those questions that provoke and are testing you, to establish if you really want to have a conversation or if you just want to use and abuse me on your own terms, for your own agenda and gain.
I’m trying here. Really trying to look after myself. To rest when I need to. To eat well. To move my body. To protect my mind, body and soul. To make a way out of nothing. Protect my energy. From what I hear you say?
Vampires. Blood fucking sucking vampires. I’m not referring to the Count here. I’m referring to those people who treat others like a puppet or pawn ( insert whiteness/ white people here).
All paternalistic, thinking they’re doing me some kind of favour when they take my ideas and run with them and then come back to me ( that is if they do) and present some kind of gig/job/role for me to carry out sometimes for free( sometimes for a fee) and think/expect/assume that I’m okay with this. That I’d jump at the chance of doing this shit for them on their own terms with them assuming all the control and power when I’ve been doing this shit by myself for others for as long as time, without shit from them.
Exploitation. Extraction. White supremacy culture comes to mind. Comes to heart here.
No discussion. No seeking permission. No asking if this is okay. Nothing.
Except the conceited, privileged, racist assumptions/ take over that this is something I would do and not refuse to do because … that I need them? Or that I need the money or the exposure? That this is the only way to do it? Or what?
I don’t know because they didn’t see fit to talk to me about it.
So many things are wrong about this situation. The whole concept. The timeframes. The costings. The language used to describe my people. My community.
Not to even mention that they spelt my name wrong throughout the whole fucking ‘proposal’.
I don’t think they know who they are dealing with. I don’t think they really know who I am or have been listening to me all along. Really listening to me and understanding who I am and where I’m coming from.
There’s blood in the water.
The sun has broken through the dark.
Vampires are not feasting on my fucking soul anymore.
I sold my soul once before and it didn’t turn out well for me.
With soul and dignity and integrity intact I’m not about to surrender them again for jackshit. For someone who does not hear/ value/ see me.
I refuse.
Jog on!
The whole shebang.
I second guess myself around race and the way I’m being treated. Or think I am. The vibe I’m sensing from other people. And if I always have to bring it back to race. Why I’m always seeing the gaps and having to speak up.
I’m judging myself as wrong on the ‘i ain’t smiling’ stuff. How I’m doing this to individuals who have probably not done anything to me. It was someone else who looked like them who did me wrong.
And I’m treating them in a way I don’t want them to treat me. Like lumping them all together and not seeing them as individuals. Judging than as all the same and not giving them the benefit of the doubt. Not giving them a chance. This individual might be different. Might be doing the work. Might see me. Might smile.
I think I’m tired. I’ve been living that way for so long now. Smiling into the faces of strangers. Smiling with hope without much in return. Without much connection and now I’m just not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt because I’m not given the same curtesy.
We see in the US, the Republicans are in office, have control of both houses, Congress and the Senate. They have all the power and are shutting down the government peddling lies that it’s the Democrats fault. But instead of the Democrats stopping smiling and taking the gloves off, they’re reaching across the aisle, holding out their hands and hoping that some Republicans will join them and vote against the shut down.
Now I’m not dissing hope. I still have hope. Hope is a wonderful thing. We have to have hope. Hope is a practice. But the uselessness of the Democrats hope is around where it’s placed.
Even when the Republicans know they are wrong, doing wrong and being dishonest, they will not admit it, take responsibility and change. Act differently, no. Something about keeping face. Winning an argument and keeping power is the mission. Not giving anything away out of fear and greed. Keeping power.
This is how I see my situation. I’ve been appeasing monsters. I’ve been holding out hope for change and I still do. But I’m just choosing to place this hope elsewhere. Holding hope within my community ( village, Dal!), for and by us.
Smiling into the faces of the comrades and friends as they have not let me down. They see me. They respect me. They listen to me. They’re with me not against me.
I don’t need to perform any convincing, or prove my credentials as a human being. They love me as me. And there’s the rub. They love me. And I love them.
I’m smiling at that.
&
One time when I came home crying after being called nasty names at school, he told me to fight back. If I couldn’t use my fists and feet to fight back, he said, to then pick up a brick and use that to fight back instead.
i am enough
i am love
i am a spark of the divine
It’s time. Time to be looking down at the ground and seeing the trees’ bounty around my toes.
I love this view.
liminality
in-between spaces
lingering in the midst flight
fugitivity
nowhere at all
the potential of edges
black captives trapped at sea
zones of non-being
“Wherever blackness dwells—slave ship, spaceship, graveyard, garden, elsewhere, everywhere—those captives accessed what Spillers calls a “richness of possibility.” Hortense Spillers quoted in La Marr Jurelle Bruce, How To Go Mad Without Losing Your Mind: Madness and Black Radical Creativity.
i’m protecting my peace so i have the energy for me, to {BE} in service for we, the we that looks/{BE} like me
this is all becoming clearer now
i’m not expending or wasting any more time, energy, attention on those (white) people who do not see me. or when they do see me, they do not see me as human
as Akwugo Emejulu says, the black woman can never be a human being
for decades i’ve spent time, energy, attention, through my practice and day to day life, trying to convince others ( white people) of my humanity. i would bend over backwards trying to get accepted, recognised, cherished as a fellow human being
look, please, i’m human. look, please, i feel, i hurt, i bleed. i breathe
no more. i am no longer prepared to play that role. dance this stupid dance. as i will never be accepted, recognised, loved as a human being. the system won’t allow it. (white) people won’t allow it
i’m no longer wasting my energy on proving jackshit
i’m refusing what has already been refused of me ( fugitivity)
i knowing who i be. i am smart, i am kind, i am important ( The Help). and i don’t need/want/entertain any (white) person to tell/grant/recognise me as such
and i’m no longer apologising/ playing it down or safe/ tempering for how i feel/act/ {BE} about this situation
as that just expends/takes/sucks out of me a whole heap and of other energy
i ain’t smiling.
I’ve been tired of late.
I’ve been holding space for others during August, visual journaling and out in nature. And as we go back to school, I’m ready for slowing down and enjoying my favourite time of year.
Staying close to home, and being kind and gentle with myself, I pulled out the brown paper I’ve been collecting/recycling and just put some paint on them.
And before I know it, I’ve created a new journal. With a painted cardboard cover it reminds me of Cartonera, the cardboard publishers that started in Argentina, where books and journals are created from recycled cardboard.
I used to do this years ago and didn’t realise that it’s a political and artistic practice that came about because of economic hardships. It’s a movement that democratises literacy and publishing and opens up access to anyone and everyone. Thanks to Dal for bringing the origins of this practice to my attention.
So I’ve got a new journal to play with. I love making books, journals and cartoneras because it’s an easy way to satisfy a creative itch without getting all complicated.
Living Wild Studios 