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| pushhhhhhh |
| 08.01.04 (12:08 am) [edit] |
[b]Defiantly PUSH
Against flesh
Against
Gravity against TIME
Yearning freedom
Raw, exposed
Venerable yet strong
Contradictive yet simple
Unbound, unafraid
Push
Spiraling, twisting
Pliable & placid
Seeking God
Hunting redemption
Hungering wisdom
Finding phantoms
Playing within the shadows
In plain sight of truth
Push
Into the unknown
Into love
Into quiet
Into self
Mel Taylor
2/12/02 8:15 p.m.[/b]
[image]eyleen_205016616.jpg[/image]
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| Life After incest |
| 07.30.04 (10:36 pm) [edit] |
Some of you who read this are either living with molestation, sexual abuse or a survivor of those horrific acts. The pain and shame changes the trajectory of your life. My molestation began when I was five. It was my older brother who was my hero until he touched me.-Five years of secret games, hidden thoughts, and a pleasure/repulsion mood that was like riding a demented merry-go-round. By ten, it stopped when I threatened him with exposure. After the last time, I shut those thoughts away between the folds of my memories. I believe if I denied it happening it would miraculously disappear from my consciousness. I deluded myself into believing it never happened but the effects bled through in my youthful sexual promiscuity hidden under oversize clothing, an uncomfortably with my healthy body and unhealthy relationships for years. The first time I had the courage to admit it happened I told a dear friend who admitted it happened to him. My initial confession brought tears yet a lifting of a burden off my heart.
Saying "incest survivor" the first time tasted bitter like bile but the words were the key to a door. The "admission" let me go get help. My therapist connected the dots between poor choices I had made because of the abuse's effect. Silence and shame devours your self-esteem in LARGE bites leaving you hungry for affection from all the wrong people. Confronting the deep seeded emotions was extremely painful. All wound heal when you release the pus and I evidently had plenty to get rid of.
The result . . . I don't have a relationship with my brother but I do forgive him-Most important, I forgave myself. I'm a well-adjusted adult with a healthy sense of self and relationships that enhance my existence. I truly have shed fear and all of its trappings. How else could I share such personal information with perfect strangers?
I write these in hopes that someone struggling with similar situations knows they’re not alone. Don't hurt yourself or loved ones. GET HELP! There is love, strength, and courage gained from such experience, it in the surviving with dignity. I'm not a trained therapist but I have strong shoulders. If I can guide you to some help, let me know.
This entry is dedicated to Angela Shelton.
[image]eyleen_606194835.jpg[/image]
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| If you were running for president? . . . |
| 07.28.04 (6:02 am) [edit] |
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[b]What would be three major issues of your platform?[/b]
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| Getting Your Career in Gear . . .Life After the Plantation |
| 07.27.04 (1:38 pm) [edit] |
You’re sitting in a cramped cubicle, working at a computer sorely in need of an upgrade. Your beast of a boss has just informed you that his unqualified nephew, who you agonizingly trained six months ago, gets the job you deserved. The nephew is now your supervisor and has left you a stack of work he’s screwed up. The deadline for cleaning up his mess and completing your current workload is the close of business . . .TODAY! Suddenly the decision to find a new job becomes apparent. This scenario and others like it is something people face but seldom act on. Whatever the motivation, seeking and obtaining a new job could be harrowing experience if rashly approached. Plotting your course of action makes the search less stressful and aid you in choosing a new job that suits your needs. Here are some tips to consider.
1. Remove all obstacles- Often times fear; apathy and complacent attitudes prevent us from advancing toward more financially lucrative and mentally stimulating jobs. “I’ve been with the company too long”, “ I’m not qualified for any else”, “I have a family and can’t take such a risk” are just a few of the common reasons many workers stay in unfulfilling careers. Researchers have found a correlation between mentally unhealthy work environments and a number of long term physical and physiological ailments Job related stress can be contributors to heart problems, hypertension, neurological-disorders and clinical depression Whether you’re the CEO, janitor or any occupation in between, does the need to make a living outweigh the importance of well being? If you choose the later, realize the first steps start with the mindset. Removing doubt about your capabilities lends itself to examining career options realistically. Career change or advancement takes courage. Negative thinking, gives you gas and wastes time!. Make the move with a sense of clarity and confidence. If this nice neat explanation doesn’t move you remember this . . .You go this way but once and there are no “DO OVERS”! Life with no regrets and you live happy.
2. Pool your resources- When making a career move make out a list of skills, networking contacts as well as educational tools at your disposal. When you list all of your tangible assets you may discover you have more to offer a perspective employer than you originally imagined. Take advantage of all forms of training offered at your current job. It could prove a beneficial commodity in the future. Don’t think of networking as something done only at designated functions. Business opportunity can start with family, friends, and colleagues, social and religious organizations. Communicating with others could lead to a tip on a great job from an unlikely source. Harness your talents use them to your advantage.
3. Research availability- Aside from newspaper classifieds the Internet is a vital resource for every imaginable profession. Unlike a newspaper ad, the Net offers way in which you can scout out perspective employers. Learn not only about the company but consider methods of commuting, company recidivism, benefits package, sick leave and vacation policies and job advancement. Make comparative analysis with your needs being the measure for fine-tuning the search.
4. Organize your information- Once you’ve collected all of your data, write out a course of action.
Is your resume updated? What about your support material (portfolios, awards & citations, etc.) Designate time for job interviews in manner that doesn’t affect your current job.
Can you really see yourself spending another moment with your beast of a boss and his addle-brain nephew? . . . Does the phrase “going postal’ sound familiar. I left my plantation gig to pursue my life’s passion (teaching & visual arts). For a year and ½ I’ve been blissful. Doing what you love means never working again. :o)
[image]eyleen_1368888427.jpg[/image]
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| Peach Fuzz & Vain Possibilities |
| 07.26.04 (7:08 pm) [edit] |
[b]The morning of Rosalinda's sixtieth birthday was one of a frightening revelation.
Her morning ritual of brushing her teeth, taking a shower, drying off and lotioning her
body seemed typical until she picked up her brush. The bristles made a popping
noise as it ran along her scalp. She looked at the belly of the brush and she could no longer deny the obvious. She felt betrayed as she ran her fingers over the dying embers of her once shining glory. All those years her tresses had been raped and pillaged by a lifetime of processing. In act of desperation, her follicles took the only recourse of liberation they could... Of all the modifications time and gravidity had placed on her body, this was the hardest on her ego. Self-pity was just about to take up residence when defiance handed him an eviction notice. She could taste her salty silent tears as she mumbled to herself, "Rosalinda Capwell might be gettin' old but she won't be bald. She got dressed, put on a kerchief and went to Fung's Wig and Beauty Supply Store.
"You look so much better," the commission-seeking sales clerk said as she
wriggled the eighth wig onto Rosalinda's head. "You said the same thing two wigs back,"
Rosalinda snapped in disgust. "But this one makes you look younger" the saleswoman
said in that `I-got-to-get that sale' tone. "It really brings out your complexion and the
wrinkles just disappear." Debating on whether or not to slap or kiss the
sales clerk, she stared at the raven colored tresses of an unknown Asian woman
sitting snugly on her head. "Makes me look younger, huh?" were soaked in
vulnerability as Rosalinda said them. The reply came in a `I-got-the-sale,' "absolutely."
Rosalinda left the shop with the wig on. Family member’s slack jawed, bug eyed
expressions were sustained long after they yelled "surprise" at her birthday party. She
responded with a hip held glance that said, "IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE?"
Everyone carried on as if that large mound of black curls was always present on her
head.
Rosalinda turned out St. Francis A.M.E. Zion Church, with her head, held high,
hairdo the middle aisle minus customary church hat. That was the Sunday Reverend
White broke his big toe when he spied Sis. Capwell during his sermon. He lost
his concentration and flipped over the alter and landed hard on that toe. The last face
he saw as they loaded him into the ambulance was Rosalinda's serenely smiling while
others around looked concerned. As they drove off, he prayed for forgiveness
promising never to stand in the pulpit, preaching the "word", while laughing at one of
his parishioners again.
Rosalinda’s love affair with her “new shining glory" kept her fear of aging
hidden beneath the curls...or so she thought. When her youngest son, Raymond Jr.
was gunned down in front of her house, during a an attempted robbery, she pulled
the hair back into a severe bun as if constraining it would cut off the pain of
unquenchable grief.
Three years later her eldest grandchild, Jasmine gave birth to a second set of identical twins.
Loose spiral curls framed a face of sheer joy whenever she held one of those "precious lambs." She wore a feathered pageboy when she received her uterine cancer diagnosis.
The hysterectomy and eventual chemotherapy changed the relationship between
Rosalinda and her wig that no hairstyle could solve. In fact, the initial purpose for
for purchasing, the wig fell dead on the pillow with her remaining hair.
The cradle nestled a brave facade by day while warming a naked
head heavy with fearful thoughts at night. Cancer reeked havoc on every aspect of her
life so her middle child Karina, moved back home to assist her mother with the most
basic of functions. On weak days she'd lie in bed either reciting or singing every story
or song she ever learned, until she could force herself back to sleep. Better days were
spent propped up in her late husband's Barco lounger imagining her living room
transformed into the Garden of Gasemattee. This blasphemous fantasy would place her
on her knees as Jesus had, screaming candid questions at God. "WHY ME, LORD?"
(1# question in time of crisis.) "I ain't been perfect but I always tried to do right by
you...What I do to deserve this?"
The clock read 6:56 a.m. as Rosalinda rose to her seventieth birthday...another
cancer filled day...or so she thought. Preparing for her morning bout of nausea, she
swung scrawny legs to the edge of the bed and placed the now matted wig that rested on
her nightstand on her head. Meekly she stood then feel back on the bed stunned by a
surge of normalcy. She rose again to ache-free joints as a sigh of relief released the
dank odor of "morning breath" that didn't smell of medication. Timid steps took on
confidence towards the bathroom until she made a bone-stiffening stop...Rosalinda
waited for the cancer to come out from its hiding place, reclaim her body. She knew
that she was a second away from pain that leaves you crumpled on the floor like a
broken doll. Tense seconds eased into calm minutes and a snicker echoed at her back.
Just as she looked over her shoulder to find the source, the familiar laughter came from
her own mouth. Its vibration gave way to trembling, joyous tears. With eyes closed
her lungs took in deep breaths of summer air and hope.
Rosalinda continued her journey to the bathroom to give her long-suffering wig a much needed wash and set. The frayed hair limply lay near the bottom of the basin as it
drank in the warm weather. She opened the medicine cabinet in search of shampoo, and
catch a glance of her reflection. Look at the sickly image would never have
guessed Rosalinda’s only "claim to fame" was her looks. She learned early that
beauty and intelligence was an easy target for jealous folks hunting for something to
destroy. Raymond Sr. dared to venture beyond the trappings and sought her "real"
beauty. When he died next to her in his sleep, she rocked him in her arms for half the
day before calling for assistance. Rosalinda could bear her husband’s passing but was
devastate by the loss of her only true friend. She resumed the "pretty woman" after his
death and played the part to award winning proportions. In some cases insincerity can
be tolerated over loneliness.
Now, she looks at a face in the mirror of a pretty woman, no longer desired and dying
of cancer. She took her finger and traced it along the edge of her mouth remembering
past words and sounds that faded into actions and deeds that shaped her life. The
sagging arcs beneath her eyes reminded her of arms cradling her children as
infants. Her crow’s feet became the wooded pathways that led to and from her
childhood home in Sweetwater, Georgia. Off came the slippers and a bathroom rug
transforms into cool red clay soothing corn and calloused scarred toes.
Frown lines run wide and deep like waves waded in forgotten walks along the
Atlantic coastline. Every wrinkle scar or blemish on her body became markers affirming
all she had been...However, the sprigs of soft hair that now covered her scalp seemed
to reach out in acceptance of what she had become. Rosalinda's whole reflection cast
her whole image for the first time in her life. As she continued to search for shampoo,
a glance toward the basin revealed a shocking sight. The once lush, full hair that
adorned Rosalinda's head for ten years, became the limp tresses of an unknown Asian
woman drowned at the bottom of the sink. Lovingly, the wig was washed,
conditioned and set. When the rollers where taken out and Rosalinda styled it sparkle
as glints of sunlight danced on the full-bodied curls. She retrieved the original box it
it came in now dusty and yellow from the back of the closet, gently places it in and put
the box back on the shelf. Rubbing her peach-fuzzed scalp, Rosalinda stands at the
closet door thinking of how to spend her first pain free day.
Mel Taylor copyright 1991[/b]
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| Anti-War Brain Fart |
| 07.25.04 (3:34 pm) [edit] |
Why hasn’t humanity learned from its bloody history? Whether you believe in Cain and Abel or two unknown homo sapiens bludgeoning each other over food and land, war seems to be the ONLY recourse chosen to resolve conflict-So sanctioned aggression is the only way to garner peace? It doesn't matter the reason its the outcome that makes war that’s so horrific. A soldier lies in a strange land breathing their last, a child standing over the bodies of your slaughtered family or a terrorist justifying your intent seconds before detonation isn’t interested in ideologies, political ranting and diatribes such as this.
My father is a WWII veteran who told me several stories of his time as a soldier but it wasn't until I taped him a few years ago that I saw IT . . .IT being the moment when you step into memory and you relive the nightmare versus the revision of remembering. My very jovial father's eyes became dark and hollow and recalling the death of comrades, I heard the fear of an eighteen-year-old boy sent to do a job no man should. It moved me and I steeped away and bared the tears of his heavy heart.
When I think of our soldiers now and what they are facing, it literally breaks my heart. For those who survive, to ask them to return to "normal" must be some adjustment.
We’re "allegedly" the intelligent species yet we haven’t moved beyond the stone throwing of our forbearers. If hate really gave us such a “hard-on” how is it were able to go day to day without killing everyone that pissed us off? Aside from battlefields, it’s fair to say enemies live and work together on a daily basis globally. Simplistic as that might sound I think the key starts there. I have been fortunate to grow up, live, befriend, date, argue, love, ignore and confront people of many nationalities. I can honestly say that during all of these encounters the need to find common ground even in negative situations was the goal. Neither of us attempted to kill one another. (Not yet.)
You can call people kikes, ginnys, towel heads, crackers, red necks, jiggaboos, niggers, Zionists, terrorist, etc. we all share the same needs. To be engage in wanton bloodshed has never endeared the recipient to a cause. To insult people and their culture is to place a spotlight on your fear and ignorance. To usurp resources, riches, land people is reveal inhumane tendencies within the "human" condition. To hide behind the Creator’s coat tales while inflicting horrific acts in honor a Savior? . . . Cowardice and base contradicting the love continuum in many world religions most important . . . War begins when wise people leave the table.
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| In Memory of Ms. Daisy |
| 07.23.04 (9:43 pm) [edit] |
[b]COLORATORA
[b]The high note lady’s daughter is
wedged in a pew between her grandmother
and visiting fat evangelist who signifies
the preacher’s every word
Her mouth is filled with peppermints
to keep her from annoying anyone
in ear shod of her non stop word fest
But the sugar in the mint only serves to make
the high note lady’s daughter more hyper than usual
and sits in silence making origami animals out of programs
The high note lady’s daughter wishes the preacher
would stop yelling and making
The visiting fat evangelist happy
because
When he jumps up to shout
she crashes down her left butt cheek on
the high note lady’s daughter’s leg
Making her have unchistrianly thoughts
The high note lady’s daughter loves to look at the back
of all those beautifully decorated church hats
blowing in the breeze of
the big fan in the corner
While the smell of perfume cologne and whiskey
from Saturday night’s sinning circles those
hats like halos
When the collection plate comes her way she puts
her two cents in wondering what God will do
with all that money shee gives him
Every Sunday?
The moment arrives
when the choir rises like angels ready to fly
and the air grows thick and wanting
of that song, that moment, that voice
From organ’s perch the head of pressed curls
rears back
Hands lift in Liberace stance
Lips part and there is that sound
Glorious soulful sound that seems to lift the church
an inch off its foundation
Those were the times when mints were not needed
and origami programs no longer amused
or did I mind be squished by the
Visiting fat evangelist
because when the high note lady sang
all that mattered was how blessed I was to be
her daughter[/b][/i]
Mel Taylor copyright 1996
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| Religion, Spirituality & Ms. Daisy |
| 07.23.04 (6:22 pm) [edit] |
IMy mother our church organist, was mortified that fateful Sunday morning I left the church at age fifteen. It would be easy to say it was a youthful rebellion but it was much more. The wrath I incurred would have made Jesus himself nervous. I couldn't get a word in edgewise and it was evidently that the devil was waiting for me in the foyer with a cardboard suitcase. Emblazoned on the suitcase was the sticker "HELL or BUST!" According to my mother, this would be my fate if I left the church. My father, my personal super hero saved the day . . ."We have to trust that what we taught her will stay in her heart." I took the lull to say, “I'm leaving the church NOT God!" She gave me the strangest look. I don't think she ever considered there could be a separation. That seemed to turn the raging storm into a strong gale. I explained that I wanted to know God without the confines of religion. She couldn't rap her brain around the idea. Like many, my mother believed her faith had to tethered to religion. It offers a grounding and sanctuary where life's questions have answers. In her mind, my leaving the church meant I had outgrown God like a pair of sneakers. Our long talk included me explaining my search for God’s love beyond Christianity. I could tell my mother was ready to call me the "b" word . . . BLASPHEMER! The thing that seemed to calm her down was promising her I would never stray from my foundation. (I kept that promise.) With a wary sigh my mother let go and let God.
Oddly enough, our conversation on spiritually versus religion began. The idea of God without religion intrigued her but what it really did was help bridge the generation gap between my mother and I. She may have found my thinking too radical for her taste but she respected me for seeking my faith in another manner. My mother became terminally ill and I watched how her religious beliefs offered her comfort from the ravages of cancer. When she thought I wasn't watching I'd see her faith waiver as her impending death drew near. It made me think of what a newborn must feel entering the birth canal. Her eyes grew wide with the wonderment of her death. There is nothing greater for offering a clear perspective. No matter religion, spiritual beliefs or faith death is the great equalizer. In the end it’s how you chose to go (if you have the rare pleasure) that matters. The last lesson my mother taught me was a month before her death. I told her how much I missed her singing and she removed her oxygen mask and sang "His Eye is On the Sparrow" with a voice as clear and strong as it was when she was well. Her last words to me were "You have a good Christian heart and I believe you have the calling. Don't leave the church for too long."
It's been twenty years since hearing those words and they helped me to not only deal with her death but also guide my walk with God. I've never returned to the church but I am as devoted to GOD as the person on the first pew is. I've studied several religions and attended many churches and the one thing that I've found at the base of all of these beliefs is. . . .Embracing a power greater and loving than yourself offers a foundation you can stand firm on. I fellowship not only with friends but strangers-In fact in the last year I've been having a running dialogue about God's grace with people where ever I go. I feel like "Joan of Arcadia." Ever more profound is perfect strangers who've started conversations that end in prayer sessions. I'm talking different races, languages, religious and spiritual beliefs. Each of these wonderful people keep saying to me "There's something about you" . . . Could my mother's dying wish happen? . . . .I’ll keep you posted.
[image]eyleen_980911217.jpg[/image]
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| Race & Politics |
| 07.18.04 (10:36 pm) [edit] |
I sat in the teacher's lounge with a good book and a great sandwich. I tried being inconspicuous and roam between the pages of my novel. A co-worker who I'll call Mr. Mouth tried to engage me in political conversation simply because he overhead me saying, “I don't discuss race or politics on the job. He rudely broke into the conversation and asked why and I replied, "Frankly I could care less about your political views and I'm sure you're not ready for my candid conversations on race." He took those words like a rat with a hunk of cheese and mistook my statement as an invitation to initiate a debate. As he began his ill-advised diatribe on why we need to engage him "healthy" debates-I stopped him and said, "I don't care what you have to say on either topic so that would be a lesson in futility”. He was mortified and stood in silence with a red face. I went back to my nosh and novel.
Race and politics are volatile topics globally but in America, it’s nitro in a blender. In my younger days, I'd get on my soapbox and defend my stance on both topics to the verbal death.
Conversations on race and politics started quietly then vacillated into shouting matches with both parties not interested in learning from one another just battling dogma, and bad breath. A wise mentor taught me that if two people have angry words it’s not the views that piss them off its the fact that the other is not agreeing with them. He capped the lesson with a Voltaire quote "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." That revelation changed my thinking on debate in general. It doesn't matter if I agree with the opinion but I'm willing to listen unfortunately that is not a reciprocated courtesy. I knew Mr. Mouth by his indignant intrusion told me to leave it alone.
Since our initial "contact", Mr. Mouth has tried to find many ways to goad me into that same damn conversation. It reminded me of the boy on the playground pulling pigtails only its not because he likes me, he wants to find out how intelligent I am. His latest tactics have been the Billy Cosby remarks regarding "Blacks living in poverty." "So what did you think about that" he bellows from across the room. I calmly said "no comment." He turned back to his companions and mumbled something that made them laugh. I continued reading. This Friday he asked me how I felt about the Bush snub of the NAACP? I kept my 400 yrs. of dormant outrage on a tight leash and calmly said, "Do you know what NAACP stand for? The deer in the headlights look told me he didn't along with the silent twist of his mouth. I then asked if he knew the significance of the organization to the Black community in the 21st century? Again, he gave me a blank stare. I then said it seems like “My contract as the "Official Spokesperson" for all topics African American is expired”. I became E.F. Hutton and everyone was listening. I would bet my book and sandwich Mr. Mouth won't be seeking a "healthy" debate with me on Monday. I'll let you know . . .
[image]eyleen_1272486662.jpg[/image]
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| A Moment of Grace |
| 07.15.04 (9:20 pm) [edit] |
Just left my neighborhood grocery store and was met with a store employee standing behind a DMX singing vintage R&B tunes. His voice filled with a vibrancy that said "I'm enjoying this," added an electricity in the air. For the first time I shopped with a smile on my face. Some shoppers danced down aisles while “squeezing the Charmin” and sang along in the seafood section. His singing became a sorely needed talisman for the world-weary customers. By the time I got in the checkout line, he had his portable piano under his arm and he sang an accapella version of "Poppa was a Rolling Stone" as he walked away. The woman in front of me was lovingly attending to her mother who had a stroke and leaned in her wheelchair with a vacant look. Her daughter and I talked about how much we enjoyed the singing when in the background we heard a little voice saying "HI" as if it were a sacred mantra. It was a little girl, no older than two starring at the woman's mother in the wheelchair. She was transfixed as if it was her mission to make the woman in the wheelchair respond and she did. She lifted her small atrophied and waved and smile. This in turn made the little girl beam and wave feverishly.
The energy generated between the two of them could have lit a city. A woman elderly ailing and normally disregarded and unseen given proper acknowledgement by a “new” one tiny, yet with a heart larger than any of us-The beginning and the end connecting. If I were an atheist (which I’m not), I became a true believer in something loving and greater than myself. In that baby’s untainted gesture of affection, I saw the moments one lives for- A moment of grace.
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| Passionate Candidate |
| 07.13.04 (10:30 pm) [edit] |
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[b]It is evident that many of you are passionate about your viewpoint. Would you consider running for office in your local government? If not, how could you make your ideas implements of change? (I'm talking about action beyond blogging.)[/b]
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| To the Young People that Blog |
| 07.11.04 (7:17 pm) [edit] |
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You may not think so but your youth is slipping away. You laugh when you read this thinking "These are the words of an ol' fart" but it true. A few grey hairs ago I was you- Less body and bills, more fun and frolic. I won't belittle the issues facing you because compared to my simpler youth you are weighted down with some very heavy stuff however if this generation REALLY knew the power you have, us ol farts would be in for a world of hurt! Know that the old people who started the current war also stopped Vietnam. (They never forgot their power.) They stopped a war without cell phones, or computers. I'm just giving you some food for thought. Imagine if you used blogging as a way of making positive change versus idle conversation. I ask my students the same questions and I get blank stares. I realize then that it's my job as an educator to persuade my kids to use their youth to their advantage. Whether its stopping a war or making the older generation accountable for their f*&^%(ing up the planet, use your powers for good! [image]eyleen_73467665.jpg[/image]
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| How do We End the War? |
| 07.11.04 (4:55 pm) [edit] |
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[b]I'm really intereseted in reading a VIABLE soultion. . .Any takers?[/b]
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| How to Affect Change . . . |
| 07.11.04 (3:56 pm) [edit] |
It's easy to spew rhetoric like self-righteous bile in need of a place to go but most people turn off from such ranting. When the truth gets wedge between ten-dollar words, newspaper stats and self-mastrubative belief people won't buy your goods. The reasoning is, "If you're so DAMN SMART and have a brain full of answers why aren't you running for office?"-KING OF THE WORLD!! I’ve been a teacher and playwright for over twenty years and I learn a few things along the way . . .
[b]People are Knowledge Starved- [/b] If you've got something of value others can use, they'll take what is given if it’s fed properly. You can't enjoy a force fed meal. The same can be said with the truth. Who cares if what you're saying can be helpful if you make it sound like the only solution. I believe GOD already has that job. Offer a well thought out plan in small bites. If you make it palatable people can't deny its flava'.
[b]Optimum Use of a Medium- [/b] Whether you use smoke signals, telepathy or the net I'm am mortified how underutilized mass communication is in an alleged literate society. If you have access to a computer, you become powerful. No longer just a nameless, faceless, social security number but a person who can arrange words in such a way you not only hook up with like minds but bring a new perspective to old thoughts. Take blogging for instance . . . It can be a public diary of your most inane nose pickin’ thoughts or a place to plant seeds of proactive thought.
Divert Your Attention- I’m a fan of ass spreading procrastination as the next person but to make it a way of life?-YIKES! Who wins the Superbowl is not as important as finding a way to quell the growing epidemic of HIV/AIDS. It may not have the same catchy, nipple baring issues but DEFINITELY deserves our immediate attention. Statistically and historically speaking entertainment profits go up during a war. Though Fantasia's American Idol win is admirable, finding ways to end this war should take precedent. Part of the reason we are in the myriad of red-hot predicaments has to do with where we've placed our priorities.
Are We Brave Enough?- Having brains is one thing, using them is another. Courage requires standing up for what's right and sitting in your own humility. It means climbing out behind the safety of a monitor and working with or creating situations where people feel valued beyond religion, race or sex orientation.
If history has kept a decent scorecard the greatest leaders came from the most humble of beginnings and despite cultural hindering transcended trappings and made us think and feel inspired. Their greatest connection is being brave enough to speak on universal truths. Are you affecting change or spitting out of the front seat window?
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| Can Our Mindset be Changed? |
| 07.11.04 (1:40 pm) [edit] |
Despite all the strides made by the 60's & 70's generation, we are STILL making the costly mistakes of our forbearers. The same generation that stopped a war has condoned one that can be viewed on the web and TV. The only thing we have taught the younger generations is how to kill one another with sophisticated weaponry in real time. It's amusing to think that the same insecurities that plagued us from our knuckle dragging beginnings still infest our hearts. In the history of humankind, there has never been a global movement to resist the primal need to dominate each other. I wonder if a woman in the middle of labor is thinking, "I can't wait for this child to be born so it can grow up and learn to kill another human being in the name of a cause." No matter the ideology, every human being has to crawl through the legs of a woman, survives the best they can and return to the earth. With everyone starting out on the same playing field how have we allowed a small group of people to have dominion over how we treat one another?
It's my belief that we as a species allow FEAR to become the collective mindset. Fear is the parent of self doubt, greedy, hate, blood lust, dogma, rhetoric-It's children are too innumerable to count. Take away the veneer we're all vulnerable to its allure. Take away the fear and what do you have? . . . A human having to deal with the TRUE realities of life.
What can be done to change the mindset?
[image]eyleen_187746825.jpg[/image]
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| The Perfect War!! |
| 07.11.04 (10:09 am) [edit] |
Imagine how different the "War on Terrorism" could be if fought by the presidents, despots, tyrants and cowards (What's the difference these days).- Politicians in the squared ring with each other? Imagine Bush and Bin Laden dressed as Sumu wrestlers going at it bare knuckles until the death. NOW THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT! How lethal would Bin Laden be with a coupla' shots to the kidneys. Let’s hope the bout is before he has dialysis. Maybe he can get in a lucky roundhouse to Bushes BRASS BALLS. With all the manipulation and collusion it took to make the American public think that vengeance is a greater virtue than cunning. To make the fight more interesting fill, the stands of "fight fans" with all the family of dead soldiers and maimed young veterans. Something tells me it's difficult to wave a flag with the stump of a once healthy arm. (Thought the Reserves were a safe way to supplement your income?) Would Bin Laden and Bush really throw blows or would they spew the rhetoric they're famous for far away from "harms length?" Inciting war is nothing compared to fighting it! Have I got some interesting warm up matches before the main event . . .Lets get all the suicide bombers and machete wielding thugs cram into a bombproof container and see if the slice and dicers hack away the time bombs before they are all turned into [i][b]ZEALOT SPAM[/b][/i]. The winner deserves to run a gauntlet of victim’s relative and then see what "Paradise" awaits them. In a perfect world, the "purveyors of wars" should fight their own battles like the playground pugilist of old. When you get others to do it, you're no different from the bully who got others to do his dirty work. You'd think history hasn't taught us a damn thing?
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| Punk or be Punked? |
| 07.10.04 (7:28 pm) [edit] |
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Master of your destiny or slave of your fear . . .Which one are you :idea:
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| A Fist Filled 'Fulla Sausage |
| 07.09.04 (7:26 am) [edit] |
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Why would a man grab his penis in public while carrying on a conversation? I've ponder in life (I need a hobby) . . . Why would a man grab his penis in public while carrying on a conversation? I have seen this bizarre behavior occur across racial, socioeconomic lines so don't try to sell me on "It's a black thing crap!" I'm not talking about a slight adjustment shift, but holding their tool like a microphone to amplify the point their trying to make. How could anyone think that's appealing? If anyone who reads this is guilty of such behavior let me let you in on a little secret . . .Women find that particular gesture as sexy as French kissing a guy with halitosis!-YUCK! Imagine if the tables were turned and a woman started rubbing the crotch of her jeans while you were talking to her?-CAN WE SAY STD BOYS & GIRLS? The sight would turn off any man worth his weight and we're no different. I think the only time it would be appropriate to grab the "jewels" in front of a woman is if she's your urologist. Just wondering as wander :oops:
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| Rebel Yawn |
| 07.07.04 (9:45 pm) [edit] |
I did this long soliloquy about growing older last week. It seems I’m not alone many of my contemporaries are sing the “How the Hell Do I get Here?” blues. I have two friends who aren’t even forty who are about to be grandparents. (YIKES) A former hot mama I once knew know deciding where to rollover her 401k?
Even the celebrities of my generation are making the transition from Hell Raiser to Caravan driver. Mick Jagger is a heart attack away from collecting his first Social Security check, one day Madonna's did a coffee table book featuring her crotch now she’s writing children's books.- Rod Stewart and Cyndi Lauper singing Cole Porter and Arnold Schwarzenegger GOVERNER OF CALIFORNIA? . . .
I sometimes think I’ve woken up in an alternative universe. One side grabbing onto their youth like a life raft while other needing nostalgia to resuscitate fading careers.
Madison Avenue is courting us like a horny teenager. Ensure hawked like “Millennium” Milkshakes. What better way to get a child of the 80’s to spend beyond their means than to have Captain & Tennille or Al Green offer the soundtrack to your bankruptcy.- Viagra to get you up and Zoloft to chill you the FUCK out. Generation X had Extreme sports and Bungee jumping and we have “Extreme Makeovers” and gastric bypasses. Can’t afford a surgical rebirth? . . . There are lotion potions and pills to pick up the slack.
Growing old gracefully is a dying art. To hell with experience or wisdom, as long you keep your youthful glow your still viable, right? Here an idea . . . .Maybe my generation can embrace the inevitable, look good doing it , while remaining young at heart . . .Believe that load of crap and I have some swamp land in Florida to unload.
:lol:
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| I May Be Grey but Far from Blue |
| 07.05.04 (9:47 am) [edit] |
I’ve officially been out of the popular cultural loop for several years. You know when you’re no longer hip when you don’t know the latest slang, fashion, or the only dance you can do well is the two-step. I DON’T GIVE A TINKER’S DAMN and I embraced my newfound maturity with relish. What I hadn’t anticipated was the next phase. The other day a new card entitled me membership to the Without a Clue Crew.” I read over the cover letter and undoubtedly, I ‘m qualified to join. Not only do I not understand the rules of popular culture it too confusing . . Puff Daddy/? P Diddy? IBBIDYBOBIDDY BOO! . . . Until low-riding jeans come with a control top and elastic waist, I won’t be buying any. The only thing gravity seems to be holding is a grudge-Perky has left the building and can someone please me tell what the hell FAHSHIZZLE means? Its not that I’m old, just old enough to know better.
It’s as if I’ve been possessed by my mother. I’m repeating her words and finally understanding her mindset. I don’t mind being on the other side of the generation gap, I’m just surprised how quickly I arrived. One minute I was a child sitting on my front steps wishing I were an adult, now I’m fast-forwarding into middle age. In my youth, there were diversions, trappings, self-indulgences wrapped in layers of unanswered questions. I had fun but I didn’t fully enjoy my youth. George Bernard Shaw was half-right “Youth is wasted on the young.” However . . .The foolish choices made so many years ago, became a training ground for maturity.
As I squeeze the last drops out of the tube of my chronological youth, I can appreciate both sides. I can watch MTV in one hour and Masterpiece Theater in the next. I can’t wear low riding jeans but I can don a crimson red cleavage-heaving blouse and turn a few heads. I’m working smarter, not harder and youthful angst has mellowed out to pure acceptance. I may be way off the fast track these days but my wise father said, “There’s no need to rush, you’ll die soon enough!”
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| Kill These Three Words |
| 07.05.04 (9:01 am) [edit] |
If I had the power to institute am moratorium on the followingwords I’d do it in a heartbeat. Understand it’s not the word themselves that I hold in contempt, its how people misuse them. I realize this could apply to every word in the English language but these are at the top of MY list.
Nice (n s)- [Middle English, foolish, from Old French, from Latin nescius, ignorant, from nesc re, to be ignorant. See nescience.] Pleasing and agreeable in nature.
adj. nic•er, nic•est I’ve always found this word as exciting as room temperature tofu. It’s the “cop out” compliment. Think I’m being harsh? . . . You’re going on your third date with someone your really interested in. You run all over town looking for the perfect outfit, and then get your bouffant teased and French manicure. Your date stands at the bottom of the stairs with a big smile and as you saunter towards them knowing you look so good, you’d date yourself, they utter . . .”You look nice.” A Cheese Wiz sandwich on Wonder Bread is nice. Real flattery deserves thought and imagination. So what if a few brain cells crash and burn from all that thinking the effort will be well worth the result.
Charming- (chärm) [Middle English charme, magic spell, from Old French, from Latin carmen, incantation. See kan- in Indo-European Roots.] To cast or seem to cast a spell on; bewitch. The solid eye contact, firm handshake, and soothing calibrated voice. . . .The charming with their veneer of sincerity can fool a mere mortal. (Ex. Bill Clinton) Like a grifter, they have that wonderful balance of bravado and bullshit. You see red flags flying and whistles blowing but you dine on the bait like prime rib. They not only give you the short end of the stick, it has to be extracted from a “delicate” place.
(I’m not bitter.) I prefer the unbridled uncouth. Crass as they may be you know where you stand and can act accordingly.
Cute- (ky t) Cute was originally a shortened form of acute in the sense “keenly perceptive or discerning, shrewd.
Obviously contrived to charm; precious: Babies and puppies are cute . . . When applied to an adult the word twists into “coquette.” I understand someone working an angle to seize the upper hand but watching a grown up transform into a doe eyed, giggling,, innocent is nauseating. What’s more sickening is when it works! Once they get what they want, they revert to “adulthood.” You ask them about the “Baby Jane” routine and they joke about who they suckered. It’s like watching Jekyll & Hyde missus the Hollywood special effects. .
Imagine how different the world would be if we spoke literally? I’m interested in knowing which words set you off?
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| Uncle SHAM's on Life SUPPORT! |
| 07.04.04 (11:24 am) [edit] |
It’s a strange thing to carry on the day to day business of living when the world around you is in decline. I'm not angry, pessimistic, PMSing, crazy or hopeless. It doesn't take a foul mood or bad drug trip to see America, is sliding down the slippery slope-HELL WE ARE IN SERIOUS TROUBLE!
The fact that we are engaging in a war we'll never win (and even if we did, the point is what?) Brave soldiers and civilians blood runs like wine in the streets for an ideology we don't fully embrace. Think I'm lying than you haven't worked in a public school (I have), meandered through an urban neighborhood or acknowledged the boogey man who's moved from out of the closet and owns a prefab in a development in the suburbs. You know a country is losing its real power when it stops being concerned about the education of its youth, allows their elderly to suffer (I'm the caregiver of a veteran, I know) and applies a financial pressure on its working contingent causing the infrastructure is to burst at the seams.
If you don't believe, you must be living under a rock! As some of us want to strut around screamin’ 'WE ARE A SUPER POWER" like it’s a WWF Wrestling Championship with a WWII memory as the measuring stick. That generation came from the humbling circumstance of the Depression as their launching pad and rose to the occasion during a war, came back and built the reality we're currently living in. The problem is, we are three generations into the myth and reality had to come crashing down on our heads in the form of 911. Unlike Pearl Harbor, the martyrs are cutting heads off on the internet and crashing into things (in the name of Allah, no less.) The horrific incidents of that day should have been the cue card large enough to make us re-evaluate our stance in the world. No matter how patriotic you maybe, you belong to a GLOBAL community, like it or not. The country you grew up in no longer exists. If we don't become inclusive in our view of America's role in the world, we're lost.
Stating a problem is one thing but thinking solution is far more important. I believe we need to take a sober look at our county's priorities.
Why is the world pissed with America and what are ways in which we can start closing the cultural divide (within our borders and out)? These questions should be more important than Britney Spears' impending marriage.
I no prude but ya' know things are a little loopy when a music video doesn't rate unless someone has partially exposed gluts gyrating up close and personal and the art of rapping is reduced to poorly crafted nursery rhyme.
Civility has gone on an extended Disney vacation and people kill each other for the smallest slight. There’s an air of tension and anger in the atmosphere and the smell of fear is like a stench were ever you go. Ex. While riding the train two young men were cursing up a storm and I'm sure within their circle that's the language used. You could tell by the ease of their speech. They were also belligerent and loud. Everyone sitting in the vicinity looked uncomfortable except for an older woman who spoke up and asked them to lower their voice. The way they spoke to her was beyond reason. A group of us intervened and they finally settled down. I bet anyone reading this can recall a similar situation. How and why are we so angry? . . .
Maybe if we took one tenth of the money we give to other countries to build their infrastructure, we might it here.-Ya’ think?
I could keep ranting but I've reached the catharsis I was looking for at this moment. I'll be back-Oh, one more thing . . . The American Dream has turned into the AMERCIAN SCREAM!
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