Cynique

Campaign rhetoric is just loaded with coded phrases contrived to convey the goal of getting that black president out of office and "taking this country back"! Race-wise, America is regressing. White movers and shakers are not yet ready to share their power. And racial equality has reverted back to being a myth.. As far as the upcoming election goes, if the best interest of Liberals are to be served, alliances and voting blocs are going to have to be formed in order to stave off the conservative tide that seeks to restrict people's sexual, gender, and religious choices. Women are going to have to step up and vote for their reproductive rights, and Independents are going to have to exert their influence against the Republican Evangelicals who want to impose their puritanical/hypocritical religious values on everybody. Whether this will happen or not remains to be seen because it's hard to gauge what people's priorities are now days. All of this along with the ongoing problems that include the economy, the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan and the specter of war with Iran do not bode well for the future. the United States as we know it is going to undergo change. America no longer has a national character or common beliefs and goals. Those of like minds will inevitably gravitate toward each other and maybe even settle in different regions of the country. Hopefully the fragmented governments will be able to co-exist without doing battle for control. America, at any time, could either implode or explode. And ironically it may be the climate that will strike the final blow. Happy Doomsday, everybody!

Chapter 8 The Only One Bobbing her head, grooving with the sounds of Four Play, warmed by the glow of alcohol, Carol paused long enough to take another swallow from her drink. “You really put me on the spot,” she drawled, blinking at the person seated across from her, finally making up her mind, not caring what Wanda would say later. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have good judgment, didn’t know how to play the game. After all, her life was just one big game, a game she had trouble winning which was why she was spending her Friday night, playing bid-whist and listening to a CD instead looking forward to a Saturday night date to hear a live performance, - thanks to a last minute cancellation of Four Play’s engagement at the jazz club where they were scheduled to appear! Brought back to the moment by Wanda’s under-the-table-kick, Carole took one last look at her cards and passed. Andre Butler pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side. “I bid 5 no-trump,” he announced . “Down town.” Roderick Peters glared at his partner, disbelief clouding his face. “Asshole!” he shrieked, his eyes popping. “Why you take me out with a no-trump downtown when I’m sittin over here holdin 2 jokers and all these fuckin face-cards!” “This hand was too good to give up,” Andre explained, shooting his arm in the air, wiggling his fingers. Carole and Wanda exchanged glances, knowing what was coming as the 2 men began rotating their necks and frantically gesturing at each other. “You do it every time!” Roderick accused. “You think you the only nigga who knows how to play a hand.” “Listen, baby,” Andre hissed and gave a circular snap of his fingers, “when I bid it, I make it! More than I can say for you, Miz Thang!” “Don’t even go there,” Roderick huffed, raising an eyebrow. “Not when you just got your sorry ass set!” “That’s cuz you didn’t lead the right card, bitch!” “That’s cuz you didn’t save the right suit, ‘ho!” “Shit!” Wanda exploded. “Will you 2 butt-busters shut the hell up and play!” “Don’t be getting an attitude, fish,” Andre snapped. “I’m fixin to make this bid.” Carole sat back, took another swallow of wine, and stared at her ace of hearts. As for her date with Albert, she had called it off. Since FourPlay had cancelled, there was no incentive for her spend her money to spend a Saturday evening, making small talk with an oddball. But she had agreed to Albert’s suggestion that they make plans to go see Grammy winner Esparanza Spalding, the jazz bassist who, according to him, was due in town soon. Carole wasn’t about to pass up a chance to see this new star on the horizon . Across the card table, down to the last play, a triumphant Andre played the 7 of spades to turn his 11th trick. Carole finished off her drink, and grunted. Date cancelled, cards games lost, just wasn’t my night, she mused, wishing she could catch a break… …soon because loneliness was creeping up on him, even if he was learning to be good company for himself, even if cable TV did provide a good mix of entertaining and educational shows to stretch out on the couch and watch, which was what he was doing. But, things could’ve been worse, and he had least had a full day tomorrow when he planned to pay his mother a visit, driving her to all the places she needed to go. And, while in the old hood, he’d check in with a couple of his homies and shoot the shit. Then he’d go shopping and stock up on frozen dinners and bagged snacks and canned beverages. And, oh yes, there was one other thing on his agenda. Earlier while picking up a some toiletries at the local drug store, he hadn’t even realized what aisle he’d wandered into. But, once there, he’d stopped and browsed and later purchased. Yes, this week-end Troy Briggs was going to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. He was going to read a book! Take that, Carole Everly! Making yet another silent vow to kick the habit, Philip Atkins took a deep draw on his cigarette before flicking it out the window of the unmarked squad car pulling away from a crime scene. The morning was cold and gray and the streets were almost deserted. But somewhere, some place, as had just been horribly proven, a killer was on the loose, strangling and battering and disposing of his female victims with such similarity that it was hard not to conclude that a serial killer was at work. Philip looked over at his partner who was doing the driving. In contrast to Philip, a bespectacled Brooks Jones was lean, and light-skinned, with bird sharp features and an intense manner. “What’s your take on these murders?” Phillip said. “My gut feeling is they’re definitely the work of one man, and that serial killing has become an equal opportunity employer.” “I agree,” Brooks said, hitting the brakes as they approached a red light. “I think the perp is definitely a brother.” “Can't be sure this motherfucker knew his victims,” Philip continued, "since none of their family or friends can recall ever meeting or hearing about anyone who could be considered a person of interest. And, all things considered, we can be pretty much assume that he's not using his real name.” “For sure," Brooks said. "And although the victims were from different walks of life, we can further assume what they did have in common was apparently something they each did,” “Which was?” “Resist his advances.” “OK, so let’s create a scenario to coincide with our profile,” Phillip suggested. “Let’s just say a bored, single, twenty-something babe - for whatever reason - accepts a casual date with a geek and then maybe after a few drinks, she let’s her guard down.” “The vulnerable victim then becomes party to a classic case of rejection,” Brooks theorized, slowing at an intersection to make a left turn. “They end up alone somewhere and he comes on to her.” “But having a change of heart, she fights him off.” “He then goes ballistic, unable to deal with being rebuffed.” “So he overpowers and rapes her, “ Phillip added. “Then because he can’t afford to let her go, the sonofabitch finishes her off by choking her with her own underwear.” Brooks hunched over the steering wheel. “This guy is undoubtedly a disturbed person, and after this happens the first time, he decides that when rape is foreplay, murder is the ultimate climax.” Phillip glanced over at his partner and nodded. “That makes sense. For him, sex and murder go together.” “And this pattern of behavior has become compulsive.” Phillip stared out the window, watching as it started to snow. “The bastard has got to trip himself up sooner or later. How often can he get away with jammin a body in a garbage dumpster without somebody seeing him?” “Neighborhoods are pretty deserted in the middle of the night.” “I just hope we can get some kind of a lead soon,” Phillip muttered, shaking a Newport out of its pack. “Killing innocent young women is such a tragic waste of life.” When the cadence of Dave Brubeck’s “Take 5” filled the air just then, Brooks quickly reached for his cell phone and silenced the ring tone. “The innocence of these young women is what got them killed,” he said cryptically. - to be continued -

Hi Writergirl. Doin OK. Still posting my "The Only One" soap opera. See you have a sequel to your book coming out. The boards miss your interesting input, but realize you're probably busy with your own projects.

I want to consider saying Carter to the first question, but Reagan defeated him, so I guess the Republicans did figure it out. My question for President Carter would be; "Was Ronald Reagan a better actor than politician?".. With the shape the country is in, Obama would be easier to defeat if the Republican candidates weren't so out of touch with the average American. These conservative zealots are focusing on religion, abortion, illegal aliens repealing Obama-care and no tax hike for the rich. They think the economy will fix itself and jobs will open up if the government will just exert less control and that sick poor people should go with the flow and die. The average voter couldn't care about any of this crap. They want no more wars, lower gas prices, better schools and jobs, jobs, jobs.

The Only One Chapter 7 Carole Everly was puzzled. Stumped. Confused. Despite how they had gotten off on the wrong foot during their only encounter, despite how he had since kept his distance, despite not knowing if he was available, despite all her past experiences with slippery boyfriends, despite what satisfactory companions she proclaimed her books to be, - after a week of trying to maintain her cool, she was hot for Troy Briggs and, against her better judgment, wanted to get next to him in the worst way. She wasn’t sure why she was so taken with the elusive Mr. Briggs, or why she’d become totally preoccupied with trying to figure him out, but she did know that this was not how it was supposed to be! Her theory on how to fascinate a man had backfired, and a few minutes in the presence of her intended prey was all it had taken for the script to flip – for her to fall under his spell, leaving her mystified. Had he been trying to conceal his interest by dissing her, or was she misinterpreting his choosing to join her at her table since, contrary to what he claimed, there were other empty seats in the cafeteria? Was his making sure to nod at her when they ran into each other every morning anything other than a courteous gesture? Did he actually seem to twitch as soon as he saw her? Was she imagining his reluctance to look away when they made eye contact? Did he, at least, - like her? So much to wonder. So little to conclude. Except that maybe she needed to - think like a man… Naturally, Wanda had to weigh in. She was convinced that Carole was just bored with her routine life. “Idle time is the playground of the devil”, she’d reminded, deciding that Troy Briggs, with his sly ways, was “a spawn of Satan!” Carole was not in total disagreement. It was almost like she was possessed, and since there weren’t any exorcists around, authors, as usual, came to her rescue, serving as her priests, providing the sanctuary of their books. Spending her lunch hour in the usual cafeteria setting, immersed in the sights and sounds and smells that surrounded her, munching on her turkey club sandwich, Carole turned to her latest library check-out, hoping to take her mind off her romantic dilemma. Just about to start another chapter of a Dan Brown thriller, she looked up as her pal Vanessa Reese breezed up. “Hey, sweetie,” Vanessa grinned, all gap-toothed and glossy-lipped. “Still reading them books, huh? Surprised you ain’t switched to Kindle!” “I’m thinking about it,” Carole said. “So how you doin? Long time no see.” “With my crazy new schedule I now go to lunch at 11 o’clock. Cain’t stay but a minute. Just had to holler atcha and get your take on the new brotha in the house!” “You mean - Troy Briggs?” “Yes, lord!” Carole shrugged. “What can I say? He’s fine, but – “But what?” “But, he’s - probably already taken.” “Uh-uh. The other day in the ladies room, I overheard Debbie Marlowe telling someone how bored he told her he was, now that he’s divorced.” Carole’s face fell. “Debbie Marlowe?” “Goldilocks,” Vanessa snorted and rolled her eyes. “Gotta run. I’ll call ya later. We’ll talk.” Watching her friend scurry away, Carole’s considered what she had just learned. The good news was the confirmation that Troy Briggs was unattached. The bad news was that it was Debbie Marlowe to whom he’d confirmed this. One more reason to wonder why she was stuck on Troy Briggs! Miffed, she half-heartedly turned back to her book. “You have to be the - readingest woman I’ve ever seen,” someone else said 5 minutes later, and the person uttering these words took a seat across from Carole. Staring at the page she had just turned, Carole’s ears took over, reacting to the voice that made a muffle of all the other talkers around her. “Is there something wrong with reading?” she asked, and when she looked up and met the eyes of Troy Briggs, a warm flush spread over her. “Nope,” Troy said. “They say it enriches the mind.” “Is it something you like to do?” she asked, deciding not to tell him there was no such word as “readingest”. “I had to do so much of it when I was enrolled in an accelerated program to get my degree, that I needed a break from books.” He took a sip of his coffee as he began to scope out the cafeteria. “But I’m gonna get back in the habit soon. Any recommendations?” “What I’m reading now is interesting.” “What’s it about?” She thought fast, eager to sum the book up as briefly as possible before his attention strayed. “The gist of it is - how solutions to problems can be right before our eyes if only we recognized silent messages.” He squinted at her. “So, have you heard any good silent messages lately? “ She tilted her head. “From the way you’re gawking at my earrings, I’m sensing your - quiet disapproval.” “Have all those holes in your lobes affected your hearing?” “Just waiting for something worth listening to.” “Try this. Your intuition sucks. I’ve expressed my doubts about your body-piercing loud and clear.” “My body, per se, is not pierced.” His wandering gaze came back to her and his stare fondled her. “No? Too bad. Every woman needs a good body piercing now and then – per se.” “With your stabbing wit, that should be something you’re very good at,” she retorted and narrowed her eyes before realizing that, as her supervisor, he could make things hard for her, - the way he’d just made her nipples. But he seemed amused rather than angry when he stood up. “I’ll never tell,” he winked, repeating the phrase that had brought their last session to a close. Wondering why she had acquired a taste for arrogant bastards, she watched as he walked off, heading toward the table where Debbie Marlowe and her crowd were babbling away. Her heart sank and she could’ve kicked herself for failing to see what was right before her eyes. Troy Briggs was toying with her, and she had been played! That evening, seated at a table for 2 in a softly-lit lounge, Carole twiddled with the stem of the goblet that contained her apple martini. Having been bummed out by her latest cafeteria face-off with Troy Briggs, she was now feeling bubbly, and quite appreciative of this change of scene. Enjoying the company of another man was just what she needed to bolster her spirits, and she hummed along with the smooth jazz selection providing the atmosphere for the cozy little club where she’d agreed to meet Phillip Atkins for cocktails. “Whatever led you to call me after all this time?” she asked her companion. “I’m off today, and I just found myself thinking about you,” Phillip replied, “wondering how you were doing, hoping you were - OK.” He was a husky man, tall, dark and ruggedly handsome, his voice deep and soothing. “You know how crazy I was about you, Carole. You had the best - pillow talk in the world. You just had no - spirit of adventure.” “Can I help it if a - menage a trois just wasn’t something I wanted to translate?” she asked, “especially since your choice for the third leg of the triangle was your other girlfriend!” Phillip shrugged and took a swallow of his Jack Daniels. “What can I say, baby? When you’re a cop you see a lot of shit, you do a lot of shit.” “Like taking pay-offs,” she kidded. “Looks like a designer suit you’re rockin.” “Now that I’m outta uniform, I gotta look presentable.” “How can you be a plain-clothes detective if you don’t wear plain clothes?” He smirked. “I see your tongue is as sharp as ever. Just wish you’d - cut me a little bit of slack.” “You ain’t never been satisfied with a little bit of nothin.” “That’s cuz you have so much to offer, sweetheart.” “Not enough to make you a one-woman-man,” “Maybe I didn’t want to wear you out since - I couldn’t get enough of you.” “Had to spread yourself around, huh?” “Yeah, in the spirit of sharing.” “Nobody could ever accuse you of not being generous.” “Um-huh and I got a little something to give you right now.” “Little?” “OK, big,” he corrected, running his tongue over his lips. “I know I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” she teased, “but I don’t want to get bitten, and - I need to get going cuz this workin gal has to rise early.” “Yeah, you need to head home before - it gets too late,” he chuckled, checking his watch and motioning for the waitress. “I’ll walk you to your car. You have to be very careful these days. There’s a rash of killings goin on out there, and all of the victims have been single, young black women. Just like you.” Carole reached across and patted his wrist. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, and finished off her drink, sensing he had lost interest in wasting more time on her. “Store my new number in your cell, and feel free to hit me up anytime,” he instructed, picking up her hand and squeezing it. “I don’t make bootie calls,” she drawled. “Have it your way,” he shrugged, his eyes lingering on the ample bosom of the frizzy-haired waitress who’d just appeared and served up a smile to Phillip. “Better my way than yours,” Carole said, observing what was suddenly going on between the flirty waitress and one of “Chicago’s finest” playas. Back home, safe in her solitude, Carole chased down 2 Tylenols with a glass of water, ready to call it a night. She’d had a busy day between sparring with Troy Briggs and schmoozing with Phillip Atkins. Phillip Atkins, who would always hold a special place in her heart, and she found herself thinking maybe a great way to arouse the spirit of adventure he accused her of not having, was to add him to her Troy Briggs equation. Maybe she could even throw Albert in for good measure and have - Fourplay. There did seem to be a hint of intimacy in his voice when he called a half hour ago to confirm their upcoming date. But then with him, it was hard to tell. Drifting out of her boudoir, crossing over to her front room window, she parted the drapes slightly and stared out into the night world, Chicago after dark, a street scene where shadows concealed a male figure who, for the past hour, had been lurking in a storefront doorway, staring at her apartment building. “Pleasant dreams, Carole,” the stranger murmured, groping himself, as the object of his surveillance became a silhouette behind the drapes that shielded her from his watchful eyes. - to be continued -

There is also a certain evangelical element in the black church, saying that they will support the presidential candidate who most closely follows the bible when it comes to homosexuality and abortion, as well as teaching creationism in schools.They also reject Mormonism. This amounts to an implicit endorsement of Republican Rick Santorum, the conservative darling who really wants to turn America into a fascistic theocracy,which is just as bad as neo-nazism Pulpits are a haven for false prophets.

I am a member of a small black heritage museum in my hometown which is a suburb of Chicago. About 2 years ago, after some research and investigation and speculation, members of this organization have had verified what they think is a missing link between underground railroad way-stations on a particular itinerary through Illinois to Ohio. It is an old "shot gun" house, a one-story building with a hidden trap door that has been around forever, a place with a colorful background, believed to also have been a hideout for bottleggers during prohibition. It is located very close to the DesPlaines river which runs throughout Illinois and is a tributary to rivers leading to Ohio, an important clue because rivers provided the directions for Harriet Tubman and her "passengers." It was very exciting to identify this historical connection to the past "right in our own backyard". BTW, Writergirl, another regular poster, gave a thumbs up to the slave narratives after she read them.

Oprah's term of playing god has expired, boitumelo, She can't even get her OWN net work off the ground, much less alleviate the "black problem". It's possible for a black person to exist independently of the group. Personal responsibility helps. Not bogging oneself down with the baggage that is the result of poor decision making can improve chances. This is pretty much what Oprah embodies and the message she has been dispensing over the years. And pretty much the message the the black underclasses ignore, which is why they are a part of the problem, not the solution. Black "leaders" can only do so much.

The Academy membership, - which has been revealed to consist of mostly white male senior citizens, - when faced with the dilemma of which black maid to give the award to this year, let Meryl Streep make the decision. Who could argue that Streep's interpretation of Margaret Hatcher called for more acting prowess than Viola Davis' mammy re-tread. What can be deduced from this is that the Oscars are not really significant because too many outside factors influence the outcome. Race, sex, age, previous snubs, tokenism, political correctness, fan popularity all figure into the equation when it comes to handing out a statue that is supposed to symbolize the epitome of excellence in acting, directing, writing and producing. Making things even more dubious is that the voting process is an exercise is choosing between apples and oranges in a field where comedy and drama are not treated as separate genres. Also, once an Oscar has been won, time and time again it has been proven that this achievment is no guarantee that the career of the winner will soar. Hollywood is a make-believe world. So it should come as no surprise that when honoring its own, credibility is not a big factor. The Tinsel Town award season is turning out to be more about celebrity than artistry. Who is wearing what on the red carpet is a major event, with a cast of fawning interviewers asking vapid questions. But, - that's show biz! And the sky-high TV ratings these extravaganzas command make criticism pale in comparison.

The Only One Chapter of 6 Speaking in his deep, well-modulated voice, the suave 10 o’clock news anchor wound up the lead-off story involving yet another corrupt Chicago politician, then looked to his right and deferred to his colleague. Putting on a concerned face, the weave-coiffed, eagle-eyed female co-anchor took her turn on camera, her red lips glossy, her brown skin velvety. “Elsewhere in the news,” she began, “police continue to be baffled as the corpse of yet another young black female has turned up in a south side garbage dumpster. The unidentified strangulation victim is the 5th in the past 2 months to be found in these circumstances, and the similarities between these crimes, particularly the disposition of the bodies, has led law enforcement authorities to suspect that a serial killer is on the loose, a possibility that has caused worried inner-city residents to wonder… …who?” Wanda asked, in response to what Carole had just announced. “Fourplay,” Carole repeated into the phone. “Foreplay?” Wanda questioned, her eyes glued to the TV screen as she watched a body bag being loaded into a police van. “Your sex drive kickin back in?” “Four as in 1-2-3-4!” Carole snapped. “FourPlay is the name of this quartet coming to town next week, and the only way I’m gonna get to see them is if I hook up with this guy I struck up a conversation while browsing in Best Buy last month. His was kind of a nerd, but very knowledgeable about jazz and I agreed to his suggestion that the next time a good group comes to Chicago, we get together and go check them out. He was a little weird but, unlike a lot of guys who get phone numbers, Albert kept his word - and he just called.” “Uh-huh,” Wanda said. “So, after enjoying the performance of ‘1-2-3-4play’, are you gonna have a jam session with this Albert to show your appreciation for his escort service?” Carole sighed. “Be serious. All I’m doing is going out on a casual date with a harmless nerd, and I intend to pay my own way. Any dude who’s a jazz buff and who tells me how charming and intelligent I am, can’t be all bad.” "Yeah, and how you know that by the time you on your 1-2-3-4th drink you and your charming, intelligent, overdue-cable-bill-self won’t decide to get it on with a lyin' nerd in exchange for him pickin' up the tab.” “Oh, chill out! Just cuz your idea of entertainment is getting high and listening to Kanye, doesn’t mean I can’t take a break from my routine, and go out on a date!” “Wanda laughed. “I agree. And the routine you really need to take a break from is obsessing about… …Troy Briggs sat on the side of his sofa bed, staring at his toes, ready to hit the sack but not necessarily ready to fall asleep because the end of the day was when mixed emotions about being single came into play, when the ghost of his dead sex-life crept in to haunt him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying his new freedom. Or that he didn’t want to get back in the mix, - didn’t want to stop treating women’s eyes like vaginas waiting for the probe of his hard stare. It was just that he was gun-shy, leery about the bush of man-hunters stalking his dick. And when it came to sistas, all he needed was to detect a certain voice inflection, a certain twist of the mouth, a certain roll of the eyes, and a neon sign went on in his head blinking “caution”, alerting him to the danger of another Coreen; a mild-mannered nymph ready to pull off her clothes and turn into super bitch after she fucked your brains out. Or, just as bad, Coreen’s predecessor, Ashley. Ashley Drake, the one who got away. Impressed with how Ashley had started her own consulting business, attracted to her classy looks and sharp intelligence, appreciative of her nice apartment, Troy had made his move, turning on his charms to win her after their introduction at the wedding reception of a mutual friend. Ashley Drake, who fit right into the future dreams that had inspired him to quit his dead-end factory job and enroll in college. Losing his heart and depleting his bank account in the course of wooing her, he’d desperately hoped she’d understand how working part-time to put himself through school was what made renting movies, and going half on a pizza order, and springing for whatever wine was on sale at the super market all that he could offer once his savings were spent. But after a while, it became apparent that “understanding” wasn’t Ashley’s strong suit, “Have you ever thought about doing some modeling work on the side to make more money?” she’d complained one night, as he stood up to press the “eject” button on her VCR. “Ever consider making your looks good for something worthwhile?” she’d insinuated further, screwing up her face after taking a sip of the off-brand Zinfindel he’d picked up at a discount store. A sign of things to come. Even his ace in the hole hadn’t done the trick. “Was it good for you, baby?” he’d whispered in her ear one evening, encouraged when she’d silently nodded. But an interlude of making Ashley’s eyes cross in the bedroom hadn’t been enough to cloud the vision of this chic, no-nonsense, status-seeker. Sex apparently wasn’t a priority in her life, and after a 6-month fling she’d looked down her nose and given him the boot. A low-income, community college student living at home with his widowed mama, was out of her league! So she’d traded him in for a law clerk who a demoralized Troy went on “MySpace” and found out was a Republican. And a hockey fan! Puck that. Love was a game for fools. Was it any wonder that break-ups with women always left him in need of a sounding board… “You have to share the blame for your divorce,” his mother had counseled last year, seated across from him at her kitchen table. “You didn’t bring out the best in Coreen because you didn’t really love her.” “Does marriage nurture love, or does love nurture marriage?” he’d murmured, staring off into space. “If 2 people really like each other, things just kinda fall in place,” his mother had finally answered, remembering the dead husband who had not only been her true love, but her best friend. Troy knew where his mother was coming from. But his only reaction was to wonder how he was supposed to like a wife that turned out to be a deceitful, annoying shrew who got on his last nerve, - or a “show-me-the-money” ice princess who’d cashed in his heart. Now ready to retire, Troy clicked off the light and settled under the quilt that was yet another contribution his mother had made in her ongoing efforts to comfort her only son. After devoting a few minutes to fantasizing about what his growing acquaintance with the very tempting and - non-threatening Debbie Marlowe could lead to, for some reason his thoughts strayed to Carole whatever-her-last-name-was. Everly? He’d been hesitant about joining her during their break because he didn’t want this to be misinterpreted. But he also didn’t want to snub any of his black co-workers lest they think him an “Uncle Tom”. Naturally, during the course of their brief encounter, Carole had sent out the usual single girl signals. Still, there was something different about her. The problem was her sameness, a sameness that had to do with how, like Coreen, Carole’s nose was pierced and how, like Ashley, Carole sported a short hairstyle! Disturbing reminders. Baaaad omens… What might distinguish Carole from these 2 ball-busters, remained to be seen. But Troy wasn’t inclined to look any further than the desk where Carole sat, performing her daily duties, looking all efficient and…inviting. Hearing that edge in her voice, and seeing that flash in her eyes, was enough to make the red flags go up. Of course he had been rather rude during their cafeteria encounter. And that was because she, herself, was so quick-witted, - an intriguing trait; if you liked the type… …of woman who challenged you. Silhouetted against the wall in his lamp-lit room, the man vigorously kneaded his groin as his mind re-played the televised scene he’d watched earlier, - 2 morgue attendants closing the doors of a van bearing the body of a young woman he knew had been strangled. "Another try, another cry," the jack-off chuckled to himself. "The word no is so much bloodier than the word yes, - but they say it anyway," he muttered, performing his solo act to the accompaniment of a smooth jazz selection by FourPlay. - to be continued -

Interesting. You have put the America zeitgeist into words, articulating the unconscious mindset that is entwined with the sense of privilege and entitlement that many white people don't even realize they have. Lurking in the background is the growing Hispanic presence in this country, and competition from the Asian and Arab niches must certainly be of more concern to the white power structure than the threat posed by the army of black men loitering on corners with their jeans hangin off their butts or languishing away in prisons, pumping iron and converting to Islam or cloaking themselves in the materialistic trappings of perceived status. As usual black folks are on the fringes, watching the game they have paid to see played. "Babylon" is in deep shit. amerika is being eroded by forces that it won't be able to maintain control over. This may be good for some and bad for others, but for those not concerned with subjective judgments, this country will one day be "different". C'est la Vie.

So you think there are sinister forces who want to thwart black economic independence and destroy black businesses so that they won't be in competition with - who??? The Arabs and ASians who are now the merchants in the inner cities, selling the wares that have been manufactured in China? Did the grand plan concocted by the shady conspirators backfire???? Do you have a theory as to why Blacks are always the target of schemes designed to disenfranchise and repress them?? Are they a part of the problem instead of part of the solution?????

Welllll, alidawriter, when you inject Communism into this conspiracy theory, then I cast a jaudiced eye at it. Communism was never able to make inroads into our democractic system in general and the black community in particular. The idea that Communists in America wielded enough power to ensure the passage of the Brown decision and thereby destroy the black middleclass through integration is predicated on your contention that at that time the black middleclass was too strong and independent. Oh, really? The state that the black middle class had evolved into in the early 1950s was a fatuous one, fraught with materialism and a preoccupation with making itself a carbon copy of the white bourgeoise. The idea that this apolitical segment was a threat to the plans of Jews and Communists is questionable. Paul Robeson was rendered totally impotent and ostracized for his Communst affliation. The black listing in Hollywood and the McCarthy Hearings in the 1950s eventually revealed how the paranoia about the Communism threat in America was ludicrous. There wasn't a "pinko" hiding behind every tree because the American Communist Party was plagued with the in-fighting and power struggles that made these comrades nothing more than impotent radicals. During the cold war, the threat of Communism was kept alive through an ongoing conflict with Russia because America needed a villain in order to cast this country as the Good Guys and leaders of the free world. America also needed a boogeyman to scare its population into the believing that democracy was in danger but that Uncle Sam would protect them and keep them safe by fighting a war against Communism in Vietnam, a ploy that played into the hands of the military-industrial complex. This was where money came into the equation. MLK was an advocate of integration because he believed this was the only way true equality could be achieved. Malcolm X knew better. Today integration is a dream that didn't exactly turn into a nightmare but rather an illusion that challenges reality. Where race is concerned there is no such thing as color-blindness and xenophobia is alive and well. The manipulation of Jews and Communists wasn't needed to prove this.

Why is the NAACP always the focus of your wrath. boitumelo?? This organization is not a major force in the black community any more and exerts little influence as far as movers and shakers go. Its mission has more to do with bringing legal action against racial discrimination. Personally, I think people should mind their own business when it comes to Rihanna and Chris Brown. He is in counseling and If she wants to give him a second chance, that's her choice. How many wives give their husbands second chances after they do wrong in hopes of saving their relationships? Why is Rihanna obligated to tailor her personal life to public opinion? Nobody knows the inside story of what went on between her and her boyfriend. Furthermore, she apparently doesn't want to be the poster girl for organizations with agendas. She seems to be a free spirit and a risk- taker in all areas of her life and all of these self-appointed high profile people taking up her cause need to find someone more receptive to embracing victimhood. Finally, Society shouldn't depend on celebrities to be role models for young people. It is the responsibilty of parents or esteemed figures in their communities to set good examples. Pop culture vultures have a morbid interest in the scandelous lives and tragic deaths of people like MIchael Jackson and Whitney Houston. The tabloids and exploiters are just supplying what there is a demand for.

LOL. How did you find out all of this info??? Did you sneak into the archives in the tunnels under the capitol building or climb up into the Washington monument and explore all the secret passages there?? FDR was always accused of knowing that the Japanese were going to attack Pearl Harbor and the reason that he did nothing to prevent it was because a war would mobilize the countyry and be good for the economy. Also its been claimed that the foundling fathers were not Chrisitians but deists and agnostics and very much into astronomy. There are mystical overtones to all of this. There is obviously more to this country than meets the eye.....

Jeeze. Really strange. I was born in 1933, not in a hospital but at home in a small town which is a suburb of Chicago. I have my birth certificate and it designates that it was recorded by the clerk of cook county and registered with the bureau of vital statistics. Interesting to find out that I am collateral. My older brother and 2 sisters, who were all born in Chicago in the years 1922, 1924, 1927 respectively, all had their original birth certificates which were issued in these years and stamped with the seal of Cook county. ????? The Depression was in full swing in 1933 and Franklin Delano Roosevelt had just been elected to office. It was also the year Prohibition was repealed and when National Recovery Act went into effect introducing all of the social programs such as the Public works administration (PWA) and the TWA and the CMTC camps for young males, and also when workers were fanned out over the country to record the slave narratives. All kinds of projects and programs originated back then including .the Social Security Administration which came into being.in 1937. I know the Masons were very instrumental in the founding of this country but I didn't know America was ever in debt to the lluminati. Hummmmm.

I'm familiar with the notorious Marion prison. Is there anything more mind boggling than "man's inhumanity to man"? You are a living example of the old adage that says "anything that doesn't kill you, makes you stronger" , alidawriter. Stay strong, bro.

"I'm for truth, no matter who tells it. I'm for justice, no matter who it is for or against. I'm a human being, first and foremost, and as such I'm for whoever and whatever benefits humanity as a whole." El Hajj Malik el Shabazz, aka Malcolm X, who was assassinated on this day back in 1965

Sorry, alidawriter, but you lost me on this one. Politicizing a black woman's womb is a double edged sword, and as far as I'm concerned, not a subject that men of any color are qualified to speak on. Wanton breeding, - having one baby after another by different fathers is by anybody's standards ill-advised. Continuing to bring children into the world who you can't take care of is just plain stupid. And it has wide ranging consequences since it involves trying to raise fatherless children. If we're going to apply all of the cliches about the hidden agenda of black genocide when it comes to birth control, then let apply one more cliche about the black-on-black crime that is a blatant overt example of self genocide, and it can be linked to the birth patterns among the black underclasses. If a sexually-active black woman is responsible enough to protect herself by using birth control, that's her prerogative and no man has the right to tell her what to do with her body. All of these Catholic cardinals and evangelical preachers and political candidates and - black males who have not earned the right to deny a black woman her rights, need to just back off. Motherhood should be a choice, not a punishment for what hypcrites consider a sin. When it comes to abortion, and the contrived semantics that pit pro-choice against pro-life, the bottom line is that a woman is entitled to order her prioirities and when it comes to terminating an infant/non-viable fetus, or a baby/ non breathing entity, then that's between a woman and her personal belief. Everybody is not religious. Who has the authority to judge her? She is not breaking the law. Lecturing black women about their self esteem is also becoming a little tired. Reminding them that they are despised and rejected and manipulated and abused is a downer. Telling them they are Nubian queens rings a little hollow considering the shape the motherland is in. The resilence that black women are noted for is what should be celebrated. Black woman, like women of the other ethnicities, are out there doin their thing, wearing weaves or wigs or Afros, styling in their stillettos, designer purses on their arms, earning their college degrees, ascending up the corporate world, making inroads into the literary field, and starring in the show biz arena. Down at the club, pleasingly plump sistas in their WalMart finery are shaking their booties drinking their Hennessey, taking a break from their minimum wage work-a-day worlds, having a good time. Sometime the obligation to be a long-suffering martyr gets to be a drag. No, the lives of black women are not perfect and their status not top but they are not as down-trodden and guilible as you think. Ignorance is bliss? There's something to be said for bliss when stress is the alternative. In the final analysis, we are all just doing the best we can in a nation that is controlled by greedy, powerful, white men How would making black men extinct benefit these modern day plantation owners???

Sometime people's brains are wired a certain way and they can't help the way they are. And they say there is such a thing as a "happy" gene, and that not everyone has it. There are dormant areas in our brains where our primitive instincts still exist and they are the origin of certain compulsions. Everybody is a little crazy, a little neurotic. Our psyches are layered with eccentricities . Happiness is very elusive, measured in minutes as far as I am concerned. We are all seeking contentment, trying to achieve that perfect nirvana state. Rather than being different from others maybe you're must just more cognizant. Hang in there, and continue to share your essays with us. As you know, essay means "I try". And where your compositions are concerned, you succeed.

Declaring that only the strong survive was not what I contended. My argument had to do with the survival of "fittest". Forget brawn, think about brains. Smart people figure out a way to circumvent obstacles and adapt to their environment. Indeed practice doesn't make perfect. After all these years of trying, In the absence of a collective consciouness, black people as a group can't moblize. Like you, I've been around a long time and I've heard all of the arguments and all the revelations and all the theories and the truth hasn't set us free. Maybe we can't find the answers because we are not asking the right questions. I have read a lot of depressing things but none more depressing than your account of what you have gone through. You challenged the system, and you paid for it. But you can celebrate a personal victory because you are an individual who can be considered among the fittest. Life is not fair. It is what it is.

Chapter 5 Although she had been deluding herself into believing that she was leading a full satisfying life, it was gradually occurring to Carole Everly that the source of this fullness lie mostly between the covers of her books, and on the channels of her TV, and the internet of her computer, and the electronic devices which included a cell phone that was her main connection to other living creatures. In reality, the cafeteria at her place of employment was shaping up to be the stage for most of the live action in her life, and the only thing it was full of was a crowd of hungry people. How pathetic was this? Sad but true she told herself. But also funny, and she was grateful for the sense of humor that always got her through the absurdness that seem to haunt her life, the latest of which was how in a lunch time matinee thisTroy Briggs had appeared on the scene and taken on a mystyery man role, leaving her to wait out the week, standing in line with a tray, sitting at a half empty table, trying to concentrate on reading, wondering if there would be second act for them to star in. Not just wondering. Hoping. Ridiculous. Then it was Friday. “Got your nose in a book again?” a voice inquired, leaving Carole curious over why anyone would make such a silly observation about what was so apparent. But, then she considered the source. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask you about an account you referred to me yesterday,” her co-worker, Debbie Marlowe, said, peeking over Carole’s shoulder before taking a seat at the cafeteria table. “Whatcha readin?” “Invisible Man,” Carole answered, summoning her civility because Debbie was just a nonentity afflicted with a chronic case of cheerfulness. “Invisible Man,” Debbie repeated. “Is that a science-fiction book?” Carole shook her head. “No. It’s just a something I'm finally getting around to reading. It’s been in print for over 60 years.” “Oh, a history book.” “Not really.” “That title rings a bell. Does it have anything to do with that old movie I saw on cable TV about this scientist who discovers a secret formula that makes him disappear?” “No, it’s not that one,” Carole said. “This book is by Ralph Ellison and the title refers to the impotency that makes black men feel invisible in a white society.” “Impotency?” Debbie questioned. “Yeah. Right.” Carole took a deep breath. “One way the book’s homeless hero copes, is to create a secret hideout for himself in the bowels of the city and then tap into its electric supply to get free power.” Debbie’s smirk was skeptical. “Living in the bowels of the city is a shitty way to get free light. Why didn’t the guy just get a job and have the electric company put him on a payment plan?” “You miss the point,” Carole sighed. “It's a symbolic representation of a small victory over a big force.” “It’s an old book, all right,” Debbie scoffed. “Nowadays, black guys seem to be doin just fine. Especially the athletes and rappers.” Carole decided to change the subject. “Which account did you want to know about?” she asked. “The one that requested a discount on their usage?” “Yes,” Debbie, confirmed. “That company doesn’t qualify for this program and I’ll – ” She stopped in mid-sentence, smiling back as Troy Briggs went striding by, apparently having someplace to be in a hurry. “Now, there goes a someone who’s – very visible,” Debbie raved, her eyes orgasmic from the prick of Troy’s glance. “Great buns!” “I hadn’t noticed,” Carole lied, not about to reveal that observing Troy Briggs at every opportunity had become a major part of her daily routine. “All that reading has affected your eyesight,” Debbie laughed. “And stimulated my mind,” Carole murmured. “What’s more stimulating than vetting our new supervisor?” Debbie taunted, rising to leave. “This guy is hot!” …And - what was Debbie Marlowe? She was a pert, 25-year-old who, among other things, credited herself with not being racially prejudiced. Unlike her biased family members and certain friends, she believed that African Americans deserved an equal opportunity to prove themselves worthy. Yes, poverty made many of them drug dealers and gang bangers and welfare cheats, and she did sometimes have a problem with trouble makers like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, and, unfortunately, a lot of black females really did act hostile toward white ones, as if it was their fault these gals had so much to be resentful about. Nevertheless, skin color was not important to Debbie. There were good and bad in all races. And when it came to black guys, she certainly had no problem hitting it off with the ones she encountered. She had great chemistry with them… If questioned about Debbie Marlowe, Carole Everly would’ve become contemplative before finally labeling her a harmless ditz. Asked to describe her, a shrugging Carole would’ve dismissed her as a bleached blond, with marble eyes and a chalky complexion, - a busybody who wore her clothes too tight and always had a big grin plastered on her face. Adopting a detached attitude, Carole would’ve further remarked about Debbie’s eagerness to prove her racial tolerance, humbly revering Martin Luther King, always chattering about how much she admired Oprah, and how gorgeous Beyonce looked, and how cool Will Smith acted, and how intelligent President Obama seemed to be, and now - how hot Troy Briggs was! WTF. With Debbie’s words echoing in her ears, and with the way Troy Briggs had eye-balled her, Carole suddenly had a feeling that a new member had just been added to the cast of her “Cafeteria Follies”… …On his way out of the door, late for a staff meeting, salivating over who he’d just exchanged glances with, Troy Briggs also had his impressions of Debbie Marlowe. This chick had caught his attention from day one with her great body, her sparkling blue eyes, her long golden tresses, her porcelain skin. And her friendly smile. What was not to like? That evening, in the grip of a different hunger, Troy waited for the ping of the micro-wave, then opened the door and removed his hot meal from the appliance he found indispensable. Yeah, he missed home-cooking, but take-out food and frozen dinners were the trade-off for leading a care free bachelor life. Just like his sparsely-furnished studio apartment with its sofa bed and his mother’s cast-offs was a down grade, but after years of sharing roomier accommodations with the spouse from hell, his present digs were like a castle! Setting up a tray, Troy prepared to dine like a king. But before indulging his palate, he picked up the TV remote and switched from the news to WHEEL OF FORTUNE. On screen, the soccer mom from Wisconsin took a spin and when the pointer stopped on $5000 she bared her beaver teeth in a big grin. “I’d like to buy a vowel, Pat,” she gushed. Munching on a morsel of Salisbury steak, Troy grunted. “And I’d like to fuck ol Vanna,” he mumbled, his avid eyes appreciating how this fair maiden bore no resemblance to his ex-wife. Making progress, the soccer mom took another turn as… …round and round went the wheel, spinning, spinning, fast, then slow, like the motions of the person sprawled there watching TV, playing with himself while thinking how he could make the blankness of life spell d-e-a-t-h, - make a woman holler like a soccer mom. “I’d like to solve the puzzle, Pat!” the soccer mom screeched. “Go right ahead, Cindy.” “Easy come, easy go!” "Easy come, easy go," the jack-off repeated and chuckled as he recalled the game he'd beaten the night before... - to be continued -

As long as we are deluded into thinking of things in terms of good and bad and justice and injustice, we will remain frustrated. Randomness permeates life. Negative and Positive are opposing forces that simply exist. And forget religion. Any time you have an 10-point agenda that neglects to say: thou shalt not enslave one another, then something is amiss. The Almighty lit the fuse of the Big Bang and has let the chips fall where they may. How obvious can that be??? Man is in control of his own destiny. Talk is cheap no matter how eloquent it is. Having said that, here's my 2 cents. Perhaps the solution lies in evolution, and the survial of the fittest will eventually kick in. As long as black losers keep replicating themselves they are doomed to become extinct. Fortunately all Blacks are not losers and they will find ways to survive. And all white peole are not winners so their ranks will also be thinned out. At some point it will not be about black and white but about a new breed who because they are descended from survivors will figure out that classism doesn't work and that society will eventually have to be simplified and layered in such a way that everybody contributes to the good of all by doing what it is that each one does best. - a Utopian world that will come about only through the process of evolution. Something to ponder since nothing else seems to provide direction. In the meantime, we are now in the age of the individual. Each person has to figure out his own way of coping and getting by following his own moral compass. Good intentions are wishful thinking. One cannot carry the race on one's back. Obama has proven this. Of course none of this matters because come December 27th we'll all be tiny particles in space, floating around the universe.

I am certainly looking forward to checking out "The Velvet Closet", Writergirl. I know it will be a good read because your posts are little vignettes that show off the skills so necessary for an author who endeavors to connect with the reader. You are one of those gifted people who is a natural born writer. And as a reader, you are a writer's dream, because you intuitively "get it".

More and more it's coming out that Bobby Brown didn't turn Whitney on to drugs. Marijuana was his drug of choice until she introduced him to Cocaine, the inside story goes. Way back in the 80s when Whitney was first taking off, rumors about her drug use and bisexuality were circulating before she even got wth Bobby Brown. Like most superstars, she was surrounded by hangers-on and enablers. Interventions and rehabs didn't work. She was admittedly her own worst enemy. Bobby got on with his life but Whitney couldn't get it together. A great talent who came to a sad, tragic end. R.I.P.