A Storm Returns: Nora Ephron and Slavery

blog shot

I sometimes go away from my blog and for the life of me I do not why. I guess watching words go on paper seems a bit pretentious at times. You must figure how does one create such an autonomously title as blog writer, who would figure. Yet, I return from my self-exile maybe to speak about the death of Nora Ephron an atheist as myself and her love of reading or wonder why Justice Roberts ruled against his party. But yet maybe I returned to review the tragedy that surrounds the Penn State scandal. UGGG!!! I also missed my high school picnic in Chicago again…my feet seem to stare at me at times.

I joined a photography club on Facebook located in my home town (DeKalb, ill). It’s mostly White members, I find few brothers or sisters’ taking pictures but my friend Sylinda does. She’s an artist, at least by my definition. Why am I telling you all this? No particular reason, my typing has commandeered my fingers or is that the other way around. Either way this is a live typography of the thoughts that have flooded my consciousness; this is not scripted or written from an outline, “I’M THINKING WRITING OUT LOUD.” I miss my mother who died long ago in 1990, I’m not sure if that’s considered long, but my heart says so.

Presently, I’m reading two books one on American history “Slavery by Another Name” by Douglas Blackmon and “Start with No” by Jim Camp. Obviously one title provides a pretty explicit description of its content while the other is a book off me shelf on business negotiation; both pretty well written.

By the way, I’ve come to realize I know very little about American history particularly about African-American slavery. I’m not talking about surface knowledge concerning slavery but the actual construction of chattel slavery. In one word, brutal. Douglas Blackmon does a marvelous job detailing accounts of slavery as well as the construction of Jim Crowism and the orchestration of the caste system, marvelous my friends check a copy. Good stuff.

HBO’s Bill Maher’s going on vacation till August 17, and Breaking Bad is coming back in a few weeks. I watch television occasionally but not too much, I Tivo most programs. However, I’ve been a Bill Maher fan since his Politically Incorrect was unceremoniously canceled on ABC. Funny guy and an atheist that Maher. I need to get his second body of work on “New Rules”.

Ok, the time has come to…I’m exhausted, hack writing isn’t easy.

Bon Voyage,

Get at me Dogg

Monday’s Poem: Numb by Will J. Hobbs

fleeting

“Eyes wide open with my mind wide shut. Heart still beating with the blood flow ceased. Arms outstretched but my hands can’t feel. In the midst of a storm stark naked begging for the refreshing coolness of the rain the ease the burning of my ignorance. Pouring the water on my tongue hoping that it will quench this insatiable thirst to feel what so many others seem to experience.

Staring glazed over into a mirror hoping to become enlightened in my own self worth and existence. Searching for my way around a dark room feeling nothing but hoping to find a way out. Peeling away at my own flesh hoping to develop a new layer of sensation. Unaware of the concept of pain and incapable of understanding the affection of emotion.

Eyes wide open with my mind wide shut. Heart still beating but the blood flow has ceased. Arms outstretched but my hands can’t feel.

I am numb…”

By Will J. Hobbs

purple dragon

The Invisible Dragon

“Day & Night”

A_slice_of_life_by_giladYou rise, shining your presence on us all. I rise to your warm kisses upon my soul, bringing me into a state of overwhelming passion. You grace us with your gentle sometimes over powering existence, yet when time comes, you understand how to give us space. But for me, this space you provide is hell. For without your light I am lost in a field of darkness, drowning in a sea of the unseen, burning in the fire that is the pain of my past.

You rise, allowing us to move freely underneath your beautiful glare. I rise to the song that you provide for the birds to sing, placing a smile on my face and a sense of exuberant optimism for the start of this new day upon my heart. But then surely, you must rest as well. But what about me, there is surely no rest for the weary!

For in your absence, my mind runs rampant wondering if your light will shine once more; my arms, fully extended search for the way back into your warm embrace; my feet, blistered from the journey to forever bask in the light of your presence; my heart, cold and torn from your exit and leaving me in the silence of the night.

Oh sun, by day I take for granted your loving warmth and nurturing embrace and by night I cower bruised, battered, beaten, lost and alone awaiting your return. Day and night, so such is the pattern of life.

written by Will J. Hobbs

 

Miles Davis

The Invisible Dragon

Dragon’s Daily Word, “Spiritual Pain”

You will not wish, cry, or pray away what is bothering you spiritually.   You will not tithe, donate, or give charitably away this divine irritableness either.  Sadly, only the clever and immature attempts to barter with nothing.  As we know, the purgatory starting line will continue to reappear with this thinking.

The tao te ching, bible, quran, or motivational books are useless concerning your spiritual uneasiness.  Being an accomplished reader does not gain favor. Renewing one’s consciousness requires rigid inner reflection and determination.  As a result, old belief patterns should become susceptible to refutation.  “Out with the old and in with the new.”

But, unchaining false realities, harder than imagine.  Why you ask?  Because the chained consciousness lives with soreness as an acceptable feeling.  Hence, the doubtful spirit becomes easier to fake as real in public.  In the end the inflexible consciousness unwilling to trust her inner being will pain religiously.

Self-cultivation is a one-person journey.

Get going…as hard as it will be…get going.

Miles Davis

The Invisible Dragon

Ruby Wore Heels In Church

Her shapely stature cracked the air with each step from her southern cooked body. She was gorgeously tall and spoke with girlish shyness. Since young times Negroes and White men say something fine under her clothes. In Sutton, Mississippi most Negro women share physical similarities, but not with Ruby Granberry. Her nice physical collectibles caused Negro men to thirst and their women to drown in anger. However, when she came to church, women stared evil thinking toward her mightily. For when Ruby worshipped; she wore heels.

Many Negro residents of Sutton refused the move north when the getting was good for work. Believing their white God would send them good riches, they remained south defiantly; waiting. However their God kept quiet about helping them through the years. That’s when outside folks saw traces of religious craziness after help never came.

The Negro church folks would ‘shake and bake’ their bodies to obedience every Sunday. Good old Baptist gospel folks referred to it as. Luckily for Ruby she left long ago, albeit not to escape holy conversion by gospel crazies; no…she left in a hurry because her scent was being closed in upon.
***
On Fridays, 20 miles out at Bessie Milton’s junk joint, men thirsted for Ruby more than the cheap liquor. She was fine as can be to any man who can see with good eyes no less. Never minding however this was marriage country amongst black folks. Women like Ruby need ought to be married or receive the evil eye and run off by married women.

Notwithstanding Negro men were rascals in the small town of 2,000. Oft chasing young girls helping them find their bodies all the time. Sutton churchmen were no different. Their hands search young women’s bodies more than the collection plates, if you could figure that. Being smart however, hitched women knew, nothing raised a Negro churchman’s excitement more than a fine single young churchwoman; who’s figuring out her working parts.

Neverminding, one thing Mississippi folks get in a stir about is an insider who becomes an outsider. Negroes are just the same as White folks in this matter. The single, 20-years old, fair-skinned vixen was surely an outsider now being caught red-handed helping the pastor lose his sanctification. She must go — the good Negro folks of Sutton, Mississippi figured; more so the women than men obviously. Some gals even wishing her better dead than just gone up north. However the men were always blinded by her beauty, they did not want her to go.
***
That’s a main reason why the churchmen never paid attention to Ruby’s bad voice in the choir. Her perfectly carved figure clogged their already waxed ears anyhow. The only sounds they cared about was her physical one and she was loud no less. Desired like fine chocolate and fleeting as like cheap bubblegum to most men; she done always had a thing for pastors no less.

The new Negro minister done only had been there a few days already and his body burned like a pot belly stove with grits atop it. His thinking thoughts about Ruby are unable to be spoken to good folks. Let’s just say they were private and adult like.  It is no secret around Sutton, a young single attractive church gal like Ruby drives Negro men wild.

The young pastor of God was crazy feeling about her. In fact, he done tasted her every Friday in the barn on the Wilson’s old plantation land since two months ago starting. When those Sutton Negro women done found out about her playfulness, they sought to get rid of her. Never minding however… Ruby long figured her young body makes men playful…
Just ask the deacons at that old Negro church in Sutton, Mississippi…in 1955.

ho77cvf9l-20101209201329

Robert A. Williams