on: acting right.

thembi's lady laws for black women (with my notes in italics):


1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general - who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the "I saw Keisha on the pole!" story is told, your future boss or uncle who was "just in there with his boys" won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don't let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it? [my note: this ties directly into lady law #8. if you're gonna strip, you're gonna strip. but don't walk out of the shaky butt feeling like someone has managed to get more out of you than what they've paid for. unfortunately, we all know about becoming a sex worker (i include strippers in that) to pay for tuition and to feed babies. in my opinion, there are a few social issues that come into play when it comes to dancing vs. working 3 jobs or whatever. i kinda doubt that most of the women who might need this caveat even read thembi's blog. but she makes a damn valid point: your future boss might be there with his boys. then what do you do? sometimes, the immediate need outweighs any potential fallout. especially when it comes to maintaining the roof over your head and that of your family. ultimately, though, shame/ embarrassment seem to tie directly into whether or not you fully own your history and present. living with no regrets usually involves being unabashedly yourself, which leads us into lady law #2.]

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her "What would Thembi do?" The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage - on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren't "ok" for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying "But blackgirls don’t _______" or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you. [ummmm, BASICALLY. do what you want to do because it makes you feel tingly and warm all over. screw what everyone else thinks your blackness makes you. you're yourself. period. it feels good to own and love your whole self. there's nothing like it.]

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say "Life Is Short," they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to "make it work for the baby", and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can't have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know. [again, the women who probably need to at least be exposed to this concept are not reading thembi's blog. unless thembi is posting her blog for the world on blackplanet or in the back covers of teri woods 'novels' so folks can at least impede their hurtling toward disaster. *shrug* you can't win 'em all.]

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me "I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?" The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default. [it is IMPORTANT to know what your hair is really about. it is really important to style, care for, manage, and possibly even cut your own hair YOURSELF. dependency on a stylist is kinda, like, not cute. no matter what your choice of hair is. if you've got a natural and only ever wear microbraids or wigs or weaves because your hair is 'ugly underneath that' SOMETHING IS WRONG. love yourself enough to know how to do specifically what you want for yourself at all times. it's a liberating feeling.]

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time. [i used to feel bad about not having hit every country i've wanted to by age 25. but then i met someone who's never spent a night in a hotel (even in his own city, which can still be fun and eye opening depending on where you stay), never even been to the airport (cuz his ppl never go anywhere or do shit), and was so amazed at my proclivity toward traveling to nyc on a whim that he nearly pissed his pants at the chance to go himself. i got over that feeling of inadequacy. i am gonna go where i wanna go at every given chance. this year: a conference in harlem, caribana in toronto, quality time w/ the fam at the jersey shore (you aren't a philadelphian without it), and a good girlfriend of mine is moving to atlantic city. it doesn't take a lot, except maybe a plan or at the very least the real genuine true desire. things happen for us all at the right time, when they need to happen. no need to rush to be amelia earhart, but you most certainly need to get out of your zip code. not not just to go to court.]

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole "we were queens" tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about "makin' it rain" unless it's for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you're not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s "baby’s momma." My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don't be that broad. [context means everything, y'all. formal introductions should not ever in your life or your former partner's life include the words 'baby's mama' or any variant. that shit's not cute. my mom occasionally refers to my estranged father as her baby daddy because she thinks it's funny. she generally refers to him as her ex. big difference. also, the context within which we use the words bitch, ho, trick, etc. means a lot. a lot. if you're at a drag ball, bitch is thrown around liberally. it's culture. it's context. watch yourself.]

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it? [i am a second-generation 'oreo'. my mom said they used to call her white girl for being so precise with her english, and it's definitely managed to rub off on me and my two sisters. it's so serious that i have charged myself with the task of learning perfect, unaffected spanish so that i sound the best i possibly can to native speakers. i'm not playing. i know my vernacular, i have my moments where i'm like 'you ain't shit!' or whatever. but when it comes time for that good code-switching i learned in my school days (penn charter and project learn STAND UP!), i go toe to toe with the best. furthermore, i've always believed that excellent grades are the ultimate smack in the face to the very white ppl whom your brown/ black/ red/ yellow peers can't stand. fuck what the other black kids are telling you. strive to get that perfect score on the SAT's. i took AP art history senior year. it was liberating, despite being the only black student in the class. again: be unafraid of your whole self.]

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say "I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!" But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman. [get yours, boo. GET IT. you want to fuck the guy or gal who delivers the milk to your supermarket? does she or he meet or exceed your standards for an acceptable fuck buddy? nobody said you had to marry the motherfucker. go on and make it happen. if you make everyone jump through a bunch of hoops when you aren't trying to go far with their ass to begin with, you may find yourself bothered with the lack of good sex in your life. the key: having and maintaining real standards. truuuuust me. i had a dope boy as a fuck buddy. i never let him talk much, cuz he wasn't the smartest. but he met the standards: ready, willing, able, clean penis, proximity to my home, a deep love for cunnilingus. my standards have since changed, as have i. but y'all get the point. there's a difference between sleeping with someone who's a total waste of your time/ energy and getting yours from someone who simply isn't the boo of your dreams while still being a great sex partner. really.]

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it's just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don't do it. [she is NOT LYING. 'regular' to most ppl is hyperprocessed foolishness that comes wrapped in plastics and wax paper and shit, then goes in the microwave. and that's just what you eat at home. not a good look. i live in a walking city, yet we used to be the fattest city in the nation. the problem: most of us are walking to get junk food. i have a warm(er) weather routine: walk at least 1 mile each weekday, whether it's on lunch hour or on the way to work or on the way home. it's at least a weight maintenance measure. the next issue is making sure i don't get high and wander about in search of wings and cookies at midnight when my ass needs to (a) be asleep or (b) eat a damn apple and go to sleep. the munchies are real shit. i think this city is also full of potheads who will eat anything that isn't nailed down. it's unfortunate, but true. if you have a crazy work schedule like mine, it's super easy to do takeout instead of cooking. it's pricey, though. and depending on where you live, you may only be able to get junk. the key is balance.]

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a "weeeeeeeeaaaaal," twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word "well," but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren't you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen! [i've never fought someone who didn't hit me first. i'll never be the one who advises a friend to go slap the shit out of someone -- that just is not my style. i believe in maintaining my relative freedom by not getting locked up. i also think it's lame to fight someone when you have a job, or rent to pay, or kids to feed. then again, anyone who needs to consider this probably isn't reading my blog. next up: lenée's life skills classes. after doula training/ certification and a bit more day jobbing.]

so, i had this lil chat

with my godmother yesterday.
she said, in no uncertain terms: "listen for your mother, cuz she's comin."

i feel it already.
i'm ready for it.

if you're churchy, don't get mad.

i think he's onto something. it's a 3 year old article but it really resonated with me. especially considering creflo dollar's recent senate probe situation, it seems as relevant as ever . . .


Everyone from Harold Bloom to George Will to Cornel West has publicly lamented the moral status of the hip-hop generation. Now it's the 'New Black Church' insulting us -- but why?
In a desperate attempt to fend off boredom, I found myself at home on a recent Saturday afternoon flipping through television channels in search of a diversion. After a few minutes, I stopped at one of the local public access stations, which was re-broadcasting a Sunday service from one of the area's largest and most popular churches.

By the time I tuned in, a middle-aged preacher was nearing the climax of his sermon entitled "The Lost Generation." "Kids growing up today don't care about nothin' and nobody," he insisted while dabbing a silk handkerchief against his chin to save his Armani suit from his own sweat, "All they want to do is party and have fun."

In spite of my instincts, I continued to listen as he enumerated the faults of the current generation of "hip-hoppers" who have apparently cornered the market on sin. "Hedonistic," "selfish," "materialistic," and "lazy" were just a few of the labels that the preacher assigned to my generational cohorts. After a few minutes, I could no longer suffer his rhetorical assault and changed the channel.

Still, I continued to replay the comments in my mind throughout the ensuing week, struggling to figure out why I was so unsettled. After all, everyone from Harold Bloom to George Will to Cornel West to my own momma has publicly lamented the moral status of youth culture. Why would I care so much about a random preacher? After a few days of reflection, the answer hit me.

According to much of America's ostensible moral leadership -- both religious and secular -- the hip-hop generation (those born between 1965 and 1984) is no longer in possession of the values, beliefs, and traditions that have sustained our predecessors. In its place, it is argued, stands a selfish and hedonistic individualism that prevents our moral and social development.

Unlike many of my peers, I can accept that analysis on its face, although I tend to resist the romantic version of the past in which it is often grounded. What troubled me, however, was that the stance was articulated by a preacher, who was representing the perspectives and interests of the "New Black Church."

By "New Black Church," I am referring to the current configuration of mainline black Christianity. The New Black Church, which has taken its current shape over the past two decades, is the progeny of civil rights-era movements, but can be distinguished by its increased materialism, questionable theology, and dubious politics.

While this description is certainly not exhaustive -- the erasure of denominational boundaries and resurgence of neo-Pentecostalism (spirit-filled charismatic worship) are also critical features of the New Black Church -- it speaks directly to the contradictions between the New Black Church's own practices and its critiques of the hip-hop generation, which have been used to fuel the current moral panic.

As a full-fledged member of the hip-hop generation, the shibboleth of "keepin' it real" that informs my worldview made it difficult for me to accept the preacher's commentary, because I knew that it was coming from a profoundly hypocritical place. Who was he, or anyone from the New Black Church for that matter, to diss us for having strayed from the supposed path?

Of course, I am not suggesting that the truth-value of the New Black Church's critiques is necessarily compromised by its own contradictions. To do so would not only be a logical fallacy, but also ignores the fact that Christian faith is grounded in the belief that flawed messengers can send right and exact messages.

Although the New Black Church's claims to moral authority are certainly betrayed by these contradictions, the larger issue is about its role in replicating, reiterating, and resonating the same ideologies and practices that its critiques are intended to disrupt.

This suggests that the hip-hop generation is not as directionless as others would have us believe. Rather, we are following the flawed moral compass of the very people waging generational war against us.

Money Ain't a Thing

Since the beginning of hip-hop's "ice age," circa 1994, showboating has been a linchpin of the culture. In today's industry, no commercial rapper worth his salt appears in a video without the necessary accoutrements: shiny jewelry, expensive cars, designer clothes and large homes.

Hip-hop's baller elite have even graduated to mainstream commerce, selling everything from sneakers to energy drinks. To be sure, such decadence lends legitimacy to claims of wanton materialism and consumerism among the hip-hop generation. Yet, a brief survey of the New Black Church's leadership would yield a remarkably similar conclusion.

Hip-hop's obsession with "flossing" and "stunting" (showing off) is matched only by the New Black Church's flair for the ostentatious. Many of today's superstar preachers are similarly lavish in their public appearances. For example, televangelist Creflo Dollar (real name!) drives a Bentley and owns a private jet worth $5 million. T.D. Jakes, the Russell Simmons of the New Black Church, owns several multimillion-dollar estates.

While this is certainly not a new phenomenon -- preachers have been driving Cadillacs and wearing expensive clothes since the first amen corner was built -- the stakes have grown considerably higher given the increased amount of revenue generated by the New Black Church. Best-selling books, tapes, seminars and mainstream films have all created new sources of wealth for today's preachers by turning them into household names.

The most profitable project for the New Black Church has been the development of the "mega-church." Founded on corporate business models, these super-sized sanctuaries draw tens of thousands of parishioners per week and hundreds of millions of dollars per year. Additionally, mega-churches create huge stages for superstar preachers to perform for their congregations, which include politicians, athletes, actors, and rappers.

Despite the remarkable wealth of mega-church congregations (or perhaps because of it), it is no surprise that the most bedazzling "Jesus pieces" in the building can often be found around the necks of the people giving the Sunday sermon.

Thou Shalt Not Be Poor

Few would argue that hip-hop's hedonistic impulses aren't at least partially rooted in the belief that financial prosperity is the ultimate measure of success. Given this market-driven logic, it is no wonder that hip-hop narratives abound with rags to riches stories that celebrate the individual over the collective and the material over the spiritual.

Artists such as Notorious B.I.G., who once rapped that "God meant me to drive a Bentley," argue that their enormous wealth is a divine reward, or what Jay-Z has termed "pro-jetic justice" for their impoverished pasts. And where would they get such convoluted values? A look at the New Black Church, whose good news has been reduced to "God wants you to be rich," provides a good answer.

Through their curious readings of Bible scriptures, depictions of Jesus as wealthy and belief that people are poor because they "ain't living right," the New Black Church reinforces the tired conservative argument that the problems of the disadvantaged are self-inflicted.

While gospels of prosperity have always been commonplace within the black religious tradition -- leaders from Sweet Daddy Grace to Elijah Muhammad have, to varying degrees, promised wealth as a consequence of religious devotion -- "name it and claim it" mantras have moved from the margins to the center of the New Black Church community.

Word-faith pastors no longer preach the virtues of struggle, sacrifice, or redemptive suffering, instead exhorting the poor to "get right" with God by accumulating capital for themselves. As word-faith preacher Creflo Dollar explains on his website, "When you find out how to live your life according to the word of God you will become a money magnet."

Of course, becoming a money magnet requires the congregant to share their bounty with the church. Dollar tells his congregation, "God is not coming back to a church in debt. [T]hat would be against his word" ("Changing Your World," 27 March, 2000). In other words, salvation comes with a price.

To ensure that the people pay it, many New Black Church pastors are beginning to ask their members to bring in tax returns to guarantee appropriate tithing. Others request that members submit their entire checks and allow the church to manage their finances in order to certify that they are appropriately sharing God's grace with their spiritual shepherds. Can anyone say Suge Knight?

The connection between New Black Church theology and hip-hop's materialism became no more apparent than when rapper Mase staged his 2004 comeback. As one of the pioneers of the shiny suit era, Mase was the poster child for hip-hop's bling-bling agenda. Disillusioned with the immoral underside of the music industry after becoming born-again, Mase retired from music to devote his entire life to the ministry that he built and modeled after his mentor and pastor, Creflo Dollar.

After being called back to the game (by God or his accountant, depending on who you ask), Mase dropped the disappointing Welcome Back LP. While the album was devoid of profanity, violence and sex, it remained chock full of pro forma references to his wealth of money, cars, homes, and jewelry. Although it was a commercial flop, the album was celebrated by the gospel community for its "positive message," which can be summed up by the final line to his verse on Kanye West's "Jesus Walks" remix: "I'm healed, I'm delivered, I'm rich. And it's all because of Him."

Poli-what? Poli-who?

When the Wu-Tang Clan released the single "C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)," the song reflected the hip-hop generation's developing profit-driven consciousness. It is this belief system that substantiates many critiques of the hip-hop generation with regard to its lack of political focus and activity. Despite the culture's ability to galvanize millions of youth, American hip-hop has become increasingly divorced from concrete political action.

With the exception of the intriguing but shortsighted "Vote or Die" campaign, the hip-hop generation has failed to live up to its political potential and muster a legitimate large-scale movement in the interest of social justice. Of course, comparable claims can be made about the New Black Church, which has grown increasingly detached from politics except under very opportunistic circumstances.

Since the days of slavery, the black church has been a fecund site for political organization and mobilization. Although its politics have never been radical, particularly with regard to issues of gender and sexuality, the church has always been a counter-public space committed to spotlighting and allaying the worst forms of social misery.

Over the past few decades, however, the church has grown increasingly unresponsive to the social conditions of its members. With annual revenues skyrocketing but less than 10 percent of the nation's black churches considered activist in nature, the New Black Church seems to have gained the whole world and lost its soul.

The development of the mega-church has created enormous possibilities for large-scale forms of social activism. Unfortunately, mega-church leadership often deliberately sidesteps controversial politics by not organizing rallies and marches or publicly supporting political candidates. Such moves, clearly done in order to avoid alienating particular segments of their congregations and losing revenue, are reminiscent of the notorious political coward Michael Jordan, who once refused to support a presidential candidate because both Democrats and Republicans buy his sneakers.

One of the more disappointing examples of the New Black Church's profit-driven cowardice came in January 2005 when President George W. Bush spoke to the First Baptist Church of Glenarden, a mega-church in Maryland. Pastor John Jenkins, an affirmative action advocate, refused to publicly challenge the President's stance on the subject because he considered it inappropriate to take a political stand against the President's policy from the pulpit.

Bishop Eddie Long, who pastors a 25,000 member mega-church in Lithonia, Georgia, encourages his members to "forgive, forbear, and forget" racism on the grounds that "we're already in the promised land" (Atlanta Journal & Constitution, 15 February 2005). By eliminating political protest from the church's agenda, these leaders effectively strip the church of its transformative potential while enhancing their own earning capacity.

While some observers have attributed the New Black Church's political passivity to the neo-Pentecostal focus on individual spiritual connectedness, the New Black Church has demonstrated that it is willing to join the political fray when the economic stakes are sufficiently high.

The best example of this came in light of the faith-based initiatives introduced by the Bush administration in 2000. In order to better position themselves to grab the money dangled in front of them, these churches have moved too close for comfort to white evangelicals on ostensible "moral issues," while endorsing horrific public policy initiatives, such as privatization of Social Security and the No Child Left Behind Act.

This proved particularly disastrous during the 2004 elections, when President Bush wooed several mega-church leaders with extremely slippery faith-based funds, ultimately convincing them to support his successful re-election bid. At least "hip-hoppers" have sold on their own terms.

Don't hate the playa

My point here is not to excuse the troubling condition of the hip-hop generation. Clearly, we have moral and ethical issues that must be resolved in order to approximate the level of service rendered by our forebears. I also do not intend to isolate or vilify the New Black Church, as they are not the first nor the only institution that fails to fully practice what it preaches.

Rather, I am responding to a pressing need to protect my generation from the feelings of moral alienation and historical exceptionalism that inevitably accompany the New Black Church's self-righteous onslaught. Hopefully, this defense will inspire the type of self-criticism and humility necessary for social change.

sneaker lust, 2008. part one.

the puma hooper mid decade.






holy god.
someone find them in a boys' 7 or men's 7.5 for me.
please.
please?
thank you i love you i SWEAR i'll massage your scalp...

ain't this some shit?

(fyi -- if you want a tour of the hood, you don't even have to fly to rio for me to take you on a few. philly's got plenty for your perusal.)


Firm in trouble for slum tour with a twist

RIO DE JANEIRO (Reuters) - A Rio de Janeiro tour company could be in trouble for giving tourists too intimate a view of life in the city's notorious slums, including photo opportunities with drug gang leaders.

The Brazilian city's tourism chief said on Monday that the company, Private Tours, could be stripped of its license after a report in Sunday's Folha de Sao Paulo newspaper that it had set up meetings between traffickers and tourists.

The paper sent a reporter disguised as a foreign tourist on the 4-hour, $55 tour of Rocinha, the city's largest slum, that included visits to the "bocas de fumo" where traffickers sell drugs to Rio residents.

It said the traffickers told the tourists stories about their time in prison, described the life of a Rio drug dealer, and would then pose for pictures with their guns -- as long as their faces were not photographed.

Rio tourism chief Rubem Medina said the firm could lose its license if the story was accurate.

"It's not necessary to do this kind of tour in Rio; there are a lot of wonderful attractions," he told Reuters.

Pedro Novak of the Private Tours firm acknowledged that he ran that kind of tour but that "I'm not the only one."

Several companies have for years offered tours of the city's more than 600 slums, offering tourists a controversial alternative to the city's beaches and an insight into the lives of the more than 1 million people who live there.

The slums, or favelas, are largely controlled by heavily armed drug gangs with names such as "Red Command" and "Friends of Friends" that fight each other for control of the lucrative cocaine market.

(Reporting by Stuart Grudgings; Editing by Todd Benson and Vicki Allen)

i couldn't wait

to get here. that must be why i came early. and i know that, from the very start, you've held my hand. no matter how wrong i was, without regard to my stubbornness, you never let go. i appreciate that. i don't know one word to sum it up. i've drifted, come back, drifted again but deep down i always knew you were anchoring me. i'm thankful.

you taught me
how to politely tell someone that i don't cosign their foolishness
what it is to make a dollar out of 15 cents
how to be sharp as a tack on a really low budget
how to make a wreath out of trash bags
what the last laugh really is
how to be a maverick
when to walk away
that faith without work is dead
what forgiveness is without forgetting
how to say goodbye to someone you love
the difference between forward movement and running away
how to love myself regardless of what other people think
that crafting a gift can be better than a store-bought item
discipline for the sake of something i want
how to share without giving myself away

when i was a little girl, i wanted to be you because you exemplified composure and class. your hair, your choice of clothes and jewelry . . . i even used to sneak your cigarette butts because i wanted to know what it'd feel like to be you. i don't know if you ever knew that. but i wanted to be just like you when i grew up. i can only hope that i can capture and utilize a fraction of your uniqueness. the way you move through the world is miraculous to me -- some days i don't think i have the grace or patience. but then i remember whose daughter i am, and i have to correct myself.

i don't really know if i'll ever be able to articulate how much taller i stand because you've helped me and been there and said 'okay' even when i wasn't sure of myself.
thank you.
every day should be your day, but i'm just making sure i take the time to speak on how i feel.
i admire, respect, thank and love you. happy mother's day, mommy!

this is a copy of the email i sent my mom. all the manicures, pedicures and jars of honey-roasted peanut butter won't ever do it.

i would complain about it

but it's what i asked for.
i wanted to communicate with you only in dreams. clearly, & with no punches pulled. last night/ this morning, you asked for the chance to talk to me. i said i needed to think about it. a mutual friend was the one i told this to in the dream -- i presume that this person was the conduit of that energy, he represented the path. if you'd come to me any other way, i wouldn't have accepted it. it was a lot for me -- you know i have some serious anxiety about dealing with you. but i've been touched by the dream; i understand. i know. i wonder if your dream was the flip side of what i just experienced. even if it wasn't, i'm good. for now, i'm okay w/ dreams. you have to have my permission to reach me, anyway. this is just another way for me to let go. it's really easy to say that past hurts shouldn't be able to reach you, but fuck that. we're human. we're super sensitive to traumatic and hurtful things no matter how we allow them to manifest. i respect your humility. you don't have to try to reach me in the waking world. i already know. it's okay. say peace, and let's leave it at that. whatever happens next is up to our ori and the universe at large.

*an end note:

i know you show up every time i dream of you. i can't stop you. but if we engage w/ each other in the waking world i want you to act right, okay? don't make an ass of yourself or make me wanna wish you harm. thanks.

ain't no future in frontin.

( from too sense, swiped from postbourgie)


I'm sure you've seen the video of Obama denoucning Wright yesterday, and the emerging narrative seems to be that Obama wasn't forceful enough when he said this:


You know, I have been a member of Trinity United Church of Christ since 1992. I have known Reverend Wright for almost 20 years. The person I saw yesterday was not the person that I met 20 years ago. His comments were not only divisive and destructive, but I believe that they end up giving comfort to those who prey on hate and I believe that they do not portray accurately the perspective of the black church.

They certainly don't portray accurately my values and beliefs. And if Reverend Wright thinks that that's political posturing, as he put it, then he doesn't know me very well. And based on his remarks yesterday, well, I may not know him as well as I thought, either.


Of course he wasn't. What people want is not for Obama to denounce Wright, but to denounce black people everywhere who have the gall to be angry at America for how they are and have been treated. What they wanted Obama to say was that racism is uneqivocally a black problem, that white people have moved past it but that black people cling to greivances as an excuse for out of wedlock births, unemployment, or incarceration.

It doesn't matter that rhetorically and policy-wise, Obama has struck the right balance between personal and governmental responsibility. It doesn't matter that he's confronted black anti-Semitism, black homophobia, black apathy. When Obama dared to mention that white people might harbor irrational prejudices of their own--he was pilloried by conservatives and liberals everywhere who don't want to feel guilty suspecting every black teenager of being a drug dealer for "throwing his grandmother under the bus."

They didn't want him to condemn Wright, they wanted him to condemn black people. So of course they're not satisfied. For all the talk of how white people are attracted to Obama and the alleged "absolution" he could offer them, what they really want is for him to publicly shift the blame for the racial divide squarely on the shoulders of the black community, so white people can stop thinking about it.

And he didn't do that, so they're not happy.

Being biracial, I know the feeling of searching for that "older brother" or father figure to help you make sense of the world in terms of racial and gender identity.

Obama had the added burden of his father being absent--and so he was looking to fill both a personal void and find someone to help wade through all the self-destructive bullshit black men are told to be. Though Wright was surely not the only one of these father figures, he was clearly an important one. And the idea that Wright would betray him so fully and completely is both heartbreaking and infuriating.

And anything Obama did or said in response was completely justified.

b. scott is the shit.

i love b. scott to pieces! he makes me smile on the inside.

on a run-in with a squirrel:



on the LAX ho-stroll:



on sherri shepherd's dumb ass:

i've been tagged

by this hooker to do a meme where i list 6 quirks about myself. well . . . okay. i'm not tagging anyone.

1) i have the hardest time sleeping with the tv on, though sleeping with music playing is fine.

2) i read magazines from back to front, then read them from front to back.

3) i hate soda, with the exception of good shit like stewart's sodas, the occasional IBC cream soda, & whatever italian sodas i can get my hands on at random cafes.

4) i think being lauded and praised for even the smallest things can make my day go better.

5) i'm really expressive because i want to make sure ppl remember wtf i'm telling them.

6) i hate slow readers. HATE. i don't share print media w/ ppl because i get sick of waiting for them to finish.

oh, hell yes.

this is why i fuck w/ chris from SBPH.

he couldn't be more correct. he also managed to illustrate his point without being a jerk. i love him. i know he's probably not even reading this post, but i had to share that.

b/w

i think i've managed to justify my subscription to premium table channels. thanks to bill, i'm officially hooked on weeds. watching season 3 after not having seen more than snippets of the prior 2 seasons is kind of odd. but i freaking love this show.

i'm tired of this shit.

myopia is a disease. it can be a blessing and simultaneously a curse, if you will. i don't mean what my eyes can do (i'm a prime candidate for corrective eye surgery, actually). i'm talking about worldview perspective, or the lack thereof. i'm still here with mine. i'm not sure there are too many other ways to say it. i believe that love must fuel change. when i change myself, it is out of love -- i cast away old things. i cast away negativity. i cast away damaging things to improve myself. to me, change outside of ourselves should be fueled by the same feelings of love. there is no other way. what could be greater than love?

shine on!

dope girl fresh has been featured on the ultraviolet underground blog.

altered thought's silly ass is back at it. this time, he wants you to learn the basics of having relations.

laetiçia has learned the glory of bragging, a valuable lesson learned from mama gena.

falsabaiana's kids won the GOLD in their ballroom competition. (girl, gimme a link to read if there is one) she's also a recent birthday girl! yaaaaaaaaay!

this is my time to celebrate ppl i know/ love (especially myself! lol) & the wonderful things they do/ create, no matter how big or small.

prayers for you.

daughter
friend
sister
cousin
auntie
uncle
grandmother
grandfather
neighbor
stranger
coworker
customer
client
server
pet-owner
lost one
found one
so that you might love/ fight/ see/ be
better.

i couldn't have said it better.

this post is a reflection of what runs through my mind almost constantly when i'm riding public transit during hours that kids are out, or when i enter the gallery to make a purchase or avoid inclement weather outdoors. i feel like a traitor sometimes. i try not to be elitist. i try not to think poorly of poor ppl. but, dammit, these knucklehead kids & the parents who are raising them half-assed if at all . . . what do i do when i, as an HR professional (until further notice), meet these same folks at a job fair and can't even entertain the idea of trying to recruit them when i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're unemployable?

i'm not saying every one of these buck-wild-in-the-wrong-way kids is gonna grow up to be a total fuckwad.
i'm saying plenty of them are -- one is too many, really -- and i just don't wanna be bothered.

*sigh*

it's enough to make me glad as shit to be a brainiac snob. i know that there's a lot under all this. i know. i know that there's dysfunction at play long before any of these little ones even exit the birth canal. but dammit, sometimes i don't care. i want peace & quiet. i don't wanna have to sit next to your smelly, cheese-curl-eating-at-seven-thirty-in-the-morning ass. i don't fucking care if you know all the words to some dipset song. i don't need to hear if you think j. holiday is sexy as shit -- do you even know wtf that means? and pull your fucking pants up. stop with the imitations of what you think languages that aren't english sound like.

ugh.

i give up. i'm going to bed. rant over.

music to wake up to:

swing - che grand

sunshine (woke me up this morning) - labelle

take it easy, my brother charles - jorge ben

congo - amel larrieux

the art of noise - cee-lo

i (mikey) rock - the cool kids

another star - stevie wonder

papillon (aka hot butterfly) - chaka khan

shorties - sa-ra

skew it on the bar-b (f/ raekwon) - outkast

michael jackson - the mitchell brothers

see-line woman - nina simone

sLAyer (feat pacific division, bleu collar, & diz gibran) - j*davey

mama (metro area birthday dub) - hugh masekela

1 2 3 4 - feist

country livin' (the world i know) - esthero

. . . i'm listening to these songs this morning cuz my black ass reaaaaaaaaaally needs the motivation.


ps --

happy birthday, atlanta. you are a dynamic, powerful, absolutely beautiful soul & i'm thankful to know you. stay open to the universe, continue to reach for everything you want, & don't ever let anyone tell you that you don't deserve every last tasty morsel that is life. may you be blessed richly today & always. beijos!

i can't stop laughing.

courtney, if you're reading: don't front. lmao!

this is why i love her:


greenbench tv on their usual foolishness:

i tried sooooo hard

to avoid reality tv. no flavor of love, no i love new york, i refuse to look at celebrity fit club or college hill. but you know what? i've been had, my sweet babies. felled by the most preposterous reality show yet: ego trip's miss rap supreme. this is like making the band meets the bad girls' club, pressed down & shaken together about 12 times. good god. it's more drama than i care to even associate with on a regular basis.
but mc serch and yo-yo? at the same time? in the same place? giving pointers to women who think themselves the next trina, lil' kim, foxy brown, or . . . khia? it's the perfect formula for absolute foolishness. so, i watch it.

my other favorite is viva hollywood, the telenovela star search. i can't even begin to tell y'all how thankful i was to see that they have a slapping-across-the-face challenge. YES. sweet! and charo is involved. what more could a girl ask for?!

ain't a lot i can say.

ran into a former paramour. the dope boy. he's quite obviously on that shit. it hurts my heart. i never thought we were gonna be some great power couple, nor did i ever think i'd lay eyes on him again. but damn. did he really have to go and do the very same shit he pushed on the block? i pray that whatever happens, his suffering be minimal & that he achieve his highest destiny. we were never close or anything but all i really ever want for anyone is that they find peace inside so they don't have to be the junkie everyone's afraid of/ looking down upon. i'm really at a loss for him.

it's about that time of year again. monae's been gone nearly a year. she was the child of my mother's first cousin. they were part of the only branch of my grandmother's family who lived even remotely close to us in mt. airy. and i rarely saw her as we got older. school, work, social lives . . . all those things kept us from being close. youth. lack of foresight. of course, i'd have been in that girl's back pocket if i knew she was gonna leave here before she could even see her 22nd birthday. i think it might have been mutual for her, too. but, at the same time, i'm okay w/ how things were. there's nothing that can be done about what's already gone on. i can't forget the last time i saw her. i'll make sure i put something out for her & my grandmother on their birthday. iba ara t'orun monae. iba ara t'orun momzie.

there's transitioning going on all over my life. work, home, all sides of me. i need to keep both feet on the ground, so as not to be swept away by these gradual and/ or sweeping changes.
there's much to be done...

in my quest for humorous discourse*

i have found myself exploring the idea that how you eat your food tells about how you get down in the bedroom. to that end, i have enlisted the assistance of a buddy of mine to weigh in on the matter. don't forget: this is humorous discourse. that means you should laugh and learn at the same time. don't agree w/ what's written here? don't be mad, 'twan. i'm just sharing one man's position on something very near and dear to my heart. may the lord add a blessing to the reading of this here word.

peace and love, party people.

i make no bones about it. i love love love cunnilingus. licking the honeyhole. in simple terms, eating pussy. and being as though I'm one of them fancy Black Americans of Island descent, I've had exposure to many delectable fruits that are native to that region of the world. juicy mangos, sweet oranges and stuff like that. i credit my love of the sweet and juicy for making me the pussy eatin' champeen i am today.

i'll never forget this one day in 10th grade i was eating a peach in front of Toni Williams with the big ol' country ignorant ass and she was like "EW! DAY DAY EATING THAT LIKE HE BE EATIN BOOTY!". now you gotta understand something about me...i was a stone cold geek who APPEARED to be cool but inside, i was a nerd. and for her to blurt out that statement with me being a fresh virgin, well, if i'm sure my black ass turned blurple from blushing so hard.

but as i'm eating this peach, i was thinking in my mind..."man if booty taste like that, i can't WAIT to have me some". so later that school year, i finally got around to getting laid and i sadly discovered that while vagina is a pretty amazing thing, it don't look like no damn peaches. so it wasn't no way in hell at the age of 15 i was finna chew me some woman meat...hell no. but let's fast forward 4 years later when i was in college.

i asked my freak ass uncle rick what was the fastest way a young nigga can grow him some facial hair. he calmly says "eat some pussy,"and i laughed nervously but i was curious. i said "i never did that, uncle rick. how do you do it?" and he goes, you eat mango and peaches and oranges, right? just like that but don't use your teeth". now see, i was still skeptical because one, you keep hearing from your Jamaican side of the family that eating pussy is "filthy" and all that, you develop a slight complex. but curiosity got the best of me and i went forth with it. i can remember it clear as day. the girl sat on the edge of the bed and she had some big ol legs and i was thinking "yo, my dome is type large...what if i get stuck in her pussy vortex and die with my head all on her hoo-ha?". i mean i was nervous, jack. but i did it and i literally ate it like a sweet, juicy mango. and it tasted like it too.

you ever had a mango so juicy that you needed a bib? i have...man, if i could, i'd put a slice of mango inside a woman and hoover that sum'bitch out but i don't think that's too sanitary or comfortable but you smell me though, right? now eating pussy wasn't quite like that and i didn't know what the hell i was doing. i think it was a good 4-6 times in before i finally made her cum. gee whiz that was difficult to learn...not anything like eating a mango. you slice a mango, you put your mouth on that exposed juicy flesh and you immediately grab a napkin to catch the run down in your chin.

first of all, young brothers (and sisters, since it's that type of world), eating pussy isn't rocket science but it IS a labor of love. meaning, if you gonna just tip at it with your tongue like it's some hot broth and hold your lips all tight like you a trumpet player, you may not be one for pussy eatin...and that's cool. but if you really wanna get it in, it's simple.

there are many many many nerve endings down there, of course mostly concentrated in or around the clit. if i gotta explain this, log off and go get you some sex ed, chump. now...you have to not just lick there, but everywhere...find out what she reacts too, let the reactions inspire your movement. maybe you just like on the outside, right before the opening...maybe you slide your tounge in and out of it (i got a short ass tounge so i aint done too much tounge-fucking in my career). maybe you GENTLY open that flower up and put tight small circles around the clit...maybe you go viking style and just mash your whole damn mugpiece all on top of it and shake your head like that bamma on the Muppets that played drums in that band. you know who i'm talking about. (editor's note: the author is discussing animal, everyone's favorite wild ass muppet.) so yeah...you just gotta use your lips, mouth, tongue, face and be ATTENTIVE the whole time. don't be afraid of getting your nose, mustache, goatee, beard and eyebrows (yes, i go that hard) wet. just go in there and make your presence felt.

now i'm not sayin' i'm good at it now, but all that hoopin' and hollerin' i tend to be witness to can't all be an act, can it? i know good and damn well that if i ain't the best, i'm in the top 2% EASILY. i credit all my years of training on those sweet mangoes my Nana would buy from market. who knew that an innocent fruit would give rise to my most anticipated sexual activity. i'm telling you right now, if i ever have a son...we're gonna eat mangoes every day until we're sick of them. then when it's time to have "the talk", i can skip by the oral sex portion of it all. he'll know exactly what to do.


*again, i say unto you readers: I DID NOT WRITE THIS SHIT. really. my boy did. and i'm over here dying laughing at it. don't get all emo on me, okay? thanks.

random music-related links.

jesse boykins iii has a blog!

angela bofill is recovering bit by bit.

adele's 2nd single is "cold shoulder."

outkast + raekwon = fire. again.

i'm trying not to be a spoiled brat

but i don't genuinely know what "spoiled" is.
i deserve all of this.
the money, the praise, the relationships, the food, the wine . . . i've never once felt like i didn't deserve it. this is not to be confused w/ any sense of entitlement.
i work, i receive the fruits of my labor, and that's it. i have earned it all & i deserve it all.
i'm not able to apologize for it
i'm not willing to apologize for it
& i'm not going to.

gnarls barkley does it again.

one more time, cee-lo's voice is making me wish i could sing like that. dangermouse's production is sick. and the last track of the album? sick.to.death.

i'll be back w/ a full review later.

old flames: a colored girl retrospective.

i'm not gonna go in order, or even name (government) names. i was reading omi's post of a similar ilk & i was struck by how easily i've been imprinted by the relationships i've had. i suppose that's because i was open, to begin with. there was never a moment when i regretted any of it. . . but i have definitely found myself questioning whether i'd ever find myself undone by the same conditions, if i would be stubborn enough to ignore lessons and major indicators that the shit just might not be a good idea. after all that, i'm glad i can say no. i've learned a lot in those relationships and in between them. enough to know that i don't care to be bothered with the bullshit, enough to know that reciprocity isn't a dream . . . enough to know that i'm never gonna be that woman again.

so, bit by bit i'm gonna be writing my memories. i don't know if i'll be able to find songs to adequately describe the walking disaster that was the rapper, or the overwhelming love i felt when dealing with the runner. i just know that the sooner i put it all out, the better equipped i am to take the hand of the next one and lead him into my apartment . . . to sit on my sofa . . . and watch the 2nd season of america's best dance crew while we eat coconut rice and compare tattoos.

confession saturday:

- i ate like a half lb of cheese the other day btwn some cabot extra sharp vermont white for brunch and 2 slices of sexy pizza. i loved every second of it. casein is addictive.

- in my mind, i fathom the reaction at my job to my resignation next year.

- i love listening to 'weird' music at work. it pisses TKON off.

- i'm opposed to observing my food allergies most of the time, but i hate feeling sick more than anything else so i usually stay on top of my shit.

- i sometimes hate how gregarious i am, especially when ppl i almost never talk to ask me for help.

- i freak out on the regular when my sister calls me, because she always sounds so distressed. i fear that one day she's gonna tell me something really bad.

- i still wish i lived with my family sometimes. living alone, no matter how small or large the apartment can be lonely from time to time.

- i used to try to get fired from my day job so i could collect unemployment and go back to school. now i'm waiting for layoffs so i can volunteer.

- i want my mom to live forever.

- i'm glad my father doesn't try to talk to us anymore. i'm the only one who'd ever let him really hear what he needs to, and i don't think it's anything that should ever actually come out of my mouth.

- as much of a snob as i am, i'm the first one to call someone a snooty bitch.

- i get uptight when black owned businesses shut down and white owned ones replace them.

- moving to west philly is the only thing that kept me from running away to new york

- i'm scared to death to be in a serious relationship right now.

- conversely, all i want is someone to be cuddled up with

- i'm trying to fight back against the depression that consumed me for 3 years. it feels nearly impossible some days.

- having ppl hang onto my every word is a power trip as much as it is nerve wracking.

- i still don't understand why i'm supposed to be afraid of god.

i just spit my tea out

laughing at this foolywang mess right here. lol! if you know anything about me, you know there's nothing more hilarious to me than wilford brimley's diabetes supply commercials. & don't forget the obligatory beyonce post.

this just made my night.

if you identify as pro-life

(link not for the squeamish at ALL)

if you call yourself against abortions
whatever you wanna call it
make sure you're as mad about this mess as you are terminations of pregnancies.

and make sure you protest all the people who you think are involved or make it possible
be extra sure to show them pictures of what they've done wrong, too. okay? okay. thanks.

(link via darkdaughta)

what irks me the most about western religion

(christianity in particular)

is the idea that we (humans) do not deserve god's favor. that we should be breaking our necks to 'do the right thing' and hope extra hard that it's enough. i hate the idea that i could be doing everything i've been told to, and i could still manage to end up in hell just on the strength that i never deserved god's favor in the first place. i never felt like that made sense, even as a little girl repeating gospel lyrics or sharing dogma with my classmates in christian school. deep down inside, i never ever ever believed that hell was real. i never understood -- if we never deserved god's favor in the first place, then why would god create humankind so we could scramble around trying to earn said undeserved favor? it made no sense to me, especially when there are constantly examples (fictionalized) of people who everyone thinks of as holy or as 'good folk' who end up in hell. i mean, when i was a kid we used to have a play every year at church called heaven or hell, where at the end we found out who got to see god's face and who didn't. at least once there was an upset, like someone who was the perfect portrait of holiness . . . but (as we'd be reminded at the time of her demise) played lottery with her tithe money. or something like that. something exaggerated and fucked up. leave it to the evangelicals to frighten you into salvation, right?

so i ignored that side of faith. the 'please don't smite me for the minor infractons, PLEASE' side of it. it felt unnatural, like i wasn't ever gonna win for all my attempts at holiness & righteousness. (i sense that this realization is that point at which most people become agnostics and/ or atheists, which i totally understand) and i knew i felt a presence (physically felt it) generated by the gathering of the faithful. i could not deny that feeling, that energy, that thread that seemed to tie me to complete strangers in that sanctuary. simply put, it was an overwhelming feeling of love. it's the same feeling i get at a concert where everyone's hype to see the performer(s) and the artist gives every bit of that energy back. it's something that is very hard to explain, yet it's unmistakable when you experience it. i always recognized that feeling as what people called the holy spirit, which in christianity is the energy/ force/ asé of the almighty.

so, if god can fill a room with her/ his presence, and can be witnessed by/ summoned by humans, how could we not deserve the favor of the very being which becomes most tangible/ palpable by our very doing? i never understood that. how could we not deserve love?

i suppose, though, that if you never really believed that god is love (all the time. that doesn't change. the verse does not say "god is love on every third tuesday") then you might see fit to proclaim yourself unworthy.

i never did. i never will. the very idea of it, to me, is preposterous. i don't say this to suggest that ifá doesn't encourage its practitioners to work at righteousness or maintaining good character. but, nowhere in any odu does it say anything to suggest that we're just here to scramble and hope really hard that we make it to heaven. it's where you go when you die. that's it. when you take your last breath, your body remains here until decomposition and the part of you that came from orun goes back.

i actually don't know how i ever could have fathomed anything else.

number 31 is my favorite.

tell me this isn't pure freaking genius.

man, you playin.

you go from flirting with me, openly, in front of everyone with eyes
to saying cutesy shit on the phone & telling me how bad you want some face time
then you express a desire to get another 'good hug' from me
& after all that
you write me off via a weakly played round of phone tag
. . .

& never call me back when i let you know that there exists a rain date?

this annoyance has been simmering. the disappointment, not even the what-ifs, has kept this shit going for me
not because i thought we were meant to be
but because i hoped i'd at least get to know you
you didn't even give me a chance.

don't let me catch your black ass in the street, dude
actually, let me
so i can remind myself how little i needed to be bothered with in the first place.

: : : : : :

just because i'm not present, it doesn't mean i don't care.
sorry you feel that way. it's simply not true.

i don't do

special needs men.

that is, if you're beyond the regular kind of crazy
if you're slow to the point where context clues don't help you figure out wtf i'm talking about
if you can't imagine your life without fast food and/ or have a dependency on sugar
if you're afraid to admit not knowing something
if you're afraid to learn something
if you aren't trying to improve your life beyond material assets
if you can't fathom ever vacationing or moving away from the place where you live right now
if your idea of appropriate foodstuffs for a child includes soda or grape drink
if you think cable is a necessity
if you don't know that the first CDs were certificates of deposit, not compact discs
if you think it's abnormal to believe in someone not named jesus, allah, yaweh, jehovah, or god
if you have being rich confused with being wealthy
if you're impressed by kanye but have no idea who j. dilla was/ is
if you think i'm tryna be someone other than myself because i aspire to be multilingual
if you think being on welfare is a permanent condition, and not a tool to improve the quality of one's life
if you think r. kelly is good for anything other than shaking your head or being disappointed
if you have a tattoo on your neck, face, outer wrist, either hand, behind your ear, or on your forearm(s) and you do not have the skills to earn a decent living outside of a crappy, low-paying job
if you believe that it's okay to have sex without protection and you believe children are merely a consequence of getting your dick wet
if your idea of a suitable marriage proposal is tied to the lyrics of jagged edge's "let's get married"
if you grew up in the suburbs but aspire to be "hood"
if you love city of god because it gave you ideas on how to be a bad dude
. . .

if any of the above characteristics applies to you, i qualify you as special needs.
and i especially need for you to stay away from me
cuz i can't do it. your healing isn't my job. i'm trying hard as shit to fix me.

thanks.

yes, dammit

i love this freaking video.

oh, boy.

here we motherfreakin go.

reading this article, a few things popped into my mind:
- maybe folks don't talk enough about what to do when they don't know what to do. i.e., the one woman's situation where the doctor recommended that the mother receive an IV. i don't know that i would have recommended that the woman go take a shower. i always understood being a doula as being present in assisting the mother in the birth she wants. if a client changes her mind mid-labor about being all natural, am i really in any kind of a position to give her static? i genuinely don't think so. everyone's anxious about safe passage for the child. everyone wants the mother to be okay and for it to be as easy a labor as possible. i'm not so keen on sending a woman to get a shower if she's considering an IV.

- umm, of course a lactation consultant is pushing breast milk. it's that person's freaking job. if you don't need consultation, the consultant doesn't have a job anymore. however, lactation consultants are not MDs in most instances. this means that knowledge of a lack of hormone in the mother's body is not something that ought to be laid upon the shoulders of the lactation consultant. i don't think that a mother's inability to produce breast milk is something for anyone except the mother to be upset about. really. i'm sure that such a thing is crushing to a woman who's planned to breast feed. it's really for her to deal with, along with the aid of her partner and whomever else is part of her support system. come the hell on. if i'm doing breastfeeding education with a client and it turns out that she's incapable of producing milk, wtf kind of person am i (let alone doula) if i get uptight with her about using formula instead? really.

- the best part of the whole article is the quote from jessica sacher. parents absolutely have the same amount of due diligence as when choosing a pediatrician. it's cool to be excited about going the natural birth route, and having a doula and/ or midwife. but fantasy and idealism kind of go out the window when you're facing the choice between an epidural and suffering through what may be the most intense pain you've ever felt in your life.

this article made me think about someone's caveat to me a few weeks ago: "make sure you know how to sell yourself as a doula. what makes you unique? why should someone hire you instead of a woman who's an RN or a licensed massage therapist?" it turned my stomach that she turned it into a sale thing. for crying out loud, she works in the maternal & infant health field -- has done so for more years than i've been on this damn planet -- & instead of sharing resources with me, she fucking decides i need to sell my services as one might sell ass on a street corner. i'm glad i stopped listening to her ass halfway through the 'advice session.' i mean, of course i need to present myself the best way i possibly can. but also, i feel that an informed, positively minded parent or couple will choose someone who best fits their needs. it's ridiculous for me to try to land clients the way jewelry salespeople fight for commission. there are more births out there than i could possibly handle. if i were in it for the clout i'd have gone ahead to get an MPH and be someone's snot nosed hospital administrator.

also, i believe that prevention is the one thing that best combats situations where conflict occurs between doula and parent(s), between nurse and doula, etc.

i could be writing all night. i can't afford to. feel free to carry on in the comments, people.

g'night!

-

until she puts it up on blogger

i'm sharing with you dear readers a declaration posted by miss oyin on behalf of the buckwild family (just as adorable as the care bears & their cousins, but way more serious). a declaration of war, of sorts, against the kingdom of niggadom. after an experience w/ two of TKON's most fierce warriors -- women i work with, both of whom espouse SO MUCH PRIDE in black folk/ blackness, i felt it necessary to remind myself why i don't subscribe to that school of "thought."

Me and some otha membas of the Buckwild family have been chit chattin. We been doin some sharing of stories and some truth tellin and just some general vibin about the stuff that niggas get into.



How they abuse

How they manipulate situations

How they hurt us and themselves

All for The Kingdom of Niggadom!



And how no matter how enlightened a brotha is

At the end of the day

Should he choose to do so

He can lay all that to the side and post up in The Kingdom of Niggadom (TKON)



TKON is a terrorist organization. It is, among other things:



Anti-Freedom

Anti-Woman

Anti-Bliss

Anti-Peace

Anti-Cooperation

Anti-Truth

Anti-Erotic



TKON endorses the wholesale rape and destruction of womanhood. And it offers us either a pornographic cardboard cut out OR a whitewashed passionless virginal caricature to replace that destroyed womanhood. Now this don't mean that TKON is necessarily physically raping a woman, (tho TKON isn't above that either) cause TKON can be very subtle in its ways and workings.



TKON will have you to believe that your main purpose in life as a woman is to bear children and be a helpmeet of a nigga. And should you not want to devote your life to bein a helpmeet then something is wrong witchu, or maybe you're a lesbian or perhaps you done picked up a evil spirit from yo woman friends: "Whatchu mean you dont feel free??? You be sittin up letting them women you hang around wit fill yo head wit all kinda nonsense. You betta watcho self or you wont neva have no manTHEN whatchu gone do? It say in the Bible that a womans place is . . ."


One of TKON's favorite threats is that you gone end up in Hell, or even worse...old and alone.


TKON will have you to believe that the abuse that it hands out is really somehow all YOUR fault because you are too free, or too pretty, or too nice, or you smile at men too much or you don't clean house the way that it should be cleaned or on the day that it should be cleaned, or because you don't worship God the correct way.



TKON doesnt necessarily hit or yell, TKON is highly skilled in the usage of painful snide remarks and public humiliation. TKON will also withhold affection to teach you a lesson/punish you for not acting in accordance with the bylaws of TKON. For example, you may not get kissed hello because the house ain't as clean as its supposed to be even tho TKON will NOT clean anything or pick up anything because that is womans work.



TKON promotes listening to your boys before you listen to anything that your woman or your mama tries to tell you because all women want to do is get over on you anyway or tie you down. TKON is the origin of the rumor that "she got pregnant on purpose."



TKON likes the THEORY of a relationship with a woman, but actual intimacy without manipulation of some sort is usually beyond the capabilities of TKON.



TKON ultimately believes that if you don't agree with it, its because you don't UNDERSTAND it,



Cause you ain't deep enough,

You don't fast enough,

You don't read enough,

You don't pray enough,

You don't watch the right tv shows,

You watch tv,

You wear yo stomach out,

You be temptin' men

You haven't read freud or jung

You straight

You gay

You dress too flamboyantly

You don't own enough white linen

Yo jeans too tight

You got a perm

Yo hair is too nappy

You have locs but you don't talk to them

Yo diet has too many carbs

Yo diet don't have enough wheatgrass

You don't eat no meat

You be burnin' all that incense

You don't neva burn no incense

Etc. etc. etc.



When grievances are brought before the court of TKON



1. TKON ignores the entire case because listening and being transformed by what is heard is outside of the capabilities of TKON

2. TKON will flip the entire scenario and make the entire incident/issue out to be some fault of the plaintiff OR circumstances surrounding TKON, because of course TKON is flawless in EVERY way and obviously anyone who doesn't agree is crazed or should be in therapy or on some kind of medication

3. In very special cases, when TKON has cut to complete craziness and stayed crazy for a long period of time, TKON will institute surface level changes that will cause the plaintiff to believe that he/she has been heard. This keeps TKON in its position of comfort and power, with minimal effort. Note: these changes have a shelf life of 3 days-6 months, however based on our field research, the most common length of time is 2 weeks.



Sistas who have fallen victim to TKON typically react in one of two ways:



1. The denounce TKON and say fuck it and they mean it and they spit on the foundations of TKON.

2. They try to prove to TKON that they are a different kind of woman and therefore worthy of the love, affection, and esteem that TKON has on reserve for that perfect woman/queen.



I am a category 1 up in this piece. I say FUCK IT!

I SPIT on the FOUNDATIONS of TKON

LET THAT SHIT CRUMBLE!!!

I will get me a sign and picket outside the gates of that muthafucka

I am SICK and goddammit TIRED of NIGGAS WINNIN

I am TIRED of NIGGAS not bein held accountable for their actions

I am tired of Niggasebein put up on pedestals cause we scared of how they gone act if we worship at our own shrine instead of theirs

FUCK that shit

I am shootin TKON in the stomach and blowin air in the hole

I am breakin TKON's fingers and wigglin em til he pass out or die of a heartattack

I ain't keepin TKON's secrets NO MORE

On THIS day in MY NAME, by the power of my womb, the power that I use to create the life that I love, I withdraw my ASE from The Kingdom of Niggadom



I am exitin' stage left and takin' up residence in The Town of Women

And I got my yam pounder cocked and ready for any muthafucka who feelin squirrely



When the men are ready

we can move to a new place.



But from now until the time that the dust settles on the destruction

I will shake my red tailfeathers in the general direction of TKON



And I will chant that shit down like they be chantin down Babylon



Num Yo Ho, No Mo Niggas Winnin © Beauchamp de Leau & Sugarlee Buckwild



I cordially invite all like minded persons (women in particular) to chant that shit down WITH me.



***Babylonian Sidebar***

we need to find us another name for Babylon cause in ancient times the chief problem that folks had with Babylon was the freeness of the women so I'm actually a Babylon SUPPORTER.


in the name of all that is on point & wonderful in the universe, i wholeheartedly second, third, fourth, and umpteenth that. shit.

yay!

kathryn hall trujillo of the birthing project usa @ the black healers & midwives conference in phoenix last year:



yaaaaaaaaaay!

next stop:
full circle doula training with shafia monroe. :D

philly. all day, every day.

cassidy: i'm a hustla (note that he's on the five-deuce doing his thing)



freeway + allen anthony: alright


dj jazzy jeff + peedi peedi: brand new funk 2k7 (north philly, stand UP.)



bahamadia: true honey buns



there'll be another post like this soon. :D

i'm alive.

busy.
not spending nearly as much time writing as i'd like to, but sometimes you have to read some good shit in order to write some good shit.
i discovered a new band & pineapple upside down bread pudding.

now?

watching real sex, reading some good shit courtesy of mama gena & oyin
giving myself permission to open myself up to what has the potential to be a really fantastic time.

as the sun warms this portion of the world & as a result my cold bones, i see what's on the horizon. it makes me smile.

& maybe i'll learn to wine properly this summer.

big girls in hip hop videos.

i'm supposed to be at work, but whatever.

de la soul's "baby phat."




redman. "i'll bee dat"



i can't think of any others, actually.
i'll be back later to wrote more.

the world's oldest profession.

i watched cathouse the other night.

tonight, i'm watching hookers at the point.

do i even need to go into detail about the glaringly obvious differences? nearly all of the women featured from dennis hof's bunny ranch are white. they're in reno. rural, kind of. the women at the point are brown. latin. black. a white girl here & there. it's mindblowing. they're not safe. the cameras on them are from a film crew, not a closed-circuit surveillance system. if something's 'not okay' for the women at the point, they're on their own. so many disparities. i don't even think the women at the bunny ranch come exclusively from a position of privilege -- rather, their choices to become sex workers seem to be motivated by pleasure, rather than a drug habit or the needs of hungry kids @ home. these women get $1,000 for an hour of their time. the women at the point? one tenth of that if they make demands & stand their ground. i don't know how much of that is clever editing, & how much of it is fact. there's a lot at play. sex workers aren't necessarily born sex workers. but the disparities that i see between the two groups are many, & vast.

*sigh*

and then i see this over at angry brown butch. and this at feministe. i have no words. my heart breaks to know that the names of people who should -- just like every fucking body else, be uplifted as they are remembered for their lives -- are having their names twisted in death. it's fucked up. it's wrong. it hurts my feelings. how could panic be an acceptable excuse? i panicked, SO I KILLED HER. what? really? wow. panic has caused me to lock myself out of my apartment. panic has made me drop shit on the floor. panic has never, ever, EVER caused me to kill someone.
& for fuck's sake, if we could all cry misrepresentation as a reason to kill . . . i would have murdered no fewer than 5 men i've had sex with, one woman i used to be friends with . . . & my own father.
let's be for real. calling someone a prostitute (whether they were or not) somehow magically justifies it, if you follow what's been reported. no. i'm not buying it.

excuses aren't gonna soothe the broken hearts of mothers
no explanation given could ever make enough sense of this shit. someone threw away your baby's life because of what? because they were mistaken about who your child was? no.

someone told me today: when ppl attend your funeral, their wailing is meant to be loud so that it's known in heaven that you were/ are loved.
i definitely hope that these loved & lost ones continue to be spoken of.

swagger jacked

from the butch caucus
(it wouldn't let me customize the title i wanted, so i chose ninja instead of typing in "boocakes," "jawn," or "jumpoff")



and you know i'm dead ass serious, right?

for aj.

via the trantasia flickr album:

silence still won't protect you:

some links to feed your inner (or outer) revolutionary:

the sakia gunn film project

black./womyn conversations on blogspot & youtube (i'm SO mad i missed the philly screening)

brokenbeautiful press

no snow here

the butch caucus

happy reading!

get them out.

(links via darkdaughta's blog post on the matter)

In the summer of 2006, seven young Black lesbians from New Jersey—Patreese Johnson, Renata Hill, Venice Brown, Terrain Dandridge, Chenese Loyal, Lania Daniels, and Khamysha Coates—were hanging out on the pier in New York City's West Village when Dwayne Buckle, a man selling DVDs on the street, sexually propositioned Patreese. Refusing to take no for an answer, he followed them down the street, insulting and threatening them: “I’ll **** you straight, sweetheart!”

It is important to understand that all seven women knew of another young woman named Sakia Gunn, who had been stabbed to death under very similar circumstances—by a pair of highly aggressive, verbally abusive male strangers. At least some of the seven had known Sakia personally.

During the resulting confrontation, Buckle first spat in Renata’s face and threw his lit cigarette at her, then he yanked another’s hair, pulling her towards him, and then began strangling Renata. A fight broke out, during which Patreese Johnson, 4 feet 11 inches tall and 95 pounds, produced a small knife from her bag to stop Buckle from choking her friend—a knife she carried to protect herself when she came home alone from her late-night job.

Two male onlookers, one of whom had a knife, ran over to physically deal with Buckle in order to help the women. Buckle, who ended up hospitalized for five days with stomach and liver lacerations, initially reported on at least two occasions that the men—not the women—had attacked him. What’s more, Patreese’s knife was never tested for DNA, the men who beat Buckle were never questioned by police, and the whole incident was captured on surveillance video. Yet the women ended up on trial for attempted murder. Dwayne Buckle testified against them.

The media coverage was savage, calling the women such things as a “wolf pack of lesbians.” The pro bono lawyers for the young lesbians would later have to buy the public record of the case since the judge, Edward J. McLaughlin (who openly taunted and expressed contempt for the women in front of the jury all throughout the trial), would not release it. As of late August 2007, the defense team still didn’t have a copy of the security camera video footage. And after the better part of one year spent sitting in jail, four of the seven women were sentenced in June 2007—reportedly by an all-white jury of mostly women—to jail terms ranging from 3 1/2 to 11 years. The oldest of the women was 24, and two of them are mothers of small children.

the website
contact the 4 who remain incarcerated
contact the governor and demand their release
sign the petition


it's easy to try to forget, but every day there's evidence of how little the lives of black women mean to the world around us.
do what you can to speak out against this wrongdoing. bring these women home.

i don't think i'm supposed to laugh at this.

but this blog is hilarious to me.

being undone can be wonderful.

(swiped from olaomi's blog on myspace)

She's come undone

A exhortation of sorts that is cried out when a woman gets too loud

or hysterical -which of course has the same root as hysterectomy

or bursts out of her corset

or allows the bun at the nape of her neck to come aloose

or takes up too much space

or speaks her truth loudly

or kicks and screams

or does all of the above at once which means she is having "a nervous breakdown"

or is generally not tippy toeing around in a tight ill fitting pinching quiet small shell

she has come undone

when she

when we

are not controlled

I can be the Empress of Control

soft, dulcet voice, smooth touch, not rattled by anything or anyone

one spiritual group refers to it as being "eternally at peace in any situation"

to make is sound like something good, something laudable, something one should seek out and cleave unto themselves

I can

do that

well

But I Feel so much better

when I am undone

there is not a tight knot in my throat

my chest doesn't hurt

and my back and neck don't ache

I am not as my sister said nauseous from swallowing so much shit

Amy Tan wrote that in her culture women are taught to swallow pain and that that is thought to be one of the duties of womanhood

I had a lover from Gambia once who told me the same thing, that women are created to take pain

conversely

we are not expected to experience pleasure frequently...but to give it endlessly

I am in the midst of an internal battle to stay

undone

an every day war against

the conventions, and mindsets, and upbringing and ways and mores

that poke and prod and suggest and insinuate and demand that I

remain

done

controlled

not doing so is a daily battle

it is a fight for my life

for my breath

for my sanity

for my health

yeah you are interpreting this correctly

what I am saying is that I am consciously working on

being the crazy bitch

the fatal attraction whore

the baby mama with drama

the insatiable freak

that woman who is not above speaking her mind or getting what is rightfully hers

the shrew

that little part that everybody's momma has that we fear

cause

it is a lie not to be this part of ourselves sometimes

to lose it all in the pursuit of staying

done

and it is suicidal

she's come undone

indeed

completely

totally

forever

Un

Done

she refuses to breathe life into lies anymore

she does not sit idly by and take shit anymore

she is not assisting you in abusing her anymore

she is not a cog in the wheel of oppression

nor brick builder for the patriarchal white supremacist pyramid

she expects more

and more

and more

she has the gall to not accept anything less than what she gives!

she is shocking

she is wild

she is off

she got funny ways

she sum timey

she moody

thoroughly

UN

DONE

so

mote

it

be

in the name of all that is round

and juicy

and life giving in the Universe

i'm confused.

at first, i thought that there'd only be snippets of nas' assertion that everyone in this country now qualifies as the n-word. but i found a video clip!

& yeah, i can more or less see his argument -- particularly in post 9/11 america. the way the government watches us, the way our info is sold & tracked. i totally get that. none of us is safe; each of us is victimized. it may not be fire hoses & dogs, but there's always something.

but yo.
that thing about black peoples' right to vote expiring? last i heard it wasn't true. there's at least one statement from the department of justice that clarifies what the voting rights act is all about. i don't know where that ish comes from, but if it comes from the same places that those damn "pass this on to heal little melanie's eyebrow cancer" emails, then i'm gonna be disappointed in nas as a grown person. grown ppl tend to check facts before they start running off at the mouth about things like that. if someone can find me something to back up what he's talking about, i'll appreciate it. in the meantime, i think it's another bullshit urban legend.

i don't knock the john lennon reference, kelis . . . but i still, for some reason, want you to shut the fuck up. i can't explain it. i used to like kelis a lot. but since her second album went unreleased in the states & her third only had one hit (milkshake, y'all) i feel kinda like she dumbed herself down in the name of making herself 'relevant' to the ppl who'd buy her shit: teenagers. bad move. but that's another post for another time.

anita baker: the shit.

i don't care where in the states you grew up, if you were under the age of 18 between 1986 and 1995 then you probably had the pleasure of listening to some anita baker on your local r&b station's quiet storm hour (when your ass probably shoulda been asleep). some video clips to remind y'all why most of us have little cousins in the first place ...

you bring me joy:



it's been you:


that's it for now. i'm supposed to be in bed, but i am instead youtubing & making plantain patties. (don't ask)

compulsory christianity, heterosexuality, & why i can't listen to the radio in my mama's car.

part of this comes from dark daughta's post on a particular video, the other part from having the distinct (dis)pleasure of listening to the "single & saved" radio program on my way home from my mom's last night. i don't like the idea that i have to be christian to be okay or a person of faith any more than i like the idea that i have to be white to be beautiful. i think that as i've aged & explored more of the world, i've gotten into a habit of questioning more things that have always been considered necessary by virtue of being long-standing. through this questioning i've been labeled a trouble making man hating feminist, a non-practicing lesbian, an untrue queer woman & heaven only knows what else. because i refuse to stick to one thing once i gain clarity. i question the answers too, even if i don't verbalize my inquiries. sooooooo, that brings me around to a few questions:

am i so programmed, that i don't know what oppression sounds like even when it comes to a song i like?
is the christian movement against queerness (especially amongst black americans) the result of a genuine understanding of homosexuality as a sin, or is it because the religion tends to describe heterosexuality & breeding as the purpose of humankind? short answer: yes. when ppl aren't hetero, they aren't breeding. when women aren't fawning over men & actively trying to be sheep that renders the men useless. the bible, in my opinion, defines human beings as here for roughly three purposes: serving god, breeding, and suffering until we get to heaven.
is it even possible for me to, once i start to deconstruct things that are oppressive at the root, to simply dig a song/ tv program/ movie? will everything strike me as possibly/ probably racist/ heterosexist/ homophobic?

(more later)

dope girls.

in streetwise terms, the word dope only means one thing: the illegal, illicit shit. usually coke or heroin. it's the norm to be a dope girl nowadays. you have a kid or two. job corps really didn't do for you what you thought it would. that welfare-to-work medical assistant training is fine but the pay caps out at $32K per year depending on where you live -- and if you've done welfare-to-work, you probably have babies to feed. so what's a girl to do?
you start pushing weight, or boosting & selling the hot shit on the street. or, you get two jobs -- maybe three -- so you can handle your business.
i'm not saying that this is what happened to gina hunt & andrea yarrell & their children, but damn if it doesn't seem that way. i'm not okay w/ this shit. it bothers me to no end that they were targeted for robbery and killed over some weed & money. i'm fucked up about the comments ppl have made as to the whys of these murders. i'm not okay with pointing my finger at any woman who seems to have chosen to push weight (or strip or prostitute or do any of those "bad" things) so she can maintain a fucking roof over her fucking head. i'm not gonna knock anybody because i know for a fact that in the past 2 years i've been so desperately broke that i wondered if selling weed was a better idea than dayjobbing it. no lie. & heaven only knows if i'll find myself there again. who knows if any of us will be in that position? over and over again, ppl are saying it's all about what the mothers did before that point. my god, is it really like that? you mean to tell me that before the killer shot that he couldn't have decided to do something else? he couldn't just walk out? what the fuck? but i guess if their house had been mistaken for a different house, it'd be okay. these girls weren't euologized as ph.ds or neurosurgeons -- cuz rich motherfuckers get into drug shit too -- so i'm under the impression that just maybe it wasn't about the fun or glamor of selling dope. i'm pretty sure that these women knew that it's not cute out here -- it weapons were found in the home, they probably knew what the norm is. there's no honor among thieves, obviously. shooting babies? for what?
my heart's broken by shit like this. i understand that murder is par for the course, and i know that folks are transitioning at what seems like an alarming rate. but the way this shit went down really breaks my heart. sometimes i understand why so many folks say "some days it doesn't pay to wake up black." apparently, it doesn't pay to wake up female, mothering, black in this country.

fuck. what is wrong with people? these cowards won't even admit to who shot whom. pointing fingers and laying blame at others' feet, like that shit's gonna help shit. so damaged. so damning.

may these lives be lost not in vain, but to teach valuable lessons to those who hear of the events. may there be rightful, righteous justice visited upon the heads of the killers. may the families of the lost/ loved ones be comforted & edified by the outpouring of sincere support from wherever it comes. it's not often that a mother or father has to bury a child or even a grandchild -- but i pray that those left behind are able to heal.

i don't even know what else to say. peace to the mothers & children.

i did it because it felt good.

i ate that whole container of hummus
devoured that bottle of cheap ass white wine
walked around my apartment in just a pair of heels -- by myself
watched some porn
flirted endlessly with no desire to take it further
bought that pair of lace panties
cut all my hair off
slathered myself in coconut oil
stayed in bed an extra three hours
packed a bowl & smoked myself silly
enjoyed a sandwich with two kinds of meat and a cheese on it
wore a skirt w/ no panties underneath
copped a pair of sexy shoes for no apparent reason
fucked around w/ your homeboy
got some extensions put in my head
drank a whole pitcher of lager & three shots
danced w/ a girl
gave out a fake name @ the club
went bonkers on the clearance rack
got my nails done
kissed a baby
smiled at strangers & said 'good morning'
started a blog
spent 30 minutes in the dressing room & didn't buy shit
ignored that phone call
had a glass of wine w/ lunch on a monday
wore jewelry that didn't match my outfit
left work early to go on a weekend trip
pretended to be younger than i am
lied & said i was older
downloaded an album
wore some crazy looking outfit
called someone a dirty name
got nasty on the mic
played dumb
snickered when someone got fired
called out sick just so i could have sex all day . . .

is akon trying to be deep?

the video:


the lyrics:
Life come and go
So let the history be told
We're all out here
Hustlin' to make our way
And while you're stumblin' and fallin' (stumblin' and fallin')
Why don't you pick yourself up now (pick yourself up now)
You see we all out here
Working day by day

So tell me
How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

You soon lose track of which way is up when you're always being put down (being put down)
You gotta be strong and do what you feel in your heart
Regardless of who's around (regardless of who's around)
I know it might seem bold
But thats all we have (all we have)
Many centuries and we're steady getting old
Clutchin' on to what we never had

Sooo
How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow
(how can we) How can we work it out (how can we)
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (share the gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

How can we work it out (dada)
Dodo (how can we work it out)
How can we work it out (dada)
Dodo ohhhh (dada)
How can we work it out (dodo)
Da da How can we work it out (dodo)
(everybody sing along with me)

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (that pot of gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come (yeah)

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (that pot of gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come (soon come)

How can we work it out (work it out, work it out, work it out...)

knowing this man's popular singles/ collaborations, my eyebrow is raised. yes, i know he goes home to the continent & i know he helps folks & I KNOW about the humanitarian shit.

but i wonder why this single hasn't blown all the way the fuck up.
hmmmmmm.