flownfoam-blog

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Remove the White Supremacists

Dear Tumblr @staff, 

In light of the recent white supremacist terror attacks worldwide: 

We, the Tumblr community (your community), implore you to change your previously passive policy against white supremacy and white nationalist extremist ideologies. 

Every major news station, social expert, and experts on extremist ideologies have identified that these extremist ideologies are spread and grown on online platforms: specifically social platforms. They have identified the major ways that communities can confront these violent extremist views; the biggest one being for social media groups to actually start removing user accounts that post and spread extremist white nationalist dog whistles, memes, and rhetoric.

Your users are begging for your help in stemming the rising tide of xenophobic violence. As has become evident by the recent terrorist attack in Christchurch, New Zealand, these ideologies don’t begin with violence, but with strategically spouted rhetoric and hate speech that riles up others who are vulnerable to being persuaded by their subtle methods. 

Please.  If you support the safety of your users.  If you support the Muslim Community. If you support the Jewish Community.  If you support People of Color.  If you support your users regardless of color or religious background. 

Then it’s time to start taking a proactive stance against extremist white supremacist and nationalist ideologies and remove them. 

The signatures and reblogs below should serve to show you how strongly your userbase feels about this. We all stand for a world without Hate. Do you?

[flownfoam-blog]

Remove the White Supremacists

Dear Tumblr @staff, 

In light of the recent white supremacist terror attacks worldwide: 

We, the Tumblr community (your community), implore you to change your previously passive policy against white supremacy and white nationalist extremist ideologies. 

Every major news station, social expert, and experts on extremist ideologies have identified that these extremist ideologies are spread and grown on online platforms: specifically social platforms. They have identified the major ways that communities can confront these violent extremist views; the biggest one being for social media groups to actually start removing user accounts that post and spread extremist white nationalist dog whistles, memes, and rhetoric.

Your users are begging for your help in stemming the rising tide of xenophobic violence. As has become evident by the recent terrorist attack in Christchurch, New Zealand, these ideologies don’t begin with violence, but with strategically spouted rhetoric and hate speech that riles up others who are vulnerable to being persuaded by their subtle methods. 

Please.  If you support the safety of your users.  If you support the Muslim Community. If you support the Jewish Community.  If you support People of Color.  If you support your users regardless of color or religious background. 

Then it’s time to start taking a proactive stance against extremist white supremacist and nationalist ideologies and remove them. 

The signatures and reblogs below should serve to show you how strongly your userbase feels about this. We all stand for a world without Hate. Do you?

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two blues.

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I Am Not Your Negro (Raoul Peck, 2016)

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anned away we go

into bright deep water

with a sing & and a hi and a ho

splashing sense, dark glances, sharp shadow

death grazes us with her daughter.

stopped trees, slimy branches

look to listen, clean bark, speak go:

floats an eyeball, submergent blink, oh

pop it, your horror avalanche.

the air is still now, yup

ropes tighten, bump gunwales, know

flow with frenzy, raindrops hurt me, blows

sip me slow, my blood from a cup.

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Forthefirrstimw

If you tuch closto The clicks nd thhe glottals You might make your own statue Mantis Lifting your own umbra on a universe of The world without nd. Sun. Skin yourself Can you? Hah i ay skin! I'm made of more than skin When it coms to pulling oout thorns They never seem to get out I am in the big stone sky Polishd from a particular marble. It gleams blue when it ants the sun to leve It glos black with stars when it wants The sun to come back. I hav a book with alll. The little hunter words That talked the birth of the sand Thh desert runners The desert bender overers for food. The singers of rain The recipients of bullets. Tthe words are left over. We Always get new bullets, So harken hearten For th big trombone Right here Keep these violences I am exploded and my insides Are outsides and i carry My thorns But i am an exploded Inside out porcupine.

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could we?

let’s try

look at our eyeball dangling on stubble. our glans sanded off. our great leader

capable of engulfing vast things

our world of lopsided lawns and crisp pressed soldiers’ breasts all beautifully unpocked by bullets

our skulls ground against granite slabs so that the employees who are bored by the endless dying can get theirs: “yeah, rewards for when you are the loyalest"

what our knees bent down by the large perfect hugo boss suits. "boss? i’m the best boss. the best.”

our lips sanded off on one side. lit cigarettes why do these smirking young men all smoke? maybe fascism smokes the cigarettes with the hottest ends?

our cigarette bodies sucked against the vast bloated maggot lung great presidential tongue licks over our flayed arms little fluttery white power hands give the thumbs up a lot more our overwhelment as they came for the muslims all the lists the lists like snow made of the ash from books. and then they without qualm

put it out on the dangling eyeball.

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maybe i won't be

i could cry with joy at the swirl of your dancing hands your wrists as fragile as the space to hold our hurtling earth as limpid as the oddly delayed gin as i pour onto limes cut from slabs of summer houses.

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sidewalk

i sit plodded at the coffee table in a restaurant outside. the cars don't even remove my living room quiet even though they're shouting fumes all over my carpet.

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what will my test be?

it is unpleasant this humanry with their smells and noise and visibry and one will bring me a coffee and one will be uproariously funny on twitter and one will publish a plush delicious photo and one will laugh at my joke and one will hug me and one will be a bird and one will sleep in my arms and one will shine for me in a wordwren and one will sing and one will leave chocolates randomly for my mother looking after one who is my nephew and one will mix out the blurring discourse of fascists and one will write a poem that makes me cry and one will give the world their music and one will fix a roof and one will smile and survive another day in the wrong body and one will ride her bicycle with me and one will kiss me and one will make love to me and one will speed past me in their death threat on wheels and one will sign off on the designs for the concentration camps.

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a limerick.

i can’t bustle up to any mountainside in a cloud l ooking down on the folia ge below and saying hello oh ya y i might say i can’t be sucke d through a jet engine to boun ce off the blades to swe ep through the chamb ers where the fires flow oh to be an air.

i ca n’t be the head be the thoughts b e your heart be your bloo d be your beautif ul smile oh be one of the flow ers.

i can’t do anyt hing other than be a shackled leaf docked to t ree locked onto my sucking forest mo uth. i can’t let the world leave on a breath in a kitchen a breath carr ying a sentence. i can’t be a plant.

i can’t spin i live these walke d lines. i can’t bring unshuffled hands o r i can’t beat my own hear t left behind in a sunlit wall.

i can’t be about all the droopin g and the stopped rotors. the sce nt of cold water digging into ho t concrete under a controlled sun.

i can’t be landed. i can’t be untorn fro m my kite table.

i can’t be scone. i can’t be non-tast e. non-ton gued. i can’t be unkissed. at least ma ybe the sun can me.

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not even silk

a note here flying out from my clenched skin caught in my joy like a quickly bitten corner of a shirt as i do up my zipper. imagining for me as if i could wash out those years of saidblood of mouthsmack that left daystains hourstains no not even secondstains can wash off i'm wearing the horrorclothes of bereft furniture scrambled around my hot pan rooms and my eyes are reporters holding cameras as they scramble around a beaten man or a body part.

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one no

i am not a number the violence of the ticking over 'how old areyou?' 'iam' no violence of the dead amount left behind in the counting you are now more. you yesterday was less. a higher number is better, little one. age well, you terrible dying page. i prefer the novel's pagination shit, where was i? page 276 (ah yes the monsterous man had not eaten four eggs) see the gentle hello and 'here i am' of the parenthesis? how old are you? (

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interest

i am eagle-eyed, hooded with chicken meat in the fridge i flutter with food. my workdesk in my eerie concrete office has no appointment with good. bad evil robbers tantivy down the cold windows on cold floors where stairs are knife-wrapped the air is filled with forgotten souls of banknotes slapping down on computer wires. i clean away the daily violents in the 'oh our strategy oh our vision' in the cluster round flat square flames reading us our ingredients: ONE thousand TWO thousand. AND digits. made of bone pixels. into the eyes of pooled coffee out of the funnels feeding schools into the profit ocean. you'll be a tasty little lessel. i beg.

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copyright

these words are spoken into chairs and tables i remember better than his voice. you take my words and use them. take any words i speak - i haven't sheathed them in pleasure or cut them on onions. i give you my words as falling feet or the spokes of a spinning-wheel where a forgotten woman was pages in a children's book and her spun skeins identical sisters to my words. take my words to your tongue when you chew and can think should taste allow you to. take my words into your eyes. speak them in turn to your lover your pet your bread. take my words as air under a wing or the beating blood is hidden in your body. take words as they flow to your face or your skin or where your fingertips might tell skin a story of paths. make words to jostle my words. smile these little leafy word trees at the word-parched. hah yes. throw water at your hands throw ankles at the earth. sing words with me.

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i can't read this

i am a dead poet. my words are deader than than the dead they get sympathy they get wailing they get a burst of grief show a shit in the shit show i'm not the colour of the silent and never cheek never the colour of the sheet i'm not the belt of the man holding the arm of the crazy wailing woman i'm not the shoulder of grief not aligned with her other shoulder under her dress under clothes that weren't under bombs or next to bombs or near orders. i haven't the weird availability of lime of a blanket for a corpse of the streak of blood walloping a line that wallops onlookers. i'm no dappled shade on a line of corpses in sheets like tablecloths under vines for a tasting oh no there wouldn't be a space for my curlicued thing taken from a kist. i am not the anything in a newsroom or the pinnacle of pinned person arrayed in a military audience for the old boy joy wall posters of lines of military boys using words like 'mission' and 'zulu time' and 'zero three left' i'm not a paper boxed avalanche of paper boxed choices i'll have my politician with chips please. i'll never have the effect a rock would. i'm doomed to these: perhaps a heart will beat harder against some blood somewhere perhaps a policeman will not. perhaps the decision will be to listen to the sad sack scientists i'm not a falling pen on falling paper i'm already read to death.