tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45985304064278554292024-03-12T22:54:13.004-07:00Her Name is FiyahThe Truth in the Form of a WomanKiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-65062278989039431582010-05-05T20:57:00.000-07:002010-05-05T21:00:37.231-07:00Operation GraduationSorry, for the lack of posts. I'm currently trying to get things situated for school. Once the financial aid thing is taken care of(i.e. I get that letter saying the check is in the mail) I'll be back on the keys.....Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-81081140226872607852010-04-29T11:51:00.000-07:002010-04-29T12:01:08.140-07:00Her Name is Fiyah: Self PromotionOne of my bff's Bella is a great writer and she's been so gracious to allow me to guest post on her blog. So check me(and her) out at <a href="http://beautifulstruggle.bellavated.com/">bellavated.com</a>. You're welcome, you're all welcome.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-16910469857752353262010-04-28T18:49:00.000-07:002010-04-29T11:59:18.634-07:00Born Free"Born Free" M.I.A. <div><a href="http://vimeo.com/11219730">http://vimeo.com/11219730</a><br /><br />This video(more mini movie at eight minutes) has some extremely violent and intense images, but I feel that it's relevant. While you watch picture people you look like you. More of my thoughts on it later, but please feel free to post any comments that you have. Let's start a conversation....</div>Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-56714882061700409142010-04-15T18:48:00.000-07:002010-04-17T12:38:52.084-07:00I Am HipHop: Reflections on Coming of Age During HipHop's Golden Era Pt. 1(I Fall In Love))In 1981, eight years after DJ Kool Herc dj'ed a block party for his sister's birthday and Kevin Donovan changes his name to Afrika Bambaataa Aasim in honor of a Zulu chief and seven years after Grandmaster Caz, Grandmaster Flash, and Afrika Bambaataa start playing at parties in the Bronx and DJ/MC Lovebug Starski starts referring to the emerging culture surrounding this new music as "hip-hop", I was born in the birthplace of Blues(the Mississippi Delta to be exact). <br /> <br /> I spent a majority of my childhood in Ft. Riley, KS listening to one radio station and it most definatly wasn't a "black(I think the politicaly correct term is 'urban')radio station. Hence, my love of 80s rock and pop. By the time I was 11 I knew every song that came on the R'n'B oldies channel thanks to my dad, because in the late 80s and early 90s he classified most mainstream pop music and the emerging sounds of new jack swing and pretty much all hiphop as "mess" and "noise". So, while we rode around Post basking in the immaculate harmonies of the Impressions and Dellfonics and funk of George Clinton, I was secretly changing his station every time he got out to the car in search of LL Cool J, Guy and Run DMC. Looking back now, it wasn't that my dad didn't like the hiphop so much as he didn't understand it. My parents put me on to Elton John, Bob Marley, Marvin Gaye and a host of others who in turned influcened my Salt-n-Pepa's, Snoop Dogg's, and Common's. <br /><br /> The start in many defining moments of my realization that I was hiphop came in the summer of between my 5th and 6th grade years. We moved to Atlanta. In 1992-93 Atlanta was becoming known as "The Spot" for black people on a come up. Overnight I went from "THE" black girl in class to "A" black girl in class. I had never been surrounded by so many black people who weren't family in one place at one time and it was a culture shock out the ass. Suddenly, my Vans and 5 million friendship bracelets weren't cool, but "white". I can't tell you how many times I was told I acted and sounded like a "white gurl" in the space of one school year. Several things saved me from being completely enveloped in pre-teen angst that year; my BFFs to this day Jennifer and Courtney, my journal, BET( I know, I know but I'm talking about Video Soul with Donnie Simpson and Rap City with Joe Claire BET) and V103 the People's Station. I literally spent hours immersing myself in a sea of James Brown samples, 808 beats, combat boot and baggy Cross Color images. For the first time in my young life I felt like the music I was hearing was speaking directly to me, not around me or over me but straight through me. Add Donald Goines(which I snuck and read behind my dad)and the Autobiography of Malcolm X to this and you have my longest, most tumultuous love affair that still continues to this day; Hiphop. <br /> The more I heard, the more I wanted. Classic junkie behavior. I played "Oooooohhhhh, On The TLC Tip" some much the tape literally popped. I danced with abandon to Raheem the Dream and Kilo Ali and I recorded hours upon hours of VHS of Rap City and The Box. In 1993, when I started 7th grade lines were being drawn between "Up North" and "Down South" kids and their regional taste in music. Since I had moved from Kansas a year earlier I was given a pass. I could sit at the "New York" table at lunch and still Bankhead Bounce after school at the library. At this point in hiphop it was still pretty much New York and everybody else and I what realize now looking back on some heated debates with my friends from up top, is that I definitely got the better end of the stick as far as exposure. While my friends from "Up North" only heard people from New York,New Jersey and surrounding areas, we were listening to everything except "Up North" music. I can't remember how many times N.W.A, Ice Cube, 8Ball&MJG, UGK, Scarface, B.O.N.E Thugz in Harmony and Twista tapes were passed around and dubbed. <br /> In the spring of 1994 I went from having a huge crush on hiphop to falling truly, madly and deeply in love with it, and it all started with a shared earphone from my best guy friend, Terry Neal, a sample of "Juicy Fruit" from MTume and a dedication to all the teachers who told him he'd amount to anything....<br /><br />To be continued....Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-5311263391348292952010-03-25T21:28:00.000-07:002010-04-13T20:15:53.629-07:00I AmThis is a work in progress....or maybe it's finished. I'll see.<br /><br /><br /><br />I Am/ The Great I Am/ And He takes me as I am/ Of His image I am resemblance/ Of miracles/ They do happen/Because I makes it happen/ Through Him/ I am, the Great I am.<br /><br />The daughter of a poet/ I am the child of Man/ A Great Man/Who taught me about men and The Man/He's the Man.<br /><br />I am the mother of a daughter/She is because I amKiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-10482305618261578792010-02-11T20:18:00.000-08:002010-02-11T20:48:39.945-08:00Testing the Waters...Big Toe FirstThere was a point in time when I dived into my blogs head first. Fearlessly offering my life and experiences as kindling that keep my myspace blog fire burning. I typed with a devil may care attitude, no part of me was untouched or untouchable. That was in 2004. Now, I find myself hesitating at every stroke of the key. Not because I'm ashamed of anything I've done but because in the last 3 years I've went through some major life changes and I find the things I yearn to talk about bring me to tears.<br />My blog used to be my therapist and antidepressant. It was how I loosed everything, good, bad and ugly, flying around in my head. I loved the praise from my friends and strangers. Nothing brought a smile to my face quicker than someone leaving a "I know that's right girl!" comment on my page. While I have no doubt that my thoughts would illicit that same response I find it harder to put word to paper(pr screen as it is). Harder now because what I long to speak on leaves my vulnerable. My words will expose my soft underbelly and I'm not ready to be so transparent. Nothing that I would write about would be any different from the conversations I've had with my friends(some of who have wonderful blogs on here) but the difference is it would be just me. Just me and words to digital paper. Just me and the things I've longed to say but held onto because I refuse to be seen as anything less than my optimistic self, but at night when the baby has been put to bed and my Facebook games have been tended to(don't front on Tiki Farm and Sorority Life) I find myself, by myself. It's easy to fill your day with things to do and say but there is a point of time at night that is given to reflection and unless you're pissy ass drunk it's impossible to escape. That's when all the thoughts I've pushed out of my head for the last 18 or so hours come rushing back. The things my 22 year old self tells me to stop being a pussy and blog about them, because other people feel the exact,same way. Sometimes I'm tempted to give in , tempted to throw myself over the cliff and be at the mercy of my feelings and type until I run out of words, but something stops me. It's the knowledge that somewhere someone will be reading my words and know that I cry as I write them.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-6679617789970997312009-07-17T21:12:00.001-07:002010-04-10T22:27:53.115-07:00It's Not What They Say, It's What They DoI'm flipping through the channels one day and Jackie Brown is on TNT or FX. One of those channels that's like a middle child; older than someone but not quite the big cheese. I'm not really a fan of watching some movies on these channels because let's face it the cussing does make it better, but I was bored and considering my other choices,(reruns of the bottom of the barrel reality shows and some amalgamation of all the shows on the Disney Channel)Jackie Brown won by a landslide.<br /> While I'm doing my best to imagine the actors are saying motherfucker instead of mickeyficky when I realize they've been saying nigger the whole time. What the fuck? I've seen the real version so I know that the word nigger is in the script( alot). That isn't what bothers me( I worked out my feelings about Quintine Tarintino and the word nigger a long time ago). It bothers me that the word shit isn't ok for tv, but nigger is. After I turned the tv off I wondered who was in charge of what is deemed "inappropriate" for tv. In my mind's eye I saw a roomful of white men. While I'm sure white men aren't the only people who work for the FCC, I'm pretty sure that they are the people who are in charge of the decision-making.<br /> Which brings me to my second thought( yes, this blog does have a point). I was watching Erykah Badu on an awards show(probably Essence or BET) and at the end of her performance she throws up the black power fist. In the middle of me thinking "that's what's up Erykah" I notice that first the camera man pans waaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy out then he crops the shot so only her arm from the wrist down is showing. I notice the same thing when Common and Nas preform. Again another tv viwing wtf moment. <br /> I find it curious that I live in a country where the powers that be feel that the black power fist and Janet Jackson's breast is inappropriate(maybe that big ass nipple ring was but not the breast in general) but the word nigger is not. One could pull in the argument that black(and brown) people call each other nigga and it's ok for them to say it to each other so what's the big deal, why not put it on tv. Everyone can't do everything. This maybe contradictory but it's my blog so I can say what I want. I don't feel that it is acceptable to show a white man calling a black person a nigger on tv. It makes me feel like somebody might think it's kosher to call me a nigger on the street just because they've seen/heard it done on FX. <br /> In 2010 we have a black President but the KKK still marches in Stone Mountain. It's acceptable for women who look like me to be shown shaking their asses, but these same women damn sure better not get on national television and show solidarity with a group of people that are still deemed "terrorists". I don't think anyone at the FCC is reading my blog(or maybe they are), I'm calling them out. Don't tell me that your saving my kids from the inappropriateness of the word "fuck" but turn around and call them niggers.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-38873187462200303232009-07-08T21:04:00.000-07:002009-07-08T21:06:04.544-07:00In Good Time...I know I haven't posted anything since 07 but I'm working on it. Genius can't be rushed. Plus I have a 16 month old and she moves fast. Catch me on the rebound, more good ish to come.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-91481482164765954662007-09-26T08:47:00.000-07:002007-09-26T13:04:01.692-07:00The Things You Find When Stealing Food From Your Parents HouseI went to my parents house last night to pick up my mail(I'll never change my address)and do some grocery shopping(only the essentials, you know, the things I can't afford to buy like meat and diary products)and I while I was in my mom's office(shopping for office supplies)I came across some old photo albums. <br />The first was full of pictures of me from what looked like every single moment of my life. I still find it a little strange that my mom took pictures of me every month for the first year of my life, but I guess this goes along with having your first baby. The second was a work in progress of my little brother. I got the warm'n'fuzzies looking at pictures of me holding him in the hospital, us going Trick or Treating and him in various sports uniforms. God, how nine years does fly. Then there were pictures of various family members at weddings, birthdays, family reunions etc. All the smiling faces mirrored my own in some way. By the time I got to the last photo album it was late in the evening and I knew my parents would be home soon ( I try to steal their food and toilet tissue while their gone so they never have hard evidence against me) and I almost didn't bother to look because it was a lot thinner and a little less interesting looking than the others, but as I was putting the other albums away the last one fell open on a picture of my parents. It was old and faded and they looked like extras out of a blaxplotation movie. They were sitting on somebodies car gazing at each other the way only the young and in love do. It was clearly a time before I was born, maybe before I was even thought about. My parents were young and unhurried looking. Like nothing mattered except that moment in time when they were posed on somebodies Impala. As I flipped through the photo album I saw pictures of my mom with Farrah Fawcett hair and hot shorts and my dad with a bad ass afro and long black leather jacket. There were pictures of them at their various sorority and fraternity functions, road trips, barbeque's and candid shots. About half way through the album I realized that this book had nothing to do with me or my life. I find that I never really think about my parents lives before they were my parents. Like the only reason they even exist was to raise and lend me money. As I flipped through the pages I found myself wondering about who my parents were before me. Not the stuff that we've talked about over the years, like my mom going to the jr. prom with Marlon Butler instead of my dad(this subject is guaranteed to start an argument) or my dad going to Black Panther meetings in my grandfather's church but the stuff that mattered before they grew up and lost that idealist gleam in their eyes. The things they wanted before they realized that you have to work to eat and that rent will come regardless if you have money. Their hopes and dreams that they put aside to raise me. Their secret longings and wants that got filed away on April 10th, 1981. <br />I sometimes wonder when I have children will they find a photo album like the one I stumbled on. With pictures, love notes and dried flowers. Will they wonder what I was like before they became the most important thing in my life. Will they smile a pictures of me and their father in outdated clothes and marvel at how small I used to be.<br />The last page of the unfinished album only had three pictures one of an ultrasound dated November 1980, a pic of my mom when she was seven months pregnant(she's a documentation too) and a picture of a newborn me and my parents gazing at each other the way only the young and in love do.<br /><br />Bless,<br />K!Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-85488747062781275322007-08-24T12:52:00.000-07:002008-12-09T14:11:29.750-08:00Something About Obama<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqL4n_2QWNCmi9WNQcMjDZTos70y8E1gHMfFFRU9xE7XkrjovoqFNlr40Q5JLdK0m0PtF4SxCfGv0VZ0NZ0W3SdS51eApd14hmGMKtoZsI4XPr_j1yq-kBVB32D9kghJiFhYtgMZg0Qg3/s1600-h/Kiere+photo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqL4n_2QWNCmi9WNQcMjDZTos70y8E1gHMfFFRU9xE7XkrjovoqFNlr40Q5JLdK0m0PtF4SxCfGv0VZ0NZ0W3SdS51eApd14hmGMKtoZsI4XPr_j1yq-kBVB32D9kghJiFhYtgMZg0Qg3/s320/Kiere+photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102366071635611842" /></a><br /> So, I'm in love with Barack Obama(no disrespect to his wife, Michelle). I'm not really sure when I fell in love with him. I think it was sometime between him announcing that he was running for a Democratic nomination and every second that I've seen or heard him afterward.<br /> While I'm probably not the poster child for American involvement in politics( I'm pretty sure the FBI has a file on me somewhere for ordering a copy of Assata Shukur's autobiography with a picture of me smoking a blunt in front of Free Mumia poster wearing a red, black and green wristband), I try to keep up with what's going on in our government and how it affects the world and other countries. I don't vote because I feel some deep sense of patriotic duty, but for no other reason that I am Black and I am a Woman. Too many people died for me to have the right to vote for me not to show up(I'm including local elections too, but my track record is a little spotty there but I do love me some Vernon Jones and his angry ass.)<br /> I've yet to figure out what it is exactly about Barack(yes, we're on first name basis, at least in my mind we are.). It's not just his high cheekbones or broad shoulders or big hands. Has nothing to do with his classic sense of style or the way he pronounces his words. Or the fact that he looks like he smells fabulous(I'm not exactly sure how I came to the conclusion that he smells good but I'm sure it's true). And it's not his amazing character and moral convictions that can be seen in his voting record in Congress or the bills his name is attached to. All of those things matter but there's something else about that man. It's in his eyes. True enough he's a politician and it's his job to make us believe that he'll do everything he says he will and make it rain manna from heaven but for some reason I believe it.<br /> My co-worker and I were discussing Barack over lunch. She's about my age and a black female and I was reading and article about the Democratic candidates and she asked me who I was gonna vote for, Barack or Hilary. Firstly, it struck me as funny that they are the only two candidates I hear people to talk about, like their the only two that matter. Then it struck to me, to a lot of people they are. Sure, I like Hilary. She could use a make-over and a new hair-do and I would probably vote for if there wasn't a black candidate but.......there's something about Obama.<br /><br />Bless,<br />K!Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-10114647453736873632007-08-23T13:16:00.000-07:002009-07-08T13:16:38.484-07:00Good FruitThe earth has been tilled. The seed planted. How does one go from being a self absorbed girl who sees the world in terms of I to being a woman who nurtures, heals, protects and is able to give unceasingly? I'm scared, not just of the physical pain but of what I've been intrusted to do. Did the Creator mean me? I see my life slipping away and I'm afraid. It's all I know. Shaking, I'm holding my life out in exchange for what I know will be so much more. More then just me, bigger then what I have now, but still what I have is all I know. But I ain't no punk bitch. I've never ran from shit and it's too late in life for me to start now. I land on my feet like a black cat. The earth has been tilled and the seed planted. Soon the fruit will yield and it will GOOD.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-77860752223649178262006-08-30T13:03:00.000-07:002009-07-08T13:04:17.676-07:00It's Bigger Than....To everybody who sees the need to make significant changes in whatever community they reside in and/or connect with; <br /><br />It's more than just wearing red, black and green and regurgitating song lyrics,scholarly lessons or throwing on a Che t-shirt. Before a revolution can take place in the streets it needs to take place in our minds. Let's challenge not only the systems that be, in which we operate, but ourselves. Change the way we see and understand things. Fuck thinking outside the box. Erase that bitch. Let's move progressively and collectively. If you see somebody trying to do better, be better, get better, take the time to pass on something worthwhile. Sans self-righteousness or condesending attitudes. There are a lot of people in a lot of places who are waiting for YOU, don't miss your chance to ignite a fire in someone's mind or heart. Too many(esp. the young and unexposed) minds are being filled with empty thoughts. BET ain't gonna save anybody, but YOU might. Outward appearances are deceptive(" every nigga with dreads ain't for the cause/every nigga with golds ain't for the fall."). Don't let minor details like education(or lack there of), dress, speach or residence fool you. It's a lot of backward ass thinking folks with Ph.Ds out here. I want the words of my mouth and the movements of my heart to be in accordance with the actions of my hands. I throw my fist up because I mean it. I want my brother and my unborn to mean it too. <br /><br />****RBG CODE OF ETTHICS**** <br />1. NO SNITCHING <br />The Police, Capitalism, the State etc. are an enemy to the people and to work with them is criminal, Ancestral Treason! Loose lips sink ships, snitching is unforgivable. <br />2. NO RAPE <br />To Rape is a violation of a persons physical, mental, and spirit. It is Barbaric and anti-African. Rapist should be dealt with. <br />3. BANG FOR UHURU (FREEDOM) <br />Warriors can only be initiated by an enemy. If you are going to bang-bang on the system, not other Africans. <br />4. NO EXPLOITATION <br />Don't exploit your people. You live in the hood, they live in the hood and chances are they don't have anything more than you do. We have enough community leaches and pork chop preachers robbing the people. <br />5. WARRIOR CODE <br />Security first! Protect Women, Children, & Elders. Train; work out get your fighting skills up to par. Police your own community. We don't need pigs overseeing us. <br />6. NO FALSE FLAGGIN' <br />Red, white, and blue ain't never did shit for you. Don't be a star-spangled slave. Get on the right team; rally round the flag on some Red, Black, and Green. <br />7. DISCIPLINE <br />Get your mind right, focus and organize your life. Be committed. <br />8. BUILD SURVIVAL PROGRAMS The People come first. You are your Brother/Sisters keeper. Capitalism teaches individualism, which is anti-African. We have to create programs that are for the best interest of the people (especially Food, Clothing and Shelter). <br />9. P.E. (POLITICAL EDUCATION) <br />EACH 1 TEACH 1! It is important for African People to have knowldge of self. We have to be able to articulate why we are in the conditions we are in, who put us in these conditions and how can we get out of these conditions. <br />10. YOUR WORD IS BOND (DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR) <br />Warriors are only as good as their words. Make your word your bond! <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />Elevate,<br /><br />K!Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-67448109926247668302006-07-05T13:12:00.000-07:002009-07-08T13:13:40.972-07:00"Shawty Got An Ass On Her"decided at about 6:58 this morning that I was gonna take a mental health day. There are very few things in this life that us humans control, ie., the weather,love, etc. But I control whether or not I'm gonna go into the plantation and answer idiotic question from 8:30 to 4:30 and today I decided not to.<br /><br />I stayed in bed till about 12ish, watching day time talk("Maury, I'm 2000% sure RayRay is my babydaddy!" "Rayray, you are........not the father!" I fucking love it,lol.) and calling everybody I knew would be at work. I got up around 12:30 to make a trip to the corner store for the essentials; gold'n'honey dutches, Arizona peach flavored iced tea, Reesie cups, hot chips, a can of Coca-Cola, Black Love incense, sunflower seeds and 6 bootlegs( I've already seen the movies and bought at least one of the real cd's, so shut up all that bootlegs are illegal talk. I believe in supporting black business). So while I'm standing in line waiting on Habibi(that's his real name, I swear to God) to ring up the lady in front of me all the events are put in place for someone to get their feelings hurt by your's truely.<br /><br />I have a problem with my tongue. I know this, my people know this and anyone who saw me at club Chocolate a couple of months back knows this. I've been working on not ripping idiots new assholes and I like to think I've made a lot of progress, but every now and then I forget that I'm supposed to be a grown up. Today was one of those days. <br /><br />While I'm standing in line a guy walks up to me so close that I can smell his cheap ass cologne( Brothers please, if you can't afford the real thing or something that smells good, stick with soap. Nobody wants to smell Brute. It is not 1989.). I can't move up and he won't move back so I stand there praying to the Creator that Habibi rings me up before he gets the nerve to say anything to me. Just as I get to the counter and I'm thinking I'm home free, I hear "Hey Dred." While I'm not particularly fond of men calling me Dred(or Slim) out on the street, most of the time it's said like "hey Sis" so I let it pass and I really would have let dude have a pass if the next words outta his mouth wouldn't have been " have you ever thought about modeling?" I live in Atlanta, Home of the Young, Rich and Beautiful, so it's not uncommon to hear a guy trying to holla using that line. What usually helps is when you've looked the girl in her face and then say that. Now, I'm vexed 'cause dude is looking at my ass and asking me if I want to be a model. What to do, What to do? I turned around and drew myself up to my full 5 feet and 1 whole inch, look dude square in the eye and told him if he kept looking at my ass I would bash his brains and windows in with the bat in the trunk of my car. Then I smile at him, give Habibi my money and walk out the store.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-41831286120340197032006-05-02T12:46:00.000-07:002009-07-08T12:58:59.145-07:00Thoughts on SuperherosNo one will play Captain Save-a-Hoe for you forever. Not even the people you love most. It's not personal. The realization of this truth may hurt and you may feel let down but the sooner you understand this very important fact of life, the better off you will be. Find your own cape. Make your own superhero weapons. Don't surround yourself with sidekicks, there is no equality in that. Form your own Justice League. Great minds think alike, as do lesser ones. If you find yourself constantly explaining yourself to someone that "knows" you, STOP! They weren't listening in the first place. In the end YOU are the only safety net you have. The strongest grappling hook is the one made by your own hand and forged in your own fire . Learn how and when to use it so when the time comes it won't backfire like the coyote's acme products. Anyone can fire a gun and get lucky, but only a warrior can weld a sword. Be your own superheroKiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-58480192469017375752006-04-26T13:00:00.000-07:002009-07-08T13:01:55.846-07:00To Live in the Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless MindThe other night I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and I cried like a baby through the whole thing. People that know me in real life and that have watched any movie with me can honestly say that I cry at every last one of them; comedy, drama, action, it really doesn't matter( interestingly enough, I'm not a crier in real life). I hate when I go to the movies with Ooohwee 'cause she always tell me my face looks like it's melting, lol. I cried at The Nutty Professor(the part when Prof. Klump is on his first date with Ms. Purdy and Dave Chappelle is roasting the hell outta him. I mean damn, he was on a date.). I think it has something to do with the background music(or the drugs). <br /><br />After the movie went off I laid in bed and thought about the possibility of being able to erase Him. Would I? A couple of months ago I would have said 'Fuck yeah' but now I'm not so sure. I've dated with some nuts in my life but I really can't say that I would erase any of them from my memory. Not because I'm a emotional packrat(which I am) but because I would want to make sure I never got back with any of these dudes ever again in this life or the next( especially Ricky, my college boyfriend. I hope his ass is still burning from those grits). <br /><br />There are plenty of moments and words I would erase between Him and I. All the spiteful things we said and did to one another would have to go. All the little white lies and half-truths too. I would pay to take back all the things that we did to one another out of anger. I wish there were somethings that I wouldn't have said to Him. Even though He told me He didn't believe me, I would have never said I hated Him. There are some lines that can never be recrossed. I hated a lot of the shit He did but never Him.<br /><br />Then I thought 'what if I did have Him erased'. I would have never learned how to properly roll a Dutch(I still can't get the leaf off all together but my technique is much, much better). I would have gotten hit by a car crossing Broad Street a long time ago and I would have left school a lot sooner because He wrote damn near every mid-term paper I had( and some regular ones too). To His credit, He helped me grow a lot. Not just as a woman but as a person. He put me on to a lot and for that I'll always be thankful. I would have missed out on a lot of shit, like a fucking amazing ass friendship(and some other amazing ass shit that I won't put here 'cause somethings are sacred. even now). <br /><br />The scene escapes me at the moment but the words are still in my brain, "Please, let me keep just this one." There was one memory that Joel didn't want to erase. One he couldn't let go of. Just one. It was one of his earliest memories of him and Clementine. When everthing was good and their love still felt like a new car. The one I would beg to keep would be the time I got the worst flu ever(I think somebody was trying to kill me).My sophmore year at Temple. Down in "the bottom", 22nd and Tioga( if andybody know about Philly they know exactly what I'm talking about). He skipped work and sat with me like one of those in-home care nurses. Force fed me and made sure I was properly medicated and hydrated. He even smoked behind me. At some point I fell into a cold medicine induced sleep. You know the kind where you go to sleep at 11:30 in the morning and wake up at 5:00 in the evening and for 3 seconds you don't where you are? One of those. When I woke up He was still sitting in the chair at the bottom of my bed. Reading something by Octavia Butler. I remember saying something to the effect of 'you're still here?' and He said "where else would I be?" Just that one.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4598530406427855429.post-14631643170592513682006-04-08T13:19:00.000-07:002009-07-08T13:20:09.677-07:00The Illusion of Truth or Damn! Why Niggas Gotta Lie So Much?So I've been doing some thinking and I've decided that in order to not kill people I got to treat damn near everybody like I'm in a spy movie. Liars are the worst. Before you start sucking your teeth, rolling your eyes and sayin' "that bitch act like she don't ever lie." let me clarify. I'm talking about people that just tell random ass lies for no reason. Yes, I lie, as a matter of fact I lied to my boss this morning, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. I'm talking about people, who, instead of exercising a little thing called self control do fucked up shit that they may or may not have meant to do then they lie about it. Now, lying may work for a while, but eventually it all comes back to bite you in the ass. It's called karma. Remember, in order to tell one lie, you have to tell about 15 more to cover up the first one. So unless you have the best memory ever, tell the truth, yeah it's hard but it'll save you lots of face in the end. And as a added bonus, if you hurt someone's feelings, they may still respect you after it's all said and done.Kiki Fiyahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08764405906569565494noreply@blogger.com0