BLAK Hand Side

For Tuskegee Airmen Who Considered Suicide When the Red Tails Weren't Enuf

2012-01-27T10:01:00.000-08:00

The tagline for Red Tails is "Courage Has No Color". However, after watching the movie, I'm clear that apparently foolishness does. When it came out last weekend, I wasn't tripping over my own feet trying to go see it. Here's how it works in the film industry: If a movie comes out after the big Holiday movie season and before all of the summer blockbusters in spring, it is likely to be trash. It's January. All of the extra terrible movies are being released now. We are currently residing in a cinematic wasteland. I knew better.

But a friend had $5 movie tickets and wanted to go see Red Tails last night, so I went. As the opening credits started, I immediately began to regret my decision. If I started to elaborate on the ways in which this movie was horrible, we'd be here 'til Black History Month, and I'm working on brevity in the New Year.

It's important to note that I'm usually the first person to give movies that are based on books or portraying events based on true life a pass. I say, "It ain't a book. It's a movie. You want the whole story? Read the book. Stop being lazy and ignorant. Educate yourself. It's entertainment." But, in light of the fact that this movie wasn't entertaining, I can't even say that. I think it was 2 hours long. If it wasn't, it sure felt like... 3 hours. Long, slow, pointless.

The characters were actually caricatures. I don't know that in my 27 or so years of watching and understanding movies that I've ever seen such glaring examples of poor character development and stale, illogical plot and sub-plot. There were scenes that seemed to literally just end, in the most abrupt manner, and entire scenarios and conversations that had absolutely no resolution. There were shots that looked like they were mistakenly edited into the movie. The opening credits were obviously produced in the most low-tech manner possible. The acting was disastrous. And what was up with the overly triumphant music at the most inappropriate times? I felt like I was being Punked. Surely, this cannot be a real movie. In fact, I'm gonna just choose to believe that this was an extended Saturday Night Live sketch.

How else do you explain the absurdity? One fighter plane shoots a couple hundred rounds at a battle ship and destroys it? A Black man walks into an all White establishment during World War II, at the height of segregation, and gets angry enough to fight when they call him a nigger and tell him to go home? Sir, were you just transported here in a time machine?

One of my friends said that she heard someone say, "Medea might as well had been flying one of them planes." I agree. Hey, why not?

The inconsistencies and lack of plausibility regarding most of the events in this movie are abundant and embarrassing. Which makes it even more offensive that the love interest in this movie with a cast of 100 Black men was Italian. Now, this is where people have tried to point out to me that they were on an army base in Italy and therefore it's only logical that the love story would be between a Black man and a White woman. However, that holds no weight when you consider how fictionalized this movie was. They could have easily written a Black female nurse into the story as the love interest, and it wouldn't have seemed out of place in the midst of all of the other fairy tales and fallacies. A cartoon unicorn and giant talking squid wouldn't have been out of place in this movie. So why not cast at least one Black woman?

They didn't want to. In a movie where one of the lead characters declares that the Italian woman is "the most beautiful woman I've ever seen" and shortly thereafter, when they receive new planes, another pilot says, "I've never seen a girl prettier than this," the attitude toward Black women is made painfully apparent. I've watched plenty of war movies in which the "sweetheart back home" is talked about, represented through photographs, dreams, flashbacks, a handwritten letter, and even brought into the story by cutting to scenes depicting the soldier's homes in the states. You mean to tell me that none of these Tuskeegee Airmen had mothers, sisters, favorite aunts, daughters, wives, bottom bitches, or jumpoffs back home? To a thinking person, does it really seem all that unrealistic that a love story with a Black woman as the object of desire was impossible to tell?

And while we're on the subject of race and discrimination... Is the movie going audience ever going to get tired of "The Evil German"? I, for one am worn out and wish that sterotype would go away.

I wish Terrence Howard would also go away. I don't think it's his fault that he's the go-to for all things Black Cinema, but he's definitely been over exposed. We need to find other actors to cast. I'm sure there are plenty. Let that man have a seat. And stop digging Cuba Gooding Jr. up out of the ground or wherever we keep finding him at. We should know by now that no good can come of giving him a leading role in anything. In fact, had I known that he was in this movie, I would have just flat out refused to go see it.

You may ask how it is that I didn't know that Cuba Gooding Jr. was starring in Red Tails. My answer is simple: I'm not up on everything. I stay pretty ignorant to most of pop culture and honestly, just about every time I tune back in, I regret it. I hear that this movie was a labor of love for George Lucas and took him a quarter of a century to bring to fruition. That's really sweet. However, Red Tails was terrible. From beginning to end, plot to acting, it was not fit for human consumption. It was similar to Tyler Perry's stabbing and hacking at Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf". No, actually, it was worse. And not for a second do I believe that George or Tyler were being malicious in their attempts to bring these stories to the big screen. On the contrary, I know that their intentions were good. Admirable, in fact. But that doesn't excuse the inferiority of the product.

Come correct, or don't come at all. It is a simple request that I don't think Hollywood is going to respect when it comes to Black films. However, that is my stance. For now, I wash my hands of "Black Cinema". I'm done. I can't bear to subject my eyes to it any longer.

Thank You, Dr. King

2012-01-17T12:20:00.001-08:00

Every morning, during the 7 minute drive to her school, my 12 year old niece, Naomi and I discuss what we are grateful for today. Today, she was grateful for having been born in the United States of America where, as a female child, she is relatively safe and enjoys many rights and amenities that other little girls around the world may not. Today, after reflecting on Dr. King's legacy for most of the day yesterday, I expressed that I have a renewed appreciation for the man that he was. Good Lord, that man was charismatic, brilliant, eloquent, passionate, and dedicated! Often times, we forget about the complexities of his character and take for granted just how bold and outspoken he was on the issues of race and war. But when you really sit down and think about it, watch his speeches, study his life, read his words, you can easily be overwhelmed by his spirituality, humility, power, bravery, and intellect -- or at least I am.

I LOVE ME SOME KING! And in my explanation of why I'm grateful for him, I said to Naomi, "He went hard in the paint for Civil Rights."

HARD IN THE PAINT!

YES!

In fact, if you don't know what going hard in the paint is, look at Dr. King. That man was arrested something like 30 times for Civil Disobedience. A thug for peace! He entered Morehouse College at 15! He won the Nobel Peace Prize at 35. Seriously? You just gon' do the most at all times and be all that you can be, Martin? Oh, okay.

This man makes me want to step my game up in a major way. I'm like, "WHAT THE HECK AM I DOIN' WITH MY LIFE?"

Thank you Dr. King... Not just for the sermons, speeches, and the marches... But for being well read. Thank you for being audacious, tenacious, and determined. Thank you for this picture...

Thank you for marrying Coretta, cause that sista was fly. Thank you for your children. I even want to thank Martin for messin' up and stepping out on his wife, because though I wish he hadn't done that, it shows us that no matter how much you cut up, you can still be about somethin'. Thank you Dr. King for your amazing legacy. And most of all, thank you for your crazy, insane, maniacal mindset... He had to be crazy to pursue peace, love, and justice in such an extreme and unapologetic way. I want that kind of lunacy in my life right now! Don't you?

Something Other than a Dream

2012-01-16T19:21:00.000-08:00

I love this video, as a reminder that Dr. King didn't spend all of his time dreaming...

"...Don't let anybody make you think that God chose America to be his divine messianic force to be a sort of policeman of the whole world. God has a way of standing before the nations with judgement and it seems that I can hear God saying to America, 'You are too arrogant. And if you don't change your ways, I will rise up and break the backbone of your power. And I will place it in the hands of a nation that doesn't even know my name.'"

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sermon at the Ebenezer Baptist Church

April 30th 1967

Remember the First Time Jay-Z Got Knocked Up?

2012-01-11T10:38:00.001-08:00

See, this is how I know that ya'll either (A) are not real Jay-Z fans and/or (B) don't listen to music, ya'll just skim through it.* Since Beyonce released Blue Ivy from her sacred womb and Jay released "Glory", the interwebs have been abuzz about the lyrics which tell of a prior pregnancy and miscarriage. Listen. This may have been Beyonce's first miscarriage (which by the way is horrible and tragic. My heart goes out to her, as I can't imagine what that must feel like)... but it wasn't Jay's first. So, why is everyone fainting and doin' the Cry Baby about this "revelation"? This is not, I repeat, NOT the first time Jay-Z rapped about a miscarriage. Everybody sit down.

Remember that time Jay-Z got that unidentified girl knocked up back in the 90's? No? Probably because you just discovered Jay-Z in the past 6 years. But anyway, he mentioned being fearful about impending fatherhood on "For the Fam", which featured Beanie Sigel, Amil, and Memphis Bleek... Or as I like to refer to them, The Peanut Gallery.

"Plus I'm having a child, which is more frightening." -Jay-Z

Shortly thereafter, on the Dynasty: Roc La Famila album, he rapped about the miscarriage of that child on "This Can't Be Life", which was the first track Kanye ever produced for Jay and featured Scarface and Beanie Sigel.

"It get's worse, baby mama's water bursts

Baby came out still born, still I gotta move on

Though my heart still torn, life gone from her womb

Don't worry, if it was meant to be, it will be -- soon"

-Jay-Z

That was back in 2000, folks. Know your hip hop history before you get to yammering on about how "shocking" the lyrics in "Glory" are and asking such probing questions such as "has a rapper ever spoken about miscarriage before?" The answer is: Ummmm... yes. Thanks for joining us.

I'm just sayin'. Ya'll late. Good day.

*That's a lyric from a Jay-Z song. See, you didn't know that, you ole' bandwagoner.

Be the Change

2012-01-03T10:43:00.000-08:00

So often, we complain about the quality of entertainment being provided to us by the various industries and express concern about the messages that we and our children are receiving. Apparently literacy is down, ignorance is thriving, and despite all of our access to information, as a society, we're just as dumb and uncultured as ever. Well let me humbly suggest that in the New Year we do less talking and take more action. Be the change, so to speak. You want better quality entertainment?... Then demand better entertainment. Read more books. Support art. The more you do it, the more there will be.

My friend Simply Kat, an LA area poet and visual artist is raising money to put out her first book. It's been a long time coming. She's phenomenal and a strong, necessary female voice. We need more of that. You can start demanding more artistry by supporting a true artist. Donate to fund her project here. She has some great incentives to make it extra worth while.

A Head Start on Foolishness

2011-12-31T19:15:00.003-08:00

I just wanted to get a head start on the foolishness that I plan to participate in during the coming year. Happy 2012, yawl!

Michelle O Got a Big Ol' Butt!... Oh... No

2011-12-22T10:53:00.000-08:00

Just when you think the coast is clear and you gon' have a good damn day, Eurocentric Beauty Standards strike again! I almost threw my phone across the room this morning when I read about Wisconsin Congressman, Jim Sensenbrenner's ugly, ignorant, racist, sexist comments about First Lady, Michelle Obama's rear end. According to his big as a single family home ass, " She lectures us on eating right while she has a large posterior herself."

SAY WHAT?!?

First of all, sir, you have 46 chins, so have a fucking seat, but don't break that bitch. Second, what he's referring to as a "large posterior" is what we as black people all over the world view as natural and quite normal. In fact, Michelle's behind is nothing in comparison to how we actually have been known to get it poppin'.

Clearly this is a case of ignorance. Maybe he's not used to what we're used to. Fine, I get that. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Michelle Obama isn't the first black woman he's ever seen. Clearly, in all his years of living on this planet and having eyes, he's come to realize that there are some differences in the physical appearance of white women and black women. And even if there weren't, he has no right as a man to sit around criticizing a woman's body, especially when he's not walkin' around here gettin' his Vin Diesel on.

Him and Rush Limbaugh.

You wanna know what that fool said? Back in February, this is what came out of his monkey mouth: "The problem is, and dare I say this, it doesn't look like Michelle Obama follows her own nutritionary, dietary advice... I'm trying to say that our First Lady does not project the image of women that you might see on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue or of a woman Alex Rodriguez might date every six months or what have you."

SON!

1. She may not project the image of women that you might see on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue... However, she has been on the cover of Vogue (and PLENTY of other magazines! And isn't Vogue way more prestigious?), so shut your mouth. Forever.

2. She's had 2 babies. Rush Limbaugh, who have you given birth to?

3. Oh, so now we're evaluating folks' qualifications based on whether or not Alex Rodriguez would date them? That's mighty intelligent.

4. I see... So in order for the First Lady to encourage people to participate in physical activities and have higher nutritional standards, she has to do this...

Oh. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.

4. Didn't the nation go crazy about how toned and awesome this woman's arms are? Clearly Michelle is in shape. This should not even be a conversation.

5. Michelle Obama is a woman of nearly 50 years old. And clearly she's not fat. In fact, her body is bangin'.

But I realize that this isn't entirely about fat versus skinny. This is about the fact that Michelle is a woman and as a woman, her worth and authority (at least in the minds of sexist, racist white men with too much money, power, and time on their hands) hinges almost entirely on her physical appearance. I find it interesting that in all of this talk about her body, no one has cited the fact that this woman is a Princeton graduate.

EVERYBODY THAT HAS GRADUATED FROM PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, RAISE YOUR HANDS!

*looks around*

*sees no hands raised*

Okay, I'm done talkin' about this, 'cause I'm just gonna get more and more worked up if I continue to think about it. In closing, Patriarchy lives, Rush Limbaugh is still a complete idiot and Jim Sensenshutupheux needs to have his right to utter words revoked. As a black woman, the only way I can find enough peace to be able to sleep well at night is by reminding myself that Sasha and Malia are somewhere swayin' their little non-existent (but soon to be prominent) hips, chanting, "My Mama is hot and fine! She got a booty like mine!"

Yule Get Drop Kicked

2011-12-20T23:08:00.000-08:00

There are a significant number of reasons as to why this situation that is happening on my desk at work is just wrong. Look, I love Jesus ~~more than~~ just as much as you do, but that's no reason to put a fake candy cane in a red vase on my desk. See, this is the [main] problem I have with Christmas decorations. Rarely are they ever well done, understated, or elegant. At best, they're kitschy, and at worst... They're awful, ugly, eye sores. Jesus wept.

Listen, I'm just tryin' to work here. However, at times it's a struggle with this distracting ass twig with random ball configuration directly in my line of sight. There has to be an ordinance or code under some obscure labor law that will allow me to sue my employer for subjecting me to this foolishness.

But This Photo, Though

2011-12-08T12:17:00.000-08:00

True, she is skinny as all the fucks. But this photo, though! GIRL, YOU BETTER MODEL! Oh! The pose! The dress! Is she on stilts? OH MAH GAH!

*passes out*

Added Ridiculum

2011-12-02T11:50:00.000-08:00

This week, my fiancee and I launched our wedding website. Well, sort of. It's still missing some content, but it's a start. And as if I'm doing a spectacular job of keeping up with my own site, this blog, ~~and my Blackplanet page~~, and er... uh, other social media, I've made more commitments. Not only have I decided to write a years worth of blogs for my wedding website, but I will also be contributing content to the new Golden State Slam site on a bi-weekly basis. I'm a busy sista! However, I am excited to have all of this madness on my plate. It'll keep me good and insane, just how you like me. Now, please excuse me while I go pull all of my hair out.

This Shit Right Here, Son!

2011-11-08T17:39:00.000-08:00

This hoodie right here is giving me life. It's just the sort of eye candy a girl needs to get through daylight savings, the middle of the week... and being poor. Okay, actually, maybe I need more than a picture of a bad-ass hoodie to get me through poverty. But you get my point.

We Came. We Saw. We Boomed.

2011-11-01T18:59:00.000-07:00

Remember a few weeks ago when I told you about the Boom Girls shows that were going to be poppin' off in Stockton and Oakland? Well, them joints happened and it was fire. Folks were hospitalized for smoke inhalation. We burned it down, pyromaniac style. And that's not me bragging. That's me telling the truth and also testifying to how much of a blessing it was to be able to collaborate with women that I consider to be my sisters. Despite hectic schedules and individual responsibilities, we came together, worked hella hard, created some wonderful art, and had the honor and privilege of inspiring so many people. I was honored to share a stage with all of these women.

It was an amazing surprise to have Sonya Renee join us for our Oakland show! We were not at all expecting her, however, she was just what we needed to make our crew [somewhat] complete. Pony Jones, and Ebony Janice (our beloved, seriously missed East Coast Booms) could not be there with us, but they were present in spirit, pursing lips and sassing all up and through.

If you missed it, I don't even have any words for you. I mean... dang! That just sucks. However, we may be showing up again on a stage near you in the not so distant future, so stay tuned. Thank you, Tama and Aaron Brisbane, and The Saint from Pierced Ear Poetry in Stockton. Thank you Nercity and the entire Golden State Slam family. Thank you, Chas and the Jackson family for letting six crazy bitches stay at your house and run up your water bill. Thank you Bay Area poets, for all of your love, inspiration and support. Thank you Brandon Caffey for the awesome pictures! Thank you to the videographer, who's name I can't remember. And mostly, thank you, lovers of the word, for coming out to hear us and for receiving us, for laughing, for clapping, paying (attention and money), chatting, hugging, following on Twitter, friending on Facebook, and just letting us be in your face. Without you, we would just be talking to ourselves... Which we could do... But it looks crazy.

Boom Girls, left to right: Judy Holiday, Jimetta Rose, Yours Truly, Tamara Blue, Sonya Renee, and Simply Kat

Color Struck

2011-10-14T08:59:00.000-07:00

The fact that my fiancee and I just cannot seem to pick out our wedding colors is just ridiculous to me. It may also seem ridiculous that I'm so determined to have the colors picked when we haven't been engaged a full 2 months yet and our wedding is actually over 13 months away. Listen. Let's get it poppin'. I need to know what the deal is. What is this situation gonna look like? I need to be able to envision our wedding day, at least a little bit... And the colors play a vital role.

We already know where in the world the wedding will be, though we don't have an exact location. We have a date. I need some colors. Our Save the Dates probably go out 'round about December or January and shortly after that, we're on to the actual invitations. I need to pick out dresses for my bridesmaids and maid of honor, flowers, everything. My Mama wants to know what she's gonna wear. I can't figure any of that out without colors.

We've talked, and talked, and talked... and talked about it. We've sat down and looked at colors. We've scoured the Internet. We've emailed each other. Still, no colors.

I have an idea of what I want to do... Sort of. But I'm scared it might be too strange. And then there's this epic list of all of the colors I don't want and/or don't like. Then there are all of these parameters that the color story needs to fit inside of (at least in my own neurotic mind). It's a tropical destination wedding in December. Season versus location. They sort of clash. So, I could do brights, but that doesn't make sense to me in fall. Arrrrgh!

Fiancee thinks I'm over thinking. I probably am, but that's how I roll. I'm very driven by aesthetics, so if things don't look right, I will be miserable. These colors that we [desperately need to] decide on are more important than my dress. Yeah, I said it. Listen, I ain't worried about me. These colors could go terribly wrong, but I know I'm gonna be cute, regardless, so my fresh-to-def-ness is a no brainer. Boom. Colors, come on.

Don't Do It Like That

2011-10-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

In a previous blog entry, I briefly mentioned that a girl stole my house key. Some of you may know a little bit about that if you follow me on Twitter or know me in real life. But, for those that don't, I figured I would give you the lowdown on this triflin' child's lowdown behavior, since it's the sort of outrageous shit that happens in my life on a fairly regular basis. In fact, these sort of occurrences are the precise reason that I started blogging in the first place. I am both tickled and troubled by the fact that I seem to be some kind of foolishness magnet. [insert deep sigh here]

I also thought it would be a good time to properly introduce you to the phrase "Don't Do It Like That". This particular figure of speech was invented by my sister (and Maid of Honor) Ebony Janice and introduced to me by my brother, Chas. It's basically a derivative of the term "Aw Hell Naw"... but slightly more sophisticated and definitely more instructional. Whereas "Aw Hell Naw" is a reprimand, "Don't Do It Like That" is informative. When someone says it, they're basically saying, "Help me help you to help me help you... To not be a dumbass."

So, this summer, I had a spare bedroom, no job, and plans to be gone from my apartment for a few weeks, due to travel and cupcaking. Enter, Ashley Catharine McGinty. By some miracle (or perhaps by voodoo), she ended up being a member of the slam team that I was coaching and I sort of knew her from seeing her around in the poetry community. At the time, she was a pretty good friend of one of my besties (though, at this point, she's destroyed that relationship, once again, due to her persistent ratchetness) and she was looking to transition from her parents' house into her own place. The spare room I had was only going to be available for two months and would need to be vacated by August 31st. We agreed that she would pay half of the rent for two months (no utilities, cable television, or internet, though she would have full access to all of them) and keep it moving once September arrived. I won't get into the ridiculous immaturity that she frequented while she was at my house during the two months we agreed upon. I'll just say that I was ready for her to be gone before we were even into the second month.

When it was time for her to go, I was gone from my apartment and sent her a text asking for my house key. The following is the correspondence between Ashley McGinty and I, leading up to and after September 1st:

AUGUST 31, 2011 10:21pm

ME: If you haven't already left the apartment, u can go ahead and drop the key in the mail slot aftr u've locked up. Thanx so much.

SEPTEMBER 1, 2011 1:39pm

ASHLEY MCGINTY: Will you need it before Monday? I don't know that I'll be able to get it over there before that. Everythings been cleared out, I'll give you the key at bk if that's alright?

4:50pm

ME: I'm not clear on why u didn't leave it. If u cld mail it, that wld be great.

5:17pm

ASHLEY MCGINTY: Ok I didn't know if you'd be comfortable with it in the mailbox- but that's fine I'll mail it.

SEPTEMBER 6, 2011 5:03pm

ME: I didn't get my key in the mail today. Whn did you send it?

SEPTEMBER 7, 2011 5:03pm

ME: WHERE is my key??? This is 100% ridiculous. I need my property by tomorrow. Thanks.

ASHLEY MCGINTY: I put it in the mail I'm sorry if it's not there I don't know what to tell you.

ME: And whn did u mail it? Cause I definitely shldve had it by now.

ASHLEY MCGINTY: I sent it yesterday morning

SEPTEMBER 7, 2011 5:16pm

ME: WOW. Not Thursday whn I asked u to, after u didn't leave it whn u left? OK. I see. This is absurd. Ummmm, let's hope it shows up tomorrow.

Then I called her. She didn't answer so I left her a really great voice mail message in which I gave her the business. First of all, who holds onto a key that would give them access to property that they've vacated after their time on the premises is up and they've removed all of their belongings? Why wouldn't you leave the key? If you didn't know what to do with the key, why wouldn't you contact the person that it belonged to and ask them what they wanted you to do with it? [I'm so confused! Insert Ricky Bobby Hands here] Second, if I ask you to mail it, why would you take DAYS to do so, and then, apparently stick it in a regular envelope, slap a stamp on it and put it in a mail box? A key is something that someone of average intelligence would think to put in a padded envelope, take to the post office, and mail WITH TRACKING. THEN, when the shit hits the fan because YOU didn't handle YOUR business, you cop an attitude with me???

I then sent her the following email:

from Nikki Blak

to Ashley McGinty

date Fri, Sep 9, 2011 at 3:37pm

subject: Unreturned House Key

The fact that I still don't have my key (well over a week after requesting it) is just ridiculous. I'm completely confused as to why you would keep a key to a location that you have removed your property from, after you no longer have a right to access the property. I'm also confused as to why, when I requested the key, you chose not to return it to the property and deposit it in the mailbox as instructed and why, after being asked to mail it, you did not do so, but kept the key for several days following.

At this point, I have no way of knowing if you did infact mail the key. However, I do know that considering the fact that it is Friday the 9th and I don't have it, and you claim to have sent it on the 6th, there is a possibility that I may never see my key again. With that said, I'm looking at changing my locks, which you will be responsible for covering the cost of (though, judging from the way in which you have and currently handle your "responsibilities", I will have to eat that cost). After the past 2 months of a great exercise in patience and kindness on my part in response to your constant irresponsible/inconsderate behavior concerning my apartment, this has taken me to the level of "pissed off", just to be clear.

If you still have the key in your posession, kindly return it to me. If I have not recieved my key in person, via delivery, or with the aid of magic, in a reasonable amount of time, you can anticipate a bill from me detailing the cost of new locks and keys for my apartment. If you chose to ignore my requests, it will only further reveal your character.

-Nikki

There was no response. Then, I went ham on twitter.

SEPTEMBER 16, 2011 11:53pm

ASHLEY MCGINTY: I was at work and unable to answer your phone call which doesn't warrant your ugly rant via twitter. After hearing from various sources that you'd like to "put your hands" on me, what in the world makes you think that I'd be open to a face to face conversation with you? I offered to deliver the key in person, you preferred it via mail. It was sent Tuesday morning sept. 6th And I did not sign a contract, therefore I have no responsibility to pay for the changing of the locks.

ME: U didn't sign a contract, however, by taking a key from me (and not simply leaving it, which wld be logical), u created an obligation upon urself to return it. Honey please on the "ugly rant". And I'm not requesting a face to face convo, as I've never been interested in chatting w/ u abt anything at all ever in life. But until I have my key (or new locks from u) we do indeed have business, sugar. I'll see you around.

Ladies and gentlemens... There are many ways to do it. Ashley McGinty's way is not one. Not only did she not take proper steps to make sure that my house key was returned to me, but she's attitudinal and unapologetic about the fact that I don't have my property due to her own irresponsibility, refuses to make it right, and then wants to act like she's the victim in this whole situation. So, now I have to take her on Judge Judy to teach her a lesson.

Though, what I really want to do is act like this.

But I was raised right. So, I'mma be a lady. For now.

I Don't Even Feel Like It, But...

2011-09-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

In re-dedicating myself to this blog (yeah, this one that you're currently reading. Hi.) I have self imposed a 1 post weekly, minimum requirement. Really, I should post more. More than likely, I probably will. But I have to, at the very least make myself accountable for 1 post a week, no matter what. No matter what's going on or how busy or sick or in love I am. And it doesn't matter what it's about, as long as it's something. Okay? Okay.

Well, today I don't even feel like posting. And it's not even because I'm just too daggone lazy. I'm actually really busy and more important than me meeting my 1 post a week requirement is that I memorize like 137 new poems this week. Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. Five. But five poems is a lot! When is the last time you memorized that many poems? That's what I thought. So it might as well be 261. [insert hair flip here]

All of this memorization is in preparation for a duo of northern Cali shows that I am doing with a few of my fellow Boom Girls, Tamara Blue, Simply Kat, Judy Holiday, and Jimetta Rose. If I can get all these poems in my head (which I will, once I finish this post), they're going to be amazing shows. If you live in or near Stockton or Oakland you should definitely make it a point to be present at Pierced Ear Poetry Slam (Oct. 20th) and/or Golden State Slam (Oct. 23rd), as both venues celebrate their anniversaries and give a stage to a fly collective of women. Doesn't that sound like fun? Of course it does. And a night of high quality entertainment, such as the kind we're about to provide can be obtained for the low price of a $10 ticket at the door! Isn't that a bargain? Of course it is!

Listen. I'm about to go wad these pages of poems up into ear canal sized cannons and shoot them into my ears so that a river of poignant words can flow from my mouth at these shows. In the meantime, don't forget that I have an actual website that you can visit to learn about all of my poetry doings and writings. Feel free to help yourself to the open buffet of detailed info for the October Boom Girls shows, below.

October 20th

Pierced Ear Poetry Slam

Hosted by The Saint

Plea for Peace Center

630 E. Webster Ave.

Stockton, CA 95202

7:30pm

$8 in Advance, $10 at the Door

October 23rd

Golden State Slam

Hosted by Nercity and Jelal

Grand Lake Coffee House

440 Grand

Oakland, CA 94510

7pm

$8 in Advance, $10 at the Door

Why Cutting Up is NECESSARY

2011-09-22T16:16:00.000-07:00

I have so much things to say right now. And when I have "so much things to say", I intentionally try to keep it brief and manageable, or else, we'll both be here all day. By now, I'm sure you've heard all about the Troy Davis tragedy. Yesterday, justice was not served, in fact, the United States' criminal justice system continued it's campaign of victimizing and terrorizing citizens. This is literally like a terrible nightmare and this morning when I opened my eyes, I was sad that I hadn't successfully awakened from it. I sincerely feel trapped within the borders of this country. I feel abused by it. I just want to run away. I honestly feel like I can't live here anymore.

Where am I gonna go? I have absolutely no clue. Because the truth is that though The United States of America is brutal, ugly, murderous, wicked, and unjust, it is not the only country that gets down like that. The United States' behavior is just a reflection of the people that live in it and run it. And since people are people everywhere you go, I'm afraid I will not be able to outrun human nature.

I am often perplexed by our attitude toward and treatment of others. Why do we hate and kill each other? From the time I was a young child and able to have real, cohesive, logical thoughts, I've racked my brain trying to understand humankind's predisposition to malice, and I have not yet been able to figure it out. We mostly act like wild animals.

My feelings on the Death Penalty have vacillated over the years between support of the concept (ridding society of "evil", reserving resources for those among us who don't commit heinous crimes, "making things right", "bringing peace to the victim's family") and believing that there's no place in our judicial system for such an archaic practice. Throughout my adult life, as I've matured and learned more about the history of my people and the history of this country, I've steadily moved away from supporting even the concept of "an eye for an eye"; not because I'm some super peaceful, new age, yoga mat toting, liberal, artist, but because, in a country where institutionalized racism is, as I type this, digging it's roots deeper into all facets of our social structure, and corruption is common place, there is no possible way that a person of color or of a lower socio-economic class can truly, fairly be tried for any crime and sentenced properly. If a fair trial by a jury of your peers cannot be had, then the option of capital punishment should not exist. It is dangerous. Innocent people will inevitably die.

I do not know if Troy Davis committed the crime that he was executed for. I wasn't there. He says he didn't. There was no real evidence to say that he did and no reliable witnesses. In the years since the trial, most of the witnesses recanted their statements. More than one witness said that they were bullied by the police into incriminating Troy Davis in the murder of Officer McPhail. More than one juror on the trial basically said that knowing what they know now, they would have never found Troy Davis guilty. There was entirely too much doubt to execute this man. And yet, that's exactly what happened.

Now, I'm always slow to shout, "RACISM" whenever something dumb happens. However, sadly, in this case, I must. Because, how is it that after all of this non-evidence was presented and these shady witnesses were cross examined, and the jury, eager to return to their regularly scheduled lives found Troy Davis guilty, did the presiding judge actually get it into his legally professional, logical mind to sentence him to death? If no one in the courtroom has an ounce of sense, at the very least, wouldn't a judge? This leads me to believe that there were other factors that influenced the judge's decision. I suspect that other factor may have been Troy Davis' color.

Then I read about a case just three years ago in which a white man was sentenced to death in Georgia after shooting an individual three times, beating them with a crow bar and a can of paint. He admitted that he did it, probably did the Harlem Shake while confessing, and then managed to have his execution halted 3 hours before it was to be carried out. This man, David Crowe, was spared and had his sentence commuted to life in prison. Oh. Okay. See.

But Georgia couldn't do that for Troy Davis.

And I'm not really in support of setting fires and turning cars over, but...

It is definitely time to start some fires and turn some cars over. Because, I for one am tired of the United States killing my folks. And if the judicial system and it's police officers will mercilessly murder Troy, and Amadou, and Suzy Pena, and wrongfully imprison Assata, then they will do it to my children, me, and you. And they won't stop there.

The conversation since last night has been about exactly what to do. I don't have that answer. I'm still trying to figure it out. Petitions are nice and are helpful in effecting some kind of change, but I'm really not interested in being polite about this anymore. I am dedicated to figuring it out. I encourage you to do the same. Maybe I will see you and celebrate alongside you in a place where our paths converge.

Seriously Folks...

2011-09-20T17:27:00.001-07:00

'Member when I used to do all that great blogging back in the day? Yeah. I'mma do that again. Starting now. Seriously, folks.

Okay, listen... Don't look at me like that.

I been busy! I'm sorry, okay? I promise to make it up to you with lots of introspection, observation, verbatim text message, copy and pasted email conversations, and tomfoolery. Just watch. You'll see.

Okay, so let's start. "What has that maniac, Nikki been up to?" you may have been wondering. Well, I lost my job, ended a 5 year long on and off relationship with my best friend, rode some planes, got swept off my feet, fell in love, coached a slam team, went to Nationals, hosted a weekly open mic, continued the daily task of staying fly till I die, raised a black girl to the ripe old age of 12 years old, had a girl steal my house key, and got proposed to. Currently, I is gettin' married, lookin' for a job, growing my hair into a glorious, awe-inspiring mane, tryin' to get my stolen house key back, and writing, writing, writing. Oh, and serving the Lord with gladness. This here blog is going to be a part of that "writing, writing, writing" I just mentioned. It's gonna be so good. Mmmh, mmmh, mmmh!

Banner near Harvard Square in Cambridge Massachusetts, advertising the 2011 National Poetry Slam

So, now that we're back to being friends and you don't hate me for abandoning you anymore, I'mma letcha know... I'm old. I've been observing this lil' trend in blogging where everybody is tumbling all over the place. Listen. I ain't got time. I don't know nothin' 'bout none of that. I'mma stay put right here and push these blog entries out of my nether regions the old fashion way. 'Kay? I tweet. I Facebook on occasion. That's about all you're gonna get out of me.

However, I digress. What I really wanted to say is that I'm about as happy as a preggo Beyonce and I'm really excited to be blogging and sharing my life with you again.

On another note, one of the reasons that I felt that it was important that I return to blogging was because of the many social and political happenings of the past few months. There is always some mess poppin' off. I am by no means an expert in the fields of political science, economics, government, or sociology, but I do often have opinions, some of which might be interesting to folks other than my friends and people that I talk to on a regular basis. I spend a lot of time wondering if I'm the only person who feels or thinks a particular way about what I hear and read, and writing is a really productive way to process all of the information and [attempt to] make sense of the world.

For that reason, I find it very fitting that I am re-dedicating myself to my blog on the night before the scheduled execution of Troy Davis. If you don't know who this young man is, please take a moment to familiarize yourself with his case, develop an opinion, and perhaps find ways to be vocal about what is going on. It only takes a minute to sign a petition or make a phone call. You can contact the Chatham County's District Attorney's office at the following numbers:

Telephone: 912-652-7308 Fax: 912-652-7328

Hopefully, I'll be boasting about victory in my next blog post. In the mean time, let's all call, petition, tweet, email, pray, and make some noise to save this man's life.

Science Confirms What You Were Already Thinking: Black Women Showl Is Ugly

2011-05-16T10:21:00.000-07:00

So, way back in the year 2008, I wrote this poem entitled Dear Black Men. I used it in the Hollywood Grand Slam Finals that year, got a 30 (which, in case you didn't know is a perfect score, bish) and a standing ovation, but went over time (due to audience reaction, and not enough editing before hand) and didn't make the gatdamn team [insert weeping here].

This poem later went on to become somewhat infamous. It now lives in my book, Five-Three and Rising. It has terrorized many a Black man in it's day. I rarely read it anymore, but when I do, it entertains me thoroughly.

Yesterday, Psychology Today published an article entitled "Why Are Black Women Rated Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women, But Black Men Are Rated Better Looking Than Other Men?". As you probably guessed, it talks about the reasons why Black women are generally ugly, especially in comparison to women of other races. In fact, we're so ugly, we're less attractive than men. That explains why I couldn't get a date for 5 years straight. Well, that and the fact that I'm a bald headed abomination. Thank you, Psychology Today for clearing all of this up for me. Now I can go eat my watermellon in peace.

Anyway, here's the poem. If you had not yet experienced it, you have that silly article to thank. Enjoy.

Dear Black Men,

It has recently come to my attention

that you think

I ain't shit

Imagine tha shock and dissapointment

I experienced

When I realized that all this time

I been walkin around here

with eyes

So ridiculously brown,

They've actually been scientifically identified

as "Attention Resistant"

Which would explain why

They all but refuse to be gazed into

Research led me to discover that I'm not tha only one

Plagued with this terrible condition

Which, apparently

originated in tha same place AIDS did

And there are women all over tha world

Suffering from tha same incurable affliction

Of brown-eyed-ness

As of now, no anctedote exists

Centers for Disease Control is working on it

But in tha meantime,

These melanin infested eyes of mine

Are so run of tha mill

That you cant help but feel

Uninspired

And trying to admire

or even acknowlege them

In tha slightest bit

Has left you tired on levels never before experienced

and unwilling to make any further attempts

and I must say I understand

I mean, why bother

with eyes that ain't even blue

or at least green?

Hell, hazel would be an improvement

Its a wonder I can even see with these

raggedy things

and one would think

That I would atleast

Hav tha decency

To wear colored contacts

When in your company

Whut tha fuck is wrong with me?

And why hav I been trippin so hard?

And for so long?

Really, I marvel at your ability

To put up with me

At all

Black men, I am so very sorry

My hair

Is so very nappy

I just never realized all tha pain it caused you

Until tha other day

When I caught a glimpse of these kinks

and stubborn twists

In tha mirror

And I must say,

It was unsightly

To say tha very least

I would even go as far as to say

That it bordered on frightening

How do I expect you

To run your fingers

Through this audacious barbwire maze?

This shit ain't luxurious!

It ain't even fair to you

And tho I was offeneded at first

I now realize that

Whut Don Imus had to say

Was merely based on an observation

That man's statement was rooted in truth

We ARE some nappy headed hoes

And just to think

That I was walkin around here, oblivious

When tha proof

Was all up and thru my scalp

And all around my edges

Is too shameful

For me to even contemplate

Clearly, tha nape of my neck is in dire need

Of some attention

From a hot pressing comb

I'm wrong.

Black men,

How hav you managed to maintain your sanity

Under these conditions?

Where do you get tha energy

To keep up with me

When I'm dancing

On beat?

How did you develop tha fortitude

That allows you to deal

With all this unnecessary

black girl attitude?

I mean, I'm aware

I reach new levels

of irreverence, everyday

Parading around

In this dark skin

With these big lips

and this massive mouth

That, despite my sincerest efforts

Won't allow itself to be toned down

Turned off or tuned out

I won't shrink, straighten or fade

And despite many colonialist's efforts

As rapists

It appears my blackness

Remains relatively undiluted

Which leads me to believe that

Tha only possible solution

To this rampant outbreak of blackness

Is for you to keep on persuing

White women

(and females of other exotic ethnic origins)

With tha fervor

And tireless dilligence

That only a black man

Can exhibit

And in tha meantime...

I realize

That despite my dedication to you

I will never be white

But, brutha...

For you

Tha least a sista can do

Is try

Sincerely,

Nikki Blak

16/30

2011-04-26T05:51:00.000-07:00

Even before you were able
To fully emerge
From your protective cocoon
Of baby fat
And pastel pink swaddling
There were grown men
Lusting
Testing strength of all manner
Of tether and chain link
Compromising boundaries
Constructed to keep you out
Of harms way
More than an arm's length worth
Of laws were enacted
To protect your flesh
From paws and fangs
But these men
Can't rest properly
Until they have
Touched you innappropriately

They were choking themselves
On their collars
Jumping their fences, rabid
Once they picked up
Cotton candy scent of girl
Fluttering above the baseline
Of a tattle tale breeze
They couldn't stop the razors
In their mouths
From flashing
Couldn't extinguish
A growl sparking
In the back of their throats

Tragic endings in our
Ugliest folklore never
Hinted at this manner of savage
Didn't paint images of the broken bodies
Young women will be trapped in
After they have been hunted
We were unaware that a child
Could elicit such a reaction
Never knew female
Could cause
Such a frenzy
Just by being born

Little girls don't understand
Anything about "sexy"
A language
Foreign and unnecessary
Stilt legs, uncoordinated
8 pm bedtime sleepy eyes
And breath with
The stench of milk
Clinging to new teeth
Like a memory

Even before you were able
To fully emerge
From your protective cocoon
Of baby fat
And pastel pink swaddling
There were men imagining
All of your private parts
Laying awake, waiting for you
Enginering erections in your honor
When your mother hadn't even
Decided what she wanted to
Call you
Claiming you
Before you knew
Who you were
They have scheduled your abduction
Timed it according to
Your birthday
The pulse of their footsteps
The amount of times they knocked
Before the door swung open
How often they looked
In the neighbor's window
Before the urge grew too wild
To wrangle
A chapter and a verse
Some other arbitrary number
Anything to attribute meaning
Justify everything wrong
They will blame you
When really
It's what they wanted to do
Long before you
Stopped believing in Santa Claus

There isn't a chord in a song
That flips the undisturbed switches
When played in reverse
There is no camera angle
In a film scene that lights
A psychological fuse
There is no magnet in the well
Of your belly
You are not a star
Collapsing into itself
You simply
Didn't know your period
From a comma
Confused it for a tadpole
In Times New Roman type face
Wedged between words
To slow the pace
Of a run on sentence
That you did not co-author
You cannot pump the breaks
When your feet won't
Reach the petals
Your mother's womb
Was no green house
So, no wonder you never got
A chance to bloom
Sunlight didn't get ahold of you
Before an uncle's hands did
We can't handle it
Adults expect you to know as much
As they do
When you are not yet ready
For these lessons

On a standardized test
You were asked to
Classify the part of speech
Under which the word "preditor" falls
You had no answer
And we respond with
More than an arm's length worth
Of laws, illequipped to catch you
Tight roping alone
You navigate the long walk home,
Daily
While vultures halo
Over your head
A slow moving mobile
Above the cradle of a middle school
Playground and soccer field
It is 2 pm
And you are not even
Dead, yet

15/30

2011-04-25T14:16:00.000-07:00

If you believe that
death is the worst possible
fate, you're in trouble

14/30

2011-04-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

When fucking no longer
Coincides with laundry day
And whether or not
I have shaved my legs
Your palms, familiar
With my stubble
And all manner of unkempt
It seems you have not paid attention
To much of my imperfect
Us, unclothed
Limbs and torsos
Piled on top of
Sheets that we have tinted
Our particular shade of human
Comfortable
We sure do know how
To un-make a bed
Those pillows never stood a chance
So smart,
The comforter threw itself
On the floor
When it saw us
Stumbling in
Blinded by eachother
Connected at the lips
I wonder
Do your strings quiver
In a manner similar
To the shake of my thighs
When I am walking to
The bathroom naked?
Will the dimples in my hips
Become a lyric?
Have you uncovered a song
In the basement of my spine?
You know,
The spot touched by you
So often
The flesh has molded
To the curve of your fingers
My birthmarks
Indistinguishable from
Your handprints
I admit
I have found
Poems in your eyes
I keep myself busy
Trying to transcribe them
Everyday, I am rebuilding myself
Into a home for you
A fresh coat of paint
And well kept
Somethin' pretty for you to
Look at
'Cause you deserve
All manner of fancy
That I can afford
Every luxury that I
Can offer
All the amazing
I can manufacture
All of the food
That I can cook
Stay here
If you ignore the stubble
On my legs
We can wash the laundry
Together
Sheets that we have tinted
Our particular shade of human
Vivid
You've got a smile
That I did not have to earn
We have heirloom hearts
That still kick
Listen.
In the middle of
All of this mess
You do not need permission
To love me thoroughly

13/30

2011-04-25T08:18:00.000-07:00

What is the Return Policy
On Human Beings?

I met you on my
birthday. If you were my gift
I need that receipt

12/30

2011-04-25T02:17:00.001-07:00

We walk into the place
Smelling like sex
Talking too loud
Looking like love
All kinds of colored
No one needs to hold hands
We talk with ours
No one knows their sun signs
We are stars
We, animals
Sequined eyes and feathers to match
A flock of angels
Out for the night
Too much living
Collected under our nails
Got us restless
We have seen enough moons
To tell you all about the waves
We make our own history
We ain't chasing shit
We just spin these webs and chill
Look pretty
And wait
For something to come along
Fat enough
To sink our teeth into

11/30

2011-04-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

What I really want
to say is the thing I should
never write

10/30

2011-04-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

He says it was
The extra 10 pounds
Your smart mouth
The new way you decided
To wear your hair
How you lopped it all off
Loc'd it all up
Took the weave out
With no care or concern
As to what his preference might be
The fact that you ain't keep
A clean house
But your shit was always messy
And he knew that from jumpstreet
Clutter on the coffee table
Didn't keep him
From putting his feet up
On that bitch
So let's be more realistic about
What is and isn't his own
Personal problem, versus your
Predisposition toward imperfection
In all things
Ask him why he doesn't
Address the actual issue
Why he will pick and choose
Which of your traits are acceptable
And what he can't tollerate
A man with a God complex
Would rather create a mate
Than find one
Maybe you two
Should date other people
Since it is apparent
That you can't live up
To his standards
Either that
Or lay down
So you can get
On his level

9/30

2011-04-13T01:18:00.000-07:00

I love my house
Most in the morning
Cold tiles
And a front door
Painted with sun
All of the plants
Finally dozing
Their quiet conversations
From the night before
Suspended in the air
Orbiting our heads
Collecting themselves
At base boards
And behind bookshelfs
To be ignored
Or mistaken for dust
Scent of hair and skin
Snaking itself into
A labyrinth cave of lungs
Each eager mouth
A pore and crack
In floor and wall
The hulk of my sofa
An inanimate animal
The heater's warmth
A second ceiling
The tick of
An oscilating fan
Turning it's caged face
To see you waking
tripple blade whiring tongue
Translating the language of
Last night's open window
Left unattended
A report of the day's first
News story
In which a neighbor
Exits his own apartment
For work
Inspiring
Clock hands twist
A familiar routine
In well timed celebration
These extinguished porch lights
All watching eyes
Audience of sparrows
Cats with no homes
Gated dogs that bark
Because of nothing at all
And for every little thing
Chipped paint
Dust at a threshold
A vacant window sill
Wishing to be seen
Books that look at you,
Expectantly
Spiders we do not kill
Because they do the work
We refuse
I am thankful
For a much awaited morning
Exhaling all around us
For this magical box
I heartbeat inside of
And most of all
For the unruly horizon
Who stretches
Her naked body
Across a soft, bare
Mattress of sky

8/30

2011-04-08T23:56:00.000-07:00

Migrane, scratchy throat,
burning eyes; Why I can't fuck
with cigarette smoke.

7/30

2011-04-08T15:24:00.000-07:00

How I Signed Your Copy Of My Book

Dearest Adam, I
am still waiting to be tucked
away in your beard

6/30

2011-04-08T00:06:00.001-07:00

When I told him
That he was not the one
Our rambunctious brood of
Hypothetical, yet to be
Concieved babies
Gathered around a small
Open window in the
cloud covered floor of heaven
And whimpered, looking down
At us breaking up
Realizing that they
Would never
Get to be born
Because they were never
Meant to be

Such poor babies
Pitiful little cherub faces
Banished to non-existence
For all eternity
What a shame
Little So-And-So
And Whats-Her-Name
Never even had a chance
Tragic
How a romance can
Stumble on a starlit rooftop
And fall to it's death
What a freak accident
This incompatibility is
Unfortunate to meet eachother
In costumes that most accurately
Portray our ugliest characteristics
It would be better to roam
The streets naked
Answer yes, always
Swim with the bossy current
And never ripple waves
Not even to signal for help
Once my lungs get thirsty

I am a woman
Little time afforded to my species
For things like
What we really want
And what we plan to do
We choose early
Self development or
Child rearing
Exploration
Or a home
With arms enough
To hold you in
The most basic
And very simple things
Every option, delicious
But a decision
Like a promise
You can never go back on

There is a scroll
Of childrens' names
Lodged in the back
Of your throat
That may never
be excavated while you
Are still alive
Thousands of years
After you have died
Archaologists will unearth it
And the scroll's subjects
Will whimper
As they watch

5/30

2011-04-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

He is a man
Too big for my bed
I haven't had to share
My space in so long
I forgot what loving
Felt like
Flinch at hands
That caress
Without warning
A kiss on my neck
I did not calculate
A pull at my hips
Without permission
I traced my signature
On his back
Early
So that he
Never again has to ask

I can claim him
Mines
A man
I might cut a bitch for
But won't have to
'Cause he ain't
Messy like that
I like that
I feel safe
For the first time
My memory will
Admit to
Stubborn elephant
Giant enough
To protect me on my own
I'm not one of those
Needy women, you know
I can carry things
Move furniture
Ride the train at night
Alone
I live in a house
Constantly creaking
And settling
Like my own bones do

Sometime I don't know
How to sit down
Allow a man
To work at this
Allow a man
To reflex
To hold
His hands, big enough
His ripened heart
All ready for the bulk
Of me, unabridged

4/30

2011-04-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

Always writing
Frictions these fingers
To a forest of bone
Grey matter gone numb
I be thinkin' too much
No ideas left
Right mind, non-directional
My art
Selects sides
Each night I blueprint
A map of my imagination
Silhouette shaped like pangea
Ripped the top from Pandora's box
To discover where the wild things are
Created a character play list
To listen to
My favorite sterotypes reenacted
Heart and head
In constant conflict
Gaza Strip esophogus
I cannot hieroglyph a language
To prevent a dumbing down
Pig Latin is no option
I got a warrant
And I like my freedom
Gonna post a help wanted sign
In sills of my eyes
And sleep walk into the night
Looking for a runaway poem
A lost love
Easier to recover
Sock vanished in dryer
Glitch in the Matrix
I have seen it
I have unplugged my tv
And transformed into
A well read woman
How can I anchor
My ideas to Earth
Once I've inhaled these fine lines?
Higher than a bird
Black as a raven
And a skilled hunter am I
So hungry
I have broken a book's spine before
And I swear to God
I will do it again

3/30

2011-04-04T09:10:00.000-07:00

The places where you
Hurt yourself before
Remember themselves
On these nights
When your phone
Does not move
And your hands
have been holding
Only each other
All you own is air
And the dull
Ache of teeth
Clenched too long
Your body knows itself
No one else
This is happening
A warning you tried
To wish away
A sturdy boomerang
Unmerciful
Days that unfold themselves
At your feet like a cadaver unraveling
This is the life that belongs to you
The life you fucked and tried
To get rid of
The life that wants your love
And won't take "no"
For an answer
It stalks
Hides in the dark
Waits for you
Knife wielding
Homicidal on good days
Your wounds smile
Your reflection on the blade
A deconstructed face
Eyes you cannot decode
Your body
Swaddled tight
In a cocoon of scaffolds

2/30

2011-04-04T01:07:00.000-07:00

When God invented sound
We are what he intended
Us with our percussion footsteps
With our gleaming trumpets
With these lungs
With these mouths
My body, a clef
His nautilus ears
A many chambered masterpiece
And all the World
Altered, added, suspended

We were born knowing how
To prism these chords
Marry triad to rustling wind
Weave between these trees, standing
Tambourine the leaves, changing
To know the difference
To modify the time
To open the corridors
Of our throats
Forever and ever
And never have to sleep
Or wonder

We are unrelenting
8 count enough to fill a glass
Thunder enough to break it's back
Hands enough to carry it
Mend
Construct
Destroy again

We, symphony of hearts
Bleed riffs
Like the ancients
And our mothers' mothers
Their eyes, notation
Captured in our collective memory
Like rainwater
Like morning
Like the tingle of sunlight
Coloring us green
Growing us big
Tuning our guitar string veins
Vibrating our bones
Puzzling us into gifts shaped like children

1/30

2011-04-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

I could write about
his eyes. But everything
is not a poem

National Poetry Month 2011

2011-04-01T09:03:00.000-07:00

Today marks the beginning of National Poetry Month. You may or may not be aware that I (and literally a gang of other poets all over the planet) participate every year by writing 30 poems in 30 days. That's a poem a day, kids. It's scary as shit. I'm going to try to make it through this year, though, and you should join me. Starting tomorrow (when I will post the poem I wrote today), check back here everyday for a poem that will be in the mediocre to amazingly fantastic orgasmic quality range. I also encourage you to participate by attempting a poem a day. If you want, you can even post yours in my comment section so I can see it! That way, this whole situation won't be like literary masturbation and can turn into something mutually enjoyable. If more than one person a day posts here, it'll be like group sex. Sounds like fun, right?

Anyway, to tide you over until tomorrow, here's a poem I wrote during one of these here "poem a day exercises". It'll serve as proof that all hurriedly written poems don't have to suck too bad.

Red Stories

2011-01-24T09:34:00.000-08:00

Back in the very end of the old year (also known as 2010, also more specifically known as December) the amazing poet/painter/storyteller/photographer, Jaha Zainabu asked me if I would be a part of her poetry reading, Red Stories. I turned into a super nova, imploded, and then became a black hole. That meant, "Yes, please, and thank you," which I'm really glad she understood.

A short time after that, Kevin Sandbloom was also asked to be a part of the night, and momentarily, I ceased to exist. When I returned to... existing, I felt nothing but gratitude and elation. Jaha is a force and Kevin has the best vibrato west of the Mississippi. And I get to be 1/3 of this trifecta of kick-ass. Please, don't be jealous.

Since that time, I've been recovering from my physical state of black hole-ness, regaining my ability to speak so I can do my poems ('cause you know black holes can't talk), and generally looking forward to being a part of Red Stories. Thanks to the swift passage of time, I don't have to look forward for too much longer. Red Stories is less than a week away! This is the part where you get excited, too. Here are the details so that you can join us for what promises to be a fun, moving, memorable night of poetry and music:

Jaha Zainabu Presents RED STORIES

featuring Kevin Sandbloom and Nikki Blak

Saturday, January 29 · 6:00pm - 8:30pm

3351 W. 43rd St., Los Angeles, CA 90008

$20 ($30 for couples... isn't that clever?)

Get Into THIS

2011-01-18T18:19:00.000-08:00

This is DJ Jedi. He is my friend. He's also a helluva DJ and musical connoisseur. He has a podcast and creates amazing mixes, which you can find here. They're all the hellified shit, but the one that I recommend most and am currently obsessed with is his COVERS mix. If you have musical taste that delves deeper than Nicki Minaj and Katy Perry, you could quite possibly fall in lust with it, just as I have. It is gorgeous, and I thank Jedi for once again working hard for the muthafuckin' money. You better treat him right.

The Way It Is

2011-01-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

All I have for you is a half-hearted apology, and that's about it. I'm sorry. On June 6th, my only nephew, my sister's only son, my mother's only grandson was murdered. He was 19, had not yet lived, and so we all -- my sister, mother, nieces, his father, paternal grandmother, other aunts, and cousins and friends died, too. There wasn't much to care about, and the blog was the first to go. So... Sorry.

If I could have stopped going to work, I would've. If I could've stopped caring for Naomi, I probably would have. If I could have just stopped showing up for all of my other obligations -- Slam Team, poetry venue, showering, eating, breathing, I would have. And yet, these were the things that kept me propped up and prevented me from going completely insane, along with an outpour of love, support, and concern from friends.

His 20th birthday has since passed. LAPD has not even made an arrest in the case. Christopher Lee Johnson's blood still stains the concrete, blackened by grime, unrecognizable as blood by passerby. And here we are. I think about him everyday. He's the first thing. That was my baby, too. My friend. My video game partner. I was there that one time he got in serious trouble with a group of boys at school for fighting and I told him not to be no snitch. He lived with us, in our house for years and would always eat up all the food and forget to turn the shower off right. My mother and I fussed at him sooooo much! But he was sweet. That was my child. I adore that boy.

I had a dream about him probably 1 month after he was killed. In the dream, I just couldn't believe he was there, and all I could do was hug him. I would pull away, look at his face, and then hug him again. I miss him.

This wasn't supposed to be that blog entry, though.

I knew I needed to come back, I just didn't know when or how. Looks like today is the day. I am not a complete wreck. I feel alright most of the time, and life does go on, as they say. So, here we are. I missed you. I've had so many things I wanted to tell you. So much fuckery I haven't shared! I'm turning 30 this year, putting together another Slam Team with Judy Holiday, and of course, still making a general nuisance of myself in the lives of everybody that I think are stupid. So, we have some good times ahead. I promise. Soooo... Lehgo.

How to Kill the Game...

2010-05-18T21:54:00.001-07:00

Be this girl...

Make this video...

Release this album...

And there you have it. Easy. Now other "artists" can go kill themselves.

What Yo Mama REALLY Wanted for Mother's Day

2010-05-10T19:22:00.000-07:00

My Book. You trippin'.

All Sorts of Poetry Things

2010-05-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

Well, as you can see, my 30/30 turned out to be only 20 poems. I started about 40, and though I'm sad I didn't get to finish all of them, I'm glad I got to share most of them with you good folks. Thank you for reading, for your comments, critiques, and praise. I sure do appreciate it! I'll see you next April for more rapid fire poetry madness. In the mean time, we got lots of other business to attend to.

Thing Number One: Low key, my book came out. It's called Five Three and Rising and you can get it here, which leads me directly to Thing Number Two: I have a website. It is BlakIsBeautiful.com and I dare you to disagree. However, you should still feel free to stalk Blak Hand Side (the blog that you are currently reading), 'cause all the finest fuckery takes place here. "Fuckery" leads to Thing Number Three: I co-host an open mic (along side Judy Holiday... the poet, not the dead lady) every Monday night called Brass Knuckles that you should break your neck trying to get to. Currently we are holding Slams to form the 2010 Los Angeles Slam Team, so if you want to be a part of that in any way (slamming, judging, watching, making strange faces), then bring yo'self. If you want to know what we are doing at any moment, follow us on Twitter.

Aside from that, I have lots of features coming up all over the place. I'll be at Elevated in San Diego this Thursday, A Mic and Dim Lights on June 10th, and so on and so forth. Be sure to check the site for upcoming feature dates. Word to your Mom.

20/30

2010-05-01T10:41:00.000-07:00

Today she was locs freshly washed
And newly twisted
Ponytail with a head band
WHAT!
Hello Kitty necklace, on
Nails, hot pink
Bonnie bell lip gloss, strawberry
Toast, heavily buttered
Socks to the knees
And a pair of Nikes
Unique
An only offspring
With half siblings
A father less child
with too many parents
She is parenting the caretakers
More mature than her mother
Wiser than her elders
And yet, it is a big World
And she is still so small
I hate to see her get out of the car
Weekend bag, packed
and school back pack on her shoulder
She is strong
Today is Friday
She has a long way to go
She has a journey ahead of her
that will take her farther than I've ever gone
Last longer than I will live to see
Make her into someone I haven't imagined
And the planet has never known
It is scary
Life, with it's teeth
The city, with all its weapons
The untamed days with galloping hooves
And all their many wings

10/30: To the Treacherous Bit of Technology that Ate a Poem I was Beginning to Love

2010-04-18T00:21:00.000-07:00

Like a man
I stroked a spark
into your glitch of a memory
Trusted you to keep it
You vessel
You well
You empty thing
Useful only
To be poured into
Transcribed upon
Prettied with my logic
Adorned with a narrative
of World history, as I remember it
Without it you were unattractive
Vapid before I branded you
Dead before I plugged you in
And you
Ungrateful bitch
Hinted at safe keeping
Absorbed the sleeping fetus
Once my back was turned
Dissolved it as if it would not be missed
When I left you alone for one minute
When I found out what you did,
I searched you to find it
The whites of ur eyes, a blank screen with no iris
Stared back at me, unable to blink
You want me to think it was an accident
A miscarriage
But it was too clean to believe
Where is the trail of blood
The alphabet of body parts
In pile at your feet, still warm
From your body
Prove to me you didn't dig in
Nearly elbow deep
Wire hanger ready
Scrape, scrape, scraping away
At what I made

You will never admit what you did
You keep secrets, just like a woman

8/30: To The Girl Who Urged My Niece to Have a Fourth Baby to "Make It Even"

2010-04-14T00:25:00.000-07:00

To The Girl Who Urged My Niece to Have a Fourth Baby to "Make It Even"

Until nine months ago
You didn't know
You had a uterus
Or that people could
Grow there
When you first learned
That your homecoming date
Had planted an actual
human being between
your legs, you threw up
in the kitchen sink
And lit yourself another cigarette
You called your friends on the phone
And together, you all
went to the mall to buy
the tiniest pair of Jordans
That you could find
On some days
You stared at the wall
And didn't talk
Terrified and amazed
At finally realizing
Your life long dream
Of owning a living doll
You are still young
But that is no reason
To be so stupid

Sleeping infant in crook of arm
Freshly harvested from your body
Cesarean incision marking a boundary
Below which boys should not
Be allowed for a good long while

You need to sit down
Go somewhere and learn
To be quiet
Pay attention
Only to the needs of your child
Not other people's business
Your advice is useless

Children are not
interchangeable, individual
accessories to be paired into sets
They are not home furnishings
Salt and pepper shakers
Book ends
Something you once borrowed
From a friend and forgot to give back
Discarded, damaged
Property
Your body is not a factory
Do not confuse your birth canal
With a conveyor belt
No good can come
From that sort of reasoning

It would not be
The least bit surprising to me
If you tilted your head to one side
Or the other,
And an avalanche
Of dumb ideas came
Tumbling out of your ear

30 Days of Insanity

2010-03-31T11:07:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the first day of National Poetry Month, and of course that means that I'll be writing a poem a day. This torturous activity is called NaPoWriMo and takes place once a year in April, when poets all over the country challenge themselves to writing and sharing one poem every single day of the month. I did it last year, and both loathe and look forward to nearly killing myself again, trying my damndest to produce a poem everyday that I'm not completely ashamed of. If you're interested in what I'm doing or need motivation to participate (which I highly recommend), just check back here everyday in April, since this is where all the poems (good and bad) will end up. Feedback is welcomed! Just promise to keep your ridicule and laughter to a minimum for the sake of my delicate Piscean feelings. Thank you kindly.

My Totally Biased Review of New Amerykah Part Two

2010-03-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

I was at Target at 8:30 in the morn gettin my copy of Erykah Badu's new release. I'm sure I looked every bit of Badu's demographic with my lack of hair, lack of perm, lack of weave, tye-dyed leggings, and ability to read above a 6th grade level. The hoodrats and scallywags were there too, using their EBT cards to buy that Raymond vs. Raymond. Hey, different strokes for different folks, I suppose.

Anywho, I just want to start out by saying that I love Erykah. She is easily one of my most favorite people, of people that I don't know. Musically, she can really do no wrong in my eyes. Even if I don't love what she did in a song or on an album, I can always appreciate it and rarely (if ever at all) do I ever think anything she does is wack. She could release an entire album of only dolphin sounds, and I would still be like, "That was sorta fresh, yo." Yes, I would end the sentence with, "yo". Shut up.

I approached my initial listening with great expectation and excitement. I have listened to the entire album (including the demonic chanting) about five times today. And contrary to what I thought would happen when I first peeled off the wrapper and put the disk in the player, in real life, in this moment, I am generally underwhelmed. [INSERT SIGH HERE]I don't hate it... But I can't say that it improved the quality of my life.

It reminds me a lot of Worldwide Underground, which I like and respect, but didn't obsess over. With the exception of Bump It and Danger, I found myself not caring much. It's the same feeling I get with this album. It's cool. It's something to listen to. It makes great background music and you could probably have a really enlightening conversation while it's playing, but nothing ever really happens sonically or lyrically that will make you stop what you're doing and lose your mind. I wouldn't at all compare it to New Amerykah Part One (which I went into convulsions over and still twitch noticeably at the mere thought and/or mention of). However, though I wouldn't compare it in terms of depth and complexity, it does have leanings, style wise toward Part One, which sort of makes it all seem cohesive. It sort of gives me the impression that some of these songs may have been conceptualized or recorded for or around the time Erykah was making Part One, but they didn't make it onto that album. Therefore, the overall effect is a watered down, less interesting version of the first installment.

On a positive note, the artwork is funky fresh and there are some catchy melodies that you might find yourself humming around the house. One of the most infectious choruses is on the song Gone Baby, Don't Belong, which was produced by Taraach, who I want to say congrats to. You go, boy! Another highlight is Fall in Love (Your Funeral), which I wasn't surprised to see was produced by Karriem Riggins, who you may remember produced Soldier (which was the certified biz) off the last album and who's drumming I'm infatuated with in real life. Yay, Karriem!

Mama's Gun lovers [INSERT RAISED HAND HERE] will be either really happy or seriously irked with what seems to be the second installment of Green Eyes, entitled Out of My Mind, Just in Time. Similar to Green Eyes, Out of My Mind, Just in Time is at the end of the album, pushes the counter past 10 minutes, and plays out in three movements. It gives me happy feelings that Erykah went there once more, but honestly, it pales in comparison to Green Eyes, which pretty much anyone with working ears has classified as brilliant, beautiful, necessary, and dare I say, classic. It's worth listening to, though, and in my opinion takes the entire album from "alright" to "good".

Surprisingly, my favorite song is Window Seat, which is a complete shocker, cause I usually don't give a hot damn about singles. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that every time I hear it, I see Erykah's booty moving through my mind in slow motion. Or maybe it's 'cause it's actually a good song. Whatever the reason, the fact that my favorite song off of the album is a single is probably saying something bad... Real bad... Michael Jackson [INSERT DISAPPOINTED FACE HERE]. And while I'm making faces, I just want to say that I'm tired of Erykah trying to infest my house with evil spirits with all that demonic chanting that she's been putting on her albums lately. I rebuke it in the mighty name of Jesus.

This is getting long, so thus concludes my totally biased review of New Amerykah Part Two. Overall it is a solid album and definitely worth having, especially for Badu fans. Support, Support, SUPPORT good, interesting music from good, interesting artists. Pay money! Pay attention!

...Pay my phone bill. [INSERT GIGGLE HERE]

Ummm... What Happened to February?

2010-03-16T21:01:00.000-07:00

You may or may not have noticed that I didn't post not a one single solitary blog entry for the entire month of February. And you might be wondering, "What's up with that?!?" You might even be saying, "That's some ole bull, Nikki!"

Well to the last statement, I shall just respond with my crazy side-eye look, which will let you know that you need to hush up, 'cause I ain't got time for all that foolishness. What do you think I was doin' all February? Being historically black, of course... Oh, and watching American Idol. Besides, if you really cared about where I was all that time and what I was doing, you would have been following me on Twitter or calling all of my phone numbers all hours of the night, like Judy Holiday.

Anyway the past is the past and we can't get it back, so let's talk about new shit, like what I'm currently doing. I'm glad you asked. I'm working on my website, which will be coming so soon, it won't be able to pull out in time and you might get pregnant. Also, I've been planted at my desk all night, every night for the past few weeks editing my book and getting it all put together. I had a minor cover crisis, which has just been resolved as of a few hours ago, so the book is going to print this week. YAY! Besides that, I've got a gang of features that include a panel discussion at Loyola Marymount University about Women and Power, a set in Hollywood, and a feature in the Bay Area in early April. Feel free to contact me if you want more info. Also, feel free to contact me about the proper address to send gifts to, cause my Birthday is on Friday... And I'm not even playing about the gifts.

I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION: Tha Year in Review

2010-01-11T20:48:00.000-08:00

2009 took it's sweet time gettin' on up outta here, didn't it? Well, I'm glad that bitch is gone, cause we 'bout to get it in in 2010! *giggles*

And apparently, that's exactly what I been doin', cause here we are, a week into tha year, and I'm just now doin' a blog entry. Shameful, really, but whatever. I got a life, people! And furthermore, you gotta understand that I gotta take time out between entries to replenish my reservoir of foolishness. That's how you get tha very best fuckery from me... but I digress...

Despite some tragedies and scandals, I guess tha past year wasn't really bad at all, especially on a personal tip. I kept myself a job, wrote some poems n' thangs, continued to Boom on these hoes (while simultaneously stunting. That shit ain't easy!), and generally lived my life like it was golden. Highlights of tha year included my friend Tamara's wedding, celebrating Naomi's 10th Birthday at tha Mos Def and Erykah Badu show on Labor Day Weekend, and in October, marking tha one year anniversary of my marriage to my apartment.

So, this is like tha best story about my husband -- I mean, my apartment... It was Halloween of 2008. I had been in my place for all of 31 days and my brother, Chas was here. I have a front and a back door and of course, my back door is in my kitchen (well, not really "of course"... I mean, I guess it could be somewhere else... but traditionally, that's where back doors are.) My desk and computer and whole work station area is also in my kitchen, so inevitably, that's where I spend most of my time. We had been having a bit of a heat wave (or is that really just normal for L.A in October? *confused face*), so all of tha windows and my back door was open and Chas and I were sitting in tha kitchen talking and then, all of a sudden, we hear this woman GOING OFF.

She was sobbing and yelling and just actin' an all around fool. I imagine she prolly rolled around on tha floor at some point, that's how much she was cuttin' up. Well, apparently, she was "arguing" with her man (I put that in quotation marks, cause really it takes two people to argue and we never heard him say anything). She was like, "YOU DON'T LOVE MEEEEEEEEE!!!! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!!!" and of course, Chas and I, bein' tha maniacs that we are, turned down tha music and went over to tha window and back door so we could really hear all tha juicy mess. So, she's goin' on and on and on, just actin a muthafuckin' fool, and then she was like, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOOOON! I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOON! [insert inaudible sobs here]"

Chas and I looked at each other like "OH SHIT!"

Bwahahahahahahaahahahahahaha!

Forreal, lady? Is that whut you shoulda done? Wow.

I certainly hope tha child she "should've aborted" was a little baby and didn't know what was goin' on and not like 17 in tha other room on tha PS3, like "Whut tha fuck???"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So, now that's our inside joke. When some shit don't go tha way we want it to or we're just generally unhappy, we throw our heads back like tha characters in Charlie Brown, fake sob, and shout, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION!" It's fun for tha whole family.

That story had absolutely nothing to do with tha New Year or anything else for that matter... I just felt like sharing.

Broadcasting Live from Crazy Town

2009-12-24T17:41:00.000-08:00

Tha following is a conversation that I've been having with a guy that I've seen around town before, but honestly don't know. Before we get into this good ole buffoonery, there are a few things you need to be made aware of:

1. Yes, I'm bestowing him with tha dishonorable Nigga Please Award.

2. When I originally saw that this seemingly innocent back and forth was quickly spiraling into shinanigans, I decided that it would merrit a blog post. My original intention was to remove tha trouble-maker's name to protect his identity and to fulfill my commitment to not being a complete asshole at all times... but he cut up so bad, that I figured I'd be doing tha general public a great service by including his name.

3. Despite how much he denies it, he did indeed try to holler at my homegirl, Reke. This fool invited her over for breakfast and wine. Yes, please and thank you... Wine. But he wasn't tryin' to holler? C'mon, son.

4. On more than one occasion, I could feel tha undeniable essence of Mimi Plastique creep on up in my spirit.

5. If I have to ask this man (gotdamn politely) to refrain from talking to me one more time, we gon' have some problems.

And now for tha monkey business...

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 22 at 4:09pm
I remember meeting you at Leimert Park, my buddy stepped on your toe. I tried to nurse the pain by pouring some cold water on it. Hope your toe is fine..I remember saying to myself i hope i see her again...respect.

Nikki BLAK December 23 at 1:47pm
Funny, I don't remember that. Hey, didn't you recently try to holler at my friend, Reke?

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 2:54pm
No..she hollered at me..i don't holler at woman. I told her lets be friends, i don't think she wanted that. I'm too fine to holler at women meaning i've never had to. I have a waiting list now. So if she told you i tried to holler at her she's a liar. However i do like to uplift and empower people who seem to be in rough situations like Reke would portray.

I think we live in times of instant gratification, people want things right away. I choose to build connections with people. Strengthen my cypher by having positive influences around me. Sex is too boring without a connection or friendship...

In ur case i may be mistaken, don't you have a daughter? You were at Leimert for some venue in the theatre and my buddy stepped on ur big toe..either way its fine if you don't remember.

Bless you and Reke..

Nikki BLAK December 23 at 4:08pm
Wow, that was a WHOLE LOTTA response. LMBAO @ "I'm too fine to holler at women".

*rolls around on tha floor, laughing*

WOWZERS. I don't think you're even her type, so I doubt it was her trying to holler at you... and while we're on tha subject of my good friend since I was 15, how do you think I feel about you, now that you've called my sister a liar? Trust, that's not how to get on my good side. No, I don't have a daughter, no I still don't remember our interaction, and honestly, at this point, I'm not at all interested. Reke and I are both very blessed, thank you. Be well.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 4:28pm
Oh i'm sorry then, well i thought it was you. Someone is walking around looking just like you. And my goal was not to holler at you either Nikki..i just appreciate beauty and like to show love and thought your facebook comment was cute. And no i didn't call her a liar luv, believe me if i was hollering i'd be more aggressive. I'm spoilt and usually get what i want.

I think Reke is beautiful and have nuthin bad to say bout her. After she mentioned that all she has to hold at night is a scruffy dog i felt like a woman so beautiful should have good people around her. Which she prob does. Ask her what went down, i wanted to see what her world was like. Its all love Nikki...

Sorry bout the mix up, i love beautiful people and positive energy and love to enjoy my life. Take care

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 4:29pm
Dang u guys are sisters..you are both beautiful. Peace.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 3:42am
Nobody was trying to get on your good side lady. But i guess both you and Reke are free to flatter yourselves.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 9:00am
Talking, talking, talking. Why are you STILL talking? Please stop.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 9:03am
lol..just clearing any misconceptions. Peace.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 9:18am
Tha only misconceptions are tha ones that you created and continue to perpetuate with your incessant yapping about something, that frankly, nobody really cares about. I asked you a simple "yes" or "no" question, that you really could've just responded to and went on with tha rest of tha conversation. But instead, here we are, a billion messages later. This is stupid. Tha truth needs no proof. If it ain't so, just say so and move on without tha name calling, double talk, back and forth, and carrying on. I'm shocked at your reaction... it's as if I accused you of stealing, or beating my friend down in tha street. If you hollered, you hav a right to as a grown, single, heterosexual man. If you didn't, fine. I. Don't. Care. Ugh. This has been an extremely immature and WEIRD interaction, however, very telling of character, and for that, I'm thankful. It's good to kno, for future reference.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:18am
I was just a bit shocked..and it came out of nowhere???????????? I came at you with love so i'm not sure why u attacking me. I answer the way i want to answer not the way someone else wants me to answer. Everyone is different, if it takes me three pages so be it. Of course i would react to someone bullshitting about me. I'm jewelzdagod please do some research i make sure i walk the truth.. u commin at me really crazy for someone who just said you were beautiful. But its my fault i thought you were someone else, it is what it is. Take care.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 11:27am
Sorry, there's no need for me to "research" anything... I have personal experience. Didn't know when I responded to your random, unsolicited message and asked you a harmless question that I would be getting a one way ticket to Crazy Town. Let me off this train. You can stop talking now. Thank you.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:34am
I'm sorry, god bless you and your right i hit u up unsolicited and you don't know me. Forgive me i really did think you were someone else. Thats why i aske d about your toe..

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:46am
Hey so now that we're acquainted we can b friends, crazytown is [fun]. I'll get you a round trip, lol.I was a bit startled at ur harmless question. I'm harmless too ok. I love you...

Yes, yes, ya'll he did indeed just say he loves me. SECURITY!!!

Lucky

2009-12-07T08:42:00.001-08:00

I wrote this tha other day. Because it's tha first poem that I've written in a long time that I've actually finished and liked, I thought I'd share it with ya'll. It looks long, but its really not, so don't be scurred.

LUCKY

Lucky

It was once said
That tha only reason
I had never met tha back
Of a boyfriends hand
Was simply because he had chosen
Not to introduce me
I was lucky
Unlike so many women
Landed face first
Into tha ridges of a lover's knuckles
Accidental
And shouldn't I be grateful
Not proud
To wear tha word "unbattered" like a badge
Across my intact face
For me,
There was never any decision to be made
No option to contemplate
Just tha merciful restraint
Of men who would string a necklace
Of bruises
Around my clavicle
At tha first opportunity
If I hadn't just been so fuckin' lucky

There is no place to stash a choice
Between skin and boning
Under tha corset of femininity
I'm supposed to cinch myself into
All tha better to keep my ribs
Unfractured and in their proper places
Hold my guts inside my body
Keep me propped upright
Doll-like
Incapable,
Only able to bind my daughters'
Masterfully crafted feet
For tha beauty of tradition
So that she, like me,
And every woman before her
Will never able to leave

I must understand
That it had nothing to do
With tha fact that
I demanded little more
For myself
From myself
And everyone else
Than respect
Not necessarily to be liked
Or even loved right
But to simply keep my face
In one piece
It had nothing to do
With me escaping into tha street
Long after midnight one morning
In tha midst of an argument
To avoid his anger
Nothing to do with being 18
And breaking up with my boyfriend
Because I recognized tha danger
In being called a bitch
Nothing to do with
Unanswered phone calls
And forever ignored voicemails
In tha days following
An incident in which a a male friend
Leaned in through my open driver's side window
So that he could properly wring my neck
I guess
I'm lucky
If only my clitoris
Were, instead a penis
I would have a say
As to how I should be treated
Only tha abuser has a choice
And it is enough
For tha rest of us
To simply wish
That he would decide
not to beat us
Lucky,
To dodge tha runaway wrecking ball
Of his fist
Not by ducking
But just by leaving
Before he has tha chance
To swing

Nikki, in Real Life

2009-11-25T13:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I do poems. Here's tha proof...

Respect tha BOOM

2009-11-16T22:02:00.000-08:00

Just last week, I had to lightweight bang on a negro about Boom. If you don't kno by now whut Boom is, honestly I don't kno whut to tell you aside from, "Get your life together." For now, I will say, Boom is about showing, not really about telling, and if you have been Boomed on (which likely, you have, at some point in your life) then you have a general idea of whut tha movement consists of. One of my very best girls and fellow Boomer, Tamara Blue wrote a really great poem about The Boom Girls and in light of last weeks incident with tha disrespectful male (who was no doubt jealous of our Booming abilities), and me coming dangerously close to punchin' another dude in his lying mouth, I wanted to share this goodness with ya'll.

If I had a sister
Her words would carry weight
Her style would be copied
And copied, and copied again
Paintings in her likeness
Would hang on walls in homes or buildings
All over the city, state and county
Fashions fly
Accessories exceptional

My sister would
Give me advice
And I would listen
Baring no resemblance
In facial features or structure
But still sisters like
Boom
Hugs so tight
you feel the magic in her arms
eye brows arched to perfection
With a bald head and Boom ring
Red hair, Blue hair, dread locs,
mo hawks, afros, weaves or wigs

A killer switch
In flats or 6 inch heels

praised for her way with words
her skills in the kitchen
and the bedroom

Never meek
Always sweet
But ready
at the drop of a dime
To Boom on a muthafucka if need be

Cuz sometimes
People need to be hit in they mouth
To remember that talking shit can hurt them

My sister would
have a degree
Be a single mother
A touring poet
A preschool teacher
An actor, activist, stylist,
A singer
A motivational speaker
A preacher
And a college drop out

My parents may have only had
One girl
And I may be there only daughter
But thank goodness
God has blessed me
With some sisters

GET! IT!

2009-09-24T20:31:00.000-07:00

It was tha leg kicks that did it for me...

Learning to Leave White Women Alone

2009-09-21T18:23:00.000-07:00

I'll admit, I am at times very immature. As a result, I'm still chuckling my ass off about tha whole Taylor Swift and Kanye fiasco, and needless to say entertained by all things relating to it. Tha shit is silly. Tha actual act of getting out of your seat to interrupt some one's speech and give your unwanted, un-asked for opinion, tha fact that it overshadowed so many much more important news stories, that it eclipsed tha original reason for Kanye being on Jay Leno's show to begin with, and that (white)folks are complaining now that Kanye is obviously, apparently racist -- wait -- because Kanye acted an ass, he's racist? Hold on. Let's explore this.

Now, I can't really tell you whut possessed him to hop his ass up out his seat and help himself to tha microphone in tha middle of Taylor's acceptance speech, but I can tell you this much -- Kanye ain't stupid. Bully? Yes. Coked up? Likely. Bitch? Quite possibly. Racist? No. Lemme tell you how I came to that conclusion... (aside from Taylor and Beyonce) Tha following ladies were nominated for that award.

Pink

Kelly Clarkson

Lady Gaga

and Katy Perry

Now, here come little saccharine ass, wholesome, darling, lovable Taylor, skippin' up on stage to accept her award...

I got a toothache just lookin' at her daggone picture. Based on visuals alone, do you get where I'm goin with this? You're smart, so of course you do. However, I'mma just go on ahead and say it for tha slow kids in tha class:

Kanye would have never in a million years gone up on stage and interrupted anybody but Taylor's speech! EVER!

Why?

'Cause he ain't stupid.

You and I kno that if he had been able to get tha nerve up to even get up out his seat and act like he wanted to show out while they were accepting their awards, Kelly Clarkson and Katy Perry would've had NO PARTS of that, Lady Gaga with her crazy ass woulda been liable to do a Mike Tyson on that brutha, and Pink -- OH, HONEY... Pink might've put her cigarette out on his forehead, raped, and shanked him.

Notice, all of these women are white. I guarantee you, race wasn't tha motivation behind this outburst. If anything, it was simply an opportunity for Kanye to talk. You kno that boy likes to just talk. Don't believe me? Just listen to tha last track on tha College Dropout album. He talks for 8 minutes and 45 seconds, damn near without taking any breaths.

So, now that we've got that out of tha way, let me get to tha part about this whole thing that disturbs me (and tha point of this whole blog). I read around tha web that after tha incident at tha VMAs, some folks up and lost they damn minds and started name callin'.

Joeben Buena tweeted, "So I just heard. Kanye West had a nigger moment last night at the VMAs." Jake Snider tweeted, "...Thank you Kanye for proving what I've been telling people forever. You're a nigger!"

Forreal? With tha strong "ER"?!?! We doin' it like that? Oh, okay. I shouldn't have to tell you that neither of these muthafuckas are black, nor is this beezie Kayla Larson from California's Bay Area, who tweeted, "Kanye West is a fucking NIGGER! It's guys like him that make you all look bad!"

Sorry, Kayla-boo... it's actually bitches like you who make "you all" look bad. Granted, none of these things would hav been uttered by any of tha above mentioned backward-ass, possibly inbred folk in an environment that didn't provide a level of anonymity and a great physical barrier. I would pay good money to see Jake and Joeben down at tha Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Plaza talkin' that much shit, or little Miss Larson in a room full black girls with that much to say. It would indeed be a tragedy. And yes, I believe in and advocate putting your hands on folks that obviously don't understand anything other than a good choking out.

Sidebar: We have told non-black folks for far too long that "nigga" (or any variation of tha word) is not a part of their vocabulary... and yet, they persist. Whut is one to do when reasoning and polite talk has failed? I think it's time to get Wayne Brady involved.

But, I digress...

Of course Kanye is partially responsible for some of this. Though he doesn't deserve to be called all out his name or have racial slurs and insults hurled at him, he had to have known that it might go in this direction. After all, this is whut happens when you don't learn to leave white women alone. Whether you're whistling at them, tryin to wife them, or in this case, wrestle a microphone out their hands so you can sing Beyonce's praises, white folk aren't going to just allow you to mistreat their precious vessels of life. Black man, you better appreciate that white woman -- while averting yo negro eyes. And speak soft, too. And call her, "Ma'am". And shuffle yo feet.

Interestingly enough, I didn't hear all this nigger talk when Chris Brown battered Rhianna. So basically, a black bitch can get her face busted open at tha hands of a black man and it's business as usual, but if he interrupts a precious white woman's little acceptance speech, it's lynchin' time. I see. Well, thank you America for telling me whut I already knew: Tha issue of race in America is similar to a smoldering fire -- though it may hav appeared to burn itself out and subside, it is still hot and ready to be rekindled, ignite, rage, and continue its path of destruction, if only given tha opportunity. Don't let this black pawn -- I mean, President fool you. Racism is still very much alive.

Is It Just Me...?

2009-09-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or is crashing somebody's performance slightly more unforgivable than interrupting their acceptance speech? I'm just sayin.

Well, I just wanna go on record saying that both Random Acts of Foolishness blessed my soul in ways that I cannot express. Thank you, Lil' Mama and Kanye for helping me hav tha best week ever.

Nigga Please (tha Latino Edition)

2009-08-11T18:16:00.001-07:00

This week's Nigga Please Award goes to my landlord, who, after tha cashier's check for my rent apparently went undelivered, thanks to tha good people at USPS, called me and suggested that perhaps I should, (A) Just giv him a whole other rent check, and if I couldn't afford it, (B) BORROW tha money to giv him some rent that I done already paid. Uh, that'll be a firm "No", amigo.

First off, who's brilliant idea was it for me to giv him cashier's checks every month? HIS. I had to inform him, that unfortunately, cashier's checks are very similar to cash, in that once that money is withdrawn from my account, it's GONE. I also informed him that had he allowed me to simply write him a personal check, like normal people do, when he never got it, I could've put a stop payment on it and written him another one, quick, fast, and, in a hurry. Basically, your bad, darling.

Second, tha United States Postal Service is good for mis-delivering or just flat out losing mail. Unfortunately, I sent my rent first class mail (which means I just put it in an envelope, slapped a forever stamp on it and handed it to tha mail guy at my job), therefore, there's no way to track it. I trust USPS to deliver my mail to me and tha rest of tha good people of tha World, but sometimes it just doesn't happen like that. Hell, my neighborhood mail man loves givin' me other people's mail. Just tha other week, I got a Highlights Magazine in my mailbox that belongs to a little boy at tha other end of tha block. It happens. Landlord, come get your rent.

Third: When he called me on Friday night to tell me he hadn't gotten tha check in tha mail, I specifically asked him to call me tha next day if it had not be delivered by then. Did he call me? Of course not. Did he call me Sunday? Nope. Did he call me all day Monday, when maybe I could hav investigated further or talked to my bank about a possible solution? Hell naw. So, I assumed everything had worked out and maybe it had magically appeared in his mailbox or been brought over by a neighbor who had received it accidentally. This man called me on Monday evening, close to 6 pm. No darling, don't ever do it like that.

Then he tried to hit me with tha, "I can't pay tha note on my property without it! Really? You own tha apartment building I liv in, as well as your own residence, and I think another rental property and you mean to tell me that my little bit of rent is actually keeping you from paying your mortgage? In tha words of Souljah Girl, "YAAAAAAAAH! GET OUT MY FACE!" On top of all of that, why he try to say, "Tha mortgage is due today!" OHHHHHH, FORREAL?!?! So you just gone lie like that??? And if it is indeed true that your mortgage is due today, guess whut? YOUR BAD. Do not wait till tha day that some shit is due to come talkin' to me about how you need tha money. I asked you to call me SATURDAY. If in tha event that ONE muthafucka don't pay they rent one month, you can't pay your mortgage... YOU don't need to be owning an apartment building. Get your life together, boo.

I'm putting a stop payment on tha stupid missing cashier's check. I hav to fill out paperwork, sign some shit, get it notarized, send it back to tha bank and then it will take a mandatory 90 days from tha date on which tha check was originally issued (*cough, cough* FUCKERY!) before they refund tha money back to my account. Then, and only then, will I be able to pay him his rent for August... for tha second time.

Upon speaking with my Landlord today and once again making it clear that Bank of America would provide tha funds to pay him on November 4th and no, I would not be borrowing money from anyone to cover tha cost of tha missing check, he seemed to relax. I attribute his change in attitude to tha prayer I sent up to God last night, asking that tha situation be resolved, that I be shown favor, and mostly that I wouldn't hav to end up
slapping this man. My God is an awesome God.

Tha Great Tree Masacre of '09

2009-07-28T18:38:00.001-07:00

If ever there was a time to quote Joni Mitchell, I'm pretty sure this is it.

They took all the trees
Put em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see em

However, let me say, I kno whut I've got before it's gone and don't you try to come take it away or I might hav to get rowdy.

This morning, I was abruptly snatched up outta my sleep by a sound that can only be described as a violent, motorized grinding. No, actually it sounded like my apartment was being eaten by a big ass blender. Better yet, it sounded like tha whole World was being consumed by a tornado of chainsaws -- concrete, buildings, trees and all. Well, I was right about tha trees and sort or right about tha chainsaws. When I went to my living room window and looked out, I could see tha Inglewood City worker men cutting away at this huge tree in front of my building. Okay. Trimming. It happens. Good city. Trim your trees. At 7:30 in tha morning, tho? Is that really necessary? Whutever. I went to get ready for work.

After finishing part of my morning ritual, I wandered back over to my living room window to see whut looked like some sort of giant grotesque stone hand, protruding from tha ground, clawing at tha sky. Clearly, a lot more than "trimming" had occurred. Every bit of this poor tree's foliage was gone and all that was left was trunk and branches. Ugly. I didn't want them to leave that monstrosity in front of my window, but it didn't entirely occur to me that they were going to completely cut a perfectly good tree down. Why would anybody do that? Duh.

Well, folks, I returned home from work to see that that's exactly whut they did. But they didn't stop at tha tree directly in front of my apartment. They kept going all tha way down tha block. Three big beautiful trees had been reduced to stumps and roots.

In tha middle of summer Inglewood? Really? And exactly whut purpose did this tree masacre serve? Does my neighborhood look better now? Can tha people that reside on my block now do something that we couldn't do before? Who's gonna breathe a sigh of relief or sleep more soundly tonight because finally, all those bothersome trees are gone?

Dumb. Asses.

Meanwhile, I've called several times to request that a stop sign be placed at tha deadly ass intersection at tha end of my block. Do I hav my stop sign, yet? Take a guess.

Great verbiage such as "livid", "angry", and even "pissed tha fuck off", don't do a good job of describing how mad I am. I can't quite articulate how vigorously I would like to slap tha individual(s) who came up with tha brilliant idea to chop down these trees and leave my street naked and scarred. And how much money in labor and machinery did they spend in tha destruction and disposal of these trees? But they can't come and put up a couple of stop signs to prevent me or someone else from dying at tha corner a few yards away?

Tha war path is whut I'm on... and you kno I'm familiar with and hav no problems goin down that road. I'm about to giv tha City of Inglewood THEE BUSINESS. Watch.

Granted, city personnel is often good for very little. However, if they can answer their phones (which they are successful at, most times), and if they can check their voicemail, then I'm pretty sure I'm about to get some results, cause they're about to get tired of hearing my voice. I'm calling everyday (sometimes several times a day, depending on how I crazy I feel) until I gets my muthafuckin stop sign. And I won't stop till I get it.

If, God forbid, I were to die tomorrow, I would call tha Inglewood City Public Works Hotline from my grave. I'm like tha Terminator. I'm like Bad Boy in tha 90's. And furthermore, "This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled", word to Fiona Apple.

For now, I've titled this situation that I'm about to temporarily obsess over "Operation Avenge tha Trees". It might very well turn into an adventure. Needless to say, I'll keep ya'll updated as my sanity wears away and the fuckery escalates. It will.

When Black Women Cut All Their Hair Off...

2009-07-23T22:47:00.001-07:00

About a week after I first cut all my hair off (for tha billionth time in my life) I had an interesting little exchange with tha mail man at my job. He's a really cool, older black man named Jimmy who has a bit of a southern accent, regularly talks about his wife, and chats with us about sports. He's a father type, who probably goes to church on Sundays and knos a little somethin about cars. No nonsense, real decent kinda guy. He came into my office as part of his daily routine, placed our mail on a table, sat our packages beside tha mail, and as he was collecting our out going parcels looked at me and asked, "Are you sick?"

Of course, I was confused.

Then he went on to say something to tha effect of, "Well, I saw all your hair was gone and didn't kno if you were sick..."

Which led me to a thought...

In tha Black Woman's quest to find beauty in herself, she's been led down a path that dictates that she must grow and keep as much hair on her head as she possibly can at all times. I kno this, partially because I am a Black woman and also, because at one point I was a hairstylist. Not only would a good number of black women fall out and die at tha mere thought of cutting off their hair, but most won't consider tha possibility that they might be able to function in life should their hair decide to wave, curl, or (GASP!) nap up. For tha average Black woman in America, there is simply no fate worse than bald or nappy headed-ness.

Which leads me to a fundamental truth about Black Women...

If she has cut all her hair off, she is probably (A) DYING OF CANCER, or (B) HAS COMPLETELY LOST HER MIND.

Well, I ain't dying of Cancer, praise White Jesus. So, tha latter must be true. I mean, why else would anyone do this...

And intentionally go from this...

To this...

Observe tha slightly crazy look that was already present in my eyes before I went off tha deep end and took some clippers to my scalp. Notice tha crazed grin in tha "after" photo. Clearly, something is wrong. And whut's worse is that apparently, tha insanity is contagious. My best sista-friend from high school went from this...

To this...

Menacing! And whut exactly is it that she's got hiding behind that door back there? Answer: You wouldn't wanna kno!

And this po sista...

Well, she been a stark raving mad lunatic, but doesn't tha lack of hair make it more apparent?

I certainly think so.

You may be asking, "So, Nikki... whut exactly is your point?" and to that, my answer is, "I really don't kno... lemmme think..."

[insert elevator music here]

Okay, yes. My point is whut reactions to Solange's recent chop confirmed. As a Black Woman, you can't do any of tha following things:

*Love yourself
*Think you're beautiful
*Refuse to hav said beauty defined by society
*Not want to be boxed in
*Feel tha wind and/or sun on your scalp
*Go swimming and put your head UNDER tha water
*Be satisfied with tha way God made you
*Not be terrified by naps
*Not think that your hair is your beauty
*Not want to put harmful chemicals in your hair
*Want to look Afrikan
*Not be concerned with whut a man might think
*Look in tha mirror and not think you're ugly
*Not compare yourself to others
*Want to look and feel like yourself
*Not sit in a salon for 6 hours every two weeks
*Not strive to be perceived as "beautiful" by Eurocentric standards
*Be satisfied
*Feel like you're enough, as you are

And you most certainly, must not, under any circumstances allow your hair to be nappy. God forbid you cut it off.

If you do, you're sick. You're crazy. Most of all, you're ugly.

Remember it. Own it. Embody it. Live it. Teach it to your daughters and preach it to your sons. It's tha only way to quell tha hideous scourge of crazy bald headed black women that hav come to invade your consciousness. They may not hav Cancer, but they are a type of insidious, parasitic disease, feasting upon all that is good, acceptable, and decent. Shifting your paradigm, fuckin' with your perception of beauty, broadening your horizons, trapping you in their webs of nappiness, blinding you with tha glare of tha sun reflecting off their shiney scalps. They'll make you crazy, too, if you're not careful... So be careful.

Mothers, don't let your daughters grow up to own clippers. All that great hair that you so lovingly permed and pressed will be gone in an instant. And then, whut will become of her? She might end up somewhere... thinkin. She might hav tha nerve to hav a little bit of pride (ugh!). PRIDE DON'T PAY THA BILLS!

[laughter. Lots of it]

Forreal, tho... all jokes aside... this is not a judgement on Black women who chose to grow their hair long or straighten it (tho, I do feel some kinda major way about that, but I won't talk about it, cause I don't want to hurt nobody's feelings... today). I just want to encourage all women to be brave, and bold, make tha best decisions that you can for yourself and love you, no matter whut people like, don't like, or may hav to say. God made you, and that is enough to make you beautiful.

And tha church says, "BOOM."

Swine Flu

2009-07-23T08:30:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about this recent outbreak of whut I like to call "Swine Flu". These Pigs have been out of control lately. First, while walking through my neighborhood at about 11:30 pm on Saturday night with a male friend, a member of tha Inglewood PD (who was across tha street, harassing another group of people) took it upon himself to shine his flashlight in our faces and shout, "Whut's goin on over there?" Our response?... A collective, confused, "Uhhhhh..." while I threw up my hands in a "Whut tha Fuck???" gesture and stared at him with a look that undoubtedly said, "Fool, whut is your problem?"

I waited for Fuckery to commence, but none ever did, so I didn't hav to act a monkey fool... on that night.

THEN dumb ass Cambridge Police arrested Henry Louis Gates Jr, after he was seen entering his own home. Tha police report details that Professor Gates verified his residence, and therefore right to be at the address he had been seen entering and provided his Harvard University identification. However, because of Gates' "tumultuous manner" (which was displayed on his own property), he was arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. The charge has since been dropped, but that doesn't make tha matter less silly. Honestly, not only was there much racial profiling involved in this incident, but I think it's important to highlight that tha main reason for tha arrest clearly stemmed from this cop's bruised ego. Yes, Professor Gates was giving him tha business, however, cop shoulda climbed back into his unmarked cruiser, and kept it pushing. But he didn't wanna take an "L" in front of the audience of neighborhood folk that had stopped to observe tha spectacle. Plain and simple.

I want to thank President Obama for keeping it extra real in his take on tha situation. He's quoted as saying, "I think it's fair to say, number 1, any of us would be pretty angry. Number 2, that the Cambridge police acted stupidly in arresting somebody when there was already proof that they were in their own home. And Number 3 — what I think we know separate and apart from this incident — is that there is a long history in this country of African-Americans and Latinos being stopped by law enforcement disproportionately, and that's just a fact."

And he ain't even make that up.

Finally, I want to talk about how Inglewood PD stays shootin' folks. Last I heard, tha FBI was investigating an officer involved shooting that took place back in May where 31 year old Marcus Smith was killed at his own birthday party. Also, this past Tuesday marked tha 1 year anniversary of a shooting that claimed tha life of 38 year old Kevin Wicks. Neither of these men were tha first to fall victim to Inglewood PD, and unfortunately, they're not likely to be tha last.

Tha events of tha past few days are proof that regardless of status or gender, as long as you're a minority, you can easily become a casualty of an outbreak of "Swine Flu". Normal, routine activities such as walking down tha street of your own neighborhood or entering your home can illicit unwanted attention from ego-maniac, racist cops. Fortunately, in Professor Gates' and my own case, handcuffs and flashlights were tha most menacing weapons, everyone stayed bullet wound free, and Wayne Brady didn't hav to choke a bitch.

sigh

2009-07-13T19:26:00.001-07:00

It's hot.
I ain't got nothin' to say right now.
Just look at these here pictures.

In Case You Missed It: Dwele in Memory of MJ

2009-07-06T11:16:00.000-07:00

When he's not doing McDonald's commercials, I love Dwele. Tha following is not a McDonald's commercial (which I'm grateful for). Instead, it's Dwele doing a little instrumental tribute to Mike Jack hours after his passing. I first saw this on my younger, secretly Asian brother's blog about a week ago and loved it, loved it, LOVED IT. If you don't love it, too, your musical taste may be considered suspect.

Get into this.

Beyonce Practices Ancient Creole Fertility Ritual On Stage

2009-06-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

We've all come to expect certain things from one Mrs. Beyonce Giselle Knowles Carter. One: She gon hav some weave in her hair. Two: She might either (a) decend out of tha rafters on invisible wire and hover above tha stage like Tinkerbell at tha nightly Disneyland fireworks show, or (b) ascend up out of tha stage, wind blowing through tha aforementioned weave, stilettos, properly on feet, booming on all these hoes. Three: She's gonna hav more riffs for that ass than an extended guitar solo. Four: Likely she will be dressed like a super hero. None of these are necessarily bad things. That's just how that sista roll.

Well, on Sunday night at tha 9th Annual BET awards, she left tha crime fighting to Keyshia Cole and Monica. Beyonce ain't got nothin' to prove. She got her reformed drug dealer Millionaire-Boo, she done made it, and she ain't yo Karyn White -- I mean superwoman!

*rolls eyes*

Whut you thought this was? A show? You thought Beyonce was here to entertain you with something exciting, energetic, and visually tantalizing? Well she showed you whut was whut, didn't she?

Instead of layin down on a couple yards of tha finest spandex infused fabric that tha Houston swap meet had to offer, and allowing Mama Tina to swaddle her good and tight till she looked like human fruit roll up, Beyonce went for a more elegant look...

A rhinestone encrusted bathing suit made of Cool Whip accented with a skirt constructed of a discarded parasol, tha elderly neighbor lady's sheer curtains and fur trim from tha clearance section at tha local Michael's Arts and Crafts store. Isn't she a vision of beauty?

Nod your head in agreement.

Mmmmhmmm, we all knew Beyonce was lovely, pure as tha driven snow, and as close to divinity as a black woman can get, but whut you didn't kno was that whut you actually witnessed was not a normal Beyonce performance, but an ancient Creole Fertility Ritual that has been passed down from one generation of Dereon women to tha next. Right now, there is a big head, big lipped, lightskinned baby cookin' in Bey-bey's sacred womb. I'm tryin' to tell you. Shawn Corey Matthew Dereon Celestino Knowles Carter, coming soon to an Essence cover near you.

Nigga Please: The Joe Jackson Edition

2009-06-29T16:04:00.000-07:00

This muthafucka is proof that sadly wisdom is not always acquired with age. I'm really angry with him, and that's an understatement. His aloof manner, and tha arrogant attitude that he's displayed so shortly after tha passing of one of his youngest children just reinforces whut we all already knew... Joe Jackson is a supreme asshole. How has Katherine managed to stay married to him for 60 damn years? I'm so, so sorry that Michael and his siblings had to be born to this man and subjected to his ignorance and abuse.

"How's Mrs. Jackson doing?"

"Oh, she's fine."

NIGGA, SHE AIN'T FINE! HER CHILD IS DEAD!

"How's the family?"

"Oh, they're great."

GREAT? REALLY, JOE??? You sir are a monkey. With wings.

This nigga said that "we lost an icon". No, Joe... tha public lost an icon. You lost your son! Nigga, does that mean anything to you?

Apparently not.

At tha very least, he deserves a swift kick in tha ass, but since I can't giv him one, I'll just name him as this week's winner of tha Nigga Please Award and continue to pray for tha rest of tha Jackson family.

Losing a Childhood Friend

2009-06-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

Everybody... and I mean EVERYBODY is writing about Michael Jackson. Well, as you already kno, I ain't everybody, however I felt tha need to say a little somethin' about that brutha Mike, since honestly I think he is one of tha main reasons I love music and dance tha way I do. In case you don't kno, it's a deep, unhealthy, obsessive kind of love... tha kind tha involves stalking. I'm not about to giv you a discography, a summary of his career, talk shit about him, or hype him up, cause you've already had all of those experiences, I'm sure.

All I wanna say is that he is very literally one of my first memories. I can specifically remember being 2 years old, hearing Billie Jean on tha radio and seeing tha video and just being in awe. I used to walk down tha street with my mother and wonder why tha sidewalk wasn't lighting up for me like it did for MJ. I was tha baby in my family with older cousins and God-Brothers and Sisters and they would terrorize me by making me watch tha Thriller video. I saw Mike Jack do tha Moonwalk on Motown 25. When Moonwalker came out, I watched that movie at least once a day for about a month. When the Remember the Time video premiered after In Living Color, everybody with electricity and a working TV watched it and came to school tha next day with tha song memorized and dance steps down. And all tha while, I knew that all of this music, all of this magic, all of this joy belonged to me and my generation.

I want to thank Michael Jackson for befriending us, for inspiring us, entertaining us, amazing us, and making us smile. For now, that is all I hav to say. My prayers are with his siblings and mother, and everyone who knew him personally and loved him, not just as an icon, but as a family member and friend.

This Blessed Me... Literally

2009-06-24T11:04:00.000-07:00

Yes, please cut all tha way up and don't you dare stop! I want to go to tha church that this choir sings at. Admittedly, I was a little annoyed initially when some of them were clapping on tha down beat (you're in a choir, at tha minimum I'mma need you to kno when to clap), but once they got it together, I was able to drop down low and sweep tha flo' with it... in tha most biblical sense, of course.

*insert mischievous giggles here*

I need to experience this level of audacious ridiculum in Gospel form as oft as possible. And I especially want to thank tha tiny soprano in tha striped shirt and tha alto sista in tha back with tha real hair down to her booty. I got saved watching this video.

Do Your Part

2009-06-22T11:08:00.000-07:00

I decided that my project for tha summer will be to get a date with Lil' C from So You Think You Can Dance. Originally, I was gonna start this blog post off by saying that he could be "Baby-Boo" potential, but after thinking about it, I figured that might not be likely, as we probably would end up hating each other shortly after meeting. Pessimistic, I kno... but, hey... that's usually tha way it turns out. So I figured I would just hav a very minimum goal... one that didn't hav any expectations attached to it and would be fairly easy to fulfill. He's in LA. I'm in LA. He likes big words. So do I. You see how this is working already?

On tha opposite end, there are things that could potentially be disastrous to our "relationship": He's an Aquarius. I'm a Pisces. I'm sane. He's probably not. I'm 28. He's 26. Eeeeek! This is why I'm just taking it one step at a time.

A date.

I'm fond of this brutha. He be puttin his tie on (with a hat, worn backward, as it should be) and sittin' on tha panel with tha white people, holdin' his own, while still maintaining a certain level of "hood" that I appreciate. He's cute, but not in an overly cute way. He's verbose... in an overly complicated way. In tha last episode of So You Think You Can Dance he critiqued tha dancers with phrases such as, "There's a certain divinity to your movement," and, "I believe that tha primary focus of all obstacles is to induce labor so that progression can be born."

LOVE IT. Every convoluted bit.

Folks be tryin to act like they don't kno whut he's talkin about. Shut tha hell up! Stop lookin' confused! You kno whut he's sayin!

But back to whut I'm sayin. I'm workin' on this date. Now, I kno for a fact that it is very likely that I kno several people that could probably put me in contact with him. Actually, let me re-phrase that... Put him in contact with me. I'm old fashioned like that. This brutha need to call me, ask me out on a date, come pick me up, and take me for a stroll through tha park where we will try to one up each other with our use of 4 syllable words, I will twirl my parisol, and he may lay his coat over a puddle for me to walk across.

Let's make this happen people. I'm counting on you.

If you've seen this man (tha black one, not tha old British guy), you need to direct him to me, in an expeditious manner (that means quickly). Thank you.

I Told You So...

2009-06-17T11:09:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back when I posted a blog expressing that I was confused and shocked that a woman had had a child with Mike Tyson, a few folks took it upon themselves to be bothered and offended. In light of tha fact that his 4-year-old daughter had just died tragically, I guess I can understand how they might feel some kind of way, but really, I don't kno if there's any "appropriate amount of time" that must pass before one tells tha truth. Tha situation was brought to my attention, I called it like I saw it, and that was that. Tha point I was making had little if anything at all to do with tha child and everything to do with women consistently making bad choices, selecting terrible mates/boyfriends/husbands, and fathers for their children.

I don't kno about you, but I'm tired of hearing tales of domestic violence, about women being brutally slain my their abusive men, or even worse, reading articles about how a crazy boyfriend with a history of questionable and/or violent behavior has abused or murdered an innocent child. Women are knowingly chosing these men over and over again and bringing them into their homes and around their children! Some woman, who was fully aware of Mike Tyson's instability opted to hav a relationship and pro-create with him. Fuck outrage about my blog... where's tha outrage about all of this violence and these stupid decisions?

Well, unfortunately, there isn't much. According to someone, my blog was "a low blow..." which makes me wonder, whut do you call it when a Heavy Weight Champ is habitually whoopin a woman's ass and raping her? Apparently it's fine, and I shouldn't hav anything to say about it. Supposedly, according to one person, I could've "waited like 6 weeks," before writing about it. Well, outraged commenter... it's funny you should say that, because apparently, Mike Tyson himself couldn't even wait that long before he decided to up and get married.

2 short weeks after his baby girl dies, he's jumpin' tha broom in Vegas? Once again, I'm confused. However, I should probably really stop trying to understand anything pertaining to this man.

It is a shame and should be a crime to protect abusers and not hold people accountable for their actions. If he needs help, then he should go get it. I encourage him and any and everyone on a path to destruction to take a detour and try to make themselves and their lives better. I sincerely hope (though I seriously doubt) that he finds some type of happiness and peace in this new marriage and that they are able to maintain a healthy relationship that is free of abuse. However, old habits don't just lay down and die, and for that reason, I feel a Nigga Please Award comin on.

In tha same spirit of last week's Nigga Please Award, this one is not gonna go out to tha man in tha midst of these shinanigans (though, he too should be hog-tied), but to tha woman. Lakiha Spicer, this is for you! Girl, you are truly cuttin' up, not only because you're fuckin' with Killer Mike, but because you thought it was appropriate to exchange vows so soon after tha death of his child. You are 32-years-old, and therefore way too advanced in age not to hav better judgement.

I pray that tha Lord be with this woman, help her to mature and grow wise, protect her from Tyson, and her own foolish self as well. I don't want them to hav any kids, I want her to leave (or take an aluminum bat to his head) tha first time (if ever) he hits her, and really, that's all I hav left to say for now. However, on tha subject of domestic abuse and violence against women and children, I can't, won't, and don't even kno how to stop talking (or writing) about it. When I don't hav to hear about it or see it anymore, that's when I'll shut up.

Tha Circumstances Surrounding My Disappearance

2009-06-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

As promised in a prior blog entry, I'm just gonna take this little bit of time to briefly update ya'll on whut I was doing tha last part of April and all of May. It seems that I suddenly disappeared into a vortex of some sort, without explanation, and honestly, that's just tacky. You and I were gettin' close. I was posting everyday, and our future together was lookin pretty bright. Despite all kinds of mess and low key chaos in my personal life, I was faithfully writing and sharing my poem a day and doing quite well, if I must say so, myself. And then, whut I do? Just up and leave, that's whut I did! Shame on me.

Please accept my most sincere apologies.

*sigh*

This is whut happened.

See, I was writing my little poems everyday and feeling proud. I stayed on top of it for a good long while, but it was only a matter of time before my full time job, Super-Aunt duties, and Rock star Poet obligations caught up to me. Round about day #23, after having to drive back and forth to San Diego (2 hours each way) 2 times in one week, and then competing in a Final Slam to make tha Empire Mindstate Slam Team, I fell behind. After a few days, there was no coming back, and so I just put down my pen, picked up a white flag, and solemnly waved it to and fro. This is not something I'm proud of, but when it comes to sleeping versus finishing a poem... ummmmmmm... precious sleep, please.

So, I made tha Slam Team...

DUH!

Then I went to tha East Coast with tha intention of visiting Pony Jones and my relatives.

Of course, I didn't see any of these people... however, whut I did manage to do was catch a cold, completely lose my voice, Boom on hoes in silence, hear a whole lotta poems at tha Nuyorican and Bowery Poetry Club, and hang out with these folks, who were pretty damn cool...

Then, I returned to my beloved LA, where I had tha pleasure of experiencing a little bit of Earth rockin' and a whole lotta dumb weather. In tha weeks that followed my return, I completely lost my mind and cut all my hair off.

...And here we are. I am currently writing feverishly and working with my team to get ready for this year's National Poetry Slam. Tomorrow night, we will be at Da Poetry Lounge for tha Battle for LA. We hav a book for sale that you should buy, 'cause it's full of good poems and only costs $10. From now until August, we'll be all over Southern Cali, poetizing and slamming away and you should definitely come out and see us... but mostly come see me, cause, well I'm somethin' to see, ain't I?

WASH YO HANDS, HOE!

2009-06-12T12:43:00.000-07:00

Monday, my boss and I were talking about this episode of Oprah that she had seen that had totally freaked her out -- something about some flesh eating bacteria. Basically, there's this rapidly spreading strain of bactera called MRSA (which stands for Methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus). Its resistant to commonly prescribed antibiotics and kills more people every year than AIDS. If you get a cut and it gets infected with this bacteria and it goes untreated it can destroy your muscles and spread to your organs. Scary shit.

As we were talking about it, I brought up tha Swine Flu and all these other diseases and whut not that honestly can probably be prevented and in most cases avoided or contained by simply washing your hands. This led to a recent observation that I've been making in tha Ladies Restroom of tha building that I work in. There are alot of hoes that ain't washin their damn hands! I've been in tha stall more than once very recently and heard women come and go and either not go to tha sink at all, or do that "I'mma run tha water for literally 3 seconds" bullshit and exit tha restroom. Forreal? You WASHED your hands in that 3 seconds? Did you even touch tha water? NASTY.

Ladies, wash your hands!... especially if you've just handled any business that involved your vagina and/or ass! Anything less than hot water and soap for a minimum of 30 seconds before leaving tha restroom is UNACCEPTABLE! If I catch you leavin' a public restroom without gettin familiar with some basic hygiene and common courtesy, I might hav to bring Wayne Brady into this... and nobody wants that. Real talk, I don't want your urine residue or coochie juice on tha door knob I'm about to touch!

Granted, I may be a person that washes my hands more often than tha average individual and I think it has to do with my cosmetology background. In school, they stressed tha importance of disinfecting combs and other utensils, keeping your work area clean, and always washing your hands between clients or after handling equipment. As a matter of fact, we were instructed to just wash our hands during our State Board Exam if we were ever nervous or at a loss as to whut to do next. And I find myself doing this in real life. If I need to think, I just stand at a sink and wash my hands. Its actually a good way to clear your head... but aside from that, it's just a good habit. Folks that kno me kno I KEEP some antibacterial soap at my sinks! I DO NOT PLAY!

But back to tha nasty hoes that ain't washin their hands. There's this one girl that works in my building that I see pretty much every day. I don't kno her name or whut she does and up until this point, I've only ever noticed that she's kinda thick for a white girl and always has on either Seven or True Religion Jeans. That's it. That's all I kno about this chick. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was in tha restroom in one of tha stalls and she flushed tha toilet in tha stall next to mine and walked over to tha sink. I could see it was her through tha space between tha door to my stall and tha wall. No sooner than she turned on tha water, she turned it off and then she proceeded out of tha restroom. DIDN'T WASH HER HANDS! A couple of days later, tha same thing happened with tha same girl. TRIFLIN'!

Folks, I can't make this up... tha other day, I was coming from tha restroom, walking down tha hall back to my office suite and she came walking into tha building from tha parking lot with two of her co-workers. I gather they were talking about some cupcakes she made or somethin, cause one of tha guys was like, "You made those from scratch?" and she was all proud and said somethin' like, "Yeah! Nothin out of tha box. I sifted tha sugar and everything!"

I was DYING!!!

"Cupcakes from scratch"?... as in scratching yo dirty ass???

I wanted to scream, "NOOOOO! DON'T EVER EAT ANYTHING THIS TROLLOP MAKES! SHE DON'T WASH HER HANDS! UGGGGH!"

But, I just threw up in my mouth a little, hid my disgust with a smirk, and went on to my office.

*laughter*

Nasty!

Gutter butt!

So now, every time I see her, all I can think is, "That's tha girl that don't wash her hands." That's even how I refer to her when my co-workers and I are talking about whut all is going on in tha building. Sad.

*sigh* This was long. Tha point (that I'm sure you've already extracted) is: WASH YOUR HANDS! Also, don't shake hands with tha thick white girl in Seven Jeans... and don't eat her cupcakes, either. You've been warned.

More Jay-Z Love

2009-06-09T08:37:00.001-07:00

...'Cause I love him. So whut?

And tha "Nigga Please Award" Goes To...

2009-06-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Given tha subject of this Youtube video, tha reciepient of this week's Nigga Please Award might be a bit of a surprise for you, but then again, if you've learned anything about me in all this time, it really shouldn't be.

Yes, this ignorant fool got 21 kids. However, really I ain't lookin at him crazy. Tha ones that need to be tied to a tree and flogged within an inch of their lives are these dumb women. And so, this weeks Nigga Please Award goes to tha trollops that laid down with this negro (sometimes more than once) and made more babies with him, knowing good and damn well he had a tribe of children. Men can't do whut women don't allow. Once those of us with vaginas learn this simple truth, tha World will instantly become a better place.

Death of Autotune

2009-06-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

I normally don't publish two posts in one day, but this here is breaking news of tha most important kind: NEW MUSIC! And whut makes it even better is that it's Jay-Z (and if you don't kno how I feel about that brutha... then you need to get familiar).

OH JAY!

And whut's funny is that earlier today, I was just thinkin about how much I love him and need to dedicate a post to him. See how tha Lord just works things right on out!

Apparently, HOT 97 just played Death of Autotune not even a full hour ago. YUMMY GOODNESS! Every bit of it. I'm all over it, boys and girls. I think I've listened to it about 27 times. I know tha words.

And he still gonna get another post from me, cause he's just that fuckin' dope. Now, excuse me while I run around my livingroom chanting, "HO-VA! HO-VA! HO-VA!" for tha next 30 minutes or so.

Maybe Nas Was Right

2009-06-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

Until a couple of nights ago, I had never actually seen Late Night with Jimmy Fallon with my own two baby browns. I had only heard that my band aka The Roots were providing tha music, and I thought it could be a tragic disaster... or possibly tha coolest thing to ever happen to white insomniacs all over tha country. I wasn't all tha way with it, but admittedly I wasn't 100% opposed, acknowledging that them bruthas are gettin old, touring ain't necessarily tha life, and yet, bills are constant and demand payment.

Fast forward to Monday night. I watched in horror as The Roots did a bit called "Slow Jam the News", where Black Thought (who, I say is one of tha illest, most underrated emcees EVER! Step up and debate me on this! I will Batman your ass!) sang about California's budget crisis (ugh!) while Jimmy Fallon interjected in a supposedly sultry tone with innuendo laden "humor"... none of which was funny. And all night, he kept referring to Questlove and Black Thought as "Amir" and "Tariq". I know those are their actual names, and maybe I'm just being sensitive because of my deep and abiding love for The Roots, but it felt a little disrespectful. When Jimmy Fallon or any of tha guests would refer to The Roots, it always felt slightly patronizing. Of course, I can't really give a lot of details about tha episode I watched nor am I really qualified to critique it, since at about 10 minutes into tha show I started booing loudly, throwing anything within arm's reach at tha TV, and frantically tweeting and texting about how much I hated whut I was seeing.

I know, I know. You don't have to tell me. As long as those of us who love Hip Hop are still alive, Hip Hop lives...yeah. I got that. However, you must understand... tha past few years have been a little too much for my fragile (though enduring) spirit to take. First, Lil Wayne proclaims himself to be "The Greatest Rapper Alive" (when plenty of other rappers that are clearly better than him ain't laid down in their graves yet) and, to my shock and great dismay, people who are not hearing impaired agree. Then, whut I personally consider to be the greatest collective sonic force in tha Hip Hop genre, The Roots, end up as a corny house band on a bland ass late night talk show. Maybe it's a bit of a stretch to say that Hip Hop is dead, but if it isn't yet, surely it's on it's way.

Tha Thing I Have in Common with Asian Men

2009-06-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

Monday morning, I was watching The Today Show, which is basically whut I do every morning during tha week, cause Matt Lauer is tha muthafuckin man. It just so happened that on this particular Monday morning, the families of two American Journalists that are currently being held in North Korea were on tha show being interviewed. Apparently Laura Ling and Euna Lee were arrested in North Korea on March 17th and are charged with crossing the North Korean border from China along with other unspecified "hostile acts." They go to trial tomorrow and of course, just like their families and so many others that are familiar with this incident, I am hoping that these women will soon be released and allowed to come back home.

As a side point, Laura Ling is sister to Lisa Ling, who also is a reporter, whom I enjoy very much. You may remember she had a brief stint on The View or perhaps you're familiar with her appearances on Oprah. None of this is relevant to whut tha actual point of why I'm writing this blog, but...whutever.

Okay, on to my observation.

Here are tha families of tha imprisoned women...

Now... notice tha two white men on tha back row? Yes? You may (or may not, depending on how you've been socialized) be surprised to find out that those are the women's husbands. Surprise, surprise! Two Asian women are married to White men!

And with that observation I thought, "Wow, black women aren't tha only ones who are hated by tha opposite sex of their racial/ethnic group and often deserted for tha prospect of white booty!" ...and at once, I felt irrevocably bonded to Asian men all over tha World.

One Last Time

2009-06-01T11:03:00.000-07:00

You kno how it is when a good thing has run it's course... Let's use a relationship for an example. Even if it's time to move on and you about to giv that former special someone their walking papers, it doesn't mean that tha good times you had weren't good. And sometimes, you just want one last kiss before you say, "Goodbye."

Well, last week's Pretty Ricky debacle was a good time, indeed. I don't think I've laughed that hard this entire year. And tha giggles didn't stop once tha video did! My friends and I (shout outs to Chas and Ebony Janice) engaged in hours of hilarious conversation with laughs that no doubt added a couple years to our lives and definitely got our abs right and tight for tha summer. I want to personally thank "Sexy Spec" for that none sense. Sadly, it's a new week and therefore time to move on to new foolishness, but I can't resist, so here's one for tha road. I hope it's as good for you as it was for me.

Well On My Way to HELL

2009-05-29T13:55:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things to do is start a statement with, "Not to be fucked up..." and then say, "BUT..." and follow it with somethin' really fucked up. I'm gonna do that right now, but before I start, I will say that I kno that tha statement I'm about to make is just one of tha things in a long list of reasons why I'll probably be placed in a cell next to tha furnace in Hell. But, in tha words of Eric Cartman, "WHUTEVA! WHUTEVA! I DO WHUT I WANT!"

...Okay, so my prayers go up to God for little Exodus Tyson and her entire family. However, when I first heard that Mike Tyson's 4 year old daughter had gotten her neck tangled in the cord to a treadmill in her mother's home and that she was on life support, honestly, my first thought was, "SOMEBODY HAD A BABY WITH MIKE TYSON??? WHUT THA HELL? WHY WOULD ANYBODY DO THAT?"

Come to find out, this maniac got like 6 kids. HUNH? Mike Tyson? Tha man that religiously beat tha shit outta Robin Givens? Tha man that was found guilty of rape and went to prison? Tha nigga that bit off a part of somebody's ear??? Whut woman in her right mind would even say good morning to this man, much less allow him to touch you...MUCH LESS allow him to (GASP!) put his penis in your body and impregnate you!?! Oh hell naw. These women need to make better life choices.

Tha death of a child is always horrific and deeply sadening. I can't imagine tha family's pain and once again, my prayers and thoughts are with this young mother. It is truly a tragedy. However, whut is equally as tragic, if not moreso is the cycle of abuse in so many of our lives, tha way in which Mike Tyson has lived and practiced violence and to see how destructive it has been to himself and those around him. I hope he's taking this time to reflect, is on his way to making some changes, and becoming a better man as a result.

Where Are Your Parents???

2009-05-26T21:46:00.000-07:00

So, on tha heels of tha whole Sexy Spec gay grinding/twirling challenge, I came across another video that was infinitely more troubling.

I wanna start with tha most important question, which is: WHERE ARE THEIR PARENTS AT??? If there are any Moms, Dads, Aunts or Uncles reading this, let this be a lesson to you. Check up on yo daggone kids from time to time. Real talk. When they dissapear into tha basement or tha den with tha video camera, bust in on they asses every so often. They could be barricaded in that room doing ANYTHING, as you can clearly see here.

Second...we need to talk openly about sexuality. Do any of these young men think its just a tad bit gay to be humping tha walls, floors, ottoman, and/or air with a trashy slow jam playing in tha background while in tha company of 5 of your best male friends? Is this considered normal behavior amongst heterosexual boys? Or are they confused? I mean...if they're gay, then they just are, and I suppose that's fine. For some reason, though, I feel like if they were called "Gay" or if someone inquired about their sexuality, they would be mad offended and quick to defend their "manhood". So, then, is this how heterosexual young men act? Honestly, I feel like this behavior is symbolic of some repressed sexuality. I could be wrong, but then again, this whole thing is wrong, so...hey.

Third...I think a lot of this is a result of group mentality. Like all of us, these young men have absorbed a lot of tha images and messages from tha media and really right now they're probably just re-enacting some of whut they've seen. There are a lot of flamboyant men skipping about nowadays, getting alot of media attention or just creating their own buzz via Youtube and whut not. Nowadays, tha more deviant, tha better. Aside from being black in America (which obviously, everyone can't achieve) tha most deviant thing you can probably be is homosexual. I think on a subconscious level, young folks in particular are leaning toward flamboyant "homosexual" behavior and exploiting it to get attention, or "be different". Whutever tha case, if this is tha future of Black Manhood, tha Lord just need to go on and take me now.

In closing...I would like to recommend rigorous ass whoopins and gut punches for everybody involved in tha making of this video, as I am forever scarred.

Don't Judge Me!

2009-05-26T00:50:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I KNOW! I fell off...again. I'm sorry! I been busy! I'll reserve all tha details about whut happened with my poem a day and whut tha hell I been doin', while I was missing in action for basically all of tha month of May for another blog post. None of that is important now. There are two WAY more pressing issues.

#1

Erykah Badu at tha 2009 UCLA Jazz Festival in shiny black pants...

I was there. Yes, she did wear a hoodie with a hat on top. Yes, there was a black, satin sleeping cap under tha hoodie. Yes, she poured out a little liquor for tha homies that ain't with us. Yes, she did whut tha fuck she wanted, too.

Here's thing #2

...literally...it's a thing.

I DEFY YOU to look at this video for any length of time and tell me that this isn't at least one of tha top 5 gayest things you've ever seen with your own eyes. Tha only way this could become slightly more homo is if his clone came out and started dancing with him. And then if they had sex. This, folks, is tha reason why I blog.

Oh, and before I go...lemme go on ahead and give him tha Nigga Please Award. I'm pretty sure he deserves it.

napowrimo: 4/30 "106 and Park Haiku"

2009-04-04T17:29:00.000-07:00

Mariah Carey's
Old ass needs to go and sit
down somewhere, dammit

Whut's About to Happen

2009-03-31T11:14:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, I've fallen off my blogging a little bit. So whut. I think you needed this time to detox from all tha mess and ridiculum that I pride myself on sharing with tha World. Its time to be serious. Well, not all tha way, cause I don't even think complete seriousness in this forum is a reality...Its time to be MORE serious. "Why?" you may ask. Well, cause it's about to be National Poetry Month, bitches! So whut's about to happen (for tha second year in a row) is I'm gonna join poets all over tha country in challenging myself to write a poem a day. Tha idea isn't so much that it's a complete, perfect poem, but really that it's a first draft. Expect it to be posted here by midnight every night. Some of them might be long...more than likely most will be short. Some may be really "deep" and/or esoteric. Some may be funny. Most of them will probably suck. And then, when April is over, it'll be back to our regularly scheduled mayhem, mischief, and general fuckery. Happy poem-ing!

Well, FINALLY

2009-03-17T08:53:00.000-07:00

I first heard this song like 2 summers ago, and actually, lightweight, it became part of my soundtrack for tha second half of '07. How nice of them to finally, after all this daggone time make a video and release this as a single. It's pretty giggle-worthy. Partake.

In Case You Missed It: The Rock Obama

2009-03-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

Unlike most of tha world, I actually still watch Saturday Night Live. There's a special place in my heart reserved for sketch comedy, and though I've fallen off as a viewer over tha last couple of years, I still make an earnest effort to either watch or Tivo SNL. This Saturday night, I was glad I did, cause this was some ole funny mess. I got my giggle on.

Tehehe

2009-03-04T08:52:00.000-08:00

This gave me my first laugh of tha day. I hope it blesses you...especially tha part about Talib Kweli robbin' folks by havin' them buy his albums. Tehehehe...

Obviously, Un-Cool

2009-02-25T12:55:00.001-08:00

I thought I was fly. However, I'm starting to realize that apparently I'm not...nor am I cool, cause I don't dress like this...

And not only do I not dress like that, but I don't understand how it's considered attractive. I would never leave tha house in this outfit:

Or this one:

Yet, apparently women are dressing like this on purpose and they seem to like it. Am I just being hateful? Do I not have any sense of fashion or good taste? I mean, I get this outfit:

I understand it. It makes sense to me. And this one:

And this lady right here is fly as birds:

But this sista right here look a critical mess:

All of this is really making me start to question my opinion of whut is aesthetically pleasing, nowadays. I mean, I get tha concept of "not matching" and dressing "eclectic" and even wearing vintage pieces... I happen to love vintage! But I don't see how these outfits are cohesive, attractive, or even make sense. Everyone looks like they just found these pieces somewhere and threw them all on at tha same time, if you ask me. When I leave out of tha house in tha morning, I prefer to look like I actually have a home. Should that not be my objective anymore, so as to remain current with my wardrobe choices? Any thoughts?

This Week's Nigga Please Award...

2009-02-22T21:49:00.000-08:00

This week's Nigga Please Award goes to every major city in tha United States that doesn't have a Malcolm X Library. Get your shit together.

San Diego has one! San Diego! Of all places! Why everybody else trippin'?

Slept On

2009-02-21T16:35:00.000-08:00

My favorite thing about this song is tha "Silly" sample. Sick. This was so slept on! I miss this song...

April Jones' Daughter

2009-02-18T19:39:00.000-08:00

My friend April Jones doesn't have a daughter, but if she did, it would be this strange, random little girl...

DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!

2009-02-17T14:56:00.000-08:00

So, I've been threatening to add another regular feature to this here blog, entitled "DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!", inspired by my good friend, Chas Jackson. Well, actually, it was inspired by an incident with another "friend" who acted a monkey a few weeks back. As I gave Chas a detailed description of tha monkey business that transpired, he shouted, "DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!" several times in response, and so, here we are. I'll give you tha details of that scenario another time, but for now, we got to talk about your little brother, Chris Brown.

Now, tha first thing he did wrong was havin' his jump off (or allowing her to) text him while he was with his baby-boo. He kno Ree-ree crazy! I mean, really, whut did he expect? Was she supposed to not go into a jealous fit of rage, snatch tha Lamborghini keys up out tha ignition and throw them into tha street? Whut would you do if you were a banshee from Barbados? You would act just like that... and punch him, too... and call him a nigga for good measure. If Chris didn't like all that cuttin' up, then he shoulda stopped messin w/ miss thang long ago, cause she didn't just wake up that day and start actin a fool.

In "response" to her dramatic outburst, after lookin' for tha keys and comin' back to tha car empty handed, he procedes to "touch her soul" (Kanye lyrics off tha 808s and Heartbreaks album) aka choke her out, punch, and bite her. Bite her, Chris? DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT! Apparently, after she's passed out, he scurries off into tha night on foot.

Aside from tha obvious mess, there is so much wrong with this situation. Who bites people? And furthermore, you don't just wake up one morning and start choking bitches. Its apparent that alot of unreported fuckery led up to this right here. These folks do not need to reconcile.

Hoes Ain't Recession Proof

2009-02-11T15:05:00.000-08:00

According to tha Wall Street Journal's Wealth Report, the steady down turn in tha economy nowadays is effecting even tha hoes amongst us. According to a recent survey conducted by Prince & Associates, more than 80% of multimillionaires who are currently engaged in extramarital affairs have plans to cut back as far as gifts and allowances for their side jump offs. Bear in mind that these gifts aren't anything as minimal as payin' a cell bill so her shit don't get cut off or gettin' her nails done, but things more along tha lines of jet rides and resort vacations. Somethin' like 12% of the individuals polled say, "Fuck a cut-back. I'm just gon let that hoe go."

I Know You've Been Waiting for It...

2009-02-06T13:52:00.001-08:00

This week's "Nigga Please Award" goes to...

Nadya Suleman!

This is tha dumb broad that had 8 babies in January, tha smallest of which weighed a mere pound and a half when he was born. Later, we went on to find out that this woman already had 6 children whom she lived with in her parent's home in Whittier, California. Whut tha hell? GET A HOUSE! Then have 14 kids! You don't live in your parents' house, havin' a tribe of children. It gets better... tha children range in ages from 7 to 2 years old AND Nadya ain't got no job and no husband.

My hands have been aching to slap this woman for a couple weeks now. Supposedly she only wanted to have 1 baby (to add on to tha basketball team that she already had), but ended up with 8 and it was a total surprise to her. Ummmmmm...when you do in vitro fertilization, tha chances that you will give birth to multiple children is exceedingly high! And THEN lets consider tha fact that children of multiple births often face major health and developmental issues, due to tha fact that they're usually pre mature. I mean, a 1 pound baby ain't supposed to happen! That's not normal, nor is it safe. It's wrong. I feel so, so sorry for these children. Why would you intentionally put yourself and your children at risk cause you just got to have another baby?

In an interview with Ann Curry of tha Today Show, Nadya said that she feels that she's been scrutinized and criticized more than necessary, probably because she's a single mother. Ummmmmm...YEAH! Its hard enough raising a child or two without tha benefit of having a mate to help out, so I can imagine that it's infinitely more difficult to do so with 14! Really... imagine having 14 children under tha age of 8... when would you even sleep??? Forreal. So why would you intentionally put yourself in that situation, knowing that there's no one to share tha responsibility with you? That's not even fair to your children.

Nadya says that she has "herself" to offer to her children, and so, I guess, though she may not be able to provide a lot for them as far as material things go, she just has plans on being a really great mother. Really? With 14 kids? Get real, heffa! Whut's gonna happen is that her family and probably tha slightly older children will end up looking after tha young ones most of tha time, cause lets be honest... one person cannot do it all alone. Stop it, Nadya.

I wanna see her when all 8 of them are teething and crying and have fevers and diarrhea. Or how about potty training 8 babies, with 6 others to look after. And she plans on doing all of this, while getting her Masters Degree, cause as she says, "I'll be able to provide for my children once I finish school."

Let's all say it together...

NIGGA, PLEASE!

Hump Day

2009-02-04T08:37:00.000-08:00

Happy hump day...

Ain't Nothin' Wrong with That!

2009-02-03T08:47:00.000-08:00

There are few things I enjoy more in life than a stack of pancakes. I like them even more when I didn't have to make them or pay for them. Today, until 2 pm, Denny's is giving away free Grand Slams. Yes, I said free. Free pancakes, eggs, bacon strips and/or sausage links to any customer visiting any of their restaraunt locations today. It has been estimated that up to 2 million people will be taking advantage of tha free offer today and that Denny's locations will be capable of producing 100 Grand Slams an hour. Hey, ain't nothin' wrong with that! I'm currently trying to devise a plan to go get me some free and you should, too.

Little Twitty Milk

2009-02-02T14:30:00.001-08:00

After 5 hours of labor, at 1:30 pm yesterday, Erykah Badu popped out her third baby by third baby-daddy, Jay Electronica. She say's that she's callin', this child "Twitty Milk", and though I certainly hope not, I don't put it past her.

Doing Tha Most

2009-01-29T08:38:00.000-08:00

Today's post is in honor of Tamara Blue's 31st birthday. Why is it entitled "Doing tha Most?" you may be asking... Well, cause if you know Miss Tamara Blue, you know that she has strong leanings toward mostness. And I love every bit of it, too. My wish for her this year and every year, until it happens, is that she gives birth to a daughter that will inherit her charisma, wit, and adventurous spirit and inevitably end up acting just like this...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TAMARA!

Hope you enjoyed this, cause I ain't got no gift for you. Times is hard, sista, and rent is due real soon.

A Permanent Solution to a Temporary Problem

2009-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

After neighbors reported hearing gun shots at about 5:30 p.m. Monday and 7:30 a.m. Tuesday, it was discovered that a Wilmington, California man had killed his wife and five children before shooting himself. I must admit that whut struck me about this was that tha family was black. Now, I'm not so naive as to think that black people don't ever kill themselves. Unfortunately, it is something that happens. But it isn't often that tha suicidal individual goes as far as to kill their entire family. This is an especially tragic situation.

Apparently, 40 year old Ervin Lupoe and his wife, Ana had both been recently terminated from their jobs at Kaiser Permanente. In a typed, 2 page suicide letter that had been faxed to a local television news station, Lupoe detailed the circumstances surrounding his and his wife's termination from their jobs and their decision to kill themselves and their children.

8-year-old Brittney, twin 5-year-old daughters, Jaszmin and Jassely and twin 2-year-old boys, Benjamin and Christian were found by officers on Tuesday morning along with their parents. All of tha victims were shot in tha head.

I'm not as sad about tha adults in tha situation as I am about these poor little babies. Consider tha fact that 1 person with one gun can only shoot one child at a time... so imagine tha terror tha others experienced as their father went from baby to baby and shot each one in tha head. I lightweight understand "not wanting to leave your children alone" and contemplating tha reality of them having to live without you, knowing that you killed yourself, being raised by someone else and all of that... but that should be reason enough for you to chose an alternative that doesn't involve taking your life. Who knows whut these children could've grown up to be. They were such a gorgeous family and tha idea that some one's circumstances were so dire that they could no longer see a way out breaks my heart.

I promise you that whutever you're going through is just for right now. Things will change... they always do. Don't ever consider taking your life to solve tha temporary problems you're having, cause that "solution" is a permanent one that can never be reversed.

Don't Act Brand New

2009-01-27T22:43:00.000-08:00

This is for tha people that be tryin to act like I never have a daggone show anywhere and/or like I don't tell them where I'm about to be. If you miss it, it's on you, cause I told ya.

And tha Nigga Please Award Goes to...

2009-01-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

Bill O'Reily... cause he can't seem to shut tha fuck up and somehow doesn't realize that nobody cares whut he thinks about rap.

In Danger of Gettin' Slapped

2009-01-24T16:48:00.000-08:00

This is proof that despite America's slow, torturous baby steps toward some semblance of progress as far as Race Relations is concerned, there are still some (White) people that need their asses beat.

He said, "My brother-in-law is Cuban," as if this somehow proves that he isn't a raging racist. Cuban? His brother-in-law? Is that tha New Millennium upgrade to tha popular phrase, "I got black friends"? Is that how we rollin' now? Kefalinos? Are you serious?

I personally want to get my hands on this one, but I ain't got tha money for a plane ticket. Who wanna sponsor me?

Whut Tha Hell is It?

2009-01-23T19:58:00.000-08:00

Look who tha hell done crawled up out tha crypt... none other than your favorite Jackson. Latoya. Bless her soul.

It Ain't Where You From, Its Where You HAT

2009-01-22T18:16:00.000-08:00

I love a hat. If you kno me, this is a fact that you're well aware of. Well, from tha looks of it, my Boo Jay and my Great Aunt on my daddy's side, twice removed enjoy a fantasitic bit of head gear as well. Mr. Carter is lookin like he in Russia, while Mama Aretha reminds us that she is a musical gift to tha World, bow hat properly cocked to one side. Comeonnowsomebody!