Absurdity and Maturity

Years ago, I told myself to stop giving a crap about what others think. It does matter what my children perceive me as, but if you’re not paying my bills employing me, then the opinion is not beneficial to what I do on a day to day basis. God watches me, and He or She watches us all. So whatever deep dark secret any of us have puts us on the same playing field unless you’re a terrorist or other type of sick puppy that does non-consensual harm to others

It has been my rule of thumb to fish out if others have the same tastes as me before broadcasting my hobbies. Not everyone understands that a grown woman can be into video games, comic books, and the likes of Robot Chicken. It was Robot Chicken that put me in an awkward spot. Really, it was me. As I sat amongst two co-workers, two who annoy others in their own special way, I somehow offended them in sharing the storyline (if you can call it that) of one of Robot Chicken‘s episodes. Oh my, were they agast! SInce I am human, I left feeling somewhat bad.

It was not the embarrasment or the strange looks on their faces that got to me. It was: (a) I should have known better, and (b) how could they judge me on that? The show is not made for all to enjoy. However, similar to Family GuyThe Simpsons, American Dad, The Boondocks, and others, they highlight the bullcrap of our society. We all pretend to be as normal as possible, without an actual definition of normal being there. If it is present, it is nearly impossible to match. Some of those who’ve come close have killed themselves when part of their perfect diamond is scratched (i.e., stock market crashes). People condemn criminals because it makes them feel nice and warm when they go to bed at night about themselves. Some of us realize the hypocrisy, and enjoy watching absurdity at its finest. 

Then again, people’s reactions to these shows are entertaining also.

Public Enemy Number 1

Timeline Photos.

Public Enemy’s time has passed. Public Enemy’s time has definitely NOT passed. How ecstatic was I to find out that they will be inducted in the Hall of Fame! Then I saw some of their recent videos on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/user/publicenemy . This makes me fall in love with hip hop all over again. Congrats to them – they definitely deserve it. I think the closest we’ve had to their type of revolution is Dead Prez…and although I like Dead Prez, well…look at the name. They’re not about unity (don’t get it twisted though, they are about an uplifting of a people).

Public Enemy, on the other hand, are about promoting any worthwhile musician, going against any injustice, about fighting the power that be. We could use their type of music right now. It came back in a sense with Rage Against the Machine, sometimes Linkin Park. But right now that rebellious music has died down. Lupe Fiasco has gained more ground, but too often he has to Dumb it Down http://youtu.be/q1Et1siZhTk . We are no longer for a sound that points out what we already inherently know – doing hard drugs destroys you, crime doesn’t pay, and the system is crooked. Maybe we are like children who get tired of being reminded by our parents of rights and wrongs, or maybe we’re just stupid (I don’t know, but to be honest, his lyrics are nasty in a good way, but I saw Lil Wayne overdosing coming a long time ago). 

Hard headedness makes a soft ass, but history often repeats itself. The audience that yearns for rachett music right now may soon want to hear something political in the future when they’ve outgrown it. Every now and then I want some rachetness too, but we are in the era of the hoodrat. This will all come to pass, but it’s a slim chance we’ll ever get another Public Enemy.

Loaded

No, universal background checks will not solve everything. It will, however, put a damper on the mentally ill or disturbed from shooting innocent children in school or moviegoers who mind they’re business. I know many don’t agree, but I don’t care. If you already have a license to carry a gun, then why are u worried? Do you care about.those victims? A loaded question, I know. Our country (insert.politicians) needs to get its act together.

In high demand

If you don’t believe in reincarnation you won’t live twice.
Give what you got while you can or let your talents die in the sand.
If your skills are nice now use them while in high demand.
Pay the price for living – it is sinning to be dismissive in only reminisce.
Put use to your juices or to yourself you’re being abusive.

Motivation

When I was younger my father said I should be my own boss because I hate taking direction from others. Well as an adult, it turns out I’m a dedicated and dutiful team player on the job. Still, the urge to be my own boss is there for a new reason. My brood of children need more time from their exhausted mother who gets spent out from working at a hospital and attending a grad school.

They’ve gone so fast and I’m so concerned that I’m not involved as I should be. So why am I back in grad school?  Money. Yes. Money. We’ve been poor. We’ve dealt wit
h the shelter life (shudder at the thought). There needs to be something to fall back on if I never make it to the New York Times Bestseller list. The goal is to be comfortable and afford enough income so my daughter can get more vocational training in her artistic skills, my son can join some sports team, and I could give a head start to my youngest.

It’s ironic that I’m so busy to get less busy. Well, that’s the motivation in investing time.

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Crack and Rap

What comes from rage and no water to quench the fire? How can expression be calm as the sea when it is burning infinitely internally? I’m surrounded by others in an area where hip hop is viewed as the devil; they ignore the negatives of their country and rock that at times exploit the worldly life. However, hip hop is mainly known to broadcast the ugly more than the pretty. You will not see me justify, by any means, any aspect of killing or degrading of women. But please understand, when the bolts and nuts of this genre intertwined with the crack “epidemic”, it exploded. Lyricists are not untalented musicians – they are poets putting lyrical verses into rhythmic form (just think of how many songs that can only be song cannot hit upon the many points that are made in a rap song…seriously, think about it), A poet is our reporter. Poetry has extended into rap – and the inner cities were especially not pretty in the 1980’s.

I didn’t even need to live in the inner cities during that decade to understand that crack was a corrosive disease amongst Latinos and blacks. I was a child who witnessed her family gutted from the inside and destroyed while living in the South. The inner cities are catalysts to the creative process; they have more people, more exposure, more to witness. Hip hop reflected what was projected. Would you write of in these situations?

Indeed crack was whack, but politicians and the media were absurdly ridiculous. “WAR ON DRUGS”. Yes, a war on addictions and the market it produces. Does that make sense to you? Some are awakening from their haze of this condemnation, where first time offenders were sent away for decades – lives ruined and returning into society as a potential violent offender. Addicts weren’t reformed, but instead imprisoned – beginning a cycle of more children in foster homes and possibly becoming drug dealers themselves in else to get by. What words can be used to describe Barbara Bush (or was it Nancy Reagan) championing a tank pushing into a house in order to look for dealers, only to find a home of a family, and walk away saying “we were only trying to save them from themselves” (if you think I’m making it up, look up the documentaries of N.W.A. and “Planet Rock: The Story of Hip Hop and the Crack Epidemic”). It really wasn’t an epidemic until the media blew it up in order to warn others of its detrimental effects. That’s a noble cause that went by the wayside of sensationalism. WAR ON DRUGS equals BULLSHIT. This load of feces never quelled gangs and the gang mentality. It definitely helped intensify the rage in rap.

Don’t confuse rap as only being about drugs, violence, and sex. It has many other elements that are constantly overshadowed. Can I see the point of views of those who look down upon hip hop? Yes, certainly. Last night I had a long discussion with a doctor who is from D.C., and attributes crack and rap to setting the rap community back in progress. He also said it made people run back to Country music, which was a simple form of music and was dying out thanks to more evolving music like Jazz, Rock, and R&B. It hits him personally, but I think this genre was the scapegoat, the devil that societies need from time to time to blame the reason why their rich son became an addict, their daughter became a whore, or nephew serving a sentence from violent tendencies.

There will always be love in my heart for hip hop – the form that gave kids with few options the chance to become entrepreneurs, which produces beats that do indescribable things to my heart and soul. I do my best to defend it, although I know its ugly sides are more mainstream than its uplifting parts (how unfortunate). If there is anything I hate, it is crack, the crack epidemic, and how its droppings still affect us to this day. Too many families have been destroyed by it, but it gave rap material. Some could argue that it made some rich – but no, the richness was limited and gave many reasons to dehumanize the image of black Americans. Could rap be blamed for not censoring how it affected their communities, what they knew, or would they be wrong for doing what musicians tend to do – make art of what they know? I can’t write about the drug life? I’ve been offered the chance to do – but would never sell drugs. Because of how it affected my life, I could never dive into doing drugs. My poetry is reflective of me, so the drug life is not a part of my material. Is rap glorifying this hellish thing, or is it reflective? No doubt, some glorify it, but even those who don’t in the rap game are condemned.

This little reflection of mine might have strayed off point a bit; sorry if it did. These are two things that are strongly influential in my life, so too many thoughts have passed through my head as I tried to squeeze it out on my laptop. How blessed are my children that they will never walk in on their mother using, How pissed am I that I know of some who still think cocaine is okay. It still affects us, as the children of the 80’s – my generation – are now adults who are fractured and weren’t fortunate to see the glory days after the Civil Rights Movement. No, we saw that it was okay to be racially profiled, because our people were the only crack dealers and addicts (and what a bold-faced lie that was). My anger has calmed down some, things have changed much. Still, if you want to blame just one thing for the destruction of a generation, you have to look at more than just the scapegoat.

What do you think? Do you agree or disagree with any points I have made?

Excerpt from my work in progress: “Imperfect Society”…Let me know what you think

Chapter 5: Wonderland

 

The post-modern post office sat on the nearly vacant street of Sherman and 11th Street, its grey and red bricks blended a contrast that would appeal to any uninterested passerby.  That’s how Panama City was.  A person could think there was not much to see there, and then “surprise!”  Around the corner on 11th Street was a gas station – greasy chicken spot – taxi dispatch operation.  Adjacent to that establishment was a beautiful apartment complex with swimming pools that was willing to work with any resident as long as they worked with them in accordance to credit and character checks.  It exuded elegance.  Meanwhile, less than a mile away, anyone who knew anything about “that life” knew that drug dealers lived in every other residence.  So here sat the post office, gleaming its glory before a driver would turn up north on 15th Street to other astounding buildings of businesses that announced Panama City was proud and had nothing to be ashamed of.

On the inside I felt I was not dressed in the right attire.  Instead of sunglasses, a wig, a crappy hat, and a hoodie in rememberence of the Unibomber, I was in average gear.  My hair was pinned back, my sneakers were pink and grey, and my short jogging suit matched.  In actuality, I stood out in a place where many of my relatives who were my peers owned stilettos suitable for grocery shopping.  Anyway, although I had not run one yard, the perspiration made it seem as if I just finished a marathon.  I pumped some albuterol and breathed deeply, which did not help with the nerves.  This was going to be one of those days, I could just feel it.  My fingers trembled as they fumbled with the key to open the box.  It clicked and turned, all the while my hopes were to see some sign when the door would open.  It had been months since I had heard anything from him; hence I really felt more alone in the world day by day.  There probably were only few who could identify with this constant and uneasy rattling of life.

There.  There, it was nothing.  Nothing was in that P.O. box.  What could I have expected?  I was the one who told him it would be asinine to send a thing.  Leaving the marvel of government architecture, I rechecked the directions that Dr. Reyes/James sent me on my phone.  As I sat, I methodically programmed the GPS to his place, knowing full well how to get there by heart.  I pinched the skin of my hand to stop the body from producing tears, or even to anticipate this trip.

Stay on top of your Facebook!

I was a nerd, I loved homework. As a struggling and aspiring writer with much on her plate, I am getting a bad grade in the social world. What are most of us doing, blogging and using the social media, anyway? I know my initial journey on Facebook started out of the necessity of exposure.

It was a clumsy and pathetic start. There was not much to post. “Wow, I went to work today. It was hard…another day another dollar.” “I love my kids, but can’t wait ’till they pay rent.” It was nonsensical and boring posts like that. Somehow I found old classmates, and somehow people found my posts interesting. Somehow it was the same vice versa. There is a friend of mine who posts her daily activities, at accurately every half hour (she deserves an A+)! 

Then I discovered the apps, and the games…oh my the games! What a lovely, horrible addiction. I did gain a lot of “friends” through it, though. Then there were the debates, debate forums, debate pages, debate profiles…The saturation of facebook debates prevented water cooler awkwardness at work. It served good purposes: more “friends” and well, debating, but it got out of hand.

One day I woke up, from a facebook drunken stupor, tired of the statuses I did not care about, the games, and the debates over politics with self proclaimed experts (because we all know I know more anyway). With tears and an extra 15 pounds I sadly walked away, looking to do things worthwhile in life again: exercise, spend time with family, read, work, write, and the very neglected TV watching. Then I realized I had failed; my FB grade was an F. I allowed it to use me instead of me using it for me. Now I must sadly go back to the thing that slowed down my computer and phone, with redemption and a clearer mind.