Rap Music is Scary, Damnit!

I don’t know about y’all but those gangsta rappers be scaring the shit outta me — for realz!

I ain’t comin’ for rap music. I’ve listened to a lot of it. I think the people making rap music (including the ratchetest gansta hood rat variety) are some talented mo’ fo’s. Getting them lips around them words is effing brilliance. Anyone confused about the artistry of rap, or who can’t recognize it, should really question they bias. The cultural significance of rap music ain’t up for question.

Still, rap trigger the shit out of me. Sensationalism and violence fuck with my nervous system. Blaxploitation movies I saw as a kid had same effect. I ain’t have critical tools understand what I was seeing. Sirens and gunshots ring out creating an environment like a war zone. The media and news outlets pile more violent representations so-called Black life. Fortunate Black people get daily images o’ Black life countering the media.

What about people don’t get alternate experiences? White kids grew up on rap and been consumers Black culture dominating the media a long ass time. Got to wonder what it’s done to they nervous systems. Rap and other representations that Black people helped create prolly reinforcing crossed frigging wiring of White-identified people—willy nilly flooding the market tools can be turned on us.

Makes me appreciate Afrofuturists like George Clinton, Earth Wind and Fire, Grace Jones, Prince, Minnie Ripperton and other pop artists who got all weird imagining new ways for Black folks to show up in the world. I’m loving up on local Detroit band Mollywop! just released they album “Stand Up” on all platforms. I’m always looking for more examples Black artist all kind, taking us next level evolution.

I can’t listen a lot of popular music being produced by and for Black artists. Neither can I listen to most popular music don’t raise my positive vibration. Not a judgement of the work, but I got a lot of damage to undo.

Resmaa Menakem’s Grandmother’s Hands

If y’all ain’t jumped into Resmaa Menakem, you need to — for realz!

I know I come off bossy AF, telling y’all regular what you need to be doing. Y’all need to git past y’all egos and accept I’m a mah fugging prophet spitting truth at you and just git wit the program. Serious, dough, I’m just the telephone delivering the call the ancestors dialed in. You can answer or do like my mama used to and have the kids tell ‘em you ain’t home.

In they book My Grandmother’s Hands, Resmaa Menakem locate racial trauma where it live: In the body. ‘Cording to Resmaa we can talk ‘til we blue in the face (at least we’d be one color) but, until we address he effect that all this violence has been having on flesh and bone, we ain’t gonna heal from history. The book walks through what that process might look like for Black bodies, White bodies and, surprising AF, the bodies of police officers that hold they own special kind of trauma.

See, racism ain’t just an idea that you think (or don’t think). It’s a system that kills people dead. It’s the real threat that somebody’s gonna decide you are dangerous and shoot you for being Black in the wrong place. It’s the evidence of that threat we see on TV, the news or hear about through social networks when people can’t seem to wait to “gossip” about the last Black person got took out by the police (or another Black person).

Our reptilian brains trying to process all this input telling us this is not a safe place. Unfortunately, the instincts that would tell us to fly, fight, freeze or chill can’t respond to a threat that’s perceived as coming from all places at all times. Sometimes it’s a threat got experienced a long time ago, like a kid with an abusive parent who didn’t have a place to “fly.” The body holds on to that trauma for “the next time.” Since the next time can’t be known the body can hold it a long ass time.

I ain’t gonna get to deep into it. If you’re reading this, you can read. Get your hands on Resmaa and dig in for yourself.

LGBTQIA+BLM2

Y’all, could the gay community please realize that Black Lives Matter—for realz?

I don’t mean to hate on my brothers that go over the rainbow, but damn, y’all, it’s 2020. My black ass does not exist to fulfill your problematic, historic and racist fetishes. I don’t care how complimentary you think you are being, when you toss the word “black” in front of something of mine you trying to describe. It’s really traumatizing and, back when I was in the throes of PTSD, re-traumatizing. If I failed to speak on it, it was likely because I was in shock. I may also have simply checked out and you were having sex with an unconscious person, which is effectively sexual assault.

Maybe this happens outside the LGBTQ+ community, but the idea of fetishizing people based on identity is a form of abuse and dehumanizing, especially if you do it without their knowledge or permission. I’m a fan of a little kink here and there. Who am I kidding? I love kink! Bring on the ball gags and gimp suits. Still, there’s a big difference between wanting to collar a friend, and spontaneously jumping into a re-enactment of America’s shameful and violent history of racial oppression and genocide.

When I played cowboys and Indians as a child, I wasn’t aware of the tradition of violent oppression and colonization I was re-enacting. I would never think of blurting out to a Native American “Scalp me, Geronimo!” during our sexual encounter. I know better. It’s pretty obvious to me the generational trauma of being a descendant of a people who continue to have their land stolen and treaties broken. It’s so easy to forget that the United State was an armed robbery.

I guess that’s a mark of privilege when you can pretend something never happened and then exploit that it happened to enhance your fantasy life. That’s part of the mass hysteria of modern society. Otherwise progressive-minded folks can turn around and exploit their privilege in ways that maintain class, racial and gender hierarchies. Nice people committing acts of psychological warfare. While you have your fun, you might be leaving that “other” needing a visit to their therapist.

I’m not even saying a little antebellum role play can’t be fun, but have the respect to tell the person what you are into before you’re in the thick of things and get consent. Of course, these are often the same guys who neglect to divulge (or even find out) their status (STDs) and will also likely develop an allergy to latex when asked to put on a condom. Sex should be for the mutual enjoyment of everyone involved. If you’re not checking in with your partners to be sure they are having a good time, they probably aren’t.

The House of Venus

Welcome to the house of Venus, y’all — for realz!

I always wanted to be a mother. That ain’t really true. I think I always wanted to be a heroine and that translated into wanting to be an actress. I was “Susie” way before anyone ever explained the word trans to me. I was never unhappy in my body. My body happily accommodated me by giving me curves at an early age. My milkshake brought all the boys to the yard.

I think I’ve always found “houses” to belong to. I played house with plenty of boys. From the time I was seven years old, I knew how to get boys to do what I wanted and they liked to take me in the closet. I was in touch with the goddess, and knew one of my roles in life was to spread a lot of love. For a lot of years I confused spreading love with having sex, but that’s mostly ‘cause we live in a world that tells us if we can’t sell it, it ain’t worth shit. Selling love isn’t too conventional. Sell sex’s itself.

Later, I played Charlie’s Angels with a group of kids who’d been designated male at birth but, like me, were comfortable stepping into female identity. I was the “Kelly.” I think they made me her ‘cause no one saw me as the smart one and no one thought I was pretty. I’ve always been part of a queer posse. It wasn’t until the movie “Paris is Burning” broke out in the 1990’s that I saw the full potential of being part a queer family—a gay gang. I wanted to be part of a house, but assumed I was past my prime.

Now, I own a house and I been thinking about how to put it to the best use. I think I have a lot to offer young queer folks who need a home. I’m not trying to start a charity. These waifs will have to bring something to the table—talent, a skill, desire, magick. The purpose of a house is to take home trophies! The house has to establish itself as formidable. The mother’s role is to whip her children into shape. She molds them into a shining array of jewels and then wears them to the ball.

Ladies and gentlemen and gender-noncomforming: I give you the House of Venus. A space to explore love and beauty in all its incarnations. Don’t come late—come fierce. Who’s ready to be legendary?

Give Venus Some Clothes!

I really think it’s time to stop struggling and queer this shit up y’all — for realz!

Spent the morning reading about Aphrodite and Venus. Aph my patron goddess. She rule pretty much every aspect my life. Plus a film maker pal might use me as Venus in one o’ they projects, so I was doing a little research. Aphrodite started out a lot more than a pretty chick on a half shell. Girlfriend was born o’ Gaia getting sick of Sun frisky every morning. Gaia had Sun’s dick chopped off chucked into the sea. Fiery love shaft bubbled cooling in the waters came out as the being now known goddess o’ love, bringing new meaning to “being a prick.”

Used to be, a lot of mo’ fo’s saw Aphrodite the major deity damn near monotheistic, Cyprus and a lot of places around the Mediterranean and North Africa. She was (actually “they” were — Aphrodite was non-binary) a bad ass bitch resided over human passion (all of them) and human relationships (not just sexual ones). She/They also encourage experimenting with all kinds of ways people come together (pun intended).

Greed, relationships with material things, and rejecting the human connection changed how people saw Aphrodite. ‘Stead of Venus guiding better interaction, men use brute force coerce other people reduce everyone and everything into commodities. Venus became a definite “female” commodity and got her clothes stripped off, eventually getting domesticated into Virgin Mary (yes, the Virgin Mary is the concession for folks who prefer praying to a woman for guidance).

Interactions today still be framed conquests, coercion and making people “act right” getting in they face making noise (including with prisons, guns and bombs). We accept this as how the world works and keep things the same continuing to buy into that belief. We keep feeding the monster that lives off aggression, rage and fear. Somehow we grown addicted that mode of being with each other, even though we ain’t seen it work long-term, ever!

Let’s bring the “girl” back into our movements. I say we start gender nonconforming when we think about how to make the world a better place. Bring the art o’ lovemaking back into the center of our everything and stop all this damn pushing and shoving, even when it’s pushing and shoving back. We don’t have to turn the other cheek, but maybe we can show our asses a little more.

The Hunt: A Review

The movie The Hunt takes cancel culture to the extreme, y’all — for realz!

Warning: this film is extremely violent and disturbing. You might want to check out the parent guide at IMDB before you watch the shit. Oh, yeah, I swear a lot, too.

So, this kind of a movie review, but ain’t the point. The movie star Betty Gilpin, who y’all might reco’nize from Glow on Netflix (or Nurse Jackie). Truth she badass and you might not reco’nize her ‘cause diva transform the fuck out herself every role. She bringing to a film could o’ easily got phoned in, a knock out performance make the movie worth a watch just to see. A scene where she talk about working in a car rental, made the shit clear AF in a flipping breath.

Really got me how the film captures the spirit o’ current cancel culture. This kind of a spoiler, but the movie basically about a bunch of rich white folks thinking it’s cool hunt down and murder people whose politics they think “deplorable.” It’s black comedy so it’s ridiculous and makes no bones about pettiness of the characters. Pretty much everybody in the piece is “trash.” I feel okay saying that, ‘cause they characters, not real people.

Brilliant about the shit is the arrogance that makes it okay kidnap people and murder them ain’t that different than the violence o’ cancel culture in general. There’s bloodthirstiness in virtually deleting people from the world that’s holdover from angry mobs with torches and pitchforks, or the mo’ fo’s screamed the “witch” or that “coon” be hung, lynched, drowned or whatever horror people done through the ages to get they jollies watching other people suffer.

I don’t give a fuck who you are, or what your politics is, if you get a thrill from seeing people suffer in any way, shape or form, you a sick person and you need to get yourself some help. Hiding behind “liberal” politics while you delight in going after people you don’t even know for reasons you don’t really even understand, is worse than just being an ignorant bigot. An ignorant bigot have an excuse. An educated, privileged, “woke” ass mo’ fo’ “cancelling” people is just a fucking sadist.

I’m not here condemn folks. I do the shit sometimes. That’s why my ass is in recovery. That shit is poison. It’s been slowly killing me, causing high blood pressure, coming out as self-destructive behaviors that hurt me and other people. I been an unsafe person to be around. I know that. I also know I don’t want to be that way no more and don’t want to encourage or tolerate that in the people around me. Shit gets waaaay too much traction for me.

So, yeah, check out the movie The Hunt if you can stomach it. If you can’t stomach it, think about the violence you might be doing people you might also refusing to look at.

I’m a Frigging Multitude

I got my DNA back y’all, and I’m a friggin’ multitude — for realz!

This ancestry shit been fucking with me serious. Folks leaving they “slaves” to they kids. Family members fought for the Confederacy. Been tripping I’m related to Shakespeare (confirmed) and Irish kings (confirmation pending). Been trying to keep my cool, but your whole life knowing jack shit about where you come from; hoping to get answers before the people got ‘em all die off, it’s a fucking miracle suddenly have centuries your mah fugging history spread out like a king’s mah fugging feast.

On a humble, y’all, I got relatives all over the mah fugging place and I don’t even know where to start. Funny AF most of them link to a woman ain’t nobody in my family know nothing about. My great grandmother Sally Mary Johnson was stolen from her family at age 13 (or so the story goes) and married my great grandfather. I pieced together a lot on great granddaddy ‘cause there was a bunch of information on his side. I ain’t had zip on great grandma.

One day looking over the tree—a lot of personal genealogy is looking at your tree and hoping to find something you missed—I saw a hint had popped up. Some stranger somewhere had made a connection on they public tree and that had showed up on my tree as a possibility. I was all o’ sudden able to trace my great grandmother’s people back to emancipation and before. That is hard as hell with family who were treated as property.

The bigger surprise was they had changed their names and I was able to find the name given to them by the hostage-takers/“owners” and the name they had selected for themselves after liberation. I have a ton of matches to confirm them too. So, a whole new branch of ancestors to follow and all they descendants to reach out and say hello. People who was never meant to survive none of this shit. Black Lives Miracles.

I got a message from Avis Smith. Avis was a boxer, who had fights held at Madison Square Garden. He told me about a cousin who was secretary to Coretta Scott King. It looks like I’m not the only fighter my family produced. I certainly know who to call when I want to work on my left hook. I’m gonna reach back to Avis and check out his family tree and share with him what I got in mine that he may not o’ known before.

Anyway, I thought y’all’d appreciate another ancestor update, since they the one’s making all this magic possible. Hit me up, you got questions.

Signs of a Political Addiction

I know y’all some political addicts and I promise to be more patient — for realz.

I came at y’all hard recently over how y’all be clinging to traditional politics like a bunch of crack addicts. Y’all probably be thinking “Fuck Pink! They don’t know what the hell they talking about!” I be laughing, even though I know it’s not funny. Addiction is real, and one the hardest things to get an addict to do is admit they have a problem. Here some signs to figure the shit out for y’all self.

Importance: Do you consider your political affiliations an essential part of your life? How often is the shit on your mind? Do you base your opinions of others on their political affiliations? Are you able to hear the political opinions of others as anything other than a threat to your own values? Do you cling to your political activities as the only valid way to be politically engaged?

Reward response: When you’re doing the shit or giving your focus to the shit, does it make you feel like things are easier to manage in your life? Of course that might just be an illusion as thing continue to fall the heck apart. Do you consider yourself a “good” person because of your political leanings? Does the thought of engaging differently upset your ass?

Prevalence: When it comes to politics, this one is tricky. Elections only pop up every so often. The question here is, have you put all your political eggs in the election basket? Do you see voting as a magic bullet to “fix things?” Do you think the world would be a better place if most people held your political views?

Cessation: Like a food addiction, you have to engage in some kinda politics. It’s part of your civic responsibility in the system we have. When it comes to politics, does the thought of things happening a different way make you anxious? Or worse, do you agree that this system is flawed but you take no steps towards trying to change the system? Do you feel like you are trapped on a merry-go-round but can’t get off, even if you want to?

Disruption: Does your focus on politics disrupt other aspects of your life? Has your emphasis on getting out the vote taken precedence over other forms of engagement, like getting to know your neighbors or going to block association meetings on a regular basis or learning about what’s happening in your own neighborhood?

Reverting: Do you tell yourself you’re gonna change things, but never manage to take the first steps to having a deeper social engagement? Do you make excuses for why it’s pointless to try and make meaningful change in your community, city or state? Do you perhaps see your current engagement as pretty pointless, but keep on doing the same thing regardless?

That’s all just a little bit to think about. Maybe you’re not an addict, but admitting it is the first step to recovery.

Liberal is Different than Good

I’m getting a little bit tired around this election mania, y’all — for realz!

I saw a meme comparing not voting for Joe flipping Biden to not wearing a mask during this pandemic. It hinted only Trump supporters refuse to wear them. Guess what? There are stupid ass liberals out there refusing to wear masks. Ain’t like the only sin a liberal can commit is lack of political engagement. Liberals can be wasteful, racist, inconsiderate, misinformed and mean just like some conservatives. Most of the jerks I’ve ever known were liberals. My bestie is pretty conservative.

Folks be getting excited every four years over the election, the rest of the time sit by while people exploited, marginalized and full on robbed of they life, liberty and property. Y’all know damn well the execution of politics don’t change much, even when the optics of politics do. Bill Clinton stood by while both NAFTA and the DOMA happened. Obama ain’t have a much better record selling folks down the river.

Wanna put all your eggs in the electoral basket, don’t get all frothy ‘round the mouth I don’t share your enthusiasm. Outrage you feel for voter apathy’s the kind of outrage others might be experiencing when you don’t go to that protest they invited you to, or when you pull products off the shelf without a clue where they come from, or when you accept policies that marginalize people in ways you don’t have to look at on the daily.

We continue in a jacked process for “selecting” our leadership that could ever in a million years end us up with what we got up in there now. The process so flawed, somebody as unqualified this mo’ fo’ can be in the seat. We got a society that’s stratified, unfair, jaded and lacking in critical analysis. We got a segment o’ folks couldn’t tell a good leader from a Saturday morning cartoon.

Lastly, why is it still so easy to be a racist, a sexist, a homophone and otherwise a frigging bigot? Why don’t we have the basic social sanctions in place that make it uncomfortable as fuck to even experience those thoughts? We collectively have made being an asshole a desirable thing in America. We all did that: together.

Y’all got me tripping! Lol!

Burn, Chicago, Burn!

They tore up in Chicago, y’all — for realz!

I just rolled through Chicago visiting my bestie. They live in Magnificent Mile, a part of the city that’s pretty exclusive. There’s a park right across the street my friend house and a really pretty fresh looking historic building. There was homeless people camped out in the park, but the people bringing they dogs to run off leash (against the law) ain’t seem to mind. They got they own code going so nobody is calling the cops on nobody.

I went out to find some oat milk figuring that would be simple in a neighborhood where you can buy a Aston Martin. I noticed a lot of shit was boarded up. I figure COVID out a lot o’ mo’ fo’s out of business but this was spooky AF. Magnificent Mile is like Chicago Park Avenue with Prada and Louis Vuitton and all that kinda shit that impress some people but I think is a sad sign of values turned upside-down. Anyway, all that shit was boarded up and looked like out of business.

Turned out they’d showed they asses in Chicago and looted the mess out this nice little quiet enclave of wealth. A woman walks up to me in the street and was like “Did they get Chanel?” looking like she just walked out of war-torn Beirut. I’m thinking “How the fuck do I look like I know?” I sure as fuck don’t shop at Chanel and would be hard pressed to believe I look like somebody who does. I was featuring my grey plaid kilt and a v-neck black t, but even my fashionable ass don’t scream Chanel.

So, here’s the problem. People mad as hell and wanna act out, so they run up and down Mag Mile smashing windows and snatching $100,000 necklaces out displays. I don’t think they really trying to make a statement, but I’ll give bitches the benefit of the doubt. To be honest, fuck Chanel. Chanel is part of a system that mobilizes people in the West to buy shit made by exploited people (in and from impoverished countries) in the mass accumulation of wealth on a planet of dwindling resources. Chanel is the friggin’ devil as far as I’m concerned.

The trouble is, looting Chanel sends a message that the people doing the looting think the answer is having that shit. That’s messed up. If people really wanted to send a powerful message, they would show up in Magnificent Mile with giant posters of the exploited workers who make all the high-end shit rich people buy to feel luxurious. Show them the life-threatening conditions people work in. Show them the impact on the planet and countless species on earth providing the stripped resources and fuel usage to produce them. Instead of engaging in violence, hold up the mirror that shows people what real violence looks like.

Y’all know what I’m talking about.

Himalayan

This is a snapshot into a world I’m trying to understand, y’all — for realz!

It needed salt. Looking up, he realized the shaker was at her end. It felt intentional. She rarely used salt. It made her bloat. It sat there just out of his reach. She’d insisted on the pink Himalayan. He would have been fine with regular Morton’s Salt. He‘d been raised on that black paper cylinder with the girl in the yellow dress. Had they changed the logo. Probably. Everything he loved was being changed.

He felt constantly under attack by about everything. There was little he could do or say that wouldn’t make him a target of someone’s anger. Today was no different. It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed his opinion about that subject. In the past she would have agreed with him. Ever since those kids went out in the street breaking things she’s become a civil rights activist. They didn’t even have black friends.

He sat before a plate of organic vegetables, and gluten free pasta, in a sauce that wanted so desperately to be cheese but was not. It needed salt, any kind of salt would do, but he didn’t dare lift his vice to ask her for it. She would take it personally and things had just started to feel peaceful. She actually looked pleased. She was proud of her cooking. She normally would have been giving herself compliments or tossing him hooks to get him to praise whatever she’d made. It was always unrecognizable to him. It was always a name he could not pronounce.

She barely made a sound as she ate in silence. She was meditating. Watching her eat made burned, so he let his eyes fall back on his plate. He could feel hot tears building up and that gave him hope as at least he’d have salt in his food. The first of them fell on his fork as he brought it to his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed trying to keep as still as possible.

Trump Love (Take Three)

Still learning to love Trump, y’all — for realz! (Take Three)

I imagine more than half of y’all was sick of this tune after the first pass. I notice the “likes” dropping. I’mma be real. I know there’s full on terror the man. Don’t even front. You the main one started the tape you play in your head every time somebody challenge you to think about something done made up your mind about, ‘cause you know everything already. This one’s for you more than anybody. I’ll be sad to see you go (but not really really sad).

I’m walking along the river in Chicago wit’ my bestie, watchin’ the hotties run by on the low. My bestie is a sucker for a ice ass I’m not gonna lie. We are like Karma served to man meat as revenge for all the women who ever been cat hollered in the street. We do our part for that pay back. Anyway, we get past Wabash and, looking down on us in typical boisterous ass-ness, is TRUMP hanging off the side a really big (and pretty fucking nice) building. Collective moan. It was a really nice building though. When you got all the money you can pay the finest architect to help you so decadently blot out the sky and dominate the skyline.

Instead o’ bitching, I took my bestie by the hand and we popped a squat on the river walk and said a prayer. We prayed for Donald Trump. I prayed Donald Trump would have an experience of love in his heart would lead him to express a loving idea. One tweet to raise my spirit and other people. I hoped that the loving idea might spread and do some good in the world. I think that’s a useful AF thing to do. I sure AF don’t like the thought the President of the United States walking around a heart filled with hatred...or worse, fear.

I’ve had hatred directed at me. You ain’t lived ‘til your name in print followed by the phrase “should be run out on a rail.” Just recent, behind some shit I wrote about queerness being evolutionary, a frigging stranger tried to get my ass fired from my job. The people took those hateful measures against me, just knew they was justified in they actions. They ain’t give it a second thought. Hatred’s infected our society to the point I don’t believe a lot of folks know where they own hatred leave off and the “evil” they target with they hate begin.

When I roll with love, I know where I fucking start. I know my fucking impact (or powerlessness), ‘cause the evil either get transformed, or it don’t. When I come with hate, don’t nothing change. I don’t expect it to. When I check Trump’s daily tweets and see him celebrating a peace agreement between Israel and the United Arab Emirates to chill the fuck out, I can puff out my chest a little bit. That happened and I never would o’ noticed except I had been looking for it.

I don’t know. I’mma keep trying, though.

Try to Remember and Follow

The United States has a funny sense of memory and selective forgetting, y’all — for realz!

The hypocrisy of oppression has showed it’s ugly ass face recently. For me it was in images of armed protestors on the steps of the state capital building in Lansing Michigan, calling for the head of the governor. This open show of aggression towards the state wasn’t met by calling on the National Guard. There certainly wasn’t a public outcry condemning Western Michiganders as violent terrorists. They squatted on those steps, made they point and then went home.

A few weeks later, when Black Lives Matter protests kicked off following the murder of George Floyd, the armed protests in Lansing by White protestors were a figment of our collective imagination. Some folks reading this making a mental note to fact check me (you won’t follow through). You’ll remember the tear gas and the BLM protestors and justify that as a response to all those scary kids breaking the law and starting trouble. You’ll label hypocrisy as conspiracy theory. This kind of selective amnesia is typical.

I’ve had “stop living in the past” moaned at me so much it’d make you light-headed. It’s a pre-programmed, knee jerk response. I’m told gripping history’ll keep me from ever “healing” by mo’ fo’s could give a shit about lingering wounds. Ironic AF the last time somebody used that weak ass argument, it was response to the removal of a statue Teddy Roosevelt. Removing a statue is an attempt to squelch triggering emotions of people being stuck in the past, but wanting to keep the statue is...er...um.

“Americans” love they history and traditions up to where shit gets shameful. Then, it’s “harping” and “clinging” on the past. Shit forgot one sentence to the next with a legal system supporting selective forgetting. Deeds, contracts and grandfather clauses the string tied so some shit stay remembered. 400 years of stolen labor from kidnapped Africans, and stolen land from Indigenous residents of Turtle Island just “slipped my mind.”

So, what’s it gonna be, America? We gonna hold history or we gonna let that shit go and start from a clean slate? I got some debt I’d be happy to see forgotten. You’ll prolly need to empty the prisons too. Really think about what you’re saying when you say forget the past. You might be giving up your wins along with your losses.

Define “White” for Me, Please?

Can anyone tell me what it actually means to be White, y’all — for realz?

Blah, blah, blah. Race is a construct. Easy to say, but ain’t nary a mo’ fo’ I know who’s ready to drop the historic implications of that shit. Race ain’t supposed to mean shit but people ready to fight tooth and nail about it. We know it ain’t just about frigging phenotype, ‘cause you can look Whiter than a mug, but if people find out your folks (either of them...or grandparents) were considered Black, your ass is Black and they call that shit passing. Don’t be White, though, and get caught trying to “act” Black (and I think people automatically assume what that shit means).

So, we know that White is more than how somebody look. Hell, Walter White (seriously, that name!) was Chair of the NAACP, looking so White not a soul would ever deny his ass wasn’t full on WASP, but Time Magazine threw his ass on the cover in 1938 as a credit to the Negro race. Walter White used to go under cover to lynchings and document what happened. That’s how we know lynchings was frigging community picnics, publicly attended like carnivals.

Does anyone feel comfortable actually using the phrase “I’m White?” What does it actually describe about a person, other than the color of their skin, but not really. Is there a cultural Whiteness? What is that? We know that about 65% of US citizens check a box every ten years to proclaim that shit, from the privacy of the census. But you rarely ever hear someone arguing the case the way a Black person will assert they Blackness.

I know there’s a bunch of clichés about Whiteness. White people don’t have rhythm. We giggle about that through the decades, but and yet the classical music, developed in Europe and attributed to White people, is considered the ultimate form of music expression. White people can’t dance (except ballet...highest form of the art). I’d put money, anything White people humble ass concede, there’s some ultimate version that White people dominate and is damn near exclusive a White domain.

So, who are the White people and what does it actually mean to be White? What comes with Whiteness that’s an actual understood thing that gets played out on the daily? What does it say about family dynamics? What traditions are born out of Whiteness? What are the things that happen regularly that you can say are the “White things” no one else would understand?

I’m looking forward to the comments!

There’s A Program for That!

Everybody needs a program, y’all — for realz!

You know the cliché about the person who goes into recovery and then starts preaching to the world about it? That’s me AF, an’ I’mma tell you why. When you see a good movie, don’t you wanna tell everybody? When you eat at a good restaurant, don’t you tell all your foodie friends? How about when you go on vacation, land a killer job, or meet somebody amazing? You get my point? Something good happens, you frigging wanna tell the world.

All that aside, fact o’ the matter, y’all preaching about your programs all the time. Whatever you think’s the secret to your joy, you talking about it, or focusing on it, or ignoring shit you “should” be doing for your next fix o’ that shit, whatever the fuck it is. Just with some folks, they program is on purpose. With a lot of mo’ fugs, they been working the same program they whole life, damn near, ain’t got a clue they been doing it.

Get honest, here—what you giving your life too? What you worshipping? What you spend the most time/money on? When I say time/money, what I really mean is life, cause money just a reflection o’ time and time just a mechanical way o’ looking at life in little increments. Is it what you gonna buy next? Is it food? Is it that sexy mo’ fo’ you plan to see later? Is it more money? Do you spend your time worried about time?

Likely, you working something. The question to really ask yourself is, “Is the program I’m working, working?” If the answer is no, then you may wanna consider working a new program. If you still stuck on the fact you ain’t got no program—you don’t need one to balance life and shit—you prolly just working the program of your own ego. So, is it working?

How you know? That’s actually easy. When you shut the rest of the world out, and it’s just you with yourself, what happens? What‘s it like when you stuck someplace, with nothing to do but sit with your damn self? What happens when you think of losing everything? What’s your sense of self worth when everything else been stripped away—money, reputation, relationships, and all your other shit? That, my people, is your answer.

I don’t pretend to know if your answer is good or bad. You know it. So, the next question is, what are you gonna do about it?

COVID-19 Dating Survey

Be honest, y’all, who’s dating in the age of COVID — for realz?

Having lived it up through the worst of the AIDS epidemic, I know it takes more than the risk of a chronic disease to stop people from locking lips and other romantic pursuits. COVID-19 is pretty scary, but it ain’t got shit on what we were facing in the mid-eighties when sex could likely come with a life sentence, and did for a lot of people. It’s still pretty easy to get an STD, but there’s plenty of ways to mitigate the risks.

Here we are in 2020. A little blue pre-exposure prophylaxis has made sex fun again. But just when you might o’ thought it was relatively safe to get back in the water, Rona showed up making things risky AF again. I know that’s not stopping everyone. I’ve managed a few work arounds, but my life is pretty celibate right now. Being a pretty sexual being, that ain’t sitting right. I’m ready to hear from y’all for a change. Who’s having sex and how are you managing?

I’m not asking for the details (although you are welcome to hit me up offline with any juicy bits you care to share). I would like to know how people are dating, how they’re meeting new people, and when it comes to getting busy, what kinds of precautions are people using to get the most bang for their bang. The advice you share could save lives. You’ll certainly be helping folks figure out how to enjoy themselves and the company of others with as little risks as possible.

Time is of the essence, I’ve got a few offers on the table (to get thrown down on a few tables) and I wanna know if there’s a way to take advantage without risking my life and lungs for a few hours (optimism) of fun.

Who’s sharing?

Stress Addicts to the Front

Stress may be the new drug, y’all — for realz!

I ain’t tryna judge none of y’all. I feel mad love for all the peeps that read my shit. But, I’m picking up on a vibe across all these themes. A lot of y’all (and prolly me too), tend to make excuses when it comes to holding on to shit that stresses y’all out. I got a truckload of tools I can use to settle my shit down at a moments notice. But I’mma say, seven times outta ten, I choose not to use ‘em and go down that road to wrack and friggin’ ruin.

I been sharing a lot of the hacks I use, specifically #wagelove, which came from late Detroit activist Charity Hicks, and I had it hammered home via Tawana “Honeycomb the Poet” Petty. I’ve had that shit called Kumbaya, I’ve had mo’ fo’s come right out and tell me they was blocking my shit, and I’ve gotten a lot of “who the fuck is this?” in response to suggesting that we embrace our internal mojo and project the energy of love into the world. Facts: Stop struggling and get spiritual.

Seriously, what’s that about? Does anyone out there really think screaming, cussing, wishing ill, fear, complaining or any other negative approaches to they problems is gonna lead to a solution? Do any of you think that scaring people into change is gonna work? I’m really asking. I can’t for piss do the math that saying louder and louder to people who hate me, “Stop hating me” is gonna make them start loving me.

I’m not trying to be holier than than any other ma’ fuggies out there. I just need somebody to walk me through this shit. I keep hearing how y’all protest politics is working. Based on my observation, ain’t nobody free, we’re still getting slaughtered, the planet in worse jeopardy than ever, and the ones who hold power got that shot more concentrated than ever in ma’ fugging history.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Take a good look at your expectations. Do they fit the description?

Get vocal, y’all. Talk me off the ledge, if you think I’m on one.

COVID Vaccine Worries

For the DMC, BLM is Black Lab Mice, y’all — for realz!

Black people traditionally don’t fuck with hospitals. I used to think that was just some superstitious bullshit. Part ‘cause my moms was a nurse and I had a pretty healthy relationship with the world o’ medicine. Then I had a panic attack and took myself to DMC’s emergency room. I learned what can happen when a random Black person shows up at the hospital.

First, they tried to admit me, even after it was clear it couldn’t have been a heart attack. Then, after stowing me in a corner for hours, they took me down into a ratchet ass basement area for what they called a “stress test.” I was given an injection meant to make me feel like I full on was having a heart attack, while they casual took readings. When I told them I felt like I might be dying, they gave me another injection.

I didn’t think much of it. I figured it was routine, until I got slapped with a $10,000 bill. My insurance company didn’t cover the experimental procedure! Experiment?! I’d been a frigging lab rat and ain’t a soul asked for my consent, or explained that shit wasn’t covered by insurance. How many other people they tried that on? How many other experiments being done on folks in basement room without they permission?

It ain’t just Detroit Medical Center. I ran into similar shit with my first therapist. He ain’t wanna give me a referral to a psychiatrist, ‘cause he ain’t believe in medication. I was having panic attacks that felt like heart attacks! No wonder Ms. K, my neighbor who survived cancer, says she won’t be one o’ the first trying out the COVID-19 vaccine. She remembered rumors of the polio vaccine was tested on the children of African diplomats.

Historically, Black people have been lab mice in the U. S. Some may recall the Tuskegee experiment, where Black men were left untreated for syphilis and studied. All of modern gynecology is owed to Black women who endured experiments without anesthesia. Black folks is justified in their fear of the medical profession that historically has preyed on marginalized people to do the dirty work and to extract wealth. Shit, I’m with you, Ms. K. I’ll wait until rich White folks are getting the vaccine before I line up for a shot.

The Bible is ‘Game of Thrones’ Lit

F*@# a Game of Thrones, the Bible is lit, y’all — for realz!

I’m the last bitch should be hawking anything religious, but if you a fan of epic battle scenes, wizardry, and special effects, get you a Bible, start at page one and keep going. The Lannisters ain’t have shit on the House of King David. Cain got noise about killing Abel. Spoiler alert: Prince Absalom kills his brother Amnon who sexually defiles their sister Tamar. Family intrigue and treachery is a biblical staple!

For realz, why hasn’t anybody started a Hollywood franchise. You are thinking, “Pink, there’s plenty of movies about the Bible.” Bullshit. Hollywood has given you the domesticated version of the Bible. Noah and the Flood – gasp! The Ten Commandments, ooooh! Give me a break. That’s some Disney channel ass shit compared to Judges, Kings, Ezekiel, and the rest.

Okay, people know Sampson and Delilah. Sampson is garbage compared to the first 11 Judges—Othniel, Ehud, Shamgar, Deborah, Gideon, Tola, Jair, Jephthah, Ibzan, Elon and Abdon. That’s an HBO series by itself. Get on that shit y’all. Wise King Solomon was a baller wit’ like 700 wives and 300 mistresses. The first half of his reign was dullsville, but the second half would’ve put Caligula to shame.

Serious, I’m blown away this sensationalism’s the mortar ‘tween the stones of Western “spirituality.” It do teach some valuable lessons, though and I wanna share them here:

1. Violence as a punishment do not work. That shit always backfire.

2. If they try to censor your ass, pull out the Old Testament.

3. Never become King of anything. Your life will become a living hell.

4. The squeaky wheel do get oiled faster (refer to Job).

5. The “sins of the father” thing’s a misquote. Sons is the sinner’s.

6. To stop the spread of COVID-19, follow Leviticus to the letter!

Knowing biblical scripture will prepare you for pretty much any situation, not to mention debating conservative mo’ fo’s. It’s where most the good plots came from. You also gonna understand why there’s so much violence on the planet. It might even explain Donald Trump. Get in it y’all.

Black Christian Hoodoo

Black Christianity is a bunch of Hoodoo, y’all — for realz!

In hot pursuit of magick, I been reading on Hoodoo, Ifa, Lucumi, Santeria and Vodu (AKA Voodoo). I been trying to get my paws on Zora Neale Hurston’s book documenting the year she spent initiating as a priestess. Yes, that Zora Neale Hurston. What’s shaken the hell outta me is what I’m learning about garden variety Protestant religion as practiced by Black folx in the New World.

The New World introduced major challenges to the mostly West Africans from Democratic Republic of Congo, Gabon, Mali, Senegal, and other countries. Slavery wasn’t new to Africans. In Africa, you’d get enslaved by a rival group, and just get absorbed into that group, ‘cause the culture wouldn’t be that different from your own. It was accepted that the God of the new group was superior ‘cause they’d won the battle.

Transitioning as a slave in the New World wasn’t possible in the same way. First, you had crossed an ocean which removed the possibility of ever getting “home.” There was the language challenge. Chattel slavery (or humans being treated as property in perpetuity) was unheard of. Lastly, Western religion was boring AF. It wasn't that Africans didn’t want to comply, the shit just didn’t make sense. People just sat around. There was no ritual. There was no magick.

The religions that did catch on, likely did 'cause Africans could slather on the ritual and the magick. Baptism, for example, caught on because it looked like worship of lower water deities. Catholicism mirrored the hierarchy of African belief systems with the praying to the saints. In some cases things splintered off to become their own religions, like the ones mention before.

I guess what I’m saying here is, investigation is showing me that things ain’t always what they seem. The stuff I think is important ain’t always what’s important, and the Devil is in the ma’ fuggin’ details. That Christianity you practice might be more African than you think!