Bushido Road

The imperfect journey of a 40-something female karateka forging a path and barking my shins on the proverbial furniture while studying "the way." Hear her roar...

[gojugirl]

It's my 12 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[gojugirl]

The Week Of...

Lots of religious days of importance are happening this week - including the start of Holy Week for Christians coinciding with Jewish Passover celebrations. As my mother died on Easter Sunday, it's been a conflicting time for me for many years. Twenty-seven years ago this week, my family was everywhere emotionally. We'd received the devastating news a few weeks before that my mom's breast cancer had metastasized to not only her lungs and liver (which she knew about), but also to her brain. In addition to the struggle that comes with knowing someone you love has only a short time left in this physical plain, my dad insisted that my mom not be told about the new diagnosis, and my disagreement with his insistence led to a lot of additional tension. Hospice was around, as was a day nurse that helped administer medications to mom during the day. Back then, adjuvant treatment included oral dilantin to help eliminate brain swelling. It had to be administered every six or eight hours, if I recall - plus an N-G tube had to be taken care of to make sure liquid nutrients could be given as well, as she was unable to eat. Add the steady stream of family and friends happening by to visit, and it's not hard to get that there was lots of movement in and around the house during Holy Week that year. But the push to aim for normalcy was strong. I'd moved back home less than a year before from Philadelphia to deal with a career change/transition from photojournalism that involved deciding if graduate school was the direction to take. In between gathering GRE and grad program application information, I was also training for an outside chance at trying for another Olympic team. Yes, things were crazy busy. Because mom was pretty immobile, changing her bed sheets was done the same way hospitals do it: by rolling her over instead of getting her out of bed. But a new Hospice bed delivery required that we get her up to actually change beds. During the relatively quick exchange, we helped her sit in the big comfy chair in the room, a plush recliner that happened to sit near a dresser. Not two minutes after she got into the chair, she glanced into the mirror and was pretty shocked to see that all of her hair was gone from the radiation she'd received in the hospital when her metastasis was discovered. "Wow," she said as she rubbed her head. "I'm as bald as a cue ball!" She didn't ask where her hair had gone or why, but I think she knew. As the Olympic Trials were around the corner, I had decided to open my outdoor track season with a meet in New Jersey that seemed to be about an hour or so away. My mom was always my biggest cheerleader, traveling the country with me to meets through the years - both during and after college. She was actually more excited about the meet than I was. The night before the meet was Good Friday. As lots of folks called to see how she was, I remember overhearing my dad telling folks he hadn't seen in years that my mom was acting a bit delirious, describing her as "talking out of her head." That totally shocked me, because I hadn't witnessed anything like that at all. She and I talked all the time, although she talked a lot less than she use to. I remember giving her a manicure that night. While I painted, she talked a bit about the meet, asking if my uniform was clean and if my car was gassed up and ready to go. She said she wished she could go and watch me compete. While I painted my own nails the same color I told her she'd be with me in spirit, but she was already fast asleep. I took a picture of our hands together a few minutes later.

My event started relatively early so I had to leave on Saturday when it was barely light outside to make it on time. But it ended up being much further away than I'd thought and it seemed like it took forever to get there. The whole while I drove, I kept thinking about how horrible it would be if my mom passed away while I was stuck in my car trying to get to or from a track meet. Those thoughts and the very cold weather made me warm up, take just one jump (winning the event at a pretty low height), get back in my car and drive home as fast as I could. As soon as I poked my head into the room, she smiled and wanted to know how the meet went. "How did you do?" she said. "It didn't go so well," I told her. "Don't worry - you'll get 'em next time." Those raspy words were the very last ones she ever said to me. Around midnight, when I went in to give the dilantin, her breathing was very loud and labored. I knew instantly that I needed to get everyone up and here as soon as possible. I told my dad, then called our pastor. His wife told me he'd be right over. We - my dad, grandmother, great aunt (grandmother's sister) and the pastor - sang and talked to her for what seemed like both an eternity and only a few minutes. Sometime after 4am, her breathing got even more labored and shallow. I was standing near her left leg and just kept rubbing the tiny spot above her knee. Seconds later, she took her last breath. My mom passed away from metastatic breast cancer on 4/19/92 at 4:19am. Folks around the globe were getting up and prepping to get to Sunrise Services to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. I was calling the local funeral home to make arrangements for a funeral. I’ve always thought there was a strange irony in that. This year, the 19th is actually Good Friday, and I have been dreading it big time. Of course I remember the day she died, but because Easter Sunday isn't a fixed date on the calendar, the dates don't coincide every year. Memories seem to hit a smidge differently when they actually do, though. Suffice to say it will be a long weekend. In the years since, I've married, become a mother myself, divorced, been through all sorts of life changes and even married again. This is the first time I've ever written about those last days with her.Thanks for indulging the need to commit these thoughts and memories to virtual paper. I guess it was important for me to do this today and in this way. May you enjoy your holy day celebrations with your families or with whomever you celebrate. I plan on trying my best to do the same. 

[anexperimentallife]

The director of cybersecurity from the Electronic Freedom Foundation is offering to help women who have been threatened with compromise of their devices.

[littlewitchlingrowan]

I better see EVERYBODY reblogging this

[millennial-review-deactivated20]

[blackqueerblog]

That’s not  justice

[youngscrappyandhungry33]

reblog until ur fingers bleed

[trellyworld]

[kimreesesdaughter]

I’m reblogging this every time I see it.

[morninggggstar]

AND COUNTING.

[gojugirl]

Yup

[gojugirl]

When the Verdict Was Delivered...

"All we wanted was a chance to talk. Instead we only got outlined in chalk. Feet have bled, a million miles we've walked Revealing at the end of the day The charade..." - D'Angelo Yes, I'm shocked - although I know I probably shouldn't be. I keep thinking about the protest marches and sit-ins my parents and their siblings participated in, only to be met with hydrant hoses, police night sticks, dogs and warnings about wanting too much "too fast." They already had this fight, this push to be viewed and treated as human beings - yet 60 years later, we're still here. Why are Black folks viewed as being so dangerous? Why is it when we're shot, no matter how law-abiding or church-going, or upstanding a member of the community we are, we're always to blame for those bullets because we somehow caused somebody to be afraid? And why is it that walking or jogging or driving or standing on the corner or sitting in a car or playing in the park or trying to breathe too often nets a death sentence? How do any of those things lead to a person's funeral? I'm sure you love your dog or the pics you took of your garden or your niece's pre-k moving up ceremony, but I don't really want to see that today. I want to see the same outrage shown over Syria's use of chemical weapons, or the attacks in Paris and London. I want all those folks weeping in front of women's clinics to weep now. I want to not feel like yet another murder and acquittal is business as usual. I want to know when this became the rule and not the exception, I really do... Enough already...

[gojugirl]

Philado Castile

[blackexcellence101-deactivated2]

Hey world, My name is Leon Langford, I recently published a book based off of love of anime, manga, and light novels and my desire for diversity in the YA lit world

I was hoping you could help with just a simple reblog.

Streetslam Volume One is on sale on Amazon Kindle for 0.99.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B012025TA6

You can also download the !free!Amazon Kindle App to MAC, PC, and Smartphone to read the novel, if you do not have a kindle. Summary: After the death of his mother, Devin Maxwell joins Titan Force, an organization that collects supernatural artifacts using super powered agents. Devin quickly rises to become a brash, yet successful agent under the field name: Streetslam. He forms a pseudo family with his friends and fellow agents at Titan Force. Devin’s allegiances are put to the test after an enigmatic billionaire offers him the chance to revive his mother, but only if he turns on his new family and steals a mysterious item from the Titan Force vault.

Featuring: -A black main lead with superpowers. -Anime style battles. -Characters dealing with depression, poverty, abuse, and recovery. -A diverse and robust cast, featuring strong black women, strong hispanic women, and a trio of super powered sisters. -Anime tropes such as BIG ASS swords, long evolving story arcs, a military organization that has no problem hiring teenagers, and even a character with animal ears.   Thanks for all the support!

[etherealhobbies]

This sounds awesome…

[blackexcellence101-deactivated2]

Thanks for the reblogs @etheralhobbies I sold 9 copies today!

[gojugirl]

Happy 126th birthday, Zora... #Shero #ThePenIsMightierThanTheSword

[yellowxperil-deactivated2026012]

srsly tho this is absolutely a thing that dudes do all the f***ing time

like where if he knows a girl doesn’t necessarily want to give him a hug, he will trap her in this position in front of witnesses where she has 2 options- both of which are undesirable for her, while simultaneously desirable for him

if she doesn’t want to hug him, whatever she does, it will suck for her.

she can 1. say nah and be the fucking asshole in front of other ppl or 2. forsake her corporeal boundaries and allow unwanted intimate contact

it’s a f***ing trap

[d-o-llf-a-ce]

SECOND STORY TIME

So I was on the transit bus alone one time. This was my first time riding, and so already I was PETRIFIED. I sit down, pull out my ipod, and begin to play some games. This guy sits down next to me, and begins trying to have a conversation. I don’t really respond, I don’t even look at him, just give half-hearted “mhm”s and “oh”s, as I don’t want to be rude if he was just striking up a friendly conversation. He then asks me on a date.

Now, as I stated before, I already was absolutely petrified. My heart stopped and I didn’t know how to answer. So I just didn’t. He didn’t let up and I could feel his eyes on me. I quietly stammer out a “no thanks” and my stop HAPPENS to be coming up, so I pull the string thing to let the driver know I want to stop there, and once we stop and the doors open I get up and he asks me, “Well, can I at least have a hug before you go if you won’t go on a date with me?” 

This makes me break. There are now people staring, as we are the only people standing up and not getting off… So I just start crying. Hell, I am bawling almost instantly. He looks so fucking freaked out and people are now getting up to come over and comfort me/question him. I don’t stop crying, and he keeps trying to comfort me by touching me, and people are yelling at him for that. 

AND THEN. AND. FUCKING. THEN. THE GOD DAMN BUS DRIVER. A VERY EASILY 6 FOOT BURLY MAN. COMES OVER TO US. PULLS THE GUY AWAY. AND KNEELS DOWN. HE THEN ASKS, IN THE MOST CALM VOICE, “Did you request the stop?” I very slowly and shakily nod, as I am still crying my eyes out. He then asks, “Do you want to get off?” I give a quiet “mhm” and nod once again, and he offers me his hand. I take it, he stands up, and he escorts me off the bus. He asks me questions such as where I was going next, if I was going to meet someone shortly, if I was going to transfer buses from there. He was very polite and waited for me to answer the entire time, and my friend (who I was going to be meeting there) showed up. He asked me if this was someone I knew, I said yes, and he said alright, have a good day. He then told me- and this is something stuck in my mind forever, so it is word for word-

“If some guy EVER starts harassing you like that again, do exactly what you did there. Cry. Cry and scream and have a temper tantrum. Not only will it throw him off, but it will get others to notice. They might not interfere, they might, but you will have gotten their attention and if you happen to go missing the next day the search for you will be a hell of a lot easier because everyone in that location will have seen you screaming and crying with a guy now very awkward with his actions. They will know. That is what my daughter did, and three days after she went missing she was back in my arms. I pray for you and every other person like you who has this done. You stay safe now, okay?” And after I began blubbering again, I nodded and he left.

So this is the second lesson for yall. If you can not have the courage to say no or make an excuse, cry. Let out those sobs and tears and cry your heart out. Because it is going to make people notice and make people aware.

[cosmic-noir]

Reblogging for that second story. This might save a life.

F***ing hate dudes forreal.

[han-syolo-shot-first]

Also, as an additional tip (in case you cannot cry on command or such), you can say, “No, because you’re creepy/creeping me out” and if he persists or tries to laugh it off, say “I do not want to be touched” and look at one of the strangers/persons that is watching.

It: 1. Gives them a sense of urgency in the situation, as the eye contact is a way to make them feel as though you are personally asking for their help and it is now their obligation to help. 2. Contains words so that if you’re in a public place but people aren’t necessarily watching, then they (as natural evesdroppers) can overhear the attention-grabbing words and then notice the situation. Note, this does NOT mean that they will come for help, but you might be able to look someone in the eye (as previously mentioned) or just get some people’s attention. 3. It shows that you have fight in you. As with rapists, those who are physically aggressive (ie. these huggers) choose women they see as an easy target. The moment you show them you are going/willing to fight them, they are less likely to continue. Sadly, this is not always the case, but every little bit helps.

Hopes this also helps, guys, and I’m so sad that this has to even be a post we need.

[oxfordcommaforever]

Dudes who follow me: 1) reblog this 2) don’t be the creepy guy who asks random women for hugs 3) be aware of your friends or random creepy dudes and call them out if they act gross towards girls/womem

[dwendog]

Also, seriously, you can actually say no to requests for hugs. Fuck politeness, if you’re not comfortable, say no. I am a huggy person. My friends all know this. So when someone once “jokingly” asked this and I said no, I suddenly had an army of people on my side telling him to back off, because if I was saying no, there was clearly a reason for it.

[postitforward]

31 Days of Self-Care

Day 4. Look at this cute GIF by My Whispered Colors (@mywhisperedcolors). When you’re done, look at it again. Then pass it on.

See the full list of prompts here. 

[gojugirl]

😊

[gojugirl]

Every petal on every flower says “He loves me.” Now I must weed-whack each stinkin’ one of these little buggers…

[postitforward]

Question! What’s your happy place? Reply here or illustrate it. 

[staff]

Some really beautiful responses on this thing. Jump on in.

[gojugirl]

The beach...

[gojugirl]

Yesterday was a great day - until I opened my eyes and saw this guy. Yes, it turned into that kind of traumatic, torture-filled, gut-wrenching afternoon.

[gojugirl]

April 21, 2015 The Day the Music Really Died I had a press release for a new client to complete. Without much time to do it, I put my phone away and unplugged from media for a few hours. But soon my phone started blowing up from texts and I got really annoyed because I had work to finish. When I finally finished and left the office that is downstairs in my home, my son ran to me with his phone outstretched. “Mom – did you hear about Prince?!?” When I looked, I saw a photo of PRN superimposed with a headline about his death. Shocked, but he’d been sick a few days before and I thought they’d gotten the story wrong. I was actually feeling bad for the person who was gonna get fired for messing this up. But I’m a journalist so I jumped on my trusted news sites to check, noticing the stream of texts friends and family had sent about the news. I was like – “Calm down, folks, it hasn’t been confirmed.” It was 1pm EST. Reuters was the only news source I found that had not confirmed that the person found unresponsive at Paisley Park and was later confirmed dead was Prince. There. Let’s wait and see what’s going on before we jump to conclusions, everyone… I swear, the thought was still hanging in a bubble above my head when his publicist confirmed the worst news ever: Prince was gone. The anniversary of my mom’s death was just two days before. It’s been 24 years since she passed, and each year, I remember the week leading up to and after her death in very surreal ways – like how the smell of flowers made me sick and how everything on the planet kept going even when my world was grinding to a halt. When his death was confirmed, I oddly smelled flowers again and immediately got nauseous. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t even back out of the driveway to get to my other office, and once I did finally get my car on the actual road, I had to stop several times along the way to collect my thoughts. WBLS here in NYC was playing an amazing tribute and I thought I was gonna lose it when “Pop Life” came on. Jumpy, nervous, anxious as hell, but no tears. Just simply unable to function properly. I am a the lover of music I am for only two reasons: my parent’s Motown fetish (seriously – I learned what a bassoon sounded like from Smokey’s “Tears of a Clown” when I was about 3) and seeing Prince dance across my MTV screen singing about his little red corvette when I was 15 (“Little Red Corvette” actually made me forget to breathe for a bit. Totally enthralled I was and had “1999” and the four other albums he’d made up to point by the end of the week. Almost drove my parents mad!).

I learned to read music when I started playing violin in third grade, but the first song I ever recognized by key, the first song I ever played drums to from beginning to end (with fills!) and the first/only song I ever wrote out the entire drum notation to after hearing it were all his. When I found out that he usually wrote & recorded drum parts first, I wanted to learn more about the drums. The bottom to “Stare” is part of my warm-up routine still. I play it every. single. day.

I listen to things differently because of all the time spent straining to hear hidden nuggets in Prince songs and B-side tunes – from playing songs backwards to trying to actually count the hi-hat hits in “777-9311.” He helped train my ears to listen for subtleties in a way no music teacher or conductor could. For that alone, I’m most grateful and appreciative. So, yeah, knowing that there’ll be no more brilliant arrangements and no more clever, and politically astute lyrics from that amazing mind hurts. A lot. I can’t even explain it - because I knew him only through his music but I feel like a close friend just slipped away. Crazy, right?

But there is some comfort in knowing that he did one last show not long ago and probably wasn’t far from his studio when he passed. The passion he had for music was well-documented because he was admired the world over for it. There’s a lot to be said for that…

And there’s the music. Lots and lots of wonderfully cathartic, poetic, sexy, thought-provoking music. Yeah, there’s always the music…

I’ve met so many amazing people because of his music that I’ve lost count. I actually have become good friends with folks because of a shared admiration over the man and his amazing talents. A “thank you” for that and for being the dude who literally wrote my teen angst/coming-of-age soundtrack doesn’t quite seem like enough, y'know?

But dang, did he turn it out or what?!? Nobody ever has or ever will do it like he did it. Ever. That he shared what was going on inside his head with the world is amazing and appreciated.

You will be truly, truly missed, man. Truly. Now gone on now and take your rest.

💜

[gojugirl]

Boycotting

As a lover of all things Prince since 1982 when I first heard “Little Red Corvette,” it pains me to announce the following: today I’m boycotting his music.

Understand that I listen to something of his every day. One of my drum warmups is even the bottom of a song he wrote called “Stare.” Had to commit it to memory from the one time I heard it as I can’t buy it anywhere. That’s part of the problem.

The other is the copyright violation notice I received yesterday on Instagram for reposting a 15 second video of him playing drums. Remember, I’m a drummer and I’ve loved Prince’s music for about 33 years, so, yeah, when I saw the video I almost lost my mind. Almost lost it again when I saw this, though:

Other PRN fans I connect with via FB groups and Twitter always joke about the Purple Police - the yankers of all things Prince from the Interwebs, including video, songs and photos that those who love his music love to see, collect and share. Seriously, try to find a video of Prince or even one of somebody doing a cover of one of his songs on Youtube. You won’t. If you do, it’s only still up because it hasn’t been discovered yet. 

I understand copyright - and as a creator or original intellectual property myself, I get it, I really do. I’ve sent many a “You need to take this down right now because it ain’t yours” notices to websites who posted my poetry, articles or short stories without permission. But I’m a writer who makes money from the resale of my work. I’m not an artist who creates videos and music for fans to enjoy then won’t let them listen to them or give them an opportunity to purchase them outright and even punishes them for trying. Not that long ago, somebody in his camp came up with the brilliant idea to sue fans sharing his music. I ran into a guy just yesterday who never dowloaded anything illegally in his life but had his computer frozen during the suing era because his roommate - who he shared an IP address with - had somehow, someway gotten some PRN music. Yep...

I’ve spent lots and lots of cash securing hard to find B-side tunes made by Prince, seeing him in concert, buying “official” merchandise and more. I remember the frustration of knowing something was only released in Europe and my state-side butt had no hope of ever being able to buy it or even hear it. I’ve watched the excitement from afar as my English friends hopped from venue to venue during Prince’s “21 Nights in London" tours. I feel the fever pitch now as he gets ready to do a “piano and a microphone” rounds though Europe (y’know, there are other continents! - Seriously...) and know a few fortunate folks who live close enough to drive to Paisley Park when they hear of gigs he’s doing/hosting. I’m in NY and the last time he came this way on the leg of a tour was Musicology way back in 2004 or so (no, the concert in Baltimore, announced only 48-hours before it happened doesn’t count as it’s almost 300 miles away). I’m also contributing to a household budget that is paying two tuitions right now (my Beloved and son are both in college) and can hardly afford to jet-set across the country/globe to catch an impromptu concert. So, yeah, a snippet of the man playing drums sort of makes my day. Isn’t that what being a performer is supposed to be about?

Note to Prince: I like seeing/hearing/enjoying your music. I’m not trying to pirate or make any monetary gain from your artistry - and I don’t quite see how sharing a video that someone you know originally posted on Instagram infringes on your rights. Would love to get permission to partake in more of your magnificence, but I have no idea how. Any direction in how to enjoy you without violating any rights or going broke would be greatly appreciated.

But in the meantime, I need a break. I’m avoiding all the Prince sites on Facebook I frequent and won't be listening to any of your music today. It won’t be easy - as there are at least three CDs of yours (that I bought and paid for - even when it meant turning into super sleuth ninja detective to find “Hit N’ Run”) in constant rotation in my car. D’Angelo, Maxwell, Chaka, Joss and Arrested Development will have to fill in the blanks today as I’m tapping out. This relationship between your music and me is getting to be a bit one-sided. I don’t want to feel guilty for listening to a CD someone (who paid for it) sent me or worry about getting hit with a “cease and desist” order if I - GASP! - upload that gifted CD to my computer. Seriously, dude, being a fan of yours is a lot of rubbing for a teeny bit or warmth and I’m tired of being left out in the cold. 

I would post another pic of you, but I don’t have any more that I’ve actually taken and don’t want to violate anymore applicable copyright laws (insert eye roll here). Enjoy your tour. Hopefully I’ll catch you again sometime - just not today...