IDIOTS.

I will not apologize for my words in this post, as offensive or abrasive they may be. My words are my art, my passion, and my truth.


You are all so pathetic! I am fuckin’ sick of it, dude.

Every stinkin Monday, my news feed is full of everything Game of Thrones. Can’t get y’all to shut the eff up about how “Tacos are Life.” Oh yeah, gotta repost that cute kitty video. Chester Bennington took his own life a few weeks ago. You just repost a ton of Linkin Park songs, right, because his Death was tragic and we will all miss him, but completely miss the glaring learning opprotunity. You fail to think about why he killed himself. You sit there and refuse to delve any further into the subject of depression and addiction. Did you know, in the US, opioid addiction, overdoses, and suicides are at an all-time high, so high, in fact, that it has lowered the life expectancy of middle-aged, White Americans by several years? Americans just like Chester Bennington. No, you probably just kept scrolling along, blind, unquestioning.

This weekend, Nazis, KKK members and white supremacists marched through the streets, armed with rifles, dressed, not in hoods or robes, but in full-tactical gear, showing their faces, unashamed. A woman was killed.

Wake up, comrades!

This incident didn’t happen in Syria or Russia or Afghanistan. This happened here, in the United States, in Charlettesville, Virginia, only a few States away! Yes, here, in the year 2017, not 1960. Here, in the so-called “post-racial America.”

And yet,

on my Facebook feed, not one outcry, not one comment, not one Like. Dry AF. Discussing it with friends, I hear the same ol’ story:

“I read something about that.”

“Who cares?”

“I don’t follow that stuff.”

“I try not to get political.”

Why not “get political?” Why is everyone so afraid of the politics? What is so wrong about that word? Why is it so wrong to follow politics and have an opinion and openly discuss those opinions?

Psst! There is a huge difference between openly discussing a rational, informed opinion and spouting ignorance and lies, without having facts to support it.

I want my friends to understand that “staying out of politics” or being “sick of politics” is priviledge in action. Your privilege allows you to live a non-political existence. Your wealth, your race, your abilities, or your gender allow you to live a life in which you likely will not be a target of bigotry, attacks, deportation, or genocide. You don’t want to fight because your life and safety are not at stake. It is hard and exhausting to bring up issues of oppression (aka “get political”). The fighting is tiring. I get it. Self-care is essential. But if you find politics annoying and you just want everyone to be nice, please know that people are literally fighting for their lives and safety. You might not see it, but that’s what privilege does.

— Anonymous Instagram post


The United States has lived in a democracy, uninterrupted, for almost 250 years. A democracy, meaning I can post on this blog without fear that my government will arrest or execute me for treason. I can walk around freely with my cleveage showing. I can listen to the music that I like. I can marry who I wish. When charged with a crime, I will receive a fair trial in a court of law, judged by a jury of my peers.

I love this country and I love having these rights.

Don’t you?

I am not asking you to protest in the streets and get yourself killed. I am not asking you to involve yourself in every single news story you come across. I am not even asking you to care.

All I ask is for you to react. To get pissed off. To do your research. To ask questions. To question authority. To stay informed. To stay woke. The powers that be have sat unopposed and unchallenged for too long. I can’t do this alone.

Now playing: Courtship Dating by Crystal Castles

Continue reading “IDIOTS.”

Socks.

Today,

Little Bear and I retired our old friend,

Mega-sock

I made it out of socks that were around. Socks, old, torn, stained, forgotten,

…like me. Sigh.

Mega-sock immediately became Little Bear’s (LB) favorite toy. I loved watching him drag it around the house, so pleased. He would chew on it while sunbathing in the yard and play seemingly endless games of tug-of-war. He would even fall asleep with it sometimes! I made it myself! I was so proud.

Because of housing issues, I had to leave LB with a friend for over two months. I had lost my best friend, my only friend. Being separated from him devastated me! The days when I missed LB the most, I would pull out Mega-sock and hug it close, finger its rips and tears, take in its smells. Keeping Mega-sock helped me get through my day.

Jason Martinez, my dude, my boyfriend, my partner. I don’t know what I would do without him. I do not deserve the love and respect that I receive from this man. He is amazing in so many ways! On top of everything he has done, Jason gave me the opportunity to have my LB back.

Reunited!

Little Bear isn’t so “little” anymore! Weighing around 40 lbs, he has all of his adult teeth, his balls have dropped, and, while astoundingly intelligent, he is healthy, happy, and hella strong.

So strong, in fact, he chewed clean through Mega-sock!

…it was time. Time for Mega-sock to call it quits. Done. Spent. Gone. Dead. Kapoot!

Mega-sock II

Reinforced with extra thick cotton, a fun-looking chili pepper printed sock, and a loop to hold when we are playing together. And I made it myself! Like before, I am super extra proud. But…

Will he love it as much as OG Mega-sock? Is he getting too old for sock toys? What was inside that suitcase in Pulp Fiction?

Well…

For almost an hour, he’s been like this, rolling around with it, panicking if I try to take it away. So,

You tell me. 😈

nomnomnomnom


Now playing: Nothing To Worry About by Peter Bjorn and John

Happy Father’s Day Pt. 2

Jason Nemor,

It has taken me several months to write this letter. I drew up a letter some time ago, but, unable to find the right words to say, unable to be satisfied, that letter will probably never see the light of day. My excessive perfectionism works against me most of the time. I hope you will forgive me for sending this so late. Here goes, after writing and rewriting, rough draft, second draft, millionth draft, my final product.


Father’s Day has come and gone. Summer is coming to a close, and, most importantly, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!

How old are you now? 40? 100? 250 years old? Haha! How’s the wifey? I’ve only seen a couple of photos of her but, I can tell she is so happy and she loves you. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman in love! What about baby Joel? You better be teaching him well! If not, I’ll fly up there to Iceland and kick your ass! I’m not kidding…😛

I know I’ve said this before, but even though I haven’t met him yet, I feel that he is my baby brother already. I cannot wait to hold him, to squeeze him, to see his smile. When would be a good time to do that, to visit you?

I am nearly 30 years old now. I have lived a crazy, interesting life. I wouldn’t trade my experiences, good and bad, for anything in the world. Yet, as the days, weeks, and months pass by, certain things cross my mind that I never thought of before. These thoughts plague my brain and haunt my dreams.

Like you, my Father. I imagine you as a youngster. I imagine you and my Mother, together. I imagine you falling in love with her. I imagine the moment you first met me, Rashundra.

What was that like? Was I a cute baby? Was I still in diapers? Did I have my dimples already? When did you decide you wanted to be in my life, be my Father? Were you even ready to be a Father? Were you excited? Were you scared shitless? Do you ever regret that decision?

You, dear Father, are and have been the greatest male figure in my entire life. For such a long time, most of my life, you were the only Dad I ever knew. You introduced me to the beauty of music and life.

I, unfortunately, as you may or may not know, cannot remember a great deal of my childhood, huge chunks missing from my memories. I do not know why, but it’s the truth. Amongst the missing pieces, I remember you. Vividly. I remember you used to sing to me. I remember your corny sense of humor. I remember your laugh, always airy, carefree, and goofy as heck! I remember the music. The O’Jays. The Temptations. That song “Patches.” You playing the saxophone for me. Those songs brought me endleas joy, even still to this day! It’s because of you, music has become my life, my love, my religion. Music and creativity and beauty in all of its forms!

And now!

You’re a successful musician and actor. You played ball for a long time, you grinded, you hustled until you reached your goal. It all came full circle! I want nothing more than to be like you, to emulate you in every way. Your kindness, your patience, your leadership, your sense of style, your easy-going demeanor, your joy, and, above all, your ability to spread the art of song to everyone.

About a year ago, I lost possession of all of my belongings, including photos of us and the mix tape you sent me years ago. I can still hear it in my mind, clear as day, your voice as smooth as silk, as deep as the ocean floor, every word crisp and deliberate.

Why do you love me? What have I done to deserve your love? What would I have done without you?

Even as a young man, you stepped up and helped raise me. You didn’t have to do that! I understand that now, more than ever. The sacrifices you must have made for me! The opportunities you must have lost

…for me! Because of me. I will never understand the overpowering love you must have felt for me. I probably never will. But,

because of you,

I know what a Father is, I know what a brother is, what a musician is, an artist, a friend, a man, and foremost,

I know what true love is

Love that goes beyond friends or family or even personal preservation. Love beyond any conceivable thought or reason. Love, true love, of a young man, barely in his 20s, looking into the eyes of a small baby girl, scared to death, and accepting her, teaching her, mentoring her, Fathering her.

We don’t even live in the same country, but the thought of loosing you devistates me. I couldn’t have asked for a better Father.

I will never forget everything you have done for me, Old Man. The love, compassion, and selflessness you showed me I will spread to as many people as I can. I promise.

Have a Happy Birfday, Dad!

And Happy Father’s Day too…

I adore you more than words could ever describe

Your eldest, the Nameless,

Rashundra

Thomas Babington Macaulay (updated)

Lays of Ancient Rome

Then out spake brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate:

“To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late

And how can a man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his Gods?”

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