Monday, January 26, 2009

If That Was The Case?


Why can't I say nigger? I don't understand the controversy over the word. Its a word, yes man used it against the darker man to degrade them but isn't the word stupid the same exact thing. When I call someone stupid, am I not putting them down? Lowering their self-esteem? There is worst words out there and the fact NAACP can come in and bury the word Nigger is so cliche. Not once did you hear NAACP offer to ban the word cracker and spic or any other degrading word that could possibly be more damaging. Don't get me wrong I wonder why a white kid in this generation will say "What's up ma nigga?" but come on, we've moved along with what the meaning is said to be. People take things to the heart and it causes a dark cloud of ignorance to surface around our pretty little heads. There are way worst things going on that need to be taken care of than the banishment of a word similar to stupid, dumb or the opposite of beautiful. People sit here and blabber about how it hurts their souls when someone says the word nigger, and how painful it is for us to hear it. You were not there during the time that word appeared, you didn't get the beatings our ancestors endured, you didn't have to work harsh days with the blazing sun beating on your naked back, knowing that you wouldn't see your children again because they were going to be sold off on market day. You went through nothing the black slaves from the around the world went through. So if someone decides to call me a NIGGER, I rather be proud because the roads my ancestors paved are being walked upon, to classify me as a Nigger makes me remember that I am where I am today because of them, well off, not in need and know how to defend myself. So if anyone decides to say look at that nigger over there, I will smile and say yes please do look at me because in the end I've made it out okay and if the black slaves from a long time ago can endure the word, so can we. Its really that simple.
Signed By
That Nigger From Around The Way

Friday, January 23, 2009

What Is It That I Want?


OK guys like my favorite person always says "Ima Keep It A Hundred With You", lol

That's what I'm going to do, just that. I'm actually a 37 year old man living in my parents house waiting for them to die so I can get the master bedroom. ::pause:: OK let me stop lying.

I'm really 19 female and I actually just want to be an actress, I have thought that I can act, I can make it believable but I have yet to get the chance to show off my talent. If I could never get the chance to act, one thing I want to fulfill is writing a movie or a TV show. Something that links me to the media. Blogspot is the only place I can just type and let my thoughts fly freeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Right now I'm in the process of writing a book, but for some reason it's s good I'm finding myself wanting to know when the movie is gonna come out and then I think "whoaaaaaa! Naph you gotta finish the first chapter" It's all in my head, its all in the cranium. ITS THERE!!!!!!

If someone maybe Spielberg could just drop me a few bucks to produce my movie I would on the spot. I don't need any writers to do the thinking for me. Well only to spellcheck cause sometimes I find myself overlooking errors that were easy to spot in the first place. Like the spelling of the word "the", it happens.

I decided that I can't put up my story up hear, I mean come on bloggers, next thing you know I'd be watching my work displayed as a lifetime story with washed up Disney characters and that girl who appears on every show and yet you still can't remember her name.

Signed By
I Will Be An Actress One Day

Fools Deception

Here's a little story I'm working on, be honest and tell me if it needs work and I'll try to update the story daily.


I was use to having my drink brought at whatever club I happened to be at that night. But tonight was different, everything had been wrong. I was early to wherever I had to be at. "Another Martini please", I asked the bartender who had been trying to make conversation all night. I had blown it, everything I had worked for was going down the drain. Maybe I should start from the beginning.

It was my wedding day, being 22 and in love made life seem so easy. Yet something just wasn't right and I chose to ignore it at the time. There he was Travis (Willams), the man I thought I fell in love with. Who knew everything about me and yet so guarded I had limited access to his life story. It didn't take much for me to be swept off my feet, a simple "Hi you're pretty, what's your name?" It had never worked before but for some reason this time it did. Finding out he was an heir to fortune was added bonus.

To Be Continued.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Our Children Shouldn't Have To Cry


FACES OF SLAVERY

Haiti's Forgotten Children

Thousands of children are living in slavery in Haiti -
taken from their families in the rural villages
or given up by desperately poor parents for the promise
of a better life in cities like Port-au-Prince, Jacmel or Les Cayes.

The promise is rarely kept.

Instead, the children, some as young as 3 years old, are whipped and abused, forced to fetch water, mop floors, wash dishes, care for babies not much younger than they are. They are forbidden to eat at the table and are forced to sleep on concrete or dirt floors.
They rarely get any schooling.

A United Nations study in 1998 estimated
there are 300,000 such children - known as restaveks,
a Creole word meaning "stay with".


The restavek phenomena, like slavery is a system that stresses ownership of the person versus the use of cheap or underpaid labor. The reason that so many of these children can be mistreated and often times beaten to death without any intervention from authorities or other adults is found in the reality that they are seen more as property than child laborers.

The life of a restavek is one that is comprised of continual day-to-day menial chores where they must serve everyone around them, and refer to them as monsieur or madame (sir or mam), even to those younger than themselves. They are strictly forbidden to speak unless spoken to. They are not allowed to display any emotions without fear of reprisal, or even voice any opinions about their daily needs. They are rarely provided with a chance for an education, an if so, they are relegated to second rate schools where they may or may not graduate based on the whim of the families who own them.

A restavek is easily discernible within the streets
of Haiti with their torn rags and tattered clothes
hanging from their strained and feeble limbs,
often times begging for food and money.

Unlike a "bonne" (maid) or a "gerant" (grounds keeper),
restaveks do not get paid for their services,
and are forced to perform chores
that others would not dream of doing.


However, the most gruesome reality for most of them
is that they are too often killed, raped and abandoned
in the streets once families no longer wish to keep them.

That such children even exist came to widespread attention
with the 1998 publication of the autobiography of
Haitian born Jean-Robert Cadet, a Madeira man
who himself was a restavek.


He returned to Haiti and heard the stories of other restaveks.

They are children like these:

"Rene' was severely beaten with a "rigoise"( a whip made of cowhide). Every strike lifted the skin and formed a blister ... He was made to kneel on a bed of hot rocks while holding two mango-sized stones in each hand high above his head. His puffy face was twisted to one side and his ragged shirt was glued to his broken body."

Modelene Doristan, a quiet girl about 8 years old,
who was brought to Foyer Maurice Sixto,
a shelter in western Port-au-Prince, by police.

"They beat me all the time at the woman's house",
she says. Modelene is whispering, pausing to pick
at a wound above her knee as she talks about her owner.

Naki MacPherson, a small boy with dark scars on his forehead and chest,
who looks about 7, but doesn't know his age. His owner beats him with a rock
when he doesn't work hard or fast enough. He is safe this day, playing a game
of marbles at Foyer L'Escale, a shelter in northern Port-au-prince
for restaveks who have run away.


A 13 year old restavek girl whose owners burned her severely when they covered her
with hair spray and lit it. "They lit the spray on the child to find out if the
spray was really flammable", said Haitian journalist Godfroy Boursiquot. The girl,
who had lived at Foyer L'Escale for three years, also told Boursiquot she was
sexually abused by the 18 year old and 20 year old men who owned her.

These restaveks are, surprisingly, not slaves of Haiti's rich, but of those too poor to hire domestic help. "Some of them live in an owner's place that is worse than the place they were living in the countryside", said caretaker Clermei de Rameau, better known as the maternal figure "Mamy George,"at Foyer Maurice Sixto.
"Some of them have slashes on their backs", Ms. Rameau said.
"Some of them get food at home; some of them don't".

"Once one of those kids was sleeping in a warehouse and a rat chewed
the bottom of his feet," said Ms. Rameau.

Social workers at Foyer L'Escale don't discover until well after the restaveks come to stay that many have been raped. Some refuse to tell their stories. One of the girls told Cadet last April how her owner had "given her the pepper", or rubbed a hot pepper in her crotch after finding someone raping her.

There are even a few restaveks who work for families that live in the street,
said Boursiquot, the Haitian journalist. Most owners are reluctant to send restaveks to public school not only because they have to pay for books and uniforms but, more importantly, they lose those hours the child could be working.

Most restaveks, alone and defenseless, live in constant fear of abandonment and punishment. Because it is a longstanding custom, an accepted slavery,
usually no one intervenes.
Signed By
Speechless At The Moment

Rinnng!! Riiiiiing!!


I know a friend who eats an excessive amount of bacon, she calls me from time to time, almost everyday and at odd hours. I am quite not sociable so I decided to make some calls of my own. I would normally call at 9-10ish pm and we'd have a very meaningful conversation. Then it happened. I would call, she would be asleep, oh hell no cause lord knows she be waking me up, so I would call back and she would answer, groggy. I started to question this friendship, was there someone else she was calling, someone else she picked up for happily. What had I done wrong? I did everything required, I didn't call during peak and she was on my My Faves. Was it a story that I told her that was too long? Or Maybe I had offended her by putting her on hold for a brief 34mins. ::phone rings in background:: Oh here she comes a calling now! Laterz! Smoochez

Signed By
The Subscriber You Are Trying To Reach Is Not Accepting Calls Right Now

Press Start/Push Pause






Saying this makes us feel a bit old but: What the hell is wrong with kids these days? It used to be that youthful acts of rebellion involved a piercing or running off for a day -- not hiring a hit man to murder your parents .
16 year-old Cory Ryder was grounded from playing his PlayStation or watching TV for weeks due to his inability to do basic things like not steal, go to school, and avoid getting arrested.
After stealing $45 from his sister and getting into a heated argument with his parents, he was kicked out of his house, but not with out first threatening to have his family killed.
His mother tipped off the police, who sent out an undercover agent to pose as a hitman. Cory offered the officer his father's truck as payment and is quoted as saying, "Two bullets is all it takes." He is now in custody awaiting trial in a Maryland court.

You have to be kidding me, it requires a hit for these parents to take some serious action, soon as homie first acted up, you would've gotten your xbox in 34 pieces and would be stuck putting it back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Have fun with that. Funny thing is I bet you his parents brought the lovely game system, he decided he had to have them killed over. What happens when the jury takes pity and sends the kid home, I as the parent has to sleep with one eye open before my son X, B and R1's me. This is not the first of the Xbox madness, another kid actually killed his parents, way to go for you loser! I wonder who is going to buy your next game. They don't have Xbox or Playstation in the prisons, they do have play strip twister with your cellmate thought, I heard its kind of fun. Another kid slapped his mom with a taco because she turned his game off while playing. IT ISN'T REAL. You play the game to your level, to your liking, over and over and over again if you freaking want. One thing I know is none of these psychos are black, we need our parents to purchase some accessories for our beloved system and wouldn't harm them when they are doing that favor. I'm going to think twice before my mom toggles my system.
Signed By
Mom Please Don't Unplug My System

Something A Little Different




So once a couple blogs ago, you read my outspoken side. I rant to the blogger world about random bull but real topics. I don't call myself a writer but I have thoughts that could fill up a book. Something you guys don't know is I love poetry, the ways the words come into focus, how reality and fantasy tie tongues, magic happens. I got skills when it comes to my pen touching paper. I always thought that my over imaginative thoughts could make it out in the world, I'm seriously my own hypeman, lol. Artistically, I've got talent, I can act, I can write but best of all I can dream. I write poems that makes one think. I'm into reading and rhyming but I also love a thought twister. Maybe one day I can be like Maya Angelou or a star in my childs eyes for taking my thoughts to paper or maybe no one will read my poetry and I'll have my dreams all to myself, as long as I can write, read and think, my words will always be alive.

Here's one of my poems, hope you like=]

Sweet kisses from my mistress
I knew you couldn't stay away
As I
Remembered all the tender moments
Your kisses start to stray
But I
Didn't even know my mistress
While I knew how sweet the kiss was
So I
Closed my eyes and memorized
What kind of lips it was
While I
Counted to eternity for I never wanted it to end
Even I
Knew that the sweet kisses would stop
So quickly I returned them
Because I
Knew I would remember
How sweet the kisses always were

Tell me what you think!!!

Signed By
A Poetic Mistress

All About The Love For HipHop!


So I had to watch the movie Notorious twice, not only did they portray the Infamous Biggie Smalls perfectly, the cast around him did a wonderful job. Myself being in the audience laughed when they laughed, cried when needed and spit a few like Lil Kim in the room. The movie was as if we were there in the beginning and we were there in the end, which was tragic as you should all know. You realize in life that's all you have is "LIFE", you can determine how you want it all to unfold. Biggie dedicated his life to music (HipHop), making it for his kids and proving to the industry he could rap about Brooklyn while making the thoughts philosophical. Talent is something that is embedded within from birth, all you need is some sunlight, water and strong beliefs to make it true. Paper chasing isn't always fun unless you chasing a dream along with it. Biggie might've rapped about Bitches and Money one day but he realized that there's more to life when the world is behind him waiting for his dreams to unveil. Would you call him a role model? I know I would just for the fact that he can never sugarcoat it, he's been there and done that. No Bull! Biggie Smalls, Notorious B.I.G is forevermore a lyrical genius who isn't forgotten, with his life cut short at 24, a hole was left in the heart of Brooklyn, he gave the world a taste of true self and has left the rest for us to find. In the end we should discover our talents and fill the gap.
Signed By
"No Dream Is Too Big"