Strollin’ in the park, watching winter turn to spring
Walkin’ in the dark, seein’ lovers do their thing, mmm
That’s the time I feel like making love to you.
That’s the time I feel like making dreams come true.
In a restaurant, holdin’ hands by candlelight.
When you’re touchin’ me, wanting you with all my might.
That’s the time I feel like making love to you.
That’s the time I feel like making dreams come true.
When you talk to me, when you’re moanin’ sweet & low.
When you’re touchin’ me and my feelin’s start to show.
That’s the time I feel like making love to you.
That’s the time I feel like making dreams come true
Strollin’ in the park, watching winter turn to spring
Walkin’ in the dark, seein’ lovers do their thing, mmm
That’s the time I feel like making love to you.
That’s the time I feel like making dreams come true.

I will soon provide a review of Nina SImone's Released CD.

Canada has a Black Governor-General? Michelle Jean? I did not know this. I believe I have been out of touch a bit....or perhaps it just hasnt been that important in U.S. news

Have You Seen This Woman?

Latoyia Figueroa's has been missing from her home in Philadelphia since July 18th.

Why do bad things happen to good people? The Baja Peninsula, owned by my dear friends Zoila and Salvador, burned down yesterday. There was absolutely nothing left.

Bellatrys has a great post on racism and xenophobia.

There are certain things that I truly hate that I will never see or experience. I will never see Nina Simone in concert. I will never see Barbra in concert. I missed all of the good things.

What We Have Learned

That the British police system is just as racist and xenophobic as they used to be.
As seen by this lynching .

As I am now revisiting Black Feminist Thought by Patricia Hill Collins--in the last few breaths of summer at which point I have nothing new to read, my mind turns towards an analysis of my self and of me within the context of the kind of wonderful critical discussion that Dr. Hill Collins carries out in this book concerning all aspects of life for Afro-American women and how Black feminist scholarship applies to this. I am a gay, Afro-American male, a progressive, radical thinker, a nonconformist, and a person who is dedicated to the struggle to end all forms of oppression and hegemony. As such, I am perhaps the most uncomplimentary person to the white male power structure, along the lines of such powerful and beautiful figures as Audre Lorde and June Jordan, my forbears. The task then becomes, how to overcome the oppressions with which we are burdened--how to combat and eradicate the negative imagery that is imposed upon all of us who are colored at birth, and those of us who choose not to comply with the rules and standards of a racist, sexist society.

At birth, I was refused because the color of my skin and my classification as an Afro-American. Automatically, I was pushed into that place among the Western/ Euro hierarchy where, as Jimmy Baldwin puts it, I was "blacker than sin, black as night, etc, etc." Later, as I developed into a personality and developed passions, interests,desires, I was once again, in a most brutal fashion, told that I was wrong-- and the game of surviving the brute force with which the power structure with which we daily exist became that which honed my skills of survival, of existence. This is the nature of playing the game of politics, and the personal is political--especially for those who do not fit into the ideal constructed by the white/male power structure.I can only imagine how other individuals have dealt with these realities in their own lives. The entire cycle of life that we each go through is a process of finding trying to find out who we are, to carve out identities, and to have those identities validated-- that is the human struggle and that is the ultimate thing that people strive for. To find validation. While I am still searching for many things, I think one thing that has saved me and that perhaps sets me apart from most is that I have my validation. I have always had it-- it is one thing that I do not need to search for. Now, in the nature of hierarchies, white people have their validation--which is called white privilege-- which leaves the rest trying to scramble to make up for that apparent "lack." This is the nature of oppression and of hierarchal structures. Everyone should be validated, and everyone should recieve the validation they need to go through life. As most don't, this is where the real stick of things come through in regards to humanity. This is the result of oppression and hegemony. However,I am of the belief that everyone CAN be validated and should be. I don't believe it is necessary to want or covet what others have, or to devalue one(s) self or one's community in the wake of some kind of ideal that is placed before you or that is spoonfed to entire societies. Everyone should have a knowledge of themselves, a sense of themself, and enough of that spark to muster through to achieve a sense of security and sufficiency in life. I am very glad that, despite being open and aware of three types of oppression--as an Afro-American male who likes men, and who also exist as a radical, progressive thinker, that, perhaps the reason for my development in this fashion, that I have known who I am and therefore don't require anyone else's validation. Not of my humanity. That was and has been instilled in me, from whatever force-- my forbears, my ancestors, whomever-- but it has been with me, and therefore I have been able to totally reject and refuse the dehumanization that is sent my way by the forces of oppression and hegemony. I feel in sync with myself, as to who I am. There are things I want, there are things I desire, there are things that I aim for and want to achieve. But I know who I am, and that is all there really is to do. Know who you are.

This morning on the Today Show, Matt Lauer spoke with soldiers in Iraq. Nothing but white men, with a bunch of black women standing around them, muted. Boy should they not all be castrated? These people are evil.

Candace and I have been playing phone tag with each other for a couple of weeks now and we finally got ahold of each other tonight. She wanted to know if I had seen someone around campus. I am not mentioning names for the sake of discretion. We had a long, good talk about men.Her relationship with___ was quite beautiful. It is interesting how things can get so hot in such little time, two and a half months. What they had was very sweet. I think about Candace and myself, and the experiences one has in finding and blending with people who connect with you so well. She had ____ and I had Charles, both for very brief moments in time( Charles and I hung out from early April to the time he left in late June, so thats roughly three months). Life provides some beautiful moments.

One more thing on the subject of teacakes. I took one batch out of the oven, as they were done. My grandmother yells, loudly, "put them back, put them back." What ever for? Well, I had temporarily forgotten that my grandmother does not like her food to be any color but a deep brown-- everything but rice. I remember once my sister baked a cake, it was a nice yellow cake-- my grandmother stuck that cake back in the stove saying "It needed to brown." So tonight, I asked my grandmother why she didn't like mulatto cookies. Ha.My grandmother wants it dark to burnt,no mulatto.Hahaha. Such idiosyncracies.

Tonight I helped my grandmother make teacakes. This is such a ritual--the process of making teacakes-- a holy, spiritual ritual bound into the homes of Black women whose roots extend to the south--whether they be in the city or in the rural, teacakes are a Southern Black Woman's tradition. It puts me in the mind of the teacher from "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," with her nice, plump yellow wafers. My Uncle Lawrence used to love to have my grandmother bake teacakes--he said she was the only one who could make them as his mother did. Everytime he came to Prattville, or simply thought about it my grandmother would bake teacakes for him. His eyes would light up at the thought of teacakes. My uncle was such a delightful man who took joy in everything. My great-grandmother earned the nickname "teacake"(which eeriely makes me think of Zora Neale Hurston--what an odd coincidence) from her relatives. Alas, one of the stories I remember is my mother telling of how when she was a little girl and her grandmother would be cooking or baking this old white woman who was called "Aunt Francis," would come to my great-grandmother's back door and ask her "Sissy (what she was normally called by nickname) you got some food? You made any teacakes today? You know we cousins" My mother would be standing behind my great-grandmother and wondering "who is this white woman standing at my grandmother's door?" Cooking is such a spiritual process. I love cooking as well.

My Summer at Home

I go back to Lafayette in a couple of days (Lord don't I wish I were going to New York-- or to UC Santa Cruz(I'll do that next year) and I have been in Alabama since the second week of July. It has been interesting--in a slow, rural way( I need to get OFF of I-65).I had lunch and hung out with Denise and Sandrika and took in all that has changed since the last time...and over time. I will write more about that later.

My strength comes from the Black, rich soil and from the souls of Black women.

Finding one's voice is absolutely essential. Speak truth to power and learn to names things for what they are.

Soon I wish to revisit Virginia Woolf's " A Room of One's Own."

Oh Nina, Where Are You Dear?

Goddamn this country. Goddamn the whole thing. A few days ago they released Edgar Ray Killen from Prison after having been finally convicted in June for the murders of Schwerner, Cheney, and Goodman in Mississippi in 1964. Oh what a wonderful message that sends about the ideology and the ethics of this country. It took forty years for them to do something about it and then he only serves a few weeks in prison. Hungry Blues has a great analysis of the situation. This just speaks to what I have said of this country, its values, and the true nature of itself. We need to get rid of the infrastructure that upholds the racism that has permeated this society for centuries. We need total, radical, revolutionary change. This puts me in the mind of a speech that James Baldwin gave at UC Berkely in 1979. We, people who believe in equality, respect, and human dignity and who are dedicated to progressive struggle need to partake in what James Baldwin calls "noncooperation." Listen to his speech here to find out what that means. James Baldwin Lecture and Open Forum,UC Berkeley: April 19,April 26 1979.

One thing more about Mattie Roper that I forgot to point out. She was 14 when she had her first child. She had her last child at 60.

Major Castrators

One of my phrases, that I have coined is "major castrator." I define this as a person(mainly women) who possess Anger, Passion, Fire, Commitment to Justice, and who strike directly at the root of oppression. I decided that I would make a list of the people who qualify, in my book, as major castrators. This list is abbreviated and will grow for sure. Feel free to suggest people for this list.

Nikki Giovanni
June Jordan
Maxine Waters
Nina Simone
Cindy Sheehan
bell hooks
Molly Ivins
Angela Davis
Vanesse Redgrave
Jessica Lange
Barbara Mikulski
Arianna Huffington
Barbara Lee
Loretta Sanchez
James Baldwin
Anita Hill

Alas, I deem Cindy Sheehan as the new Mother Jones!!!

Maxine Waters

has gone to Crawford, Texas to join forces with Cindy Sheehan! I LOVE Maxine Waters---if there is anyone in Congress that I wouldn't mess with it would be HER!

I used to recite three poems all of the time, "The Lady of Shalott,","Lord Lovel," and "Lady Clare." God if I were in the third grade again.

Oh there was once a time when I could recite "The Lady of Shalott," in its entirety. I can still memorize and recite poems. I just moved from " The Lady of Shalott" to "Cultural Exchange,".;-)

Gas for $.26 a gallon

right

here

Why Did Maria Schriver Marry This Man?

Arnold Schwarzenegger is in

trouble

I Have Always Loved this Song

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words.
Killing me softly with his song.

I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
And listen for a while.
And there he was this young boy
A stranger to my eyes.

I felt all flushed with fever
Embarrassed by the crowd.
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud.
I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on.

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words.
Killing me softly with his song

He sang as if he knew me
In all my dark despair.
And then he looked right through me
As if I wasn't there.
And he just kept on singing
Singing clear and strong.

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words.
Killing me softly with his song.

I think the most touching scene from the film Ray is the funeral scene for George, Ray's little brother. Great movie.

I think that perhaps all of the against John Roberts are efforts that will be done in vain. Perhaps other tactics are necessary to get the results desired.

If the United States were Barbra Streisand and Nikki Giovanni I would love this country immensely, but it is not. This country is George Bush and white men with power and all of the lynchings that have taken place in this country, and all of the filipinos that they killed during the Spanish-American War,all of the Indians that they drove out of the Eastern states and destroyed on the reservations. This country has a lot to pay for. And if you wish to ally yourself with it or pledge allegiance to this crap, then go right ahead.

I have not written much at all about Mattie Roper,which I don't know why as she was such a strong and powerful figure. She and Morgan Goodson stand head to head within the Goodson family. Alas, last summer, when I was again in Prattville, I went to the courthouse and found a document where she made him pay her--in money and in goods, for money that she had loaned to him before their marriage. She was quite a character. My great-great grandmother was a strong, beautiful spirit who drove hard to do for her children and to make sure that, as the mother from the Women of Brewster Place said, "her children would never have to apologize to anyone for who they were or what they were, whatever they looked like." Morgan Goodson was fierce, but he was a bit of a lazy man--intelligent, but when his children got old enough, he let them work his land and he sat down.
He was also strong willed and as I said, mean. When he would get in his moods, when his children were younger, he would take his seat in his chair on their porch and wouldn't move for days on end and would leave her to get food and work the fields for their children. Mattie was a strong woman. She was also reportedly the best shot in Autauga County. She knew herbs and medicine, and in her later years went around from house to house visiting all of her children and their families, giving them medicines so that they wouldn't get sick during the year.

Mattie was fourteen when she had her first child. She was born in 1857; Morgan was born in 1854. Her mother was a white woman named Caroline Roper, the daughter of a methodist minister and her father was a stud on the plantation(owned by someone else, I don't know whom), named Greenberry Smith. A stud is a breeder, which means that Greenberry's job on the plantation was to have children. He had 49 of them that we know of. Greenberry's was an odd case, as he was a mulatto and they rarely bred mulattoes as their children could run away. However, mulattoes were bred because a light-skinned mulatto slave, especially a girl, brought a higher price on the market than the average slave. Mattie Roper was a very, very light skinned woman. I may post her picture sometime if I figure out how to do that. Anyway, she was all but a white woman. They said you couldn't tell she was a woman of color until her children were surrounding her. Morgan, on the other hand was dark, a very dark brown with red eyes. His father, Philip Goodson, is said to have been a mulatto as well and his mother was a full-blooded Cherokee by the name of Pee Y( I do not know how to spell this).

They say Mattie could rarely be caught wearing a dress and could work a plow better than any man. Indeed she represents a kind of strength that I hear a lot equated with women of color, especially slave women, of that time. I have heard that some slave women, when they were pregnant, would be in the field when it was their time to deliver and would simply stop their in the middle of the field and have that child and then get right back up and go to work. Incredible. It is said that she told, when she was a girl, on the plantation(I should find out who's plantation, although it is said she was owned by her Grandfather--so perhaps), that it was her job to fetch water for the white men when ever there was company. She said that she would take her bucket and get the water and then dip her hair in it and take it to them to drink. Her hair was so fine( I don't know what that means) that they wouldn't know it was wet and would go right on drinking that water. This is one of the first acts of resistance that I had ever heard of and I thought it was fucking fantastic!

Mattie Roper died in the 1920's and the story goes that once Morgan Goodson was fussing loudly at her and she told him, " Morgan, if you don't stop fussing at me you're going to make my heart overflow." Well, he kept on and so she killed over. Both Morgan and Mattie are buried in our family cemetary. I will definitely try to get her picture online( I highly doubt I will be successful).

The Way I Feel About It

I have caught quite a few stares now and then with what I say, especially with my political views,but frankly I don't give a shit. I will state again that I am Afro-American, that I am not American and the word Patriotism does not even register in my vocabulary. Some have said to me, " you sit here and reap the benefits of this country and then complain about it or reject it, why don't you just leave?" Well my response is that this country didn't do and hasn't done shit for me. Everything that I am and all of the blessings that have been bestowed upon me are reapings from the hardwork and labour of John Archie Deramus and Sadie Mae Goodson DeRamus and Morgan Goodson and Mattie Roper. America didn't do shit.Thank you. And to all of my ancestors that have come before me, I give all of my thanks and give my utmost respect.

More on Afro-Americans and Landownership

My great-great grandfather and great-grandfather bought land(and inherited some, but those are other stories) in the late 19th century and the early part of the 20th Century. To be exact, my great-grandfather bought his property in 1913. Afro-Americans for a long time held a considerable amount of property in the Southern states. After the Civil War,Congress passed an act which effectively broke up many of the old plantations in the south and divided them into plots of land which they sold to the newly freed slaves and others who could buy. If I remember correctly,I believe one could purchase 100 acres of land for $40. As a result of this, many many Blacks bought land which they primarily farmed, and which became the foundation for the growth of the Black Middle class after the Civil War. Since 1910,this economic stronghold for Blacks has been slowly eroded as Blacks have lost their land for various reasons. In cases I know, my aunts and uncles (actually my grandmother's first cousins, but we call them aunts and uncles as they are so close to all of us), the Fraziers lost their land about five years ago now. Their father, Harrison Frazier, left them 500 acres of prime property surrounding the current high school. After my Uncle Amos died, my uncle Sylvester and others began to quarrel and the land ended up in court, and thus was sold( as that is what white judges do to Black property ownership in the south). What a loss that was, they didn't even get what the land was worth from the sale. Anyway, if you are Black and you have land KEEP YOUR HANDS ON IT and hold it for dear life. Land is the basis of economic stability.

Land, Money, and relatives do not mix. This is something that I have said for a long time. Nothing but a big headache. My great-grandfather, J.A.B (John Archie Bradson) left 97 acres for his children and my great-great grandfather, Morgan, left 300 acres for his heirs.We are all the beneficiaries of this land as they left it as

heir property

My Uncle Lawrence ran the Goodson estate until his death and my Aunt Earnestine (mis)managed the DeRamus estate until she became unable to, and now my Aunt Betty, who can manage it, but who has no imagination and I certainly don't want her to run it, but she is. If it is one thing about my Aunt, she can hold on to a penny until it burst, so we know the estate won't loose money, but she is not the type of person I would want running anything for me. However, Uncle Lawrence didnt want his hands in it as he didnt want to hear every mouth in the world yapping, which I can understand. Lord, he moved to Enterprise when he grew up and rarely made his way back to Prattville-- in order to stay out of that fray. Anyway, I suppose I will take over at some point.

Snippets of Gossip

Thinking more on the subject of career and the idea of finding a mate versus defining one's role in the world, alas Dr. D once told me that when bell hooks was in Graduate School she was involved in a hot steamy affair with a professor. Well, this professor fell head over heels in love with bell and proceeded to divorce his wife so that he could be with bell. When he told bell of his plans to leave his wife so that he could be with her, she reportedly looked at him and said" You stupid fool, you did what?" Haha. There is definitely a reason why I love bell hooks.

I baked a cake today. The presentation could be better but I am utterly pleased with myself;-)

Cindy Sheehan

This is the text of a speech that Cindy Sheehan gave in Dallas a couple of Days ago. Cindy Sheehan lost her son in Iraq and is now camping out in Crawford,Texas to ask the Bastard in the White House(soon to be painted another color) exactly why her son had to die.

Cindy Sheehan: It’s so great to be here.

Last year when you guys had your convention in Boston, my son had only been dead a few months, and we were really honored because the Santa Barbara chapter took my daughter’s poem A Nation Rocked to Sleep, (and they did it again this year), and I remember Michael Cervantes, he brought the booklet over to our house and showed it to us, and I never dreamed in a year I’d be standing here in front of you as one of the speakers at your convention, I never dreamed I’d be doing this at all, but isn’t it weird what life hands you…

I never heard about Veterans for until, I can tell you the exact day I heard about VFP, it was May 4th, 2004, and my son had been dead exactly a month, and I was watching CNN, and something came on, it was a report on Arlington West in Santa Barbara, and we lived about 6 hours north of Santa Barbara, and it was the May 4th before Mother’s Day, which was May 8th, and VFP was going to put it up on Sunday, every Sunday, so I called my husband and I said, “There’s only one place I want to be on Mother’s Day this year, I want to be at Santa Barbara. I want to go and see Arlington West.”

When we went, the first time we went, there was a little over 700 crosses, now there’s over 1,800 crosses.

And I’m glad to hear everybody else’s words, because somebody’s gotta stop those lying bastards. Somebody has to stop them.

I got an email yesterday - - If you guys heard I just had a story published that talks about - - it’s called Where Do I Live?, it talks about an Iranian-American who got the shaft because a recruiter liked him, and the recruiter falsified his paperwork, so he ended up in prison. He’s been in prison since November without due process. Another mother whose son was found dead in Iraq, they told her that he died from a drug overdose. Three months later, they got the toxicology report; no drugs. She was devastated, she said, “I know my son, he did not do drugs.” She was told that her son’s wife and his battle buddies said in a report that yes, her son abused drugs in Iraq. But when she got that report it said categorically that no, he did not abuse drugs. So how did her son die?

And then there’s Kevin and Monica Benderman. Kevin did exactly the right thing and got 15 months in prison. Whereas like Dahr (Jamail) said, the war criminals in Washington, D.C., they don’t even lose a night’s sleep. Then we have this lying bastard, George Bush, taking a 5-week vacation in a time of war. You know what? I’m never going to get to enjoy another vacation, because of him.
My vacation probably - -this is really sad because I have a really cute dress I was going to wear to the banquet tomorrow night, but I’m either gonna be in jail or in a tent in Crawford, waiting until that jerk comes out and tells me why my son died.

Anyway, I got an email, I kinda got off track, a man emailed me yesterday, I get contacted by all kinds of people with their stories, and he said Cindy, I read everything you write, I read it on LewRockwell.com, he said, “I get tears in my eyes, but today I cried real tears, and I screamed, because my dear sweet nineteen ear-old cousin was killed in Iraq.”

And he said, “Cindy, why didn’t I save him? Why didn’t I knock him out, why didn’t I take him to Canada?” and I wrote him back and I said, “You know what? We all think that.”

I said to my son not to go. I said, you know it’s wrong, you know you’re going over there. You know your unit might have to kill innocent people, you know you might die. And he says, “My buddies are going, I have to go.” He said, “If I don’t go someone’s going to have to do my job, and my buddies will be in danger.”

So what really gets me is these chickenhawks, who sent our kids to die, without ever serving in a war themselves. They don’t know what it’s all about.

30 of our bravest young men have already died this month, and it’s only the 5th of August. And the tragedy of the marines in Ohio is awful.

But do you guys remember back in March when we were having our 2nd year anniversary of the invasion of Iraq which was pre-empted by Terry Schiavo, so that’s all that was on the news, not 5,000 of us in Fayetteville, Wolf Blitzer said it was insignificant, but they put Terry Schiavo on, and I wrote something then called The Amazing Hypocrites and I asked why does she deserve life more than my son, and the Iraqi people? And more than the other people that this war has killed.

But do you think George Bush will interrupt his vacation and go visit the families of those 20 marines that have died in Ohio this week? No, because he doesn’t care, he doesn’t have a heart. That’s not enough to stop his little ‘playing cowboy’ game in Crawford for 5 weeks.

So, as you can imagine, the grieving parents who lost - - lost, I don’t like to use that word, whose child was murdered, it’s extremely difficult, you can’t even get a small scab on our wound, because every day it rips open. Every day, I don’t know why I do it because I already know that war is ugly, I already know that war is hard. But I open up the DOD site to see, who became an angel, while I was sleeping.

And that rips my heart open, because I know there is another mother whose life is going to be ruined that day. So we can’t even begin to heal.

---------------------------------------------------------
So anyway that filth-spewer and warmonger, George Bush was speaking after the tragedy of the marines in Ohio, he said a couple things that outraged me. Seriously outraged me. And I know I don’t look like I’m outraged, I’m always so calm and everything, that’s because if I started hitting something, I wouldn’t stop ‘til it was dead. So I can’t even start, cause I know how dangerous that would be, but George Bush was talking, and he never mentioned the terrible incident of those marines, but he did say, that the families of the ones who have been killed can rest assured that their loved ones died for a noble cause.

And, he also said, he says this often, and this really drives me crazy, he said that we have to stay in Iraq and complete the mission, to honor the sacrifices of the ones who have fallen.

And I say, why should I want one more mother to go through what I’ve gone through, because my son is dead. You know what, the only way he can honor my son’s sacrifice is to bring the rest of the troops home. To make my son’s death count for peace and love, and not war and hatred like he stands for.

I don’t want him using my son’s death or my family’s sacrifice to continue the killing. I don’t want him to exploit the honor of my son and others to continue the killing. They sent these honorable people to die, and are so dishonorable themselves.

So, as many of you have heard, and I didn’t mean to cause any problems with the convention, but I was writing an email to everybody, and I was so mad, like I said, and I just had this brainstorm, I’m going to Dallas, I don’t know where Crawford is. I’ve been in Texas, Casey was stationed at Fort Hood. I drove from northern California to Fort Hood one time, it took like, 30 hours. And I thought, I could be driving for days to get from Dallas to Crawford!

But I don’t care, I’m goin’. And I’m gonna tell them, “You get that evil maniac out here, cuz a Gold Star Mother, somebody who’s blood is on his hands, has some questions for him.”

And I’m gonna say, “OK, listen here, George. #1, you quit, and I demand, every time you get out there and say you’re going to continue the killing in Iraq to honor the fallen heroes by continuing the mission; you say, ‘except Casey Sheehan.’”

“And you say ‘except for all the members of Goldstar Families for Peace’ cuz we think not one drop of blood should be spilled in our families’ names. You quit doing that. You don’t have my permission.”

And I’m gonna say, “And you tell me, what the noble cause is that my son died for.” And if he even starts to say ‘freedom and democracy’ I’m gonna say, bullshit.

You tell me the truth. You tell me that my son died for oil. You tell me that my son died to make your friends rich. You tell me my son died to spread the cancer of pax Americana, imperialism in the Middle East. You tell me that, you don’t tell me my son died for ‘freedom and democracy.’

Cuz, we’re not freer. You’re taking away our freedoms. The Iraqi people aren’t freer, they’re much worse off than before you meddled in their country.

You get America out of Iraq, you get Israel out of Palestine…

(massive round of applause)

And if you think I won’t say bullshit to the President, I say move on, cuz I’ll say what’s on my mind.

So, what’s gonna happen? I started this, I thought it was gonna be just me and my sister driving to Crawford, but it kind of mushroomed and people from as far away as Dayton, Ohio are coming, to help us, to stand behind us, because I travel all over the country, I speak, I write, I get feedback on my writing, and just in the little over a year that I’ve been doing this, I’ve seen a major turnaround in this country.

People don’t just want to hear it, they want to know, what can we do? What can we do to get him out of power? And I’m gonna say the ‘I’ word. Impeach. And we have to have everybody impeached that lied to the American public, and that’s the executive branch, and any people in congress, and we gotta go all the way down and we might have to go all the way down to the person who picks up the dogshit in Washington because…

We can’t let somebody rise to the top who will pardon these war criminals. Because they need to go to prison for what they’ve done in this world. We can’t have a pardon. They need to pay for what they’ve done.

So anyway, I’m gonna go to Crawford tomorrow, and I’m gonna say I want to talk to him, and they say, he’s not coming out, I’m gonna set up my tent there until he comes out to talk to me.

And I have the whole month of August off, just like him. It’s just the way it worked out, I was supposed to go to England tomorrow to do some Downing Street things, but Conyers cancelled, so hey, I have a lot of free time on my hands, and I’m gonna stay until he comes out and talks to me. And if he quits his vacation and goes to D.C., I’ll pull my tent up, I’ll go to D.C., and put it on the White House lawn, and I’ll be waiting for you guys when you get there September 24th.

Another thing that I’m doing is - - my son was killed in 2004, so I’m not paying my taxes for 2004. If I get a letter from the IRS, I’m gonna say, you know what, this war is illegal; this is why this war is illegal. This war is immoral; this is why this war is immoral. You killed my son for this. I don’t owe you anything. And if I live to be a million, I won’t owe you a penny.
And I want them to come after me, because unlike what you’ve been doing with the war resistance, I want to put this frickin’ war on trial. And I want to say, “You give me my son, and I’ll pay your taxes.”

I live in Bacaville, come and get me if you can find me there and put me on trial, because like Camilo (Mejia), Camilo knew what was right. And he went to prison for that. And Henry David Thoreau he went to prison, he refused to pay his poll tax, and Emerson, I call them HT and RW, and RW came to visit HT and said what are you doing here, buddy? And HT said, why aren’t you here? This is the only place for a moral person in an immoral world.

It’s up to us, the people, to break immoral laws, and resist. As soon as the leaders of a country lie to you, they have no authority over you. These maniacs have no authority over us. And they might be able to put our bodies in prison, but they can’t put our spirits in prison. And I know that Camilo came out a much stronger person, he’s one of my heroes, it’s great a row of heroes in front of me here.

And everyone gave such great testimony this evening, I have to wonder, why do we keep doing this to each other? Why do we let this continue time and time again, why do let it happen? And it’s because our country, is so good at demonizing people, I still have relatives from WWII that still call Japanese people ‘Japs’. And we demonize the Iraqi people, where, most of this country doesn’t even think we’re killing innocent people.

Because, “Oh Cindy, don’t you remember what happened on September 11th?”

“Yeah, but, were any of those people in Iraq? And the people who flew those planes into the Trade Center, where they from Iraq?”
When I was growing up, it was ‘Communists’. Now it’s ‘Terrorists’. So you always have to have somebody to fight and be afraid of, so the war machine can build more bombs, guns, and bullets and everything.

But I do see hope. I see hope in this country. 58% of the American public are with us. We’re preaching to the choir, but the choir’s not singing, if all of the 58% started singing, this war would end.

I got an email the other day and it said, “Cindy, if you didn’t use so much profanity… there’s people ‘on the fence’ that get offended…”
And you know what I said? “You know what? You know what, god-damn-it? How, in the world is anybody still ‘sitting on that fence’?”
“If you fall on the side that is pro-George, and pro-war, you get your ass over to Iraq, and take the place of somebody who wants to come home. And if you fall on the side that is against this war and against George Bush, stand up and speak out.”
But whatever side you fall on, quit being on the fence.

The opposite of good is not evil, it’s apathy. And we have to get this country off their butts, and we have to get the choir singing.
We need to say, bring our troops home now. We can’t depend on the people in charge binging our troops home. Because you don’t plan on bringing the troops home when you drop so much of the reconstruction money into building permanent bases.
I was hoping to come to the banquet tomorrow night, but unless George comes out and talks to me, I’ll be camping at Crawford.
Thank you.

Yesterday I watched the final episode of Living Single, which is one of my favorite shows(ok, so its been off the air),but alas I found myself cringing as Maxine Shaw attorney-at-law relented and gave herself to Kyle Barker. While the show didnt say that she gave up her career for him, and indeed hinted that he returned from London for her, I found myself not liking it, prefering that Maxine stay single (away from Kyle) and continue as a successful lawyer, with her child, without him.

So my question is, why is it that I dont like the idea of anyone giving up their career for someone(which I totally don't like)? Further, why is it that I always seem to prefer the image of the single, successful person(especially woman), especially women like Maxine Shaw attorney at law and dislike it if they find someone and alter that image in any way?Does it have to do with not liking the idea of submission, which I dislike wholeheartedly? I remember when I was in the seventh grade, one of my teachers asked the class a series of questions like Will you ever get married? If so, when? What do you want to be when you grow up? Alas, I have always wanted to write, ever since I was three years old, so I always knew what I wanted to do. However, what I remember specifically from that question and answer session is that most everyone in the class answered that they wanted to be married and have children, and mostly in their twenties. It was only myself and a girl, Courtney Brooks ( who I might write about later), who said that we didn't ever think we would get married, and if we did(not to each other) it wouldn't be until we were in our forties and had established ourselves in a career. Both of us, as well, were iffy on the subject of having children. I still find that interesting and odd. I am very much about finding oneself and having a purpose in life- and have held to the idea, perhaps wrongly, that people should want more out of this life than to find a man or have children. I totally realize at this point that the idea of "career" is inherently capatilistic and not progressive, but I do believe that finding one's purpose in life is much more fundamental and natural than defining oneself in a career.I have since given up the idea that everyone should want this, and that for some people drifting (and indeed, perhaps for us all) is something to do,but still, for myself, I prefer the idea of the single, successful person who reaches their fullest potential and explores the extent of their possibilities.

My favorite male singers definitely have to be Stevie Wonder and Michael MacDonald. I love both, and also, Michael McDonald is perhaps the only man who could absolutely put me out(using an old-fashioned expression) with his voice.

Hungry Blues has a great post on the Cindy Sheehan case

here

Yesterday I watched a movie called Man Under Fire with Denzel Washington. I felt several things after watching this movie as it just tugged at me quite a bit. Firstly,I am troubled by some of the dynamics in this film. I know I perhaps look at things too politically all of the time, but I always do as I feel I must. Firstly, I am troubled tha this man gave his life to save this white girl. This is absolutely politically speaking, for personally it is quite a different thing, but on a political level-- when was the last time a white man died to save a black child? Would they? Also, the film also gives the sublte impression that this man had to die because A: He was a former assassin and B: Because he killed high positioned officers who just happened to be corrupt. I think Denzel Washington's politics are quite good, but I would definitely like to ask him about this film and what he feels about these troubling conflicts within the film.

This from Barbra's Website

Confronted often by Internet and media information that is frequently incorrect, in 1994, working on her speech for Harvard's School of Government, Ms. Streisand had noted, "I love information, but I'm afraid of the information age - too much information and not enough spiritual growth to handle it. I'm still afraid our technology is more advanced than our hearts. There's something lacking now - this gap, this void between technology and compassion."

Bellatry's has a great analysis of the Cindy Sheehan case.

Sometimes you need to stop, eliminate all of the words and exist totally within your heart. To reach that level where there are no words, just the rhythm of your heartbeat. "Live while you live and then die and be done with it."

My grandmother and my mother are both too much into fulfilling the roles handed to them by society, or the ones which they accept-- wife, mother, daughter,respectable . Whatever.My grandmother told me today that she was taught by her mother to be obedient. She said it with such pride. I looked at her. I dont think that word even registers in my vocabulary. Alas, I will define my own way. "Don't tell me not to live just sit and putter. Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade!Don't tell me not to fly Ive simply got to--if someone takes the spill its me and not you who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?! I march my band out, I beat my drum, and if Im fanned out your turn at bat sir, at least I didn't fake it, hat sir-I guess I didnt make it! But whether Im the rose of sheer perfection a freckle on the nose of life's complexion a cinder on the shiny apple of it's eye- Ive gotta fly once, Ive gotta try once only can die once, ooh life is juicy juicy and usey and Im gonna get my bite sir!"

A few nights ago, I heard Monique give kudos to Condoleeza Rice. You know my sentiment. Black people need to watch out. When you play with a dog he will lick you.

I remember once when we were living in Chicago, my sister and her class at St. Ambrose put on a play to the music of Ray Charles'"Hit the Road Jack." It was a great time. My sister was/is a gifted person, even though she doesnt use them anymore. Very gifted dancer. I also remember when her ballet class put on a performance to the music of Gloria Estefan's "Do that Conga." I enjoyed that too. I should have taken ballet when my mother offered. I was too shy.

Tonight I revisited, with my sister, the songs of my childhood, particularly the music of Ella Jenkins. Ella Jenkins is an absolute favorite of mine stemming from the time that my Aunt Johnnie used to play her records in our class from the time I was was in Head Start til I left her class when I was in second grade. My aunt was my first teacher, a pivotal point in my development and in the current of my memories. She was a gifted teacher, and not just because I was her nephew, but she always sought to engage and awe us with the wonderful things that we had to learn in her class. She also doted on me and spoiled me( my relationship with my Aunt is a point of interest that I need to reflect on), letting me set up her movie projector in class when we were going to watch a film or pop popcorn or play with all of the things that she had to use in our classroom.

My aunt had a basement full of objects that sometimes made their way into our classroom. I remember most vividly the movie projector, the popcorn popper(on days when we would pop popcorn there would be those exciting trips to the grocery store before school). God memories are flooding back. We lived right across the street from Aunt Johnnie and Aunt Bertie and everyday we would carpool to school and work, dropping my mother off at Robert Taylor, my sister at St. Ambrose, sometimes Aunt Betty at her school or Aunt Bertie at hers and then Aunt Johnnie and I would make our merry way on to Price-- that is if her car made it. Sometimes her car would stop on the road(Aunt Johnnie had a peppermint green Cadillac, her pride and joy)at which we would load onto the bus and make our way to Price, or we would see Mrs. Bull, who would give us a lift to school. I remember once when Aunt Johnnie had a wreck, and there by the grace was Mrs. Bull, who took me to school while Aunt Johnnie stayed and cursed at the woman who hit her.

One of my favorite songs was "Little White Duck" that went

There's a little white duck
Sitting in the water.
A little white duck
Doing what he oughter.
He took a bite of a lily pad,
Flapped his wings and he said,
"I'm glad I'm a little white duck,
Sitting in the water."
Quack, Quack, Quack.

There's a little green frog
Swimming in the water.
A little green frog Doing what he oughter.
He jumped right off of the lily pad
The little duck bit.
And he said "I'm glad,
I'm a little green frog,
Swimming in the water,
Glumph, Glumph, Glumph."

There's a little black bug (bzz)
Floating on the water.
A little black bug (bzz)
Doing what he oughter.
He tickled the frog on the lily pad
That the little duck bit.
And he said, "I'm glad,
I'm a little black bug,
Floating on the water.
Bzz! Buzz! Bzz!"

There's a little red snake
Playing in the water.
A little red snake
Doing what he oughter,
He frightened the duck and the frog so bad,
He ate the little bug,
And he said, "I'm glad
I'm a little red snake,
Playing in the water.
Hiss, Hiss, Hiss."

Now there's nobody left
Sitting in the water
Nobody left
Doing what they oughter
There's nothing left but the lily pad
The duck and the frog
Ran away - I'm sad
'Cause there's nobody left
Sitting in the water
Boo! Hoo! Hoo!


God I remember us singing that in class and listening to those records. When they werent at school those records were in Aunt Johnnie's basement and the last I have traced them, they made their way into Aunt Earnestine's storage house when Aunt Johnnie retired and moved back to Alabama. Hmm... What a Memory.

Tonight I had a very long, lovely conversation with Kelly. I love talking to him. He is a sweet man and I value the bond between us. I would love for him to be mine again.

Alas, the lovely icing for the cake of the goodwill of the United States and the white power structure that runs it-- the Voting Rights Act is up for "renewal" in 2007. Hmmm. I have often wondered what Civil Rights Activist planned to do about this.

I just finished watching an interview with Dr. James Bevel( who is a good man). Alas, one thing that I must comment upon is the glowing picture of the Civil Rights struggle and the legacy of the 60s that many such as him wish to, want to, and do paint. He stated that he was so "joyful that the Civil Rights struggle came about and ended with no bloodshed." Just because no Black person picked a brick and didn't lay out some white man( although I know that some did) doesn't mean that there was no bloodshed. How can you look past Emmett Till, Schwerner, Cheney, and Goodman, Medgar Evers--- and those are only a HANDFUL out of HUNDREDS who died JUST IN THAT DECADE. Not to mention the thousands of people lynched and beaten and tortured and harrassed and intimidated by white men in the decades between the end of slavery and 1965-1970. God help us all. Alas, yes Johnson did sign the goddamned Voting Rights Act, but HE WAS NOT YOUR FRIEND. I just dont know what goes through these people's mind as they try to sanctify--no deify people like Johnson. I am not saying he was satan-- but he was a white man and his agenda simply included pacifying your ass before all hell broke loose. If ANY from that era was even CLOSEST to being a person of integrity and who might have been sincere in his dedication to the acheivement of dignity for ALL people it was Robert Kennedy-- and they killed him. Indeed, the Civil Rights struggle did not END people simply just got tired. There are still things that need to be done. Another thought, related but not quite the same-- something to think about-- Take a look at the Women of Brewster Place --and the ending scene where they tear down that wall to at last free themselves and get rid of their oppression-- this is what needs to be done. I think that scene holds a lot of meaning and is something that should be thought about by everyone who cares anything about the struggle for human dignity and integrity.

Cornel is absolutely wonderful! I am so glad I am not the only one to take note of the fact that Japan was the first colored/non-western nation to defeat a white/western power-- in 1905. Alas, I also want to highlight some other things. Cornel states that "The ambiguous legacies of the European Age, American preeminence and decolonization continue to haunt our postmodern moment as we come to terms with both European, American, Japanese, Soviet and Third World crimes against humanity and contributions to humanity." God exactly-- the dilemna of how to acknowledge the contribution while at the same time condeming the evil. I have decided that it is worthwhile to condemn the evil. Alas, it is totally possible to destroy the infrastructure of this system/society and start anew with something much better and much more humane.

The second thing that I want to draw attention to is his statement that "The black diasporan condition of New World servitude- in which blacks were viewed as mere commodities with production value, who had no proper legal status, social standing or public worth-- can be characterized as, following Orlando Patterson, natal alienation. This state of perpetual and inheritable domination that diasporan Africans had at birth produced the modern black diasporan problematic of invisibility and namelessness. White supremacist practices.... promoted black inferiority and constituted the European background against which black diasporan struggles for identity, dignity( self-confidence, self-respect,self-esteem) and material resources took place." I am definitely going to use this in my project on the Afro-American as the bastard.

Trouble with one of the neighbors girlfriends and her children again. This time my father went over there. Uh Oh. My father is nothing nice. Straight from the city, he is nothing to play with.

The Corrie Ten Boom legacy can be found

here

When I was in my teens, I used to be much into Corrie Ten Boom. I still think she was a great lady and I have much respect for her legacy. Great people, the entire Ten Boom family.

Morgan Goodson and Mattie Roper( my great-great grandparents) had twenty children-- these are the fifteen that lived to reach adulthood, in order of birth: King Philip, Henry Oliver(Jule), Caroline, Arthur(Lant),James Doc, Betty Ezella, Bracy, Macauley Ware (Fess Goodson), Sadie, Ethel, Archie, Alfreeda, George Dewey, Willie Bell, and Emma Catherine. Among those not to live were a girl named Rosletti (whose name I have taken for some of my fiction), another named Margaret something, and a boy whose name I don't remember.

John Archie Bradson Deramuses' sisters and brothers were:
Nettie Jean, Mary Ellen, Mattie Floyd, J.A.B(himself), Asberry, Charlie Bremen, Lee Benny, Bertie Lee, and Ellie Adams.

Morgan Goodson had four siblings. Perry, George (who was sold to Oklahoma), Henry, and a sister, Rhodie.

Once when my grandmother was teaching in Monroe County, she and some other teachers had taken their classes outside. My grandmother told the children not to play around the trees because they were full or worms. She also added that she was afraid of worms. One of the teachers decided she was going to play with my grandmother so she got a branch from the tree that was full of worms and started shaking it in her face. My grandmother told her to stop but she kept taunting her with that branch and the worms. My grandmother, telling her own story, says at one point she picked up a branch from the ground and struck the woman across the face, pulling the earring out of her right ear. The woman, who was now upset said, "Thelma, you know I was just playing, now I am really going to put them on you." My grandmother replied," Woman, if you put that on me I will kill you today." That woman let that stick go and she didnt bother my grandmother ever again. Alas, the ironic thing is that she and my grandmother were also roomates. I think this incident speaks for itself. I often laugh over this story and it is one of those stories that gets told every now and then.

Cornel West points states that the Age of America lasted from 1945 to 1973 and he states that the struggle against patriarchy predates 1789. He also stresses the need for a "thick" opposition against hegemony and the White Male power structure. Alas, on my reread of this book, one of the things that has struck me most closely is his statement that we need to preserve noncapitalist, nonmarket values of love,care,concern,service to others,intimacy, and gentleness. I'll talk more later. alas, I think this last is definitely something worth paying attention to as we live more and more in a capitalist-driven society where people fashion their entire lives out of what is desired and valued within the market system.

I picked up my old copy of the Cornel West Reader. Fascinating stuff, more about it later.

What I am feeling right now

I would love to have an old fashioned picnic, akin to the Chicago fests that I remember, with blankets and barbecue grills and Earth Wind and Fire and Gladys Knight.......

I don't like Alabama's Troy King. He is too much of a white male and puts me in the mind of white men who lynched Blacks.

I am still in search of my element..... My heart beats with an urban heart, my tendrils are loose and free, I cannot exist in closed and conservative environments.

I love my CHaka Khan CD. I have always had a special place for Chaka, and there has always been something about that song "Papillion" that I just adore. Alas, I bought this CD while I was with Charles. I now equate this CD to him as well.

It is the worst thing in the world to wake up with a sinus headache. I don't know what it is about this enviornment, but thre is definitely something with the enivronment and what we allow people to put in it. The amount of people that suffer daily with sinus and related things is steadily growing, which in turn keeps the pharmaceutical companies in business with all of the different drugs which they release on the market every year ( which is odd, because it is the chemicals and other harmful things that they are allowed to drop into the environment and into our food supply, which makes us sick in the first place). We have to morph to the differnt things that they place in our environment, which most times is not good for us. What is being done to humanity?

Dear, wonderfully progressive Trish OKane is leaving Auburn University and moving to New Orleans to teach at Loyola. I suppose she decided that she couldnt take the crap anyway. I often wondered about that. After spending ten years in Nicauragua and Guatemala officially working for the U.N. but also working with the Sandinistas, how in the hell can you go to Alabama? Befuddling.

I met Trish my sophomore year of college, I think I remember correctly, when there was supposed to be a protest rally and march taking place there in Montgomery to protest the police having run over a boy with an SUV and then not doing anything about it. The only three to show for this protest were Trish, myself, and a classmate from Huntingdon ( I think perhaps the city quelled it somehow). Anyway, so the three of us met and from there it took off. I started working with Trish, who had just then stopped working for Southern Poverty Law Center and had switched to working with the Center for Democratic Renewel tracking down hate crimes in the state of Alabama. I became her sidekick. Trish is a terribly progressive individual and someone whom I look at in awe and sometimes bemusement-- such as with her gimmicks such as the Kayak Queens-- basically she took her kayak and went out on the Alabama River- whirlpools, filth, and all.

Trish hails from California where she is first generation Irish-American, the daughter of strawberry pickers. She went to USC where she fought against Reagan back in the 80s to get(successfully) military recruiters off of the campus. She then became a journalist, went to Latin America, and became involved with the Sandinistas. What a life. She is also made of steel. I remember once, when we went into a very bad neighborhood over in Montgomery,( I think Smiley Court) to investigate the boy whose legs were broken by the police and the SUV and honey I was as uncomfortable as shit, looking over my shoulder every five seconds looking for the next drive by( I have had to overcome a lot of my bs factor) and Trish was just as cool as a cucumber, sitting on the curb outside of one of the project buildings. I suppose when you have been up against the Contras, Montgomery is nothing. Hmmm. Anyway, Trish is fabulous, and really my first introduction into serious activism and activist work. I wish her well.

Just recently Hermes in Paris refused to Let Oprah come in for some shopping. You can read the story

here

My thoughts are dont fuck with Oprah, she will have your ass one way or another. I love Oprah Winfrey. I used to sit on the fence about her, loving some of her stuff and then sometimes thinking she was phony, but Oprah is quite a progressive, and beautiful soul--- and she cuts right to the chase and to the core digging in with her own personal agenda with the greatest subtlety. The woman has two billion dollars, is the richest woman in the entertainment industry and is one of the most powerful in the world. Plus she's Black. Don't mess with Oprah.

I picked up an issue of her magazine(my grandmother gets it) and read a wonderful interview that she did with Stevie Wonder-- it was great and I came from it with the deepest, sincerest respect for both of them. You can read that interview

here

My father just had hernia surgery and has to stay in the bed now. He is getting depressed. I need to find something for him to do. My mother will hopefully get the phone jack in their room repaired so he can talk on the phone as well. My father is such a strong man, beautiful too.

My grandmother is 85 years old. A woman of many talents, she cannot do what she once did. My grandmother's M.O. has been, perhaps all of her adult life, to be "the housewife," cook, clean, take care of HER household and look after the well being of the people in it. Now that she is older and she can't do that so much anymore, it bothers her. Now, when my grandmother attempts to do laundry, everything gets thrown into the machine together- dish cloths, towels, clothes, the works. So therefore, when I am here, I try to take over the laundry-- but you have to beat her to it, for she wants to do it herself ( I myself like to do things myself-- If I can't do it then I dont want it done). So this morning she slipped into the laundry room ( I had accidentally left the detergent out) and put herself on a load of clothes, determined to get it done. Mind you, some of them were clean-- these days she just puts stuff in the washing machine).

So, when I went behind her and pulled the clothes out of the machine(wet) to start them over and separate the clothes from other stuff, and by color, she sooo got mad. Well, there wasn't much she could do so she went and sat down. So I did that and went and started doing something else. My grandmother is definitely something else--- and will get what she wants the way she wants it, for when I went back to put the laundry in the dryer, I saw where she had slipped a few white clothes back into the machine with the dark clothes that I had washing. Well then. I think the word to use is spunk.

Coming out Colored has an interesting post on memes and racism.
Here

Why are they killing Americans along the Mexican border? Wow. I find that absolutely interesting and it paints sort of a picture for me that is something that is only concocted in the movies. I wonder what is going on there, especially as Tony Garza, the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico has o.k'd a

travel warning

issued by the State Department. Building on my previous blog, this creates a very interesting picture in my head of what is going on.

As the U.S. moves further and further into a conservative, right-wing base-- as I said beginning to show its true colors in regards to it's "liberalism" and "tolerance,"(why am I smiling) towards the non-white- non-anglo saxon- non-protestant- threatening to the white male power structure population ( for whatever reason, whether it be because of their paranoia or simply because they have pissed them off so much that now they want to kick their ass),we have these occurring--American culture is just going to hell,access to safe, legal abortion and reproductive healthcare information is being widdled away, gays might as well zip it up and give up the ghost because its over for them, and other minorities will simply be re-sent to the back of the bus( or god forbid-- in light of Margaret Atwood's visions--to some toxic waste dump. As this is happening internally the U.S. (in all its glory) is faced with whomever it might be(cause I for one do not take the word of the great white father as gold) that is blowing up the twin towers and causing turmoil and wreaking havoc in the American Empire and on American interests around the globe. Oh my, it is something to witness. What is truly going on?

Rich Lowry, the cute but stupidly evil columnist and political scientist, speask today of the cadre of "desperately flailing, flummoxed, anti-Bushies" who are going after John Roberts in an order to arrest Bush's attempt to move the Supreme Court to the right ( and that is what it is). He is of course, quite right. These people have lost that battle and this country is going to head down the golden brick road to hell. Liberals are as weak as water these days, but it is all a part of this country beginning to show its true colors.

I was always the kid in the classroom who never stood for the pledge. If I did, I would pledge allegiance to a different country every time and make it up myself. A: I didn't like being told to do something like that, B: I thought it was stupid, especially that everybody did it, and then C. I had an imagination and I liked to use it, and practices like that do not encourage the use of imagination.

This summer, before I left Lafayette, I read bell hook's Where We Stand: Class Matters and Bone Black, then I read Paul Robeson's Here I Stand (my gift from LAPC), and then Jane Fonda's Autobiography.

I absolutely love Debarge and have always loved Debarge since the 80s. I dont know, but I do.

I can't believe I moved this close to Chicago and can't hear the Tom Joyner Morning show ( I have bitched about this before to some people). I listened to Tom Joyner every morning before I moved to Lafayette and have been listening to Tom since not only did he have hair, but had an afro. I want my TJMS!

I am remembering when we used to live in Harvey and my sister and I would wake up in the mornings (after my mother had left for work) and get ready for school listening to the Tom Joyner Morning show. Then we would walk down to Mrs. Cobbins' house and Nikki and Tony ( a girl) would walk to school after Tony finished blowdrying her hair and then Mrs. Cobbins would take Patricia and I to school Patricia was a cow, but it was a nice time.

I am tired of hearing about Natalie Holloway. If she were of color or not a white girl, we would never have heard of her. We don't need to hear of her either.

I wonder how it is that I find myself liking some of the things that Dr. James Dobson has to say? Alas, I wonder why I am not hearing these things come from the left?

Eh, I will be returning to Lafayette in a few days. It should be interesting. I talked to Shannon. She is in Nebraska right now. It is interesting where life takes people.

I have been meaning to blog about this for a while. As much as I can't stand Condoleeza Rice, we do LOVE her cousin Connie Rice with the Advancement Project. She is a most progressive and interesting spirit. I would love to work with her or be involved with her work in some way. She is absolutely great!

I had forgotten my mother has stepsisters. Never really thought about it. I have only met them once. Its just interesting and I never thought about it. My grandmother and all but one of her sisters are divorcees. The two brothers never divorced. My grandmother divorced once and was widowed once, my aunt Earnestine divorced, was widowed, and then divorced again ( and has step children), Aunt Johnnie divorced and has step children ( who are Freda's half siblings),Aunt Bertie was widowed (by Fess), Aunt Sadie divorced, and Aunt Betty divorced. Interesting trends.....

It truly is something else to be a DeRamus. To be a Deramus meant, for me, that people knew who you were and old women beckoned you to come and sit on their laps and there was a name and an acknowledgement that proceeded you. If nothing else, I knew, have always known and been aware of the fact that my great grandfather's name was John Archie DeRamus.Indeed, for my grandmother and her sisters, it was something else to be "One of the DeRamus girls." To be one meant that you were educated, you had status, people showed respect and admiration.

Indeed, there has always been this sort of interesting air surrounding "being a DeRamus," it provides a sense of kinship and the closest thing that I have ever come to identifying as loyalty, and it also beckons one to carry out that legacy with the bearings of dignity and grace. It borders on being something patriarchal, but it isn't.I believe it is something beautiful, interesting, and very fine. To add to that, it is also something else to be one of Morgan Goodson's descendants. if you go to Autuaga County and talk to the older people, those who have been there for a while, they know that name and they respect it. Morgan Goodson was a bold, fierce, and industrious man who provided a legacy for his children and who commanded and demanded respect from the community. They said that Morgan Goodson knew more about the law than any other man in the county. If you needed advice go to him. They also said that he was a soothsayer and could tell the future. People feared him a bit because he had red eyes.

On the other hand, my great-grandfather John Archie was a meek and mild man,who again was respected and truly admired throughout the community. He was a farmer who had a comfortable living, he had the first of a lot of things in the community, and he sent his children to school. John Archie was meek and mild perhaps after he was married. When he married my great-grandmother, it is said that he was quite stuck into some very bad habits and ways and held to some notions that she shed from him quickly. One incident I have heard recounted is that one time my great grandfather told my great grandmother to do something around the house. He came back a bit later and she hadn't done it, so he hit her. They say my great-grandmother picked up a log and proceeded to knock him unconscious. After a while, his sister and others came running up the road to check on him. His sister said to her, " Sissy, you hit your John? I would never hit my John ( she was also married to a John)." My great-grandmother is to have said, " I will not only hit my John, I will kill my John." That was the end of that.

How dare the British police use "an investigation of terrorism" as an excuse to let their racism show through. They should be castrated and the family of that Brazilian should be the one's to do it. Alas, I think the entire situtation, with both Britian and the U.S. is highly intriguing. In the words of Nikki Giovanni, " You are no longer the big bad sherrif on your faggoty white horse, you are the Indian you so disdain."

I want to blog about something that is pressing against my mind. Everytime I talk to a man does not mean that I am looking for a relationship. Sometimes I just want to fuck. This country and the people in this country are becoming ever more conservative (populations truly do move as a monolith).

I don't know why people have the mindset that everyone needs to WANT a boyfriend, or needs to be looking for one, or needs to be in that mindset to express interest in someone. I believe in being free, and I believe in being liberated to live as you please. And that means when I want to have sex, I am looking for sex, and when I am interested in more than that then I am. Alas, even if I am interested in more than just making use of your body, that doesn't mean that I am looking for any kind of commitment. What ever happened to people like Germaine Greer or Alice Walker who moved freely and in directios in which they were led by their wants and desires and not by any set conventions?

I believe in blending, connecting,appreciating and allowing for that to grow and nurture or to fade away like two ships that just meet briefly out at sea. I have never been in love with anyone (although some people may think that I have been in love with them). More often than not when I meet men (and somewhat, people, for that matter), I am bored with you after about the first five minutes of conversation and am really no longer paying attention, probably looking for a way to depart. I don't say that as a way to be mean or anything, but most of the men I have encountered simply do not captivate me. Of the men I have been involved with,Kelly was very sweet,very reserved and conservative-- I enjoyed him.

Anatoli was strictly sex, I enjoyed his dick ( and still desire to sometimes)and though he completely satisfied me sexually and we do get along as friends, he does not intrigue me. Alas, (I love Anatoli) most times he would tell me that I was too much of a radical and ask me why I was so much into Angela Davis and her communism. So much for spiritual and intellectual connection. That is what truly makes the difference between someone to love and someone with which you enjoy something else ( be that friendship or sex or whatever). Charles was really sweet and I totally relish the experience that I had of being involved with him. He was a friend and we blended totally-- with music, with dancing, with talking, and with beautiful sex. He was a breath of fresh air that I definitely needed. A beautiful dance that I enjoyed while the music lasted.

Alas, I don't need anyone to hold my hand, and I do believe indeed that there is a serious problem in this country and with the people in it. You cannot and really don't need to be involved with ANYONE until you can walk on your own two feet and be One with yourself. I don't need anyone to hang on to. However, I must admit that I have followed a bit too much along the lines of my Aunt Betty's sage advice that "You don't need a man- you can make one, you just can't blow any breath in him." I don't think it is necessary to dehumanize.

Alas, companionship is nice, and it is something that is sweet and very good to have. However, if that was all I wanted out of this world( or out of a person), I would by a dog. Appreciation is something totally different.

To write some more about me. I have always, at least for along time, existed in a duality( in essence, my double consciousness). One of the core dualities that define me is being an artist and being intellectual and and engaging in intellectual endeavours. I believe the two are profoundly connected at the root and together, they define me. I am an artist and I am intellectual. First and foremost in my self-definitions, I am a writer. Therefore, I believe that comes first. I am a writer. I am a writer and I make use of words to express my thoughts and in pursuit of my explorations of the world and the ideas that behoove me. I thrive on creativity. I have the feeling that something is in store for me and I must wait for what that might be to be revealed. I want to be known, I want to be published, and I want my words to reach people and carry through into their lives and into the greater human existence. I remain and give my total dedication to my craft. I want to bring out the wizadry in my words.

I am not an American. I am Afro-American.

It is an interesting, terribly wicked experience that Black women had in the south and the situations that arose out of them. My cousin Cottie's experiences sit on my mind at the moment. Her mother was my great-grandfather's sister, who's name does not come to me at the moment. As a young woman, she worked as an assistant to a white doctor, basically as a maid. She turned up pregnant, with my cousin Cottie. It was a dangerous thing for women of color to work in white homes and work for-be in the presence of white men, because rape was prevalent and they were at the complete and total mercy of these men. The numbers of Black women working as maids who took home mulatto children afterwards is quite considerable; it did not stop with the plantations.

Alas, my great-grandfather, as most were not able to back then, vowed that "his daughter's would never work in any white man's kitchen." Also, it is said that he never let any white men into his house (perhaps the only white person allowed in his house was his mother-in-law, my great-great-great grandmother Caroline Roper).

To compound these blighted tales, you also have the conundrum that is the most awful legacy of these events. To these white men, these women were all at their mercy, and that included all, even the one's that they produced themselves.

Another slightly different story is that of my Cousin Lillian and her siblings. Now I am totally wicked and going to hell, but I will get to that later. Anyway, Cousin Lillian was a dear old woman, she died at 99 years old a few years ago, and was still here in all of her glory, mind and all. Her grandfather was the founder of the town that my maternal family hail's from,Daniel Pratt. She did not want to hear that one,Her blue eyes would get red hot when that subject came up. Anyway, Daniel Pratt fathered Cousin Lillian's father ( and appropriately, allowed him and all of his descenedants to be buried in the Pratt family cemetary. Oh how wonderful are white folks.)and a few years later, his white son(Lillian's uncle), fathered Lillian's sister by her mother. That too, is an interesting situation. Not quite the same, but indeed interesting.

Anyway, I am totally going to hell. Every summer they would cart Cousin Lillian out at the founder's day celebration and have her talk about the early history of the town and all that jazz. Anyway, Daniel Pratt's other descendants in the town, the white ones, were quite active and around. Among these was my ninth grade math teacher, Mrs. Bugay. Mrs. Bugay was fabulous, love her to death. She is absolutely a classy act. But still, I had to. So one day, I was in the hall, going somewhere and Mrs. Bugay was on her way somewhere too. We stopped to talk and I decided that I was going to be a bit mischevious. So at one point, I chimed in, "Oh, and Mrs. Bugay, I know one of your cousins." " Oh you do?" She chimed in in response. I said, " Why yes, Lillian Gholson." Her response, " Oh why yes, I know Ms. Lillian. She's a sweet old lady." She handled that one with much class. I love Mrs. Bugay. Anyway, oh the tangled webs.

I Hope to Shout

This post is about my dear,late cousin Henria who died a few years ago. She was quite an interesting character. The only black square dancer I have ever heard of, she lived in Idaho, where she taught, and was in Milwaukee living with her mother, my cousin Cottie. The experience meeting her was one that stays with me with such permanence because of A. the events that took place and B. the fact that she died that next summer.

It was Thanksgiving when we drove from Chicago to Milwaukee so that my grandmother and my aunt Earnestine could see their cousin, whom they had not seen in more than half a century. My aunt Earnestine maintained a correspondence with Cousin Cottie, and occassionally there were phone calls exchanged between the three. Cottie, who is about the same age as Aunt Earnestine, which would make her now about 88, moved away in the late 40s with her Lutheran minister husband, never to return to the South. There is a story there and I will get to it later.

My mother and Henria, who had known each other briefly as children, bonded immediately and hit it off so well it was like two sisters connecting with one another. Henria would do my mother's hair and they would talk and talk and talk, and take us for long walks around the parsonage where she stayed with Cousin Cottie and the Reverend, who was ill. At that time,Henria wanted to know from my mother two things-A. Was her mother's father a white man and B. What was the deep dark secret that her mother was keeping and that had kept her from going south or telling her Children anything about their family and heritage. My mother, knowledgeable about all of these things (as were the rest of us who were there in the house, except Henria-- and the little children) told her that yes her mother had a secret, but that it wasnt her place to tell her. She also told her that yes, her mother's father was a white man. (Cousin Cottie is soo fair she is almost transparent. She is one of those that is whiter than white people, and you can tell that they are mixed, although others might mistake them for white, if they don't know any better.

My cousin Cottie left the South to escape her nebulous heritage( especially with the tale tale of her color and the fact that people in the community knew who she was)as well as to escape something else. The deep dark secret that she never told her daughters and that really was the reason that she left the South is that her first cousin (also my Grandmother's first cousin), I suppose I need to stop using names, but anyway, her cousin left home and went to Florida where Cottie was living with her husband, Reverend Grigsby.

After a while, Cottie was ready for her to leave. She didn't. Little did she know, this cousin of hers and her husband, the reverend, were having an affair. She wrote endless letters to her aunt to call for this girl to come home, but she didn't leave until she came up pregnant. The child she had now lives in Colorado and does well for herself. She also, this cousin, sort cleaned up the situation by passing the child off as her later husband's( who just happens to be my grandmother's other first cousin, on her mother's side). Well, that sure made for some uncomfortable situations and also was the reason why Cottie never told her children anything about where she came from or who her people were. Alas, I am quite sure that there was some tension and some held breaths back in the mid 80s when cousin Cottie dared to go to a family reunion and who just happened to climb into the elevator with Cottie and one of her other daughters, but Cousin X and her daughter, the other daughter of the Reverend Grigsby. I find it quite sad that Henria went to her grave wondering about those things. It all does seem a bit foolish.

Alas, another situation to arise out of this quagmire occurred back in the early seventies when the other daughter of Grigsby was just out of college, had moved to Chicago to get her start and my grandmother was recruited to show her around and help her get comfortable. What happened, do you guess? Not long after that moved, the other daughter found out that Uncle Amos was not her daddy and that Reverend Grigsby was. Cousin L hit the roof and called my grandmother and blessed her out. My grandmother was bawling. My aunt Johnnie ( the vixen that she was, and that's a good thing) picked up the phone and called Cousin L and gave her a few choice words. Who might have told the big secret? Cousin L's sister, my cousin Fannie ( who is fabulous and runs the People's History Museum in Prattville Alabama. She is still going at 84 years old). What a little mess that was.

Anyway, I don't know why I blogged about this, but I was thinking about Henria. She used to have this phrase, "I hope to shout," that she would say all of the time. She was a beautiful creature. Definitely an interesting presence in the world.

Poor Eleanor Clift, she always has to fight to speak on the Maclaughclin group. ( I know I didnt spell that right).

The Roberts Nomination

What I have observed with the Roberts nomination is that, with Bush's nomination of Roberts, he went with his ideology and his home base instead of embracing the choice that Liberals (god forbid) and others would have been more comfortable with, Gonzalez. I think it says something.

What I learned today/ Indiana Isn't that Bad

From a conversation I had today, I discovered that Shirley Graham Dubois, the wife of W.E.B. DuBois, is from Indianapolis. Quite interesting. Indiana is not all that bad,especially where white folks are NOT of concern. I am aware and have known that there was (and perhaps is?) quite a scene in this state. Haki Madhabuti is in Gary, the Black Panthers were in Gary and Indianapolis, Nikki Giovanni was in Kokomo, and one of Lena Horne's uncle's published a Black newspaper out of Indianapolis. The National Black Caucus was here ( with Jesse, et al) back in the late 70s, and one cannot fail to mention the history of the Mennonites, the Quakers, and other progressives in this state.

I thought it would be most magnificent, and quite a positive thing to do, to make a list of the people whom I feel are important, progressive people that if not known by all, should be. I will just list names and perhaps a little bit about them, as I dont feel like doing much right now, but I will probably do more later.

Dr. John Henrik Clarke, professor
Angela Davis, professor, activist
Barbra Streisand, singer, activist, leftist fundraiser
June Jordan, poet, major castrator
Nikki Giovanni, poet, major castrator
Amiri Baraka, poet, revolutionary activist
Haki Madhibuti (Don L. Lee), poet
Maya Angelou, poet, activist, advisor to the black billionare Oprah ( go girl)
Jane Fonda, actress, activist, humanitarian
Bettina Aptheker, professor, activist, daughter of Herbert Aptheker and friend of Angela Davis
Hanan Ashwari, Palestinian activist and politician
bell hooks, academic, intellectual, radical progressive
Elaine Brown, former Chairwoman of the Black Panther party, academic, author
Huey P. Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party,intellectual
Stokely Carmichael, SNCC leader, Black Panther, intellectual, Revolutionary
Martin Luther King, progressive,Nobel Prize recipient, in his later days radical thinker
Bayard Rustin, activist
Josephine Baker, singer, activist, progressive radical thinker
Nina Simone, singer, activist, major castrator
Lorraine Hansberry, radically progressive playwright
Howard Zinn, historian, author, public speaker, radical progressive
Alice Walker, Zinn's student, author, radical progressive
Assata Shakur, activist, author, former political prisoner persecuted by the U.S.
George Jackson, prisoner, political activist, author, radical progressive, assassinated by American racists.
Aime Cesaire, author, progressive
Franz Fanon, author, radical progressive
Toni Morrison, author
Derrick Jensen, radical progressive, professor
Sonia Sanchez, poet, radical progressive
Al Sharpton, former presidential candidate, radical progressive
Jesse Jackson, former presidential candidate, progressive, powerful public voice
Ntzoke Shange, playwright
Paul Robeson, actor, singer, writer, political activist, radical progressive
Cesar Chavez, activist, progressive
Che Guevara, political philosopher, revolutionary
Gloria Steinem,journalist, progressive radical
Langston Hughes, poet, social activist
There are more to come.

The World I Want

Why can't Angela Davis be the secretary of state? The world would be so wonderful if it were run by( and in that case, I think they would not operate along the lines of "running" anything) Angela Davis, Alice Walker, Barbra Streisand, Audre Lorde, and Gloria Steinem. They would have a very large cabinet too. It is amazing and I still intend to write a paper about how two complete and total people such as Angela Davis and Condoleeza Rice could come from the same place, just about ten years a part from each other, and be who they are today. One, a progressive, the other serving as a face for evil ( Black people should be scared that now people can identify a black woman's face with this country's machinations). Oh what a world it would be though.... It puts in my mind a song I love so much "Everything," by Barbra

I want to learn what life is for
I don't want much, I just want more
Ask what I want and I will sing
I want everything,everything.

I'd cure the cold and the traffic jam
If there were floods I'd give a damn
I'd never sleep, I'd only sing,
let me do everything, everything.

I'd like to plan a city and play a cello,
Play at Monte Carlo, play Othello
Move into the White House and paint it Yellow
Speak Portuguese and Dutch, and if it's not too much
I'd like to have the perfect twin, One who'd go out as I came in
I've got to grab the big brass ring so I'll have everything,
everything
I'm like a child who's set free at the fun fair
Every ride invites me and it's unfair saying that I only
Get my one share doesn't seem just I could live as I must if they'd
Give me the time to turn the tide,
Give me the truth, if once I lied
Give me the strength that's gonna bring,
More of everything, More of Everything
Then I'll have Everything (Then I'll have everything)
Ev-er-y-th-ing OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Someone roughed Condie Rice up when she was over in the Sudan and she asked for an apology. I would have told that heifer to go to hell. My aunt should have drowned her when she was a little girl.

Why is it that leftist organizations only ask for money? I believe they would be a lot more effective and get a lot more done if they asked people ot do something, other than forward emails.

Personal Blogging/ My family

I am a lot who I am today because of my family, my background, and the environment and the times in which I grew up. Over the years, there have been occassions of people trying to rule over me, manipulate me, or simply totally disrespect me and I have reacted to that in fashion that is true to myself and responsive to my learned/acquired/ and personally developed since of ethics, beliefs, and ideas concerning everything.

Indeed, I have blogged before, that one of my earliest developments of this type was to my grandmother. When I was coming along, my grandmother would recount many things, among them how my mother, when she was in high school, at St. Michael's on the northside of Chicago, was involved in an incident in a classroom in which one of the Nun's tried to tell her that the reason she was black was because that god put a curse on her. My mother refuted this Nun's statement, and, on the adverse, told the nun that quite the opposite was true, that whites were white because of a curse God had placed on them. The nun, offended and apparently disgruntled at this little negro girl refuting her assured authority as a white woman and, I guess, as a nun, told my mother to leave the school and not come back until she had found solid evidence to back up her statements.

My grandmother frantically called Alabama to her father (an expert on the Bible, as it goes) and hastily sent my mother back with some passage somewhere about whatever it was about white people being cursed. Well, anyway, this nun from that point on did not like my mother ( and alas, the nuns at the school did not like my mother) and so when time came to get ready for colleges, my mother's first choice was Kentucky State. The nun', knowing this, in some manner or fashion refused to release my mother's records to the school. My mother ended up going to Miles in Birmingham instead. When my mother got wind of this and told my grandmother of what the nun's were doing, my grandmother told her that she should have "kept her mouth shut."

I wondered why my grandmother would tell me this, as I dont see it as anything to be proud of (and alas, she also recounted how one of her friends chastised her for not doing anything about the situation). I declared then and there, upon hearing this, that 1. If it had been me I would have torn that school up and then down again and my granmother would probably be seriously hurt and 2. That I would NEVER keep my mouth shut, that I would always speak my mind and be true to myself. My self. And although I have been guilty more than once and more often than not of NOT Speaking up (which is something that afflicts most minorities, and particularly Afro-Americans- bell hooks and others address this issue quite openly and with much serious discussion, it is a principle I strive to live by.

Alas, there have been several occassions in my growing up that stand as testatment to that fact. I rememeber quite vividly, a first incident when I was in the fifth grade, it is quite funny actually, when I was in class and had been talking to some boy (who was cute). Well, I had finished talking to him and had turned around to do something else. Then he decided to start hitting my ear with a pencil. Ok. Well, I asked him to please stop. Several times. Well, then I went to the teacher and told her to make him stop.

Her response to me began "Well, if you weren't such a ---, then he wouldn't..." I dont even think I heard the rest, because her response was not what I wanted to hear (which was to make this boy leave me alone for time time being)my mouth fell open that she wouldn't stop him, so I went back to my desk mad. I got out a sheet of paper and I started writing some stuff down about her ( and mind you she wasnt talking in a kidding manner either when she stated that if I wasnt such a ---" at anyrate, I remember I wrote down that she was a pharisee, and alas, some stupid children behind me started looking over my shoulder to see what I was doing, and when they saw that I was writing stuff about the teacher they snatched the paper from me and took it up to her. Whatever I wrote apparently made her mad as hell ( and (I remember calling her a pharisee, but I dont remember what else I wrote), but she came and grabbed my arm and started dragging me, telling me she was going to take me to the office.

Mind you, at this point, and in the whole incident, I wasn't so much upset about the boy hitting me with a pencil, I was upset because this woman, who was supposed to be teacher, wasn't gonna do anything about it. What the hell. Well, we got out into the hallway and I started yelling something at the top of my lungs and yelled from her door all the way to the office and into the principal's office, which was at least a good ten minutes. So anyway, what happened was this woman finally had to admit that she was in the wrong for not doing anything about the boy sitting behind me. Now, we had gotten along great up until that point, were almost buddy buddy, me and this teacher were. Well, anyway, what happened was she admitted that she was wrong and by that time she had made me miss my bus so she had to drive me home. The incident was never mentioned again. I often see this woman a lot, as her aunt is a friend of my mother's and she is married to one of the local car dealers. We don't have much to say to each other. but she learned.

Again, when I was in high school, another incident occured. I was in french class, the worst class in the school as no one could learn anything in that room because one the teacher didnt know anything and two she couldnt control her classroom. Anyway, the teacher just happened to be absent that day and we were watching some film. A group of boys were sitting in the back of the classroom ( white boys) and decided they were going to throw pencils and crap up to the front of the room. Well, they hit me with one of them and I asked the substitute to make them stop. She replied to me that "She couldnt do anything about it." And I looked at her with a look that said "well then, what in the hell are you here for?"

So, I decided that I could. The boys got confrontational after a while and I don't remember what happened in the meantime, but I do remember that after an exchange I slapped the taste out of one them. At that point, a fight ensued and my glasses were broken and we were tussling on the floor. I decided that I was not going to fight with this person, so I walked up to the vice principal's office and told him what happened ( I was freshman,I didn't know who this man was). Well, he told me, that "he couldn't do anyhting about it except send both of us to alternative school." I looked at him and I said, " well, I know what I can do, I can call my mama."

So I picked up his phone and called my mother in my mad,frantic state (which was heard throughout the office)and I remember distinctly saying to her, " Mama, this so-called Vice Principal is sitting up here and tells me he can send me to alternative school). My mother really is a lioness about her cubs, for sure. I never had to fight, I had a mother and a sister, who were both strong enough to take on grown men, but more about that later. Well, anyway, the boy had to pay for my glasses, but I am just relaying this to say that I have never been one to shut my mouth or let anyone try to walk over me. I suppose sometimes that can make me mean, and possibly evil, but I for one, refuse.

That also leads to the other incident that my grandmother recalled to me, that I found troubling. When the white superintendent fired my grandmother, harrassed my Aunt Bertie, and demoted my Aunt Earnestine from a principal after my Uncle Fess' death as his sort of revenge on the man whom he could not stand, but could not deal with while he was alive,my grandmother refused to fight this. Alas, I do realize it was 1963 and in Alabama, but alas, I would have raised hell. And if my grandmother had had any of her brother in her, she would have done a bit more than raise hell ( I have blogged about my Uncle Lawrence before).

Perhaps I have a bit too much Goodson blood in my system for my own good. They say Morgan Goodson was the meanest man in Autauga County. It is not good to be mean, and I try not to be, really really hard, and sometimes have to catch myself ( or be reminded), and I really really want and hope to be open and loving and caring, and not hard and not mean. But I will cut your throat if I have to. It is hard to maintain a balance, to protect oneself and maintain integrity and spirit in the face of a racist, hostile society while continuing to see the humanity in people, and be loving, and trying to share the spirit with all people,embracing the world. God grant me the strength.

Interesting that at the same time that CNN reports the nomination of John Roberts to the Supreme Court, CNN runs a headline : White Alligator in Legal Limbo. These people kill me.

My grandmother is trapped in the prison of her own domesticity. I feel sorry for her.

Ashley's dog cries to be let inside the house. Although he substitutes being held sometimes.

My grandmother is a poet who prefers the confines of domesticity. She is a gifted orator and writes plays and recites poetry.She could have done so much more if she had wanted.

House By The Side of the Road

They recited this poem at my aunt Bertie's funeral when I was five years old. I have always remembered it.

THERE are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat
Nor hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.