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Confession, I Love Black Men.

Indeed, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience decent relationships with many good men... though not to be construed that I LOVE anyone, or anything else, any less. I’ve befriended a number of Sheros who have helped me when I couldn’t help myself, and in fact, relished working for some of the toughest women (of many hues and different backgrounds) in firms where I’ve been employed!

I only kicked off with that headline after reading ‘The Soul of a Man 2’, published by Elissa Gabrielle; written by a collection of black male American authors. (Other thoughts here). The moment I caught sight of the title I thought, ‘even if I can’t relate to anything in that book, I must buy a copy to support these black men reaching out.’

While I wasn’t sure what to expect from reading the book, an inkling told me at least one of the stories was going to rock me to the core. Funny though, given the next line I was about to write, but I ended up putting this post on pause to verify how many of my favor…
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What Makes a Book Feel Good? ...A Top 10 List

When you it’s said... live and learn, you learn LOVE comes in stages. So far, I’ve come across three stages of love. Puppy Love. Hormonal Love. And the ultimate love. Unconditional Love.

Lo and behold albeit, after finally getting around to reading Roy Blount’s memoir, “Be Sweet” (a memoirist who has at least twenty some years on me), I got to reading him summarizing unconditional love as ‘just an expression’ ..."like any other two words." Now, because his memoir is largely satirical, and given the title, on top of knowing better to think I know more than my elders (haha), it was hard to tell whether to take the definition seriously or facetiously. Whichever the case, as of today I define unconditional love without conditions. Unlike puppy love, built largely on a giddy childish infatuation superficially marveling over things or people, or that hormonal love responding to the cyclones and ebbs moving our hormones in this invisible like cylinder, there are no ifs, ands…

When Opinions Cross the Line

Two literary topographies brought this historical commentary together; a social media Headline asserting some books are irrelevant, and Stacey Dash’s memoir, ‘There Goes My Social Life’. (My other thoughts here).

I didn't pause long enough to so much as note the social media headline, but did pause after catching wind of Stacey Dash's outspoken stance on supporting American businessman and Republican politician, Mitt Romney. Stacey is an American Actress notable for her role in the film CluelessSIGH—I’ve never seen Clueless, but have seen this actress in other films... which was what inspired me to want to read her memoir. Being a Big Picture thinker, I couldn't make heads or tails out of the hoopla behind her outspoken political views.

My great-great grandfather, born in America in the mid 1800’s, was a Republican. Per my father, historically the American working class primarily voted Republican, though he, and then me, marveled about my great-great grandfather's r…

A Rumor About One Race

It’s a funny thing, how some things you hear stay with you in that sixth sense sort of way, as if the information will serve some future purpose.

True Story. I was in elementary school when a teacher got to talking about three true races—Caucasian, Mongoloid, and Negroid, and how one day there would be One Race. For a placeholder I attended Philadelphia (PA) Public Schools, K-straight thru-12 (99.98% black student population) where there was always ‘that’ teacher who would put aside a textbook to impart ‘move to the edge of your seat’ information... something I later figured out would take “dynamic positioning” to find its originating source. I even think the teacher may have said we wouldn’t find this information written anywhere.

At any rate, I’m all kinds of fuzzy about how the original three races came to be, but recall 3rd grade hands going up in the air asking why this and how that and what about this, and then somebody saying, “unt un... my mother said...”

Naturally I was intr…

Walking the Talk, Celebrating My Black American Heritage

Of course I didn’t wake up one day and decided writing would be my claim to fame and fortune. While Dr. Spencer Johnson’s parable Who Moved My Cheesedid prompt my literary pursuits, my writing journey began long, long before then.

Without retelling the whole backstory (for the manyith time), my opportunity to seriously write came in 1994, when my father and uncle began producing a family newsletter. The moment I saw that newsletter I said to myself, “this is it” despite living over 3000 miles away from where the newsletter was being produced.

1998 I took on the family newsletter, then called UMOJA TIMES, changed the name to Reviviscence, meaning to ‘revive from whence we’ve come’, and increased its distribution, which ended up being mailed all over the country...and abroad.

To put things mildly, writing for Reviviscence, aka the Rev..., became a coveted writing project of unrivaled proportions, serving many purposes. I LOVED EVERY MOMENT.

Since childhood I’ve been the family GRIO…

Rhyme to the Reason, Method to the Madness

Over the weekend I came across an article written by Sarah S. Davis @BookRiot. The headline article, 10 Books That Break Genre Rules, naturally caught my attention, and then really revved up my thoughts when I saw one of Truman Capote’s books included in the article. Following with the flow of the article, Capote’s book apparently broke a genre rule by mixing fact with fiction.

Now, I read ‘In Cold Blood’ by Truman Capote years ago...way back when the book was categorized True Crime. Fast forward two decades and I learned the book was a novel, which had me scratching my head, save for waving off the narrative until this article where incidentally, in the same paragraph citing how Capote’s book mixed fact with fiction, also referenced ‘A Million Little Pieces’ (by James Frey).

Without expounding too far on the subject, since this is not exactly where I’m going, yet important to include what inspired writing this post; All literature, strictly classified and by default, break ‘genre’ r…

One Holiday I Celebrate Passionately—365 Days a Year.

Today I’m thinking of a slogan I used to hear tossed around on the King holiday. “A day on, not a day off,” —the one day I made a point (to point out) I Take Off, as I honor Dr. King 365 days a year.

I was six years old when Dr. King was assassinated; and years beyond then before I came to truly understand his work. Politics was something heavily debated in our home, yet I was so busy trying to make sense of the arguments that it took a lot of questions, and analyzing, and reading and living before I could see ‘over the mountain.’

None too ironic, while many around me debated what they would do if mistreated, I was glued to them sit-ins my family had showing on the TV, thinking about what I would NOT DO. No way would I beg anyone to take my money in exchange for inhumane service. It was years later before I came to respect the altruistic lessons behind nonviolent sit-ins, Freedom Rides and such, even if...and still to this very day, customer service is my Achilles’ heel.

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