Love Is . . . Tangible

Betty Wright had this song way back called "Love Is." One morning I woke up with it on my mind. It led me to reflect on what "real" love is about. Not the word "love" that's tossed around so much in Amerikkan culture it has become as rancid and empty as the morals of Amerikka, but a love that provides tangible benefits to those who fall beneath its wings.

So, thanks to inspiration from a song heard long ago, I've developed my own definition of that often-misunderstood and -misused term; one that also stayed on my mind, as the song did a mental rotation:

Love should be defined, not so much through a host of feelings and emotions, as through the commitment and application of ourselves to the task of doing any and everything to preserve and secure our people, our culture, our traditions and, therefore, our future.

That's love, quantified.

~evolve~

Me? Apologize?

A good many Blacks/Afrikans get all apologetic when it comes to vicious attacks by people of caucasoid persuasion. The caucasoid does the bad deed, and Afrikans jump up, quick to forgive, especially if television cameras are rolling. I consider this being apologetic against our own best interests. Not only that it diminishes our power when pitted against other peoples.

We do not owe any other group of people walking the face of this Earth an apology. If there is to be any apologizing, it should come from them. Not that I'd be accepting of it, considering their history of superficial- and pacification-based apologies, but still in all, the Black man, woman and child owes no one else an apology, with the exception of other Black men, women and children.

So, why is it that we are quick to make nice with those who have historically pounced upon us during our most vulnerable periods? Is there some type of chip implanted in our skulls that continues to make us give them a pass?

Is it like Brother Amos Wilson said that "what we [Blacks/Afrikans] need to get over most is our cowardice?" Or is it we've been taught wrong for so long, we think wrong is right? Or a mixture of both?

Go figure . . . just don't take too long doing it. We don't have much time. And, for that, I apologize.

Healthcare Reform (in 3 paragraphs)

The only winners in the so-called healthcare reform taking place in this country will be the health insurance providers, doctors (i.e., knife wielders, drug dealers), allied corporations (wheelchair, cane, oxygen, etc., manufacturers and distributors, hospice, rehab), drug dealers (i.e., drug manufacturers, pharmacists, prescribing doctors) and stockholders. The disparities in healthcare so prevalent in Amerikka will continue and more than likely grow given the larger percentage of "bodies" available for experimental "treatments," as will the ill health brought on by misdiagnosis, mistreatment, etc.

Iatrogenics, anyone?

The only difference between now and what will occur is that Amerikkans will be forced to pay into a system that puts the nail in their coffins, while at the same time providing substantial dividends to those who are least concerned about keeping Amerikkans healthy.

Wait, that almost sounds like the current day, save the added body availability and forced-payment system mentioned earlier.

No More Fight

"My people are use-sah-less. My people are sen-sah-less."

The words to that song are on repeat in my head. And it is because, to a certain extent, I can't disagree. I mean, how long can we hard-heartedly seek to destroy each other and not be seen as beasts of our own making, as being "use-sah-less," as being "sen-sah-less?"

There's something I haven't admitted before, but I must today: I'm tired of Black people.

And this is just the beginning of that tiredassedness:

• I'm tired of their talking, talking, talking, but never doing a damn real thing to change the situation.
• I'm tired of their broken promises to each other.
• I'm tired of them lying, cheating and stealing from their own.
• I'm tired of them not patronizing Black business, but doing everything in their power to sacrifice all other groups of people out of poverty.
• I'm tired of standing next to Black women with straight synthetic weave and kinky hair roots, whose brains are wide-open spaces.
• I'm tired of Black women with loud mouths but nothing meaningful to say.
• I'm tired of the way Black people treat each other.
• I'm tired of their recalcitrant stupidity.
• I'm tired of their feigned ignorance.
• I'm tired of them begging their enemies to accept them, yet treating their brothers and sisters like shit.
• I'm tired of them ripping each other apart.
• I'm tired of our women that have no decorum or self-respect.
• I'm tired of our young boys walking around with their pants dropped to their fuckin' knees and the oversized duck-bill hats that make them look like clowns.
• I'm tired of Black girls/women producing babies and letting the streets raise them.
• I'm tired of Black people not taking care of their business.
• I'm tired of Black men walking out on their babies, because they're still boys themselves.
• I'm tired of Black women sleeping and procreating with manboys.
• I'm tired of Black people giving freely of their money to all the places that don't need it and ignoring those that do.

I'm just tired. I don't want to fight for Black people anymore, because Black people been stopped fighting for Black people. From this day forth, I concentrate my efforts only on my family and closest acquaintances. All others will have to fend for themselves--which they've proven they'd rather do anyway.

Woooooosahhhh . . . now, that I've purged those thoughts, I feel a little better. Just a little. But I know this, I can't say that I'm any longer in the Black-saving business. That shit is hard on a person's health, mentally and physically.

Get Down with the Get Down

That's what I want to tell Black people. All that shucking and jiving won't change the state we're in, and that seems to be the only thing the majority of Black folks are interested in.

Now, Nandi, there you go talking down your people. Are you sure you ain't a caucazoid pretending to be Black?

Nah, you see Nandi been around this sphere of influence for a while. There was a time when I believed that my people were truly just victims of circumstance. That the "white"* man was doing everything in his power to keep that foot on their neck--and that they just couldn't break free, but if they did, shit would be different.

But it ain't all that. Well, it is, but not all. You see, there are those of my people who like that foot penetrating their windpipe. Matter of fact, they twist and turn their bodies to accommodate it, even hollering out "Sir, I'm an Army officer," as their head gets kicked the fuck in and their 7-year-old daughter stands nearby, watching in horror.

I wonder if that child thinks these thoughts at night: "Damn, mama got her ass kicked, and she didn't even try to defend herself," "How can mama protect me, if she can't protect herself?"

While I hope that ain't the case, the mother of this child could use some serious talking to. She needs to know that you don't believe for a second that your connection to your massa is going to save you from an ass-whipping from massa's overseer. It ain't like you the prized stud on the farm. In his eyes, you still a nigga.

Who was that? Trick Daddy, I believe? "You can have a college degree--still a nigga." I think it went something like that. So, I say we, those of us with the testicular fortitude, need to show them caucazoids what it's like when we "get down with the get down," James-Brown style.

"These people ain't bedda than me. No way, they're bedda than me. I could teach them, but I'd have to charge." (Sang to the rhythm of that awful song, Milkshake, by Kelis.)

They ain't ready for this.

Stay strapped, Black people. Stay ready.

*I have yet to meet a WHITE person. I've looked. They don't exist. Pale skin, melanin deficient, pigmentation lacking, yes, but WHITE, no.