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DDD: I Am An Angry Black Woman

I’m angry. I’m pissed. I’m incensed. I have an attitude. I’m mad. I’ve had “Resting Bitch Face” since long before having a resting bitch face was in style. Oh, and in case I haven’t been clear on this fact, I’m Black… and a womanly woman with lady parts. Got it? Good. So when you, in your infinite wisdom and privilege, curl your lips to make statements about my character, or tell me to “smile, it’s not that bad…” understand that you have now contributed to what was probably an already unpleasant day. You don’t know my life. You can’t fathom my struggle.  I don’t owe you anything, least of all a smile that I might be saving for someone who actually deserves a brighter day created by my pleasant side. If you aren’t directly contributing to my wellbeing with friendship or a paycheck, your opinion is invalid. I might be an angry Black Woman, but you helped make me this way. Now, I spend a good percentage of my days trying to not be “the Angry Black Woman” everyone seems to be so hateful of, but today seems like a good day to let her loose.

Malcolm X had an idea about why we're angry...

If you had to spend your entire existence justifying your every emotion and defending your right to humanity, you might be angry too. If you had to listen to people devaluing you and women who look like you day in and day out, you might have an attitude too. If you had to watch non-Black women be praised and lauded for their fiery attitudes, their assertiveness, their braids, their purchased body parts, fabricated mannerisms, carbon copied style… but when you do it its unprofessional, unsexy, unattractive… all manner of Nope… you too might find yourself UNwilling to put up with the bull shit. If you had to read words from Black men who probably have equally Black mothers, sisters, and cousins talking about Black women as if we are… no, not “as if,” because they clearly have no love for Black women unless they are light skinned and otherwise as close to whiteness as Black woman can be. If you had to work 3 times as hard to earn half of what your white counterparts are paid, and one third of what men in the same position earn, you’d be pissed too.

One reason why we're Angry...If you belonged to the most educated, hardest working demographic who is also the least valued, often imitated/never duplicated group of human beings on this planet, you too might find cause for anger.

Here’s the history lesson:

Especially in this Nation, while white women were fighting for a right to work, own property, and not get beaten and raped bySkin Color does not equal Angry their husbands, Black women had never not worked, and weren’t even considered wholly human. While white women were burning their bras, Black women were tending to white women’s dirty laundry, raising their children, cleaning their homes, cooking their food, and making sure that they could come home to comfort when they were done Not working. Then, after suffering at the hands of often cruel “employers” they’d get to go “home” to similarly abused Black men who often found cause to take their frustrations out on who else but the Black woman who’d just gotten home from working to do more work and tend to her own family, and get raped and beaten too.

 

Anger happens when you see things that piss you off

So here’s the thing, no one really likes being angry. No one wants to spend their lives in a general sense of dismay. This one isn’t directed toward any one group because everyone, other Black women included, are guilty of contributing to the discontent of Black women. Existing in this skin is hard enough without additional external factors making a mess of things. Speaking in general, we don’t need a pity party or snowflake treatment. Just get out of the way. How? Keep your judgments and opinions to yourself. Stop telling us what we are, who we are, what we need to do… just stop. More specifically, stop limiting our humanity. I’m allowed to get and be angry. We all are. If you see us walking down the street looking serious, assume we’re contemplating metaphysics or the solution to world hunger, silently acknowledge our heroism to yourself, and move on with your life so we can continue moving through ours.

Do More, Require Better with your #50percent. The day you save may be your own.

RSI: To Just Function is a Problem

Though Self Improvement is intrinsic to the journey, I have a problem with how we’re expected to just function. I’m sitting in my dining room, my music playing and my roommate testing his Magic deck. With my fingers on the keyboard, I’m typing words while my entire life of decisions swirl around in my head. I’ve already started, deleted, and restarted thrice. I’ve settled on this topic because I believe that this statement is a universally relatable fact.

See, I’ve been calculating things like hours and dollars a lot lately; asking the ever important question: “What is the best use of my time?”  and in doing so, I’ve realized that I spend too many hours commuting and recovering from my commute.

Avoid minimum wage activities.

Here’s My#50percent: if you aren’t constantly asking yourself what the best use of your time is, you aren’t doing this life thing right. The best use of your time doesn’t have to always be work. Now, you might have a hard time believing that I just put those words in writing, so I’ll explain. Right now, the best use of my time is this conversation with you. In a few minutes or so, the best use of my time will be the deep coma I’ll have earned after working my regular job and coming home to pour the benefits of my musings onto this page. Tomorrow, the best use of my time will be seeking the long-term solution to my MWA–minimum wage activity–problem. Get it?

I have a problem with how we’re expected to just function because we aren’t being taught these concepts. Then, even when we are, the design of the system pushes us into the activities we’re supposed to be avoiding. I have a problem with how we’re expected to just function because there should be more to life than just function. Unfortunately, life is a series of MWA’s when you aren’t born into financial wealth or provided the education AND the opportunity to capitalize on what you’ve learned. We shouldn’t be made to feel guilty when we want to spend irreplaceable moments doing enjoyable things. We also shouldn’t be made to feel guilty when we have to sacrifice that many more hours of life that we’ll never get back working jobs that we’d rather simply Not because just functioning is expensive.

Those Minimum Wage Activities that we’re supposed to be avoiding are often the elements of life that keep us sane. Some clean to work through thoughts, unpleasantness, and turmoil. Some drive just to feel like they’re going somewhere. Sometimes, an MWA is the only thing protecting the general public from yet another mass shooting… but the expectation is that we function without regard for the inequity of the design. I have a problem with that.

Do More. Require Better.

And now we come to…the end of an era

Today, oddly enough was supposed to be the pay off FINALLY for a number of posts about relationships that I thought might be better than all my previous ruthless on relationships post. And indeed I’ll get to that later.

 

Instead,

Today is a day I bring us to a place I knew could happen, but was happy every time it didn’t. Today we end the hour for the last time. What do I mean? Today is the beginning of a goodbye party. For this blog. Oh it will continue to exist, but a transition is afoot. And so with all transitions, some things remain the same, while other change or are left behind.

If you would have told me 3 years ago as I was studying for the bar that we would be here I would be shocked. But if you would have told me that we would get here after 450 thousand views I’d also be shocked so much attention happened. Words Don’t Do It Justice started as an idea, a bit of fun, and a lot of me. I have buried hatchets with enemies because of this blog, reconnected with old friends, and made new ones because of this blog, found meaning in the midst of my own personal depression because of this place. I have consumed it, and let it consume me. I love it. But loving this blog means knowing what to do. And taking a good long look I know the thing to do is let it go.

But I said this was transition not destruction.

And indeed it is. I’ll be taking Words Don’t Do It Justice away from our blogging past into a show based future. For me, the question was one of logistics. Was it better to end everything and walk away from these years of effort, or find a way to keep the place alive in the hearts of all of you who have supported us? I choose to believe that you will keep supporting us, and I chose to keep this place alive in a new way.

That means giving you what we planned. Give No Quarter, The Wrath of Ruthless, and Words Don’t Do It Justice are the three pillars of Ruthless Radio. 3 shows with different formats that bring you many of the topics you might see written about here, but in a new form and with some new and old faces/voices. Over the next few weeks as we ready to for the relaunch of Words Don’t Do It Justice as a podcast, you’ll get to read some farewells from various alums, and hear from the incoming folks for these shows. You’ll also see the Words Don’t Do It Justice site itself undergo various changes. With plenty of hard work, luck, and you listening in, I hope to earn your trust for these new shows, and continue to hold our interest.

SO! What about Weekend’s Don’t Do It Justice?

Well I’m happy to say our little casual interest site is growing well. And it is going to continue. We had a nice response to the sample chapter from Project 13, and now that game of thrones is done you’ll see a lot of other reviews, news, and related content there. Our gamers are doing their thing, and if Vantinel’s CEO appearance is any indication of commitment, we will only continue to grow over there.

As I end for now I just want to say thank you, and of course to keep watching what we do. But more than that, thank you for being a force for us. We continued to push because you were there with us. 100,000 visitors, 450,000 views, and 3 years of growth, While things must change, I am glad to have made it to this point. A point that let’s me look back and say that YOU made us more than I imagined. And though Words Don’t Do It Justice…Thank you.

 

“THE Ruthless Wonder” Matthew Elisha Williams

Founder of Words Don’t Do It Justice

I’m THE Ruthless Wonder, And I believe in the friend zone

Ruthless On Relationships: The Friend Zone

Where do you stand?

Where do you stand?

Yes folks we are there now. It is time for a Ruthless on Relationships special edition. Special edition because I really didn’t plan to post at all this week(work is savage right now), nor talk about this. SO, why am I? Well the best way I can put it is that I’m tired of people failing to grasp it and then putting their thoughts on Facebook. And we all know what happens when I get annoyed. NOW let’s get to it!

The Friend Zone is real

This statement on the face of it is not a problem really. But when you add context. When you put it in the age of XO Jane and Jezebel. The age of #NotAllWomen and #NotAllMen. The age of outrage, ostracizing and tumblr activism. Well then things take a turn. See your normal human mind that is ruled by logic knows exactly what I mean when I say friend zone. Because you, someone you know, or someone you truly care about has dealt with what it really is. You’ve read about it in romantic literature as far back as Ancient Africa. You remember the crush who you never spoke to and think “I was in the friend zone.”

But these other folks don’t mean that. They don’t mean that time you and your friend were so close that you just suddenly developed a feeling for them that was more romantic than friendly, but it was one sided. They don’t mean the friend of yours who liked a guy and was friends with him until she told him her feelings and he rejected her. They don’t mean what your brain has told you for the span of your existence that the friend zone means. They think it means something else.

To these people, these ultimately sadly but willfully ignorant masses, the friend zone is about men who think being nice to women gets them sex. Or men who say they want to be friends to trick women into dating them. Men who feel entitled to sex because of the things they have done for women or the position they have with them. Do you see the problem yet? Of course you do. You’ve been reading me this long so you know what the deal is. But since you are sharing this with your friends, I’ll point it out all clickbaity and continue.

THEY BELIEVE THIS IS AN ALL MALE CONSTRUCT TO SUBJUGATE AND OPPRESS WOMEN.

The Conflict

This conflict on meaning is a problem for a lot of reasons. No doubt you’ve already thought about your female friends and the guys who treated them like they were in the friend zone. But let’s not be exclusionary here. You are well aware of the nice guy friend of theirs they know likes them. The one they joke about taking them to dinner on their dime. The one who flew them out to some vacation. The one who always invites them to be their date of record for events so they don’t look gay or lonely. But even that level isn’t deep enough. Fellas you know that friend of yours. You know, the friend you’ve known since grade school or high school. That you use the excuse that they dated your boy you stopped talking to in 1997 to keep from approaching. The one you laugh off when girls you want to publicly date are around, but always seem to find yourselves in way too intimate to be just friend positions otherwise. Y’all are lying to yourselves. You’ve put that person in the friend zone. I’m not, nor am I into dating members of the trans community, so I can’t speak to them, and thus they are out of the analysis here. But I will say I’m sure everything that I’ve said so far goes for them as well. Hell probably worse since they have to come out as trans, go through their version of transition, and hope that telling a friend who they crush on won’t end in violence.

The reason the friend zone is very particular in meaning, and ultimately should be narrowly tailored to what I’m talking about, is that it is irrespective of gender, sex, sexual orientation, and gender identity. The friend zone is a place you put a person you don’t have romantic and sexual interest in, but you believe has some romantic and sexual interest in you. I did a podcast of the Wrath of Ruthless not too long ago about the different attractions and what in the end they mean. Shoutout to friend of the show Láy Krardashian for the post that help make that happen (You fellas looking for a boyfriend go talk to the babyface badboy). In it we talked about the effect of these attractions. Here I want to talk deeper really quick about both sides of crushing on someone. Because I think that is where people mix up asshole fakes, and nice people. If you have a crush on someone, usually, USUALLY, you aren’t going to say something. You’re going to mope around, trying to figure it out. You’re going to wait just long enough for them to start dating someone else, and then move on. If you do say something you often make it bad timing(aka when they’ve already said they only want to be friends), or when you can make an angry counter to someone else vying for their affection. You are not in the friend zone just because you have a crush. You’re in the friend zone because the person doesn’t feel romantic or sexual about you, and they already scoped you might have that potential feeling.

Of course the assholes are the ones who, gender non-dependant, say they want to be friends to try and trick their way to sex, or keep you in said friend zone for the purpose of abusing your feelings about them to gain things to their benefit. Putting you into the Friend Zone is not an asshole move. It is a perfectly reasonable protective measure. Let me said it again. PUTTING YOU IN THE FRIEND ZONE, BY ITSELF, IS NOT AN ASSHOLE MOVE. IT IS A REASONABLE PROTECTIVE MEASURE! The asshole is also found in the ones who feel entitled to sex for doing things. REGARDLESS OF GENDER. I don’t care if you are the doting female friend who brings chicken soup to her childhood buddy because his last girlfriend got him and the puppy sick right before she walked out. I don’t care if you are the super cool LGBTQ+ friend who helped your homie pick up the pieces after every single straight person broke their heart and made them write godawful poetry that you still clapped along to. Just because you do friendly things doesn’t mean you get to make moves. Those lunch time mimosas where she poured her life story and you repoured your heart out? No excuse to try making out with her while y’all were drunk. That 3rd watch of fear and loathing over blunts and beer? Didn’t earn you cop a crotch on the couch time. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. And that’s not the friend zone. That is sexual assault.

However, just like there are assholes, asshole fakes, and the like, there are also nice people. You have a nice person in the friend zone now. You are also in the friend zone of a nice person. Nice people who have no idea you like them and are oblivious to the fact that you want to tell them how you feel. Just like there is someone you think is interested in you, but is just being a good friend. You’ve been told all your life that in heterosexual relations men and women can’t be just friends. And you’ve been told the same for homosexual relations. That everyone who is in your part of the sexual spectrum and isn’t family is so part of the culture that you are unable to be truly platonic. I’ve fought that notion myself. I’ve grappled with the “Am I digging her like that now?” moment. Usually a few times thinking about it makes it go away. But since I already told you 1. The friend zone is a place you put a person you don’t have romantic and sexual interest in, but you believe has some romantic and sexual interest in you. And 2. Putting you into the Friend Zone is not an asshole move. It is a perfectly reasonable protective measure. Let me give you the third and final bit now. 3. You owe it to your single friends, as a friend, to be helpful to their love life, aka be a wingman/wingwoman(A trans man or trans woman is still a man or woman for the purpose of this analysis. When the nonbinary community comes up with a word, and I’m doing this again, I’ll add it).

Now why do you owe them? Mostly to prevent confusion, and be a good friend. Think about it. When you’re single and available your friends who share your gender identity help as best as possible. You may even seek them out for good ideas in dating. Why is it any different for those who share a gender with your sexual preference? Why isn’t it MORE important to help and be helped by them? After all, a guy talking to other guys is only going to get so far on what an incoming woman wants. You can actually have a chat with her and size up who she is versus the male friend and pre-check some compatibility. Your lady friends can see what kind of girls a guy is into, but your guy friends can give you some insight about what his manly habits are. I often boil this down in conversation to a simple thing. If you are in the friend zone with a single person who matches your sexual preference, ask them to hook you up with their friends. “I’m your friend? Word? Then hook me up with your girls, bestie.” is common parlance these days in memes, but I truly believe that. You have a female friend who just need her ass slapped and hair pulled to get life right? Don’t be salty, link her up with the dude who is 28 and still has no plans to be serious this decade. You have a guy trying to pick up the pieces? You know your homegirl has the Ms. Materialistic attitude, don’t pawn him off on her, hook him in to your network of good girls who will treat him right. I’m not saying you have to be the patron saint of matchmakers, I’m saying friends help friends find their way in life. And in love, that’s the way it should be no matter what the orientation and identity of the people involved. So seriously, I’m single, you have hot friends, and in my Jagged Edge voice “Where the party at?” LOL

No, but seriously, I want to walk off with this notion. You are being sold a bill of goods about the friend zone that just isn’t true. Both by the people who aren’t really as nice as they claim, and by the people who are the victims of fakes and phonies. The friend zone is a place you put a person you don’t have romantic and sexual interest in, but you believe has some romantic and sexual interest in you. Putting you into the Friend Zone is not an asshole move. It is a perfectly reasonable protective measure. You owe it to your single friends, as a friend, to be helpful to their love life, aka be a wingman/wingwoman. Beyond that, everything is someones agenda. Shame to get you on their side of a ideological debate about the place of normative versus transative, male versus female, and all other manner of ideas on sex and gender. But the friend zone is a neutral construct. I’m THE Ruthless Wonder and I believe in the friend zone. And I’d say more but Words Don’t Do It Justice!

– THE Ruthless Wonder

Mom

Random church pic with Mom. Sometimes you dont need a special occasion.

Random church pic with Mom. Sometimes you don’t need a special occasion.

If you’re reading this. It is the future. I’m writing to you from the past. Who knows how long I’ll be on the shelf with this illness, but I wanted to get this written down in time to go up on Mother’s Day just in case.

She loved coming to Florida for this. Still doesn't want to move there though.

She loved coming to Florida for this. Still doesn’t want to move there though.

Mother’s Day

People often have a opinion of the holiday that is steeped in one of two things. An unabashed love of it and their Mother, or a deep avoidance of it because of their Mother. I fall oddly enough in both categories. Some of you know why more than others. When people naturally assume I’m talking about the woman in all the photos of my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood constantly referred to as my Mom, they wonder how I can have ill feelings towards her. Like every child, at some point I got mad about not being allowed to do or get something (usually my way), but I assure you that is not what I’m talking about here. I’m in both categories because as is the case for kids like me, I know the fundamental difference between me and most of you. As many people constantly post the sonograms of their upcoming children, the poems about their mothers and how they were carried 9 months and all that, and inevitably the “she knew me before I knew myself” based reflections, I get angry.

Let me explain.

I get angry because I know, sort of, the woman who did that. I know her in my features, my skin tone, my likely genetically passed along diseases (thanks for the diabetes). I don’t know her face other than what exists in my own. I don’t know her voice other than what markers her and my father passed along to me. And that makes me angry every year at this time. Right along side knowing that I was easy to cast aside. But another anger rises in me. I am angry for the woman who has loved, cared for, scolded, taught, cried over and with, cheered on, and supported me from the moment she saw my face. Because she had to find me. Because she and my Dad had to look for me. Because I wasn’t theirs to begin with.

If you thought she was happy when I got my JD, imagine her watching me get sworn in by a Judge I've known since I was 13, at the second coolest courthouse in Kansas City, with nothing but friends and family around.

If you thought she was happy when I got my JD, imagine her watching me get sworn in by a Judge I’ve known since I was 13, at the second coolest courthouse in Kansas City, with nothing but friends and family around.

In movies, because well I always relate things to something easy, you often find a character who is secretly someone else entirely has odd differences in their mannerisms, looks and the like from their family and finding out why is some deep secret from the family’s pandora’s box. I’ve always known why. I’m adopted. I could say it is easier to handle sticking out when you know why, but I’d be lying. Knowing your extreme light complexion black parents are not passing it on to you so you look darker in every photo? I know the reason. Knowing your siblings from your father’s past relationships are all substantially taller than you, and you’ll probably never get there? I know the reason. And those are the superficial issues. The hard stuff is much darker. I won’t get you too deep in that existential nightmare, but hold the rails as I dip your toes in.

Wondering if your parents really love you or if they might send you away because you aren’t really their kid they just chose to have you around? I know the reason for that fear and it started at age 5.

Get out of that pool folks it only gets darker from there.

So while some of my anger is from not being wanted by the woman who gave birth to me, a lot of it is from not being born my Mom’s son. Knowing that somewhere deep in her mind just like in mine we hurt for the same reason, that we had to find each other. That her and my Dad had to go through paperwork, lawyers, judges, an apparently heartbroken foster mom, and state agencies as well as everyone who represented my birth mother’s family just to get me into their lives so I could have the beautiful dream ending that you seriously only hear about in movies. You might wonder why that inspires anger and not joy, happiness, or many other positives emotions. Well it does. But I started with anger so you’d get why the highs are so high.

I said at the top I’m in both categories. The flame of my anger has, admittedly, dimmed a bit, as I just stopped caring about all but the fact that my parents are the ones who love and raised me. Who were there for all the tiny moments and the towering ones. But the anger category was never so powerful as to overshadow the joy. Better said the anger fueled even more joy. How so? Let’s dream out the other side of that dark pool from earlier for a moment shall we? I don’t wonder did my parents want to have me around. I know they did because of all that to get me here. I have verifiable, legally documented, state stamped proof that by the sheer force of will of my parents I became Matthew Elisha Williams (My name is, in the end, rather telling). I take pride in my name and the meaning of my name. Not because it is so American that eagles should come flying out from behind me while Jimi Hendrix plays the Star Spangled Banner every time it is said or I walk into a room. But because, quite literally, it is the story of how I came to be.

Not the same as when we had season tickets for the Chiefs, but we both loved being back to Arrowhead for some football. GO LINCOLN!

Not the same as when we had season tickets for the Chiefs, but we both loved being back to Arrowhead for some football. GO LINCOLN!

So when I look at my Mother, now enjoying retirement, reading books, but sadly dealing with the complications of having MS effecting one of her legs I have a towering joy. That woman chose me. Every child that was available for adoption in 1982 was available. Every single one, and instead of all of them, me. That’s a powerful thing to know. That’s a powerful memory to hold in your heart and mind when things get bad. I know, because I have. I let her pick what we do with Mother’s day every year. Some years I didn’t have the money to buy her gifts so I wrote for her. Some years the gift doesn’t arrive on time. No matter what though, I give thanks for her. I take a moment every chance I get to remind her I love her, to say thank you, and on days like Mother’s Day additionally make sure she knows I care. Because, as I often say, my parents are my favorite super heroes, always have been, always will be. So I make sure to honor the one I still get to see whenever I want. The cliché ending would be “take a moment and talk to your Mom, think about your Mom, or go see your Mom.” I wouldn’t dare presume that you only have the bright side of the journey I just took you on. Instead I’ll end by saying no matter what your situation, no matter your relationship with your Mother, take a moment for yourself. Reflect on who you are. If that reflection leads you to a positive place about your Mother, take some time for and or with her. If that reflection leads you to a negative place about your Mother, take some time to honor who you became in spite of that relationship. I could say more, but Words Don’t Do Mom Justice!

Happy Mother’s Day!

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Way back when Mom at my side, and my uncle standing in where my father would have if he had still been alive.

 –  THE Ruthless Wonder

 

P.S. shoutout to the soon to be Moms that are also big time WDDIJ Superfans Jessica Thomas and Danielle Baron-Anders(or Anders nee Baron, Luv ya but I have no idea what you decided on last name)

Story Time: Hood Mentality

It’s been a long time since I lived in the hood. Even when I lived in the hood, it wasn’t theG.Ma's House kind of hood that I had to look around and feel some kind of way about. I lived in an area of Brooklyn with mostly Caribbean home owners. They took pride in what was theirs; swept the sidewalks in front of their stoops, picked up litter and trash, made sure the block was clean after the garbage truck passed. The area I went to school in on the other hand was a different story. The common theme–the mentality–was “no one cares.” It’s the hood. It’s supposed to be dirty. People occasionally complained about how infrequently the garbage was collected or how the so-called street sweepers only wished the dirt around, but they never seemed to care enough to not drop trash on the ground in the first place.

I wish this was going to be one of those simple pieces where I point my finger at an issue, give a brief history lesson, and provide a clean solution. Unfortunately, this is one of those times where the issue goes so much deeper than simply “clean it up.” There’s something about the hood mentality that makes everything about being from the hood the kind of struggle that even hood people don’t really understand. It’s goes Aristotle and Kant deep. It’s knowing that the hood is set up to keep people down, thinking you’re beating the system because you’re “living well” in the hood, then seeing how people live outside the hood and having one of those #awkwardmomentwhen. It’s trying to describe how deep it is only to find that Words Don’t Do It Justice. Let’s see if I can put this into perspective.

ChevronI stopped for gas at a Chevron the other night. I knew I was in the hood, and as such I was appropriately cautious and carefully observed my surroundings. I was with friends, one of whom is an equally–if not more so–hood smart young man. He pumped the gas, I surveilled. There was a woman begging at the door to the convenience store and one or two other gas station patrons. What was I most bothered by? That all but 2 pumps were fully functional. It’s the hood. There are supposed to be poor people, drug addicts, and cantankerous arguing patrons. What I don’t accept is that a multi million dollar corporation would allow it’s gas pumps to remain in disrepair or be left empty for more than a few hours. East Point, GA is no less worthy of services than Buckhead. Corporations shouldn’t be allowed to treat their patrons differently just because of a zip code. I’ll go deeper.

When I mentioned that I was irritated, my friend assumed that it was because of the Homeless at Chevronbeggar by the door asking him for change repeatedly. I don’t think I explained then, but I’m not generally bothered by people begging. A closed mouth won’t get fed, whether what the body needs is a meal, a roof, or their favorite chemical alterant. I’d rather her be begging than out stealing or hurting herself for what she needs. I don’t know what circumstances lead her–or any other person–to that position, but it probably wasn’t part of their life’s plan. I have a hard time believing that anyone grows up striving to be homeless, a drug addict, or mentally ill. It happens, but I highly doubt that it was planned. I also wasn’t bothered by being in the hood. I come from a hood that probably isn’t very different from the hoods of Georgia, or any other hood for that matter. When I did explain that I was upset about the state of the gas station, his first reaction was to remind me that the hood mentality dictates that the people who live there don’t consider themselves to be worthy of “nice things.”

So here’s the thing: it’s hard to believe that you’re deserving of things like a fully functioning gas station when everything in the social construct tells you that because you didn’t get the good job you were told you’d get after college or after serving in whichever branch of the Armed Forces… because the job you did get barely pays enough to keep a roof over your head which also means your income is low and thus a you’re in a low tax bracket. Less tax contribution–by means of property taxes, not income–means less service (i.e. road maintenance, garbage collection, public school funding, etc.) The lesser services means the hood children don’t have access to the same standard of education that other children in more affluent neighborhoods do; larger class sizes taught by underpaid, stressed out, inattentive teachers… and even if the children get into college, the cycle often continues. But wait! There’s more. What happens to the kids who don’t make it into college? What happens to a child who has one or two working parents who are too busy trying to make ends meet and keep the utilities on? What happens to the kids who basically have to raise themselves because the adults in their lives are absent? What happens to the kid who only gets attention when they act out? What happens to the kid who gets convinced that his life isn’t valuable? What happens?

No one cares.

Do More. Require Better.

Happy 4/20! Yay Chemical Dependency

Happy 4/20!!! Let’s talk about drugs. It’s kind of hard for me to really talk about drugs from a fully informed point of view because I’ve never used them… not the illegal kinds anyway. So with that in mind, let’s put all the drugs in the same category: chemical alterants.D n' A We’ll define them as compounds or substances used to cause a change of state. By this definition, I hope you’ll understand that I mean to include liquor, antibiotics, and everything else we have become accustomed to using for good and bad purposes.

I want to be clear that I’m one of those crazy people that believe that all chemical alterants should be legal. There will be those who decide to try stuff, and they’ll probably be the same people who’d try them even now while they’re illegal. I think they should be taxed and used to generate productive revenue, as opposed to being used to criminalize people who are often participating in the economy the only way this system allows them to excel in. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: the so-called “War on Drugs” has done more damage to this countries than allowing natural selection take its course ever could have. And since I’ve already told you all about how wonderful legalizing chemical alterants would be for the nation, I want to talk about the kinds of drugs I wish we would start moderating.

US of PharmaWhy is it that GMO foods don’t have to be labeled? Shouldn’t I get to decide if I want to eat chicken that has been injected and tampered with? Shouldn’t I get to decide if I want to eat apples that have been modified to be less attractive to insects? Why do corporations get to decide that I’m not intelligent enough to make my own decisions about what I eat and most important to them, what I spend my money on? I was having a conversation with a friend many months ago about how people would feel differently about GMO foods if they had a better grasp of science, how chemicals work, and how many of them actually occur in nature. My response: “Arsenic occurs naturally… as does lactose. I prefer to limit my intake of both.” Of course I said more, but this is the result of that conversation:
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So if you listened to my mini rant/argument against GMOs, you’ll understand that I think our use of chemical alterants are diminishing our ability to evolve in a positive direction. Imagine how many more people would have died from polio if we hadn’t come up with the vaccine. Add to that the fact that  it has been argued that people are now being born immune to polio. How much longer would it have taken for us to evolve into polio immunity? How about the flu: how many different strains of the flu have there been? Is it just me or do they seem to be getting more resilient? Why do people still bother getting flu shots when there’s supposedly “no way” to tell if it’ll actually work against whichever flu virus is being spread this week, month, year? How many people run out and get an antibiotic every time they get sick and find themselves sick again after a few weeks of “getting over” a cold?

We’ve become a chemically dependent lot. Not just on pills that have loose bowels, cerebral hemorrhage, and death as side-effects, but on the antibiotics they put intoModified Corn our vegetables without telling us, the hormones they feed cows before they grind them into hamburger meat, and the high fructose corn syrup they think should be included in everything. Why would anyone want to take an antidepressant that will cause suicidal thoughts? Counterproductive much? People seem content believing that all they have to do is “say no to drugs” to stay chemically safe, but have become completely complacent about medicating their ADHD afflicted children into oblivious zombies. Jailing people for marijuana possession has become big business, meanwhile Wal-Mart has its own liquor store… but more people have died at the hands of drunk people and from alcohol poisoning than I’ve ever heard of dying from smoking a joint.

No War on DrugsI’m not the only one who sees it. There are meme’s all over the internet about the disparities. I’m just saying that on this 4/20, we should make sure they know that we’re paying attention. Well, we should actually start paying attention. Not just to the legalization of weed, but to the decriminalization of marijuana selling AND to the release of the people who have been imprisoned for possession and intent to sell/distribute. We should be paying attention to their willingness to medicate us into compliant obedience.

We should care that there are more medications that mask symptoms out there than there are cures for what plagues us. These things are important. Its not just about being a liberal animal loving tree hugger. This one is about wanting to make sure that we’re fighting for the right things for the right reasons. There’s a reason why they added the word “medical” on to marijuana. I’ve heard it described as medical grade marijuana as a selling point. Is it really stronger? Do they add extra stuff to it to make it safer? Or is it just so they can continue criminalizing all the street corner pharmacists? Why aren’t we more concerned about doctors who’d rather write a prescription than actually treat a patient; like really listen then properly diagnose and possibly cure whatever is ailing their patient? Why aren’t we criminalizing Pfizer, Norco, or Purdue for manufacturing, marketing, and selling chemical alterants that are addictive and actually cause death? Why do they get to pay a fine and keep doing business as usual? I’m sure some of you are out there looking at your pill bottles and medicine cabinets; feeling like you need to take another puff to save you from the anxiety attack that the thought of your favorite pill’s not being available to you will cause. Last time I checked marijuana grows everywhere. You can drink it, smoke it, put it in some brownie mix and bake it… I read somewhere that there are weed gummies. People have told me that they focus better with marijuana in their system. I can honestly say I’d rather give a kid with ADHD some gummies than a chemical cocktail that dulls their shine, their senses, and their creativity, and has the potential of delayed growth, sleep problems, and tics among other things… but that’s just me.

We don’t have to be chemical dependents. Our fruits, vegetables, meats and grains were good without chemical alteration. It has been argued that GMO foods could help end starvation in places where they have issues accessing food. If that’s want they’re striving for, why are the corporations Flicked jointhoarding the seeds? Why aren’t they letting starving nations with fertile farm land grow the food themselves? They gave some of the food away for free? Was that when people started getting sick and dropping dead of “unknown” causes? It’s like my mother says; “Piss on my head and tell me it’s raining.” Believe what you want folks, but *takes drag from imaginary joint* I’m not buying it. Don’t get me wrong, I have benefited from pharmaceuticals throughout my life. On the other hand, I have to acknowledge that there are some things that we shouldn’t be chemically altering. And until someone starts a company that can be trusted to put #AllLives ahead of profits, I’m going to keep shaking my fist and raising my voice on behalf of my personal interests…

… because #DoMoreRequireBetter