i can’t call it.

she was like, “maybe there’s something he would like to say to you, since it seems you’ve got nothing to say to him.”

maybe. i mean, okay, i don’t think about or see you for months. then you pop up. like, through zero invitation/ effort of mine, i see you out in the street. i don’t waste my time speaking, because i don’t want to. i don’t wanna shoot you an email like “aaaaayooooooooo! i saw you. can we maybe try again to talk . . . this time w/ zero attitude or posturing?”
i might be she of the fucked up ‘tude for this, but i believe that once i give you a chance to converse w/ me & you turn it down you don’t deserve another chance. not unless i want to be bothered. when this happens, i don’t effin want to. & even months after that, i don’t wanna. i feel like it’s pointless & that it will rectify absolutely nothing for me. again, why consider you? that may be hella childish, but it’s my protection mechanism. it’s all i’ve got when i feel like someone’s kicked me in the shins one time too many. & at this point i don’t know if i wanna be a grownup about it. of course, it’s okay to say i do. & conversely, it’s fine to say that i don’t. but come the fuck on, dude; in the back of my mind the scenario plays out w/ you feeling like you’re the HNIC because i got at you first. i have issues that way; if we’re talking, we’re talking. it shouldn’t be about upper hands or one party standing in a position to control the other. i always felt like that was a big thing w/ you. maybe i was always wrong? this is what needs to be discussed. the mixed signals, the misunderstandings. let’s deconstruct these myths once & for all.
because i’ll be damned if i carry all this shit with me, on my shoulders, for the rest of my life.

this is a call to prayer, a call to action, a request for presence. i want to know that if i walk past you in the street, there’s no funky energy between us. hell, i wanna wish you peace & mean it. so let’s do that.

ashé.

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red tail feathers: a story from the holy odu.

retold by my dear sister/friend myra louise jenkins the fifth who knows everything.

from the odu Ose

Parrot
was the favorite wife of the king
and AAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL of the other wives were jealous of her

the other wives decided to paint Parrot’s stool with a poison
so that when she sat on it
her back side became red

Parrot was HORRIFIED!!!!

and to top it all off
there was a huge festival coming up
all of the king’s wives were supposed to dance
and they’d all decided that they were going to dance in the nude

Parrot went to the king
sayin’ “baby i can’t dance in the nude like THIS!!!!”
so he told the wives not to dance in the nude this time
they all agreed
and chose another dance to do

the day of the festival arrived
and the time came for the dance of the king’s wives to begin
the drummers started to play the rhythm called
“in the nude”
“in the nude”
and the other wives began to take their clothing off
Parrot stripped down as well

and they all began to dance in the nude

the rulers of the neighboring kingdoms saw parrot’s red bottom and said
“what is this wondrous thing???”

“we have never seen its like!”

“our destinies are not in order!”

“if you will not give it to us, will you sell it to us?”

and Parrot and the king
began to sell red tail feathers
and Parrot became very wealthy
and the king became very wealthy

what was once Parrot’s blemish
became her blessing

“Spoilers are not as rare as Improvers
Improvers are not as numerous as Spoilers
but those who seek to spoil me actually improve me.”

departures are inevitable.

human beings transition constantly. we cannot stop folks from being born or dying. we cannot do anything about the loss of connections between ppl. this means that when that marriage unravels, whether it’s yours or not, it has to be allowed to do so. when your dearest, oldest friend on earth becomes someone you no longer recognize, leave it at that. your hands have to be open so you can receive the something new/ better / different. dissolution is natural. it happens.
& sometimes, through this dissolution, we find things we may have forgotten. there’s a way in which we strip down. we lose the attitude, the posturing, the girdles & whale bone corsets; we go back to ourselves at age 3, peeing the bed & wondering why the fuck there’s nobody who’ll stop the night from swallowing us up. it’s hard. it can be ugly, unpleasant, unkind, & all these other crazy things. not because there’s anything wrong w/ us, but because that’s what it takes sometimes. go back to the point at which you started to crack a little bit. see what the unraveling is really all about. what were the million straws under the one that broke your back? or was the first one the most impactful?

i don’t know. it’s taken me three days to write this. i started off writing inspired by jill scott’s new album (which, for the record, i find nearly impossible to listen to) & some things that friends have been sharing w/ me about their lives. everyone seems to be going through some exceptionally rough shit at the moment. i feel bad, but at the same time i feel unmoved on some level. not unsympathetic, but . . . unmoved. i don’t believe that any one of us is gonna be stuck in our current situations. i may be idealistic, maybe naive or whatever. but i know i’m not going through this bullshit for nothing. i feel like it’s easier to assume that i’ll be stuck in this fucked up job for the rest of my adult life, because hopefulness takes effort. it takes energy to make sure i see the whole picture, to ensure that i’m aware of the finiteness (i can’t believe that’s actually a word lmao) of my situation. i have options to way, moves to make. i am not stuck. i am not gonna be here, this way, forever.

change is inevitable. transition is the norm.
i just have to be a part of it. for real.

a very random question has come to me

in regard to sex:

if i have one pinky up in the air when i grab the dick, does that mean i’m bourgeois?

feel free to answer me in the comments.

so i finally got some big ass sunglasses.

excitement!!!

that meant i had to play around w/ the camera phone. y’all know me.

^ wasting my life force, waiting for the a train after brunch w/ atlanta

my hair was on its own that morning. lmao. but the glasses are fly to me. forever 21 is really the spot. ;)

i’m very comfortable right now.

my cheap apartment, my ‘pretty damn good for someone with no college degree’ salary, regular paycheck, almost-middle-class privilege, second-hand laptop, clearance-purchased & sweatshop-manufactured clothes, hand-made jewelry, ‘nice black lady’ appearance… i am comfortable. i have the advantage of being perceived as heterosexual, as christian (is it just me or are black folks really into assuming that you’re a worshiper of jesus?), as all those things that the dominant society is/ reflects/ seems to value.

it’s starting to make me really annoyed, though. because i’m not really, like, all the way straight. because i’m nowhere near christian, muslim or jewish . . . because my mom was on public assistance when i was a kid so i know all sides of that fucked up ‘welfare’ system, because i don’t think my vote counts but i do it anyway & hope to change shit from the inside out . . .

it’s so hard biting my tongue sometimes when ppl assume that my silence is the same as agreement. i mean, in a lot of ways it can be — but the fact that i don’t say anything could mean that i don’t wanna waste my time digging into your ass & laying all your shit bare. it might mean that i don’t believe you’ll understand me if i tell you precisely what’s wrong w/ making declarations that all white ppl are inherently corrupt, that all men are terrible human beings, that your moontime is a bad thing . . . man, i don’t motherfuckin know. i’m just . . . not okay w/ a lot of this shit but i’m having this problem. the problem is knowing when opening my mouth is worth it, & furthermore knowing that the person to whom i’m speaking is gonna really get it. example: i think i ranted myself into the beginnings of an asthma attack at work some weeks ago when i told the clerical assistant that making racist jokes isn’t the way to get me to laugh — just b/c you’re black doesn’t mean you get a pass to say nasty shit about other groups of colonized ppl. he didn’t understand shit i was saying until i told him to stop talking to me for the rest of the day. that’s a bit extra, probably very unprofessional, but so is cracking jokes about puerto ricans & then saying it’s okay cuz you’re ‘part rican’ w/ your not-really-kinky hair as validation of such information. fuckwad.

anyway, yeah, so… i’m less comfortable. i don’t believe in letting my position of comfort be a reason not to get involved, or at the very least to give a damn. i’m trying to return to the idea of being an activist. someone once told me that he makes signs for protesters because he doesn’t have the energy or time to attend these events. i nodded & thought to myself, “is that really the same as direct involvement in making shit happen?” of course there’s a lot of noise made at protests, not necessarily a lot of change . . . & these shits are definitely like activist cotillions sometimes. i mean, yay signs. is it even that serious? to feel like part of the bigger ‘movement’ you have to make brown bag lunches for the attendees? i don’t know. but to me, activism isn’t about switching your vigilance on or off. in my head, i’m standing up for folks (myself included) at given opportunities, when i know i’m gonna make the biggest impact. maybe being super opportunistic isn’t ‘correct’ activism but i’ll be damned if i interrupt someone running his mouth in the supermarket about some evil jew empire or whatever the fuck. i don’t care what he thinks while i’m tryna buy some toilet tissue. i’m not yet on my constant watch for bullshit. i may never be. sometimes, a sista just wants to get her tazo tea from starfucks or whole foods & just go the hell home (or to old navy).

this is a complicated thing, this being socially responsible. this being an active activist. but when you’re uncomfortable, you do things to make yourself comfortable. being used to something is not the same as being comfortable. also, it’s impossibly fuckin easy to be an angry blogger, a pissed off ACLU member who doesn’t think they have to help send out all that fucking campaign mail* & it’s impossibly simple to say you don’t want ludacris showing up at your university because he said something fucked up about quote-unquote hoes/ hates on oprah/ hasn’t spoken against darfur enough or at all or whatever the hell y’all are mad at this month. like . . . some of this shit is so small potatoes. or, let’s pick our battles wisely enough that we can create change across the board. so many of the bullshit situations we suffer through are related to one another. maybe that’s what it is. maybe the bigger picture isn’t seen. saving the whales is important because nobody’s looking at what’s behind the danger to them — it’s the same danger that oppressed/ hunted ppl suffer. don’t you think? i guess that the balance must be found before we can really put things into motion. at least, i think so.

it’s 3 in the morning, i shouldn’t even be messin w/ this blog right now.

i’ll write something coherent at another time. not having steady internet is probably gonna cause me to write the most insanely lengthy diatribes & then posting them here. so get ready. i might have a book in me yet.

* i used to work for the ACLU. i had ppl call our offices and demand to know why we ask them to volunteer. “aren’t my donations enough to, like, hire someone?” armchair philanthropist wannabe activist assholes. ugh.

the idea that i exclude ppl

from parts of my life is kinda a big joke to me.
this is a placeholder until i can fully articulate my disappointment/ annoyance at ppl

cuz basically, if i don’t invite you somewhere it’s because you either don’t know how to act or i forgot to say something to you

sheesh

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