Andy Cole celebrando en el Manchester United-Arsenal 1998/99.
the silent assassin. all time favorite. 2nd most goals in premier league history. so few caps it’s a sin.
“Beyond The Horizon,” Muse magazine #32 (AW12/13, ph. Chen Man)
that sheepskin! not only personal hero, but absolute swaglord.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY James Van Der Zee of G. G. G. STUDIO circa 1925
Alain LeRoy Locke, philosopher, writer, and educator, was born on this date, September 13, 1886, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Locke went to Harvard and was the first African American to win the Rhodes Scholarship. He went to Oxford University for philosophy and received his doctorate from Harvard in 1918. Locke then became a professor of philosophy and literature at Howard University. Throughout his life, Locke encouraged African American artists and writers such as Zora Neale Hurston. Locke also wrote about the African and African American experience and identity, and the Harlem Renaissance. He published “The New Negro” in 1925, an anthology of poetry, essays and fiction on African and African American art and literature, which contains the portrait of Alain LeRoy Locke by Winold Reiss pictured. Locke is known as “The Father of the Harlem Renaissance.”
Image: NYPL Digital Collections
KERRY JAMES MARSHALL
(studies / drawings)
I’ve Been Thinking - Handsome Boy Modeling School feat. Cat Power.
Sean & Shaun © Alexander Richter
Children playing at the Kelly Playground at 5326 Pulaski Ave in 1958, when the Queen Lane apartments, seen towering in the background and imploded this morning, were still young.
(Photo courtesy of PhillyHistory.org)
this is my neighborhood. three or four blocks away. throughout my life generically and affectionately referred to as “the projects”.
i wanted to be up early to watch football anyway, but at around 7:15 a couple Sundays ago my alarm clock was the bang-bang-bang-bang of detonating charges. seconds later, like a shuttle taking off in southwest Germantown, the leaden clamor signaling 60 plus years of public housing history reduced to dust.
maybe the part of the din was the sound of thousands of childhood memories, ohh’s and ahh’s of playground ball spectators embedded in the asphalt, hushed rumors and raucous laughter from block parties, all released into the atmosphere like evaporating water. crack era gunshots, sprinklings of mandarin from the corner take-out, a morphology of black music. absorbed in the concrete’s pores, shaving rock through the years like rushing water. i’m sure the boom of concrete history—molecules dispersing and reintegrating—rushing into the abstract roused the entire neighborhood that morning, as it should.
The radiation from the blast (travelling at the speed of light) is boiling the telephone poles before the shockwave hits.