Killing Me Softly with The "N" Word

The much maligned, and often deservedly so, Dr. Laura Schlessinger called it quits this week from her highly rated radio show after stirring up controversy by saying the word nigger almost a dozen times while pretending to offer advice to a black woman who was feeling targeted and discriminated against by her white husband’s friends & family. This is not a shock, not only because Dr. Laura is a misogynist—she tends to side with husbands over their wives—but also because she’s not a licensed psychologist like most decent advice columnists. Dr. Laura is a physiologist, a doctor that studies how the body works. If I wanted some advice on osmosis or homeostasis I’d ask Dr. Laura, but relationship advice? Come on!

Anyway, even though she apologized for “articulat[ing] the ‘n’ word all the way out,” (as if she had the street cred to have pulled off a simple nigga) she’s gone—or at least she will be when her season ends. Good riddance.

But of course this has caused the inevitable argument about The “N” Word, and whether or not it’s ever appropriate to use it, to rear it’s nappy head, again. The issue, as it’s being defined by certain people, isn’t simply whether or not it’s ever okay for a white person to say nigger, but whether anyone should use it at all, EVER.

(Read the rest on the latest From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist)

Casualties of War

Seven Mexicans executed by rival drug gang members

Before I get to the nitty gritty, a few updates for you:
I recently wrote about the Senate’s inability to extend unemployment benefits for the millions of jobless Americans whose regular benefits had expired, or were getting ready to expire. I’m glad to announce that the Senate narrowly averted disaster by finally passing the benefits extension, no thanks to flailing Republicans. Rioting averted, for now.

Several weeks ago I wrote that Congress was considering legislation to reduce the outrageous penalties for crack cocaine possession & distribution. That bill finally passed its last hurdle in the Senate last week and was signed into law by President Obama this past Wednesday. That means that whites, who mostly go to jail for plain old powder, and blacks, predominant sellers & users of cocaine in crack form, will spend almost the same amount of time in jail for what is really the same drug.

But just to prove that they’re still mostly idiots...

(Read the rest on the latest From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist)

Tea & Crackers

So the NAACP, an organization that seems increasingly more irrelevant as time goes by, came out to condemn the racist elements within the various loosely organized groups commonly known as Tea Parties which espouse so-called conservative values like free markets, limited government, and lower taxes. The resolution was motivated by Tea Partiers who were protesting the passage of the Health Care bill allegedly shouting “nigger!” at some black congressmen as they walked into the Capitol Building to vote on the legislation, not to mention some of the blatantly racist signs displayed about Obama and the stream of White Supremacists which have recently joined the ranks of Tea Partiers, or my term of preference, teabaggers.

Mind you, all the NAACP was asking for, which won’t be ratified until its October meetings, was essentially for the teabaggers to check themselves before they wreck themselves. But the way the teabaggers and their supporters reacted, you would have thought the NAACP just came out and called them all lying racist shitbags. I mean, they are, mostly, but I’m saying that, not the NAACP.

Even Queen of the teabaggers, Sarah Palin came out...

(Read the whole story on From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist.)

Fire in the Hole

I‘m officially employed, again. Good thing, too. Shit started looking little dark down here at the bottom. The power cord for my laptop got fried, and I was afraid I might have to go on a fast in order to afford to replace it. But no. Just in the nick of time I find myself slinging cellies, again.
So if you happen to live in the Baltimore metro area and you’re in the market for a new phone come check me out at the Go Wireless in Homewood, on St Paul St, a block from Johns Hopkins University.

Don’t roll your eyes at me. If you all clicked on a couple of those ads you’re ignoring, maybe I wouldn’t have to hustle my wares in my column. So I think I’m entitled to a little personal advertising here. While I’m at it, I might as well let you know that I’m the newest Vice President of the Maryland Writers Association, too. Things are looking up!

At least I’m working. A lot of folx still ain’t. About 26 million, as a matter of fact. About 2.5 million of them wont be receiving unemployment benefits by the end of this week.

Read the whole story on From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist.

Wilt

Wilt

I can still vividly recall

that smell that smiled

at me in the hall,

as I wandered past

your door.

Maybe it was the shelves full

of overpriced perfume,

but I’d bet it was just you,

in full bloom,

the long spiral petals

of your hair—

gold leafed brown to match

your stare;

I didn’t dare

linger,

long.

Instead I climbed

the stairs,

to the balcony,

from where

I could watch you

from above

& pretend we were

in love.

You looked even better

from that height,

where I could stay

just out of sight

& make believe I’d written

silly poems

just for you.

Even then I knew

I’d spend my days

in your company.

What I didn’t know,

what I couldn’t see,

was how exactly it would all go,

that I’d waste a decade

chasing dreams,

the recurring nightmare

of my life in memes

& all that time,

freedom

was always only

a whisper

away.

So now the make believe

is done,

pretending’s over,

fantasies spun.

Instead of settling

we have won,

although the bloom

is all but consumed;

& we are left

slowly wilting

in the sun;

but we shine

& the aroma’s stronger

now—potpourri &

vintage

wine.

We climb together now—

the balcony is closed

but the curtains of our stage

are just now opening wide,

as we perform in repose;

& who knows

how long it’ll take

before we wilt away.

I won’t even allow

my mind to wander there,

anymore.

Instead, I’ll bask

in the glow

of the love that would grow

from a passing scent as I walked

past your door.

McCrack: Why Drug Dealers Would Be Better Off Working at McDonalds

My hateful pal & fellow Urban Twister, Bryan Stewart, recently came out about his crack addiction (I assume the addiction is virtual.) on facebook, prompting a conversation about the realities of the drug trade. David Simon and his crew showed us plenty of those realities with Homicide, The Corner, & The Wire, but many of the misconceptions about how lucrative the drug trade is still linger. The truth is, unless you can survive the streets long enough without getting killed or arrested as a foot soldier, you’d be better of working at McDonalds...

(Read the whole story on From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist.)

Villalba

 A poem about my childhood memories of the little town my folx are from in Puerto Rico:

Villalba

A shallow, little thing—
the river behind abuelita’s
house, barely deep
enough to wade in,
to slam our clothes
clean against the rocks.

Except when the hurricanes
came, we would have to
gather the chicken & geese
and stow them in the basement
praying that the great brown surge
carrying cows & cars with
equal ease would not
devour our fowl, anyway.

"¿How far does it go?"
I asked mi hermano—
"Don’t know, but I hear
that upstream
the catfish get so big
you can wrestle them
out of the water—"
and so we set out,
on a day free
of hurricanes, to find that place
where the river began.

¿How far had we walked
before we realized our folly
as the current grew stronger,
a Lucha Libre wrestler shoving
us around, knocking us down
refusing us a glance under
his golden mask?

¿And the catfish?
Just as we believed, we saw
one navigating the current
more easily than we could,
its whiskers as long as it was.

I pounced, thinking, perhaps
I can have at least this
one pleasure; rocks
in my hands,
nothing more.