Category Archives: This World Needs An Enema!

A Lesson Deferred

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Moonlit justice
of an imagined sunlit crime
Swung from an oak
a cruel pendulum mark of time
Some eyes tremble
Some eyes leer
all wonder at the marvel
of what happened here

Emmit’s a lesson some can’t forget
Emmit’s a lesson some haven’t learned yet

How many more
Must there be
Why does it take a man’s death
for us to see

As we travel down the road of another man
Who will never travel the same again
Truck tires designed to ride him above
Much better used to drag him down in the night
For a crime no more sinister than
He wasn’t born white

James Byrd’s a lesson some can’t forget
James Byrd’s a lesson some haven’t learned yet

And sometimes a child is shot
For doing nothing more
The walking home in the rain
From the local store
Was it the clothes he wore?
Was it the color of his skin?
He carried iced-tea and candy
What was his sin?

Some fifty plus years between hence and thence
To be reminded how fragile the balance on the fence

Stewart, Griffith and Hawkins lesson some can’t forget
Diallo, Bell and now Martin lessons some haven’t learned yet
How many more names will be added before the lesson is set?

>==========<

Letting off some steam in the wake of another senseless killing and wanting to bitch-slap Geraldo Rivera even while a part of me understands the rational behind the unintentionally inflammatory statement.

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Can You Say Clueless…?

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Taking a break to enjoy some of this lovely weather we’re having today and had a chance to enjoy the following:

Two women walking in opposite directions cross paths. One stops the other in her tracks.

Young Woman 1: Wow, that’s a great tan! Were you on vacation, or use a salon?
Young Woman 2: Um… I’m black.
Young Woman 1: You totally are! So, was it like, Jamaica or something?
Young Woman 2: (Looks at Young Woman 1 with an expression that clearly screams “ARE YOU EFFING STUPID!” before stepping around her and keeps walking.)
Young Woman 1 (sees me trying not to giggle): What?

I turned and walked, away shaking my head. I swear, sometimes I love my city, for no other reasons than random moments just like this.

>========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

in public passing

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I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…

‘Tis The Season

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‘Tis the season full of joy
smiles on the faces of every girl and boy

Presents wrapped by the tree, searching for your name
trying to guess the contents – toys, clothes or a games

Singing carols by the fire,
or listening to carolers, outside the door
Not worrying about the last cup of eggnog
knowing there’s more

Snow covering the streets,
adding to the yuletide
I remember when I used to see it all from the window inside

My Christmas fire, is the heat felt through a grate
Though I haven’t even had much of that as of late

A new coat for me is someone’s thrown away old
that I find here or about
The only game I play, is guessing when to leave
before the cops throw me out

I’ve long since given up on the Christmas deal
I count my blessings that I make it to the next meal

The snow covering the streets, freezes me to the bone
for all the shoppers on the street, I sit here alone

Moving from one corner to the next, just to the pass the time
wishing for more than a nickel or dime

I get more dollars than coins these days, for some reason

Oh right, I remember…

‘Tis the season

>===<>===<

Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 18:
Snow, December, Winter Vacations & Wildness,

Commute

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The subway commute is always an awkward ride
More than an hour of standing with the sweating masses
Somehow managing to remain looking dignified
When buffeted about by strangers’ asses

It’s near winter but the air-conditioning is set to Siberia
And several passengers seem on the verge of hysteria

I risk serious hearing loss by trying to drown out the inane
Cacophony of various mindless teenage chatter
I’d read, but my weary eyes just won’t bear the strain
And a snooze is impossible amid the jostling and clatter

The smell of food on the subway making my stomach rumble
The leftover stench from a derelict rider causing a grumble

Granted, it’s always better when I can find a seat
Unless I relinquish it to someone pregnant or older
And sometimes, I wish I had stayed on my feet
When a strange sleepy head leans on my shoulder

But right now I’m good though the train is again stuck
For I’m conversing with a stranger who is cute as all fuck

It Will Never Be Funny

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“Nazi’ing”?!  Nazi’ing? Are you fucking shitting me?!

I saw the above on a friend’s Facebook page and had to comment.

You want to ask yourself if they have no idea of what they do. For a split-second, you’re praying they really were just that ignorant as to what they do. But the fact they created a tumblr blog page for this is indicative of their blatant complicity in it. There is no reconciliation of how culpable the Bang Bang Blog and TUKS FM radio station were for this. The non-chalant way in which this was displayed was appalling to say the least.

“Planking” and “Owling”, be they ever so marvelous examples of how inane some of us humans can be, there is relatively no harm to any one other than the individuals engaged in the stupid acts. These acts of nazi’ing insulted millions of people in one fell swoop. Millions. We have come so far in humanity and then shit like this rears its ugly head to remind us of just how far it is we have to go. We will never be far enough removed from such atrocities of humanity as the Holocaust that this will ever be in the most remote way possible humorous. The term Nazi became something foul as a noun due to the acts of many who wore that title proudly, it should never be a verb.

The good news is apparently enough people were as outraged as I about this. I did a Google search and the above page is gone. It is replaced by rexing (I’m guessing doing something that impersonates a T-Rex by the photo). Rexing is something as equally stupid looking and relatively harmless, as planking and owling, but not as reprehensible as the above.  There is some hope for us, after all, but the shame of it is that this ever existed as a source of humor (however briefly), in the first place.

After-cation

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I just returned from an eight day vacation in Las Vegas and saying it was AWE-SOME really just doesn’t cut it. However, it is now official. Two days back at work and I am in the midst of a serious post-vacation funk. And let me tell you, the rumored funk is so very real and is near inevitable in the life of any vacationer.

All the fun I spent months planning for, saving for and laid awake with great night-before-Christmas anticipation for is… over. The photographic proof of my good time is now on my Facebook and the laundry is out of the suitcase, in the hamper, waiting to be done.

Mind you, this funk does not occur overnight. It is something that seeped into my conscience slowly and before I knew it I was completely mired in it. Yet it feels that all of a sudden I am knee-deep in the reality that I are not: A. Independently wealthy, or B. Free from that most horrid obscenity called Work… with a capital “W.”

When I first arrived home, a tired traveler comfortably surrounded by the familiar sights, scents and sounds of my belongings, I couldn’t help but experience that warm There’s No Place Like Home feeling of sleeping in my own bed. Oh, the bliss!.

Then next yesterday comes, I’m back at work and it is a flurry of activity. I am answering emails, returning calls with a well-rested glow that only a true getaway vacation and not a stay-cation can provide. I’m still in the chillaxin’ zone that comes from spending eight days swimming, partying and just being in Vegas baby. By the third recounting of the details of my grand fun I am progressively losing my voice through the chain-smoking hooker stage straight through to Macy Gray with laryngitis. By 9:15 am I have concocted the following sign:

Granted, work expects that I will be “at the top of your game” since I’m so well-rested, when in reality my head is still in the pool (or on the Vegas Strip, or at any of the various parties), minor gaffs are hopefully forgiven. Hey, it took a solid minute and a half to remember my log on password and you want a briefing on what?

Day two brings with it the mofo that is Reality (with a capital “R.”). The alarm sounds for the second time since I’ve been back and I remember that this was why I went on vacation in the first place – to escape that frackin’ alarm and the daily grind that follows it.

Day two is the same as the day one, only worse. The alarm clock goes off like a Star Trek red-alert reminding me that yesterday was not a fluke or a bad joke. I. AM. HOME. And it is only Thursday. I’ve already begun the self-flagellation of: “Where Was I Exactly One Week Ago?” Let me tell you, it is no where near as enjoyable in retrospect as “Where Will I Be In One Week” was a fortnight ago in anticipation.

Sigh…

I’m beginning to entertain flights of fancy about how I might achieve the life of a full-time vacationer. What if I just disappeared? Is it too late to get a degree in Recreation or Hospitality and Tourism Management? How much DO they pay those people who change sheets and fold towels into the awesome animal shapes, anyway? In the interim – I owe, I owe, so off to work I go.

They say that there are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. They are not necessarily experienced in order. The bereaved might vacillate between the five for several weeks or months languishing for a time at one stage or another. So far I think I have experienced all of them and it has yet to be three days.

I know by Monday I will be resigned to my fate and will have quietly accepted my life just the way it is, but I do not like it. I can’t seem to stop playing the “Where Were You Exactly One Week Ago Today?” game. Every time I look at the CSI:The Experience highlighters I purchased and brought to work to remind me what a great time I had there – I want to cry.

Is it wrong that I have not been back a solid three days and I am already plotting my next escape?

when all that’s raptured

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Some trust so hard in human fallacies
Only to mock and thrash against the rails.
Whose fault to follow those who cannot see?
Prophecies bold behind curtains and veils.
Can one but wonder what is there to be,
When all that’s raptured, becomes all that fails?
Even The Word states not when, only why
In God We Trust some say, but actions lie

========

Written for
One Stop Poetry
OSP - Ottava Rima
Form Mondays : Ottava Rima

Got MILF?

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Got Milf? by Sarah Maizes
Got MILF? by Sarah Maizes

Got Milf?: The Modern Mom’s Guide to Feeling Fabulous, Looking Great, and Rocking A Minivan.

According to the Amazon.com Product description:

YOU’RE EITHER A MILF OR YOU’RE A MILF-DUD. TAKE YOUR PICK. 

For thousands of years, women have been expected to hang up their “hotness” once they had kids. They disappeared behind their families and the dashboards of minivans…Until now! Whether sporting a cardigan and jeans, sweats or a business suit, today’s Mom is a shining example of confidence, poise, and age-defying beauty. Even as she juggles carpool, PTA, and the demands of the office, or shrieks, “GET IN THE TUB, NOOOWWW!”, she’s pretty darn hot.

Really? No, REALLY?!?!?

In all fairness, I do get the point Ms. Maizes is attempting to make. That a woman should not feel that she is somehow less attractive just because she became a mother. She’s still a beautiful woman (can’t you all but hear the regardless inserted there), and she should never lose sight of it. I get that. What annoys the hell out of me is her so subtle title choice to get her point across.

To be or not to be a MILF? Ain’t that a question!  Because, yes, if there is one descriptive above all others that I want my accomplishments to be expounded upon, it’s via the use one of the most objectifying adjectives for a female, straight out of internet porn.

I’m guessing referring to a female parent as a Mother I’d Like to Love is far too hard to change into an acronym and pronounce, but I digress.  American Pie brought the lovely phrase MILF (acronym for Mother I’d Like to Fuck for those who truly don’t know), to the mainstream lexicon, but the phrase, as well as mothers worthy of garnering sexual attraction have existed long before then. Stacy’s mom (80’s song reference), was definitely one. Mrs. Robinson (The Graduate) was one. Hell, if you go by the bible (and Cecil B. DeMille’s), depiction, so was Nefretiri. But I bet you wouldn’t have called any of them a MILF to their faces without immediately receiving a backhand to yours. Nowadays, a woman is not a decent mom if she does not wear her MILF t-shirt proudly. Oh wait, no decent MILF worth her cardigan would be caught dead wearing one.

And here’s the kicker… If you think about it, this book is aimed at mothers of children middle school age and younger. So, where does that place us mothers of college graduates? What about the mothers of very adult children? Are we suddenly relieved of the pressures of looking sex worthy once the kiddies are safely past adolescence? Wait, I think there is a term, what does it say above? Oh yeah… Milf-duds. Aaaah, don’t we feel so much better about our station in life now? I guess we can go back to using our brains to get by as we won’t have much of anything else going for us in the looks by then.

As if what the average mother needs -after her teenager has compared her to Satan for insisting that homework get done, as the middle-child brings in a very feral looking stray for pet potential, just as the little one swipes the cell phone and presses the end call button on her boss – is something telling her she also needs to look like a Hollywood starlet while doing it.

Take your PHDs down and put your FMPs on, it’s all about the hawtness baby.

/rant – sarcasm drip – major eye rolling

Who is a Man?

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New York Times article “What is a Man”?

El’Jai Devoureau was not born a man, so fucking what? Look at him. Yes, I said “him”.  Because if I passed Devoureau on the street I would not have questioned his maleness.  I guarantee  none of the males utilizing the drug testing facilities questioned  it either.  They did what they had to do. Mr. Devoureau did his job and that was that.  No one had an issue with him doing his job on that first day until the employer made it one by firing him on the second day.

Devoureau’s employer “heard” he was transgendered and asked if he had surgery, because only “men” are allowed to perform this particular job.  WTF?!  Is she even allowed to ask such a question legally? If she had had not heard Devoureau was transgendered would she have asked? Was any previous male in that position asked to verify their manhood before taking the job? Or did she take their masculinity at face value? El’Jai rightfully declined to answer the question because it was a private matter (aka nunya effin’ bizness), and was fired for it.

The state of Georgia where he was born recognizes him as a man. The state of New Jersey where he lives and holds his driver’s license recognizes him as a man. Hell, the federal government via the Department of Social Security recognizes him as a man.  What is the issue here?

This is hardly the first time someone transgendered was fired from their employment because of their identity. Though apparently this the first time a case takes on the question of a transgendered person’s chosen sex. There are the rare discrimination cases out there, but most settle out of court and I can fully understand.  Why is it whenever anyone has to fight for their right to do (or in this case be) something in the courts of law they must have all of their personal business dragged through the public to do so?  Everything in such court cases places the person under a very hot spotlight and few want to go through that.

“They were judging me for who I am, not for the job I was being asked to do, and that’s wrong, and I was hurt,” he said. “I’m doing this so everyone knows it’s wrong, so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

It’s a damn shame that even if he wins this case (which I think he will),and wins his job back at the drug testing facility  his fight is hardly over. You just know there are going to be the “uncomfortable” to the downright hateful who will do their damnedest to make his job miserable. Still, the fight has to start somewhere and I say bravo for Mr. El’Jai Devoureau for being willing to bring this out to verdict, knowing his privacy is soon going to become very public, and not settling out of court.

Who is a man? El’Jai Devoureau. Fight on dude.