But how can I think about my own happiness when Trump wants to bring lynching back and I’m just trying to figure out where in this world I belong. Where can I raise kids that won’t be taught to hate themselves? Where can I live without the fear of death hanging onto my thoughts like coffee on the breath of everyone at a 5am A.A. meeting.
And what about Dennis Hof, the dead brothel owner who was posthumously elected to a political office in Nevada, who died at the age of 72 after 4 straight days of ‘partying’ (which, based on my cultural understanding of the term, I assume is a euphemism for an extended cocaine and/or methamphetamine binge)?
Can we stop to talk about how voters just approved a ballot measure in Colorado which will change the language in the state constitution so that it no longer allows slavery as a form of punishment? Or how more than 15 other state constitutions still allow slavery as punishment for a crime, along with the U.S. Constitution?
Tell me, White America, do you have the courage to stare me in the face and say that my life is worthless? Of course, you don’t. But you’ve always had courage behind the safety of political office, haven’t you?
And Trump is now openly calling himself a nationalist. He claims we should bring the term back, to embrace it. Just like they embraced our burning bodies in macabre selfies a few decades ago.
Just today, Wednesday 11/7/18, Trump called a Black white house reporter a racist for questioning him on his use of the word nationalist. We living in a dog-whistle world, baby. The dogs are barking. The dogs are barking.
The wind grows colder by the day, and I go through my old Flickr account to reminisce on days under the Nairobi sun. Hanging onto the back of motorcycle taxis with no helmet on, my Kolta Pyjama flowing in the wind. Isaiah Rashad blasting in my ears. Welcome to America; our job is to erase you.
…after #2 (publishing, touring,etc..) you’ll be fighting them off with sticks and lawsuits lol …
idk about that. I’ve always had this idea that (if/when I made it), it would be too hard to find out who really wanted to be with me because I’m me, not because of who the world now knew me to be. At the same time, what’re the chances that I’ll meet someone as a reclusive, obscure writer? I can’t stand the vast majority of people. I keep to myself. Only two things have ever understood me: God and the blank page. Well, three if you count my family, but that should go without saying.
….it’s almost a guarantee that the ones you’ll have to fight off will be the ones who weren’t genuinely there to begin with but I hear u bro…just joshin’ you (not to say it’s a joking matter tho :-/)
Life ain’t easy but death is harder. So we keep it pushing.
I think that after a certain age people are wise enough not to view reccommending a prospective partner as desperate. You never know through which door she’ll come so don’t shut any.
This is the type of comment someone makes right before they make a potential partner recommendation. You got someone in mind for me, fam?
Lol. Shy, wide smile but reserved, and talking about how your writing speaks to her subconscious is too specific a request. That’s the kind of dreamy girl you need a fairy god mother to produce.
I want it all or nothing at all. It’ll all work out for the best. Some people just die alone, ya know? Ain’t nun wrong with that. I cherish my solitude. It’d be nice to have a co-defendant, but I’m prepared to face trial on my own if need be. That’s life, G.
Insha’Allah it isn’t you that is meant to be alone. Far too soon and too young for you lay down your arms. Just bear in mind that there’s more than one type of woman that can float your boat. Keep an open mind.
Ain’t nun wrong with solitude. I’m from the projects. Growing up, we learned to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Poverty teaches you to toe the line between pessimism and hopeful realism. Optimism is a dangerous thing when the world shows you no shortage of dastardly hands. I haven’t given up, but I am very tired of trying. I’ll wait, and my door will remain open, and my boat will stay afloat. I’ll keep my head level the only way I know how. By writing. And if I meet another highly sensitive/ empathetic writer, I’ll just snatch her off the market. At this point I could care less what ethnicity she is. I just need someone I can be myself around. Who won’t judge me for my emotions. Who understands the concept of human imperfection, the importance of duality. Who is patient.