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"Life is too short to speak quietly at beaches."
"Life will give you what you deserve, even when people don't. You don't believe that, you just keep on living."The next book I'm reading is Basketball Jones by E. Lynn Harris. He's an author I spent a lot of time reading my freshman year, because someone had a lot of his books. Easy access is a sure way for me to read up on anything. If it's readily available and appears interesting, I'm with it. I actually got this book from my roommate who just finished reading it. Crazy thing is, he (E. Lynn Harris) died last week, and my first tattoo is a quote I took from one of his novels.
"The streets is killing more black boys than white folks ever could. We always had more than one enemy."
... there's another page that said something about "if you think you've been licked, then they already won", but cleary I didn't mark the page, and I can't find it.
Thick concentric rings regally sit on top of small Nubian heads, each strand, defiant in the face of continued rejection and mutilation, each coil an antenna creating a direct link to the heavens channeling special blessings which whisper affirmations of eternal beauty so all little black girls Who have naps, afros or braids know they are special regardless of what images of perfection are shoved down their young throats.
Their mothers are not at war with them but eagerly accept their natural glory, lovingly wash, caress, stroke and comb, until intricate designs, passed down through generations, criss cross-shiny scalps, enhancing thick lips, wide noses and complimenting an array of brown hues, they learn they are worthy regardless of the length, texture of hair or shade of skin, negative words bounce off sturdy backs, for they possess an armour which enables them to see and feel beauty where many only see and feel ugly causing them to stride around with super heroine confidence.
They walk tall and proud as peacocks, and do not care if their locks, fail to blow in the wind nor do they feel inadequate when white girls or straight haired sisters preen by. They do not spend hours, dying straightening, transforming, places jumpers or towels on heads so they too can flick endlessly. They do not grow into woman who refuse to allow men to massage their aching scalps, sensually, missing out on important, male female intimacy, they are not the kind of woman, who try and maintain exact sexual positions, which do not cause weaves, or wigs to be disturbed.
Neither are they afraid of rain, but graciously welcome the cool liquid, which sustains life. Thick concentric rings regally sit on grown Nubian heads, each strand, defiant in the face of continued rejection and mutilation these women banish images of perfection, shoved down the throats of daughters, nieces, aunts, mothers and grandmothers turn their back on Eurocentric ideals which prove unattainable and wholeheartedly accept their natural beauty, In all it's nappy, glory.
See?
Did I mention that all my company were Nubians in their own right?
So, I come inside and tell my coworkers there's a man outside who needs someone to call 911 for him. They tell me to call the police to transport him so that he won't get charged with an ambulance fee. I call the Temple Police, and they say they'll "assess the situation", which didn't sound like a definite means of transportation if you ask me. Needless to say, I was already bothered.
Most people in Philly (forgive me for this major generalization) seem so numb to what's happening around them. Death. Poverty. Ignorance. None of it bothers them, because they're used to the frequency at which it happens. Like, it becomes ok to them. Anywho, I decided to wait for the police to come because I didn't want them treating the man poorly since he was (assumed) homeless. Either way, he's still human and possibly in pain.
So, the police take their time (which bothers me more, cause God forbid I called because I was in danger-I would've been dead by then), and when they get there I'm slightly excited because it's a black female officer. I thought she might be a bit more compassionate.. or something.. I don't know. She asked the man very generic questions regarding his name, age, health, and home ownership (or lack thereof).. a polite way of figuring out if he was homeless. Though she seemed to be patient, I could just sense that she really could care less. Things were only solidified when she asked me what color toenail polish I was wearing. Unimportant, much?
Then, when the paramedics get there she lets them question him to death as well. The same questions she asked (supposedly) so "she could tell the paramedics once they arrived". Then the paramedics commented that the man was the same man who they picked up two days earlier for the same thing. Apparently, he's been passing out. Either way, they get him on the gurney and load him in the emergency vehicle. Did I mention they took forever to actually pull off? Furthermore, there are 3 hospitals in proximity to my building. He mentioned a preference for 2 of 3 because he was treated rudely at the other. I mentioned this to the police and paramedics, as did he. While they were walking off, I heard one of them say that they were taking him to the hospital he specifically said he didn't prefer.
I dead ass walked into the building, made it into the public bathrooms downstairs, and started crying. Blame my Southerness or my sensitivity, whatever you choose, but damn.. really? Like, I could care less if that man was homeless. Something was clearly wrong. He wasn't drunk or under any type of influence that would give you reason to treat him in a manner that would indicate he couldn't think for himself. Just, ugh. Stuff like that bothers me.
It's just like the time a few weeks back when there was a bunch of blood on the ground a block from my building, one of the people I was with thought the police should be informed. We walk up the street to tell a cop parked in their car, and they asked us "what we wanted them to do".
Ugh. Hello. Do something. You're parked in the middle of the street for no apparent reason. Be of good use. My friends point was that it was an exceptional amount of blood which could possibly be there from some violent act. And if that's the case, it needs to be taped off. At the least, the blood needs to be removed from the sidewalk. The cop didn't really get the point in either thought. Times like this make me so over Philadelphia and have me wishing I was in the South. Just makes the stereotype seem all too true.
Don't get it twisted. There are other things about North Philadelphia that remind me why I'm here... random cyphers on the sidewalk, murals placed throughout the city- ghettos and surburbia, alike, the poetry circle, etc. I just wish people weren't so numb to the problems in the city. Death, poverty and ignorance are everywhere. It's not like Philly is the only place experiencing these things. It just seems like Philly is one of the places where things like this can be overlooked.
Did I mention a few weeks back while at McDonalds, these people rode by and shot a dude standing in the middle of the street after a party? Like it was nothing.
Not Defeated Though,
B
p.s. With that being said, the thought for the day is the one posted at the top of my blog:
"...They are starvingWant the rest of the poem?
How do you tell a woman that hasn't eaten in 5 days that she is
gorgeous?
As she reaches out with empty hands like her belly
and the only alternative she has is devouring hope silently
weak
cause she is too busy raising the next generation of hungry
the 5 secound rule doesn't count when your country has fallen to the
ground"
-Carvens Lissaint
