Tag Archive | African American Female

Truth Is . . . . I’m Tired

I used to tell everyone what was going on with me.  My Facebook used to be a minute by minute detailing of every emotion, action, and life event.  I didn’t expect people to wonder where I was, I told them . . .often.

Slowly, I’ve become the opposite.  With every Black Child/Man/Woman who has been killed at the hands of the “authorities,” I’ve slowly shut down. I’ve kept my problems to myself, because they seem quite trivial in the face of Systematic Racism and Murder.  No one told me to stop talking, I just don’t.

With every new hashtag, and every new addition to the “Dangerous to do While Black” list, I’ve become more and more reclusive.  I seem to have collapsed inside myself, and I’m not even sure if I want to come out at this point.  It’s hard at this point, when every single time I open my FB or my Twitter, I’m seeing pictures of people being killed by police, or videos of the aftermath of someone being killed.  Or watching a press conference where a family member breaks down.

Black Pain has become fodder for all to consume.  Even when you try to ignore it, someone is tagging you in a post, or sending you a link.  I tried to escape to Instagram today, and all the Black Celebs that were a day late, and several dollars were posting the videos, or even still pics of crime scenes.  That shit HURTS.  It causes my body to cease up in pain, because I feel every bullet.  I can feel the pain of every mother crying out for their lost child.

This . . . situation . . . has been weighing on me since the Trayvon Martin Trial (We don’t say his killer’s name). I thought about all the children I’ve taught, and the smiles on their faces, and just felt lost. Because I can’t save them.  I can’t hold them close, and make sure they are going to live forever.  I can’t even guarantee that a trip to the pool won’t end in abuse.  I can’t tell them walking to the store won’t end their death.  My crew is driving now, I can’t guarantee they won’t get pulled over and killed during a “routine” traffic stop.

That existence, the fact that I live in a world where this is the Norm, TERRIFIES me.  Since my seizure, my emotions have started to work differently.  I don’t understand them.  In addition to that, and I know this sounds crazy, I’ve been having prophetic dreams.  Nothing normal like, “so and so is pregnant,” or “you should play these numbers tomorrow.”  No, I wake up in tears, trying to stop screams from escaping my mouth so my mom doesn’t hear me.

On  the morning of June 12th, I had the scariest dream to date.  My mom and I had gone to a club to see someone perform, and we were having a great time.  All of a sudden people were running and screaming, “There is an Arabic Guy coming to kill us!” We guided everyone into the bathroom, and we were all huddled in one stall.  As he walked in the bathroom, I turned to my mom and told her I loved her, because I knew we were going to die.  Then I woke up.

I checked my phone to see news of the Pulse nightclub shooting.  I haven’t been right since.  Because, What the FUCK?!?! If that’s a Gift from God, I’m not sure how he expects me to use it.  Since that dream, I’ve only been able to remember parts of.  But I’m still afraid of where my mind will take me some nights. This World . . . This World is stressing me OUT.

I haven’t even talked about what’s been going on in my LIFE this year.  I probably won’t. Because my burdens are small compared to those of others.  Problems have come up, I’ve solved them, the best way I know how.  Maybe, when I’m famous, I’ll talk about how my life changed in 2016.  ‘Cuz it surely has.

This post is all over the place. It’s not very coherent (in my opinion). But I promised my Therapist (yes, I have one of those now) I would take at least 15 minutes to write. And I try to keep my promises, especially when they are basically homework toward healing.

I’mma Keep Runnin . . . Or My Fan-Girl Reaction to Lemonade

Your. Fave. Could. Never.  That’s the first thing you need to know.  I don’t care who your Fave is. They could NEVER be Beyonce.  Not ever in life. Not with training, not by drinking her bath water.  Not by living with her for 10 years.  YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER.  {YFCN}

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, Lets Talk about Lemonade.

beyonce-lemonade-video-trailer

Lemonade is a visual representation of the Black Woman Struggle.  It’s every part of a Black Woman’s life.  The Lies, the Love, the Tears, the Anger, the Jealously, the Shame, the Ugliness, the Beauty, but most of all . . . The Pride.  If you finish watching Lemonade, and don’t feel like a Proud Black Woman . . . you did it wrong.  Start all over again. I don’t care if you’re Asian, you should feel like a Proud and Strong Black Woman at the end.

BAAAAABY.  Beyonce said, “Keep Trying ME.” The Visuals, the spoken word (shouts to Warsan Shire) the music.  Every track is immaculate.  Yes, I am fan-girling the FUCK outta this album. Thank you to Tidal for this, because . . . yes.  I have to go Track by Track.  That’s really the only it can be done.

Pray that you catch me

1) Pray That You Catch Me

Ever KNEW your man was cheating.  Every sign pointed to him being an Ain’t Shit Type of Nigga, but you wanted to hold on to the part of you that feels like you can’t get played.  That’s this song.  She knows he’s cheating, she is praying that he knows that she knows.  While watching this with my Twitter Family, we were all like . . . hold on wait?!?! Is this about Jay? This is actually my least favorite song on this album. Not because it’s not good . . . they just all get consistently better.
hold up

2) Hold Up

Beyonce was walking down the the street, with a bat.  In wit’ dem micros flowing free.  All types of Bey from Destiny’s Child.  Like . . . everything.  Her in that yellow, smashing windows and breaking shit. She’s my Angry Black Girl Hero. Then she had the nerve to drive over all them cars with a Big Ass Truck.  Look Here, Don’t fuck with Beyonce. She is crazy.  And I LOVE it.

 

Don't Hurt Yourself

3) Don’t Hurt Yourself feat. Jack White

Angry Beyonce who curses is so much of the things. First, Jack White?!?!? Your Fave Could Never. Lets talk about these lyrics tho . . .

Who the Fuck Do you I am?

You ain’t married to no Average Bitch Boy!

You gone watch my fat ass twist boy, 

As I bounce to the next Dick Boy. 

Again, all of Twitter was like wait . . . what did Jay do to her?  Do we gotta hate him now? Is we fighting him in the face? Cuz why is Bey this mad?!?! At this point, Jay’s twitter mentions were in SHAMBLES. Men and women were like “Jay, I mean we can’t even help you out.  You done fucked up now.”

i ain't sorry

4) Sorry

Then she showed up with all her girls, in a bus. Throwing up middle fingers, and saying, “Fuck em’ Girl, Fuck Em'” AND had Serena Williams twerking in a video! But once again, them lyrics.   I have to admit, I was more than a little concerned at this point.  Cuz ummmmm, again, why is she so mad?!?

I love this Beyonce, not afraid to curse, to be real about her life (maybe) and talking about all the facets of her relationship (maybe). Best Line of the Song . . . “He betta call Becky wit tha Good Hair.” Bish WHET?!?!? Now we gotta be mad at any bish named Becky?!?!?

6 inch

5) 6 Inch feat. The Weeknd

Just . . . yes.  I’ve been waiting for this collaboration.  I can’t even tell you what this song is about {honestly, I think it’s about a working girl who wears 6 Inch Heels}.  I got caught up in the sampling of Walk On By by Isaac Hayes.  That guitar riff.  EVERYTHING. Seriously Guys, at this point I was just so much in my feelings at the beauty of the visuals. I had to stop tweeting, and just breathe.

daddy lessons

6) Daddy Lessons

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS Come Through with this Country Song. She said, “Hey Taylor Swift . . . fuck you.” And she started it with Zydeco music.  This visuals for this one were beautiful.  You get this home movie with Beyonce and her Dad which then switched into a video of Blue Ivy and Matthew.  At this point, I think we all breathe a sigh of relief, maybe it was about Matthew and Tina, and not Jay and B.  Okay, maybe that was just me.  Either way. I was able to deal a little bit better.

Love Drought7) Love Drought

At this point, the visuals changed, and along with them the message (at least for me)  From talking about Self, to the purity of having your sister’s behind you.  To having women in your life you can build you up when you are down. These women, in white in a river, gives me this feeling of being cleansed and washing off all the weight of the past.

Sand castles

8) Sandcastles

At this point, I started crying. Because . . . OH MY GOOD SAWEET LORD! It came out that Prince said in an interview, that Beyonce needed to learn to play the piano, it would take her to another level. Like . . . . Seriously.  I’m tearing up right now remembering that clip.  Because This whole WEEK has been shitty. I still haven’t processed the loss of Prince.  It felt like he was saying . . . “If they listen, I will guide them.” Plus, the VISUALS. Jay-Z at his most vulnerable.  With his hand on her ankle, laying in bed just basking in her. Sitting there holding her. Y’all #GOALS.

Black Moms

9) Forward

AGAIN, TEARS. This whole montage of Black Mothers and Children, in PAIN because of their loss at the hands others.  The PAIN in Mike Brown’s mother’s eyes . . . I lost it. These mothers, who raised beautiful Black Men, only to lose them in such a violent way.

Don’t ever say Beyonce doesn’t care about her people, don’t ever say she doesn’t understand or know the plight of her people.  Don’t Ever Say Beyonce isn’t WOKE.  She’s 6 Liters of Monster Energy Drink and 18 Cups of Coffee type WOKE. She doesn’t even have to set alarm clocks, she just wakes up on her own.  

Again, Your Fave Could Never.

Freedom

10) Freedom feat. Kendrick Lamar

Hands down my favorite song on the album.  The message of Black Power, of Black Female Empowerment, of Black Beauty coming in every shade, size (maybe), and age.

Freedom, Freedom I Can’t Move!

Freedom Cut Me Loose!

Freedom, Freedom Where are you?

Cuz I need Freedom too!

I break chains all by myself, won’t let my Freedom rot in Hell,

Im’ma Keep Running cuz a Winner don’t Quit on themselves!

black girls are awesome

Lets talk about this Visual.  You got Zendaya, Chloe and Hallie, and Amandla Stenberg. {Judge me not, I don’t know who the other girls are} Like, WHAT?!?!?

Beyonce called people and was like, “Look, I need you to come sit.  You don’t have a speaking part, I just need you to sit on some stuff.  There may be chairs, steps, perhaps a tree? You Down?” 

And EVERYONE SAID YES. Cuz at this point in life, you don’t say no to Beyonce.  You just Don’t. Can we also discuss Michaela Deprince and her ballet.  Yes Chile’ get it.  Beyonce is here for all the little black girls with a dream.
blue feeding Jay

11) All Night Long

At this point, I was so drenched in Love, and Black Pride, and happiness.  And then we get Family Home Videos?!?! Beyonce pregnant, do you SEE how cute Blue Ivy was as a baby! It’s just so much of all the things I needed today. The home movies, plus the beautiful pictures of all kinds of love.  Black Love, and Queer Love, and Interracial Love, and Young Love, and Old Love.  Tina and Richard! Come on now! So Damn Beautiful.

formation

12) Formation

Look here, she didn’t even have this in the Visual Album.  That’s how much she knew we didn’t even need this again.  What she had just given us was MORE than enough.  We thought Formation was the beginning of the Movement, and it was the Culmination of the Journey. 

Beyonce

Look, I’ve been an admitted fan of Beyonce since I Am Sasha Fierce. But Lemonade is everything I’ve been trying to tell everyone Beyonce could and can be.  This was like a therapy session, FOR FREE.  Twin said, “This should have been called Daddy issues Part 1,” and she ain’t eva lied.

She talked about generational curses, and the WORK it takes to break free of them, as well as the power that comes to women when they finally break free. I’m not really sure what I expected this to be. But I can tell you what it ended up being for me.

Magic.  

Black Girls are Magic.  Black Girls can do and be whatever the hell we want to be. Beyonce is the most magical Black Girl some people have ever seen.  Beyonce’s Magic appears to be effortless, even as she shows us all her flaws.  As I’m sitting here, watching Lemonade from the beginning on my phone {because it just feels more intimate} I am in Awe of what Beyonce has become. As well as excited for where she is going to take us next.

Also, YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER. 

Thanks for taking this journey with me.  How did Lemonade change YOUR life? Feel free to share.

Why Hello Depression . . . You weren’t Missed at All.

It’s hard to explain to people how your attitude can change with a look, or the lack of one.  I started out this morning on a good note.  I was happy, and I had just received some great news.  I haven’t had another seizure, and I might actually be losing weight.  There is no reason for me to be on the verge of tears. And yet, I am.

Something as stupid as not receiving an email, made me feel stupid and ostracized and unwanted. I feel unvalued, and unimportant.  I feel less than.  And that’s a slippery slope.  Because usually, the way I deal with that is reaching out to someone to make me feel special. Usually, the best way to do that is sexually, or eating. Both of them, at one time or another, were my go-to methods of self-help.

I’m sitting on my* porch, and trying to figure out why I’m in this place again.  The only real trigger is the fact that I walked into a chapter meeting, and I didn’t get the “Wear Black, we are taking chapter pictures,” email. I looked unprofessional, and unprepared.  I felt stupid.  And how VAIN is that.  That was my trigger, not looking perfect.

This seizure has changed so much of my life.  More than I can even speak on at the moment. But not having the control of my own space, my own transportation, my own schedule has been such a struggle for me.  I’m used to only having to rely on me to get things done.  I’m starting to feel the pressure of depending on others.

And it’s not even pressure from the outside.  It’s me telling myself you have to do and be all the things.  You can’t be weak.  People are expecting you to fail, get it together. And I can’t. It seems like around every corner is yet another obstacle getting in my way. My emotions are out of control almost all the time.  I miss my friends. I hate when people talk to me in my free time. I’m going to make people hate me soon, just so that I can have some peace in my life.

I’ve been in Arizona for 7+ years.  This is home to me. But I MISS MY FRIENDS. I miss the ability to go see someone whenever I want to.  I’m trying to navigate new relationships, and I don’t know where I stand in them.  I don’t know what I want, and at the same time, trying to figure out if I still believe in the word Hope. I’m miserable when I get free time.  I hate thinking, I hate my idle mind.  I want quiet  . . . with someone else there.

Nothing I’m currently thinking makes any sense.  That’s what my depression looks like.  One bad day, followed by several good ones.  Pushing everything down, because I have to work.  People are counting on me, get it together.  But that one day . . . it hits when I don’t have something in front of me to distract me from my inner voice.  That voice used to be my mom.  It kept me motivated.  That voice has become my own, and I’m sad. I can’t seem to find the words to get out of these funks.

I need my support system here, in Arizona.  I need A support system in Arizona. The only person who has had my back my whole life is my mother, and I just . . . she’s getting older. She’s spent my entire life having my back, and I should be working on having hers. And I’m not, because I’m in this place. The place that won’t allow me to let go and have faith. This place that makes me sad, and attitudinal and RUDE to her. Because I’m so afraid of losing her. I don’t know what my life would be without her here. And I’m so afraid, this fear is nothing i’ve ever felt before. I just watched my siblings have to say goodbye to their mother, and I’m so AFRAID.

Maybe that’s the base of my whatever the hell this is.  That every day, I’m looking at my mom, and realizing how blessed I am having her in my life. Maybe that’s it.

Whatever the hell it is, I’m not in the right place. And it’s easier to write that here, and share it with strangers, than ask my friends for help. It’s easier to post this, and pretend it’s just another blog post, and not a cry for  . . . something.  Not help, because I’m tired of needing help from people. I can post this here, and be selfish enough to be this emo, and not interrupt people’s lives crying and being sad. This depression thing, it comes in waves.  It hasn’t crashed down on me, yet.  I’m not drowning, yet.  But I’m soaked right now.

The Possibility of Us . . .

In my 20’s, I used to make playlists for everything.  Even before the Great Spotify, I needed a soundtrack for whatever my life was at that moment.  They all had super emo names, like “The Living Struggle,”  or “Why do I still Love Him?” etc. It was my way of singing out my problems.  It was a good catharsis for me.  I could instantly go to the song I needed to hear, sing and cry on my porch or balcony, write 7 blogs, send 3 or 4 passive-aggressive emails or texts, and I could move on with life.

In my 30’s, the loss of music has let me know I’m going through something.  When I would rather listen to NPR in car, or Old Podcasts I’ve listened to 1000 times, I know I’m due to have some sort of emotional breakdown.  Living with Depression has taught me everything isn’t sadness.  It isn’t “OMG my life falling apart,” it’s instead I have something I need to.  I have to find the music again.  Find the song, or the playlist, or the lyric that is going to express EXACTLY where I am.  I’ve gotten to the point where I am too busy with everyday life to wallow in my emotions.

That’s probably a good thing, especially for my friends who have been with me through my adult life so far. Because I KNOW they were tired of all the emo ass texts, and phone calls crying over the same person, or the same situation, or some conversation over and over again.  I’m trying to be a better friend.  My last relationship ended just as it began, with little to no fanfare.  No one knew it was over, it just was. That’s the adult way to do it, right? However, tonight, while driving home from my last tutoring session, a random Spotify Playlist lead me all up in my feelings.

I Present to you: Selections from The Possibility of Us.

Poision & Wine – The Civil Wars

I miss MM.  I’ve accepted the fact I miss the intimacy we had.  I can acknowledge that it was unhealthy to a great extent, but also wish I was that naive again.  I trusted every word that came out of his mouth.  I gave every single part of me, gladly, and without Fear.  I’m so cynical and untrusting these days.  I cut people off when I feel they are about to hit me with a bullshit excuse.  I don’t have faith in anyone except my inner circle.  I expect people to lie, and be unfaithful, and bad.  I long for the girl I was when I fell in love with MM.

Stay – Sugarland

I’ll never be a Side Chick again. It’s not because of something stupid, like morals or whatever. It’s because I’m over the bullshit.  The conversations that used to woo me into that position no longer hold the same weight.  I don’t need you to tell me, “I can’t talk to my wife/girlfriend/lover the way I can talk to you,” in order to feel special.  I don’t need the ego stroke anymore.  Maybe i’ve grown up, or maybe it’s that cynicism.  I’ve come to realize, every Man/Woman has a choice.  You can control yourself.  You can get a divorce. You can break up with your partner. Just like you choose to not be honest with your significant other, I can choose to tell you that you are full of shit, and need to put on your big boy boxers and handle your business.  You aren’t staying for the kids, you are staying for you.  Until you are important enough to you, get the fcuk outta here.

One Day You Will – Deborah Cox

I’m still looking for the connection I had with TBTLNY.  No one has ever given me that same feeling, which means everyone eventually disappoints me.  {This is probably means I’m continually setting myself up for failure, but you know, whatevs} Which is kind of stupid, since clearly I’m not with him right now. It was a teenage love, but it was STRONG. I would have climbed mountains, and swam oceans, and ran marathons to keep that love in my life.  That feeling, it’s a high I’ve been seeking out since I got the first taste. My life’s addiction is that high.  I can admit that to myself, and even understand how unhealthy that is.  Craving an emotional connection with someone is just as harmful as a drug addiction, because it could lead to putting yourself in dangerous situations.

I Won’t Give Up (Demo Version) – Jason Mraz

I wish I believed in Love like this again.  Even if I go out searching for it, I don’t believe I will actually find it.  Which is kind of sad right? But it’s the truth.  To be able to say to someone, “I’m not going to quit.  I’m going to love you enough, to work on this.  To grow with you, no away from you.” It requires a certain level of vulnerability and openness, and a trust that I don’t have. And I WISH I had it.  I wish I was that Girl who sat on the phone talking to TBTLYN for 12 hours.  I wish was the Girl who made a mixtape for MM because I couldn’t find an easy way to say I loved him.  I wish I was the Girl who smiled at text messages from my current crush.

I’m Not Anymore.

And I really don’t even know what that makes me? Who am I now? My Love of Love kind of defined me for a while.  I hate romantic comedies, because they are so unrealistic. I used to swear that Carrie Bradshaw was my Love Guru, she was an Idiot.  Big was an asshole! I used to read Trashy Romance Novels in one sitting, I don’t even buy them anymore. Maybe my heart’s been broken too many times, maybe I just need a break from love.  Fuck if I know.

I bask in other people’s relationships.  I’m happy for their love.  I’m not like a Love Hater. I see beautiful relationships all around me, and I’m so pleased for my friends.  I’m equally content with my current busy life/schedule. I’m just . . . . trying to figure myself out now.

Straight Outta Think Pieces . . . . aka My Thoughts on the Movie

So, this isn’t a think piece . . . per se.  It’s more about how the movie affected me as a fan of Rap, a Woman, a Child of the 80’s, and an avid movie goer.  Thankfully, since I don’t have a huge following, I don’t really have to worry about any blow back from what I say. Hurray Anonymity!

The Movie As a Whole

I actually liked it.  I wish I had been able to see it opening weekend, so I hadn’t spent the last week reading all the articles about the movie, and listening to people discuss it on most of the podcasts that I follow.  I was supposed to see it last Sunday, but I was laying in bed dying from a stupid ass summer cold.  I live in Tucson, so clearly I was the only black person in the theatre, and that was expected.

On August 8, 1988, I was 6. Clearly I wasn’t at concerts singing Fuck the Police.  I had no clue who they were.  I really didn’t start listening to rap until 2Pac. When he hooked up with Death Row, that’s when I knew who Dre was. Ice Cube was Dough Boy, when I snuck and saw Boyz in the Hood. I’ve never professed to be a Gansta Rap aficionado, I just know what I liked.  Eazy E was the dude Dre clowned in the Dre Day Video, and the person who introduced me to Bone Thugs N’ Harmony.  I remember when they announced Eazy had HIV, then AIDS, and like 3 days later he was died.  I wasn’t attached to NWA as a group, so this movie didn’t hold that kind of sentiment for me.  I just wanted to see it.

What I Loved


O’Shea Jackson Jr. was EVERYTHING.  First of all, that man is FOINE.  2ND OF ALL, THAT MAN IS FOOOOOINE. Also, he did an amazing job playing his father.  I actually believed him in the role.  When he walked in that office, in that black hoodie with that bat . . . WHEW. I mighta been a tad bit hot and bothered.

I also liked the actor who played Shug Knight.  Because THAT nigga was crazy.  I don’t know if he was just that good of an actor, but I TRULY believed he would have beat somebody down like that for parking in his spot.  He just seemed . . . not quite right.  Any time I saw him on the screen, I was a little concerned for the safety of everyone in the room.

I absolutely loved the end, and how you got to see how far reaching the group was.  The best part to me, was watching them together as a group.  Seeing that camaraderie while they were making Boyz in the Hood, and how they clowned Eazy when he first tried to rap, was beautiful.  The actors did a great job playing off each other.  You could tell they had genuine relationships with each other.  The movie as a whole was good . . . .not as amazing as everyone has said . . . but it was good.

What I Hated

Why were there so many titties in that damn movie?!?! Like for real, we get it.  Ya’ll had bitches.  I don’t need to see topless women at every damn party.  So many damn naked women, most of them lightskinned.  I remember when the casting requirements got leaked for the female “talent,” I knew then it was gone be some bullshit.  Also, why did Eazy, Dre, and Cube marry the same woman.  Like, they looked exactly the same. Their wives could have been played by the same person, in various wigs.  NO ONE WOULD HAVE NOTICED.

Serious Question: Did DJ Yella and Mc Ren just do nothing else with their lives? Like, they just did that NWA thing, and had nothing else happened?  They were bit characters in the movie, and I feel like they should have had more screen time.  Maybe they didn’t get their dollars up, and weren’t able to pay for that Executive Producer type screen time. The actor who played Mc Ren, Aldis Hodge needed more screen time.  Because . . . . FOINE.

So much misogyny, so little time, Dr. Dre is an abusive asshole.  Yet, no mention of that.  I vaguely knew about his abusive history with Miche’le, and after hearing about the whole Dee Barnes episode . . . I felt a way about supporting the movie.  Because this was a VERY watered down version of them.  No mention of their personal lives, or parents, or children.  It was like, all of that wasn’t important, because Famous. In my continuous effort to #StayWoke, I’m constantly conflicted when supporting people who have done horrible things.  But I’m a hypocrite in this instance, because I saw the movie.

What Could Have Been Done Better

They had a chance to make a better movie.  Like their music did, they could have told the truth.  They could have talked about all the violence that ran rampant in their homes, not just their neighborhood.  They could have talked more about the emotional impact of dealing with the LAPD.  They could have talked about how 1992 isn’t that different from 2015 when it comes to institutional racism.  They could have talked about how they learned to get to the level Dre and Cube are at now.  This movie had the potential to be as impactful as the album it was named for.  But Alas . . . it was turned into a “Look how great we were and still are,” type movie.

Why didn’t they talk more about Bone Thugs N Harmony?!?!?! {That was stated as a hardcare Bone Fan, I just had to get that out}  Why no mention of the East Coast/West Coast Beef?!? Like, all we got was Pac recording one song?!?! I needed the Scorsese Version of this movie.  Like, the 3 hour long version, done by a director who wasn’t best friends with the people the movie was about.  Sometimes, you gotta open your circle. But you know, I don’t know shit.  I just watch a lot of movies.

In Conclusion . . .

The one thing this movie did, was help me realize the impact that NWA had on Hip Hop Culture as a whole.  From movie soundtracks, to actual movies, to inspiring and finding some of my own favorite rappers, NWA was important.  A picture of what NOT to do, but also how the truth can change your life.

Screenshot_2015-08-22-15-57-00

  • If not for Dre, there would be no Eminem.  And he’s my favorite rapper, even though he’s abusive as hell as well.
  • If not for Dre, there would be no Kendrick, and he’s very quickly becoming a permanent member of my Top 10.
  • If not for Cube, there would be no Friday, one of the most quotable movies in the last 20 years.
  • If not for Cube, there would be no Boyz in the Hood, one of the first movies to take “the hood” mainstream
  • If not for Cube, there would be no O’Shea Jackson, Jr. and again . . . FOINE.
  • If not for Eazy, there would be no Bone Thugs N’ Harmony, and my freshman year of high school would have been severely lacking
  • If not for Eazy, there would be no Mc Ren, and Aldis Hodge wouldn’t be on his way to being a household name

So, those are my thoughts.  Thanx for reading, and feel free to comment. 

I’d Rather Go Blind (or) . . . an Ode to James Baldwin

I have to start this blog by saying, I’ve never finished a James Baldwin novel.  I was SUPPOSED to in my Race in American Lit class in 11th grade . . .but youth. I have to also say, I’ve lived my live on the fringe of “Black Consciousness.” Meaning, I knew the world was fucked up.  I just chose to not let the fuckedupedness {yes, that is indeed a word} affect me.  Sadly, 2014 happened.  Actually, to be honest, 2008 happened . . . but we will get there.

I’ve stated on more than one occasion, I was raised strangely.  I had access to my history.  I knew my family’s history, and the history of my people.  Not because I went to the best schools {even though that helped} or because I was so well read {again, that did help}, but because my mother made sure I knew.  I didn’t know other people didn’t watch Eyes on the Prize on a yearly basis until college.

Best. Series. Ever.

Best. Series. Ever.

I’m not just talking about a casual glace, I mean we planned our WEEK around it showing on PBS.  Homework was done at school, so that i didn’t have to do it at home.  We sang all the protest songs while we were cooking dinner, and we sat down together to watch it.  I knew who the Little Rock Nine were before the Disney Movie came out.  I used to love Thurgood Marshall because he looked like my Great Uncle.

So it’s not that I didn’t know that racism and discrimination existed in the world.  I just didn’t have to deal with it.  I lived in Detroit, but I went to school in the suburbs.  All my friends were white.  If they weren’t white, they were something that wasn’t Black.  I’ve been the minority my whole life, even within my circle of friends.  Racism was a concept I understood, and had never really encountered until my then best friend’s father found out I was Black.

I'm referring to the white one . . .

I’m referring to the white one . . .

I’d been calling their house the entirety of Freshman Year. The minute the buddy pictures came back, the “secret” was revealed.  This man, whom I had spoken to at length whenever I had called their home, who always asked how I was doing and about my family, suddenly didn’t want his child to spend time with me.  He didn’t want her to drive to my home (even though I lived in the suburbs {better suburbs than them}), he told her not to interact with me at all.  Because I had tricked him! I didn’t “talk Black,” so how was he supposed to know I was invading his daughter’s life and setting such a bad example.  Her dad was an asshole, and he was racist, and he was born in a time when both of those were the norm.

United Colors of Benneton . . .

United Colors of Benetton . . .

Racism didn’t become real to me until affected my paycheck.  I blogged about it, feel free to check it out {here, and here,} Even still it wasn’t something that permeated.  They were #IsolatedIncidents. The world is a better place in the 21st century.  We elected a Black President for crying out loud.  People stood in a voting booth, and said we put our faith in that proud and self-identifiying Black Man, with his Beautiful Black Wife and Children.  The world has changed for the better! Or so we thought . . .

This was my morning board in my classroom for a WEEK!

This was my morning board in my classroom for a WEEK!

What we didn’t know, while we were shouting in the streets, and hugging each other with pride and glee . . . was some folks was MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD! WHEW, they was so mad! About life, and everything that was in it. And every time he made a difference, made a change, and potentially helped someone less fortunate than them . . . the anger built. And Bulit. AND BUILT. And for me, being able to ignore the undercurrents of racism was getting harder and harder.  Those names started adding up, and my memories of Eyes on the Prize starting connecting those dots.  From Rodney King, to Malice Green, to Sean Bell, to Oscar Grant, to Trayvon Martin.

Thank God for Black Twitter . . .

Thank God for Black Twitter . . .

Social Media ruined my life! Because I wasn’t just getting my news from CNN anymore.  I had minute my minute updates on things going on all over the country.  Every new name on the list had a hastag, and a story behind that wasn’t being censored by the media.  Suddenly, I had to acknowledge that my bubble had been popped, stepped on, and destroyed.  The anger started to build. And Build. AND BUILD. Why are they killing young children? Why are people so angry? Why do they hate us so much? Why do they work SO HARD to make sure we stay down? Why is no one paying attention?!?! Why does Don Lemon exist on Television?

I . . . loathe . . . you

I . . . loathe . . . you

Why are Black Men Thugs and White Men “troubled” and “mentally unstable?” Why are Black children a threat? Why is CNN reporting a Riot, when Black Twitter is live streaming police being the aggressors? Why are the only pictures of Mike Brown him looking like a “gangsta?” Why does the Republican run government shoot down anything the President attempts to to to a vote? Why is everyone on Fox News an Asshole? Why do I only trust Chris Hayes, Melissa Harris-Perry, and Rachel Maddow?

He Follows ever member of Black Twitter . . .

He Follows ever member of Black Twitter . . .

Why am I TERRIFIED every time I’m pulled over by a police officer? Why do I have to have conversations with all my clients about the dangers of expressing your opinions when dealing with certain kinds of people? Why do I fear for all of the children I work with who were raised in Happy Tucson, and don’t know who the rest of the world sees them? Why did I lose friends because of my reaction to Ferguson? Why was Ferguson the scariest thing I’d ever experienced as an American . . . not September 11th?

2014

2014

I can’t un-see those videos of Black Men AND WOMEN being abused by the people we pay to protect us.  I can’t un-know that 2015 is more like 1964.  I can’t un-experience someone walking in a church and shooting 9 people, because of the color of their skin.  I can’t un-cry those tears of frustration when conversing with people about my pain.

I’d Rather Go Blind.  I’d Rather be Deaf.  I’d Rather be Dumb.

I’m Afraid. I’m Angry.  I’m Hurt.

There is no time to heal. There is no time to recover from seeing Michael Brown’s body in the middle of a street.  There is no way to unwatch John Crawford III getting shot down for HOLDING a gun while talking on the phone. I can’t BREATHE! I can’t catch my breath, because it’s happening everyday.  Twice a day. The list continues to grow.

blackfaces

To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.”

– James Baldwin

This. Is. America.  This is being Black in America. This is Depressing as All the Hells.

This Is My Experience.  

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Thank You For Reading.

Free Write: Souled Out – Jhene Aiko

*This album just appeared in my dropbox.  We don’t ask questions.*

 

48 Minutes of Goodness

Track #1 – Limbo

I got off work early, and felt the need to write. I got home, packed up all my stuff and made my way to my local Starbucks.  The minute I say down, all my motivation left me. I’ve never had that happen to me.  Starbucks in my safe place, my writer’s Haven as it were.  Suddenly the smell of coffee did nothing to entice me.  The creative juices refused to flow.  I tried so hard to get in the groove, looked at blogs I had left in my drafts, and NOTHING. Immediately I was unsettled.  Does this mean my writing talent is gone? Do I hate Starbucks now? WHAT IS LIFE?

Track #2 – W.A.Y.S

Clearly, as I’m currently sitting here {in my Living room} writing, it’s not gone. But I think the need to escape to Starbucks to write had more to do with escaping the clutter I lived in at the time.  A place where I could stretch out and just create.  NowI have that, at home. Crazy! Sitting on the couch in my living room is just as peaceful to me as sitting at the table at Maple and Orchard Lake used to be. I can finally write at home.  That hasn’t happened in . . . 5 years. The last time I wrote at a place I was living was my first Apartment in Arizona.

Track #3 – To Love & Die ft. Cocaine 80’s

I’m currently on a Celibacy Quest until January of 2016.  It’s a Quest because penis’ seem to throw themselves at me.  I’ll be minding my own business, and one will just pop up in my face. I had to fight them off in Michigan! The two years I spent in Michigan – was like Bad Decision Amusement Park.  I tried out all the rides, had entirely too many ups and downs before I landed on my own two feet.  I opened new doors, closed one or two, and tried my best to put my past behind me.  Admitting that you ruined a friendship with sexual tension sucks.

Track #4 – Spotless Mind

I regret some of the choices I’ve made in the past 2 years.  Maybe regret isn’t the right word.  I wish I would have been as mature then as I am now.  I was hurting, and male attention is – and always has been – my coping mechanism. {Read: Daddy Issues} What was supposed to be a one time escapade, became something that somehow cheapened our friendship. Sex really does ruin everything.  He was the first person I’ve ever had sex with, that I felt an actual emotional connection with. It meant something to me. It shouldn’t have, I told him it didn’t. We swore it wouldn’t change our friendship, one that we’d had for 10+ year.  It did tho.  Suddenly, I felt like he wasn’t paying me enough attention.  I wanted to see him all the time, I wanted him to comfort me when I had a bad day at work. Sex is stupid. It ruins everything . . . and I really really really miss my friend.

Track #5 – It’s Cool

Admitting all of that felt good.  So let’s just keep admitting things.  I’m attracted to at least 2 people I shouldn’t be.  Not JUST because they are in relationships, but because liking them violates my personal – although twisted – moral code.  We don’t like our friend’s ex’s.  Ex HumpBuddy, Ex Boyfriend, Ex Fiance, Ex Husband. You don’t do it. But every time I see these two people, I try to justify stepping outside of the boundaries I set for myself in 1997. {Yes, I know the year, it was a very traumatic one for me}

Track #6 – Lyin King

Back when I was a Jezebel . . . I used to call guys I liked, and tell them I had a dream about them in order to peak their interest.  Then say, “Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner, I can tell you all about it.” This usually lead to Bow Chikka Wow Wow.  Best trick ever! In the last 4 days, I’ve had 6 . . . six . . . seis . . . dreams about men in my life. Some very graphic, some super awkward, some very comforting . . . but all of them made me want to reach out to these men, and just talk to them.  However, my current Sabattical restrictions mean I can’t.

Track #7 – Wading (Played this Twice.  It goes)

This whole learning restraint, and practicing it thing . . . I’m kind of proud of myself to be honest.  Most of my friends don’t think I will or can last until 2016. But it’ve done it before . . . of course that was because I didn’t know anyone in AZ and I wasn’t actively trying to meet anyone.  The goal is to focus on self.  To accomplish my goals – the reasons for moving back here – on my own.  Without being able to attribute any failures or successes to anyone but myself. “I was sad because so and so didn’t come over; I missed that deadline because I was hanging out with so and so; etc.” I used to do that all the time . . . blame events/feelings/emotions on other people.  Now that I have acknowledged it, I have to stop doing it, right? That’s the plan anyway. I’ve been here about 100 days, and stayed focused.

Track #8 – The Pressure

That’s not to say shit hasn’t come out of the woodwork since I’ve been back.  People have showed up out of the blue, people I thought I would never talk to again.  Funny the things you choose to deal with, and what you won’t.  When I decided to be celibate, I lost male friends. Because they tried to test me . . . CRAZY to me. When I was 12, my best friend at the time told me, “Boys and Girls can’t be friends for real.  Someone always likes the other one, even if they know it’s just a friendship.” My best friend was a Boy. AWKWARD. I mean, sure I had a crush on him but it’s not like I acted on it.

Track #9 – Brave

Consciousness has ruined my life.  Most of the behaviors I used to put up with/act on/ allow others to justify currently annoy the SHIT out of me. This is another reason I’ve kept to myself.  It’s unfair to assume everyone should think like me. It’s not their fault they don’t see the world the same way I do.  Ferguson brought that to the forefront for me once again.  I had already lost interest in certain movies and music and people when I became conscious of how prevalent Misogyny and Sexism is in the world around me.  Now, once again, I can see all the Systematic Racism in America.

Track #10 – Eternal Sunshine

I’m annoyed easily now.  I want to do more to change the world.  I judge myself that I’m not doing more to help those less fortunate than me.  It’s difficult to put into intelligent words this feeling of . . . Do Better, Be Better. Someone asked on twitter tonight what kind of volunteer work people were doing, and I couldn’t chime in.  At least when I was working full time, I had an excuse.  But now . . . what is my excuse? I can justify my lack of involvement  . . . but it’s a lazy and self righteous justification.  My life isn’t hard right now, so why aren’t I don’t something?

Track #11 – Promises

I refuse to commit to or admit to – on paper or on screen – my true goals.  I’ve become very paranoid about letting people know my wishes and dreams.  I once spoke them freely, and not only did “friends” try to tear them down and destroy them . . . I really think they wished/prayed for me to fail. This lack of trust that lives inside of me is new. It’s unfortunate as well, at least to me. But it’s needed.  Another layer of protection from hurt.  But I need to start working on my plans I made when I first got here.  I’m afraid to fail, because I’ve finally figured out what I want to do.

Track #12 – Pretty Bird

If you had asked me at the beginning of this Free Write the goal . . . I would have said a poem of sorts.  That’s what is so awesome to me about doing a Free Write to music.  I’ve always said you don’t pick the music, the music picks you. This album was a great one to listen to while I tried to sort out my thoughts/feelings.  When I couldn’t write at Starbucks, I felt a way. I had on the wrong type of music. I also wasn’t in my safe space.

But I’m Home Now, and my mind/soul is clear. If you got this far, thanks for reading.  Cop the Album too.  It’s pretty good 🙂

 

 

 

 

The Revolution will be Live Tweeted

Posted on my Facebook TL by me Re: The Tony Stewart Fatal Car Accident –
I bet they will publicize this more than  what’s taking place in Ferguson right now.

This is the beginning of a new phase in my life.  The part of my life in which, I can no longer be your “Safe Black Friend.” I’ve decided to instead be the friend who forces you to see how Race and racism is a daily occurrence in MY life. It must be stated before this potentially long blog, that I really did think I was white until I was about 7.

Not, I wanted to be white.  I thought I was white.  I thought I looked like all the dolls my father purchased for me, and the friends I had at the private school I attended.  I never looked in the mirror, not because I was afraid of what I would see, but because I truly believed I was a reflection of my peers.  My mother’s hairdresser’s children quite roughly set me on the right path. This was also around the time a friends mom wouldn’t let me sleep over because, “I’m not sure she knows how to act. You never know with her kind.” I thought she meant girls.

Race doesn’t matter to me. All of our poop is brown, so who cares.  Racism on the other hand, matters a great deal. My upbringing made me this way.  When other people were watching Roseanne and Martin, I was watching Eyes on the Prize on PBS. That’s the kind of Mom I have.  She wanted me to be informed of my history, so I knew the kind of world I was facing before she sent me out in it to fend for myself as an adult. My mother truly believes Knowledge is Power, and it was her goal to give me as much Power as she could.

News or Media: Are they the same?

Michael Brown, Jr was killed around noon on August 9th, 2014.  I didn’t see any mention of Ferguson on any major news network until Tuesday Night.  It didn’t show up on my Facebook TL until Thursday – in posts other than those belonging to myself and my Soror Amber.  It was on my Twitter TL Saturday afternoon. I was already following @nettaaaaaaaa, because she is hilarious. She is in STL, had heard of the unrest and went to investigate.

The beauty of Twitter is that you can connect with anyone in just one tweet.  #BlackTwitter proved it’s complete and utter worth in less than 24 hours.  Minute to minute updates, with pictures and video about what was happening.  Every night, I logged on to Twitter, and found out EXACTLY how it was happening. Just as they did with #JusticeForTrayvon, they made #Ferguson and #MikeBrown trending topics in major cities.  Ferguson residents DEMANDED justice.  They took to the streets, and marched for what they wanted.

They also demanded someone know the police were basically occupying their streets, seemingly to stop them from exercising their right to protest. They tweeted to @CNN and all the local news stations.  They tweeted @HuffingtonPost and @NYTimes and demanded they cover what was happening.  I’ve always heard people say news stations report what they want you to see.  Never before had I seen it In Living Color.

When a protester was shoved onto the ground by an angry police officer, CNN was reporting the crowd was becoming more aggressive.  But @ElonJames and @Vandalyzm were posting video of the incident to refute what was being reported.  If, in the example of the now Iconic picture below, a resident was throwing a Tear Gas Can, MSNBC was reporting that the protestors were retaliating angrily.  In real life, he posted on his TL he was protecting the children who were in the crowd with him.

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Operation Help or Hush

{For Clarification Purposes: You don’t have to be Black to be a member of #BlackTwitter.}

#BlackTwitter is a place people come together to talk, a lot, about the problems of the world, mainly superficially.  We  all complain and post about the societal topic of the day, then we usually move to less trying and often petty conversation.    But everyone should be afraid, because those of us who belong to this literal World Wide Web of people, have started to understand the power #BlackTwitter holds. In having so many residents of the greater STL area posting about the murder of #MikeBrown, and the subsequent protests, it was too in our face.  We saw people reaching out for help on an hourly basis.

The Beautiful @SheSeauxSaditty was tired of talking.  She decided to do.  She decided to ask for donations of money (and later the creation of an Amazon Wishlist) to help purchase supplies needed for protesters in Ferguson.  They raised more than $9100 in less than 18 hours, and then set out to provide bagged lunches, water bottles, gas masks, cooling towels, and a plethora of other essentials for the residents of Ferguson, and those who had come to march in solidarity.

Twitter did that.  Social media did that.  The pride from seeing that develop, even though I had no part in it (other than to donate) is immense.  Its like looking at the beginning of something that is going to eventually become a part of every struggle/movement/experience where people have a need.  Kudos to you, Nona.  I’m inspired to be better because of the impact I’ve seen you make in these last two weeks.

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#NMOS14

I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention @FeministaJones and the creation of the National Moment of Silence.  She used her more than 34,000 followers to create one moment in time, when people all over the country – even the world – could come together and be seen, heard, and comforted.

Back in the day, it took weeks to execute what she did in less than a week.  Listing a city, and that you wanted to have a moment of silence was enough for people all around the country to coordinate and spread the message. Hundreds of thousands of people, standing together showing their solidarity for #Ferguson and all those men and women that Racism Killed.

Ignorance is Bliss

By Wednesday of last week (Aug 13,2014) I was exhausted. I spent ALL of my free time on Twitter, retweeting articles, and live accounts of what was going on. Posting links on my Facebook TL, which for some reason had been taken over by the ALS Ice Challenge.  Why was no one talking about this?!?! Where was the outrage?!?! No one at work was angry!  Half the time if I tried to bring it up in conversation , I first had to explain who #MikeBrown even was! How could this be happening in 2014.

My constant exposure, via Twitter and MSNBC {shoutout to Chris Hayes and Rachel Maddow who are EVERYTHING}, gives me the distinct ability – nay, responsibility – to inform people of the truth! Yet, I’ve been batted down at every turn.  Told that they were fine getting their info from the local news and CNN. They didn’t need to read all the op-ed and think pieces, and to remember everything isn’t about race. Justice will prevail, and he shouldn’t have robbed the store in the first place, and if those people would just stop marching, this will all die down in another week.

 LOTS of people were unfriended this week, many more were unfollowed.  

If you want to live in a blissful and calm world, you have that right.  If you believe thousands of people tweeting about the same event, in real time, is somehow LESS reliable than Don Lemonn, go right ahead.  If you take everything at face value, and believe Propaganda isn’t actually a thing . . . I will acknowledge your right to make your own choices.

Of course, I can also acknowledge that you are stupid, and I don’t want your stupidity tainting my TL anymore.

A Black Man’s Existence 

{Due to my extreme lack of being about to figure out Storify, the link is below} 
Tuesday Night, I happened to come across the TL of a young Black Man roughly my age, ‘free tweeting’ about how #Ferguson is affecting him.  Something he said really struck me.
  1. Fifty years. Fifty years and we still have damn near the same problems. Didn’t seem like it a month ago. But I’m scared. I’m hurt.
    I donate clothes. I give food for the food banks. I even played SANTA CLAUS at my daughter’s school. Yet I’m hurting over Ferguson.
    I’m hurt because at 18, that could have been ME. Whether the cop was racist or scared, the fact remains that Mike Brown is dead.

The Revolution will be Live Tweeted

Change is created when several elements come together at just the right time.  Too many people are hurt.  Too many people are angry.  Too many people know families who have lost loved ones at the hands of Law Enforcement.  Too many people have cried, and yelled, and marched silently expecting results. Too many people have counted on the justice system for justice.  Too many mothers have been afraid for their children to leave the house.  Too many times of being Sick, and Tired, and Hurt, and Angry, and Confused.

 My mother said to me about Ferguson, “It used to be lynching.  They used to have picnics under the hanging bodies with their families.  It used to be a town event.” My response: The time for supplication and silence is over.  We, and yes I include myself in this declaration of my generation, are tired of being part of the problem.  We have decided to be the solution.  You can’t teach us to love everyone, and yet tell us that some people just don’t want to change.  What’s good for the goose is just as good for the Gander.

The ENTIRE world is watching these young adults and families and children march in the streets and demand justice.  The Whole World is looking at an entire county of Police Officers abuse their power.  The Whole World is watching #Ferguson.  Keep doing what you are doing.  Yell and March and Make Demands.  Fight for your rights to be treated fairly and as equals.  Continue to create the uncomfortable moments on TV when anchors HAVE to talk about race in this country.

{The} Election of Obama was supposed to usher in post-racial America, but evoked white backlash instead.    

– @dpgushee (Aug 20, 2014)

Free Write: This is My Temporary Home/Fix You

So, I’ve been in Arizona for about 6 weeks.  The move was frantic, but the energy it required to move back was enough to keep me distracted.  Getting settled and job hunting has taken a while.  I’ve kept myself busy.  Purposefully, it seems.  The first time I saw this house, I knew it was for me.  It had everything I’d ever wanted for myself.  I prayed for this house every day, until I put in my offer. This was MY house, I wanted it for me.  I was only thinking about me when I saw it.  People say all the time, make plans . . . then listen to God laugh at them.

Somewhere along the way, this House lost it’s luster.  I’d be stupid to say, I don’t know the exact moment that happened.  But even acknowledging that an ‘entity’ had the power . . . nay, I gave an ‘entity’ the power to take that away from me . . . is disgusting.  I ran away from home, that’s what moving back to Michigan was.  I told me truth to very few people, because it was embarrassing to me.  But, God and Ernestine helped heal me.  I stopped judging myself, and blaming myself for everything that had happened in the past 3 years.

I was able to forgive myself for the part I played, and the choices I made that lead me to where I was – cowering like an abused puppy in Michigan.  But along the way, I lost one of my Best Friends.  Forgiving myself meant I had to place the rest of the blame on all parties, and them not acknowledging their part was a deal breaker for me.

This new me, that Haven built, holds people accountable.  Its a huge disappointment to me that I lost the one person who I could share my secret hidden thoughts.  There was no {to my knowledge} hidden agenda, jealousy, or lies.  My most outrageous thoughts were heard without me being told they were wrong.  There is something freeing about that.  I don’t have that many female friends who don’t judge me, or preach to/at me, or want to lead me down a different path.

I miss that freedom.  I miss the days when I didn’t think my words were going to be used against me.  The betrayal I feel, isn’t because she ‘chose’ him over me, it comes from the feeling that everything else in our friendship might have been a lie.  Every thought I shared with her about him, things I couldn’t say to his face {and there wasn’t much} he ended up knowing.  He used that knowledge, those secrets to break me.  She helped him.  And for what? Feeling that a man is more important than a friendship . . . it’s alot.

I thought I was ready to be back here, in this house that had begun to feel like an Island I had been exiled to as punishment.  The majority of my friends live at least 200 miles from me.  The one person I want/need is too far away.  Maybe that’s whats wrong.  I’d gotten entirely too used to having access to people who made me happy.  I can’t call TIITC and say lets go to dinner, and I can’t text The Boy and ask What’s the Haps.  I can’t go stalk Astacia at Jimmy Johns . . . It’s lonely starting all over again.

The worst part is, I haven’t been idle.  I’ve been reading, and discovering new truths about myself.  It hasn’t been all bad.  In fact, it’s been kind of awesome.  But on a night like tonight, I wish I could dial her number, and give her all my secrets. And I can’t . . . and that makes me hate her all over again.  It’s been worse though, this feeling.  So I know it’s going to get better.

Tears Stream . . . down your face
When you Lose something you can not replace.
Tears Stream . . . down your face

Lights with Guide You Home,
And Ignite your bones,
And I will Try . . . To Fix you.

Tomorrow is another day, a day to look into the sun, and feel the warmth that is Arizona. Because this is MY HOUSE, and if it takes a few for weeks, and a few more thousand dollars to make it feel as such, so be it.

Wait . . . Black People Make Other People Uncomfortable?!?

Well Color Me Brown Skinned.  You mean all this time, people don’t like me because of the color of my skin and my boisterous voice? You mean it’s not my political viewpoints or my religion? It’s JUST the color of my skin? You mean to tell me I don’t get jobs because I’m Black?!?!?

When I tell you I’m SHOCKED! You don’t even know.  This whole time, I thought Racism was gone! After Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave the “I Have a Dream” Speech, Racism was already on it’s way out.  We had the Civil Rights Bill (oh wait, they revoked that a few years ago), and Clarence Thomas, and Barack Obama.  No One Sees Color Anymore.  Don’t you Read the Internet?

But Then . . . This Happened.

This less than 30 second Interview has caused an Internet Orgasm of Epic Proportions.  There are so MANY things in this clip, and the reactions to it that I want to rant about.  I’m going to try not to veer from my original point, but Let’s Just Take it Step By Step.

1) OMG A Black Man is Yelling!

First, let me say . . . YOU GEAUX FRAT! Richard Sherman was hype at HELL.  As he should have been.  Did you actually watch the game? Or see the play? If you weren’t that hype after helping take your team to the Superbowl, you should just quit playing sports.  Two Minutes after that kind of play, you ask me how I feel about that play.  You should be glad he didn’t push the reporter (we will get to her later) out the way and scream, “I AM A GOD!”

He wasn’t yelling at her, he was yelling at EVERYONE. That’s what you get for doubting him and his skill.  He did what millions of people have been doing from years, staking their Athletic Claim. The Problem . . . he scared a White Lady.

B) Oh Lawd, You Done Scared the Missus

Black Men are never more out of line than when they make a White Woman scared. Or, it’s perceived you scared her.

Erin Andrews Screenshot

Saving a White Woman from the Mandingo Warrior who lusts to defile her . . . Ya’ll! People have lived that narrative their whole life.  That’s why interracial dating is such a huge deal.  Still. 50 Years after The Loving Case. In My Humble Yet Educated Opinion, that’s why there was outrage.  Because this man used his emotion and it scared PollyAnna. *le sigh*

She wasn’t even scared.  Shocked. I’ll give her that.  But he wasn’t even looking at her.  He was looking straight at the camera, almost as if he was talking to a specific person. Like he was sending a message to someone who needed to hear it . . .

3rd) When In Doubt, He Must Be a Thug

richard sherman

When Angry Black Man isn’t enough, the next step is ALWAYS to call him Uneducated. Because God forbid he’s ACTUALLY Stanford Educated.  That’s right, STANFORD. Ivy League.  ANNNNNND He Graduated! Like, OMG. He Has a Degree and plays a Sport! He should be okay . . . as long as he’s making us money.  But then, he got loud. *le super sigh*

‘To Those Who Would Call Me a Thug or Worse …I show passion on the football field—but that’s only a small part of who I am. If you want to judge me, I can handle it. – Richard Sherman

{I’m not even going to talk about the only real way for a Black Man to get an education of the same caliber of his white counterparts IS to play a sport. Or that whole Breeding to be genetically Superior . . .nope. Not Gonna Do It}

Also, This Happened...

Also, This Happened…

Let Us Make this ONE Incident about Race in America

I have read no less than FOUR articles breaking down this 30 second clip.  These articles weren’t short either. Clearly, as I am blogging about this, I am part of the problem.  EXCEPT, I blogging about the reaction to it.  Why does EVERY Single incident when America shows it’s RACIST ASS do we have to do this?!?! Hey Guys . . . WE KNOW! We know that Racism is real.  We know that Black People make Other People Uncomfortable.  

We know that White Women date Black Men to piss off their parents.  We know that Loud Black Men are always labelled Thugish, Ignorant, and Classless. WE. FUCKING. KNOW. You don’t have to write articles about it, and tweet about it, and create memes about it. Don’t Talk About It . . . BE ABOUT IT.

Be the Change you Want to See.  Online Protesting only works if you actually attack the system. Not Each Other. George Zimmerman was prosecuted because we inundated the Prosecuter with calls, emails, letters etc.  Marissa Alexander is no longer in jail because We Fought Back.  The Revolution will take place online . . . when people stop rehashing and reacting.

If Billy Bob and Jo Sue from Alabama hate all Black People, let them.  Unless Billy Bob is also a Senator or law maker, and he also votes in every election, he really has no say in what’s gonna happen.  Stop paying attention to ignorance. DO SOMETHING!

“I am America. I am the part you won’t recognize, but get used to me. Black, confident, cocky. My name, not yours. My religion, not yours. My goals, my own. Get used to me.” ~ Muhammad Ali

All that Being Said . . . What Are YOU doing?