New installation by Pip & Pop in Kurashiki, Okayama: Through a Hole in the Mountain
"And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it’s time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can’t make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you’re fed up ladies, but keep your head up”
- Tupac Shakur
[trigger warning: rape]
In November 1993, Shakur and others were charged with sexually assaulting a woman in a hotel room. Shakur denied the charges. According to Shakur, he had prior relations days earlier with the woman that were consensual (the woman admitted she performed oral sex on Shakur). The complainant claimed sexual assault after her second visit to Shakur’s hotel room; she alleged that Shakur and his entourage raped her. As a result of the trial, Shakur was convicted of first-degree sexual abuse, and acquitted of the weapons and sodomy charges. The judge described the crimes during the sentencing of Shakur to 1½–4½ years in prison, as “an act of brutal violence against a helpless woman.”
"I am the young woman that was sexually assaulted by Tupac Shakur and his thugs. I’ve read Kevin Powell’s interview with Tupac ["Ready to Live," April], in which I was misrepresented. Up until this point I have only told my story under oath in court; nobody has heard my story, only his side, which is much different than what Tupac stated is the true story.
A friend of mine took me to Nell’s, where he introduced me to [the men VIBE identified as] Nigel and Trevor, who later introduced me to their friend Tupac. When I first met Tupac, he kissed me on my cheek and made small talk with me. After a while, I excused myself and started to walk to the dance floor. When I felt someone slide their hands into the back pocket of my jeans, I turned around, assuming it was my friend, but was shocked when I discovered it was Tupac. We danced for a while, and he touched my face and his body brushed mine. Due to the small dance floor and the large number of people, we were shoved into a dark corner. Tupac pulled up his shirt, took my hand, traced it down his chest, and sat it on top of his erect penis. He then kissed me and pushed my head down on his penis, and in a brief three-second encounter, my lips touched the head of his penis. This happened so suddenly that once I realized what he was trying to do, I swiftly brought my head up. I must reiterate that I did not suck his penis on the dance floor. He pulled his shirt back down and asked me what I was doing later. I told him that I was going home because I had to go to work that day. Then, as people started surrounding him again, he grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s get out of here, I’m tired of people stressing me.” We exited Nell’s, got into a white BMW, pulled up at the Parker Meridien, and went to his suite. We conversed, and he rolled up some blunts. We started kissing, and then we had oral and vaginal sexual intercourse several times.
He called my house a couple nights later and gave me his SkyPager number and told me he wanted to see me tomorrow. That evening after work, I paged him, and his road manager called me back and informed me that Pac really wanted to see me but he had a show to do in Jersey, so I should call a car service and take it to the Meridien and he would pay for the cab. Once I got to the hotel, I met Charles Fuller for the first time; he paid for the cab and led me upstairs. Inside the suite, Tupac, Nigel, and Trevor were seated in the living room, smoking weed and drinking Absolut. Tupac told me to come in and pointed to the arm of the sofa near him, and I sat down. After about 20 minutes, Tupac took my hand and led me into a bedroom in the suite. He fell onto the bed and asked me to give him a massage. So I massaged his back, he turned around, and I started massaging his chest.
Just as we began kissing, the door opened and I heard people entering. As I started to turn to see who it was, Tupac grabbed my head and told me, “Don’t move.” I looked down at him and he said, “Don’t worry, baby, these are my brothers and they ain’t going to hurt you. We do everything together.” I started to shake my head, “No, no, Pac, I came here to be with you. I came here to see you. I don’t want to do this.” I started to rise up off the bed but he brutally slammed my head down. My lips and face came crashing down hard onto his penis, he squeezed the back of my neck, and I started to gag. Tupac and Nigel held me down while Trevor forced his penis into my mouth. I felt hands tearing my shoes off, ripping my stockings and panties off. I couldn’t move; I felt paralyzed, trapped, and I started to black out. They leered at my body. “This bitch got a fat ass, she’s fine.” While they laughed and joked to one another, Nigel, Trevor, and Fuller held me in the room, trying to calm me down. They would not allow me to leave.
Finally, I got to the elevators, which had a panel of mirrors. Once I caught sight of myself, I sank down on the floor and started to cry. They came out, picked me up, and brought me back into the suite. Tupac was lying on the couch. In my mind I’m thinking, “This motherf*cker just raped me, and he’s lying up here like a king acting as if nothing happened.” So I began crying hysterically and shouting, “How could you do this to me? I came here to see you. I can’t believe you did this to me.” Tupac replied, “I don’t have time for this shit. Get this bitch out of here.”
The aforementioned is the true story. It was not a setup, and I never knew any of the thugs he was hanging with. Tupac knows exactly what he did to me. I admit I did not make the wisest decisions, but I did not deserve to be gang-raped.”
”Look, Pac. I just need to get my check and then I have to go” …””The situation with the money is like this,” he said. “If I give it to you, then you my b*tch.” I got up and moved father away from where he was standing. ”I’m not anybody’s b*tch,” I said, trying to keep my voice even and steady.
“Look,” I said. “You hired me to do a song, I did it. I want my money and that’s it.”
“Oh word, it’s like that? You just want your money?”
“You told me it wouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “The only reason I came up here is because you said …”
“So you not trying to suck my d*ck?”
“What!” I screamed. “What are you talking about!”
Tupac raised his voice. “You know you want to suck my d*ck, b*tch! Don’t f*cking lie.”
I burst into tears and grabbed my phone. “I have to get out of here.”
Tupac kept going. He was making no sense, cursing and yelling. He said something about Big and the East Coast.
“But … but … I thought y’all was friends,” I said. At this point, I could barely speak clearly because I was crying so hard.
“Whatever. You know you wanna be my b*tch,” he said, before going into the bedroom area and slamming the door.
As soon as I got my things together to leave, Tupac came back to the common area.“Where the f*ck are you going!” he asked.
“I don’t know what you thought,” I said. “I really don’t. But it’s not like that.”
Tupac nodded slowly, staring at me intently. He wasn’t ranting or screaming anymore. But he had this very sinister smile on his face. I kept looking around the room because I felt like something was about to happen to me. I wasn’t sure if these guys were coming back or what. But something was wrong.
“It’s not like that?” he kept saying over and over again and nodding. “Well ai-ight then, f*cking b*tch. You want to leave! Tell the driver to take you home. The limo is still out there. Get the f*ck out..”
Jack White’s resting bitchface has inspired the Internet’s new favorite meme. Here’s hoping it has the same staying power as the century-old Cubs.
Bettie Page in Varietease (1954).
Fred Sathal haute couture FW 2014
Sweet Jesus want
Dita Von Teese by Danielle Bedics