Sweet Medicine

You don't have to understand me

Darling, it's enough that your here

And you don't have to fix me, baby

It's enough that you care

The presence of your voice

It washes over me like rain

And the quiet warmth in your smile

It eases all my pain

Oooh, baby

Your love sets me free

Oooh , baby

You are sweet medicine to me

Oooh, baby

Your love is strong to me

Oooh , baby

Like the sweetest melody

 You don't need to have my wounds

to know how to care for me

We know I've been badly bruised

Baby, you just got to love me

I got eyes like steel 

And a heart so buried down

It took the miracle of your love, boy

To show me I could be found

And

Oooh, baby

Your love sets me free

Oooh , baby

You are sweet medicine to me

Oooh, baby

Your kind of love is healing

Oooh, baby

You got me back with the living

You just love me, love me right

Care for me, I will be all right

In the night I'll cry it out,

if you be that strong man

that I never knew I couldn't 

do without! Yeah

I was forged by sorrow

But I'm still a woman, dear

I am filled with the deepest ocean

But too hard to shed a tear

Open up your sweet brown arms

I'm coming home

I'll give you all that I am

And you'll never have to be alone

Oooh, baby

Your love sets me free

Oooh , baby

You are sweet medicine to me

Oooh, baby

Your love sets me free

Oooh , baby

You are sweet medicine to me

This website deserves its own special post.

Black People Love Us 

Here's why I like it:

Because I did not grow up in Santa Cruz.

I grew up in Sacramento, the Oak Park neighborhood in particular.

And the stuff that comes out of the mouths of these Santa Cruz residents astounds me.
It is the epitome of the unconscious racism of privileged white people.

And it grates on my nerves. I can't imagine being black and having to deal with it.

Like, greeting a black person you happen to have a context with (say, work) with "Hey, homey!" Even if said black person is bougie as hell (yuppie-ish). Sometimes followed up with a

 Or the ever-so-obnoxious touch/pet/etc. of a black person. Is this a friendly gesture? Because it's coming across like an invasive intrusion of personal space. Would you do this:

This website deserves its own special post.

Black People Love Us 

Here's why I like it:

Because I did not grow up in Santa Cruz.

I grew up in Sacramento, the Oak Park neighborhood in particular.

And the stuff that comes out of the mouths of these Santa Cruz residents astounds me.
It is the epitome of the unconscious racism of privileged white people.

And it grates on my nerves. I can't imagine being black and having to deal with it.

Like, greeting a black person you happen to have a context with (say, work) with "Hey, homey!"

Or the ever-so-obnoxious touch/pet/etc. of a black person. Is this a friendly gesture? Because it's coming across like an invasive intrusion of personal space. Would you do this:

Or, dear Lord, the fucking fist bump. Or whatever you call it.

And no. You will never-
never ever ever ever ever ever
have a good excuse to use the "n" word.
Not even if you marry a black person.
Not even if you go to Africa and donate all your organs.

And certainly not if your quoting a Dave Chappelle skit to a group of people.


I can't quite put it into words, the subtly pervasive racism that I see everyday here in this town, a town that prides itself on being so "worldly" and open and inclusive.

At least when a bigot comes at you, you know what your dealing with and can prepare yourself.
But here, I see white fumbling over themselves to be-friend the token black guy.

Why is that a bad thing? --You ask.

Let me tell you why, because they're not befriending the person, they're befriending the color of the skin and all the stereotypes they are assuming about the person based on those stereotypes.

They're befriending the one black person at the party (or whatever) because they are going to be able to parade they're black person around like a trophy

The Frenchy Post

Got introduced to some good French music, thought I'd blog it for safe keeping later.

And to be honest, I'd like to say its to pass on the amazing find to you, the viewer, but really, I blog or post music so I can come back to it later. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. 

So if you don't like, tough titties. 

Hmmm, wonder what'd happen if I googled "tough titties"... let's see

hehehehe! That's pretty funny.....

All Right! Enough of this shenanigans! 

Onward to the music!

......

Peut-être mon cœur a trop de cicatrices. Je suis trop marqué pour être aimé.

Lover's Rock

Johnny Nash


Errol Dunkley

I Am Grateful.

For:

Soul Music

Real Friends

Food!!!

Mystery/Fate/Destiny

AND YOU!
Happy Thanksgiving to all my readers!!!!

Johnny Cash

Adam Sandler's Turkey Song

And just my two cents worth:

When your decorating up the house with that old Indian/Pilgrim story stuff:

1. For Indians- Giving Thanks is all 365 days of the year.

 Oneida Elder thanksgiving

Also, the real story of Thanksgiving is quite different.

And so, the Indian experience of this day has/can be quite a different one than mainstream/white America

Does this mean that we should throw away a holiday that can bring people together in gratitude?

Certainly not,

but we should not enter into this day blindly.

We should have our eyes wide open to where it comes from.

We should know the truth. We should see it clearly, be critical.

Not swallow whatever "stories" are put before us, presented as "history".

We should know, so that,

not only will we never allow it to happen again, but,

also be able to recognize where similar experiences are occurring right here, in our present time.

From a place of knowledge we can create a future far more powerful than any built on lies.

Gratitude is one of our most powerful tools.

Its a precious thing.

I am grateful for knowledge.

May your day be blessed, bountiful, and beautiful.

And the warmth generated from this day extend throughout all your days thereafter.

To Know Better

To Know Better

dusk roses rise up remembering.

blood still singing like razors, 

razor me,

                        mother.

girl mouth whispers

at white lace

billowing against foreign window frames

newhomenewhomenewhome

same

fear

let no child from my body suffer.

a billion islands of cells quilted with

ancestral memory

Someone must have known

the miracle.

One day

these hands past

will

heal, hold, love,

cherish and burn up in

the most sacred devotion.

I feel the razor.

The razor stops with me.

I will feel the wonder.

I will know.

Yeah, that was cool.

Mellow formed against his side, it curved calm, and rode through waves of old wounds
with large dark hands and a lopsided grin.
a relaxing into it.

A strange one. Cut like the cloth of me.

(this is a great song, kinda weird video!!!)


sighs stutter out,
I don't know, but, I know it's gonna be all right.

Hey There

salt shivershake 

                       wait.

tender dangling with organs on meat hooks

Everything is on the plate

                        wait.

Cast aside flesh,

carve out the wounds

that keep the fruit at bay

Burn up like a lusty suicide.

dust falls from books

falling into books, 

                           no looks.

                           wait.

take my skin back in

swallow this suffering sun

beating out a pulse 

 tired.

and waiting.

and two steps from running.

October 1963

This speech was delivered in October 1963 before the United Nations:

"Last May, in Addis Ababa, I convened a meeting of Heads of African States and Governments. In three days, the thirty-two nations represented at that Conference demonstrated to the world that when the will and the determination exist, nations and peoples of diverse backgrounds can and will work together. In unity, to the achievement of common goals and the assurance of that equality and brotherhood which we desire.On the question of racial discrimination, the Addis Ababa Conference taught, to those who will learn, this further lesson: That until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned; That until there are no longer first-class and second-class citizens of any nation; That until the color of a man's skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes; That until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all without regard to race; That until that day, the dream of lasting peace and world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion, to be pursued but never attained; And until the ignoble and unhappy regimes that hold our brothers in Angola, in Mozambique and in South Africa in subhuman bondage have been toppled and destroyed; Until bigotry and prejudice and malicious and inhuman self-interest have been replaced by understanding and tolerance and good-will; Until all Africans stand and speak as free beings, equal in the eyes of all men, as they are in the eyes of Heaven; Until that day, the African continent will not know peace. We Africans will fight, if necessary, and we know that we shall win, as we are confident in the victory of good over evil."

----Haile Selassie I (1892–1975)

So,....

is it wisdom or fear?

coloring my

confused face

beautiful breath coming down

a wide smile from years ago.

There are ancestors 

awake and whispering

Yes, Lord.

And I have been 

pushed to breaking

I may be dead

if I continue marching,

solitary and strong,

rotting behind this battlefield 

we call 

ghetto youth survival core

I feel inevitable

the stray statistic

your arms,

your arms,

are they my shape?

Do you dance 

or am I

just dreaming again?

Ghetto Stories

Once upon a time in the ghetto...

My first boyfriend lived across the street from me. His name was Sheldon. He was adorable.

He was American Indian, half Canadian Indian and half California Indian (Yurok/Koruk).

When your brown skinned in the ghetto, everyone assumes you must be Mexican. He wasn't.

Still, he found his way into the gang.

We lived in an area notoriously heavy with gang activity. It didn't take him long before he was writing me love letters from C.Y.A.

Before that, he was on house arrest. He would write to me and tell me how he wanted to rip off his ankle bracelet and come see me.

He was fourteen.

He was my first kiss.

Slim Smith, Cornell Campbell

 Slim Smith

---Rougher Yet


---Sitting In The Park


Cornell Campbell

---Please Don't Go


---You Don't Care For Me

Screw this.

tumble down tongues,
throw my eyes back to Ireland.
White t-shirts on
sandy colored skin
curving her silhouette
a peep show peering
hidden under folds of homeboy gear

He writes from Y.A.
like love bars

All your statues
can not stand
next to my nightmares.

You have the skin
but I have the scars

Ditto.

Silence breaking
across DNA, a liquid legacy
que weda
tu sabes? una cosa sola?
and the
rich white girl?
I am the rock under her feet.
Not the feet.

I know the taste of your flesh
Brown.
Delicious
like survival.

Is she warm too?
White and wide
like a mountain.
Does she do it well?
a quiet saint, a wet virgin
Holy and whole
And
clean.

My love
is
obscene.

For the smallest crack
take your sacred gaze
and
forget me.

Fuck these risks.
The poem I delivered.
The heavy heart.

I'll raise your babies.
And remember my ghetto.
singing scars,
in
lowrider cars.

My battle
beats
in
another day
where
my smile has thrived.