I recently re-watched Sex and the City and I gotta say that although it stands as a classic the show isn’t aging well. First of all I could go on about the fashion because HOLY SHIT. Remember back in the day when Carrie Bradshaw/Sarah Jessica Parker was hailed as a fashion icon? Maaan I was watching that shit cringing the whole time. But we can all agree that the 2000s will go down in history as one of the worse times for fashion and SATC couldn’t help but be a snapshot of those bleak ass times.
But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here today because as I watched this show I realized how much we romanticized Mr. Big and Carrie. Even the hood was fuckin wit it right down to Jay Z’s line in ’03 Bonnie & Clyde:
Only time we don’t speak is during “Sex and the City”
She gets Carrie fever, but soon as the show is over
She’s right back to being my soldier
I remember also yearning for the great love that Carrie aspired for. I remember the series finale when she said that line that fell right in tune with my teenage soul:
I’m someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love. And I don’t think that love is here in this expensive suite in this lovely hotel in Paris.
Continue reading “7 Reasons Why Mr. Big is the Fuckboy G.O.A.T.”
Do you feel that?
That old familiar pain re-emerging from the crevices of your DNA?
It was once so easy to believe what others told me to be true about America growing up. That this was a space of opportunity. I was the outcome of a dream believed by someone who was allowed the opportunity to prosper. I was borne into a dream many believed she was probably crazy to believe in. The naive little girl from Trenchtown just wanted to be a doctor. She believed in a vision of herself that had nothing to do with me at all. I just happened upon the life my mother manifested when she was a mere child.
I came from a family that migrated to this land and did well in the face of adversity. With that as my daily reminder, I believed the myth that America was fair enough. I believed it was up to the individual to decide to do and be better. Cuz if we don’t, we’d perish and fade away into the pages of time written by those who would suggest we loved our own suffering. I knew that if I could believe, then I could achieve. I sang the songs they told me to sing believing the status quo felt the same:
This land is your land, this land is my land
From the California to the New York island
From the Redwood Forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me
And the like.
Continue reading “For All My Dreamers It’s Time We See the American Dream For its Alarming Fraudulence”
I’m like a week late watching Taylor Swiftless snitch on herself I know, I know. But I love myself a lot so why would I be in a rush to watch this bullshit? It’s eternally #TeamSelfCare all day ’round here bruh.
Before I begin this flame session, for all my masochists outchea you can watch this dumpster fire here… but I promise you family. You are better off saving the four minutes and sixteen seconds of your life. Don’t look at me like that when I’m only lookin out for you. One day you’ll be thinking bout these seconds on ya deathbed don’t play. I myself wish I could get that time back but I watched it so you specifically wouldn’t have too. You could use those precious minutes to donate to Hurricane Harvey relief, watch some old Beyonce’ concert footage, or treat yoself to a couple of @lalasizahands89 videos.
Now I know y’all said the Look What You Made Me Do video was terrible … but GOT. damned. You ever need to see some shit to believe it? Dass me right now. People love to drag folks these days for anything so I didn’t wanna hop on that bandwagon, but nah son. By all means, Swiftless earned this one. Her blonde white girl privilege allows her to roam freely within a white supremacist society so she don’t gotta work too hard, but she inadvertently put the work in for this dragging. Particularly drag this bitch ’til winter comes for the sake of the culture.
Continue reading “Nobody Made You Do a Got. Damned. Thing Taylor”
I know I’m a good writer but I feel like I’m going to be the cause of my own demise. This medium takes discipline, something I don’t have. As soon as I think that I’ve finally gained stride and conquered my habit of being inconsistent here I am again. Weeks and months without any body of writing. I fear failure so much that I might just create a self fulfilling prophecy. Don’t choke, a part of me tells myself, the part of me that’s saved my life too many times to count. I never officially give up but God am I tired of being at square one over and over again. I should have been further then where I am by now. I should have multiple scripts and manuscripts and short stories and essays by now. It’s all backed up in my mind.
When on Earth will I move forward without stopping? What more must I lose? I’ve lost the job I thought would be the foundational mortar for my career. I’ve lost the home I thought I’d always return too when the world grew too cold. I’ve lost the relationship that everyone considers to be the greatest of all; the one between mother and child. I’m living on my final few hundred dollars as I make the best of my brother’s charity on his couch.
I’m so full of doubt.
All I have is my writing. It’s all I have now. Even with that I still find myself being…reluctant. Despite the confirmations I’ve received from prominent writers here I am, seemingly choking. Will I ever gain the tunnel vision necessary to conceive these illustrious tales that pollute my imagination? Everybody says success requires 10% talent and 90% hard work. If those are the odds then my God I’m fucked.
Same God, I’m trying. What I can say that I like about myself is that even when I go idle I cannot bear it for too long, not until the point of no return. I want to rip my skin open with my blunt fingers and offer my flesh raised high to the stars as my offering, my sacrifice, anything it takes to rid me of this doubt. I feel its roots deeply planted somewhere within my chest and the cosmos of my soul. I want to tear myself apart and rid myself of the poison within me. The lies I tell myself are crimes against my own spirit. I want to see it die before me. I believe it will, it has too. I recognize my blessings and know that it’s all up to me. Doubt won’t win, the world is depending on my visions. My people are waiting. The true battle of Heaven and Hell is happening within me and my God I swear it – I will come out shining.