Why Can’t I Talk Dirty?
Am I the only one who gets embarrassed talking to their partners about they sexual turn ons? I wanna know, y’all — for realz!
Maybe it goes back to when I was a little kid. My parents got me this cool ride-on train that ran on a track all through the house. Could I go! I had to be two or three. It’s my first memory, other than the occasional snatch of visual from the crib. I used that train for exactly one day, then it got boxed up and put on a high shelf. It never came down again, and I would just look at it, wishing. For whatever reason, I had already learned not to ask for what I wanted.
I was talkin’ to my bestie and they was telling me about another friend who refused to say out loud what they wanted from a sexual partner. What is that? I identified like a mo’ fo’. It’s like a recurring nightmare, where I know I need help—there’s danger—but my voice doesn’t work and I can’t move! It’s sex for frig’s sake. I’m already nekked. I’ve likely had this person’s sex organs in my mouth, but I can’t say out loud that I’d like to do this or that?
How else has my tongue been tied and my primal urges been domesticated to the point I can’t even say ‘em out loud? I’d bet money that not a single person I had contact with as a kid would take credit for it. I’m sure everybody who reads this post is thinking of they self as damn ass sexually liberated, but I doubt nary a one of y’all will type up in the comments then unique things you like done to you during sex. You gonna claim it’s because that’s private. Lol!
I wish I lived in a world where talking about sex was something could be done in casual conversations. It could at least be as common as talking about the last movie a person saw, or what book they are reading. What makes those things okay to talk about, yet sex (the required behavior for the survival of the species) taboo? I’m sure more people have sex that read! I’d put down cash more people have sex than watch television.
There’s a challenge in there for anyone daring enough to meet it. In the meantime, I’ll be looking for some good BDSM and nipple play.
Didn’t Date Me ‘Cause I’m Black!
I think he didn’t wanna date me ‘cause I’m black, y’all — for realz!
Okay, not for real “for realz” but that’s the kinda shit 400 years of oppression does in the area romance, fo’ sho! I was dating a sweet dude and he decided it was better we stay friends. There was half a dozen reasons I could name straight up—not least a’ which is I’m married AF. Polyamory aside, we hit it off and it looked like things was moving in that direction but then suddenly things got complicated and the brakes got pulled.
I wish I didn’t have that nagging question, but I had to be honest. I put it out there so’s it wouldn’t fester like a boil in what could be an awesome friendship. That’s the kind of shit that comes out in passive aggression when you least expect it. Instead of biting his head off one day over dinner when he asks me to pass the pepper (“Bitch, who you calling pepper?!”) I just told him I was getting the racial “feelz.”
He was cool about it, but just happened to mention the obligatory “black relative” who he had a meaningful relationship with. He immediately apologized for pulling the “my best friend is black” card and peddled his ass back a few yards. “I’m not saying...” blah, blah—but actually that is what he was saying. He ain’t have to mention it, but he did. He was defending his anti-racism stance.
I was like, “Look, I don’t own the conversation about race, anymore than you are instantly axed from the convo ‘cause you look white. It makes sense to explain where you are when it comes to race. Some people at zero whiles others been forced to consider race or perish. Take my friends Kera and Meredith, two white women raising a black son. They know a little more than a person who act like they never met a black person.”
That’s really how I feel. I probably was letting him off easy, but I do think it’s racist to assume people experience with race based on how they look. I’m sure I’mma get chewed out for saying that shit, but it’s how I feel and I’m entitled to my friggin’ opinion. He was like “I’mma quote you the next time somebody come for me for being white and having an opinion about race.” I said, “Don’t put my name in it. That’s an ass whoopin’ you gonna have to take by your damn self!”
The 700 Club
The 700 Club made a lot of shit clear, y’all — for realz!
If you still think this election is about a few stupid people versus the rest, you better frigging think again. I got my car serviced in a Michigan suburb yesterday. Nice folks for sure. Everybody treated me with kindness and respect. Nothing to hate on. That was until I sat in the waiting room for two hours watching the news on the Christian Broadcasting Network.
There wasn’t anyone mentioning any candidates by name. There wasn’t even a question of partisanship. It was just very clear that the election was about a lot more than who was gonna be in the White House. They reinforced the idea that this was about the soul of the nation, and when you put the election in religious terms, liberals will always lose.
Think about the issues on the table—the right to choose, response to a pandemic, racism and the environment. When you look at those in biblical terms they look like the wrath of God at play. There’s a majority of people in the country who believe that the fate of the world is in the hands of the God of Abraham and that the only necessity is a firm belief in Jesus Christ.
A few years ago, when Islamophobia was the hot topic, I wondered that Christians could lack so much self awareness as not to see all of the violence that has been done in their name. Having studied the Bible and seen for myself how much blood is evoked in those pages, I can say for sure, it’s a dangerous book in the wrong hands.
Trumps supporters aren’t fools. They are people of faith. They are people who know God is on their side and the more people rail against them, the firmer they will hold. The Bible has an answer for everything, including the persecution believers may have to endure from liberal minded folks.
No Nudes Ever…Ever!
I seriously wonder if most people even realize they nekked under they clothes, y’all — for realz!
I had a wild dream last night that somebody started a service for people who wanted to hide evidence they had ever taken a naked picture. Somehow it started when I took some selfies and wanted to store them safe away. By the end of the dream it was a booming business and I was the poster child for all things nudity. Of course, my pictures got used to advertise so everybody saw my goods. It got complicated and there was a lawsuit, but by then the damage had been done.
The world I grew up in made it clear as hell the body was a shameful thing. Any hint that a person had actual skin under whatever required hipness you was supposed to be wrapped in, the kids I grew up around exploded into howling ass laughter. Time I got to high school, and gym class called for us all to strip down and shower together was some barbaric shit. Fuck however much taboo nakedness was forced on me, in doctors’ offices, public athletics and a few other spots, message still came loud and clear that being nekked was damnable.
By the time sex got introduced—forget it. If we wasn’t even supposed to acknowledge nudity, for sure nobody was ever supposed to touch anybody else while they was naked. The reaction to Madonna and Miss America Vanessa Williams sealed the deal on nakedness for me. The near impeachment of Bill Clinton reinforced that sex the worst thing a person could do in the public eye. The cheating part was inconsequential if you ask me. Nobody wanted to imagine a President who had sex.
Sex and body positivity are essential AF when it comes to revolutionary work. It ain’t about everybody running around streaking and having non-stop sex in the plain of day. The horror of that image is enough though to show how much work needs to be done. Shame one of the most powerful tools used to keep humans under the thumb of the entities that want to make sure we never feel good enough to be responsible adults. When it comes to our skin, most people still children.
I’d like to get proved wrong on this one. If I’m full of shit, hit me up in the comments with why you think so. Obviously, if your ass is just triggered, nobody told you to be up in my feed!
Dungeons & Dragons
I’m finally gonna get my D&D on, y’all — for realz!
Since I was in middle school, and first heard about the then pretty new role-playing game, I was destined for that shit. Hell, I was a DM (that’s the lingo for Dungeon Master), before I even knew that Dungeons and Dragons as anything other than a Saturday afternoon creature double feature. For as long as I remember, I was marshaling groups of my friends into organized games of make-believe, where I would describe the world we were in and then we’d go into our roles escaping volcanoes, avoiding giant alligators, or hunting vampires.
I was already gender queer by the age of six. While the boys who played with me—there were never girls involved—chose names like Jack and Michael, I was always Susie. None of the boys seemed bothered that I’d identified as female. They seemed to dig the hell out of saving me when I play-fainted, carrying me to safety. It would be years before playing “girl” became a taboo kind of thing. By then, I’d kissed most of the boys on the block.
The time comes when childhood games get set aside, and adult interests creep in to replace them. The boys found sports and “real” girls to occupy their time—at least some of them did. Some boys still managed to find stolen moments here and there to escape to the closet with me for a little hot snogging. We called it the hootchie-kootchie. My love of boys and make-believe followed me into adulthood, though. My taste in men seasoned, of course—I like them fully grown with a little salt and pepper on top—and the play now gets shrouded in so much professionalism to where it ain’t no fun at all.
It’s a fucking miracle I came across—during a pandemic, no doubt—a group of so-called adults who, I guess, think that playing make-believe is a still cool thing to do. I’ll be starting my first D&D adventure in just a couple days and I am so frigging excited, my damn head could explode. I’ll be playing as a Half-Elf named Ouran. They’re gender non-conforming and magical AF. I’ve already written an elaborate back story and plan to send the final tweaked version to our DM later today.
I’ll let y’all know how it goes, but I wanna urge folks: Please find ways to play together. Just because things are uncertain AF, doesn’t mean we can’t squeeze every ounce of joy out of life we can. We only get a little slice. Eat up, beeyotchez! Lol!
Presidential Debates 2020
I’m a get into these debates, y’all — for realz!
I don’t know if anybody really bothered to watch the debates from front to back. I did. A lot ‘o folks on the left are making fun of Trump’s seem-like mindless and childish outburst and interruptions. People still wanna see Trump as either the devil or a fool. Both o’ those takes are wrong AF, and prolly what put Trump in the White House the first time. Remember 2016 when folks was like, “ WTF?” We may get a repeat if people don’t wise the F up?
There was a real clear message coming through in Trump’s “mindless” blathering. One thing I heard clear as muh’ fugging day was that race theory is making people hate America. I haven’t heard that in a single sound bite. Mind y’all, I ain’t combing social media and the news outlets for sound bites. People remember Joe Biden sayin’, “Man, will you shut up!” People don’t seem to remember the things Trump actually said.
Like it or not, the “Make America Great Again” which translated in the 2016 election to “Keep America White, Please” worked on a lot of people, regardless of their race. People associate Whiteness with order, prosperity and familiarity. One way or other, White Supremacist beliefs have made their way into a lot of people’s brains. It’s also a way of saying law and order, and in a time of what feels like chaos, that comforts a lot of people too, I imagine.
I ain’t saying Trump has the answer. I’m saying the person had a clear message. One that is easy to understand, regardless of the level education a voter might have. So far, I ain’t heard anything quite as powerful from the left. Well, “change,” yes, but people don’t like change...period. I have heard a lot of information that makes sense to me, wit’ a Master’s mah’ fugging degree from an Ivy League as institution. But I ain’t heard shit to have people quoting it, other than the aforementioned “Man, shut up.” That’s a problem.
Of course, who the fuck am I to criticize anybody. My name ain’t on nary a ballot. I ain’t no high-paid campaign advisor. I’m just a person and people ain’t qualified to say what they see. We need Jeremy Peters and Politico to tell us what we see and hear. Our eyes and ears lie, right?
It ain’t over ‘til it’s over. As Kamala said many times (and that was quotable), we got 27 days left. A lot can happen in 27 days, y’all.
If the White Supremacist Shoe Fits
Why folk’s gotta get so triggered over race, y’all — for realz!
I been outta commission a couple weeks working on my new piece about race and people be gagging! First, if you see the words White Supremacist and automatically get offended, it’s the moral equivalent of your slip is showing mah’ fuggy! You the only one don’t see how not a good look that is. If you assume whenever they talking about racism, they talking about you, then that’s just you putting on shoes that fit yo’ ass.
I, personally, know I’m racist. I’ve internalized beliefs that a) race is a thing, even when there ain’t no scientific backing o’ the idea hasn’t been proved false since the 1980’s; and b) I attribute attitudes and behaviors to people based on what I see as they racial makeup. That’s most of what racism is. There’s also a piece of it preferences based on what folks believe is a thing called race. I’m sometimes guilty o’ that, too.
That’s the nature things you spend 500 years indoctrinating people to serve a messed up system you want to keep running unquestioned. For a majority of people to go along with slavery, they had to believe enslaved people deserved the shitty treatment they was getting. Most people ain’t evil and will balk at something they believe is wrong. People had to be set at ease what was happening to enslaved Africans was okay.
Believing in White Supremacy did not make people bad. It made them trusting. People still trusting the government wouldn’t allow nothing immoral to happen. It don’t make them stupid either. It makes them naive. People have to believe in a fundamental power goodness over evil. It’s hard AF the average person to swallow that selfishness could win over generosity. God wouldn’t let something so bad happen, right?
Regardless how you wanna look at it, believing people evil and stupid is a poor place to start if you hope they gonna change. It’s also pointless to find yourself above racist thinking because your ass is woke. Ain’t no amount of woke can unpack all they is to understand about how beliefs about race effect everything we do in the U.S. Race butters our bread in this modern world. It’s the bacon alongside our sunny side ups.
Dig in.
Broken Covenants: Trust in a Fickle God
Is it me or does God have trouble keeping his word, y’all — for realz?
I been back in the Bible. I guess I’m hooked on it like some folks get hooked on Law and Order. I play it like the soaps. Every time Jon Sherberg starts spitting verses, I hear something brand new. Like today, I was making my morning lap around Belle Isle, getting in my steps. I got Genesis on loop and catch a couple things I missed the first time through. First off, it’s cool as fuck to think we all kids of Noah, who came down in direct line from Seth. I’m still confused who Seth laid up with to have kids though since the only options for partners were Adam, Eve and Cain (or Abel’s corpse).
Anyway, so the sons of Noah all go off and establish they own kingdoms, but quick as fuck they start to fighting with each other. God even seem like he’s trying to stir the pot— like he do at Babel when he see everybody getting along, speaking one tongue and God think “They might get too powerful if I allow them to understand each other.” He blasts they tongues and scatters them, turning them even more into “enemies.” Seem like God got favorites even though these mo’ fo’s was all Noah’s kids. So, it’s pretty shitty how only some of them got “chosen” while others he turns into red guys.
I ain’t no Bible scholar, so maybe I’m getting it “wrong,” but I’m listening to the words and what they wrote makes God out to be a pretty shady, petty, ruthless and fickle something or other. He keeps making promises about how he’s gonna bless folk with generations like sands on the beach, then he turn creating strife between them descendants. He tell prophet after prophet to sack this and rape that. God rip pregnant women to pieces and feed children to wild animals by the score.
I don’t wanna make light or be critical anybody religion. I’m asking for realz—what’s up with God? Why he so mad all the time? Why he gotta instigate, and play favorites? Don’t God, who infinite, got enough love for everybody and everything—or can he only love one set of people at a time? I really want to know.
Hit me up.
Step Ten: Patching The Leaks
Check yourself before you wreck yourself, y’all — for realz!
Step Ten: “Continued to take inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.”
Imma tell y’all a little parable for this one. A man who lived on a ship had the worst “luck.” Everyday he would cry out, “I’m taking on water! I sink! I sink!” Every mah fuggah would row out to this mo fo boat to rescue him, bail the water out and patch up whatever was leaking. He’d be all grateful and thank folks, but everybody knew they’d be at it again the next day.
One curious neighbor asked, “Why don’t you get a new boat?”
“Never!” the man says, “This boat’s been in my family for generations. I could never give her up.” That sounded reasonable to the person asking and they went on about they business, but sure as shit, the next day the old man was carrying on and crying for help from everybody. “I sink! I sink! Alack the day, I sink!” Everyone rowed out as they did everyday to help this poor miserable sucker.
Then the same curious neighbor asked, “Why don’t you tie the boat in a shore? You could pull her into the shallows and not have to worry about taking on water.” To this the old man put up another fuss.
“How I do love the sea. I could never live on land. I’d rather sink than do that. Let me die before I’m a land-lover.”
It sounded reasonable, so the curious neighbor left it alone. But the next day the ola man was out there taking on water and crying for help from his neighbors. Being good neighbors they towed out, bailed him out and patched the leaky places.
Finally, that curious neighbor had enough and decided they were gonna figure out the secret of the old man’s tragic luck. They joined the daily rescue mission, but when everyone else had rowed back to shore this curious one stayed aboard. They hid in corners, but followed the old man watching his every frigging move. The old man was feeble o’ sight and hearing and it was an easy thing to do.
To there shock, the curious neighbor watched all the night through the old man walked up and down the boat, singing and drilling holes in the hull. Finally, after hours of it, and fearing for their own skin, the neighbor who had showed away called out, “Stop, old fool!” The old man stopped in his tracks. The curious neighbor continued, “This is that bad luck? You cry for rescue all day and drill holes by night? Why would you do such a thing?”
The old man replied, “How I do love to drill holes.”
Kindness
Kindness is cheap y’all, but it’s everything — for realz!
My friend told me a frigging awesome story the other day. It was one I’d heard before, but that’s the shit happen when you been friends somebody almost thirty flipping years. You shut up and you listen again and get all the stuff you missed the last time. This story was about them being a hot little number of 19 years old in Spain, with a much older lover who taught them how to conjugate them Latin verbs and a few other tricks.
The occasion of the story, the seasoned lover had invited a mah fugging host of friends for a dinner party. It was the kind of shit people used to do back in the day, but now we just invite folks over to watch Game o’ Thrones or some shit, where nobody actually has to bring they A game. They had sheiks and poets and diplomats and all that kind of shit at this little whatever it was and my friend was kinda the guest of honor, ‘cause that’s what you did when you brought a new person into the fold. You invited all your peeps out to see who you was bringing into the family.
I know a bunch o’ y’all prolly taking this personally. Don’t. It’s not about you and it’s not about what we done lost as far as our ability to be truly social beings and to exist as part of a community. That shit has been part of the design for a long time. We gave up being part of a community (even being part of a family) so we could keep up with work and all the other responsibilities we been told are the important stuff. We forgot how to be kind (yeah, I’mma go ahead and speak for all of us, ‘cause I’m Notorious Pink and that’s just what I do!).
Anyway, in the middle of this gathering where my friend is getting showed off to the friends of their new Spanish BF, they are at the center of attention, butchering some Spanish, and being 19 years old as fuck. They are getting a little cocky and waving they arms all around (prolly a little drunk off the wine that’s been flowing free). They stand up to put the fine point on some story that ain’t call for all that and smacked the wine jug down the table, making the wrong kind o’ splash.
The sage lover, don’t miss a beat. He hollers out “¡Alegría!” (which means happiness for y’all mo’ fo’s don’t speak no Spanish). Then the guy dabs his fingers in the spilled wine, touches himself on the forehead, touches my friend on the forehead and then goes around the table baptizing everybody. He tells ‘em all what good luck it is and makes a frigging celebration of the whole thing. Not a beat missed: Kindness.
I’ll let y’all take what you want from it. Do take take something.
Step Nine: I’m Sorry…No Buts!
When it’s time to make amends, don’t make shit worse, y’all — for realz!
Step Nine: “Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.”
I actually get nervous for people when it comes to amends. I dove into mine way too fast and fucked the first couple up. I was vague AF and ended up confusing a bunch o’ people. Some people walked away mad. Sometimes, I walked away mad ‘cause shit ain’t go the way I wanted. O’ course, that was my first mistake—thinking I had some control over how that shit was gonna go.
Now, I got a test I use before any amends. First, I see if it’s even possible. Is the person alive and, if they are, would I know how to find them? Then I ask myself is it safe to make contact? Some people for whatever reason, it’s best they forget I’m alive. There are downright dangerous people I need to avoid and there’s people for who just thinking about me is traumatic and they’ve let me know.
I also ask myself if the thing I did actually harmed the person in a specific way. I dropped off the radar for some people. If it was just natural and mutual, ain’t no need calling to apologize we ain’t friends no more. Need to be specific, like sleeping with they boyfriend, stealing something or insulting the fuck out of ‘em—shit like that. I gotta be able admit harm I did.
Last, I ask, is bringing this up gonna create trouble for other people? Sure it’s gonna be awkward AF for me. I suck that up. I ain’t gonna snitch on somebody else in the process. Is talking about this issue going require the person to go into therapy? I’m serious as fuck about this one. Making amends ain’t about dumping your shit on other people.
Once I check for all this, I write out exactly what I’m gonna say. I include a version where the person refused to even talk to me and I thank them for their time and move on. I make amends on the regular now. Trust me, it’s worth the pain.
Step Eight: In Your Wake
Sin don’t happen in a vacuum, y’all — for realz!
Step eight: “Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.”
This ain’t as hard as it seem, ‘specially after you already done spent time righting down resentments, fears, guilt and shame. There’s names attached to some of the shit on your list (your “shit” list). Some of those people you might want to try and make up with for the things you did to them. Whether or not they feel the same way about you beside the point. Making amends ain’t about a bunch of happy endings.
This step can be like wishful thinking. Who, if you could make good with in your life, would you? Truth is, it may actually be there’s a lot of people out there you wouldn’t mind having choke on a chicken bone (a moment of respect for Mama Cass). Face it, there’s some people out there that have done you dirt and they don’t deserve your forgiveness. That’s part of making amends too. Forgiving people even when they’re don’t deserve it.
The people we can’t stand, chances are we did something and they took it the wrong way. Maybe we made ‘em jealous. Maybe we didn’t return their affection. Maybe we took the job they wanted, or the object of they affection. Maybe they snubbed us and we just retaliated. Point is we gotta be willing to consider our part. Most time we can find something that, if not the cause, made things worse ‘cause how we reacted to it, even if it was not telling the person what they did that bothered us enough to never wanna speak to them again.
Sometimes, like with situations of abuse, there’s nothing we could have done. We might even blame ourselves for things that happened to us that were out of our control. We might isolate and find other ways to protect ourselves that are also punishments. We may be carrying trauma for shit happened ‘cause we ashamed. A lot o’ folks can go ahead and put they own names at the top of the list for shit like that.
The point of step eight is making a list of the people, for one reason or other, we feel guilty to think about, or people who give us a knot in the gut when we think about certain moments with them. Those feelings we wanna get free from. We can look at why we feel that way and, when we can, doing something about it. What we do is the next step, so we ain’t gotta even think about that part yet.
Step Seven: “What Shortcomings?”
A little vice can’t hurt, y’all...until it can—for realz!
Step 7: “Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.”
I don’t wanna be making assumptions about folks, but I know a lot about people. I work with a lot. One on one and in crowds. I’ve never seen it fail. If I point out anything that sounds like a fault, people crumble. It’s rare AF that somebody takes well an observation they see as negative. It might not even be negative, mo fo’s get shifty AF if they notice they been seen. How anybody gonna learn anything if they ain’t open to a decent look in the mirror?
The irony is people will brag about they own faults like gold frigging medals. “I ate like a pig!” “We spent waaaay too much money!” “I lazed around all day like a slob!” Seem like people enjoy doing things that ain’t no good for ‘em, as long as nobody call ‘em on it. It’s only when it’s time to pay the piper that people seem ready to give up the thing with all the hidden fees.
In the world of recovery it’s called hitting bottom. Things have gotten so bad you willing to do anything to get something that resembles a life back. That’s usually what gets somebody into a twelve step fellowship. It’s not something you do for sheer fun. It’s what carries people through the first six steps and what makes the seventh step such a relief.
This step is all about making a direct ask to that higher power you crafted in step two when you came to believe that a power greater than yourself could restore you to serenity. Hopefully you chose wisely and that force has been walking this path along with you. Now is where you put your faith to the test. But don’t stress, it’s not that serious. All it really takes is willingness.
Step Six: Prepping to Purge
Things are never as chaotic as they look, y’all — for realz!
Step six: Were entirely ready to have Higher Power remove/relieve these defects.
The ones hanging on to some delusion of perfection won’t o’ made it through step four. Forget about step five. Somebody said “an un examined life is not worth living. I ain’t gonna shame nobody to death, but my life done got so much richer since I started tallying that shot up on the daily. It’s hard to tell somebody some bullshit about they self when that person is going over every thing they done day by day.
Before recovery, somebody try and tell me what they thought (I’m in awe how many muh fugguhs can read minds) I meant when I said or did the thing I actually said or did. That shit would send me in a shame spiral. Since I didn’t bother to know an’ understand myself, I accepted what any dumb ass would try to drop on me. Now, when beyotches be like “You this!” I’m like “I know, right?” or if it’s bullshit, I’m like “I got a ton o’ shit ain’t right, and that ain’t one of the them.
My shit is my shit for a reason. Little Pink came up, like we all do, in a world that is full of surprises. I learned how to respond in the best way I could with the tools I had. Now I’m Notorious, I don’t need to defend myself using them played out tools. I have a whole network of support, including a kick ass Higher Power. Now, I wanna live in a way that fits my values, my dreams and in ways that level up the joy in my life.
That’s getting ready. I go over my own list and look at what fears, resentments, shame and guilt was driving my life. I decide if I want things to be different, that’s not easy. That’s going back over shit that stings. When I boil it down I can see it’s the same thing over and over. Maybe a handful of different things—making other people responsible for my shit; lack o’ boundaries; jumping into shit before I know what’s up.
The step doesn’t ask me to change a mah fugging thing. It just say, see what ain’t working no more and decide it’s time for that shit to go.
Step Five: Spilling the Tea
How to put a burden down, y’all — for realz.
Step five: Admitted to Higher Power, ourselves and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs.
If you were willing to bank an hour looking at the shit that burdens you, the next step is a relief. You prolly been walking around with resentments, fears, guilt and shame a majority your life. It’s almost like the system is set up to keep us under a dark cloud alone, feeling like we ain’t worth shit (I hear people calling themselves a piece of shit more often than I wanna think about). They saying goes “You only sick as your secrets.”
You wanna get free, you gotta drag that shit out into the light. You gotta find someone in your life you can trust enough to share everything on that list and to talk through the who, what, where, when and why of all of it. It’s not enough just to rattle off a list of random items. You gotta be willing to share where you think a lot of this stuff comes from. Talk about how you learned to think the way you think. You gotta understand how it’s done served you and why it ain’t serving you no more.
You ain’t gotta be like my ass and write a damn book on it. I do shit big like that. I’m mah fugging Notorious Pink, after all. Imagine a life where you ain’t had to worry about what mah fuggahs might find out about your ass? Take all the “worst” things about you and turn them into something useful to other mah fuggahs. That’s some high ass frigging aspirations anybody, but the mah fugging payoff o’ that shit priceless AF.
Most people wanna tell somebody sworn keep they shit secret, like a priest or a therapist. That’s cool if you got that support. Not everybody do. Some gonna have to settle a trusted friend. Whoever you tell, make sure they know what’s cool to share and what you want kept in confidence. Don’t stress too much. Most people understand the honor telling them your “inventory” and probably know they’d look pretty shitty telling the world about it.
You ain’t gotta do it all in one shot either. You can share a little at a time and you can share different things with different people. The important thing is to get it all off your chest.
Step Four: Skeletons in the Closet
Time to pull them skeletons out the closet, y’all — for realz!
Step four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
This step can get people bogged down trying to remember every frigging thing they ever did wrong. Nothing about recovery calls for beating up on yourself. If you’re having that kind of experience of recovery in whatever program you in, you might wanna get you a new sponsor, or find a new meeting. I had a kickass (as in awesome AF) sponsor and I’mma share the way they did it with me.
You gonna need an hour, or at least fifteen minutes on four different times. Get you something to write with (make sure the shit works so you don’t get jammed up in the middle). I’mma suggest you get a yourself notebook. First fifteen minutes—set a timer!—write about everything you resent. Just write it like a list. Fuck details and frigging be honest. If it come up, write it down, even if it surprise your ass. When the timer go off, stop!
Do the same thing stuff you fear. Write fifteen minutes. When the timer go off, stop. Do the same making a list of things make you feel guilty. Then make a list of the things you shamed of. Serious, y’all, only do fifteen minutes on each. It ain’t a exercise stroking your ego denying you done experienced anything negative in your life. It ain’t a frigging pity party either. Git in and git out. Magic of the step honesty. Half measures don’t avail nothing.
That’s it. You got your work cut out for you. You can think this is something cute to do someday, or you can grow a pair and dive in. The world needs us well right now, so it’s bigger than what you want. It’s got to be about what we need. Let me know how it goes, y’all.
Step Three; The Overturn
It’s tough AF letting go, y’all — for realz!
Step three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of...
That statement makes it sound like signing up for a frigging cult. That’s damn sad, ‘cause the fact o’ matter is, it ain’t as deep as all that. Taking step three ain’t about becoming a priest or a nun, like they put it. Truth is, your life is already in the care of forces beyond your control. Step three is about facing facts you can’t do life without a multitude o’ people places and things coming into alignment in your favor.
It takes a fuckload of luck, plus all the preparation you can muster for shit to work out. Because the divine order tends towards balance, we take for granted that shit is just supposed to go our way. When it don’t we wanna ask why? We really need to be asking why—or just giving thanks—when things go well. Fact the sun come up every morning a miracle taken for granted damn near everyday. I want the Universe to give me a full stomach on top of that?
Yeah, we get spoiled and expect stuff to go our way just ‘cause we cute or smart or funny or kind instead of praying constant ass gratitude just that gravity is holding most of us in place. I’m guilty o’ that one for sure. Once you admit your ass is powerless (step one), then come up with a version of whatever is gonna bring you back to clarity (step two), taking step three is just logical. It’s just giving props the Universe has had your ass all along.
Still some folks gonna choose to live in the fantasy of the big shot. Go on with your bad self. Imma be over here thanking my lucky stars and being humble.
You Can’t Do What You Can’t Do
If you’re still trying to figure it out, you haven’t figured it out, y’all — for realz!
That may seem obvious AF, but there’s still a lot of mo’ fo’s walking around scratching they head waiting to figure out how they not only make they own life perfect, but gonna fix everything for everybody. They prolly know that shit’s never gonna happen, but somebody wired them to believe it was they job to fix it all. I’m a fighter for social justice and I’m shoulder to shoulder with people who believe that every frigging day.
The first step’s about admitting your ass is powerless and that your life done got out of control. The second step’s about learning to live with that. See, people miss that. People think step one is admitting they got a problem. That ain’t it. Most people know they got a problem. They just think they got that shit under control. They think they can stop when they wanna stop. Other people sit around waiting for them to “decide” to stop when facts it ain’t up to them at all.
Step two accepts the fact in order to get clean, or whatever you trying to do, you gotta call on something more powerful than you. That’s get folks in trouble ain’t got imagination conjure up anything that powerful. They done made the addiction the most powerful force in they life—money, sex, drugs, fame, experiences, gambling. It ain’t a question of faith. Plenty of folks believe shit full the fuck on, but don’t believe the thing they believe in is powerful enough to get the job done.
Step two mean you gotta level up your God game, or goddess game, or whatever you believe in. You gotta get the Higher Power expansion pack and get ‘em doing kind of miracle shit you need them do for you. One way do that, talk to people believe what you believe and have them share what worked for them. Another thing you can do just get quiet and visualize your Higher Power getting the work done. You can just act like it’s working. You be surprised how “fake it til you make it” can really work.
That’s the step, y’all. Good luck.
Walk Y’all Through the Steps
I’m a walk y’all through the twelve steps — for realz!
Step one: Admitting we are powerless over this shit and that our lives have become unmanageable.
I get the sense a lot o’ y’all come to realize y’all been addicted to life the way it is now, even though that shit has become unruly AF. Not only have you lost control of your own peace of mind and joy, but you standing by while the planet is falling apart around you. You ready to bring some magick up into your shit, but you don’t think you got that in you. You don’t think you got what is needed to make any kind o’ change. You feel powerless against the giant ass machine that is this system—that is life.
It can sting like fuck to get told anything about yourself. I’m not trying to tell you shit. This is about you or it ain’t. If it ain’t about you, you prolly appreciate a tool you can share with friends. You obviously done some work on yourself and know how valuable that shit can be. If you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, I suggest you keep going. Chances are you got something to gain.
If you are one of the many who feel like things are out of control and you ready for some peace o’ mind, buckle up and be ready to stick with this over the next little while (a couple weeks). You may already be ahead of the game and know you are powerless. You may also be holding on to the idea that you the one in charge. You hold onto it like a person who gotta pee will not give up before they find that place where they can relieve themself respectfully. Only when the body says “fuck it” will you face your shame and pee your pants.
Taking step one is like pissing in your pants. There’s no denying your humanity, your smallness, and humility in the face of the universe. There’s also something liberating about peeing on yourself. You realize that embarrassment and shame ain’t lethal like you might o’ thought. You even realize what kindness looks like as some of the people witness you, dripping urine as you go, show compassion. You also realize anybody who would mock you, ain’t worth shame.
Whoever you’ve been up to now, that mold got made before you were born. It took a lot of people to turn you into you. It’s gonna take a lot more than you to become somebody else. It’s gonna take a miracle. Fortunately miracles happen everyday. I am living proof of that. Give up the idea that you’re in this alone, that you’re in charge and that you can manage this on your own.
Expressions of Love in Pandemic
I wanna talk about love in the time of COVID, y’all — for realz!
So, I talked about dating, but this is beyond that. Expressions of love during a pandemic done got so complex. I mean, example, my god child came for a writing retreat recently and the do-si-doh we had to do for the first week until we got our COVID test results back (negative...whew!) was ridiculous. I still felt weird giving them a hug.
There’s been so much of this. I look sideways when my dog walks up on another dog in the dog park. It’s not normal. I refuse that shit as my new normal. Somebody had the nerve tell me they would not be doing hugs until further notice. Even if they knew the health status of the person they might get a little loving from, they wasn’t fucking with no hugs. They said it was easier just to keep it simple and take hugs off the table.
We need an alternative to hugs in the time of COVID. I suggested to my friend that we just have a moment of silence for the hug that couldn’t be with us. Kind of like pouring one out. I suggested wearing black in mourning for all the hugs that went un-hugged. They refused. Whatever. I’ve never been all that into hugs anyway. Hugs are so last year, yo—so 2019.
Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche had the right idea. They say we need to find ways to get emotionally closer together to make up for fact we got to stay six feet apart by getting six feet closer in our hearts. I been trying. To do that. I strike up more conversations with folks on the street. I wave at everybody. I talk shit to perfect strangers to get a smile out of ‘em. I let my dog sniff their dog’s butt.
Yeah, we gotta work extra hard these days to keep from losing touch with what it means to be a human being. We are hard wired for love, but recently had our software upgraded to some shit trying to be antisocial and autonomous. Autonomy is only possible in a world where the people supporting us aren’t seen as people. Otherwise we have to admit there ain’t much we can do on our own.