"OMG! I Think I'll Dress To Attract a White Boy" (Said no black woman EVER)

I was having a discussion with a white gentleman (if I can even call him that) about interracial dating (is that even a real phenomenon since race "doesn't exist"?). He said to me, and I quote; "Well, maybe if they'd stop wearing those long fingernails--I mean how can they get any work done? We don't like that...and the weave too."

*PAUSE*

*PAUSE*

There just sooo much for me to unpack here.
I just can't. So I won't. Nah. I will. I said: "What makes you think women are saying to themselves, you know, I think I want to scoop me up a little Johnny, so I won't get my nails bedazzled this time Sui Ying, just give me the natural-catch-a-white-boy set..."

SECONDLY: "I thought we were discussing BLACK WOMEN not some stereotypical fantasy media served buffoonery you've secretly fetishized in your head--No just no."

LASTLY: "And even if a singular black woman chose to have long Godzilla nails (and I know a few who do) so the fuck what? Aint nobody waking up in the morning and saying 'OMG! I think I'll dress to attract a white boy today'!" #GiveMeABreak

And so it goes--the sentiments in this country regarding black women. We're loud, attitudinal, long fingernails and colorful weave. Wait, when Becky does it she's "alternative" when Sharkeisha does it, it's "ghetto". Are these the stereotypes that are holding us back from interracial dating? Then fine. So be it.

It's not even just a problem beladen on the shoulders of black women--its women of every ethnicity in this country--its as if women are on display for the sole gratification of men. I get it you like what you like. BUT, Its the stereotypes that have been fed to you, that you actually bought into without investigating for yourself that disturbs me.

Don't worry we have our stereotypes about you as well--and some of us have investigated and found it to be true ;-) But I'm not here to go tit-for-tat.

Let's analyze my theory for why there isn't more interracial dating. More than anything subculture is a means that divides us--in good and bad ways. Its called a Double Consciousness. Double Consciousness is a term coined by W. E. B. Du Bois to describe an individual whose identity is divided into several facets. As a theoretical tool, “double consciousness” reveals the psycho-social divisions in American society and allows for a full understanding of those divisions. (DuBois, Souls of Black Folks)

For a long period of time black people were not allowed to fully participate in mainstream American culture. Slave masters deprived Africans of their cultural customs by enacting slave codes. Therefore they had to navigate in unfamiliar territory by cultivating this new culture. Black Culture.

The assorted stereotypes of being "loud", good at dancing, fixing elaborate hairstyles, being lyrical, good cooks, etc. These are all Africanisms, characteristics of African culture that can be traced through societal practices and institutions of the African diaspora. Of course they are exaggerated for the entertainment of people who are not apart of the movement. That's why it's called a STEREO-type. The type has some truth but the stereo exaggerates and warps the truth into a tacky version of its former self.

Instead of balking at colorful weaves and its apparent "tackiness", we should be trying to understand the history. African women have been weaving and locking their hair as part of a cultural custom.

Another white wonderment; Why do some black people have a slight propensity at being lyrical artists? In many African societies there was no formal written language (actually up until 770BC Europe also did not have a written language until the Romans borrowed from the Phoenicians and the Phoenicians from AFRICAN Hieroglyphics) West African cultures used Griots to pass down oral history. Stories and rituals were beaten on drums in special synchronizations with body movements. Hence our seemingly natural love of beats and freestyling.

I'm being very loose and anecdotal here but do you get my drift? Of course, these stereotypes and Africanisms do not apply to EVERY single black person. Every black person is not going to be a good, beat boxing, dancing, rapping, shuckin n jivin negro. These are cultural mannerisms and customs passed down from generation to generation. This is why there is a serious need for cross cultural education. In school we learn so much about European culture and customs (which by the way are derived from Africa) that when it comes to Africanisms they seem foreign to us.

Some stereotypes exist because of appalling reasons. For instance, the alleged propensity for black men to be good at sports. Theory has it that slave masters made enslaved African women breed with the strongest men in an attempt to yield the strongest "buck".

OK lets get it out the way. The Mandingo theory. Yes its true--somewhat--by .1 inches -_- according to a Kinsey Report in the 1970s which included only 54 black men and 3000 white men in the USA.
However, according to one Global report produced by EveryoneWeb the Democratic Republic of Congo has the largest average erect length at 7.1 inches compared to the world average of 5.5 inches.

I hope I have inspired someone to expand their curiosity outside the box of their limited scope. #LetItMarinate

Mammaries Over Brilliance

I am not the material edifice that contours and clings to my curvaceous body.
     I am a woman.

I am not the coil-y kinky strings of keratin and amino acids that erupt from newly discovered follicles of conceptual bondage.
     I am a woman bleeding.

I am not the leather red embossed orifice that shelters tired toes and rises not on political platforms but in wooden trod and envious nods.
     I am a woman with a bleeding heart.

I am not the golden time keeper that mocks me with promises of success on the impeccable measure of continued progress on existence of events to come.
     I am a woman.

I am not the coke bottle frame of round fleshy parts that form the lower rear area of trunks meant to rear the next generation. I am a scholar. I am not components of two soft, protruding organs on the upper front of a body that secretes manna for the gift of creation.
     I am a child of God.



I am not a sex kitten strutting and slaying for the edification and gratification of grubby ogling lonely dogs wanting to catch a bone in the dog pound.
     I am a Lioness of Judah.

Im not here for the sadistic viewing pleasure of carnality society hell bent on hedonistic autoeroticism.

     Im here to serve. Him. Not you. 

But every damn day I gotta dodge and swerve, the misogynistic quips that bite and nips at the bane of my intelligence.
   
     I slay.

Chop it up and make them wince, turn all that is super(callafragalistic)-fiscial into espealladocious. Mince Meat. Delicioso!
But that doesn’t mean ish.
Because as long as I am woman. I am not legit.
As long as I am an object. My character doesn’t mean ish. As long as I am a fetishized. Who cares about my accomplishments?
Just as long as my hair is laid and my clothes are tight. I might could be somebody’s wife. Doesn’t matter if my character is flawed. When man makes all the laws. To being sexy we applaud.

Man Law: 

I pledge allegiance to the vagina of the united women in misogyny and to the folds of my dick to which it divides. One Man. Woman Underneath. In the kitchen fuck liberty and individuality for all.

Decisions - A Poem Inspiried by Ericson

Affluent escapades are teetering on the dominion of judgment day.

A day that will supersede with a well-premeditated verdict dismay.

An oxymoronic spectrum is set before the decision maker.

With instructions, “You must choose the lesser of two evils.

WTF?! The lesser of two evils is the sum of good upheavals.

Walk off the proverbial cliff or drown in the sea of impending doom.

One choice you are alive reaching for the skies, then BOOM!

You’re gone, with not the funkiest idea of what went wrong.

Another destiny you are dancing to a malevolence song.

The beat is thunderous and you are on your own.

Its fiery trance entreaties your core, it won’t let go.

Emblazoned memories flicker through your soul.

They burn your thoughts and soon fatally you let go.

So you see the decision isn’t easy.

Sell your soul to the devil or let things go breezy.

Whatever terminus you so deem appropriate for your ominous conduit.

Make sure the sweat and work is valid; be it, don’t just do it.

Cause sooner or later you’ll find an empty soul

With No sustenance behind your decision, you’re just on cruise control.