for the page
