kemetically-ankhtified:

Black History Month fact #13

The Game of Chess originates in Africa.

In Kemet, games were part of spiritual life. Their most popular game was Senat in which counters, or markers, were moved around a game board. Winning the game came by one player removing all of his/her pieces before the opponent did (Hawass,Tutankhamun, p235). It symbolizes the struggle between good and evil as well as stands for rebirth and resurrection. A wall painting on the tomb of the Egyptian queen Nefretari, wife of Ramses II (1304-1237 BC), shows her playing Senat^.

The game Senat originates from the Ethiopian game of Senterej. Dr. René Gralla has done an interesting piece on a version of chess called “Senterej” which originates in ancient Abyssinia (Ethiopia). Gralla contends:

Historians and experts in cultural studies always look towards India, Persia and Arabia – and some even turn to China, more recently – when they search for the origins of chess. But with regard to Africa it is a sobering fact that up to now the science of chess has stubbornly ignored that continent which is the cradle of mankind.

milicentbrovovich:

Osiris is an Egyptian god, usually identified as the god of the afterlife, the underworld and the dead. He is classically depicted as a green-skinned man with a pharaoh’s beard, partially mummy-wrapped at the legs, wearing a distinctive crown with two large ostrich feathers at either side, and holding a symbolic crook and flail.Osiris is at times considered the oldest son of the Earth god Geb,and the sky goddess Nut, as well as being brother and husband of Isis, with Horus being considered his posthumously begotten son. He is also associated with the epithet Khenti-Amentiu, which means “Foremost of the Westerners” — a reference to his kingship in the land of the dead. As ruler of the dead, Osiris is also sometimes called “king of the living”, since the Ancient Egyptians considered the blessed dead “the living ones”.
Osiris is not only a merciful judge of the dead in the afterlife, but also the underworld agency that granted all life, including sprouting vegetation and the fertile flooding of the Nile River.

theabsolution:

Egyptian pyramids

mochafleur:

soundlessshouts:

THIS!!!!

YASS

postdubstep:

Die Antwoord - Ten$ion Review
9^th January, 2024. It’s a bitterly icy Sunday night deep in the Bamboesberg mountain range, South Africa, and a mystifying fog lingers in the air. A wolf’s loud, aggressive howl cries from the distance, echoing in the mountain ranges. Something is about to happen.
Down on the intertwining road below, three hand-polished, swanky Black limousines pull up on the side. For a moment, there is silence. Suddenly, the Chaffeur of the first car opens the back door. Out steps a man dressed in patchy jeans complimented by a white and purple baseball jacket, well into his fifties, anxious and frail. His long, golden locks curtain his wrinkled, bearded face, and he sighs dolefully as he takes off his shades and throws a copy of his paperback ‘How To Blend Into American Society When Really You’re French’ into his drivers arms.
To his left, the second limousine door opens. Another man, considerably younger than the first, exits the vehicle, removing his Dr Dre headphones as he spits and mumbles incoherent rap nonsense under his breath. He notices the other man is standing next to him. “Hey, Dave, how ya doing?”. The first man replies. “I’m okay, Emm-dog. Neither here nor there”. Just as they avidly enthral themselves in sexual-orientated Rihanna conversation, the third door widens. Towering out in a whiff of mystery is a dark, inky creature closely resembling a Crow. His flopping jet black mohawk and sombre clothing contrast his ashen skin and bright red lipstick. He grunts pretentiously when he sees the two men beside him, finishing his phone call: “No, Rose, there’s no way we’re getting re-married. You rode The Manson Monster once, and that was your final chance. Goodbye.” With a brief glance at one another, the three men make their way towards a gigantic cave opening, welcomed in by an usher offering After Eight mints.
The three men enter a huge dwelling hundreds of feet high. Unlike on assumption, the space has been rejuvenated with luscious flooring and paintings of Cheryl Cole hanging on the wall. The men sit down at a large round glass table. After a moment of hesitation, Simon Cowell stands to attention. “Right, I think we all know why we’re here tonight. We need to create the weirdest album to have ever been, and there’s only one way that that can happen, so let’s make this short and sweet”, he demands in his eloquently British accent. He jumps onto the table, and with a nod of delight from the three gleaming boys below him, he unzips his pants and lowers them to the floor, out popping his pulsating member. Hands fly from all directions.
“This is going to be the weirdest music fuckery ever!”, Cowell bellows as he leaps on top, wiping the murky sweat from his forehead as he demonstrates his dominance. Guetta grins in delight, replying boldly: “Let’s make this more swagger than Joey Essex at a cocktail party - stick some fucking House and Techno beats on it. Maybe even a ‘Baby’s On Fire’ to please those Eurovision chaps. Hell, maybe even a dubstep drone or two. Yeah, ‘Never Le Nkemise’ – that’s what it’ll be called. My homeboy Skrill will love it!”
Panting heavily, Eminem adds “Don’t forget the hip-hop and rap integration, it’s gotta be smooth and like shit-hot lyrically, ya know? I’m talkin’ punchy drums supporting gritty rap on ‘DJ HI-TEK RULEZ’. ‘So What?’! That’s gonna be my four minutes of limelight!” Marilyn Manson, on the other hand, can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Fuck you Guetta, you and your dubstep hyperbole, where’s all the dark stuff at? ‘Fok Julie Naaiers’ is the one to remember, let’s sing about horrors that’ll make listeners so creeped out they need bedtime stories and a light on just to sleep! Quite literally, we’ll be singing “I’m gonna fuck you in the ass!” all night long”.
An all round suspense is gradually built as Cowell quivers boyishly too and fro as though he’s on the brink of Heaven’s gates. “Oh my god! I can’t deal with this - there’s so much tension right now!” somebody shrieks. “Yes!”, Cowell explodes, “TEN$IONNNNNNNNNNN!”.
The next ten minutes is spent in relief, smoking on what seems infinite numbers of sultry Davidoff cigarettes and snorting line after line, readjusting their uniform to the bare minimum level of dignifying approval. After a brief all-round team hug and a “thank you” here and there, Cowell watches his collaborative buddies stroll through the exit. “TEN$ION”, he smiles. “That is what it shall be called.”

1.0
By Hugh O’Boyle

penreadygallery:

Nick Veasey shot this incredible image. Too bad X-Ray mode doesn’t come standard on all Olympus cameras.  

Saga Resha, Burundi