The Things You Find When Stealing Food From Your Parents House

I 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.
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.
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.
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.

Bless,
K!

Something About Obama

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.
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.)
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.
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.

Bless,
K!

Good Fruit

The 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.

It's Bigger Than....

To everybody who sees the need to make significant changes in whatever community they reside in and/or connect with;

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.

****RBG CODE OF ETTHICS****
1. NO SNITCHING
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.
2. NO RAPE
To Rape is a violation of a persons physical, mental, and spirit. It is Barbaric and anti-African. Rapist should be dealt with.
3. BANG FOR UHURU (FREEDOM)
Warriors can only be initiated by an enemy. If you are going to bang-bang on the system, not other Africans.
4. NO EXPLOITATION
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.
5. WARRIOR CODE
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.
6. NO FALSE FLAGGIN'
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.
7. DISCIPLINE
Get your mind right, focus and organize your life. Be committed.
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).
9. P.E. (POLITICAL EDUCATION)
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.
10. YOUR WORD IS BOND (DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR)
Warriors are only as good as their words. Make your word your bond!





Elevate,

K!

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Thoughts on Superheros

No 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 superhero

To Live in the Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind

The 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).

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).

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.

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).

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.