The Black Body

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Maybe it’s just the sound of his voice. Maybe he enjoys hearing about himself. Maybe he’s Moses blessing us from Mount ESPN with some proclamation that’s going to make the world safe. He reminds me of Barkley. Nope, love me some Chuck and even when Barkley is wrong, off base, or unclear. He redeems himself out loud. Check the Moses Malone tribute. Not this mofo who goes from bad to worst to damn he smoking better shit than me. To what the fuck is this N-word thinking. 

I am a community health nurse who has a caseload of 5 to 15 patients daily since the inception of the Pandemic. I live in Springfield Mass where the outdoor basketball courts are hoopless because of something called mitigation efforts. A place where human beings are told to stay inside upon the outset of the pandemic. In skin-tight ramshackle apartments with aunties, grandmas, grandpas, uncles, and assorted elderly folks with preconditions that exposure to the virus escalated. I never went to lock down mode. I have sent patients to the hospital with the virus. I have been exposed with no mask, knee to knee with patients who tested positive. Science is not guiding this. Fear emotional group think and everlasting proclamations of body counts. Body counts that cannot mention the first aspect of infection control. Don’t mix infected with the uninfected. 

Now out of Sir Faceplate devoid of hairline comes the latest coonfunnery. A world-class athlete has a moral obligation to become a guinea pig for a drug that has failed to meet FDA standards. An athlete who for 20 years fully grasps that his body is the temple of God. An athlete who fully understands homeostasis that delicate balance between diet, exercise, mental acuity, rest, and what not to put in his body. A world-class athlete who has every right to talk to wifey, his doctors, health team, and the family fucking dog to make a personal decision on what to put in his body.  

I get it he’s been on the front line of the issues, but it’s been the on-court accomplishments that have given him the platform. Yep, diabetes, high blood pressure and obesity have been riding rough neck.  

Here’s what I did. Lost 10-pound, exercise every day, and adhere to a vegetarian diet. Got the blood pressure meds straight, canceled the gym membership and embraced being outdoors.  Last summer I grew vegetables in the backyard. Covid has turned me into a proficient cook.  Amazon is my bestie for life.

It ain’t the Covid that will kill you. It’s the preconditions, age, occupation, location, and our beloved governor’s choices of allowing elderly and high-risk patients to share the same living spaces and sometimes the same room as the infected.

For the past 400 years, the black body has fought the never-ending battle to own itself. From lynchings to auction blocks to Tuskegee the black body mischievous miscreants are hell-bent on its destruction.  Deep inside the subconscious of the American dream myth-making magic, we aren’t 3/5 of a human being.  We are somewhere between apes and bigfoot.  Take a look at Officer Derrick’s knees on the neck of brother Floyd.  My Grandmother showed more humanity to the chicken necks she snapped in Jamaica.  

Now the latest obstacle to black bodies challenges for autonomy.  COVID-19. Should I or shouldn’t I get vaccinated? Healthy skepticism is mandated by anyone who has a minor comprehension of the war against the black body. The community needs to be fully engaged on a COVID-19 survival guide.  That plan needs to be personal, realistic, and meaningful to you and your family.  Certainly, take into consideration the community and the greatest good for humanity.  Do love your black body.  Thousands have fought for the right of its autonomous being.  Don’t be enslaved to the hype whether it comes from a syringe or heroic mouthpieces dancing from the flat screen.  Press pause, one deep breath, and think. 


ONCE

She’s chocolate brown with grey sprinkled locks.  Smokes a ton of weed like she’s hanging with   Snoop. My cage smells like a Cheech and Chong movie.  My 16 year catching that 2nd hand high.  She’ll probably sleep better.    

She likes to chat.  Full court press plans about becoming a weed Queen specializing in baked goods.  She got good ideas and even better smoke.    

Nights getting late.  We both yelled out yawns.  We plop into the black knight for the ride  to her roost.  After we bid our farewells she slowly dances to the steps. I got the infamous ass shot.  That plucked booty tucked into a size 5 jeans.  That ass floating down the boulevard gliding through the hoop like a George Gervin finger roll.  That ass looking like two cantaloupes ready to do a prison break out jeans. 

Guess what, she can’t find her keys. So that ass starts posting up like it's doing an Instagram shoot.  One cheek dancing on the other gave me the side eye.  As she shuffles through her bag that ass gives me a full frontal pose.  Then that ass does  a little shimmy as the keys climb out the bag. Finally  that ass booty claps into oblivion as it ascends graciously to the heavens.  My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of our Lord.


Being Kwesi@MomandPops.com




I have become my mother, I drop knowledge nuggets on neandertal noggins like Socrates, Blues popping ankle breaking nappy locks. Marley wailing from guitar guts.

I have become my father. A gibraltar gladiator with rock strong balls. I eat dumbells for breakfast and terrorize libraries I arrange atoms into an array of asteroids anchoring amongst atmosphere My minds a fanatic ferment of ales brews bebopping cross time.

I HAVE BECOME SOUL silent sweet like a psalm magic mystery midnight I have become Harmony.

Grandpa can c no evil

Grandpa can c no evil





Wedding 1957

Wedding 1957

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Code Black

Code Black (alias Shirley Stout)

The Books of Light and Love

She is a daughter of Sagittarius.  A mystery child who in this incarnation calls me Daddy. We have shared many lives together as friend, confidant and my prized but stubborn pupil at Thebes.  She came to me by way of a beautiful Gambian woman, who appeared in a dream by a river near Basse.  I impregnated a Ghost.  She talks to me about stars, dreams, spirits, art, music, poetry, life, death, dying, marriage, love, war and peace.  My world smiles.  It has been a long time since my soul has spoken to me.

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Nocturnal

A quick pm nap turned into a nocturnal sabbatical.   16 hours babysitting at the detox center coming up.  Got to snatch the punk money if it’s stress free and legal.   Decided to check the news when her name pops up.  As a rule I ignore her.   Empathy  has been wrecking my world recently.  Sure enough empathy answers the phone.  

She wants to come over and chill.   Usually someone with their own car,  popping up after midnight  knowing I’m gigging in the morning is the crème de la crème of booty calls.  Unfortunately she ain’t the usual chic.  

90 year old mofos have gps.  She the only one in country that don’t.  My spot is about 10 minutes off 91.  She wants to meet me at exit 45 in Connecticut.  Well that’s a 15 minute drive and I need her to make more of an effort tonight.  I get her to agree to exit 3 a couple of miles from the Mass/Connecticut border.  She stays on the phone the 15 minutes it takes to find her.  Several mishaps occur.   Now I remember there are two Sunoco’s near exit 3.  I went to the wrong one.   She’s piss when we finally link.  After arriving at my spot she rediscovers I live on the top floor.  She climbs 4 flights while mumbling profusely about her pussy was wet before my silly retarded ass  left her on 91.  She been drinking.  My first impulse is march her ass down stairs.  Then I get a chilling premonition about a 18 wheeler smashing her ass into two million pieces.  I realize where this night is heading.

 Its recall our life night.  She knows all the details too. Her main one the time I snuck that bitch in her apartment back in 1985.  Or how her ass appeared in my last book as some downtrodden, hopeless dope fiend.  And the Black woman favorite concerning me.  “You think you better than people.  As usual, I can’t comment on her insecurities.  Not that I want to.  I’m the psych nurse here.  Got to question my personal crazy.  Why do I keep attracting insecure sisters with lunatic stamped on their backs?   

Remembering my propensity for clean looks, she asks if how well the pharmacy is stocked preferably with klonopin.    I politely tell her I found the equivalent of  Jesus and abstain except for an occasional freak party.    I got some ginger wine.  She asks for a lighter.  I got matches hmm.  If she asking for a torch.  I know what comes next. Open flame equals crack.  She insists no  spiels tonight while reminding me she’s not one of my patients.  

 I decide not to lecture her.  Gearing up for work is a good look for me.  My thoughts forward themselves  to her current issues.  Mom caught a stroke, cancer woke her  up last week and a teenage son who lost his mind.  Doesn’t justify her actions, but we all got demons to be dealt with.   

I manage to scrape up a meal for her.  A fresh pot of rice and peas along with chicken burgers and broccoli.  Her ass got lucky. I don’t do food.  Within five minutes of the movie starting she sleeping.  The alcohol did it.  Against my better judgement I leave her in the cave.  She’s left my place as she found it.  Spacious and neat.  She remembers I can’t stand clutter.

I am not chasing God or looking for Tasmanians in the details.  I know why she came.  A familiar face, a good meal, some kind words and not to be judged.  Life is enough of a bitch already.

SuperGirl (The Books of Light and Love)

SuperGirl (From the books of Light and Love)

 

She practices isolation. An all encompassing world of books, letters and soul searching. Her life a weaving of magic and mystery. She found the mystic Kareem dropping wisdom like sky hooks. Amiri Baraka is having a mic battle with Kanye. Drake spitting some dope ass lyrics while Coltrane blows in the foreground. Goddess Isis forged a gold afro pic for Angela. I lit candles for the elders who sleep with the ancestors.
She snatched her chariot and sailed into the stars. I watched her rise into the night and a tear came to my eye. My baby girl is just like me.
#Candace Stout

1st Barrel

Packing my first barrel for my new business importing toiletries, clothing, medicines, batteries, flashlights and assorted dollar store items to West Africa. Could not help thinking that's how we got here stuffed on ships, complete with a cargo statement. Cargo owners had to worry about tariffs, damage goods, product arrival, lost or damage cargo. Gotta stuff as much product in this barrel. That's how we got here. We didn't come here on the Mayflower

In the Garden

One of the things I am most proud of is my ability to grow food. I can even grow from seed particularly corn. I am also extremely happy to be part of this community garden Holy Name Forest park community Gardens. A community of Muslims, Christians, Africans from Sudan, White Americans, Immigrants from Asia. More African Americans and Latino brothers and sisters need to get into farming. I give the President of Gambia Jammeh credit when he stated if u can't find a job go farm. My skills have gotten. So good I can feed a family of four 100.by 100 piece of land. 
What are the duties of a revolutionary? The duties of a revolutionary is to make revolution - Fidel Castro