Autumns rise and fall and rise. Agwolagwo by me, hip

A spot of light courses invisibly through the air above this property’s land borders, becoming known to my senses when it reaches the garden wall, my senses respond, turning up the brightness on the the leaves of a Passion flower plant in one concentrated spot. My body knows that photons which have most recently travelled from space travel along with more nutrients for me here on the inside of Earth’s atmosphere, than photons from light bulbs. I have moved nearer to the patch of light, I may have blinked in that time but I don’t recall taking my eyes away…

“The problem with becoming myself was that, no matter how nice I had learned to be, no matter how smart or accommodating, sitting with myself meant I was becoming more myself, more Black. As soon as I started getting good” at being human I was increasingly perceived as a threat.”

- Jasmin Syedullah, Radical Dharma, p.100

When oppressed people begin to loosen the rigidity of the smile we’ve been taught to hold, when we begin to become ourselves, we become a threat. We become a threat to the oppressor and those who represent our oppression, not because we have become…

Heaven is just by the petrol station. As I walked up I passed a big American truck parked at the side of the road with the door to the driver’s cabin left wide open and nobody in sight. I’m learning that it’s the done thing here, doors wide open. I don’t have a key for the house I’m staying in, the door is just left open, apparently there aren’t real threats to lock it against.

I get my coffee and sit down, free refills so that should keep me a while. I open my iPad case.

In some cafes the…

Three years ago I was hurled abuse in the street. I walked home and wrote this in my diary before sketching a self portrait- the following is unedited:


Very rarely do I wear my hair, or even part of my hair, loose. This is partly because to do so would mean preparing my hair to not become a matted chunk by the end of the day, which is a full-time job for which I don’t have the time, patience, or skill.

Today I wore part of my hair loose, probably actually the only time that I’ve done so in over a year. As I walked past two people in the street one stared, and then very much within my earshot, loudly said to the other

‘What a…

What are souvenirs actually for?

This isn’t the type of review which aims to help anyone decide whether or not they should watch the film. It’s notes on what the strange experience of watching it felt like to me.

Tonight you’re going to go to a restaurant where there’s no menu and an open kitchen. You’re seated and as you wait you watch the chefs through the hatch in the kitchen, guessing at what they might be concocting. A partie cracks an egg- souflé? Another chops leeks- quiche? Next the leeks are put aside and sheets of dried nori appear…

How heteronormative expectations of men put everyone in cages

Couple #2- When Harry Met Sally
  • WOMAN: We fell in love in high school.
  • MAN: Yeah we were high school sweethearts.
  • WOMAN: But then after our junior year his parents moved away.
  • MAN: But I never forgot her.
  • WOMAN: He never forgot me.
  • MAN: No, her face is burned on my brain. And it was thirty-four years later that I was walking down Broadway and I saw her come out of Toffenetti’s.
  • WOMAN: And we both looked at each other, and it was just as though not a single day had gone by.
  • MAN: She was just…

A Manifesto for Mx Men

Second wave feminism encouraged women to claim their names for themselves: Women were no longer belongings given from their families to their husbands. Women were asking: why should I have a maiden name, and my brother a surname which is his own? No. My surname is my own to inhabit. I belong not to my father or husband but to myself. I represent my lineage in equal measure to my brother.

With this shift came a rise in the use of Ms, instead of the traditional honorifics Miss or Mrs. Ms intended to acknowledge women’s independence from their fathers, and…

Can one think about History as collage, rather than as narrative? — Kentridge

Tate official promotional photography for TH&TL

A masterful approach to a story which is impossible to tell, regrettably displayed in the clammy shadow of a dilating, heaving, grotesque beast, begging for attention, yet denied address.

The piece is one of the 14–18 Now WW1 Centenary Art Commissions marking 100 years since the end of the second world war, and precisely addresses Kentridge’s question. It is tapestry of cry and communicative vocalisation, within which language is just a means to stitch together layers of a visual and audible palimpsest of repetitive woe.

The artists’…

In 1987 a man entered into parliament enveloped in striking African robes. 24 years after arriving in the UK from Georgetown, Guyana, Bernie Grant had become Tottenham’s Labour MP and made a name as a leftwing campaigner, fighting on issues affecting all members of society. His image as a parliamentarian was clear. It was an image of defiance and harmony.

Nearly 20 years on from his death, in April 2000, what does Bernie Grant’s image mean for people in Tottenham today?

Most visibly the Bernie Grant legacy is present though Tottenham’s art centre, opened in Bernie Grant’s name in 2007…

Ogechi Spacetime

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