Community · ethnography · Language · observations · power · research · social observation · Sociology · trauma

I Don’t See Color

Here’s a phrase that sincerely chaps my ass. What if the police ask you to describe me? Whachugonsay?

Discovered my disgust with this statement after getting into a discussion about who can and can’t say nigger. We concluded with the thought that anyone can say anything (conditional) because this is a country that constitutionally guarantees freedom of speech. I added that saying anything means being ready and able to take the consequences of those utterances.

See, you can’t say nigger to everyone. I don’t care how you spell it, inflect it, think it’s cute or a term of endearment, you can’t say that to everyone. Some folks have a reflexive action to being called nigger. They will bust you in the mouth, with love, ’cause they ain’t having it. I think I am one of those people.

Nigger is a slur, an ethnophaulism. How’d you like it if I walked up to you and called you my Dago, my Wop, my Mick, my Chink, my Gook, my Buddhahead, my Guinea, my Spic, my Kike, (recent) my Beaner? Does it grate a little? If not, do you know someone who might not share your attitude?

It is difficult to find a slur for whites that carries the same punch as nigger. By becoming white, those ethnics who look more like the dominant group eventually became white. Hunky or honky no longer packed a punch. Even Jews thought, and think, they were white. It only takes a second to be disabused of that notion when faced with real crackers who think the kikes are out to replace them.

We are all color struck. We are overly concerned with the color of another’s skin because to be anything other than a variation of pink is to be diminished in the world. We don’t talk about slavery. We don’t talk about Jim Crow. We don’t talk about the Trail of Tears. We don’t talk about segregation, an active factor in our lives today. Why are we all color struck, especially those who come here from other countries where there may or may not be a racial history of torture and abuse? Loss of cultural and historical memory? Loss of self-awareness? Loss of our humanity? For certain, it is because we have been taught to be conscious of color, particularly for purposes of differentiation and separation.

We need to speak to one another in the way we wish to be addressed. Don’t come @ me with your nigger speak. I really will bust you in your mouth, with love, and dare you to call the police. Since you don’t see color, you won’t be able to give a credible description and I will go on my way, hoping I taught you something of value.

AS · Bad Faith · Community · Health and wellness · observations · social observation · trauma

What is Wrong with US?

Are we really all racists? Are we all irresponsible? Are we all trying to die? From opioids to laundry pods, are we really this stupid?

I can’t watch the news unless it comes from someplace outside of America. I am sick of being exposed, on the daily, to the lies, misdirection, and hatred coming from the top. I don’t want to see that ugly man’s face, but it is plastered everywhere. I can’t use social media because he is everywhere there. He gets way too much publicity. Is this all a ratings race? Who is winning because it certainly is not the public, who is exposed to “information” we cannot trust the truth of, nor can we believe.

An orange ass, who has done nothing in his life but lie and cheat, has no right to be in office. He has no right to expose me to his ignorance.

Is money the only thing that matters in this country? Being stupid certainly seems to be the movida of the hour. Eating laundry pods? How are people being raised nowadays? Where is the sense?

My son tells me that people now have pet children. They have a child, children, but fail to parent them. Single mothers look for mates, children in tow, rather than parenting the children presently in the world. Children have smartphones and tablets to babysit them before they can talk. No wonder they are sexting at age 8. What happened to childhood? What happened to responsible parenting?

The airways are full of the lowest of the low in terms of showing us what behavior is extant. Incest, hatred, murder, bigotry, jealousy. Every day we are exposed to the most negative, loathesome, debilitating, demoralizing behavior. Is this what we are expected to become? I have never seen upright behavior spurred by constant exposure to nastiness.

Like the little dog I saw in my twitter feed. He’d been abused all his life and cried when touched gently. It took a handler a while to calm the poor animal, but she broke through by showing patience, gentleness, kindness. Eventually the wee beastie stopped crying, relaxed and was able to begin responding in kind. It didn’t take long, but exposure to something other than the abuse he’d experienced was required for him to make a change.

I suspect our media is attempting to turn us all into mindless drones. Thoughtless, without empathy, stupid. I don’t like thinking this way, but I am continuously shown this behavior, encounter this behavior in the world, where I know I cannot trust anyone’s word, where I expect the worst and always receive it.

I wasn’t always like this. I was once an optimist. My son says I still live in fantasyland because I want to believe in people. It is getting more difficult to stay in fantasyland, though. I have been robbed, cheated, lied to more often in the past two years than at any time in my life. Confronted with the unending hubris of humankind, I am stunned by how far we seem to have fallen in the US.

Completely distressed.

aging · AS · Class · Criminal Organizations · News and politics · observations · power · social observation · trauma

Why I Never Supported HRC

She stood by her man after he disrespected her, their daughter, and the nation. She stayed for the power. That she continues to stand by him in the current climate disturbs me.

She labeled a generation of young people predators, superpredators. Most of those young people were Black and Latinx.

She disrespected her husband’s accusers, did not believe them, implied they lied.

She is a lawyer.

She didn’t fight Obama for the nomination, just handed it over.

She didn’t fight Trump over this rigged election, just closed her mouth, wrote a book, and rakes in the cash.

She is an elite corporatist.

Her DNC is corrupt.

My position is not popular, particularly among this wave of feminists who seem to want to be better men. Nevertheless, for the above reasons, and maybe a few more that I have not let surface, I have never been a supporter of HRC. I wish her well, but I got nothing else for her or her rabid supporters.

 

 

aging · AS · Criminal Organizations · Law · observations · social observation

There Are Not Enough Words

So, let’s get cracking.

I have had a heluva day: computer problems (CRS Admin password hijack), installation of a gas line (gouging), trying to get medical care for my son, renting a car, preparing to move back to my home. Just a lot going on and I am as tired as if I went to a 9-5.

Then, there is all this madness with the government. The treasonous trollops in the White House are driving me mad. That ugly turtle and his thieving wife, stupid Orange Thug and his roguish family, everyone except Barron, for whom I feel very sad. How is it that the entire GOP and DEMs, too, have been allowed to try and burn down our country? I cannot be the only one who knows the country is run by crooks and liars, mostly liars. Sarah Sanders needs boiled.

The chickens coming home to roost for all these groping, raping marauders. I don’t feel sorry for any of them. All these complicit women who said nothing when they knew there was a threat. All the women, and men, who have held memories of sexual abuse for decades; this is a cathartic moment. I really don’t expect to see much come of any of it. Just like all the gun violence. If a school full of dead children doesn’t move people, the complaints of sexual misconduct by a bunch of women will move those in power even less.

And now, I must find another attorney when I have absolutely no faith in them. I have to file a civil suit against my attorney to try and get back the money he stole from me. No trust, no money. Guess I will do it myself. I successfully brought my probate to a close. Time to learn a new legal skill.

Certainly, I must be grateful for what the ancestors place in front of me to learn and do. There must be a reason I am having all of this experience with the law. Would really rather not, but I seem to have no choice. The requirement to defend what is mine is paramount.

The country has gone crazy, right along with orangina. No ethics. No morality. Racism. Classism. Christianist terrorists emboldened and supported by the current administration. The atmosphere in American culture is toxic as hell. I don’t want to live here any more, but where can I go?

Homelessness has plagued me. All around me, even here at the beach, are the homeless. People live in their RVs, cars, vans. Tents appear in the oddest places. People have become very creative with tarps, cinder blocks, and odd wood. They can wrangle this stuff into fairly sturdy habitations. But they are still outside, without facilities, without running water, without refrigeration, without a roof or floor other than the earth. I like sleeping rough when on a camping trip, or just hanging in my back yard. But it is my back yard and I can get up and go in the house whenever I want. Alhamdulillah!

You know, I think of myself as a Jewish Methodist Muslim. Imagine that! Even though I look like your run of the mill Black woman, I actually have Japanese, Chinese, and European running around in my genome. Funny how blood will out. I have always been fascinated with Japan, to the point that I learned to read, write, and speak Nihongo. I feel like I belong there, am connected there. Mayhap I will find my roots there. I want to go and study textile techniques. Sashiko, amigurumi, that lovely delicate knitting. Yes, that is where I could go. Amongst the Euro part of me, I’ve always felt like an Irish woman. Redheaded, flawless porcelain complexion, lilting voice. Yes, I’ve imagined myself in this ancestor from ’round the world.

Now, I’m Jewish because my mother was. Methodist because I chose to study that religion that  Xtian religion that encourages study, and a Muslim because I reverted to Islam in 1997 after surviving a trip to India. I take what I need from all these perspectives and don’t sweat the small stuff. It helps that I don’t participate  in organized religion, but there is nothing like praying with my sisters, lined up together, hearing the prayer in Arabic, the khutba, the conviviality after. Islam is good for those willing to seek knowledge, even to the ends of the earth.

So much swirling. Too much to do. Too much to think about. Didja know I served in the Army? Yeah, I’m a veteran. So many of us are on the streets. So many Americans on the street. This is a worldwide problem. Refugees, migrants, climate-displaced folks. There is too much going on and there are not enough words to tell you of the turmoil that churns within me, especially when I see our so-called president’s face. Him and his whole administration need removed.

Peace, peeps.

 

aging · AS · friendship · observations · social observation

When Friendship Turns to Henshit

I was raised to believe in making family, in treating those without family or social support to whatever comfort and accomodation that can be mustered.

I tried to be a friend to an old beau and it backfired. Turns out he was a useless narcissist, concerned most about himself, but in particularly self-destructive ways.

I treated this friend to a room at the beach for over a year, rent-free. He reaped many benefits from having no rent to pay, because rent in this complex is $2370 for a 1 cama, 1 baño, >600 sq feet. He reaped auto insurance discounts. He spent money bingeing on gentrified coffees, avocado toast-type crap, smoked fields of weed, ate tons of processed foods, drank Monsters and off-gassed that funky taurine every night. He spent money like water, ran up credit card debt, lost something every day, and generally created tension and confusion in my home.

He saved no money and burned his bridges here, so now he is outty.

Human beings can oftentimes be most disappointing.

 

 

 

AS · Community · Craft · observations · social observation

Casting Back

No, this isn’t about knitting, though that is my world nowadays. No, this is about remembering, triggered memory. Read the name Owen and cast back to my neighbors, the Owens. Large family, all varying shades of mocha with the exception of the only son, Anthony. I secretly adored his handsome chocolate brown frame. It was never curious to me that he was the only brown child; it was marvelous. I wonder if he ever experienced discrimination because of the lovely color of his dark brown skin.

In southern India, I saw the most beautiful dark brown people with glistening black hair. Gorgeous! Then, I learned they were as colour-struck as American Blacks and used terms like “wheatish” to describe the most desirable skin colour. Dalits I met were universally brown-skinned. The women and men who tended my household, bathroom, and garden were universally brown. The owner of the flat was that wheatish color I first encountered reading Indian newspaper personal ads. Wonder what causes wheatishness? Black people have white folks in slavery to thank for some of our wheatishness, as well as for the concept of colour-struck in American culture.

Considering such castings cause me to take refuge in my knitting. I’m not a writer, Yann! I’m a maker, an artisan, a handcrafter, a sample maker. Mom was a sample maker. There are entire businesses devoted to the making of samples. I saw one recently featured on NHK. Sample makers typically make the first draught of a pattern, testing theory as it happens. If everything is good, only one sample is needed. If more work is needed, revisions, and additional samples will be made. I like making one or two of a thing, then off to a new project. I have a research scientist’s ability to focus intently on a topic for a long while, but I have a child’s curiousity and want to explore many things, hence the making of one or two gloves, or pattern tests, or blog posts, then it is off to a new project.

Anthony. One of his sisters was a doctor. Another worked in the university system. They were a good family. I hope all is well with them.

AS · observations · Religion · social observation · Therapeutics · time · trauma

Yom Tov

What does it mean that we are here, now, seeing what we see?

What does it mean that I am aware of the Rohingya, fleeing their lands, en masse; to know, and care, that one-third of Bangladesh is submerged; that 91 people a day die of opiate abuse?

What does it mean that corporations have gutted Puerto Rico’s finances and the island looks like NOLA during Katrina, only more widely spread, people, American citizens, again struggling against unbelievably horrible odds?

What does it mean that I made the-one-who-should-not-be-named my nigger? I did. I tweeted him, told him about the klan military man who would salute a uniform all day, but not a nigger, and I told him he was mine. Sure did and sent it to the POTUS address. I don’t bother with that real thang cuz he can block you. Did me. I have called him a nigger for a couple of days, and you know what? It does a body better than chicken soup and sitting fuming helplessly while my country is made to look an ass because of who sits at the helm.

It is a good time to sit and reflect. I need to sit and figure out why I would do such a thing. True, I was theory-testing. I do love to test a theory, almost as much as I love to knit. A Twitter friend said he reported being called a nigger by some “alt-right” types, and Twitter said none of its standards were violated. So, I said let us see if I can do what I did and suffer no repercussions as I would not be violating any standards. So far, I’m in the pipe, 5 X 5.

I have never written the WH. I have a few favorite presidents, but I don’t like playing favorites. This one, however, requires some face time with me. And I want it recorded.

Good fast to you.