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Happy Birthday Toni Cade
 March 25, 1939 - December 9, 1995
Labels: feminism, spelman, toni cade uttered by a black girl at 2:40 PM. | 1 comments
This conversation is not meant to invoke Tyler Perry's version of this woman, although it is quite possible that she is relevant to my discussion here. I say this to discuss madness as it is psychologically understood. I think madness in this respect is completely related to madness that is understood that *all* black women have--a never ending well of anger. The source of this anger is never interrogated, which is actually more fuel for that anger. Being ignored is a frustrating position to be in. One beings to wonder if she exists at all, and rightfully so. The world proclaims that we don't and if we do, we shouldn't. Perplexing situation. But I digress. There is a ninety year old mad black woman beneath me. She screams of an injustice to her humanity most every night: the inhumane and inconsiderate playing of loud music above her. She usually wakes me up with her complaining. One evening I called her to ask her what was going on and immediately she began to curse me out about how I come in late and play loud music. This particular evening she says I came in late, I had actually been at home since four in the afternoon, I went to sleep early, and didn't play music at all in my house at the time. I rarely even watched television. Suffice it to say, although I checked with myself to make sure I wasn't the one causing her outbursts (I really did have to double check.), it was clear that she saw this black girl as the culprit of her sleepless nights. Madness is contagious. Or at least--madness brings up more madness for already-mad people. The outbursts of anger, frustration, and sadness are overwhelming. I have broken down and cried many times myself during them. She says things like: "Why would you do this to me? I can't sleep." or "I'm old, you shouldn't do this to old people!" "Why would you do this to me." is such a universal mad cry. It's often been offered to God, lovers, friends, the president... It is a cry of both outrage and sadness. There is the remnants of an assumption that she would be considered. This is a horrible and familiar feeling. I've decided that this is possibly a problem she's had before that is rearing its head in her old age. Her anger (of which there is much, she later cussed me out in the hallway for accusing her of complaining about loud noise--something she vehemently argues that she has never done) and her madness as in her onset of dimensia are one in the same. And she is triggering in this mad black woman more mania. The week after my birthday I was unable to go to my house. I was afraid of the woman downstairs, and of something deep within me that, at the moment could not help me help myself. It is the me that has always been afraid to go home--for fear of what would be there. I talked about this little piece of me with my brother and therapist... surely it is something to be worked on. Nevertheless, the fear of going home was so intense that I slept in my car (which is not surprisingly, more warm than my actual apartment). This whole episode made me think about black women and madness. Madness as anger, and madness as psychological distress. I'm thinking about this with all eyes open, knowing that psychology has certainly over-diagnosed and under-diagnosed black folks for the past century and a half. I'm thinking about that, about how psychology has looked to our brains to pathologize deviance and primitivism. I'm thinking about how serious the affects of racism has caused TRAUMAS within the black community that actually warrant spiritual (not psychological) evaluation. I'm thinking about black folks' skepticism about psychiatry--how depression as an illness is a white thing. (Although WE invented a whole series of musical genres around depression: blues, hip hop...) I'm thinking about trauma and genius as two interrelated possibly co-symptomatic terms for the experiences of women of color. I'm thinking about the necissary-ness of bi-polar (dis)orders. The need to get shit done although you are hopelessly depressed. I'm thinking about Harriet Tubman's blackouts (which were literally caused by an oppressive slave system, they were set on by a brick being thrown at her head.) I'm thinking about Gayl Jones, who is currently in a psychiatric ward... and who continues to make amazing novels. I'm thinking about genius, and trauma, and women. Mad black women. The Mad Woman Below is both a reality for me and a metaphor. A reality in the sense that I am watching myself run away from madness constantly. Sometimes, all I have is my mind. The mad woman below screams of injustice that appears not to be there. She is the manifestation of the trauma she's endured in her life. The mad woman below relives injustice. Her refrain, "How could you do this to me?" however is proof of her very grounded sanity, because somehow through the madness, she is able to expect humanity and groundedness from others. Old (white) feminist literature had her hanging above my head... in attics. The mad black woman is below. Deep within. She shakes me from the feet up. She screams all night (and some days) trying to convince me that she is human, that she deserves attention. Sometimes her convincing sounds like a question and I have to answer to her, yes you are, yes you do. But so often, I do not know what to do for her but to move, and try to make home safe for me. But she will scream until i find the courage to go downstairs to the pissy disheveled apartment and rock my mad black woman to sleep. Labels: age, home, madness, race uttered by a black girl at 12:04 PM. | 7 comments
-Saul WIlliams I've gotten into the practice of calling many of the people I meet, and friends "Gods." I've decided to do this because it has an incredible effect on me. I do it so that I may recognize the divine in folks I meet. It allows me to remember how God, the divine spirit is every human. We are the manifest of divinity. And while this practice has allowed me to recognize the divine in others, it also forces me to mirror that which I see. It reminds me that I am, in fact, divine, all powerful god/dess right here on earth. Its a whole feeling honoring people in this way. It is also frightening. It is frightening because being a God and all means I do have power. And the most frightening thing other than being powerless is being all powerful. Facing my divinity has also been a reality check about my choices. Do I choose to be depressed? Do I choose to not honor my body? Do I choose to be frustrated? Et cetera. The answer is an unequivocated yes. And while this here revolutionary does not pretend as though there are not *other* powerful forces which influence my Blackgirl life, I must honor and recognize the God within me that is more powerful then even THAT. (WHAAAATTTT?!) I need this practice. I need to say this now because today I am faced with one of the hardest decisions of my life thus far. I have exactly 17 days from this day to make that decision and its hard. Its hard because being a God and all... I have to face that whatever decision I make IS THE RIGHT ONE. Because there is no beginning or end to this life eternal. In fact, if I tap into my eternity deep enough, my human self can remember what the decision I will make WAS. (WHAAAAAT?!) But in being all powerful and what not... I also have to remember that my divine ass HAS THE RIGHT TO RENIG ON THAT DECISION! (WHAAAAT?!) Amazing, this divinity. Its sublime-scary-liberating. Yeah God, all of that. Even in this moment of going back and forth about this decision I am having this conversation with my trinity: Be, you have to be stable, what about money? WOMan... I invented money. I created the cotton, ink, paper and process that creates green backs. Be, you don't have enough time if you pick this option. Notice how "daylight savings" was early this year. This goes to show you that time is an earthly concept. God is eternity. We are beyond time. In fact, what we're doing we've already done. That is what eternity is. Be, what about your art? God = Creator. Enough said. And this shit applies to every one of my human struggles: off topic though Be... what about love? I Am. (For those of you who paid attention in sunday school imma say it again.) I Am. Blessed Be. Labels: friends, spirituality uttered by a black girl at 5:25 PM. | 1 comments
Be ---- Hey yall, As much as I love any movie with swords, bows and arrows, Vikings, Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, Amazons, Gladiators, Chariots, and/ or The Huns… I think this film is FIRMLY rooted in western xenophobia and racism! Although most “war” movies carry metanarratives of patriotism, nationalism, xenophobia and racism, this one is egregious! I am sure I will love the cinematography, costumes, and musical elements… I am going to have a very hard time with the plot and dialogue… The trailers for the film feature this: "They came from the Blackness,” says the lovely pure Spartan white lady, to her defending white Spartan man, as she dies... Defending white Spartan man says, "You (the Black Persians - And yes they are all BLACK, BLACK American, BLACK European, Brazilian etc. from what I can tell from the cast) threaten us (the white Spartans) with slavery and death! - This is Sparta“ (The United States of America) and he kicks him into a Black hole in the earth… Exotic sexually deviant Black and Brown "Persian" women dance in jewelry and little else... Pure motherly white women of Sparta wears a white goddess robe and plays with her child in a field of grain... Dark, larger than life, heavily pierced and animalistic snarling, growling Persian men are juxtaposed with muscular but classically masculine "white guys" who attempt to negotiate and reason before turning inevitably to violence... Another trailer includes a scene where the Persian king threatens miscegenation saying, "you (Spartan men) will not be slaves, you will be dead, your women will be our slaves". Geez… I could go on… but take a look at the trailer. I also have included the official film synopsis… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZm52UrkDpA -Mel They say its about: Film: 300 Based on Frank Miller's graphic novel, "300" concerns the 480 B.C. Battle of Thermopylae, where the King of Sparta led his army against the advancing Persians; the battle is said to have inspired all of Greece to band together against the Persians, and helped usher in the world's first democracy. Written by Anonymous In the Battle of Thermopylae of 480 BC an alliance of Greek city-states fought the invading Persian army in the mountain pass of Thermopylae. Vastly outnumbered, the Greeks held back the enemy in one of the most famous last stands of history. Persian King Xerxes lead a Army of well over 100,000 (Persian king Xerxes before war has about 170,000 army) men to Greece and was confronted by 300 Spartans, 700 Thespians and other Slave soldiers. Xerxes waited for 10 days for King Leonidas to surrender or withdraw left with no options he moved. The battle lasted for about 3 days and after which all 300 Spartans were killed. The Spartan defeat was not the one expected as a local shepherd named Ephialtes defected to the Persians and informed Xerxes of a separate path through Thermopylae, which the Persians could use to outflank the Greeks. Written by cyberian2005 In 480 BC, the Persian king Xerxes sends his massive army to conquer Greece. The Greek city of Sparta houses its finest warriors, and 300 of these soldiers are chosen to meet the Persians at Thermopylae, engaging the soldiers in a narrow canyon where they cannot take full advantage of their numbers. The battle is a suicide mission, meant to buy time for the rest of the Greek forces to prepare for the invasion. However, that doesn't stop the Spartans from throwing their hearts into the fray, determined to take as many Persians as possible with them. Written by rmlohner uttered by a black girl at 12:08 PM. | 3 comments
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