Questions for the Internet

I think of systems as big, scary, faceless monsters with a mind of their own and the resources to control me, when in reality all systems are humans with accountability and weaknesses. Maybe technology is a mask. When we can’t see the threat we treat it as if it’s not there. We treat it as if it’s unstoppable.

I stopped liking the internet with the advent of YouTube adverts. Looking retrospectively to 2004 I recall finding relevant information from countries not isolated to the United Status up to page 30 and beyond. I spent more time on one search result, based on one word, and I don’t recall using Google but rather Yahoo, AOL and MSN. I enjoyed there not being a dominant service to use nor television adverts turning brand names into transitive verbs. When did I start telling people to ‘Google it?’ instead of engaging in debate or exercising my memory to try and gage answers? When did I replace speech with an internet connection, my mouth with materials that damage the earth and keep my people destitute? What made me associate having endless access to English speaking citizens around the world with democracy? Isn’t democracy a feature of governance? What was I thinking to openly celebrate a very large file as a system of controlled living?

My illusions of internet democracy died when people started getting fired from jobs and competitions for opinions they’d expressed online. Opinions that are archived and don’t provide room for context or change. When speech becomes synonymous with money, free thinking dies and conformity becomes a means of living. What good is talking to people across oceans if none of you are allowed to say anything? How can organising riots over BBM be a crime granting the government snooping privileges for our protection? We need protection from whatever it is we’re righting over. We are not the threat, we are responding to a threat. There is no ideal way to respond to an attack on your life. Just like the heirarchisizing of language, dialect and accent, the services we use for speaking and the type of ideas we communicate became heirarchies, too. Since when did yellow pixels become expressions of human emotion? How did we come to favour Facebook over Myspace? Myspace taught me how to code, Facebook taught me how to be idle and nosy.

The internet is supposedly blind. So why is it Pan-African images and video are so effectively policed but uncensored footage of blood and melanin is so readily available? Why does saying nigga get you locked out of your account but All Lives Matter go uninhibited? Who became the deciding factor in what language use is offensive? When did we start living by linguistic terms of service? Were non-Latin derived names always subject to squiggly red lines? Was Street Slang and Patois always code for autocorrect? I know what I’m saying I don’t need a device to tell me! Why are there no African or indigenous languages on translate apps? Why are companies trying to stop globally dispersed and economically destitute black and brown bodies from making calls over WiFi? International credit is too expensive. We’re already paying for our phones, national credits/contracts/broadband and poor service courtesy of poor infrastructure & resource theft. Why are we legally bound to communication? Why can’t I opt out of using my own voice? When did a machine replace my free will or rather when did another person replace my free will? Siri says; ‘Since Always.’

But always can be changed. Maybe it’s time for me to return to notepads, printed books and word of mouth. But aren’t these vessels are policed, too? I don’t know how to recycle materials and create dyes and instruments to write with – is there a ‘How To’ Vlog for that?White-owned publishing agencies and Government sensors determine what words are worth printing. I’m limited to reading in my own language because broad languages aren’t taught in school and mass media-pedalled xenophobia dissuades people from learning from one another. Gentrification is destroying our public parks. We can’t congregate on streets without police escort and we can’t sit in public buildings without paying for a service.

So Google – How do I communicate freely in 2017?

We Are Not The Same

We Are The Same narratives are lazy and incorrect.

We don’t need to be the same to be considered human. Humans need to acknowledge difference and not tie it to inhumanity. More specifically, humans need to acknowledge who is doing the dehumanizing because Black and White are not balanced.

The very terms Black and White as they relate to people in present day are racial terms. Black translates to the 1560’s Spanish and Portuguese coined ‘Negro’ denoting the black skinned people of Africa classified as inferior to justify indigenous servitude & genocide, the Transatlantic Slave Trade and Chattel Slavery of the Americas and the resulting racial discrimination present among nations with a history of European contact.

Race is a heirarchy that benefits one group of people over another. To suggest we work equally to overcome racism suggests we both exercise, benefit and suffer from racism equally. We do not.

We Are The Same removes culpability from the oppressor and disseminates the labour to create change among the oppressed.

We Are The Same denies & erases people’s specific identities and experiences that have been historically removed and redefined by conquer, exodus, genocide, enslavement, assimilation and stereotyping.

We Are The Same tells us that not only must the oppressed fight to survive under oppressive conditions but they are responsible for destroying these very oppressive conditions, that they did not create nor benefit from, to ease the burden on the oppressor.

We Are The Same tells us that talking about difference is divisive, as opposed to the act of dividing people actually being divisive.

Race is not our doing, nor our responsibility to dismantle. We have laboured enough. Undo your own mistakes without expecting applause for doing the human thing of treating people as the humans they are.

The Roses of Jericho

To the flowers that grow from concrete
Blooming in dark rooms and aren’t trusted to mature
alone
You are the roses of Jericho.
Tumbling over deserted landscapes
savouring water
opening for resurrection spreading seeds
pollinating flowers
Dying
Shrinking
Travelling again
with the wind
pushing to arid lands
labouring light in darkness manifesting greatness in absence blowing life to more
Death
Survival
You are complete beings.
Alone.
You are The Roses of Jericho.

White Women Are Easy

White Women Are Easy
Alabaster Goddesses chiseled to harmony and poise

Like the strange fruit on their Poplar Trees swinging, for just a glance

White Women Are Easy.
Courteous to pluck your eyes from your sunfilled sisters so you may rest in darkness

White Women Are Easy.
Encouraging those great muscles to build a masterful house,
Enthralled by your tropical taste in her naturalised mouth
White women are easy.
Voices that ring out the shrill screams of tortured negresses.

White women are easy.
Light steps, light years ahead of the bondaged feet of yester year

White women are easy.

Long hair falling to the wayside

not stood startled at attention,

shrunk by fear,

wrapped tightly for protection,

braided for direction.

White women are easy
There’s no kink in their straight waists, no whineing in their stoic hips, no bark from their thin lips, just an easy road.

White women are easy. Black man, you deserve ease
For it was the hard black woman that birthed you into a world of inferiority, but dared to teach you your greatness.
It was a hard black woman that watched you broken, beaten and starved, but stole through the night to suckle you the last of her milk.

It was a hard black woman that broke back bailed you from the bounty hunters ilk
It is a hard black woman that defends your civil liberties when you deny her her own.
It is a hard black woman that scrapes every dime to raise the seeds you deserted to carry their fathers name where the Negro trade winds never blow
It is a hard black woman that still rises with the sun to replenish an earth that is intent on destroying her
It is a hard black woman mocked for being everything that she isn’t whilst being stolen for all that she is
It is the hard black woman grossly brutalized, infantalized, hypersexualized, erased, restrained, imprisoned, silenced, stifled, killed and forgotten that loves you the hardest

But who wants a hard black woman

Enjoy your ease

Midnight

I like my loves to be so midnight black they merge with blue. Let me hold the sky in my hands. I’ll be the sand in yours. And together we’ll have the heavens and the earth and like the stars in between we’ll collide. Be one with me and I’ll be one with you. I an I, like yin & yang, the sun & moon, the night and day. Rest and wake, pulse and wane, collide & recede like air, like blood, like water, like us.

Self Care: What Made You Smile

When you’re abstaining from sex, horny from PMSing and a fuck boy decides to text you, it’s not usually a laughing matter but today I found the hilarity in the comedic timing of this testing situation.

Not today Beelzebub!

I’d been awake in the early hours reflecting on relationships and the ways I’d mentally willed anyone to love me in the past, authentically or not, just to fill the agonising hole of isolation that comes from being on the Autism Spectrum; unable to satisfy a human need for connection and communication.

Social awkwardness mat not sound like much of a feat but when you spend your entire life desperately attempting to befriend with no ability to make small talk, give eye contact, relate to emotion or speak honestly without your brutalism piercing a world of grey emotion amongst your black and white being, it’s an endless agonising trauma.

Nowhere feels like home. Your puzzle piece doesn’t fit the emotional jigsaw of your family and open displays of affection make you squirm, so the general neurotypical consensus is that you’re cold, distant, unable to reach, unable to love.

Your silence and rigidity invites bullying, your emotionless bitchy resting face offering a betraying propaganda of what truly lies beneath the surface.

Fortunately for me, I can connect with male energy. Find safety, freedom and comfort in the confines of masculinity. Be the cub to a feline and parade with soft extroversion in a social space whose rules I can better understand.

Unfortunately for me, being a fatherless woman searching for masculinity to connect to within a hypersexualised society often doesn’t bring male best friends I can play fight and go on endless platonic adventures with, but guys interested in one thing and one thing only, that irresistible pleasure too many are willing to go to great coercive and predatorial lengths to get: panty pudding!

I’ve used apps in the past naively trying to befriend local people with similar interests that for some reason all happened to be males with ulterior motives. The app is called Befriend, not try to date and have sex with. Why can’t people just follow the rules?!

I gave into some of them, accepted that sexual connection was better than nothing, but in the process learned that intimacy was not the cure to my loneliness but a need to love myself.

Suffice to say on my journey to self love predators came along at my most testing moments, so I’ve disconnected from all males, deleted numbers and started a fresh. But this guy, just doesn’t take no for answer.

He’d tried to get me to go out with him for months, refusing to acknowledge my trauma and stress of being raped, my distrust for all men and need to be by myself for healings sake. I couldn’t take the constant pestering so I explained to him very politely that I would no longer be able to speak to him.

He replied ‘cool.’ Really? A guy that went as far as crying down the phone expressing his love for me (I’d seen him once briefly when we first met through a mutual friend) and his wish that he could treat me right replies with that unfazed monosyllabic retort! I knew what he was after but it’s still disappointing to be proved right.

Thankfully I didn’t hear from him for months (thank you Jesus, he finally got the message!) and in the very moment I found comfort in the realisation that I’m not interested in sex, dislike the thought of absorbing so many people’s energies – in what appears to be a social norm of many short-lived intimate relationships – and wanted to dedicate time to controlling my sexual urges so that nothing may have power over what I want; he pops up with ‘you good?’

I bursted out with laughter. The audacity was side-splitting, timing even more so. The number was unknown (fuck boy identification #1) but his profile picture was a funny meme I remembered he’d used before – Well done, Autistic photographic memory 🙌  – so I went straight over to the block button and deleted the message.

WOW, who would’ve thought I’d get to a stage where I was able to ignore attention from a guy.

Imagine had I been vulnerable and in that desperate space to have anyone to connect to regardless of intention! I’m not in this period of hibernation for nothing, I’ll be damned if I dont learn something.

My personal power made me smile today and I celebrated with my anti-fuck boy repellent song; Beniton Work Remix 💅

Join me in chanting the lyrics:

Woman don’t you ever give a man a chance to use you because you know he will neglect you.

And if God inna yuh life and you believe in unu self, it nuh really matter who be against you.

If a man nuh treat you right (desert him)

Inna your business dem (lurking)

Tell dem straight up, (yuh nuh like it)

Dem always gwarn like dem are (the nicest)

From the day me know me set, me know me (righteous)

Dem only know you when dem end up inna (crisis)

Nuff uh dem out dere a waste gyal a waste man

nuh mek dem move like a yuh dem a wait pon

Dem always a turn on a bend of frustration

Always a guh bruk it, dem nuh set a foundation.

Di bad mind ting ah nuh go work, di hypocrite ting ah nuh go work.

Tell your ex to guh look wuk, and tap mix up inna dirt!