Coffee Rhetoric: Blogging while fatigued
Showing posts with label Blogging while fatigued. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blogging while fatigued. Show all posts

July 13, 2012

Spilling Open

Paul Gauguin, "Brooding Woman"

Sullen Girl

 

I’ve neglected this blog long enough, but I’ve been working on editing a project that I’m expecting (or at least hoping) to pan out with some relative success. Also to be frank, I haven’t really felt compelled to update Coffee Rhetoric, contribute to any other platforms, or do any writing in general, as of late. None of the human interest stories I’ve been reading across the web, has incited me to chorus. Sometimes, I want a break from deconstructing gender, racial discord, intra-racial dysfunction, popular culture, and just the cult of personality in general. 
And while I don’t really feel the need to share that much of my own personal goings-on anymore, as I plod my way towards a break-through of some sort;  I will disclose that I am lamenting over many aspects of my being, while simultaneously celebrating my self-imposed solitariness… if that makes any sense. In other words, I miss being social, yet I have no desire to be around most people right now. 

It could be age—and me becoming while a grumpy old woman— or maybe it is just plain ol’ cynicism; but the thought of socializing or building with people doesn’t interest me as it once did… and neither does dating. My patience with certain personalities wears thin in a flash. Waning friendships and/or associations?  Bye… I’m not interested in trying to rekindle any of them; new connections? No longer interested in making any, save for a few rare exceptions and depending on the level of interest I have in the situation or person. This is not me having a pity-party and it’s far from self-flagellation… I’m not quite sure how to pinpoint my current state. It’s an amalgamation of feelings and a lack thereof.  I’m frustrated that personal goals aren’t panning out the way I need them to. I’m feeling like I’ve reached an impasse and want to buy a one-way ticket someplace faraway. I am struggling against the pull of “That Dark Place”, because I don’t want or like residing or visiting there. Essentially, I just want to be left alone… literally and figuratively; which I pretty much am, for the most part. I’ve learned to hide this particular brand of dismay well, because I've had to and quite frankly, don't really have a choice. Warding off encroaching demons that prompt me to shut down completely-- where I'm almost robotic, detached and somewhat cold-- is daunting though.  
Thirty-five is on my heels and I don’t care; as the last several Born Days, were uneventful and stark reminders of … many things, so I don't make much them... I prefer to spend them alone... with wine if I have access to any.   

Anyway, this is my attempt to write through the blockage as I continue to claw my way out of my funk, because I'm mentally worn out. At times I wish I “indulged” in other, otherwise I’d just smoke or pill-pop my way towards an epiphany… but then I doubt I’d ever get anything productive done, I’d be existing in some delusional state of being, and it’s not really a viable way (for me) to reach a resolution.  I’m just a bit overwhelmed from being underwhelmed.

“I still consider myself to be my own best friend though, and there's no company I'd rather keep than my own. Aside from my immediate family, there are very few people I care to spend more than a few hours (tops) with. Parties and particularly long "hang-outs" leave me feeling stir-crazy and most of all, self conscious. I don't really like myself much around other people. After the initial charm of my niceties wears off, I feel awkward and annoying. I long to be alone, to be with myself. It's a bit odd, simultaneously loving and hating yourself like I do.
And so I retreat back into my world of loner-ism, and I perk up. I start to feel better about myself. I shed the feelings that others are judging me and I go shopping, I treat myself to lunch, I take a bath, I read, I paint, I watch a movie (no interruptions from the peanut gallery, thank you very much). I do the things I wouldn't want to do with anyone else, and I become a better person for it.” 

Me, almost to a T. I'm working my way through the woods and towards clarity, though.  

May 28, 2012

These and Those: My Petition or In Which Coffee Rhetoric Vents


I’ve been blocked for the past two weeks or so and have been dying to spill open. I’ve stopped-and-started several different blog posts but couldn’t quite streamline my thoughts enough to compose them separately.  I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone and vent them all in one post via a series of mini-posts.

On Fat:  Very rarely do I feel the need to explain why I do what I do and am what I am, about me and mine, because folks who have no direct impact on me or who know nothing about me don’t deserve an explanation or to have their foolery placated however, allow me to wax poetic about the thunder in my thighs.  I’ve noticed whenever the topic of Black women’s bodies and/or images (especially when weight is the topic of discussion) come up, folks… men and women…  seem to get particularly up-in-arms about Black and their personal struggles with weight.  When Alice Randall wrote her controversial article in the New York Times’ op-ed  section, suggesting that most Black women were fat because they wanted to be so, there were a fair number of blog posts challenging her sweeping generalizations about Black women and weight (most of which she framed using her own, random experiences).  There were also the ubiquitous comments from the concern-troll chorus who opined “Black women are fat, because they eat too much and don’t exercise! You’re in denial about your fat, fatty!!” Cut-and-dry, because anybody can be a pretend licensed physician when rage-typing about fat, non?  

Full disclosure about yours truly (and this is the last time I’ll broach the topic of weight); First and foremost, I am a full-figured Black woman.  

My weight has always fluctuated and I’m prone to bloat, some of which I hold in water, apparently, and can pee right on out if I drink enough fluids or eat enough produce.  I’ve been smaller than I am and I’ve been much bigger (which I don't wish to be again). Contrary to popular anti-fat belief; I am active, I’m not diabetic, and I’ve dated actively… and no not as a “jump-off” for fat fetishists or chubby chasers.  I’m not a fucking “Mammy” or the "Sassy Black chubby friend" to anybody, so those of you who like to toss those ridiculous phrases around freely when describing women with my body type, can stop... especially when it doesn’t always apply.

Up until about four years ago, I was a vegetarian for more than a decade. I’ve walked two marathons so far, in my adult life; one for Breast Cancer, another for Obesity. I’ve also grappled with an eating disorder and put my health at risk trying to force myself thinner.  I subsisted off a diet of Saltine Crackers and Extra-strength Dexatrim.  Sometimes I’d chew my food and discretely spit it out in a napkin… never swallowing.  I put my health at risk; my nail-beds turned an odd orange color and my skin, an took on an odd grey pallor… but, but my face was so angular! And while I wasn't necessarily skinny, I was a lot thinner than I was.  Then I made (what I considered to be) the "mistake" of masticating and swallowing my food... and I gained back all of my weight and then some.  I eventually lost it having spent an entire summer exercising along with a plus-size aerobics instructor named Idrea on a VHS tape I'd found and maintaining a mostly vegetarian diet.  

Once I started eating meat again and I gained back a few pounds. Would I mind being thinner? No. Do I loathe myself because I’m not thin? Nope (and folks are apparently upset about it, because they think I should be wallowing in a sea of shame and self-loathing). Do I sit around stuffing my face with cake, pie, and ice cream? No. Sounds delectable, but no.  Do I believe that Black people need to take their health and overall well-being (both physical and mental) seriously? Yes.  While I’m not a gym rat, I am active and try my best to stay as such.  I am not diabetic, but I do have a fat rear, big thighs, and wide hips.  This doesn’t bode well for the fat police and quite frankly, I don't care.  I’m not a pro-fat advocate, but hearing the word “fat” stopped making me wince ages ago. Because while I realize there's room for improvement (as far as my body goes), I've grown comfortable in my skin. And most people will read that as me being "in denial". Fortunately I'm not here to placate most people, so feel no need to try and convince or prove anything. 

What I do endorse, is Black women maintaining their best selves.  And to people who are prone to fat-shaming or accusing Black women of being proud fatties who’re in denial, I implore you not to worry or get so incited to wrath about it, because fat isn’t contagious… it won’t rub-off on you like the plague… you can’t get fat via osmosis, so you can stop taking the struggles of someone else and their road towards body acceptance, so personally; as if it’s impacting your lives.  Those of you who don’t struggle with weight, get incited to wrath on social media forums and it makes me… well… chuckle.  If someone is grappling with weight, chances are they’ve already discussed it with their physician (and, um you’re not him or her) and are probably working towards being healthier; so keep that in mind when some of you whine, “Why can’t we be open about discussing how fat Black women are?” Having a frank discussion about the health of our community versus waging an all-out attack on a group of women, using nasty rhetoric isn’t having an “open discussion.”  And spare me the argument about semantics... "fat" vs "thick". That's a futile disagreement and it doesn't interest me.


Black women in my sphere are taking their health seriously… they’re full-figured, in-between, and/or thin and/or have lost a great deal of weight (and still fight the good fight to keep it off). None of them are in any state of denial. If someone is fat, they know it and don't need to be clubbed over the head by angry masses about it. As someone pointed out in the comments section of my Alice Randall post, there’s a distinct difference between wanting to be fat and accepting being fat... and body acceptance isn't about denial or advocating for fat, as much as it's about not wallowing in self-loathing and doing the absolute best to work with and maintain the body and health you have now... which sometimes results in lost poundage, inches, and good overall well-being.

And If it still bothers you to see fat bodies (even when fat bodies are at the gym, walking around your local track, in the produce section of your local Whole Foods, or hyuking it up enjoying herself at your favorite wine bar)… then I’m sure there’s a nice cave you can sequester yourselves in. Cheers. In the meantime, for fatties who like to stay healthy and active, For Harriet (a blog that legitimately aims to help elevate the state of Black women and our health and wellness), compiled a helpful list of online communities to aid Black women in staying healthy and fit. Additionally, fashion blogger and size-acceptance advocate, Gabi Fresh also encourages active and healthy full-figured women to head to the beach and enjoy themselves, as she did on a recent trip to Las Vegas with her boyfriend. Gabi showed off pics of herself clad in a striped bikini on her blog, titling her post, Fatkini 2012


On Having My Very Own Pinterest Troll:  I recently contended with a prolific Internet bully and Pinterest troll named Kelli Romero, who wrote “EWW YUKK!” among other obnoxious comments, when I pinned my op-ed post about Alice Randall’s article to my “Women’s Issues” board. She also wrote, “Sorry, but you look gross” mistaking a nude photo of Anansa Sims for me… and much to my delight actually… after I told her to keep her negative, trollish comments (which I likened to defacing private property) to herself and to stay off my boards.
Upon checking her activity, I discovered she made trolling various body acceptance boards and many others featuring plus-size models or bodies, a full-time job.  She also made sure to spew a bunch of racist and homophobic rhetoric in the comments section underneath other people’s boards and seemed to delight in going out of her way to look for those with pornographic material, just so she could type “Gross, I’m reporting this page!” in the comments section.  Needless to say, Kelli (who appears to be the mother of two adult women and a grandmother and therefore, too old to be a bullish, racist, homophobic internet troll) lost the battle when she was challenged head-on, by a fed up Pinterest user, who beat her at her own game, or at least shut her up. When confronted, she deleted her comments, some were flagged (since Pinterest has yet to employ a "block" option), Kelli seemingly cleaned up her hateful activity, changed her Pinterest avi (from a picture of herself) and name, and she hasn’t done any trolling since… at least for now. But like most online (or real life) bullies tend to do; she insinuated herself into the role of victim, but not before cleaning up her own filth, so her Pinterest defender(s) couldn’t see the trail that led to someone creating a Pinterest board in her dark-sided honor, emblazoned with some of her favorite troll-rhetoric. 


On Intra-racial Stereotyping:  Improving the quality of one’s life is something Black women… and anyone really… should aspire to do.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Often, Black women are relegated to the bottom of the totem pole. We’re told that we’re too fat, not attractive enough, to angry to be considered as marriage material, unattractive, too dark, too light, too awkward, too... well you get the hint. And often, a lot of those hurtful tropes are perpetuated by Black men. So imagine my disappointment upon noticing a pattern of intra-racial stereotyping on different New Media platforms, being perpetuated by a subgroup of so-called Black Women Empowerment collectives (or at least they attach themselves to the movement), targeting other Black women.  The rhetoric is a nasty and divisive way of thinking and it does absolutely nothing to “uplift” Black women, as alleged. 

So far I’ve read comments accusing darker-skinned actresses who don’t play sexpot roles described as Mammies, Black women who pursue intra-racial dating preferences labeled as “Black male identified” or as not being feminine enough, Single Black mothers brushed off as “Ghetto Queens”, a call for Black women to divest from Black communities entirely, so on and so forth.  When did we start extolling the tenets of White Supremacy to denigrate one another?   

Perhaps I’m confused or was hopeful, but how can we honestly build as Black women, when some of us seem intent on condescending to those we perceive to be lesser-than or spiteful towards those who hold opinions that are contrary to the rhetoric that's being put down?  
To say you’re building a movement to help empower Black women, while seemingly putting your foot on and mocking those who’re poor, uneducated, or already downtrodden seems counterproductive. Moreover, why can’t we accept people’s dating choices without resorting to petty name-calling? Haven’t we already realized by now, that none of us are a monolith? Shouldn't we be past that tired interracial vs intra-racial dating argument at this juncture? Who cares? We are probably the only group of women who put so much painstaking emphasis on it.
Being empowered, is being free to make choices that suit your lifestyle... without fear of being chastised for it. If a young Black woman is making destructive lifestyle choices... then let's either figure out why and offer solutions to help her as opposed to calling her a "ghetto queen"... or simply, shut up and be happy you aren't unfortunate enough to have to navigate those particular trials and tribulations.

As was pointed out to me during an email discussion with another hyper-aware Black woman I love building with online, it seems Black women are so desperate to be loved and accepted, we’ve resorted to turning on one another and breaking off into factions. And if that works for you, then fine... godspeed. We won’t always thrust our hips in accordance with the djembe beat. Perhaps Zora Neale Hurston was onto something when she opined, “All my skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.”  


On being an Angry Black Woman:  I am a Black woman. And I reserve the right to express anger when and where it’s warranted. I take issue with the term "Angry Black Woman", because it robs me of the right to be human. Often, Black women are considered to be nothing more than mules … unemotional Super Women, unfairly saddled with carrying heavy loads without the capacity or right to become exasperated. I've always wondered why I have to be an "Angry Black Woman" and guilt-tripped about expressing a very real and human emotion. I rarely hear White women described as "Angry White Women" or Asian women described as "Angry Asian Women", etc. when they express their dismay over an indignity. 

In many instances, a Black woman's displeasure about certain situations is justified. To rob me of the right to emote as any other woman does, then stereotype me by comparing me to folks on TV, who're getting a check to act over-the-top foolish (aka Nene Leakes, Tami Roman, and the rest of the Basketball Wives) is ridiculous. And I'm tired of the comparisons, especially since no Black women I interact with in actual life, act out in that way. 

Black women have the right to emote and express righteous indignation when and where it's warranted and should exercise that right without having to worry over trying to placate the self-righteousness, ego, or ignorance of someone else.

I'm over seeing us at war with one another. Just... live and relish your lives in the ways in which it works for you, and allow other people to do the same with theirs. We don't have to agree and you don't even have to like how other people go about choose to live. In fact, we don't have to build or be bothered with one another in order to live and let live. Seems simple enough. 


On Race and Oppression: If you're a non-Black person or not a person of color who doesn't believe that racism still exists or who rolls your eyes whenever you come across conversations that deconstruct White privilege and supremacy, homophobia, or patriarchy that is definitely your right however, bum-rushing online communities where people of color or marginalized groups build with one another, deconstruct racism, and do anti-racism/anti-oppression work to derail conversations to suit your own interests, is not the way. You may not want to believe or even hear that marginalized groups still experience discrimination, but it's not your place to dictate to people how you think they should navigate being discriminated against or even how to address these issues. You don't get to demand that people "just get over it", and grow defensive and try to paint yourself as a victim when you're taken to task for your ignorance. If you're truly an ally of anti-oppression work and are interested in participating in the discourse, the first rule of thumb is to listen... LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN and read carefully. 

Trivializing people's experiences and suggesting that they're exaggerating or that it's all in their head is not listening. Moreover, it's obnoxious. If you're a racist, misogynist, or bigot, then I suppose it's par for the course; in which case, perhaps you shouldn't try to participate in the discussion and steer clear of those forums, lest you just paint yourself as an internet troll. 

Unless you can morph into a person of color, a woman, a woman of color, a gay person, a gay person of color, a Transgender person, a sex worker, a person who has been sexually assaulted and/or harassed, a person who has been denied basic human and civil rights, etc... you don't have even an inkling of what it's like to navigate their world. These stories are bitter pills to swallow, because they aren't meant to soothe your ego, make you feel better about yourself, placate your privilege, or comfort your sensibilities.

August 22, 2011

Uncivilized Afros and Slave Earrings

Twitter... My timeline makes me cry with laughter, furrow my brow in consideration, and mutter "hell no" whenever anyone re-tweets a link to something questionable or highly inappropriate. The latest marketing and media missteps caused me to exclaim just that when this past week, several re-tweets exposed skincare brand Nivea running afoul of folks with their Look Like You Give a Damn campaign geared towards men. The featured ad that ran in the September issue of Esquire Magazine presented a clean-cut Black man gripping a scraggly, brown rubber mask, with an unkempt beard and Afro with the tagline: RE-CIVILIZE YOURSELF. The general consensus was that the ad was racially insensitive, particularly since people of the African diaspora have historically been judged as being uncivilized and not entirely human. Twitter's Black community took Nivea to task, prompting the company to issue an apology, in which they admitted: "After realizing that this ad is misleading, it was immediately withdrawn." The company further reinforced Nivea as a company that promotes diversity and tolerance. "This ad was inappropriate and offensive. It was never our intention to offend anyone, and for this we are deeply sorry. This ad will never be used again." They promised.
While Nivea quickly retreated back to the drawing board for a more presentable, less contentious marketing campaign, Vogue Italia incited the Twitter masses to chorus again with their online editorial titled: "Slave Earrings."   
"If the name brings to the mind the decorative traditions of the women of colour who were brought to the southern United States during the slave trade, the latest interpretation is pure freedom." They advise. 
Apparently the Trans-Atlantic slave trade featured a ship packed with sexy, flirty, and fashion forward folk sporting killer hoop earrings. While some people want to push "post-racial" propaganda as a way to trivialize and not have to deal with racism and bigotry while whining that we're becoming a society that's riddled with excessive political-correctness, it seems that racially insensitive quips are on the rise. Political pundits want to glorify the good ol' days and regale the masses with tales of how wonderful slavery and racial oppression supposedly was and marketing heads seem to not have at least one or two people on their staff with some semblance of common sense, before putting ads out. People can't help but react when their communities are still... in 2011... being marginalized and exploited and then told to stfu, stop over-reacting and just deal with it. 
Vogue Italia could have taken a different approach in explaining the decorative customs of women from the African Diaspora and how tribal jewelry has influenced today's versions of hoop earrings... and NOT title the feature Slave Earrings. I can't help but have an impending  feeling of dread now, when I consider which pair of large, funky hoops to wear. I think we co-exist in an age where people are (or should be anyway) highly-evolved enough to have gotten a clue about respecting people's differences and understanding the fundamentals of what's acceptable versus what isn't, regardless of how far-removed they may be from how the rest of society lives or how politically correct they think we're becoming. It's not about stifling speech, forcing folks to like something about somebody, or thinking how much a group of people are overreacting... but about reaching a place where we actually consider someone's feelings when we tackle certain aspects of their culture and truly understand what place we're coming from before we engage in discourse about their lifestyle or history. 
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August 18, 2011

Spilling Open: Introspection

I haven't had the opportunity to spill open on here in a while. .. not in the fashion I'm accustomed to. "Diversifying" and introducing different elements to this blog has prompted me to sort of shut my personal self off. Since I can't afford the luxury of sighing and heaving to a shrink, I figured I'd get back to the middle and do it here. I miss spilling open here. The luxury of having my own forum and not restricting how I utilize my voice is a wonderful and freeing right to have. This very late and sleepless night, I choose to project in a very self-analytical way... for I'm the best, worst, most knowledgeable judge of me, myself, and I. 
Three days ago, I turned 34. I haven't had the opportunity to let the fact that I'm in my hardcore, mid-thirties, sink in until late last night and then now. I've always been an extremely leery woman, but it seems the older I get... the grumpier, more impatient, cut and dry paranoid I become about people's intentions (not to mention the insane hormonal changes my body is experiencing). My thoughts run a mile a minute... still... and my intuition goes into overdrive... The nights I can't sleep (which are often), I'm more in form and my emotions run the gamut.
Close friendships I've had for years are still intact, easy to maintain, and I cherish them. I also curse them for being so long-distance.  I'm finding that cultivating new ones is a difficult process for me. Sort of like the three times I've tried, to no avail, to care for and nurture organic  French lavender plants.  While I enjoy meeting their acquaintance, I don't trust people upon first coming into contact with them and schmoozing is a daunting task I'd rather avoid. My expectations of folks I fancy tend to be pretty basic, but high (within reason)... so when they generate a flaky outer-crust, I have visuals of them engaging in unsavory discussions about me when I'm not around and cackling at my expense after I've opened up to them (a la the movie, Carrie... when she flashes back to her mother mockingly telling her; "They're all gonna laugh at you!"). Mind you, none of the things I'm divulging charts the madness of an Angry Black Woman who's aging and coming undone. I've gone through some schtuff  over the years with people I considered friends, who eventually had no use for me once I stopped being able to provide them with the things they needed from me or who found someone more ride-or-die to guffaw and shoot the shit with. This is nineteen years worth of angst. I'm conflicted; sometimes  assholish when it comes to shielding myself... and so it manifests in a brooding, somewhat cold package ready to cut someone's jugular (or shutdown and close up shop, depending on the situation)- when I think I'm being compromised in some way. I stay solitary for the most part and actually quite enjoy doing things alone... In fact I find it gratifying and not unlike the scene from Catherine Breillat's French film, Romance... where Marie stalks her boyfriend to a sushi restaurant... chagrined by his flagrant pleasure in being alone eating his California rolls and reading his book ... without her... to which she mentally voices over that she would've rather found him cheating with another woman. 
While I dislike being a mercurial woman sans the desire to nurture deeper relationships with the opposite sex or entertain any new applicants for friendship, I've grown comfortable in my ... aloofness (for lack of a better term), as it's easy to just exist in a world unto myself and with people I'm comfortable with and who know me. But while my opaque and indifferent nature seems comforting and offers the protection I need from being inconvenienced in some way...  it's exasperating. 
Aging, learning how to deal with other people's personality quirks juxtaposed against my own, and fumbling towards my core presents an amalgamation of different feelings: perplexed, resistant, and frustrated ...
I understand that venturing outside the comfortable confines I've built around myself is a difficult but very necessary thing I need to experience more often... Despite it being so easy to withdraw and become self-contained... In essence, I just want to be left the hell alone; yet essentially I want to be happy having reached some sort of balanced medium... but I know this isn't a healthy or realistic expectation. What can I say?... I'm a middle child who embraces her right to err and grow. Stay tuned...

July 13, 2011

Not Defeated...

Frustrated... Back to Square One... Need a freakin' break... Cheated... annoyed... ANNOYED ... In need of a reprieve... mentally exhausted... have no time to sulk but I really want to sulk ... At my wit's end ... DETERMINED ... Deserving... Mercurial ... Would love to curse aloud ... Desperately wanting to break things ... sick of heavily sighing ... Want to go far-far-FAR away ... Am introspective... Misanthropic... In need of company...$ being > than my growing list of of needs... Sick of politics... Sick of politicians... disgusted by the economic state of this country and the world at large... sick of getting shafted... tired of working from this crummy ass laptop... sick of people and their bullshit... Over indecisiveness... over being over... blah blah, so forth, so on, and blah... 
But I'm not defeated... 

April 12, 2011

These and Those: Let Them Eat Cake


In addition to days spent watching play rehearsals take shape right before my eyes and writing about the experience; they've been seemingly filled with me stuffing my gob with fancily decorated, themed birthday cakes and pizza, watching macabre true-crime documentaries on Investigation Discovery (these keep my female-intuition keen), RuPaul's Drag Race, hunting for the perfect pair of jeans to help flatter my ample-ness, warding off unwanted advances from unwanted men, and nights spent guffawing over full glasses of wine. Whatever it takes to dull the edge a little bit, because at times I feel as if my brain is going to short circuit. Moments spent staring off into space in the absence of wine, definitely help. But I definitely dig this feeling. 
Spring has sprung and the weather is finally starting to reflect the season... It has also signaled the awakening of the riff-raff from their long, harsh winter hibernation. They've slithered out of dark caves and from underneath moist rocks... stumbling all over city, squinting in the sun and testing their sea legs. They've left their marks on the worn city sidewalks in the form of hocked, phlegmy loogies splattered on the cement... competing with guano for domination. I shudder at the the bottom of my shoes and so don't ever bother looking. 
On an exciting note, I've had great hair days and have resolved to wear it out... free and curly... as often as possible... taking a break from my signature (and uncomfortably tight and pinned) bun. My scalp has exhaled and my edges are thankful... for as beautiful as she is... they've no desire to be afflicted with the same fate as Naomi Campbell's
Yes, my days are harried, but thus far they've been steady. I like steady ... I'm hoping they become filled with more writing referrals and freelance gigs because the more I work a non-traditional job doing what I love and the further I veer away from a regular 9-to-5 "day job" the more piercing my hunger pangs become ... To be continued...

March 07, 2011

These and Those: Winning

It's Monday.  I've got my second wind and refuse to acknowledge the prospects who've messaged me on the dating site I haven't(?) re-activated.
In the meantime, I remain dateless but too busy to care, as I'm still hard at work trying to make a proper name for myself as a writer for hire (and yes I wrote "proper"... forget what you've heard on the street).
Ideally, I'd love my week to chug, chug, chug along without having to hear or read about the self-inflicted disintegration of a self-entitled, overpaid, haggard looking White man actor in need of a long nap, but alas, the media storm continues to rain down on the masses like an unexpected and unwanted golden shower shortly after a sexual interlude... and no that has never happened to me, nor am I anticipating it to anytime soon...
In the meantime, I'm still perfecting the art of schmoozing... even if it means pretending to care while some middle-aged, drunk but rich wine bar regular complains how badly his whole entire body hurts, as this bodes poorly for me and my endeavors. On the flipside of the coin, it does mean interacting and fostering partnerships with other local artsy types.
Check out man about town, filmmaker and video producer, Helder Mira's (of Rabbit Ears Media) interview with artist Rashaad Newsome, whose featured work is currently on display at the Wadsworth Atheneum as part of their Matrix series, and offer your feedback. I've been working a little with Helder, helping document the process of play-in-the-making, Flipside, and he is extremely talented (and single, ladies ... and did I mention his name is Helder?) But I digress...
I have yet to find the time to go see Rashaad's work, but I simply MUST! I've been hearing a great deal about this exhibit and would hate to let the opportunity slip through my fingers. I'm definitely trying to win (sans this elusive tiger blood), and take advantage of all the awesome event unfolding in the city of Hartford without spreading myself too thin...  Anyway, see Helder's vid.









March 01, 2011

See You On The Flipside

I feel like I haven't posted here in forever! These "I've been neglecting my blog" posts are starting to bore me. But I swear it's for a good reason. I've still be busy with the theater group HartBeat Ensemble, writing for their blog and learning the in's, out's, and frustrations of PR & Marketing. But thus far it has been so rewarding. I popped my press release "cherry" and did a relatively decent job of not effing it up even though I sent out an initial press release with the wrong time and even was able to get a mention on Frank Rizzo's Hartford Courant blog
This gig is a lot of work and causes me to take deep inhalations and exhalations of breath... because it challenges me as a writer. I'm developing a more disciplined routine, which I lacked before (there're still a few kinks to iron out) and I'm learning consistency... produce, produce, produce. I'm becoming even more of an insomniac, which is a price I'm willing to pay to expand my portfolio and raise my profile as a freelance writer for hire. It also gives me the opportunity to sit in wine bars (I do my best writing there) and observe folks and all their scandalous ways... more fodder for Coffee Rhetoric, and boy do I have fodder. In the meantime, if you're a Hartford resident and are in the area this Thursday evening, please stop by The Hollander on Asylum Street, downtown Hartford for HartBeat Ensemble's fundraiser: The 2nd Annual Improv Idol. Read the details here. And while you're at it, read my hard work dammit. All proceeds go towards funding the on-going production of their play (the one I'm currently blogging about), Flipside. It's only $10 and I figure if folks can pay that much for one of those disgustingly sweet and tangy Appletini's (a drink that's the bane of my bar existence), then they can fork it over for a good cause and get a good laughing watching some of Connecticut's best improv troupes perform against one another for the title of CT's Improv Idol. 
I'm also stoked that massive, dirty, and depressing looking snow banks are slowly melting away and spring is slowly caressing my cheek with soft, gentle kisses. It's also effing disgusting to see the final reveal after the snow has completely melted in various spots in the city.  Anyway, I'll be back... 

February 14, 2011

These and Those: Onward March

I haven't abandoned Coffee Rhetoric in the least.  My new gig blogging for a local professional theater group, as well as trying to juggle and acclimate myself to newly elected PR and marketing responsibilities has kept me busy. Not complaining as these are things I've been steadily working towards! I'm enjoying interacting with this band of professional actors and definitely feel like I'm in my element, although trying to break myself of "day job" type protocol has been a bit challenging, so I still tread with caution and make sure to ask... but I do dig these fellow creative minds. It has also allowed me to meet and network with even more people as I try to follow-through with being a fabulously broke socialite, as the theater posts have been well received. Speaking of which, the more I navigate the trials and tribulations of socializing on my own, the more I realize that I'm simply getting too old to entertain specific personalities and people. I'm becoming more solitary... more... leery... more... observant... because it amazes me how people will sit back and expect someone to expend energy trying to placate their egos, yet won't put forth any effort trying to nurture any type of rapport or camaraderie and will go on a tirade about what someone did to slight or inconvenience them.
Over the course of the past two years or so, I've gotten to know and develop friendships with some pretty genuine and amazing people... but I've also come across a few recently who unfortunately proved to be high maintenance, self-entitled, and self-important. I'm just not willing to yield to someone particularly if it's not a mutual or beneficial effort. My derring-do allows me to dance a tango around someone who doesn't seem certain about how they want to present themselves to me. I went through a trying summer this past year and this current one... I deserve to exhale for once and relax my sphincter ... even if for a moment in this particular space and time. 
I'm just too old(er) and far too exasperated for theatrics...and am only interested in the stage work I'm currently being paid to cover. This whole culture of people who can't seem to move forward unless prompted by pretend so-called "haters" just doesn't bode well for me or my sanity, because I don't need a band of merry hecklers to catapult me to where I need to be. The whole concept of "hateration" is just distracting  and it's easy for one to feed into their own hype as they get swept up in the rapture of addressing the people they perceive to be jealous booers and hissers. I simply practice the art known as IGNORING. If maintaining a relatively as low-key as possible cipher is not for you... then I'm not ... for you, because I loathe grown-up bullies and people who do and say cruel things for no reason other than to try to conquer their own insecurities and issues. Otherwise, at this point and time...always and seemingly forever... I'm still fumbling towards ecstasy, wishing my bestest friend was closer, building up my battered resilience as well as even more character, and am in somewhat of a decent place right now and hope to see it through to fruition. 
This pretty much sums up where I am... 

December 28, 2010

Touch Up

It has been awhile. I hate staying away for too long, but sometimes the banality of life gets in the way. I've been up to some pretty interesting things in the midst of the triteness and the soup I'm prepping is cooking at a low simmer. I'm hoping it'll come to a full boil sometime soon, because I'm starving. I'm trying to stay motivated and not get sidetracked by travail and annoyances that plague like a fruit fly outbreak in a banana factory, in the dead of summer. 
Poetz Corner performer
I recently attended the season finale of Poetz Corner at Cloud 9 in Hartford, hosted by local performance artist, publisher, and writer Shireal Renee, who always seems to steer and stir up a good show. It was an upbeat culmination that showcased outstanding a rousing group of poets this time around. The best was seemingly saved for last. I was even forced coerced and cajoled into shuffling up to the stage during the open Mic and read a rather salacious piece myself... much to my chagrin, as I'm  a writer and provocateur ... not a performance artist. I do look forward to seeing what next season generates. While making sure that Poetz Corner gave good show this season, Shireal Renee also found time to perform her one woman show, "Wide Open" to much acclaim... So much so, its encore is slated to open again on February 4th & February 6th at the Wadsworth Atheneum of Art
I've made a few long overdue and desired vanity changes to Coffee Rhetoric, and shortened the url address to dot com. The anticipation is killing me, and I simply cannot wait until January 1st to unveil the sprucing up I did. So here is the updated and improved coffeerhetoric.com it its preliminary stage. I am looking forward to getting back to my regularly scheduled blog updates. So much has incited me to chorus and I miss ranting about it! I've actually resorted to journaling by hand. People, places, this, that, and the other never cease to amaze me, and I need to talk massive amounts of shit about it. 
I do appreciate all the continued support everyone bestows upon me. I'm indebted to you few dedicated readers and will fake bake you all a heaping batch of hot, chocolate-chip cookies someday... um... in this lifetime... 
I'm back in session and don't plan on taking any more extended breaks! I feel so... so lost when I don't update on a consistent basis, as issues fall by the wayside. I am trying to get back to the middle ... spilling open offers the catharsis I need and my chest is constipated. I don't subscribe to the New Year's Resolutions List theatrics most other people do. I'm not one to wait once a year to improve upon something as I'm a work in progress and continue to fumble towards ecstasy, and quite honestly, there're some things I simply just... prefer and so have no desire to change. On some level, I suppose my rebellion against making empty resolutions is why I decided not wait, to breathe life back into my blog or to unmask the changes. I'm psychoanalytical like that. ;-p
That is all. 

October 12, 2010

The MIS-Mis-Education of Coffee Rhetoric

To Whom It May Concern
My days have been busy, moody... moody, busy, misunderstood, excited, dateless but excited about it, excited yet misunderstood... so forth and so on. My mood runs the gamut.... the myriad of emotions... it could also be due to hormones and PMS but I digress... I know this much is true; My disposition is at its worse when I feel trivialized or misunderstood. I've grown exasperated trying to over-explain my personal goals and what my social media endeavors are. If you get it, sweet... let's have a tête-à-tête, If you don't, then a Kanye-shrug for you and a plague o'er your home, for thinking I am the creator of illegitimate ideas... Le sigh, okay, I'm being a jerk, so a brief explanation for any and all interested parties, this one last time and this one last time only, because I like making worthwhile connections...
For those not in the know, I am a writer and am expounding on my use of social media-> my blog COFFEE RHETORIC ... to get my points and projects across to the masses. My goal is to parlay the modest success of my blog into an even more successful and lucrative freelance writing career. The powers of social media and the internet know no bounds and manifests itself in a variety of different ways for many different people... whether it be celebrity news blogs, politically charged blogs, or to promote activism. I hope to channel MY powers into expanding my SOCIAL MEDIA/WRITING BUSINESS ... which is called COFFEE RHETORIC, INC., which emphasizes culture, free thought, social issues, race, creativity, writing, and  all of the other artsy fartsy or hot button shit I love and most people consider snooty and/or touchy. That's what I love to write about, that's what I discuss with friends...So far this and one other blog/project is under the COFFEE RHETORIC umbrella. I love using this medium to encourage dialogue via the written word and visuals.
I've also grown quite fond of building relationships with new people both locally and beyond and espousing the positive, wonderful aspects of my city and its people... as well as the interesting personalities I come across in general. I like writing and spilling open about certain aspects of my life and experiences... as well as reporting on other interesting lives via my fledgling social media business, COFFEE RHETORIC... Inc. Which is why I've included a new feature on my blog COFFEE RHETORIC, I've entitled, Coffee Buzz. It's just as exciting, necessary, and informative as my Bus Tales, believe this, because I love sharing information, particularly if it's something that excites me or gives me great pleasure. What is there, not to understand? I want to work for myself, supporting myself, doing what I LOVE. At some point, my novela and other writing projects I've been nibbling away at forever will be published by a notable publishing company... or maybe (and preferably) independently via COFFEE RHETORIC, Inc. Some may still be confused or just don't get it... but it doesn't make my passion for this blog and writing any less significant, plus I've got business cards dammit. That is all. ...
X Oh X Oh
Coffey

August 08, 2010

Maintaining

So far, I'm maintaining. Despite not being exactly where I'd like to be, not getting exactly what I want to have, so forth and so on, I feel somewhat at peace... somewhat. There're definitely intermittent moments where the weather forecast is fraught with cumulus clouds. During that those moments, Horus steps in front of me and angrily jabs his fist at the sky as Wadjet keeps me under her watchful eye... making sure I don't collapse in a dejected heap. It is then that I continue to flail and fight, the undeniable resolve of Sekhmet. 
Fringed ends are trimmed for good and I tightly knot the freshly shorn and intact ones. That is all the closure I need, because regressing is the interpretive dance form I'd rather not engage in. I'm exasperated, but I continue to trudge forth, shrugging off non essential baggage, lightening my load as best as I can, while holding on to those provisions crucial to my survival. I've got those neatly packed away in a trendy, brown leather hand bag. They sit amongst my lip gloss, hand cream, wallet, pepper spray, ear phones, and mobile phone. 
I'm sputtering forward, forcing my way through as many doors as I can push my way through... Please note the tip jar to the left. No bills lower than Good Karma and Well Wishes, thank you very much. 

June 08, 2010

LOL Cat

It's a wonderful, sunny morning. The air is dry (humidity and rain be damned) and comfortable, and I'm sitting here sipping on coffee mulling over what to do, checking my email, reading the news and chuckling at the latest and greatest in popular culture. Things seem par for the course as usual, lately; The Marginalization of Black Women.To further drive the point on home that we're the LEAST favored- especially (it seems as of late) considering all of the media coverage and news specials about why we can't find love- is a rapper who calls himself Slim Thug; - (insert smirk here)- who poked his head from behind the cloak of irrelevancy- (Read: from underneath a moist rock)- to eloquently offer his two cents on the plight of The Black Woman's Love to Vibe.com, because nothing feels as uplifting as a Black man stepping on our throats to keep us down, never mind the fact that the majority has and does already. I wasn't going to dignify this foolatry with a blog post, but I'm far too amused and tickled not to weigh-in: 
"I have a brother that dates a White woman and he always be fucking with me about it saying, “Y’all gotta go through all that shit [but] my White woman is fine. She don’t give me no problems, she do whatever I say and y’all gotta do all that arguing and fighting and worry about all this other shit.”
My girl is Black and White. I guess the half White in her is where she still cooks and do all the shit that I say, so we make it."...
are amongst some of the sparkling gems of wisdom Slim Thug shares with Vibe online. Quite honestly, I'm not offended; particularly when one considers the source. I think I was more taken aback by his un-cited comment about successful Black men being "extinct."  Since I don't have a "White side" like Slim Thug's current girlfriend or choose to cater to a man's every whim just because he thinks I should, I can only opine from a solely Black side and say that I am getting bored with this growing divide between Black men and women. Many Black men have been espousing Slim Thug's antiquated rhetoric for the past 50 years or so.  Slim Thug outlined a lot of what he wants done for him, but didn't outline how he'd reciprocate those gestures to his biracial girlfriend's "White side." (I didn't mind mentioning her "Black side" because he doesn't seem all that keen on that half). I'd like to think that relationships are a little deeper than merely cooking, cleaning, and catering to someone who feels self-entitled, can't stand a woman who does more than nod or blink, and doesn't think he should do something to nourish his partner. Slim Thug also presumes to think that EVERY White woman is a passive doormat with no aspirations other than to wait on someone hand and foot, as if they're 2 dollar concubines.
His ramblings about Black women being nothing more than gold-diggers with no drive (has he noticed the media attention on infidelity and the rise of the groupie lately?? None of them are Black women) - speaks volumes about his own pathology. As a rapper living the lifestyle it entails, I'm sure he runs amongst a certain circle, undoubtedly meeting a specific brand of woman on a consistent basis. Notwithstanding the fact that Slim Thug and his ilk perpetuate that type of behavior, braggartly promising to take women on shopping sprees and lavish trips, while having genital spasms over how much money they make from hustling  ... but will be angry when they're held to that particular standard.
I don't knock anyone's right to fumble towards affluence or a comfortable life or to date who they're attracted to for that matter, but his obvious issues with American African have nothing to do with me or most other Black women for that matter. He chose to engage a certain type of bird... that's his problem and his demon to slay. He should upgrade his intelligence and think outside his box... because any woman who graduated from Columbia University and chooses to nourish this man's ego and allow him to dictate to her, may have some soul searching  to do herself.  
While the latter part of his interview had some valid points about where our community's priorities are based, the bulk of what Slim Thug outlined in his interview spans a wide spectrum and is not behavior exclusive to just Black women. ALL women and men have the capacity to hurt someone or be jerks. The energy you put out is what you get back; bottom line. If you go looking for drama or looking to find flaws or pick a fight with someone, then guess what? ... the relation-SHIP will sink faster than the Titanic.
The same way his brother relates to his White wife, is probably different than how he tried to get on with a Black woman. Respect is a two way street. It's not rocket science. Slim Thug seems to be scarred from a prior relationship, so I'll forgive his irrational generalizations and ignorance. As long as Black men like Slim Thug continue to have a laundry list of ridiculous demands written on the palm of their hands like the next groupie's phone number, Black women will and should continue to have a list of reasonable ones folded neatly into a small square, at the bed of our purses. Otherwise, the word is COMPROMISE. That is all. 


 

April 27, 2010

These and Those

So it appears that the Torment of Tantalus has worked its trickery on me again; 'tis all good though. My world is still level and my resolve is intact... and somewhat stronger than ever. In a phrase, I'm none too worse for wear and still stumbling, trying to find my footing. That's all one can do. 
In the interim, more than ever, I'm finding that personalities are as fickle and unpredictable as seasons and that mediocrity and basic people reign supreme in this cult-of-personality, as they accomplish their come-up from the bottom of the swamp as well as the best catches in the sea, who seem hypnotized by the foolishness of dysfunction. The forecast in my stratosphere range from sunny dispositions to broody, stagnant air. My stopgap is a heavy dose of preoccupation, sprinkled with good old-fashioned aloofness. I tried to find willing and interesting sponsorship/ads for this humble little blog, to no avail. No takers. Perhaps it's for the best. I like being the little engine that could. Just me and my thoughts, spilled out sans irritating, flashing banners. What was I thinking anyway? Back to the weather-- People, men (especially), women... they come and go. As I fumble toward some semblance of ecstasy, I'm humbled to re-realize who and what really matters and how much (more) I value certain people and things. 
Dating doesn't factor into my foresight so much, anymore... because I'm oh, so driven. My legs are pumping and sore from the effort of trying to complete this marathon run; so any and others... this includes rejects who've resurfaced from underneath their moist rocks for Spring, those who whisper sweet nothings (because essentially that's all it amounts to)... can kick rocks. I got my stoic groove back, creativity is flourishing, and I'm nibbling away- (with more frequency... like an famished city rat, who has hit pay dirt with its meal) at writing projects I neglected while in the throes of my frustration and anguish. 
I'll even admit out loud that I attempted to apply for a writing grant a few months ago... and got overwhelmed and intimidated by the whole process and gave up. I'm regretful, but not ashamed. My mind wandered towards more pressing matters...and my passion was stifled.
Regardless of what hasn't happened (yet) , I've got my second wind. I'm still flailing and am not down for the count. Watch out for these blind right-hooks. They are unbridled in their efforts and I take no responsibility for whose jaw might get cracked.

February 17, 2010

NOT.The.One

Dear Life,
Alright, I get it! My tenacity has rubbed you the wrong way.  In fact, my resilience has driven you to test me over and over and over again. Almost to the point that I feel as if I've become your official whipping post.  Now, I was emphatic about starting this new year off to a great start... all around. But alas, to no avail, because you're constantly picking on me. Don't you have any con artists and sketchy characters to teach a lesson?
It wasn't enough that you stomped on my fingers repeatedly while I was desperately hanging onto that window's ledge for leverage a couple of years ago, feet flailing beneath me... desperate for firm footing, because you wanted me to fall onto hard concrete... a broken heap. When that didn't work...when I managed to pull myself up and in... throbbing fingertips and all... you withered away, shrieking like an exorcised banshee... vowing to come back to kick my ass.
Listen, this latest kick to the gut and ribs left me rolling on the floor, clutching my sides in pain. I was not expecting that type of assault. So why continue the onslaught while I'm down? I'm struggling. Crawling. Dragging myself across the floor, in an effort to ward off your attack and stand back up, and you reeled back with your stiletto heel, pointed to perfection- (hey, Karmic bitches need to look fly too)- and administered one final, sharp kick. I thought that one would cause me to projectile vomit all the fight I had left in the pit of my stomach, all over the walls. I was able to choke it back down, however. I curled up in a fetal position to ward off your wild attack as best as I could... as you flailed your fists, shrieked, spat, and stomped like a petulant toddler. I'm still in shock... my ribs and sides are still quite sure from that last kick. But I was still able get back up... and stagger to a safe corner to plot my next move and get my bearings and second wind back.
I'm still mulling. I'm still plotting. A little defeated and bruised... but up and pondering my next move. 

xoxo
Coffey


February 12, 2010

Hathor Take The Wheel

I did not want to bat an eyelash over John Mayer’s recent FAIL interview with Playboy Magazine, but the more in-depth I read it- (in its entirety, because I did not want to comment based solely on the excerpts that got everyone in an uproar)- the harder I blinked and the more perplexed I became. I will not comment on the obvious homophobia or misogyny and ageism he displayed whilst commenting on his former girlfriends (‘right made the acid in my stomach gurgle with displeasure), nor on the lack of confidence he has in his manhood for he spoke at length about his sexual prowess and technique as well as his need to prove himself and be better than the former flames of his conquests. 
What I will rant and rave about however, is John’s proclamations that he has a “hood/nigger” pass, suggesting that having one somehow justifies his never ending, assholish behavior, asinine public comments and Twitter rants. He said he was "Very" just like Black folks. "V.E.R.Y." and so it absolved him of stupid behavior. Man, I guess (not).  John also name dropped Kanye West, a fellow partner in lame grappling with his own P.R. issues and who in 1996 (publicly creamed his trousers over the splendor of biracial women or “mutts” as he affectionately called them, Jay-Z, and other rappers, who, shall I add, seem color-struck and enamored with all things lighter-skinned and/or non-Black themselves, and will never miss an opportunity to bash dark-skinned Black women or to drape themselves with the finest of racially ambiguous vixens. But I digress... 
John Mayer… who always manages to fellate his foot hungrily, deep-throating it with gusto whenever he has the media’s attention… felt his scrotum swelling with douche water after waving his “nigger pass” in the air... going on to gloat, after being asked if Black women threw themselves at him  (a stupid question in and of itself), that while he has a Benetton heart he just couldn’t open himself up to the possibility of entertaining Black women, due to his having a David Duke cock.”
insert record screeching to an abrupt stop right here
Correct me if I’m wrong, or perhaps I’m out of the loop, but I had no idea Black women were drowning John in a river of crème de la coochie. I was completely unaware that this rather uninteresting and bland musician was the stuff that makes Black women swoon with unbridled desire. John also went on to make vulgar remarks about noted Black actress Kerry Washington’s hotness and how she might possibly suck a dick and say, “Yeah, I did it, so what?” for she’d undoubtedly break a Caucasian cad’s heart because she's "crazy like a white girl," or some such nonsense to that effect, his love of porn, and how every White dude bulged out of their boxers for sitcom character Hilary Banks from the The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Additionally, while John Mayer is entitled to his preferences, why do it at the expense of Black women by suggesting that we are somehow not worthy or significant enough for someone as inane as he is? Listen, at the end of the day, I don't need John's racist penis to validate me as a Black woman or any other White man with a "nigger pass" or otherwise for that matter, so I'll sleep well this evening, but imagine the shock and furor had Halle Berry stated she had the heart of Coretta Scott King but the vagina of Minister Louis Farrakhan ... Mmm hmmm... Think, think, think... famous people. THINK before you spew. 
To the assholes who gave Mayer a “nigger pass,” Therein lies the problem, jerks. You make it OK for dumb-asses to engage in hipster racism because you’re giving them the go-ahead to do so…ofttimes at a Black woman's expense.  And then you’re the same jack-asses who want to mollywhop your White buddy, because he said,  “Nigger please!” Um. No sir. You can't have it both ways. Good for the goose but not for the gander??
John Mayer or any other wanna-be down chav gets no “hood pass” from me EVER. I don’t care how many BLACK friends you collect, I don't care how many close White friends I happen to connect with, and I don’t care how many of your BLACK FRIENDS said it was OK to make stupid statements steeped in bigotry. It is never OK to wallow in ignorance because you think it's the hip thing that will get you an *in.* Real talk. I don't hand those types of passes out. Null and VOID. 
Mayer, choked up and regretful (because his publicist told him to be ), issued a tearful apology onstage in the middle of a performance in addition to taking to his Twitter page yet again to partake in some major damage control. I refuse to stroke his ego by saying, “Awww, he made a mistake.” A mistake is something that’s unintentional and not predicated on arrogance and one’s privilege. He's sorry, because folks got pissed and his statements were not well received, because just like many White people who share Mayer's sentiment(s) about being "down", it's always cool to smile proudly and proclaim how much Black people love you, as a way to justify making ignorant (regardless of one's intention) statements out loud. And to co-opt the cool parts of being a racial minority, while rejecting the difficulties of being one. 
In the grand scheme of his stupidity, self-loathing, and narcissism however, I do not believe that Mayer is a racist. And I don't care if his David Duke cock wants to burn a cross at my window, because I am personally not, nor have I ever been rubbing myself raw over John Mayer. He is a bigot who hates women, however... and is a sad a victim of his own delusions of grandeur, arrogance, and sexual inadequacy. And to those Black folks who think it’s cute for some "others" to trash-talk your mothers, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, and sisters (yes, those of you issuing out the free "nigger passes" to your White buddies)… stop perpetuating the disrespectful behavior. Enough is enough.  
Perhaps Mayer's attempt to fumble towards ecstasy and understanding will help us mull over the topics of race and gender a little more closely, and think before we open our gobs... trying to be clever. And a simple, "No, Black women don't throw themselves at me. Not at all." would've sufficed, John.

Read more about Mayer-gate 2010---

February 03, 2010

Just Drive

I feel like I've reached an impasse. A never-ending maze with an elusive exit. So many decisions, so many things to nibble away at, but I'm completely deadlocked. People, places, and things never cease to perplex the hell out of me. And at times, it's overwhelming. I've had moments where I've attempted to check out, but alas, to no avail, because worries, my thoughts continue to plague me. I manage to be aloof in certain aspects of my life i.e., dating; wishy washy suitors, and an endless supply of assholes. In other aspects? Not so much; opportunities, my livelihood, my future. 
Ofttimes I think I have a dubious guardian, who loves toying with me and seeing me grapple with the worst luck! Or perhaps I'm an unwitting contestant in some twisted reality television program, where the masses are watching me wrestle and fight my way to the top. I don't know, but I continue to shadowbox. To bob, weave, sidestep... dance... twirl my way to what I feel is rightfully mine! I'm at a loss right now. I don't know how to plot my next move but I do know that I'm ready for my turn. I'm thinking. I'm pondering. I'm pissed. Intense game of mind play at work. Please do not disturb!
The fight continues. This is round 20.

January 12, 2010

Bartender!

Screw sleep. Screw my main squeeze. I'm going to burn the midnight oil again, this fine evening... as my vigil is never ending. I'm on a quest and time is limited. I need something stronger than my familiar lover, to sustain... and to escape if only for an hour or so. My brain needs a welcome reprieve from the trials and tribs of everyday stuff... My brain just refuses to turn off. When it's on, it's on, until the break of dawn. Since I can't seem to get to sleep, may as well imbibe... if anything, I may fall into a restful slumber. That is all.

Witching Hour

I live basement level. Last night, during the wee hours, the pipes put up quite a ruckus. Banging! Clanging, Thrashing, ... the sounds were akin to someone hitting a metal baseball bat against a steel pole, with brute force over and over and over again. Pause. Then over again. Or perhaps something was trying to force its way through the heating vents above my bed? Was ceiling cat trying to make a nervous breakthrough? I'm not sure. Either way, I woke up in fits and starts. My heart leaped with every loud clang. I was already restless and edgy. I'm a chronic insomniac, and so was hungry for any semblance of sleep I could get. I'd suddenly drift off, and then CLANG! My heart thumped against my chest and my head started to throb. My mind started running its ever increasing lap. I tried in vain to lull and soothe my thoughts... to no avail. A bit paranoid and somewhat leery, I didn't get to sleep until 4AM. I felt like Catherine Deneuve, in Roman Polanski's psychological thriller, 'Repulsion,' minus the androphobia and sexual repression.
This late-late evening, I am still restless. While the malevolent spirit that lives in the vents is quietly lying in wait. Anxiety won't offer me any reprieve. I'm worried about many things. I'm antsy. I'm apprehensive. I'm resolute. I'm petulant. My eyelids are heavy and my retinas burn with fatigue. I want to cry frustrated tears, but because I'm resolute, I can't manage to squeeze any out... So, I'm keeping a vigil at this late hour ...