Curtis Ackie

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Curtis Ackie

Goodreads Author


Born
in London, The United Kingdom
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Genre

Influences

Member Since
July 2010

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Curtis Ackie is a novelist, short story writer and poet with a penchant for alliteration and all things surreal. He is not the type of Magical Negro you're used to.

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Published on August 08, 2016 07:35 • 52 views
Average rating: 3.89 · 9 ratings · 6 reviews · 4 distinct works
Goldfish Tears

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 6 ratings — published 2012 — 2 editions
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Queen Me, King I

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2015 — 2 editions
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Dark Matter

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2012 — 2 editions
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Waking Dawn

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 2011 — 3 editions
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Ghana Must Go
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We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
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Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov
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Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
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Queen Me, King I by Curtis Ackie
Queen Me, King I
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Curtis Ackie is on page 70 of 136 of The Black Unicorn
The Black Unicorn by Audre Lorde
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Soledad Brother by George L. Jackson
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More of Curtis's books…
“He wishes he were a skilled poet, it would fit his chosen image perfectly; the poor, tragic, tortured artiste. But he has no talent for words, neither for paints nor music; his uselessness is tremendously total.”
Curtis Ackie, Goldfish Tears

“The heartbeat is an irregular bell tolling; the footprints create ammonite patterns in the snow; they spiral in serpentine undulations, toward a complicated centre of mass, forming a beautifully inscribed hieroglyph, the earth acting as papyrus. It’s all signs and symbols; reading the emotions of another is an art, and tonight she lacks the imagination needed in order to be creative. Bewitching to behold, wings tucked neatly into the back of a loose summer jacket; his bare feet, dusky and dusty, tumble languidly toward her, over the soft crumbling ground. Dawn finds her dreams more beautiful to inhabit than reality. To her it becomes more real than the bed sheets she’s pulling close to her chest. As he approaches, she continues to watch the invocation of her desire. Wherever he steps the snow flees, it’s as if spring flowers from the very tips of his toes. She holds her breath as he slips his hand into hers, leading her away from the top of the hill on which they are standing. They don’t follow the path, instead they tread boldly over willow roots, twigs and fern leaves. Looking upwards, in order to see the colour of the sky, Dawn crosses her fingers for a shade of blue.”
Curtis Ackie, Waking Dawn

“As though eavesdropping, the whistling wind refuses to speak above a whisper. The winding road is cut into the side of the mountain in such a way that it seems they are not making any progress; the walk down will require endurance. She looks up at the cluster of clouds which have been pencilled in neatly against the sky, and hopes it doesn’t rain. It occurs rapidly, a geisha brusquely folding shut her fan; the sun sets, and brilliant darkness replaces light.”
Curtis Ackie, Goldfish Tears

“In this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don't love your eyes; they'd just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face 'cause they don't love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain't in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give you leavins instead. No, they don't love your mouth. You got to love it. This is flesh I'm talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I'm telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. and all your inside parts that they'd just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver--love it, love it and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”
Toni Morrison, Beloved

“The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house”
Audre Lorde

“Military people never seem to apologize for killing each other yet novelists feel ashamed for writing some nice inert paper book that is not certain to be read by anybody.”
Leonora Carrington, The Hearing Trumpet

“Black men and women who refuse to live under oppression are dangerous to white society because they become symbols of hope to their brothers and sisters, inspiring them to follow their example.”
Huey P. Newton, Revolutionary Suicide

“Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: 'You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself — educating your own judgements. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.”
Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook

248 Small and Independent Press Books — 410 members — last activity Feb 12, 2018 02:36PM
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Dolors Thanks for your friend invite Curtis. I see many of my favorite writers in your shelves. I have M&M waiting on mine and I know I should delete that nonsensical question, which I am not able to reply myself, but I keep postponing doing so because people come up with the most creatives responses! Looking forward to discussing books with you.


words by the eye full Last year, you and Ivana sent me your collection of short stories. I loved it. Thank you, and your art is much appreciated.


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