the bliss project got a makeover.

see the new fancy look here. i’m not quite finished, but it’ll do for now. so WRITE SOMETHING, dammit! submit entries here . . .


i’ve never been one to do a lot of red. i always thought big girls ought not rock colors that bright; i always used to want to be left alone, to my own devices & business without drawing attn to myself. i already stood out physically. why add to it?
then one day when i was in high school my grandmother, mother & i were in the jc penney outlet. & there was this shirt i wanted. i loved it. i wanted it in navy, but it only came in red. with simple white piping around the collar. my concession, since momzie & mommy thought it looked so nice was, well, to get it in a 3x (just for the record, no part of my body has ever been a 3x ANYTHING, even at my heaviest). so i had this tent-like shirt. it was part of my “going away to college” arsenal. so, i only wore it when everything else was dirty. because it was red. & my simple ass didn’t realize that more fabric = bigger clothing = more attention.

as i’ve aged, i have more or less stayed away from brights. red, green . . . as accent colors only. i have print clothing that tends to be on the docile side (w/ the exception of a cocktail dress here & there). . . & the only bright i ever really stuck with was bright pink.

then i found out that i’m omo sango. his colors are red + white. when olaomi told me that i was like “dangit. that means i’ma HAVE to wear red at some point or another. i don’t do red.” i kinda panicked. red hair is one thing (auburn is my summer color of choice), but red clothing? eh . . .

but i’m getting better. tryna grow into who i am. baba’s got me. yeye & my ancestors have got me. most importantly, my ori is doin its thing. i even own a red dress(!!!)

at 26, my first red manicure. hmm. i kinda like it.

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i call bullshit on the following:

~ the idea that michael vick is essentially about to be strung up by his balls because of the dog fighting that went on in a house that he owned, but did not live in. it sounds fishy to me. everyone has ignorant ass cousins who do stupid shit & embarrass the family. unfortunately, michael vick’s ignorant ass cousins might land him in jail. seriously, tell me some of y’all out there on the interwebs don’t belive that you’d have every triflin criminal record having relative knocking down your door if you came into some money. i don’t believe that he knew what was going on. how base are this guy’s cousins though, to be dog fighting in the basement of someone else’s house? family or not, if you’re living in a place that you don’t own there’s certain shit you just don’t do. & i’m pretty sure animal torture & causing bloodshed are at least in the top ten of that list. lock those fools up, absolutely . . . but don’t throw the baby out w/ the bathwater. i think vick deserves to have his situation examined more closely. furthermore, if he were as guilty as his kinfolk et al, wouldn’t they all have the same 5-member legal team helping them? i’m just sayin.

~ this bullshit on the def jam isley brothers’ page. you mean to tell me that on july twenty-damn-fifth you ask the internet to pony up support for ron isley in the form of asking for a presidential pardon? do y’all even know who the president IS? he hates black ppl, & from what i recall of his tenure as governor of texas, he’s a fan of jail & the death penalty. y’all are barking up the most wrong of trees. especially at this late date — the sentence begins august 7th. not that the gov’t would bend on that shit. income tax evasion isn’t gonna be an easy rap to beat. plus he’s already been convicted. tsk, tsk. does this mean that is wesley snipes gets a similar sentence that is gonna be leading the charge to help him out? negro PLEASE. ** let us also recall that ron isley is good buddies w/ arruh “piss on you” kelly. why doesn’t r. release one of his patented “i’m in trouble so lemme saing sumfin about god” songs to help mr. biggs? hmmmmmm?

~ lindsay lohan’s proclamation that she was wearing someone else’s pants. a “black kid.” & they had the coke in them. right. also, that she wasn’t driving the car. someone is most likely going to kick her ASS when she gets locked up. let’s get this straight. you were neither driving nor wearing your own goddamn pants. so if she wasn’t completely trashed, we’re supposed to believe that she was sober & wearing someone else’s pants? come on. (i didn’t really have to call bullshit on this one, it’s obvious, but still…)

~ this new thugged out looking alvin & the chipmunks movie. you can’t be fucking serious, dog. you just can’t. jason lee, as freshalina would say, needs more people. i’m disappointed. i like my chipmunks old school & fully 1960’s middle america friendly. attitudinal chipmunks don’t sit well w/ me. are the chipmunks gonna do all the latest negro dance crazes like the soulja boy, the batman, & the jump rope? oh, wait. there’s a song but no video: the chipmunks crank dat jump rope. i am loosely amused, but mostly annoyed because i’m tired of black folks embarrassing themselves in the name of “self-expression.” i’m all for innovation, but this is becoming a lot more ridiculous than it is anything else. besides, the soulja boy pooh clip is 20x funnier.

i’m back to

where i was about three weeks ago. only my thought process is fueled by a conversation i had w/ some sistas the other night.
i know there are systems in place to stop us dead in our tracks. literally, even. i know that it’s sometimes so impossible to even see the top of that mountain made of disappointment, disaster, dreams, & desperation that climbing that motherfucker seems like a really sick joke. baby, i know what it’s like to have someone smile in my face & wish to hell that they could call me a nigger but instead just say “sweetie,” “honey,” or “girlfriend.” & i used to ache to know what it must have felt like to be acquainted w/ folks like my self, not just folks who looked like me. that ache grew.
the resentment, the annoyance, & the overall feeling of being fucked up in the game . . . those things were winning. i wouldn’t let them, though. & i won’t now.
because if i look myself in the mirror & decide that every fucking moment of my life is a war — a war that i don’t even think can be won — then i may as well pack it up . . . particularly if i come out the front door swingin on everyone i can w/ my machete or cutlass.
by virtue of biology, i am a woman. by virtue of biology, i am black. & by virtue of biology, we have become targets. we remain targeted now. everyone with a lick of sense & deductive reasoning skills knows about the prison industrial complex, COINTELPRO, the big tobacco plots, & everything else on this entire planet which has been put together to snuff the poor, non-white, &/ or female.
yes, baby, i know.
but for me, that venom cannot be turned in on myself
it will not be the weapon i use to slash every hand that reaches out to give to or help me
i will not blindly love what looks like me exclusively because of that fact
it is not okay to hate

cuz if they do it to us, & we do it to them, exactly what the blue fuck is that gonna get anyone?

it’s not gonna give us any of the shit that’s been taken from, beaten out of, drained from, or confused about us. we will not get back yoruba, igbo, twi, akan, hausa, fongbe, kiswahili, xhosa, or any other tongue. our wombs will not take back in the children of rape, nor will they serve as a place to hide the children that we don’t want to be a part of this shit here. hate will not extract what makes you lighter skinned, her hair wavier than it is anything else, that baby’s eyes bright green, what made malcolm’s hair red . . . we can’t undo it. mahatma was NOT playin one bit when he said that an eye for an eye would leave the world blind. cuz if we hate on them, & they hate us some more, & we all go back & forth when will we have time to love ourselves? how do we build ourselves up if we’re wasting energy tearing someone else’s shit down? believe it or not, there has to be room for everyone . . . if you believe in a creator, then how could you not think so?

i must ask this, because i like where i live
i love my people
& i’ve been in that position before where when i say i’m DAMN good friends w/ white women, i get that sideways look. & i have to brace myself for the cries of ‘traitor,’ or worse yet being shunned or pitied because i’m ‘confused’ about who’s really got my back & who doesn’t.
cuz the same sista i want to help with her parenting skills already thinks something’s the fuck wrong with me since i don’t dress like she does. the sista who has the same nappy hair i do, the same ntozake shange books i do, respects the gangsta of kathleen cleaver the same way i do . . . she’s still poppin shit because she don’t think hers stinks. because she’s taking in superficial things about me & deciding FOR me what i should/ shouldn’t be a part of. what part of the game is that?
& the biology isn’t enough for any of us anymore. we don’t respect each other by virtue of blackness, because we are not all in the same neighborhoods by virtue of such. we are all over the place because legally, we could be . . . & the status shit is SERIOUS in these streets right now. fuck the white folks gentrifying all over the nation, niggas is fightin niggas over what some niggas appear to have, be, do, want, or feel. & that, my dears, is fucked up. screw standing up for anyone who’s willing to cut your ass down — black, white, yellow, peach, beige, blue-black, brown, red, or other. i will not, under any circumstances, support destruction of others by virtue of my own dislike for how they carry themselves. not unless it’s fully crucial to my survival.

i know what you’re talking about, but maybe you’ve never experienced what i have.

i was born fighting,
i will die fighting
but in between, i will choose my battles.

omi, i love you

but i am going to have to fight you for introducing me to tay zonday & his special brand of music. wow. like . . . wtf? no, really. i am DYING over here looking at chocolate rain. god. whaaaaat? & he sang the rainbow connection. this shit . . . man, i don’t even know. it drove me to drink. no lie.

when i wrote that i’d update on monday

i was lying.

because i am too gotdamn tired to even think about recounting the whole trip.

i’ll get w/ y’all on the retro tip as soon as i can get my thoughts together. first, i need food, sleep, a bath & some prayer.

there’s a new celebrity gossip site for me to drool over:

it’s called what would tyler durden do?
if you haven’t yet seen fight club then you probably have zero understanding of the hilarity of this site’s name. it’s nearly as dope to me as my regular trash blogs, but it’s named after one of the best films in history. love that. what a fresh lil blog!

speaking of fresh, i found this tripe on crunk + disorderly. TERRIBLE. just plain horrible. claims of being a “natural beauty” aside, khia appears to be borderline illiterate & i think maybe she’s got, to quote one of my favorite movies, that nasty women’s disease. i won’t even waste my time linking to her video(s). no way, man. i think i have a tapeworm from even looking at the mess. lol.


i’m out this wknd,
updates monday!

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