I imagine the weather folk sit in a back office smoking some sticky and plot on how they gone fuck with us everyday.
“Let’s tell these muhfuckas it’s gone be hot and sunny tomorrow so they will run to the beach with 2 pieces of thread and a button on.”
“Naw, naw let’s tell them a tornadocane tropical tsunami storm called El Niggarache comin’ and watch’em buy out all the Lil Debbie cakes and Koolaid packs.”
I’m about to start my own weather channel, because clearly…
We give the negative too much shine.
And a lot of the time…
We do it without going directly to the source.
And if that source is around us enough for us to always give their negativity a stage…
What does that say about us?
We give the negative too much shine.
It’s the disillusionment I can’t get down with. When you think about how microscopic sex cells can combine to create a three-dimensional living, breathing, eating, thinking, laughing, crying, Being of Consciousness…that gets to exist on a topographically diverse sphere spun in space…and experience how said sphere is altered dramatically by the imaginations of said Beings of Consciousness…you should be able to be in constant awe of the world around you. You should be able to witness the infinite marvels of the universe and how they manifest inside and around you. So when people reach “adulthood” and acquire this gloom and general disenchantment about life, I just know something is wrong with that. If you are lucky enough to live well into your 70s, and you haven’t been happy since your childhood, that’s 60 years of pseudo-living. But that’s what many of us are heading into—picking up careers we don’t like, putting off what we love until tomorrow, pledging our souls to families and institutions we don’t agree with, looking at children with a kind of resentment because they get to nap when they want and cry when they want and invest their whole bodies unapologetically in their environment because somewhere along the line somebody told us that we stop being children.
It’s the robbery of wonder that I can’t get down with. When a civilization is structured in such a way that it can snatch your joy in the morning for years and years on end (because you’re black, because you’re a woman, because you are young, because you are queer, because you are lost, because you are poor, because others are envious of you or intolerant of you for no justifiable reason) when there is so much to do and see and be, it’s frightening and unforgivable. That people aren’t excited to stretch their potential is scary, is a waste, if you consider how remarkable it is that we know Life. That people have to decide whether they want to survive or be in Joy is so absurd and paradoxical because no one survives. That’s not a choice. That’s not a bargaining tool. Why don’t you choose you if you have a limited time only to do so?
We crack JOKES!
I was going in about Dukes and her wigs/weaves.
Dukes was going in about my big ass head in proportion to my body.
Then she sent me this in the mail:
And just in case you were wondering, this is a real card.
Yea, Imma just go put myself in the corner.
I know where it is..
A night out on the town sounds so good, but I looked at my bank account and that hoe said sitting my ass down somewhere sounds a lot better. — Rine!
I’m steadily and unsteadily reaching this point where I cannot fake it—it, being this professional courtesy, this mindless appreciation of all things mediocre. What am I trying to prove to my mother? That I can survive half-happily on minimum wage, smile in the face of people who bore me on the regular basis, be an obedient, taxpaying citizen of the racist, sexist, classist Divided States of America? During the lulls at the welcome desk, I read various texts on anarchy, chaos, metaphysics, international politics, and love…and it’s all hard to stomach sometimes. There are so many types of prisons of thought—it’s almost taxing to imagine that there is another way to live. How do I supersede the cynicism, the helplessness, the apathy, the defeat, the belief that it can’t get better…that all comes wrapped up in a fuck-you package when you start to realize that something is not right? I’m searching desperately now for that bravery inside me that will permit me to stop pretending to be okay with the senseless culture of misery that is tradition in this country.
This. Right. Here.
Hunger is not what you want catching you off-guard.
LOL! I bet it tastes better than Starbucks, too!
You ain’t lied. Starbucks gone need some receipts..LoL!
don’t be! i’m on a hunt for a ton of mason jars.
I can’t wait to finish off this coconut oil because the jar is the perfect size for a summer’s iced tea. #testify
Iced coffee in this big ass jar. I am not ashamed.
-All my friends tell me I look like Beyonce
-I just don’t see that for her