So I only just discovered Got 2 Be Real The Diva Variety Show and I don't even have any info on the Who, What, How (did all this delicious shade come to BE!?!?!) but don't worry about alla that...just watch ...and be sure that everyone is out of the room so you can roll on the floor and laugh as wild as ya wanna be! I am a fan 4eva!! This is the very first episode but there's a brand new webisode so check out the premise then get watching...I LIVE for this show now.
(DECEPTICON!!! omg dead!!)
this one is scream out loud funny....
Seriously I just watched the entire series and I had to laugh my loud ugly laughs...this show is BRILLIANT!! Belly aches. Belly aches, I tell you. SO happy! Best binge watch EVER!
I was listing the qualities of Iggy Azalea's wackness quietly to myself when I literally caught myself in this horrifically wrong-ass mode of thought....
I am much ashamed of myself. Why do women do that? Why do we tear each other down and then assert the enemy's ugliness as if that trumps all?? I don't know but I caught myself doing it ...and what's more I'm sure I shall re-offend before breaking this habit. BUT! I am committed to eradicating this disturbing behavior and ---
UGLINESS of character. *sigh*
Let's be real. The Cause of Ugly has to stop with the Woman in the Mirror. Because as long as we perpetuate the idea that ugly is the lowest low then we all have the potential to be unjustly consigned.
Honestly it would be one thing if the critique were maintained at looks but it never is. It's always like "I hate that bitch. She's so wack. She's thinks she's hot and she just isn't. She thinks she's good at ----- but really she's just ugly." Mind you the BLANK can be anything. Rapping. Making sandwiches. Doing hair. Teaching class.
And then out of nowhere you assert "AND SHE'S UGLY!" As if the death knell has now been declared!!
The worst part is that in so many ways this is the most defining example of misogyny and hatred because if a woman isn't beautiful then she's clearly a failure. Worse, she's not merely a failure --- she is an ugly failure. Thus, by our own evil thoughts we create the lowest hell for those who are most like us, thereby causing and perpetuating un-happiness and the ever continuing cycle of Just Being Wrong For Being There. As women we're told we're wrong enough, but do we have to keep believing it?
It's not nice. It's certainly overkill if you are indeed listing a person's poor qualities. It's irrelevant and irreverent. If we as women allow ugliness as a character flaw to be a punishable offense just among ourselves can you ever even imagine the lengths of degradation that men have -- and will -- take such a flaw to?
Witness: the spectacle of plastic surgery in all its refinement (or absence).
Which is not to pick on surgery alone of men's attempts at taming women -- I mean, the BRA?? Going to the grocery in 30 minutes and leaving mine off. Fuck it. One woman's ugly is another woman's rebellion. The only problem is this may be the one rebellion that cannot attract other rebels--
Because who wants to be part of the ugly cause?
We've got to eradicate the Cause of Ugly because it's far more insidious than it seems. It dehumanizes so swiftly that in one's mind you dismiss the woman from sight out of hand evermore.
For a sin that began in your own mind, not in her aspect.
Why does no one ever seem to notice that?
PostScript - Who is this fake Rihanna in the pic? I don't know what the reference is. Actually I just grabbed what was available from Google when I put in the search images for "she's ugly"...hmm. That's a true story, as well.
See this is where being a poet fucking sucks. Because whatever you're writing has been *ahem*... inspired. So I wrote a poem with this guy in mind and put his initials in the title. Just a random little thing, whatevs. But what if the bastard sees my blog?! and a poem?! with his initials in the title?! He'll be feeling all powerful and shit from dissing me by not replying to my note!! So I took his initials out of the title!!
DONE. I am a goddesss!!
(But, really, I stillknow that I wrote that poem about him, even if he never sees it.) The Drama. *wipes a tear* I wish I had never written the poem about him except that it was a decent piece and I sort of like it. But fuck him. And not in the sexy way I'd planned! Bastard.
For ten solid years now I have been tangled in the net of such epically bad luck, such foul fortune and evil fate that I can easily stand on this side of time's curve and see how so many people have backed away, backed away -- sometimes gently, sometimes with greater panic and urgency -- lest they, too, be splattered with my muck which might even be contagious, who can say? I don't want to make a complaints list but I'll just let you know that by bad luck for me and mine I mean everything from my own near-death experience complete with white light and angels, the death of many family members who wasted away from corrosive cancers or Alzheimer's; the loss of my mother's house which didn't even have a bank loan and had been paid off for two decades but the Tax Man Cometh, and we ran, scraping by only by unloading most of our possessions. During this time my loved ones or I have been struck by illness, hospital stays, psych ward visits, near starvation, eviction, destitution.... Bad luck. That's all is is, right. Must just be lousy luck. This too shall pass. And I'm not at all sarcastic when I say "this too shall pass" as my father always told me even as cancer ravaged his body and brain. I've had such an unusually blessed life that it seems almost spoiled to complain about all that bad luck that's followed such enormous prosperity for my first 30 years. But the time comes when numbness takes over. When it becomes unbearable to think "what next?", or worse having to inform the few brave souls who stick around that yet again something's gone down and it's fuuuuuucked up. I look around at my friends whom I was close to up until recent years when embarrassment of my constant state of penury and disaster led me to ground as if hiding from sight would at least protect me from the horrified and fearful looks on the faces of those trying to process mentally what I or my family were going through. Some folks simply couldn't even handle the stress of listening to the next bad thing forget about sticking around for moral support. There have been times when I had no choice of course but to put my pride and dignity on the line to ask for help, just as I have been rudely, crudely been told to fuck off as well though I was seeking help from one I thought close enough to me to be honorary family. This December I've lost a mentor to Alzheimer's. She hasn't died but she's not there anymore. In truth to call her a mentor almost minimizes the role she's played in my life at times. She literally saved me from homelessness before and as the gale winds of evil fate blow harder in my direction without her loving presence I again am standing on the threshold about to cross over into the night, rather entering some warm homely space. I don't have anything profound to say about why these bad things happen and continue to happen like a carrion crow constantly circling the nearly dead in anticipation for a good meal. I spend a lot of time in meditation thinking about what I've done wrong...did I make the wrong choice there or here?...was I stupid in my choices? And it's terrifying to stand out on the edge -- alone. Of course I have my adored mother with me but heavens she's getting too old to suffer this way especially considering that hers was a life of ease and luxury for 50 years. It's not okay in our society to talk about the bad things, the sad things, the heartbreaking fear of having nothing and no one and no place to go. Nobody wants to hear it because the fear attached to such happenings is thick with the worry of contagion. A good friend can listen for only so long before deciding their duty is accomplished, and honestly I can't blame any one of them really. I always associate abject fear with deafening silence. Because when you're drowning it's impossible to scream even though the screaming in one's mind is overwhelming though it never reaches those standing by. It's bad form in our society to have ugly troubles at all but for god's sake not during the holiday!! How dare you "spoil" everyone's fun! When I found myself $300 short on rent this month my body was racked with an intense shiver and that sensation of cold water down the back - I had always read that description and imagined I knew what it meant but until you face a great, deep, unstoppable fear you can't actually know what it's like. Three hundred measly dollars. If I had to calculate how many times I've wasted $300 bucks or be shot in the head then I promise you my brains would be on the floor because I could never ever possibly put a number to it. All the 300 bucks I ever spent now torment me in a tantalizing dance of temptation as I await the Eviction Fairy (kin to Anti-Santa) who will arrive soon and invite me to spend Christmas Day in some place other than the place I think of as my "home". Bad shit happens and often it's so bad that out of respect the person afflicted doesn't even bother to share the news. Because it's considered gauche. It's an imposition upon others who feel their own hearts pounding at the visible marriage between the forces of nemesis and want to get far, far away from the operatic destruction that it plans to inflict. "Do they expect me to do something about their troubles?" is what the unafflicted are secretly thinking. "I can't be the one to be responsible for you"...or "I'm sorry to hear you're so troubled but best of luck, buddy". On the other hand it's also nerve wracking and humiliating beyond all telling to confess the depths of one's troubles to a kind hearted well-intentioned soul. But I gotta say at this point in my life, in this chapter of Disasters and Damnation Politrixie Style I can accept evil fate with zero squeamishness for anyone else's discomfort. Pride goes before a fall and hell, it's damn lucky about that because you need something soft to land upon when you finally hit the ground
PostScript re: Holidays @ Halle's or Get a Grip and Don't Fuck Racists Not gonna lie: Gabriel Aubry is fine as hell!! I can see how Halle might have been weakened...But!! Big big big BUT! Nah, can't do it. Got to keep on, keeping on, there's a new train at the depot every hour, on the hour...plenty fish in the sea... Ones who don't teach their children crazy race denial.
*waves goodbye with a wistful look at all the fineness that she will never have the opportunity to caress, touch, smell...*
*strolls right away*
*feelings bruised by Aubry's ignorance, his blindness,his brain-weakness and lack of enlightenment Politrixie lets the tears fall where they may*
One of the things that haunts me of this whole nastiness is thinking how many women are watching this spectacle of Bill Cosby imploding/exploding/being roasted in the hellfire of his evil Karma who are not willing to come out and share what happened to them.
We'll never know how many women he violated. The black community is still very restrictive and conservative even in terms of normative sexuality and it becomes downright censorious when it comes to anything that can be viewed as "deviant" which may be while no black women have come forward. The backlash would likely be terrible based on a lot of comments I'm hearing from other black folk.
Thing is, Black folk, who do you think he was raping before he became a rock star with access to mickeys and what have you and infinte access to white women??
He had to practice his craft on somebody after all. Mhhm.
Silence protects patriarchy and reinforces the systems that keep women, especially black women from true freedom and realization. Let Karma alone to work on Cosby, and let's keep our daughters, mothers and sisters safe from sexual predators. Because when you think about Cosby has harmed more than himself, more than just white women, he's harmed how black people are reflected in the warped glass that is America. Fuck the Cos.