"There is something about poverty that smells like death. Dead dreams dropping off the heart like leaves in a dry season and rotting around the feet; impulses smothered too long in the fetid air of underground caves. The soul lives in a sickly air. People can be slave-ships in shoes."
Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks on a Road: An Autobiography (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 87. (Originally published 1942)
(Source: vigilanteespresso, via geddion)
"A terrorist is called that only because he does not have the power of the State behind him – indeed, he has no State, which is why he is a terrorist. The State, at bottom, and when the chips are down, rules by means of a terror made legal."
The different versions of me.