Saturday, January 23, 2010
Vultures circle overhead.
Waiting to scavenge on what has been seemingly left for dead.
Weakened, but resolute
But ready to shoot
any insinuation that these wounds
will not heal
None of these heartless motherfuckers
know the pain that
Its funny when I look and see
that from the outside looking in
the reflection peering back
is still ME.
Like rabid dogs the wolves snarl and sniff.
Ready to pounce when they catch a whiff.
But I made an about face
to face the facts about the obstacles that I face.
I killed my demons and interrogated my soul.
Like the First 48 detectives it’s a closed case
and I’m on a roll.
I get it now!
And I know that it took me longer than I expected.
Had to disconnect my heart, but now I know that its protected.
Fuck the wolves and the vultures.
And fuck these dumb ass Negroes
cause I’m thinking of switching cultures.
You can growl, bark, seek, scan, sneak, haunt and try to get me.
But know that my will is stronger than your meager attempts -
At this point your strongest game can’t tempt me.
Your actions have played a major role in my decision
Thank you Maya Angelou for telling me “still I rise,”
Friday, January 08, 2010
Within these precious minutes, I reflect, refresh and regroup my inner core. I highly recommend finding these types of moments for yourself, even in a recession. Recently I wrote a response to a facebook article by Steven Palmer. His article, “THE REAL REASON Successful Black Women Don’t Have A Pookey At The Altar. -Part 1,” is a seemingly unsolicited proclamation that black women are themselves to blame for finding themselves single. Ironically, the funny part about that article is that Mr. Palmer was right, albeit for (in my opinion) the wrong reasons.
I guess single black women are the media and online community’s topic du jour. Even the nightly news program Nightline got into the fray recently when they interviewed long-term single and successful black women in Atlanta. The women who spoke with Nightline provided their views on why they felt they were single. Okay, fine. Then, Nightline went and found comedian Steve Harvey who imparted his country ass remarks…er ahh, “advice.” (I wonder if they found him inside the Stacy Adams store.) Now in case you weren’t aware, Steve Harvey wrote a book called, “Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man.” In some ways, I can go for what the book’s title suggests, but once again, when he provides his opinion on what women should do, he, like the guy who wrote the “Pookey” article does so from the outside looking in.
So really, enough about the whole black woman without a man, can’t find a black man, nab a black man, date a black man, marry a black man or keep a black man thing. I’m tired now. You know what I think? Everybody just get the fuck over it. The fact is, until all parties decide that they will insert honesty into the equation, this is a problem that will never be solved. I really don’t care what everyone else is doing anymore. Stop this train - I want off!
The black woman’s navigation through life is sort of like those survival shows on TLC and the Discovery channel. I know for me it’s like I get dropped off in a jungle or on deserted beach with no fresh water. Wild animals (men) lie in wait under rocks, in trees and in the bushes. I am forced to make my own shelter (build a home), fire (household provisions such as heat), and find my own rations (food) while braving irrational weather patterns (PMS, stress and heartbreak). Oh yeah, and I’m supposed to be sexy while I do all that or I will be accused of not keeping myself up.
There are so many roots to this tree, but probably the most defining cause of all the evil is sex. Girls, don’t have sex! If you don’t have sex --> then you don’t have emotion --> then you don’t have hurt – at least not as much anyway. Problem solved goodnight.
Not that simple? You say you can’t leave the sex alone? Well then you are going to have continuing problems. I have already proposed that we be honest. In doing so, men must admit that they hurt women a lot more than women hurt men. (I don’t need men to raise their hand and say “Naw, that ain’t true, I've been hurt plenty of times.”) Whomp Whomp! Men don’t have the faintest idea of what real hurt is. They complain about getting shot down in the club and at the stoplight, but believe me, that hurt can never compare to how it feels when a woman’s body has been invaded and then the dude decides he’s now bored or no longer interested in tingling that particular woman’s poontang. Listen here man-friend; you can’t miss what you never had. If I don’t give you my number on aisle 3, you will definitely get over me faster than I will get over you after multiple nights of cavorting at the Courtyard by Marriott.
The “Pookey” article mentioned above seemed to insinuate that the women are at fault because they are attracting the wrong types of men. Seriously? Can somebody please define the “right” types of men? I’ve known men from all sorts of different backgrounds, religions, socio-economic foundations, education levels, hustles, neighborhoods, employment histories and I bullshit you not, when sex was involved, 9 times out of 10 I got the short end of the stick. (I know, pun.) So were those the wrong men? The only constant in that analysis is that all those men are black. Hmmm?
And so, it begins… Women get hurt. Women talk to their friends and bad mouth the men who hurt them. They share encounters with each other and discover that most of them have endured similar experiences. That’s real, that's the truth! So when people like Steven Palmer infer that the women are at fault because they are all fucked up in the head, (depressed, have intimacy issues, attract the wrong types of men…) somehow the root cause of them being fucked up gets omitted from the text. The experiences with all types of men is predominately what drives their “perceived attitudes” when they get approached by the next man. Their beliefs are based upon truthful experiences and should not be downplayed or disregarded. This shit is not rocket science. But go ahead dudes, chalk our experiences up to us just “picking the wrong men.” That’s the same idiocy as, “you just ain’t had the right one yet.” Get the fuck out of my face. Please!
Some people can’t get things through their heads. They can’t grasp reality (men and women). Yeah men, we like feeling insignificant. That inconsideration thing ya'll do is sexy. [insert eye roll here.] The way a man will call you every single day and express his interest in you and how your day is going is a trait that college credit should be given for. They lie in wait, 2 weeks, 2 months, it doesn’t matter. Finally the woman feels safe that this guy really just might feel something more than his loins throbbing, so she gives in and gives it up. Freeze bitch! You just made the ultimate mistake. The countdown has begun. He will prompt and prod you to see how many freaky things you are willing and know how to do. A threesome? Do you take it up the rear? Hmmm, he wants you to. Never done that before? Don’t worry, he will offer lessons cause wifey don’t do that. Oh, you didn’t know he was married? Doesn’t matter, neither did he until one day he suddenly remembered. But for now, you’re into him and he’s having fun. That is, until you run out of tricks in 2 weeks or 2 months. Some bad bitches can keep him interested longer, but the end is inevitable. Now he doesn’t give a fuck about how your day is going. He’s got better things to do and you are depressed, have intimacy issues, low self-esteem and all that other bullshit. For some strange reason, you believed that this time would be different from the last time even though every other time was the same.
How about the women who are there from the beginning - when dude ain’t shit but a bus pass and a dream? You help him get through school or you pick up the slack when he’s unemployed. You nurture his soul and you nurse him when he’s sick. Then the nigga goes and fucks some other bitch who stays on the same street you and him live on. Yeah, it can happen. Clearly we are not experiencing the love stories we’ve seen in old movies. Ever notice how black women were never in those movies to begin with? In actuality, these dudes don’t to come to court you, they come to fuck you and then disappear off into the desert like a Bedouin genie.
But wait! Notwithstanding anything I have said here, ladies I have to say, IT IS OUR OWN FAULT! It is our fault because we allow these things to occur, not because men can’t help themselves. Now some people may think I have fallen over and bumped my head. Rest assured that I have not. What I did was take an extremely harsh, rational and honest look at the situation to determine that if they won’t change, I must. I say that "I" must because I’m not here to preach to anybody about what they should do with their lives. That is one of the things people miss when they try to share information. They say, “You should be a Christian, or you should drink Noni juice!” What if I don’t want to drink Noni juice? You can’t make me; now go away because you are bothering me. Therefore, I must change my mind, review my thought processes and my outlook so that the mistakes I made in the past can be minimized in the future. Will there be more mistakes to come? Probably, but the next time something bad or hurtful happens, I’m not going to sit up and blame the other party unless it is a legal matter. I may know that they are ultimately the guilty party to be blamed, but I also know it is my fault because I allowed it to happen in the first place.
Often I hear men say things like… “These chicks are always bitching and complaining!” Well, maybe they are right? No need to prove that we complain because they do stupid shit. We aren't perfect either. But if I change my mind and/or determine that what a guy is doing requires me to complain recurrently, then it is my fault if I continue on with my interactions with him. You cannot control what someone is going to do to you, but you can control your reaction to their actions.
Another parroted statement is, “Black women pass up throngs of good men trying to walk off with the ultimate catch (the rich athlete, the actor, etc.)” Maybe they do, I can’t speak for all black women. What I do know dude is, if you’re on your second strike or you haven’t had a job – ever, or you can’t complete full sentences; you might have less of a chance with a successful black woman. And if I'm being completely honest here, you might just be too ugly. I know that if I can’t look at you, how in the hell am I supposed to let you climb “ontoppa” me and do your business. Where will I find pleasure in that? I'm sorry lord, but I just can't picture sex with an ugly dude. I'll try, but I don't think its gonna work. And you can’t blame me for that one, its just that your genes have let you down.
I’ve received feedback on my commentary recently which implied that I was somehow contributing to the potential extinction of the black race by proposing that women learn to be happy with themselves. Some people said that by me not providing solutions, I am basically helping the problem exist instead of helping to solve it. I didn’t realize I had been nominated the leader of the Blacks, but now that I know, I will try harder. Until inauguration though, just know that the solution to this problem, if there is one, lies within each of us. Individually we must strive to do better and to be better. Recognize that we don’t have to agree to have an understanding.
Over the course of history in America, Black women have been conditioned to believe that we are not worthy of the ultimate – the fairy tale. We are too dark, too mouthy, too fat, too skinny, too dumb, too smart…the list is endless. Nevertheless, whose fairytale is that anyway? What is your fairytale Sista? What would make you happy? Is your happiness contingent on a man? Mine isn’t! It can’t be. Not because I don’t think I can maintain a meaningful, sustainable and loving relationship with a black man, but because my knowledge of past experiences suggests that I might want to make other arrangements.
The world has changed significantly and I must change with it. Sure it is possible to find happiness with a man - a black one even. But let's not pretend. If the statistics are correct and there are 12 black woman per every 1 black man, when the music stops, 11 bitches won't have a chair. That's just real! Irregardless, I know my worth! I know who I am! I know I am not what the stereotypes of society say I should be. I don’t need to prove it to you; you should be acquainted with it when I open my mouth and when I walk into a room. It can be clearly recognized when I discuss current events, football, politics and the weather patterns of the Maldives. So please, carry on Ray-Ray, RicRock, Kobe, Reggie Bush, Tiger Woods, most of my ex-relationships and Pookey’nem. I don't hate you, I just strongly dislike your behavior. But no worries, I shall not blame you for my independence or my journey to seeking the ultimate happiness. Alone or with a man of mutual and equal selection -it is my fault - and I fully accept it.
WASET © 2010
Author of The POWER journal – Chronicles of a Revolutionary Black Woman in White America and the new novel, PULSE - coming summer 2010.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Perusing the pages of facebook as I often do, I came across an opinion piece by a black gentleman named Steven Palmer, who, so eloquently entitled his editorial, “THE REAL REASON Successful Black Women Don’t Have A Pookey At The Altar. -Part 1.”
Now normally I would have just dismissed this foolery at the name alone. I mean, what successful, intelligent, worldly bad ass sista would want a ni66a named “Pookey” anyway? “Not I,” said the lady drinking muscato to the fly. Yet I wondered for a split second…maybe he put the name Pookey in the title to draw attention to his position? Maybe he had something meaningful to say? If you can find the article on facebook, feel free to locate, read, reflect, return and retort. Go ahead, I'll wait. (I tried to link it, but the link did not work **sad sets in**!)
There have been several mentionings going around television and the Internet in the past few weeks about black women being single and unable to find a good black man. Broken record you say? I concur. I see and hear it all the time, but for the moment the propaganda is being ramped up. Perhaps the media read the article I wrote recently, which suggested that Sistas should try Asian dudes? In any regard, our friend the Pookey promoter, provides in his article several reasons why this phenomenon is occurring so frequently. Guess what black women of America, the author of “Pookey” says that is it our own fault that we are: Single! Alone! Unhappy! Unmarried! Discontent! My God bitches…dare I even say…Bitter!
Some of the rationale our author suggests for black women being single is that we are “depressed, victims of sexual abuse, secretly gay or bisexual, jealous, we suffer from mental disorders, we’re arrogant, selfish, and that we have sexual intimacy issues.” List not exhaustive mind you. He further goes on to say that we may even be delusional. Kapow! Take THAT you sorry ho’s! To quote our friend Mr. Palmer, he says – “ITS ALL ABOUT YOU…BOO!” Well, guess what? He might be on to something, but from his subjective and self-indulgent pontifications of us by him, he doesn’t even know what he has stumbled upon.
Now, I will say this, Mr. Palmer is correct when he surmises that it is “all about you,” but not in the context that it’s our own fucking fault that we are single. He actually rings the right bell when he says that our first relationship begins with self, so hold that thought – I will have more on this in part II. Now, for shucks and giggles, let’s take a step back for a second and put ourselves in his shoes - (something he clearly did not do in his idiom). Let’s just say that it is our fault that according to ABC news, 42% of us are single. (That does mean that 58% of us are not single right? But whatever, let’s go!) We make these black men go to jail, lay up on the couch smoking weed while we go to work and deal with dumb ass co-workers, bosses and customers. The fact that we breed, rear, clothe, bathe and do homework with their children but then are too tired to suck a di*k on command makes us the bad guy instead of the bad girl his loins yearn for at that moment? Oh I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very sexy when I know the motherfucking lights are gonna get turned off if we don’t get some more money in this house. Enjoy all that Madden you played today…all day? Yes! We cause, aggravate and provoke black men to seek out and snuggle up with non-black women because our weaves and wigs just don’t compare to their silky straight, luxurious hair even though it IS their silky straight luxurious hair. So to clarify, when I wear my hair natural and a black man asks me, “When you gonna get your hair done,” I’ll be damned like James Evans on Good Times - his ignorance is my fault?
Basically as this article suggests, we are supposed to get over our issues, but Mr. Palmer does not identify any substantive issues that black men suffer from. As a matter of fact, he advocates that the reason many black men invite us to be their “side pieces, sexual conquests, plan B or C [women] or fu*k buddies” instead of marrying us and treating us humanely even is because we have not looked deep enough within ourselves to resolve all of the issues we have that would attract such a man. Can we see a show of hands from all the women who don’t have any of the issues mentioned in paragraph 4, yet still know a majority of men who treat women as described above? That’s what I thought!
So just when you think he is going to wrap things up and never even mention the black man’s role in this shitty situation that is ultimately ‘our fault,’ ol’ Steven throws us a bone. That’s right, near the end of his tale, Pookey’s best friend eludes to the fact that there is a possibility that the reason these black men end up treating the way they most often do is because of their own “limited awareness and inability to go deeper themselves.” Ahhh! Now I see! Black men are treating black women like shit because they aren’t aware? For real? Well doesn’t that suggest that these men are just as fu*ked up as Mr. Palmer says we are?
All that glitters ain’t gold girls says Steven Palmer! All of our “things…” e.g. (clothes, shoes, nice cars and homes) won’t guarantee that we will net the one thing that seems to elude us – a healthy relationship with a black man. Basically we are causing our own sadness, madness and confusion by wanting more instead of less, by daring to demand that we be treated like queens and so forth. A close male friend of mine told me the other day that black women are “unrealistic!” He said that we should be open to things like settling down with a guy that has been convicted of a felony or two. Really? Is that what it comes down to? What the fu*k did I go to college for then?
Now, I might be able to overlook a DUI or a county stint that lasted a few days because you wanted to work off your parking tickets. But ni66a if you’ve been assigned to a tier, have a job working in the prison kitchen and have been set up with an account so people can put money on your books; no stress, be blessed, but I’m not going to be able to work with that. I need you to not have been a prisoner. Hell, for that matter, I need you to not even have been a suspect. Furthermore, I need you to have a passport or at least have a vision of getting one in the foreseeable future.
I wonder if this whole “expose” was really the author's way of crying out for help and attention. Why else would a black man sit down and write a diatribe about black women, blaming us for our own experiences as if he is one of us and has some form of internal insight? How would he even be able to speak on our experiences with any amount of non-subjective value? His rhetoric is akin to Fiddler and Toby (Kunta) sitting on the floor of the slave cabin, when all of a sudden, the master opens the creaky wooden door. Once inside, the master says, “Hey ol’ boys (hey niggers), I’ve written an article on what you slaves problem is. Well, I guess I gotta read it to you so here it goes: “Dear slaves! Look at yourself you coons! Toby, you know it’s your own fault you got your foot chopped off don’t you?”
For reasons I cannot quite articulate, I bemoan this piece of literary brilliance that Mr. Palmer has compiled. I give him credit for making one good point about us (beautiful) black women looking internally. He came close here I must admit. In all honestly, he is correct that this action need to happen immediately. But, not in order to find some nigga named Pookey. You see, we don’t need to look deep within ourselves to get a man, keep a man or marry a man. We must look within ourselves to learn to thrive without one.
WASET © 2010