Selfies Gone Too Far: Kara Walkers Mamie Sphinx Art Installation in Brooklyn

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Selfies Gone Too Far: Kara Walkers Mamie Sphinx Art Installation in Brooklyn

To any white person reading this I have such a strong interest in checking folks that are willfully ignorant. I will not blame myself for what is blatant racism enacted against me and other people of color in these photos. I am not concerned with ‘not blaming all white people’ as if people of color have no discernment of such things. In the liberated words of Nayyirah Washed-most white people can’t handle the truth of racism. The pains of having the truth of racism confront them directly, is shattering to the safety of their beliefs, and instead of grappling with this; they give it to us to do for them. And frankly if our comments on the subject fucked you up-it’s yours to deal with, absolutely, unequivocally not our concern. Tyrone and those alike on this post sounding like the unmitigated ignorance of Donald Sterling, know that, yes Kara Walker’s Mamie Sphinx installation is certainly about honoring black female bodies and clarifying the grossly misinterpreted history attached to them. Hell, proximity meant nothing when slave owners raped both female and male bodies to exercise their dominance, brutality and privilege over our bodies. There is nothing ‘funny’ about misguided ‘white hipsters’ and people of color taking insulting selfies in front of a deeply moving and historical artwork. I had a conversation about this with a friend of color that lives and BK before the installation went up, and they share a similar opinions on how the intentions of those in the community, despite the artists intention can be mostly damaged by the community that surrounds it. It makes me sick to see these images. I think that Kara Walker should allow the world to see how these folks treat history in regard to dark flesh by plastering their images all over the walls of the exhibit. Really draw on awareness from this buffoonery. -Gracie

Read full article: http://news.artnet.com/art-world/kara-walkers-sugar-sphinx-spawns-offensive-instagram-photos-29989#.U4pd4zub–p.facebook

Vagina on the Loose! Pussy Riot Poem by Lil Ole Me

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Vagina on the Loose!

Lets have a pussy riot, pussy! pussy! pussy! Lets reclaim our pussy’s power follow me! Squat like a frog with legs wide open and repeat after me, ‘our smells are gorgeous’! Our pussy’s are not supposed to smell like flowers or some cheap smelling fragrance gift basket that makes you smile-good. Truth is mine has never and will never smell like that! In fact more like yams, fuzzy with sprouts, sweat dripped, strong like an ox I carry my pussy on my back! Lets crouch in earnest for pussy’s that bleed every month. Heavy belly. Titties, a dangling, tender pouch of nerve’s. Tiny bowling balls stuck to the sides of neurotransmitters inside our skulls. Our bodies feel weak after long weeks and our moods stank and irritable and loose like bowels after red lentils. Clouds looming over sunshine. Face-frowned in a grumpy squeeze. Orange Moon Lined with Red River is near-is here. And on the topic this bloodied, trailing along the way, WHAT DO MEN EXPECT unfertilized, secreted ovum, filtered in darkness to smell LIKE? Frankly, SMELLS more like burned FISH FLESH with no air filter fresh. And menstruation has and agenda all its own, diarrhea, cramps, heavy soaking through every and anything-even on your best sheets or white pants. And men stop with your squeamish, dirty, slut shaming rhetoric when you see blood on the backs of our pants, on the sheets, on towels-get us new ones, or if in public whisper it politely in our ears letting us know-cause they say sharing is caring (we bleed-its natural). And women we MUST NEVER be ashamed of what abysmal anatomy is functioning from between our hips!

Say NO to these systems, auctioning for ownership over our pussy’s, and say YES to remembering the harshness and shame attached to them. Forgive those memories. Nurture your pussy’s back to health. Feel her pulse beating strong. Be gentle with yourself. Place one finger inside, now remove outside, draw in close to your nose, sense, sniff, embrace, taste, tangy, sweet, own it-it is yours! Lets riot in honor of all pussy’s; those assigned at birth, those unassigned, and those ambiguously assigned. And know this- we all possess the same power! And when he shouts obscenity’s like, ‘phuck yall pussys’, or ‘that teams a bunch of pussies’ to his phallic counter parts, remind him that the pussy’s he speaks so harshly against birthed his stank ass! Demand respect for your pussy’s! No matter if you wear tight skirts or no skirts at all, phuck lots of people or none at all, don’t be bullied- cause consent is sexy! Wine your pussy in some slow, sensual, gyrating motion saying phuck misogyny, phuck patriarchy, phuck any and all systems of violence oppressing and perpetuating crimes against pussy’s! Far too long our titties pulled, diseased and prodded, our orgasms plugged like hydrants, our lips bloodied and battered in silence, our smells, our fluids have been, considered unworthy and profane-the very sight of our pussy’s made even us sick. And starting this moment we change that! Let’s straddle thighs and bump into pussy madness! HOW HER PUSSY feels LIBERATES all THE feelings! Pussygasms evokes moans, twerks, screams, and grinds. Stand in pussyOvations from that which is ours. REDEFINE your PUSSY’S POWER however you want-do with your pussy whatever the phuck you want. Stacey Ann Chinn gave us a jump start she said, I’m a dyke that phucks men sometimes and yes-that’s the liberation from redefining I’m talking bout!

And He does not deem control over YOUR PUSSY’S VALUE OR STRENGTH, how yo pussy works, moves, or pleases. Your pussy’s value is in yo hands. Sip libations from pussy fountains. Heal yo self. Feast on pussy cupcakes-eat all you want! Eat cake for dear old Brendas, underpaid and overworked at Amtrak who offends easily from the sight of ‘i love female orgasm buttons’, and when asked, Brenda do you love your own orgasm, she confides in the saddest, NO. In fact in over 50-years I can’t even recall being intimate with my own pussy. Never understood what an orgasm should feel like, look like, smell like, taste like. Her very own orgasm had been lying dormant for so long that she  shamed herself and others for this, so long. Let’s riot for her and those alike! Lets lye in art and NEON paint all stretch marks, hills and valleys, black light those hips! Twerk all yo beautiful smells and ass oceans, cellulite into thick musky air, gorgeous-air. OPEN thighs in mirrors to EXAMINE. Behold whats both delicate and strong. Moist from her own finger tips-fists. Turned on by consent. We lye lined in birth blood positions in defense of those clitoris mutilated, lips duct taped, sexually violated, kidnapped, incest, date raped-molly’s slipped in drinks with no consent. Remember that these violent acts are meant to break us, so no this is no peaceful protests. Your dick will be compromised without our consent. And no we will not part step aside for you on the pavement. We have been moved, mistreated, misguided too long-you can move for us! Shutter at our wholeness. Let misogyny wilt away at our very nakedness, vulnerable pussy’s in all conditions from birth to arousal-menstruation to pungent smells after a long day of working single. We are strong, bold, love-spirits, mothers, daughters, sisters, partners, survivors, magicians, victims, sex workers, liberated pussy layers, thick, small, deep, drooped, asymmetrical, mangled, torn, wide, open, spread, closed, tight, hairy, bald, pierced, courageous, damn good. Our pussy’s are feminine on purpose. Our bodies -hair-limbs and breath on purpose. Our pussy’s are real in all its reproductive glory on purpose. Say it loud my pussy is proud! And check any and everyone who opposes yo pussy. -Gracie-Sleepy

Trust is Dignified

I was just thinking after a conversation I had with a friend about how even the strongest people have a desire to lose all inhibition sometimes. And how we tend to lose those inhibitions around the folks we trust the most. And that is a huge compliment to them because they’ve trusted us to take up space in their worlds unbeknownst to how our worlds will affect theirs. Giving us permission to let go for that very reason-trust.-Gracie

Don’t Ever Let Anyone Judge You Into Disgrace

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Don't Ever Let Anyone Judge You Into Disgrace

Don’t ever let anyone judge you into disgrace. The Judgement I’m thinking of is often linked to entitlement. The since of entitlement one feels over the actions of another and more importantly how those actions differ in their affects on people. We are all not exempt from their intensity or repercussion. People’s actions affect each other directly, indirectly, consciously, subconsciously and so on. There is no way to escape these things. And as a person that reaps the benefit of many privileges from the way I look to my able body I find that my judgments reflect those privileges. When I’m in the process of a judgmental thought, or in the act of judging someone, my heart rate increases and my entire body is filled with a euphoria warmly matching the effects of the narcotic percocet. Each corner of me is inflated with tiny variations of myself, hard and callused over. I distance myself from the intended target. Suddenly, I’m aware of my own privileges and my right to exercise them with a free hand and it sickens me. I’ve deemed them incapable of having any since of self awareness and my ‘remedy’ or ‘cure all’ is telling them what I see fit for them-and this is the biggest disgrace, not them, but I. Judgment in this fashion is harmful. It is not law and and creates opportunistic calamity’s to treat the choices of others as irrelevant or pathological. -Grace

“A woman can bare you. Break you. Take you.” Ladies First Queen Latifah and Monie Love

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The ladies will kick it the rhyme that is wicked
Those that don’t know how to be pros get evicted
A woman can bear you break you take you
Now it’s time to rhyme can you relate to
A sister dope enough to make you holler and scream

Ayo let me take it from here Queen excuse me but I think I’m about do
To get into precisely what I am about to do
I’m conversating to the folks that have no whatsoever clue
So listen very carefully as I break it down for you

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily hyper happy overjoyed
Pleased with all the beats and rhymes my sisters have employed
Slick and smooth throwing down the sound totally a yes
Let me state the position, ladies first, yes? Yes

Yeah, there’s going to be some changes in here

Believe me when I say being a woman is great, you see
I know all the fellas out there will agree with me
Not for being one but for being with one
Because when it’s time for loving it’s the woman that gets some

Strong, stepping, strutting, moving on
Rhyming, cutting, and not forgetting
We are the ones that give birth
To the new generation of prophets because it’s ladies first

I break into a lyrical freestyle
Grab the mic, look into the crowd and see smiles
‘Cause they see a woman standing up on her own two
Sloppy slouching is something I won’t do

Some think that we can’t flow stereotypes, they got to go
I’m a mess around and flip the scene into reverse
With what? With a little touch of ladies first

Who said the ladies couldn’t make it, you must be blind
If you don’t believe, well here, listen to this rhyme
Ladies first, there’s no time to rehearse
I’m divine and my mind expands throughout the universe

A female rapper with the message to send the
Queen Latifah is a perfect specimen
My sister, can I get some?
Sure, Monie Love, grab the mic and get dumb

Yo, praise me not for simply being what I am
Born in L O N D O N and sound American
You dig exactly where I’m coming from
You want righteous rhyming, I’m a give you some

To enable you to aid yourself and get paid
And the material that has no meaning I wish to slay
Pay me every bit of your attention
Like mother, like daughter, I would also like to mention

I wish for you to bring me to, bring me to the rhythm
Of which is now systematically given
Desperately stressing I’m the daughter of a sister
Who’s the mother of a brother who’s the brother of another

Plus one more, all four have a job to do, we doing it
Respect due, to the mother who’s the root of it
And next up is me, the M O N I E L O V E
And I’m first cause I’m a L A D I E

Contact and in fact, the style, it gets harder
Cooling on the scene with my European partner
Laying down track after track, waiting for the climax
When I get there, that’s when I tax

The next man, or the next woman
It doesn’t make a difference, keep the competition coming
And I’ll recite the chapter in verse
The title of this recital is “Ladies First”

Read more: Queen Latifah – Ladies First Lyrics | MetroLyrics

KRS-One – Sound Of Da Police

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Woop-woop!
That’s the sound of da police!
Woop-woop!
That’s the sound of the beast!

Verse One:

Stand clear! Don man a-talk
You can’t stand where I stand, you can’t walk where I walk
Watch out! We run New York
Police man come, we bust him out the park
I know this for a fact, you don’t like how I act
You claim I’m sellin’ crack
But you be doin’ that
I’d rather say “see ya”
Cause I would never be ya
Be a officer? You WICKED overseer!
Ya hotshot, wanna get props and be a saviour
First show a little respect, change your behavior
Change your attitude, change your plan
There could never really be justice on stolen land
Are you really for peace and equality?
Or when my car is hooked up, you know you wanna follow me
Your laws are minimal
Cause you won’t even think about lookin’ at the real criminal
This has got to cease
Cause we be getting HYPED to the sound of da police!

Chorus

Verse Two:

Now here’s a likkle truth
Open up your eye
While you’re checking out the boom-bap, check the exercise
Take the word “overseer,” like a sample
Repeat it very quickly in a crew for example
Overseer, Overseer, Overseer, Overseer
Officer, Officer, Officer, Officer!
Yeah, officer from overseer
You need a little clarity?
Check the similarity!
The overseer rode around the plantation
The officer is off patroling all the nation
The overseer could stop you what you’re doing
The officer will pull you over just when he’s pursuing
The overseer had the right to get ill
And if you fought back, the overseer had the right to kill
The officer has the right to arrest
And if you fight back they put a hole in your chest!
(Woop!) They both ride horses
After 400 years, I’ve _got_ no choices!
The police them have a little gun
So when I’m on the streets, I walk around with a bigger one
(Woop-woop!) I hear it all day
Just so they can run the light and be upon their way

Chorus

Verse Three:

Check out the message in a rough stylee
The real criminals are the C-O-P
You check for undercover and the one PD
But just a mere Black man, them want check me
Them check out me car for it shine like the sun
But them jealous or them vexed cause them can’t afford one
Black people still slaves up til today
But the Black police officer nah see it that way
Him want a salary
Him want it
So he put on a badge and kill people for it
My grandfather had to deal with the cops
My great-grandfather dealt with the cops
My GREAT grandfather had to deal with the cops
And then my great, great, great, great… when it’s gonna stop?!

Locs Are a Commitment Beyond Braids: Talk I Had with the White Girl at the Cafe

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Locs Are a Commitment Beyond Braids: Talk I Had with the White Girl at the Cafe

So much lyfe happens at the cafe: And, it’s insulting when they call our locs braids. In my opinion braids are not umbilical cord commitments. A young white girl at my local coffee shop said, I like your braids. I had some before. I said, my hair is not braided, it is loc’ed. Matted growths of hair. An umbilical cord commitment. She said, oh my god what does that mean? It was irritating because she was white, previously had locs and didn’t even know it, and kept asking me many questions. Her lack of depth and totality about what is a natural phenomenon of rooted goodness for my hair made me almost intolerable. Yet, I smiled and indulged her because she didn’t shame me and was respectful, more for the sake of love and understanding though. She said, so I had locs, not braids for a couple of years then? I said, sounds like it. She told me about how she couldn’t hang with them. How she felt tortured and weighted down my them. She shaved them off and got instant relief. She asked my advice on what I thought had happened with the ‘real’ reason she shaved them. I told her that its been my experience from having loc’ed hair that they are more alive than dead (although regarded as dead hair). Locs have energy and feed off of the energy of the body, and the bodies spirit- circumstances. Loc energy is alive and well.


They remind me of a baby in the womb mother process. To me each loc symbolizes an umbilical cord connecting us to the mother and the mother symbolizing (god, the creative, spirit). Just as a baby receives life source, nutrients, health and wellness from umbilical cords. Locs are the conduit between you and ‘the creative’, elevating you in the same fashion. And instead of one umbilical cord there are many (locs). Locs are moody and vibrant, and strong like any other living being. They feel, covet, release, confront damn near everything-and at the same time are protective and loathe when their space is invaded, interrupted, stifled. And just as living beings hearts become heavy by changes in life, so do locs and they will often stop growing, cause sensations in the scalp, forcing one to sever the cords. They demand basic living rights and that is to be acknowledged and respected on their journey. They live and die that way. The bond between the creative is a permanent one, even after locs are shaved from the head. I like to think of this connection as spirit-body, sensory, untouched, highly intuitive love frequencies that can’t always be felt, seen or touched. Locs always, always teach us something. I told her that perhaps her locs existed only to bring her to this moment and this moment alone. Her face was grateful and her words matched. I’m please that her and I stuck it out and talked things through. -Gracie