See on Scoop.it – Women
An audience of mostly women gathered at the 10th Avenue Theater last night to hear a staged reading of letters written to Michelle Obama by African American women from all over the world.Charity Thomas’s insight:What?! A staged reading! What?!!!! Well who read mine? Or Manda’s?
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Barbeque
BARBEQUE
I’m drowning in a sea of skulls
While Adam’s ameoba looks
for that lost rib.
Am I missing one too?
Not unless I want to be a pop
star with a smaller waist.
Maybe I should sit up 200 times
a day, but I might get bed sores.
Besides, there must be enough
room for people to live inside of
my body and suckle at my udders
while my ass becomes roast for
Oprah’s Texas cattlemen. Yee Haa!
The Time
The time is so short
Much like Herve Villachez
But not as severe
Maybe it is
It bites your knees too
Rockets don’t move fast enough
For the movements of the symphony
Yet we’re trapped inside the music
The notes locks us to this alleged reality
Releasing our souls to the next ethereal plane
While our bodies rot in this mortal shell
Expiring
Expired
like the milk they feed us
Because it’s for baby cows
Not for baby humans
Yet we refuse to believe that it’s
Killing us
And making us weak and fat
We capitalists are executing our purpose
Not dying steadily and constantly
An unnatural death of consumerism
Fueled by the light from the box that tells
The truth resting comfortably in the lies
It has grown to love
And we fight time
As if it’s our enemy
Instead of our teacher
Full of infinite wisdom
We’ve been told time and time again
From Charlamayne to Baldwin how it goes
And we as infinitely arrogant beings
Refuse to believe it
But whether we do or not
Time doesn’t care
And the lines around our smiles
Become our passport to our own destruction
While leading us to the ways of the past
Time laughs
At our arrogance and trepidation
And our race is lost
For by the time we understand the truth
We’re too old to do anything about it.
Ahh, sweet youth.
We certainly do shake it fast.
12/07/00
Love, Sex and Magic? I don’t think so…by any stretch of the imagination
Today a friend of mine posted an article on Facebook asking why Justin Timberlake gets a pass to degrade black women. They were referring to his, rather Ciara’s new video for a song featuring JT. There were a lot of comments to the article about how he threw Janet under a bus during “Nipplegate”, but I’m on board with the commenter’s who asked “why would Ciara do this?”
I know, it’s a chicken/ egg question for the ages. They’re performers, artists, businesses. JT is like vocal gold in a landscape riddled with weak voices and fueled more by personal scandals than talent. I totally dig that. But it is the 21st century. Maybe she should read this and she wouldn’t be so quick to let some white dude, literally, yank her chain. Wasn’t she the dancing queen a few years ago when she was part of Missy’s crew?
I’ve gone on and on about black female sexuality and film, so all I can say right now is: Really?
Is this really a video today? Are we so willfully ignorant about our own history that we find this acceptable? I’m sick of blaming other people for our own lack of love and respect for ourselves. It’s a tired Civil Rights movement mentality. This young woman was told the concept and performed the video. She’s the one crawling all over this man (white or black) apparently desperate for his attention that only her body and sex can get her. Her “lyrics” are equally as needy and a plea for him to fall in love with her while having sex with her. I guess that’s the part that really disgusts me. A whole generation of young (and not so youthful) women believing that having “mad skills” in the bed will make a man “fall in love”. (Whatever that means to them.)
The theory is that all these gyrations are the thing that will build a lasting loving relationship. Having been on both that young once and the older cynic that I am now, it’s depressing. It’s depressing because I have all these words for it, but it incites in me such a visceral reaction I just start yelling “stop acting like a slut, you’re fucking it up for all of us!!!!” And even if I said that, I’d be shouting at the wind. How can I tell these girls that shaking your booty to the detriment of your mind and self worth won’t get you love? Every other piece of media tells them the exact opposite.
They don’t want to sit around reading stuffy Sterling Brown or hear about Jezebel and her role in their oppression. Shit, they just want to look cute and get some numbers. I dig that. I’ve been there and still go there occasionally. But what I really want to say to them is that they’re worth more than that.
When I was in my early 20’s I worked on a video for Lil’ Kim, “Crush on You”, I was still just a Production Assistant (PA) and was therefore at the bottom of the production food chain. There were a lot of hip hop celebrities around cause Biggie was there and his album was dropping in 2 weeks. Luke had come with his entourage of ladies in sheer dresses with thongs on that beautiful 10 degree day in February. At some point in the 26 hour shoot day, I see a guy grab one of the dancers butt. He just walked up to her and grabbed it. I went up to her and asked if she knew him. She said “No, but he’s one of Mase’s boys”. I didn’t, then, know what a Mase was (nobody did- or would if Biggie had lived I think) and told her he didn’t have the right to touch her like that. She just giggled, repeated the same line, and walked away with him. I was furious. I went in the corner and wrote some moody poem about pain and there being no art there.
As the girl PA, I was especially conscience of my own sexuality because of the sexual attention I garnered from the hip hop dudes whose videos paid my rent. God forbid I should show up in clothes that showed my hot young body, cause they’d try the same thing with me. I remember one rapper (who will remain anonymous because I can’t remember who he was- one hit wonder I think) who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t lapping up his attentions. I was at work and so was he, I told him. His attention, though flattering, was inappropriate. The dancer girls called me a fool. He was rich (only he’s not now, I’m sure) and why wouldn’t I want to go out with a rapper? Cause he’s stupid, and arrogant, and shallow, and not a very good rapper. They thought I was stupid.
But the most important thing was, I didn’t like him and didn’t have to like him just because he found me attractive. I’m not on the slave block. And it’s not that I haven’t fallen into the trap and tried to “learn to like someone” who liked me. But it’s still a more intellectual exercise with an appropriate and seemingly compatible person than me humping the air so they can see how good a lay I am.
I just think more of myself. I think more of my mind than my body, because that’s what I’ve EARNED. I thought I’d look like that forever too. But I don’t now, I look better. You can tell I read too much when you talk to me and that weeds out the riff-raff interested more in my rack than my spin on Foucault. When I tell young girls that their minds are their greatest asset, they look at me like I just farted out of my mouth. So what do you do about Justin Timberlake sexually degrading interactions with black women? Let him not find any black women to sexually degrade… that should be a cinch right? Maybe we can get Michelle Obama to help.
Dear Lone Ranger,
That ship has sailed. You’re not going to recoup that money now. You can show all the commercials you want, nobody wants to see that movie. I haven’t seen it, because I DON’T WANT TO. I’m not interested in your colonialism. Nobody’s buying it. Johnny Depp can do his…
Dear ABC’s Mistresses,
I’ve had something to say to you for a while, but I kept getting stuck. All I could think was that the British version of the show must want to punch you in the face.
You took a perfectly good soap opera and ruined it. How could you make me not want to see Alyssa Milano? I love her. I’ve love her for years. But this show is so insipid. I keep wondering if I hate you so much because I’ve already met the better version of you.
You’re like that Giorgio cologne knock off from the ‘90’s. My friends and I attributed it to people. Like, we don’t have Naomi Campbell, but we have Tyra Banks. [I don’t care what ANYBODY says, Naomi is a superior model.]
You’re a designer imposter. But one you get on Canal St. You look cheap. You’re storylines are rushed. That Jess knockoff is an abomination. No! No! Jess was the best of them. And you cheapened her.
Rushing the whole dead husband back with girlfriend and kid storyline was too rushed and just seemed crazy and weird. At least in the British one he died in 9/11. Not made up some fake faked death.
And using Robert from The Cosby Show is manipulative.
Limitless
Are you serious? You awaken the unused 80% of your brain and that’s what you do with it? You become a Wall Street Douchebag (WSD). Who wrote this a 15 year old? This is another example of ManBaby Syndrome. It’s a good thing Bradley Cooper’s face pleases me so, or I wouldn’t have made it through that. But he is dreamy…
Traveling While Black

Night time, nap time.
Okay, so I’m in Tulum, Mexico. Tons of Italians (apparently August is their month off) and my friend Simone says Argentians. She’s deduced this from all the staring. And I don’t mean a curious look of not expecting a person of color (who’s not Mexican and in service of some manner). I mean a fork in the air- mouth open-full minute stare upon entering a room. Sitting at a table of compatriots and everyone at the table fully turning around and staring boldly even after the party of color- namely my friends and I- are seated and going about ordering cervezas. Sunni says it’s because I’m beautiful that the children stare (thanks honey, right back at you). I buy that but what explains the adults? There are few cultures left on the planet in which this degree of staring without speaking is acceptable and many more where it’s downright rude. When I give my friendly “Hola” there’s no response. Of course, they’re mainly Europeans and I must admit I don’t expect many human courtesies from them- sorry. But the staring must stop.
On the other hand, I must say that during this trip I’ve never been so happy to see black people in my life. Remember, I’m from segregated Chicago and honestly believe that there are black people everywhere. Or, at least, we’ve been there. The people I know have been all over the globe so I don’t believe I’m like James Baldwin when he went to Sweden. But, maybe I am. Dude. My people. We’ve got to travel more. It’s fucking cheap down here. and a black person told me about it. Only here it’s clothing optional (as I believe the entire beach is here in the Mayan Riviera) and I’m constantly aware of the historical context of my naked body (naked HOT! body). The reality of the skinny women in bikinis give me visions of Aushwitz. It’s very disconcerting. I do love that the Spanish and Italians have some meat on their bones. The Americans are crazy skinny or crazy fat.

But being black gives me the feeling of unwanted novelty. I’m obvious everywhere and everyone remembers me. It was easier to think about when my friends were here. But today as my first full day alone, we’ll see. I don’t want to go to the pounding techno music party in Playa but to one closer to home at Mezzanine down the beach. I was there last week con mi amigos. Lets see what happens when I go alone, dancing and a little drunk hopefully. We’ll see what the interest is then.
Aww, come on “hip hop”
Is anyone else annoyed that these preppy fucking dunderheads use hip hop as their soundtracks? I mean, I just saw a commercial for “Silicone Valley” on HBO, and That’s What Money Do is playing. I was also just watching Gatsby.
