Lambstat: Unleash the Written Words

I am my words. My words are me. Be them good or bad. I am evolutionary.

[iamquagmire]

Plate or Pavement

Order up

This is the new double double

How do you like your Blackness, jerk or fried?

White Hip Hop on the Side

Black culture isn’t temporary or illusory; it isn’t for sale at the prison commissary

Nevermind the false incarceration rate

In this story, blood is the new Black

 “ Here is watermelon salad, Massa….

                                                                                         Mint make it taste real nice…”

“What’s for dinner, Mama?”

“Cornbread…”

“And what, Mama?”

Shots fired

                                                                          GUN GUN GUN

                                                                                                        He had a gun.                                  

“Just cornbread, baby”

#Blacklivesmatter

 Us, long pig

                             You, long pig

Plate or pavement?

Plate or pavement?

Plate or pavement?

Where will the next lynching be?

.

.

.

.

.

.

.              

Everywhere

 Reporter: What does it taste like?

              Patron: The eating of a people to death

#Blackness, it’s what’s for dinner

 “More cornbread, Mama?”

“Yes, baby”

#gunrights

#NRA

#huntingseason

#Blackmanorturkey

Shots fired

“Was it Harambe?”

#RIP #gorillalivesmatter

Us, long pig

Them, Hannibal Lector

 “Mama, do you know how to tie a tie?”  

“Mama”

“Mama”

                                                                          If these young boys had fathers…

Fathers

Fathers

Fathers

If these young boys had fathers

“Why did he resist?”

Felon, Father, Convict, Confidante, Father, Felon, Convict, Confidante, Felon, Convict, Felon, Convict

“I got enough for a bucket of KFC”

                                                                                         “Get back in that kitchen”

Plate                                                                                 or                                                       Pavement

Plate                                                                                 or                                                        Pavement

“I’m all these kids got”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             “I’ll take an order of the hot chicken”

Where will the next lynching be?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“I’m gonna fix it, Mama. We’re gonna eat good!”

Shots fired

[iamquagmire]

Beat downs and the intrinsic value of Jamaican freedom

By now, many of us have expressed or experienced outrage over the shouting of 18 year old Michael Brown on Saturday August 9, 2014 by a Ferguson police officer in St. Louis, Missouri. It is another police shooting of an unarmed black person. It is another act senseless crime committed by an armed white person. The scenes from Ferguson uncomfortably mirror images from the civil rights movement more than half a century ago. Black Americans are exhausted. Black fathers and mothers are faced with the reality that they can prepare their sons, but they can't protect them. They are angry about explaining their outrage, their right to due process, their deserving of the same protections and rights afforded to every other citizen of America. 

Two weeks ago, a photo was shared on my timeline. A young man in a hospital bed fighting for his life after being beaten by the police. This image did not originate from an American city or town; the photo was of Mario Deane; now dead, succumbing to his injuries. In the days to follow, we would hear that he fell from his bunk bed. His injuries seemingly the result of a vicious attack from the tough-fisted concrete below. As the story unfolded and politicians expressed faux concern, a little over a hundred people would take to the streets of Montego Bay seeking justice for Mario Deane. 

Two men, one mentally ill and the other deaf and mute have been charged with the murder of Mario Deane. The bed, again, at the centre of the story. He was beaten within inches of his life for his space on the bunk, the police tell us. The outrage being expressed is, at best, minimal. One life lost and two more forever changed and ruined, a nation responds in silence. The few that speak, butt heads asking each other why. How could we not care about this? This is wrong. This is injustice. This is citizen abuse. This is Jamaica where citizens aren't created equal. 

The True Measure of Any Society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members- Mahatma Gandhi

Mario Deane. by all accounts, was an average low-income Jamaican doing his best to survive. Had this incident not taken place, his existence wouldn’t matter much. Adrian Morgan and Marvin Orr fall even lower down the caste system than their alleged victim. They are both limited by their disabilities, crippled by a society that shows no regard for the lives of the disabled and the mentally ill. For Jamaican society, these three men are dispensable, replaceable, unneeded citizens.

There will be no 25,000 in the streets demanding justice for the lives of these three men, no social media hashtag #iftheygavemeabeatdown. We only fight for that which holds value to us, the rights and freedoms of every Jamaican citizen hold little value to those with the power to honour those rights. These powerful citizens hedge all their bets on dual citizenship. This is the devaluation of the Jamaican citizen, the zeroing of the most vulnerable members of our society. In a few weeks, maybe days, this three names will mean little to news makers. Sadly however, they will be replaced by new names, new victims, new unwanted citizens. Life, debt, death and the devaluation of human dignity: These are as Jamaican as white rum. 

[iamquagmire]

Thirty by thirty...lessons that is

When you are turning thirteen, it is the most exciting birthday of your life because you are on the verge of relationships, jobs, social independence and an extended curfew. Every birthday that ends with "...teen" will be your most liberating (at first). Your twenty-fifth birthday will be a turning point. If you have played all your cards right, this will be the age at which you make a decision about all the freedoms you gained a thirteen. Will you honour these freedoms, these lessons, these gains or will you squander them? You will think of your parents, if you are lucky enough to, and ask if they would be proud. At twenty-five you create a strategic plan and at age thirty, you assess that plan.

Here is my assessment in thirty short rants. 

1. Succeeding in school will be important. it is all great to be the A student. Yet, know this, what you do in school will almost never be your life's your work. It will shape you and teach you, but don't let school break you. Off days are allowed and even your parents will understand.

2. Sex can wait. No really it can. You have more control than you think you do and your first time will almost always be your worst. You owe it to yourself to make it the least of the worst.

3. Mayonnaise is a better condiment than ketchup. Let's not debate this.

4. Your taste in music will change, but you will always return to the songs of your teenage years. They hold the most power in your life. Build a good vintage collection it will be better for you than tub of ice cream you'll regret in the morning.

5. You will fall in love several times. All of them will matter. You are no less for loving ten times than finding your soul mate the first time.

6. Parallel parking isn't for everyone, forfeit when you can. It is better for everyone.

7. Take chances. You'll be better for them.

8. Your parents have probably done at least one illegal or almost illegal thing to provide a better life for you.

9. Watch the news. Read the newspaper. Know what is happening in your world. Be a part of your world. You are better for it.

10. Be silly. Be so silly you laugh at yourself. You can't believe how silly you are. Happiness is the most important of the emotions. Feed it by any means possible.

11. You will have an identity struggle. Question your morals. Wonder who you are. Doubt yourself. It is a good thing. It means you care.

12. Pets are awesome, but they have hearts. Choose your pet wisely.

13. Everyone's life is a musical. Currently, my musical is Frozen.

14. You will forgive someone you never expected to. Caring is an involuntary act. To fight it is to fight yourself and there are few benefits to that. 

15. You will be pretentious at least one day in your life. You will want to be the 'it' boy or girl. It's okay. It will not be your low point. 

16. You will choose yourself at the wrong time and it will destroy someone else. Living is hard and happiness takes work. Sometimes this means honouring who you are more than being kind to another person. 

17. It doesn't always pay to be nice. Your sanity is worth the price of being the bad guy...sometimes...think it through.

18. You will cry more for the unconditional love of your parents than anyone else. Even when we have the most supportive of parents, we are so invested in their pride in us that the smallest glimmer of their disappointment will open your emotional floodgates. It's just the kid in you. Give him or her a hug.

19. Watch black and white movies. I don't know why; I just know it is important.

20. Read. Did I say read? Please read. You will be better for it. Your friends will be better for it. The world around will be a less scary place because all of its permutations can be found in a book. It's like a life course. Read all about it. 

21. Being busy is an illusion. It feels good in the moment to turn down every invitation because you're too busy to sit on a patio with friends. You can create a false sense of superiority. The invitations stop coming in; where will you be then?

22. LEAVE! Leave something, anything. Just leave once in your life. It will change you...in a good way.

23. Friends. If you take too many chances on anyone you aren't related to, let it be your friends. They are the family you have chosen. 

24. Desire does not equal value. This is not the easiest of lessons to learn, but we must know the difference between the two. We will face many blunders on the road to value. What does value look like to me? Forgiveness first and unconditional support second. 

25. Choose your battles. I can't stress this enough. It just all isn't worth the fight. Let some things roll away.

26. Say I love you. Tell the people who matter to you every chance you can that you love them. There is no prize to be won for withholding affection. There is definitely no reward to asking yourself after someone you know dies, "did he or she know how much I cared?" Show love. #endofstory

27. Self-love will be your ultimate struggle. Fight! You're worth it!

28. Do what you love, but know that what you love can change. Be mindful and respond accordingly.

29. Don't watch reality TV. Just don't. It just...just don't. Trust me on this.

30. You are the keeper of the world. We are all keepers of our communities. Don't expect change, be change. 

Maybe I will learn 10 between now and 40, but I suspect it might simply be a reaffirmation of the above 30.

Happy birthday to me!

[iamquagmire]

How getting fat made me a better person

Eight days before the dawn of my thirtieth birthday, I have a fridge full of food and a meal plan on iphone.This past week, I have been to the gym twice first thing in the morning and then headed to work.I am trying to lose weight- not too much, not too little, just the right amount. I am not looking to be skinny. I just want to trim a little off my stomach, and tone my legs. Until the age of 22, I was the marketed body image ideal. I had a mixed bag of friends, kind of like the United Colours of Benetton, that didn't speak much about body image. We were more interested in the next bottle of Appleton or beach trip. 

A funny thing happens when you drink a lot and forget to eat so end up eating burger king #2's at almost 2am each night, you gain weight. I know! Weird, right?! As a kid growing up my "tall hair" and "beautiful black skin" often earned me the compliment, "you should enter Miss Jamaica, you're a nice looking black girl." A compliment my mother has always been proud of as most mothers would be. Naturally, the weight gain was noticeable and those who rarely saw or the parental figures (aka anyone who knew me as a modelesque teenager) in my life all had something to say; the least of those things being a compliment. There was much mourning and concern expressed. "What's wrong?", "Why yuh letting yourself go?"

I should add some context here.In Jamaica, we possess a small supply of political correctness. What is most visible about you will define you at some point. Have a big head? You will become "big head". Bigger than the average guy? You will become "bigga". Smaller than the average girl? "You will become mawga michelle". This ideal is embedded in our culture. It is a part of who we are. It is expected and accepted. Thus, I didn't have much response to the weight gain. As far as I knew it, I wasn't doing anything differently. Meanwhile, the more "filled out" Teneile was experiencing a small revolution in her already small world. 

I have always gotten my fair share of attention from both the opposite and the same sex. Media marketing and the unwavering commitment to photoshop teaches us that the skinnier you are, the more people will be attracted to you. I found the opposite to be true. I found myself receiving more attention. I often didn't know what to do with all this attention-- an awkward fool in the centre of the circle. The mere mention of me wanting to lose weight is often met with opposition. I am a women that gained more "physical" love by gaining weight than I ever had when I was the stereotype of what the ideal woman should look like. Puzzled.

I have spent the greater part of a year coming to terms with professional dress code, understanding my body type and maturing my wardrobe. In the time, you learn information such as- what brands carry above a size large, or make the effort to make fashionable clothes for bigger women. You get awkward pauses from sales associates nervous to answer the rhetorical question, "What size are you? a large". The idea of saying out loud that someone is larger in size than a medium seems to be quite unsettling. Completely understandable in the greatest exercise revolution of our time. Gym memberships have become as essential as underwear and my weight gain began at the cusp of that revolution. 

I have been lucky enough to never be accused of fat-shaming or skinny-shaming. I don't practice it and I don't support it. Have you ever stopped to think how your relationship with your own body impacts how you treat other human beings? Have you ever stopped to think how your relationship with another person's body impacts how he or she feels? When I was skinny, I received a lot of "skinny envy". There were constant compliments about the outer me. The bigger me still gets her fair share of beauty compliments, but there is a greater focus on who I am and what I have to offer. I focus more on the hearts of the people I meet than I ever did before. It probably doesn't relate to my weight; it is probably just the kind of person I have grown into being. However, when people started ignoring the obvious, our interactions became more authentic.

By changing positions on the weight privilege continuum, I have accessed a deeper understanding of the impact of words, of the right to speak, the right to be heard, the right to be seen for who you are and the right to power in your world. The changing nature of one of my life's privileges has made me a better member of my community. My body isn't perfect and it won't make the front page of sports illustrated in this century, but my body has been a teacher. It has taught me about humanity, and humanity is fragile. Human beings are easily wounded and we focus on the "perceived negative" in each other.  We are wired hold closer the bad memories than the good one, to hold closer the banality of "fitting in" than the alchemy of "standing out". 

All humans seek validation, we need each other and this need for each other makes us vulnerable to each other. Remember that, the next time you say hello. 

[iamquagmire]

We have all, at one point or another read or watched a fairy tale. Remove the song and dance routines, the pretty dresses and cute dwarfs and what we are left with is a battle. A battle we are told to believe is the act of loving. I say the act of loving is not equivalent to the emotion of love....

[iamquagmire]

Imagine, I wrote this a year ago and it still holds meaning. #learn #unlearn #relearn

[iamquagmire]

#Happylamb #legos #readyfortheworkday

[angieup-blog]

Hey kid. You’re at an age where I’m pretty sure you’re about to have sex soon, or actually, you might even already be having it and you’re just *that* good at keeping it from me. I don’t really fret over that because I trust you. And because I trust myself and the job I’ve done as your...

[iamquagmire]

#Happyinlife

[iamquagmire]

#literatureforlife #blackwhiteandreadallover #whereareyoureading

[iamquagmire]

#worklife #reading #blackwhiteandreadallover #literatureforlife

[iamquagmire]

Purple people eater

[iamquagmire]

Pensive natty

[iamquagmire]

The 300 were victorious

When we are born, if we are among the lucky ones, our tiny bodies with uncertainty bursting from our lungs are handed over to our parents. Two people,for whatever reason, at some moment in time conceived a new life form. We are wholly in their care. These giants that will lift, bathe, change, clothe, comfort, rock and shelter us are the centres of our undeveloped worlds. If television is anything to go by, our first words should be 'mama' or 'dada'. The lives we choose to live should ultimately honour our parents. We go to school to get A's to hand them perfect report cards. We run races and chase balls around a square to win medals. We are raised to honour our parents first, but to live the life of our choosing second.

Thus, the line between the child I birth and the property I own is rather thin. The archaic idea that our parents will determine the people we become, the people we love and our contributions to the world is fallacy at best. Parents should instill a value system or a moral code by which we should make the best of decisions. They should provide access to housing, food, clothes and education in order to prepare us for life on our own, a life which may see us bringing forth offspring as well. Our parents, regardless of what they might be sold by the media, have little control over who we love or even why we love them. Our parents have little control over our favourite colour, or style of shirt, the places we like to hang out or the job that we will work steadfastly to get. We are their children, not their androids. Our parents, do hold a great deal of influence in our lives. They very often are the difference between living or dying. The fear of my father's wrath kept me a virgin for all of high school. What happens when their are no parents? When your parent has chosen "them" over "you"?

Pride, more importantly, parental pride has never been about private joy at dinner time. It has always been about bragging rights: my six year old's daughter resume reads like that of someone twice her age. What parents brag about depends almost entirely on what society values. This unfortunate truth has led to many post-CXC suicides, unplanned drunken nights, unplanned babies, depression and wounded adults.

Dwayne Jones aka Gully Queen had parents. According to all the newspaper articles, it is alleged that he was kicked out of the home he grew up in, by the people charged with the responsibility of protecting him at the age of 14. In legal terms, if this can be proven, his parents should be charged under the Child care and protection act. They, willingly, failed as parents. These, now infamous, parents refused to claim their son's body; therefore, they refused to tell their son goodbye. Even in death, a brutal death, a brutal death witnessed by 300 people, his parents could not put pride aside. The society's expectations resting on the welcome mat, the kitchen counter, the living room sofa, the mattress (i assume) upon which Dwayne may have been conceived. He was born, Dwayne, but he died "Gully Queen". I imagine this is the story they are telling themselves. I imagine that when they heard the news, a secret meeting was held to discuss the incident, his life and  their absolution. I hear their voices saying 'we did try wid him", "we do everything but him insis'". And so, they will take no blame in the loss of their son's life.

I imagine there were countless beatings he received for not being an appropriate 'he'. The parents did the best they could. There was nothing more they could do. The shame was not worth it. Hiding their reality from a world they feared judgement of, they sent their child into this dark abyss to fend for himself. At 14, they left him to survive. At 14, I was at the beginning of my two year CXC journey. At 14, I was still in love with Mickey Mouse and candy bars. At 14, I would swing in the park and play video games with my 7 year old brother. At 14, my body's sexual awakening was a nuisance more than a welcomed change. At 14, Dwayne and I were both babies, changing babies. Too young to marry, but not too young to have desire, to be desired, to dream dirty dreams or spend too long in the shower discovering orgasm. At 14, we both needed our parents. I am 29 and I still need my parents. 

I have thought of Dwayne Jones more than anyone I know in the past couple of weeks. I have removed the accusations, the "deceit", the wigs and the whistle blower. I am left with a 17 year old child, unable to defend himself, a crowd of 300, some partaking in his death, some watching his death, yet none stopping to save a life. 300 people, all children of someones, some parents of someones. All with voices, with hearts, with emotions, all capable of demanding better of themselves. They discarded the body and returned to their lives. Dwayne Jones: erased. 

And if his parents... 

[iamquagmire]

I am queer...now what?

I am queer…what now?

In the last week, I have read of the demolishing of a home that housed “rowdy, homeless gays” and a young gay Jamaican woman coming out and telling her story of rape and sexual assault. I have sat in my apartment in the safety of Toronto and watched over the past two years as the media houses hold an open war against the human rights movement.

There have been love marches and seething sermons.  The tithes of the Church are, seemingly at this point, solely funding the campaign against Javed Jaghai’s court case. The Church has lost all interest in anything else. I can’t recall from memory an article from Jamaica’s Christian community that, in recent time, addresses anything other than the buggery law.

I was asked three days ago, “when are you coming home?” My answer was Christmas. The truth is, however, home has changed and Jamaica is not a place I am currently eager to visit. I know the welcome ill be warm, emphatic and joyous. I know that I will make amazing memories with my friends, family and lavish in the comforts of my homeland. Yet, as I walked down the street with my friend, and he simply jump and shouted the line from a song, I shushed him. He said, “leave me, I can’t do this in Jamaica.” He wasn’t performing some kind of act that can only be associated with the alternative heathens of society; he was expressing and embracing freedom. He was embracing the ability to be silly without the limitations of swag. For in Jamaica, even light moments must be couched in swagger. It is not enough to just stand somewhere; one must pose propped just against the wall like a figurine on your grandmother’s whatnot.

For all its parties, loose liquor laws and carefree tourism ads, Jamaicans are far from me. We are a people stifled by identity and appearances. Ironic for a place that condones recklessness and disorder more than any other I can think of. Mek noise all hours a mawnin, rain fall and yuh stay in yuh bed, there must be another way to get weh mi need that is illegal. So, what of the human spirit? What of the right to jump, scream and dance to a song you love without wondering or worrying? What of the human spirit?

I am queer and that is not simply about holding my partner’s hand in the streets. It is only one word that would follow the phrase I am.  Labels are fine for those suffering from an inferiority complex but my human spirit will not be labeled. It is the battle for my spirit that has me staying in Canada, indefinitely. In Toronto, I am a writer, an educator, a marketer, a magnetic force. My sexual identity is not the only thing that defines me. I am not forced to remove any labels before having a conversation with anyone. I play freely with the children of both my straight friends and my gay friends. I envision the endless possibilities of my life- my PH.D, my legacy, my imprints (including how I will contribute to the growth of Jamaica, if and when I return.)

For all the shunning of Jamaica and the being shunned by Jamaica, it is the one place in the world I want to see my legacy imprinted.

I am queer…what now? I was thinking to grab some lunch.

[iamquagmire]

From mud lake to the 'unruly gays'

The homeless and the ‘mad’ are staples on Jamaican streets, from coast to coast. So commonplace is their presence in our society that we often name them, worry when we don’t see them in their usual location and protect them when the situation calls for it. We give them names, assign stories to their history, and wonder why no one has come to claim them.

  Why has no one come to save them?

  I remember the naked woman whenever we went to Ocho Rios Town. I remember the albino in Half-way-tree. I remember Frank from my old neighbourhood who dipped himself in coal. Dreggs from the intersection by Sovereign. They are just a part of my memories of home as the people who I chose to be friends with. I also remember the moment when someone turned to you and said, “is wha whappen to bredda weh use fi beg a di clock?” I remember the moment when someone told the story of his demise from unnatural causes. As I take this eerie walk through memory lane, I am faced with the realisation that the homeless population in Jamaica only increased as I aged. My childhood is filled with memories of homeless individuals that the community did what little they could to ‘help out a bredda’. My adulthood was and is still filled with the homeless community. Remember the alleged ‘cokeheads’ in New Kingston? The ones who can be attributed with the popularization of the ‘fecal matter explosive’. As the homeless increased, hope and all chances of maintaining hope decreased in tandem with it. Jamaica’s economic downturn has fuelled the increased birth rate of the homeless Jamaican family. I was now seeing homeless mother and son, homeless families of six: an increase in stories of families struggling being featured on the nightly news.

  And with the increase in homelessness came an increase in ungratefulness. The patty you spared, the $20 coin you searched the car pocket for or the change you handed out were now being aggressively returned to you. Even those with little chance of choosing more, wanted more.  As homelessness increases, the dollar climbs, crime climbs, the number of babies being flushed and unwanted climbs, dissention climbs, frustration climbs, anger climbs, and homelessness climbs more. See, man can go hungry, he can lose love, he can lose everything he owns, but if he has a roof to crawl under at the end of the day, he has something.  He has a place to physically place his disappointments. He has a place to scream and fight and lie to himself that this isn’t all there is his life. But, when a man loses his home, he has nothing. Pride is useless without walls to surround it. As Jamaica becomes more homeless, the worst of us rises to the surface. If the religious populous and the Jamaica Observer are right then the worst of us are the ‘unruly gays’ in the Golden Triangle.

  The ‘unruly gays’ have become a strategically employed unifying force against the movement for the repeal of the buggery law. These ‘unruly gays’ are the poster children for what gay freedom will do to Jamaica. Homeless men rebelling against middle class Jamaicans with the choice of closing the doors to their King Alarm protected homes and ignoring the ‘unruly gays’ outside. 

  Do you remember when they cleaned up the cokeheads in New Kingston, the first time?

  Do you remember the homeless that perished in mud lake?

  The homeless community, as a nation finds itself sharing less and less with more and more mouths, is the first to be discarded. Money short, food short, job short and space short. Di homeless nah offer nuttin anyway so is six a one and half dozen a di other. And the homeless, like the dwellers are migrating to neighbourhoods, and it’s not just gay ones. Of course, the straight ones are in smaller numbers, aren’t they?

  Revolution and Rebellion

  Revolutions were rarely started by the people at the top. It is the man with nothing to lose that screams the loudest. The man who knows nothing but the fight that faces each day comfortable with the likelihood of his death by unnatural means. As communities sent their homeless to the afterlife, they sent their gays into the streets: replace one scourge with another. The gays: the group that is unsafe both indoors and outdoors. So what do you get when you mix homelessness with unwanted? Rebellion. These are the Jamaicans with the least to lose. They are homeless, jobless and loveless, of what benefit is hiding their sexuality? If they cower, the people who discarded them have won and these men have chosen to go down fighting.  Beyond that, choosing the golden triangle, I posit, is a strategic move. Where do the most powerful among us call home? Why make the poor and vulnerable anymore uncomfortable than they already are? The uncertain fate that the residents of these homes are claiming to face as a result of the ‘unruly gays’ is a daily reality for every other Jamaica. As far as I can tell these ‘unruly gays’ are a reality check for the uneducated, non-electorate member that benefits most from Jamaica’s poor governance.  How many of those dwellers traversed the dangerous inner city streets late at night in search of the wickedest gay or straight slam? How many have bed at least one of those men?

Jamaica should be in the middle of an uprising. We should be in the middle of an Arab Spring, but we are not. Why? It seems to me we are a country of majority heterosexual cowards more interested in waiting for hand outs. Government policies do not break down barriers, people tear down walls. The ‘unruly gays’ are the bravest among us. In the face of everything, as bad behaving as dem be and as wrong as dem is fi a tek over di people dem place, they have stood their ground! There is much to be learned from them.

Why haven’ they been swept away by the police force? Distraction is a key feature of corruption.

If the gays are the underbelly of our Jamaica then this is proof that we are indeed at our lowest moment. However, it is reconciling the underbelly that often brings meaningful change in any revolution. 

[iamquagmire]

Digs- the day i left home

Digs©

In the garden three miles north of the dump there is no blood for bread

Hunger does not route here

My father digs,

Uprooted from the crop

Were three

My father digs,

For marl to build a wall around his garden

The first planting was Monsanto

The second,

Seeds,

Nonconformity renders the fruits unsellable

Monsanto digs,

My father breaks bread,

Hunger does not elapse

I remember the third time,

Smoke went for a walk beneath the epidermis of my thinking

The day I left home

Did I have ten toes?

Shovelled into the pockets of my jeans…

Soil at the south of the gate

    transgression. change. becoming adult, being. living. breaking. packing. honouring. on my mind. 

[iamquagmire]

Danny Brown, you disappoint me bruh

I was hoping to avoid Danny Brown and "The Thing" that happened on stage but I suppose I cannot. Let me state clearly, I have no clue who Danny Brown is and I can die in  that reality peacefully. 

Mr. Brown found himself on stage, mid-performance, his member apparently being assaulted by a white woman. So, assaulted that she managed to make it through his jeans (and I am assuming some type of undergarment) to his penis. She whipped it out long enough for an 'oral sex on stage' story to hit social media. However, she didn't whip it out long enough for him to ejaculate apparently. No story seems to tell us how the ordeal ended. Some claim based on some iphone pic which I haven't seen that he palmed the back of her head. Kendrick Lamar tweeted Danny asking if he really got head on stage and he responded, "and I didn't miss a bar bruh." Many have taken this to men confirmation. I am inclined to agree with them.

This incident has created lines drawn in the sand that represent branches of racism and sexism. It seems the media has made no attempts at vilifying or contacting the white girl in question but have chastised Danny as a misogynist. Though it seems no one is calling her an angel.

There is the question of masculinity and what that means in a particular setting and it is true we should ask this girl, "what the fuck were you thinking", "where is your self-respect?" But as his best friend Kitty Pryde wants us to believe, his masculinity was apparently at stake. His "man" card would have been stolen if her turned her down. The gender is complex and stifling but she also wants me to see Danny as intelligent as well.

I'm sorry but this is where her and I part ways. He could have backed away from the woman and made an empowering statement about women respecting themselves. He could have told her no and said something beautiful and sensitive along with the 700 people in attendance. I guess it all happened so quickly, he didn't now what to do but I don't know how willing I am to accept that excuse. Her 'intelligent' best friend had the opportunity to do an intelligent thing in my estimation and he didn't. An incident in which she claims he was sexually assaulted he claimed bragging rights for. Given his pickle, I guess this is "legitimate" sexual assault accepted for the greater good of keeping his rapper manhood.

Okay, yes, it is complicated and racism can't be denied in this. This white woman is experiencing all levels of white privilege. So, Kitty Pryde, in acknowledging your own white privilege, why haven't you found the white woman and interviewed her? As you proudly, bat for your black rapper best friend pandering to the clear opposites between you two and clearly using your whiteness as a means of acquiring sympathy for Danny, why don't you act on that which you have demanded?

There is an opportunity here Kitty Pryde who states that the behaviour post-incident on the tour bus is "What happens now for Pryde and Brown? "We all sit in this van and play videogames and check our Twitter mentions and don’t speak at all of 'The Thing,' because it’s all we’re thinking about and it’s very lame."

Unacceptable. You want different do different. The internet has all eyes on you and Danny Brown. There is a large band screaming, "yea, Danny being mistreated." And your response to me will be, "It's just the rap game."? 

No, bruh- after Steubenville. Rick Ross's Molly lyric, the oversexualisation of the 12 year old girl and the countless sexual assault cases daily, I can't settle for that. And, I am a person of colour and I am not looking to my coloniser to do better by me and for me. I am looking to demand it, but I won't demand something that I don't ask of my own community. This whole incident is being played by whiteness, they be winning bruh and you're letting them. 

In your silence and video games, I do not sympathise with you or your validated mouthy white best friend. I am disappointed in both of you, but moreso you, Danny Brown. I'm sorry but you're no "man" to me, rape game or not bruh.

Read Kitty Pryde's post here:

http://noisey.vice.com/blog/my-thoughts-on-this-whole-danny-brown-oral-sex-thing

P.S: I am aware of the gender biases at play here, but I didn't come to talk about those.