Saturday, February 10, 2018

From One Sustah to Another

Artwork: Miarri Dene

Being black (I don't care for the term 'African American', though I use it on occasion) in an anti-black environment, and being able to survive with your emotions intact has been and still is a feat of masterful will and focus.

I wouldn't say this is a racial observation. It's merely one of truth. History proves it. Don't forget the recent police shootings that we would all like to pretend didn't or doesn't happen. Truth overcomes race arguments, whether those arguments are justified or not.



The only thing connecting men and women of all ethnicities is the bold advent of the "Me-Too" Movement. Sexual abuse knows no boundaries.

Resistance against barbarian acts of dominance and degradation -similar to those that slavery imposes- is what connects humanity beyond racial implications in 2018. Go figure that one out.

Okay -moving on.

Black men often say, usually in jest: "It's hard out here for a brotha". Well, take it from a sustah. It's just as hard out here for a woman. Although, from what I experience, most of our hardship is self-imposed through religious ignorance.

And with the advent of reality TV, the Black woman's journey has gone from being culturally and religiously challenging, -to being downright ridiculous. She is totally lost in her pent-up desire to be seen and heard for all the wrong reasons.

'I'm all about the coins, honey,' she says.

This new-age reality-TV woman is all gangsta-boo and loud-mouthed. Imitating what she watches on the one-eyed devil (television, computer, tablet, cell phone). She's forever Facebooking and Instagramming all her business -as well as some business belonging to other folks. The sustah is lost. But she swears she got it going on.

Her life is so out of control that she lives a robotic and zombie-like existence. Monkey see. Monkey do. Pitiful and scary.

What's even more pathetic is that she spends her life wanting to be accepted for who she is, -but most black women don't know who they are. Nor are they in touch with their purpose on earth.

The only sure thing in the equation is that she hates who she is to the point that she does everything to imitate those whom she perceives to be everything that she isn't.

As a result, she's too blind to see how utterly ridiculous and self-abasing blond hair is when she sticks it on her head. It's beautiful on those to whom nature gave it. But it's artificial and comical on men and women of different genetic composites. See for yourself. Which of these makes more sense?





Because black women hate themselves, they waste time, energy and money trying -without success, to be someone else.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. It's the result of being in slavery in a strange land for four hundred years, and having lost self-identity and self-love and yadda, yadda, yadda. 

That explanation sounds good and is even true. So -now that you know, what are you gonna do about it? Excuses are not an option. Blaming someone or something else establishes a 'root', but is not an option. What are you going to do about your pitiful condition, sustah?

Will you now begin seeking for your true self? Or are you so blind and enjoy ignorance so much that you prefer wandering in the wilderness of  'monkey see, monkey do'?

Hair-weaving, Skin-bleaching, and over-reaching is the black woman's focus. It's pitiful. She's not concerned with her children or building a strong and secure home and family foundation. Hers is the superficial preoccupation with the fading form of outer appearance that Hollywood deceitfully promotes. Artificial breasts and butts. Where's the real you?

From one sustah to another -the train you're on ain't moving. It will never leave the station. The train you're on doesn't exist -except in your mind.

Free your mind. And your ass will follow.

Shalom

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