Memo to Black Men/Kamala Harris for President

Reason Kamala Harris for President

My brothers, I am checking to see if we all are on point.  Because we got important work to do here for our sister.  Rumors are floating around that we got excuse the term "pussies"  amongst us.  I hope this memo clears up any misconceptions about the mission.  Consider this ditty a memorandum of love.  The alternative, Donald Trump, is a step backward toward the misogynist racist tropes of the 1950s.  An America where women were confined to the kitchen, black folks to the back of the bus, and gays were nonexistent.

Donald Trump views Black people as hewers of wood and drawers of water.  Here lies the reality of the "Black job statement."  In the irreverent world of miniscule Trump's brain circa 1950, he sees janitors, cleaners, and nannies.  For example, how many cabinet or prime point positions did African Americans hold in the Trump administration?  Where are Vice President Harris, Lloyd Austin, Secretary of Defense, Press Secretary Karine Jean-Pierre, or U.S. Ambassador to the UN Linda Thomas-Greenfield in the Maga world?  Dr. Ben Carson, fully capable of being Chief Medical Officer, got the traditional Black post of Secretary of HUD.  Donald Trump prefers Black people as pets.  Non-threatening happy-go-lucky negroes, suitable for a tap dance or running across the football field.  The American negro lacks the intellectual push necessary to run the government.

One way for Trump to win in 2024 is voter suppression laws ranging from limiting early voting to purging registration lists are common.  This is a clear response to Trump's questioning of the election results.

All the failed, toothless, beer-belly trailer park-living zombies got a hero.  They are raising their diminutive brains to a fake deity who sells overpriced merchandise to the suckers born every minute.  Armed zealots who stormed the People's house in D.C.  These same armed fools won't hesitate to raise havoc on the rest of us doing their master's bidding.  Trump, along with fellow misappropriation of the truth, such as Fox, creates an unsavory tone for the rest of us.  The consistent belligerence, unintelligible language, and buffoon approach to governing have turned America into a must-see T.V.  Statements like shit hole country, mocking persons with disabilities, questioning birth certificates of rivals, and removing classified information—the complete fallacy of normality.  We've given the nuclear codes to a deranged madman with an oversized ego, a reactionary goon with an inflated sense of self.  January 6, 2021, is a perfect indicator of a malcontent sociopath who believes the planet belongs to his ilk.

Brothers, a vote for Madam President Harris means we will do science during the next Pandemic.  We don't need Albert Einstein's science; Bill Nye or Neil Degrassi Tyson will do.

I want to comment on the economy, inflation, and the importance of black men staying on their purpose and becoming masculine.  The President doesn't run or control inflation or the economy.  Unfortunately, credit is given to the President when the economy is good and demonized when things get sour.  It's the nature of capitalism on crack.  As a society, we've become increasingly comfortable with cynical unemployment, creating money out of nothing, such as cryptocurrencies, industries too big to fail, and pay-to-play corporations that buy politicians like Bill Melendez and Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas.  Amidst this chaos, Black man, you must define, defend, and build your empire.  The American Christian Caucasian crony capitalism casino system is a failure.  Watch your cash, protect your families, and organize with like minds and spirits regardless of race, creed, and color.  Here are a few constructive things we can do.

Health care, education, particularly mental health, public safety services, real estate, financial services, and trades such as electricians and plumbers are pushing the economy now.  No one should buy a new car or finance a used one.  Stay away from single-family homes.  Everyone should have a functional small business or part-time job.  The gym replaces the bar and happy hour unless one is conducting business.  Consider alternative ways of being.  Example 320,000 gets you a multi-family house in Springfield—a similar home in Oakland over a million dollars.  Your home base may have to be one place.  Where and how you get money can be anywhere in the world.  Every Black man in America should own a shotgun.  Spend days off in church or spiritual nurturing pursuits, reading, strengthening family and friendship ties, and planning for the signs of the times; America is in its last days and a planet heading for a nuclear nightmare.

President Harris will make it comfortable to make moves.  It is not the perfect solution for those practicing progressive politics.   The military-industrial complex responsible for the death of 40,000 Palestinian people won't change.  Justifiably so, the current misguided knuckleheads, including Kamala Harris, share the blame.  Blame is a shared process here: Saudi Arabia and Associated Arab nations, Pro Israel lobbyists, the corny Christian nationalists with their misguided notion of the Bible, Israel, and Hamas.  Israel deeply believes they are the chosen people responsible for ridding the land of the new Canaanites, Jebusittes, and Hittites, alias Palestinians.   I included Hamas for failing to think that Israel wasn't going to respond with collective punishment.

Too much is at stake in this election.  I support a woman's right to make medical choices concerning her body, a just and fair immigration policy where no one is illegal, and a commitment to science, even if it leans toward uncomfortable truths such as global warming or preparedness for the next Pandemic.  An inclusive America where we address our fellow citizens according to their preferences.  The rule of law, no matter how uncomfortable the results are,

Tone and professionalism are possible with Madam President.  The myth-making syndrome that anyone with enough gumption can ascend to the mystical office of the leader of the free world.  Myths like chopping down cherry trees, to honest Abe.  An America where my daughters and granddaughters can look at President Harris with her unapologetic, beautiful hue and believe they can hold the highest elective position in the land.

I've heard frequent criticism of Madam President, including her opposition to reparations and repulsive discussions of her past dating habits, her blackness, and her choice of a husband.  Madam President clearly understands the reparations debate.  She acknowledges disparities in housing, education, and income.  She mentions historical barriers, including Jim Crow and restrictive access to voting.  A recent proposal that addresses past housing issues includes a 25,000 down payment. 

Concerning her past dating habits, no one questions why 60-year-old married old ass Willie Brown was cheating on wifey with a woman half his age.  A theory banging in the brain is the consistent critique of the black female body.  The critique ranges from weight, reproductive choices, fashion taste, Brazilian butt lifts, and hairstyles to legislation on where or who should have access to her vagina.  A good deal of this body policing comes from Black men.  Considering Harris went to Howard and her past dating habits, she preferred a person of color.  She probably dreamed of a picket fence and braiding those naps.  It didn't happen.  I speculate it was career decisions and the continuing black male relationship behaviors, including ghosting, cheating, manipulation, lying, and abuse, both mental and physical.  A man respects and admires her path and chooses to share and build with her.  Love is love, and who one chooses to love is a personal, private decision.  If we policing choices consider the mentally blank, intellectually bankrupt pin-up girl, money-grabbing immigrant, the ignorant one wife up.

She shares, by nature, design, and intention, a black female perspective of being.

Donald Trump is a fucked up human being.  The ultimate vestibule of white privilege.  A fat slob bacon pissed diarrhea piece of excrement who will soil us all.  He is a racist Nazi-loving clown who honestly believes his genes give him the right to rule.  It could have been your daughter he grabbed by the pussy.  Or an Uncle that he or his Hitler-loving father kept out of housing.  Or maybe your son was part of the Central Park Five.  He's a link to the past, a sunset town where one's black ass better be beyond the gates.  It's an America that reminds me of Klan rallies or picnics where Black men hung from trees under the delightful stares of white folks coming home from church.  Kamala Harris is right.  ''We're not going back".

I have included some Podcasts and reading material to help you build, run, and maintain your Kingdom.  I wish you peace on your journey.  Let me be clear: several of these folks have different political views than me.  However, I find their information valuable for Black men.

Manning Marable - How Capitalism Underdeveloped Black America
Amos Wilson - Blueprint for Black Power Clyde Ford - Of Blood and Sweat; Black Lives and the Making of White Power and Wealtb
Claude Anderson - Powernomics.  The National Plan to Empower Black America
Haki Madhubuti - Earthquakes and Sunrise Missions. Black Men Single Obsolete and Dangerous
Marcus Garvey - Philosophy and Opinions of Marcus Garvey Elijah Muhammad - Message to the Black man Marimba AniYurugu: An African-centered critique of European thought and Behavior
Frances Welsing - The Isis Papers
Bobby Wright - The Psychopathic Racial Personality

Podcast

Home team history Boyce Watkins Millionaire Morning Morning Show-Anton Daniel Ask an Older Man The Celebrity Junk Oshay Duke Jackson Officer Tatum show The Style O.G. The African Diaspora News Channel Dawson Speaks Mediocre Tutorials and Review Dr. Umar Johnson Tariq Nasheed  Pocket Watching with JT JR wisdom

Alternative ways of being human

The Cat Who Taught Zen by James Norbury African Religions and Philosophy by John Mbuti
Dr. Joe Bledsoe and Mama Naasira Ageela - Spicy, tasty Vegan Cuisine
Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents by Octavia Butler

Planetary Expulsion (What the Chinese are really up to.)

It started as a peaceful murmur, like a low-intensity humming reigning through the land.  Finally, it filled every hamlet from sea to shining sea, and America began to rise to the heavens, never to be seen again.  There she stood alone, becoming what she was: a distant illusion sought by many but attained by few.

Twenty years ago, the Rastafarians crash-landed near China.  Unable to escape the Earth's gravity, they requested asylum, which the Chinese granted in exchange for technology.  These Rastafarians were a sight to behold.  With their glittering brown skins, slanted eyes, and a silver mane surrounding their heads like shrouds, they were unlike any beings the Earth had seen.  An amorous race that spent much of their time chanting or smoking moon dust cigarettes the size of baseball bats.  Their chanting produced a rudimental form of nanotechnology, a unique ability that fascinated the Chinese.   Molecules move together to form various living and nonliving objects, a power that holds the Chinese in awe.

What fascinated the Chinese was the Rastafarians' ability to create mini worlds a few hundred feet above the Earth. These micro worlds started as floating rocks. Then, they sprouted water, mountains, or replicas of the Rastafarian home world.  It was here that the Rastafarians ran off from time to time, taking Chinese men and women for outer-world sexual escapades.

It was a warm February day.  Ambassador Chu woke up at 5, performed meditations, and glanced at his notes one last time.  He called Beijing to ascertain the extraordinary would happen.  They assured him it would.

Ambassador Chu had forewarned the assembly that the Chinese had a major initiative to address the growing imbalance between developing nations and advanced capitalist economies.  Somebody gave a brief synopsis of the Ambassador's speech to the assembly.  Highlights featured the Chinese initiative, a beacon of hope in a world struggling with inequality, a ray of light amid global challenges.  As usual, assorted countries were struggling for prestige on the world stage.  The Africans felt it was high time they sat on the Security Council.  The Middle Eastern states saw China as a counterweight to the continuing European American power in the region.  Having China as a friend or potential ally is good for business.

"Gentleman, the world community has a continuing problem,"

Chu's voice was sharp but pleasant. He scanned the room for familiar faces to give eye contact.  He remembered an old school boy's adage:  Speak to the audience as if you were talking to family members.

"5 percent of the world's population uses 30 percent of the resources.  On top of this, the Western Nations have been the largest purveyors of weapons of mass destruction.  Several nations, most notably the United States, failed to ban the building and export of land mines.  The United States has refused to recognize or negotiate our legitimate rights to islands in the South China Sea.  Nuclear proliferation, the instigating or outright organizing of global warfare to advance your economic interest, and the general evil of capitalist societies have caused alarm to the Chinese.   The Chinese have a plan.  It is a painless plan that China can implement in 24 hours.  We cannot promise utopia on Earth.  Man's nature is one of self-interest at the expense of his fellow man.  We can promise a new beginning and an opportunity for humanity to go in a bold new direction."

Chu breathed deeply and took a quick audience scan, particularly in the direction of the Western powers.  The American Ambassador was on the phone, probably attempting to digest this new Chinese lunacy.  The British looked bored, and France's Ambassador was doing her nails.  For the most part, those in the hall gave respect due to a significant policy shift, even though no one knew what the Chinese were up to.

Hu Song's journey began in America after a rice crop failure in his village.  He was promised a job at a relative's restaurant, a job that demanded 70 hours of his week.  He did everything from cooking to cleaning to whatever else was necessary to keep the restaurant running, facing the challenges head-on.

After 30 years, four children, and a significant portion of his life savings, Hu was finally able to buy the restaurant from the former owner's family, a testament to his unwavering dedication and perseverance.

The days of cooking, frying, and scrubbing pots were relentless.   Then came the day like no other. The Chinese government informed Hu of an all-day meditation session.  Restaurants would spend the day singing and praying.   By this time, the circle was 100 feet deep.  Hu's family had built a rope ladder to climb in and out.  Forbidden but ignored was the Chinese government's insistence that the Song family not speak to anybody about the energy project.   Every Chinese restaurant he knew had one.

The chanting began at sunrise in thousands of Chinese restaurants across the land.  The Earth beneath them seemed bouncier, like a giant water balloon.  Then the Earth lifted slowly, filling up with water as she broke away from Earth.  Imagine if somebody cut the Nike symbol from a basketball and threw it in the sky.  Nobody at first understood what was going on.  Pilots couldn't locate any airport in America.  She was off the radar screen.  Around this new Earth grew an atmosphere. Then, the waters circled the American continent.  Finally, 100 miles into space came the new planet America.  The transformation was a sight to behold, a testament to the power of the Chinese initiative.  America stood alone amongst the cosmos, a scene that left the world in awe and disbelief, a moment that would be etched in history forever.  

So, the world of its own became a world of its own.  The last superpower became its world's only power.   That beaming democracy, man's last hope for freedom, became the world's only hope. There she stood, floating in space from sea to shining sea, a new icon for lonely poets and heartbroken lovers.   Like a useless child, it's tentacles in every diamond mine, oil field, and crack den.  Running around the planet screaming, only I became the first planetary expulsion victim.

Recently, a dozen Chinese restaurants opened in London

Serekunda, The Gambia

March 2005

Pro-Life, A Black Woman's right to choose

Womanhood is approaching.  From  a shy African girl comes a Hue-abundant lady.  The young miss needs new specs, but the pediatrician informs us age has caught up.  It's an appropriate hour to hand off health care responsibilities.  After playing phone tag with a myriad of folks, we were able to get her information confirmed.  Her first medical decision was to book a physical with a female doctor affiliated with Baystate Pediatrics.   

On a shopping trip to Target, another healthcare resolution occurs.  I suggested an ophthalmologist as opposed to a standard eye exam.  The family ophthalmologist is on vacation.  Target has opticians who write scripts.  After a brief conference, Target accepts her insurance with a 15.00 copay.  An appointment happens. Cordiality exchanges include emails, insurance coverage, contact lens examination, and contact information.  An easy flow happens between her and customer service 

A few days later, we discussed abortion.  I am dismayed to hear the words "barely a heartbeat" to describe a living human.  I am a pro-life advocate who respects a woman's right to live privately.   Privately includes making informed health care decisions about her body.   The government's role is to ensure women's access to private health care decisions—particularly the black female body, fodder for slave-owning presidents, and plan parenthood eugenic adherents.  Yet the idea of a living being called "barely a heartbeat" disturbs me.  

I have a pro-life agenda: clean air, freshwater, and abundant food.  Abolish killing Earth with pesticides and fossil fuels.    A right to life means we eliminate weapons of mass destruction, prioritize education, and end mass incarceration.  Even advocating for reparations is pro-life.  A sane immigration policy that takes into consideration persons fleeing from injustice and economic insecurity is pro-life.  Choosing daily exercise, eliminating meat, meditation, and prayer are pro-life practices.    Progressive thoughts of an advanced democratic society feature early detection and treatment resources for breast cancer and pre and postnatal care.   Twice yearly payouts of 1200.00 dollars per child to every family making less than 450,000 per year round out a few of my pro-life ideas.   Somebody can characterize my still-evolving but somewhat uncomfortable belief that numerous genders are possible.    A person has a right to be addressed by the gender they select.

All is not lost.    The young miss has decided to buy glasses online.  My insight is required concerning color, frame, and fit.   I suggest getting rid of the granny theme and looking for something that brings out the flyness in her.    Payment is $150.  I got off extremely lightly, considering glasses can quickly run up to 500.00. The college crew found a website offering discounts and referral bonuses.   I am happy with my role in her private medical decisions.  She has assured me that I can continue to play this part, especially when payment is necessary.  The patriarchy lives on. 

The Book of Kwesi

                             




After one blunt, two gummies, and  12 ounces of infused seltzer, The Lord spoketh to me.   It was a bit shocking.   Cause I don't fuck with Allah, Jehovah, Jesus, or his father

“My Nigga.     Who, what the fuck.  The voices in my head.  I decided to come as U.  Cause if I came as anything else, you wouldn't concede it, much less believe.  No onward Christian soldier shit or some pale mofo hanging on the cross happening here.”

“In the beginning was the word, and the word was.  God.  Well, they have some parts of it right.   But a God or some angry, jealous bitch, no, that isn't me.  Lots of Mofos have been tampering with the book.     The Buddhist got some shit right.  I sit knowing all outcomes.   I come as Khepera, the being who brings things into being.   Or, as I told Moses," I am that I am."

“Once upon a millennial, you were a sun God.  Planets floating around your ass.  Moons, comets, asteroids depending on your ass for light and  life, munching on red dwarfs, and using that gravitational pull to keep shit in check.  Bro, you saw galaxies merge.  The birth and death of stars.   Black holes eating universes.   Then you fell.   Cause, like most mofos, you couldn't handle silence, peace, or perfection.   You wanted experience instead of peace.  Guess why you love the heat of sol?  In spirit form, you can create a sun but can't experience heat.  Swimming is your thing.  Millennials ago, you made an ocean world.  You formed a body to swim.  That was your best incarnation.  The power to incarnate at will then return to spirit.”

“Two of your favorite co-creations, the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxy, are about to merge, birthing billions of endless encounters with no limits.   You gave all of that up for a penis, pussy and sperm.   Deep in your feelings.   You used to merge galaxies; now you create babies.”

“ Fortunately, I granted grace.  Then, blessed you with wonderful parents, black skin, and a wondrous brain of fascinating endeavors.   Your life has been a tall tale of audacity;  contradictions creeping in broad daylight.   Sun Gods tend to duplicate the same energy they had in the cosmos.  Attracting and being a blessing to those who fall in your orbit.   You picked up some strays.  Like that blow job at the construction site.   I know all things, bro I sent the bitch.   I know how you love kicks and giggles.”  

“66 journeys around Sol.  You have to be thinking about your next incarnation.   I have some advice.   Your ass will die.  Ezekial was my boy, the only one left standing up.   I don't roll like that anymore.”   

“The key to experience is being conscious and humble.   Accept the mortality of experiences then lean on the place of perfect nothing.  What happened before one became?  One becomes formless, shapeless, no expectations or demands..  That's the key to peace; nothing exists.  I am the alpha and omega.  The great nothingness.  I can manifest all forms and master all energy but sit in harmony.  Die a good death.   A ripe elder.  Rest peacefully with no desire, and we will find you.”

Jah bless 

Congradulations Jaylen Brown

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

One of the most beautiful things I've seen in creation is a Black man winning on beautifully Black terms. Fuck them, leprechauns; the ancestors are smilin

It's not a hard push. Chess player, guitarist, political activist, a thinker who likes anime. His bag includes an invitation to join NASA. In reality, he's a cool nerd that hoops in Boston. An enclosed encampment of closet klansmen who love their homegrown negroes. He has haters. Grown-ass black men who think smiling more would enable the ability to hype overpriced sneakers or 2000-calorie bags of potato chips

Too smart for his own good. He took graduate-level courses as a freshman while negotiating his first NBA contract without an agent. Now the highest-paid baller in the league. The scout's overseers of the NBA plantation thought he was too much of a thinker with numerous interests just to shut up and dribble.

My earliest critique of him. A strong wing who tried too much. Weak going to his left and unwilling to play the most extraordinary Robin in basketball history next to Scottie Pippen. He was hesitant to play to his strengths, which included cutting to the rim. A poor passer who forced terrible shots. Lack of understanding of the pecking featuring burn or bust Kyrie Irving and the great white hope Gordon Heyward. An alleged attitude problem with the league's elite stars. The higher echelons of Celtic management failed to commit substantially to him, allowing heresy to dominate. The final act is Jason Tatum and make-believe allegories surrounding their relationships.

Fortunately for us, he is the most intelligent man in the room. Able to define himself with what he brings to the Celtics. An aggressive energy personality who defends the opposition's best player. Through the years, he's made better choices with the ball. Unwittingly, Irving and Heyward hampered his game. Next to Tatum, he has thrived.

It's Batman and Batman. He's nobody's sidekick. He's in his universe. Maybe the rest of us, particularly black people, the most misaligned, frustrated folks in America, need to pay closer attention. We need cool nerds who are comfortable anywhere and can be everywhere. Hopefully, the current accolades are the first of many. He's already one up on the only dynamic duo comparable to him and Jason are West and Baylor.

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