Testing the Waters...Big Toe First

There 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.
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.

It's Not What They Say, It's What They Do

I'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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

In 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.

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!