“..I wondered, for a second, what it must be like to exist in the constant moon of violence. To be colored, stained and decorated by its promise or threat or both, while also retaining a blue-black hue of power for oneself, for ones family, for ones essence. The light changed and we parted ways. I thought of her on my elliptical. Sweat dripping, brow drowning with anxiety and perspiration for the mere thought of how different life might be if I were her and she was me. A futile mental exercise because those who have tasted male privilege cannot fathom…it is much like humans opining about how the earth feels; those exercises are cute, for show, for play-play. The more correct course would be to stop polluting live sustainably and gift thanks but even those are empty gestures. I hate such comparisons as the do the ongoing work of super-humanizing or dehumanizing black women, femmes, queers and men. We do this thing, perhaps because our humanity is a common jest, where we are either Gods or Dead. Perhaps we are both. Or perhaps, we too are humans…or Gods wrapped in flesh like the rest of the wayward blood bags ravaging the earth, ravaging each other, consuming blue-black black girls in glowing the lights of libraries and upscale gyms…”
“to be born
is to have ravished
with tepid consent.
Pay your debt
with your life.”
‘Tis the season to be honest right? Well here it is: I am a hoe. By hoe I mean that I am currently engaging in consensual non-monogamous relationships with men. I’m not in an open relationship. Things aren’t “complicated”. I am not searching for the one through trial and error. I just choose not to be with one man. This makes the “bringing home loved ones” clause of our holiday traditional a bit tricky because the way my phone is set up, who I ‘loved on’ last night may not be one I love on Christmas Day (or Christmas evening for that matter). With the looming expectation of marriage and grandchildren all on the horizon, I honestly cannot deal. So after careful consideration, I have decided not to bring a partner home for the holidays.
black women breathe flowers, too. just because we are taught to grow them in the lining of our quiet (our grandmothers secret). does not mean we do not swelter with…
I wanna talk about being Afrolatina
I wanna talk about being an AfroDominican espiritual,
and talk about why it’s so hard to talk about
parcel out my being…
By Christopher Williams His service was very nice. Bell’s mac n’ cheese, Aunt Drea’s caramel cake, a few beers donated from Chauncey’s Micro-Brew. It’s everything he would have wanted besides…