I go by "Mahogany" on the internet and in the cosplay world.
Feel free to ask me anything you fancy, and I'll gladly answer!
I made this blog to clear up a big misconception about me: Even though I care immensely about good manners, fashion and being ladylike, I'm no wilting flower! There is another side to me, and you might occasionally see it here.
Just try me. Go ahead and stab that table again...
The term hijack comes from an old English word that means ‘to capture,’ or even better, ‘seize.’ We believe it was chosen because the technique involves the use of tracker jacker venom, and the jack suggested hijack. […] Terror. Hallucinations. Nightmarish visions of losing those I love. Because the venom targets the part of the brain that houses fear.
Here are 10 photos (out of 22) from my series Racial Microaggressions. I have asked my friends on the Fordham University Lincoln Center campus to write down an instance of racial microaggression they have faced on a poster for me to take a picture of them.
We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other’s eyes. "You didn’t come see me in the hospital." He doesn’t answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?"
"I don’t know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You’ll always be thinking about it."
He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it’s true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.
"That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I’ll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn’t the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can’t, I’ll just have to deal with the pain.
HOLY SHIT I HAVE NEVER SEEN BLACK FLAPPERS BEFORE!
There were many fabulous African American flappers. No wonder - it was African American musicians who put the Jazz in “The Jazz Age”! The Charleston dance iteself, which so epitomizes the era, made its debut in the all-Black musical “Runnin’ Wild”, and no one danced that flapper number better than Josephine Baker…save possibly for fellow Black artist Florence Mills, who claimed credit for inventing it (she said she debuted it in her “Plantation Revue” in the early 20s, developing it from a dance popular among slaves). The Charleston song was written by Black composer James P Johnson. Without women and girls like those above, the 1920s would never have roared.
without black women there’d be no flappers, no jazz babies, no liberated (white) women.
Reblogging for flappers and a piece of history that never makes it to movies.