The Government’s Plan to Take Away your Ability to Watch Free Reruns of Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives of Whatever, and YES, YES… Love and Hip-Hop

If that’s what it took to get you here, so be it. The government is trying to censor the internet in a way that has First Amendment violation implications, economic disaster written all over it (companies like Google, Yahoo, and Youtube would be taxed so deeply that they would crumble), and the stench of dictatorship all up and through. YES. It goes deep. Click the link and read. If you want to survive, you must be INFORMED. Peace.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stop_Online_Piracy_Act

Martin Luther Queen

Just call me Martin Luther Queen

Cause relentlessly I’m following my dreams

Put the theme of my being in a rhyme scheme

They stay schemin’, don’t want me to bubble

Awakened from the matrix, guess my power’s too much trouble

Taking my consciousness higher

Tryna break up w/ illusions, yes maya

Who’s gonna guide her if she’s out of my path

Guess the dream’s to awaken at last

Then it’s free roam

Tried to box me, I’m a product of poetic form

I can rhyme, I can sing, I can spit, can’t I dream?

No.

Call me Martin Luther Queen

I’ve risen from my slumber, building evolutionary steam

This train is leaving

Only the station’s stationary

I am related to freedom and that relation’s scary

In a world where captivity’s embraced

Where mirages are for sale and our history’s erased

And any semblance of sanity is simply replaced

Cause the truth would put their victory at stake

Now who you wit?

Yeah, just call me Martin Luther Queen

Cause I’m fighting for my team who has forgotten their place

Problem’s not just at the bottom it’s the plight of the human race

And I’m racing towards reality, awaiting just one light

But I ain’t never been afraid of the night…

Why Can’t We Be Friends? (part 3): The Poem

The real friendships lay in the cut, as quiet as it’s kept

The faux friendships at the fore front trying to get the bouncer to look at two pairs of bouncing titties

Poppin lips and gums and bouncing hips and hurting toes in 97 inch heels and tight dresses

Afraid to say the hard things, but brave enough to say the heartless things

Afraid to take criticism wrapped in love, but brave enough to take her beau and wrap him in your whim and your sheets

I see them

They spout the most profound three lettered phrases like, “Bitches be fake…”

While wearing their acrylic nails, extensions, and patent pleather heels

My dear, where is your mirror?

The real friendships lay in the cut, as quiet as it’s kept

The faux four traipsing down the canals of cruel laughter when one’s heart is broken

Or one’s heel breaks just before they enter the lair of deceit

Where they’ll pass themselves off as “having it together”

Having just spent their check on clothes not befitting the weather

And take body shots until their body drops on top of bodies unremembered in the light of dawn

Bare booty and chess forgot the queen and became a pawn

And call their faux homie to brag about exploits where  they were the one exploited

That was Saturday, this is Sunday, they’ve transformed into the annointed

They’re leaping for joy in aisles of divinity, tears replacing sweat

Searching for pieces of where their Godliness was last left

And real friendship is elusive, as quiet as it’s kept

I can’t befriend a foe or a faux who knows not self

So I stay stuck in the back of a Butler book

A fledgling trying to sew my talents into a parable

It sounds terrible, but the real friendships lay in the cut

I open wounds to commune with them, hoping they won’t get salty with me

I walk beside my friends, and in our weird, well read way

We are content

They tell me my dress is cute and it doesn’t feel like competition

We wear flats and dance with each other and are happy when one is flirted with

That means there is hope for the no make-up, brown skin, coarse haired clique who isn’t a clique

And then it clicks

And we stop keeping the secret to ourselves…

 

Why Can’t We Be Friends? (part 2): Actually We Can… Can’t We?

My high school best friend and sister in solidarity, Malena (pronounced Ma-lane-ya), has been through a lot with me to come out on the other side of friendship and move into sisterhood. We were the awkward kids in high school, who knew what was going on politically in the world, weren’t afraid to speak out about it, and who used art and poetry as a vehicle to express ourselves. We weren’t outcasts, but we definitely weren’t “in-crowd” material. We found each other in our junior year, instantly clicked, found out we were both Taureans born 3 days apart in the SAME HOSPITAL, and the rest was history. For the rest of high school and a year after, we were closer than close… we had conversations without speaking audibly… it was a beautiful and transcendent friendship that a lot of young people don’t find. We were fiercely loyal to each other and would protect each other against anyone or anything that sought to bring harm. To make a long story short, eventually, we DID allow other people to come between us, and our friendship would wane without fully dissipating for five long, painful years. This year, we both turned 25, and as I said in my “Grown and Unknown” post… I felt transformed after this birthday. Malena and I began to talk more, and she asked me how I felt about 25… we hung out again after a few years, and even though our friendship isn’t the same or as solid as it once was, we are on our way back there. Why? Because we both still have that fierce loyalty, we know what it means to live without sisterhood, we know how society tries to pit women (especially black women) against each other, and we realize that we never really stopped being friends… we just had these huge blinders in front of our eyes, in the form of other human beings.

Meilani (not to be confused with Malena) was my first friend in the world of slam poetry. I loved her instantly because she had dry humor, danced off beat to make me laugh, and wasn’t afraid to go out or eat out alone. I knew we’d be friends for life, when she slowed down to walk with me during the national slam in San Francisco in 2005 because my ankles were killing me from walking so far… the rest of my team had left me, and so far, this had been a disastrous week. She listened when I said that my team treated me like an outcast, while others told me “well that’s not my experience.” She openly checked dudes who gawked at her for too long or tried to get too familiar too quickly. Meilani was a beast in compact form, and we were on the same team. Again, we fiercely protected and defended each other from anything harmful. In this friendship, we also checked each other when one was going astray. Astray from what? Our beliefs, morals, and things we promised ourselves we’d adhere to as basic human beings aware of the dismal human condition. In 2006, Meilani went away to college. This was a hard  change for me, but we wrote letters and talked on the phone a lot. In [insert a year because I don't remember the exact one], Meilani got a boyfriend. Now, THIS changed things. As a Taurus (Malena can back me up here), I’m very possessive of my friends. We didn’t talk as much, I didn’t understand a lot of what she was experiencing and could only respond from a philosophical/psychological perspective, which I’m sure annoyed us both. While this friendship has had its ups and downs, it has survived on two things: honesty and resilience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I met Jazz through another person in the poetry world. She was 16 and, in my opinion, wild. Jazz had been through a lot in her young life, and wanted to express it through art. We all welcomed her into our circle of friends, and she grew to be one of the fiercest poets. She would often remind us not to leave her out, to invite her to everything, sometimes even growing upset if she felt that she was being brushed off or not included enough. Jazz gave birth to precious little Nassor before her teens were over, and this only strengthened my resolve to love and protect her as a young mother in the community. I adopted Nassor’s father as my little brother as well. Jazz has grown in many areas, but the wildness has never waned. After a while, this began to exhaust my patience. I began to feel that our friendship was more one-dimensional than reciprocal, a pattern that I’ve begun to swiftly address for my own sake. I backed off. I had my own problems. Problems that most people didn’t care to ask about, since I was viewed as someone who “had it together.” Yikes. That’s a hard standard to maintain. What held our friendship together in the past? At first, the person who introduced us, who is no longer a part of my life or existence. Then, the knowledge that true sisterhood (especially in the black community) is rare and should be cherished. Or maybe it was Jazz’s desire to be loved and my desire to show love. I don’t know. I am still in “back off” mode until I figure it out. The thing that I’ve realized is that not every friendship has to last forever, and not every friendship has no breaks EVER. Malena and I made it, after a long hiatus. Who knows?

I wasn’t fond of Corina at first. She knows that. I was in my dry, teenage mode, and the first thing I thought after the first couple of times of being around Coco was “Wtf is she always smiling about?” Lol, yes people, I actually had this thought. We became friends eventually, anyway, through our connection with poetry and music and probably through Meilani being our mutual friend. Also, I’d find that Corina (also known as Coco, if you didn’t catch that earlier), didn’t really care if you didn’t like her once she liked you. That’s pretty much her whole shtick… if she decides she’s going to conquer something… she does.  Coco introduced me to vegetarianism and vegan-ism on some whoooole other. One of my sisters is a vegetarian, but Coco was a Whole Foods-shopping, organic, non-caged, non-gluten, no sugar beast. I was a vegetarian for a whole year on her example… a big step after I’d already stopped eating fast food on my own. Eventually, after performing together at a fundraising event, we said “Let’s be a group.” We merged our names and CocoNique was born. This was probably the beginning of the end. While we thrived artistically, our friendship suffered, for lack of ability to separate the two: friendship and business. People loved that we addressed issues of beauty, body image, and psychological captivity through hip hop and song, but those same issues existed in our friendship. We didn’t know how to address them honestly. Unlike Meilani and I, we didn’t call each other out when the other was wrong. We let a lot slide, and eventually, we awkwardly parted ways. It’s been a couple of years, Corina has moved away, but we still keep in touch. Our conversations are heavy with nostalgia, and hopeful for the future. There exists a knowledge among myself and all of these women of how rare, but needed sisterhood is. So while a bond may be bruised beyond recognition, it is never really broken.

I’m using these experiences to continue exploring the concept of friendships with women. I hope these women don’t mind me using our experiences for that purpose. If y’all do, call me! Lol.

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

I have a difficult time being friends with other women. I’ve been exploring this difficulty, and thinking about why it exists. For me… it comes down to a couple of things.

As of late, I’ve been working, making money, feeling better about life. My earlier twenties were somewhat of a dismal time. I was a broke artist, trying to get my art out there, completely unstylish, sad a lot, and I didn’t see myself as beautiful for a long time. While misery loves company, cocky magnificence doesn’t. A lot of the women I rolled with garnered a lot of attention from everywhere, including the opposite sex, and I was the compliant ugly duckling, if you will. Turning 25 brought about this raging river of self development, and I’ve been called “stylish” with a sort of surprise and disdain that disturbs me. It feels as if as soon as I start to feel good about myself, and I guess it is reflected in my appearance, there is a problem.

I mean… it’s all good. I am the kind of person who has always believed in walking in my power, even if I haven’t always been able to. I believe in it. I believe that my affirming my existence, my divinity, doesn’t negate anyone else’s. I also believe that when one doesn’t add to your life, only brings drama, only seeks to use, under the guise of friendship, it’s okay to let it go. Letting go shouldn’t be deemed a negative thing.

About two weeks ago, I was telling my best friend (who is a guy) that I missed having female friends. My bestie from high school, M.D., used to be the light of my life. She called me about a month back, and we talked about how we let guys come between us (her brother and my play brother). Our friendship was so powerful. I think, for that specific friendship… it will be again.

I know I’m all over the place in this post… just follow me.

I’m not a big fan of those who are disingenuous. Fake. Who think the world is about them. Who label. Who thrive in mess. There was a girl in high school, supposedly my friend, who started calling me “Ms Parker” (Monique’s character on The Parkers) because I had a crush on this guy… who didn’t like me back because I was dark-skinned and plump. She thought it was so funny… even after it was clear that I was hurt. I could go on with examples of my different friendships like this with women, but I won’t. I continue to give new friendships with women a chance, but I am starting to feel like I am disillusioned to think that they will ever be more than waves from across a venue, an occasional text conversation, an invitation to an event about them… etc. I’m about building solid relationships… I have plenty of associates.

In the world of music, it’s even harder to find genuine female friends because of the competition factor. People never believe you truly support them, never believe that they AREN’T better than you, always try to claw above you rather than build with you, so mostly I just think… why the hassle? Why waste my time?

And I guess… that’s my general thought. Why waste my time? Why allow these women to attempt to make me feel bad about myself in the name of feeling good about themselves. As I grow as a person, I realize that everyone won’t take on that growth by osmosis. So I let go. I take comfort in the women who I know will always be there (Thank you Eviey, Meilani, Malena, and Ellen). And I stop feeling guilty for growing up. Growing awake. Growing free.

Being a Glutton for Pain is NOT the Same as Being Brave

I am curious why she takes him back. I have felt her loneliness. Felt it deeper. Felt it stronger. I have owned it. Embraced it. She sings “Good Morning, Heartbreak” searching for attention. Hoping that we will console her. That we will look at him with disdain, and assign him 100% of the blame for her misery. Until…

The moment, at her whim, that she decides to subject herself to her inability to be alone for more than a week. To bludgeon herself with his disregard for her scars. She is a masochist of the worst kind. She refuses to actually BE the phoenix she calls herself. Rather, she bathes in the ashes that are her heart on fire. He sets it ablaze with leftover embers from their last encounter. She holds her head high walking into the burning building of her affinity for our attention, for his attention, for anyone’s attention. She thinks she is our hero.

I look upon her not with pity, but with impatience. She is well aware of the tools she is armed with, yet she chooses  only to intermittently use them. I try to engage her with an absence of judgement when she brings her drama into the enclave of my peace. I do not have to endure this. You do not have to endure this.

If you choose to stay, do not ask for my acceptance of you or he. Being a glutton for pain is not the same as being brave. And you are not our hero.

-Dom Jones, 12/19/11

If you want to survive, you must be INFORMED

I want to take some time out to put folks up on something that I recently stumbled upon. I am someone who likes to stay abreast of the happenings in the world, and have been becoming increasingly aware of the war being waged on our bodies, minds, spirits, and pockets by those in power. Worldwide. This recent attack is blatant and unacceptable. You create your reality. If your choice is to sit idly by, that is the reality you have created for yourself. Please take a moment to read this article, and then REALLY ASK YOURSELF if this is the reality you want:

US Senate declares the entire USA to be a ”battleground”

Now that you’ve read that your legal rights are being tossed asunder, and that war is being waged against you by those put into power with or without your permission, what will you choose? Freedom isn’t free. Will you sacrifice your iPad for it? How about a limb? How about your life? Until we are willing to live and die for our freedom… our reality will remain captivity. Peace, y’all. -Dom

Goliath

My father came to me in the form of A.S.

12:59 am

The time is unimportant, but somehow I don’t think you’ll believe me

Dead for more than 10 years and I’m still trying to find my father

This time he was

Feeding my advice back to me, how did he manage to sound paternal over keys and screens and now my screams?

I am crying

Wishing I could see my father’s face in my father’s face

Hear my father’s voice in my father’s voice

But I can only see pieces of memories of what I imagine he’d be

I imagine him in dark faces, broad shoulders, weary eyes and wearier hands

But never wearier than

The women he left behind

 

I asked the preacher where my father would be until the rapture and his answer was suspended in time

 

I don’t have daddy issues

I have daughter issues

Trying to become some father’s daughter

The female version of Jesus

Am I just sacrilegious?

Scratching at parables of my talents, searching for divinity

I used to fall asleep on the pews my father built before he vanished in the circle of life

Hoping I’d catch a whim of his overused cologne in the varnish

I know that my father is no one but Daniel

I wish he were here to slay all of my Goliaths

But I just wield this stone between my lips into a sword

Stretch my intentions like they have infinite elasticity

No one said it would come with the ease of paths taken

So I try harder

And travel farther

To become my father’s daughter

 

What does the “Gospel” mean to you?

I don’t know why I was compelled to tackle this subject… a lot of my dreams lately have been in a church setting. Maybe that’s why. Anyway, I was raised in church, with a pretty stringent set of beliefs, much of which has evolved in my adult life.

The word “gospel” means good news. So why do we always confine usage of this word to things that are spiritual or church related? I haven’t been a member of any church for several years for many reasons. Growing up in a pentecostal setting (we were COGIC — Church of God in Christ), I found church to be almost like high school, where God was supposed to be the principal, and the pastor the vice-principal. People fought, called each other names, tried to out-dress each other, tried to steal each other’s mates… all after shouting, singing, and giving thanks to a higher being. The lack authenticity made me leave.

Yet, I love Gospel music. It’s where I started as a musician. I still find relevance in much of the music, even as the music begins to try to imitate a more secular sound. So what does the “gospel” mean to you? To me, it’s more than a sermon, a scripture, and honestly, it’s bigger than the church culture that has made a lot of black folks close-minded and, in some cases, just plain ignorant. To me, the gospel is an energy, a methodology of existence, a commitment to recognizing the good in life, and spreading that word in a relevant and purposeful way.

When I stopped  believing in organized religion, people often asked me if I still believed in God. Of course I do. I just recognize religion as something that was created by mankind and perverted as a tool to enslave, wage war, and do all manner of ungodly deeds in the name of God. Why would I subject my psyche to something that is such  the antithesis of divinity? Sometimes, I still go to church. I miss the choir. I miss singing in church. I miss the music. That’s what I miss the most. That’s the way I relay my good news. Dare I say, music is my gospel, and I am the minister, my songs my sermons.

Hey, don’t call me sacrilegious. After all, if I was made in God’s image, then I am a walking, talking piece of a greater divinity. So… what does the gospel mean to you?

While you chew on that… check out one of my favorite Gospel songs.

Black Friday

Give thanks

For the pain of being trampled over fully clothed

Green paper raining down like sweet salt in wounds

Retail therapy was her addiction

So she hid her broken heart under an expensive leather jacket

Put lace over where he’d entered her without consideration

High tops to cover the fact that her ankles were leaning, almost broken

And aviator glasses large enough to capture a steady stream of tears

Give thanks

The banks that she abhors have raised her credit limit

She casually steps over the people waiting outside for sales

She pays the price

Full price

For all of her constant self sabotage

She never could quite say exactly what she wanted

Except three in different colors, but the same size

Could you bring her that in silk?

Her nails painted with the most delicate flowers

Decorations of what she remembers she thought of herself as once

Swipe

Swipe

Swipe

Declined

Her love, but never her card, so she keeps going to therapy

Pops tags the way the younger generation seems to pop pills

Gets high off the feel

Of fabric

She used to rock nothing but adornments that were tattered

But now she’s got the only thing that seems to ever matter

She’s got plastic and paper

Can’t seem to forget nights where he grazed the nape of her neck with his lips

So she messes up her French tips

Scratching away at her nightmares in her sleep

2am

Online

Therapy is open 24 hours

The pain is increasing, the agony of heartbreak

And it was NEVER fashionably late…