Tuesday, August 27, 2013

From my Aunt, the genius.

Meet my Aunt Valerie. She's a genius. Some people say she's no good. Fuck them people. I asked my Aunt Valerie what she could tell me about life. This is what she told me:

man's life, better known as society, is fueled with greed, deceptions and lies.

i have learned that i am a product of a spiritual verb and not a physical noun.

sometimes i wonder if GOD and the devil are playing a chess game with me being one of the chess pieces just to see if i will totally show the devil that i that have a deep rooted faith in GOD.

friendship, money, & sex don't mix.

i have learned to laugh at myself and the devil..

i don't take life seriously

a closed hand can't receive or give.

you can learn plenty from the best bullshitter; whether on the street, on the job, or in church.

the best rest in my life came when i slept on the sidewalk. when you lie that low, there is nothing left that anyone can take from you.

forgiveness is the most rewarding sensation.

rape is rape weather physically, emotionally, mentality, and or spiritually.

majority of my blessings come from strangers, me blessing someone with a meal from my table, and just saying may GOD bless you.

never learn the real meaning to lazy.

remember this is a container that hosts one soul with many... and i mean many spirits attached to it.

rainy days are the best days to run errands. all the bitter depressed people stay at home.

i am thankful for meeting my angels in this lifetime.

the most powerful knowledge is GOD'S given common sense. that, something told me, is GOD'S voice.

i have accepted that my ass is flat and my stomach is round because they got switched during this growing old graceful process.

i just realized i am fifteen years away from seventy.

a true-grit friend accepts you with ALL your mood swings and know not to take it personally. i guess that is why i don't have any friends.

when a person talks ill of your personality traits, they are really talking about themselves.

i found out that prayer, faith, and belief leaves no room for doubt, stress, depression, and worry.

believe it or not, i don't give a damn if i am a not remembered after i cross over.

it is a damn shame that you have to pay while you are in this physical realm and after the spirit is released from the container there is always a funeral vulture standing by to try to collect for disposing of the container. hell just throw my container over in the canyon and let it deteriorate like the rest of the biodegradeable containers.

i will always be homeless. i just can't believe in the hype that you can purchase a home. if that is so, why is there a yearly property tax on something you purchased and already paid the included taxes? that is that society's bullshit. i just don't understand.

there is no honor between thieves and robbers.. that is why the government is so fucked up. ill gotten goods are meant to be shared.

a liar and a cheat go hand in hand.

love valerie


How do you tell people that they suck?

If I am asked or invited into a conversation about bullshit, I'll call it because life is too short to be, well, bullshittin'. However, if I'm not asked or invited, and I just show up, I won't offer anything but a smile. Know why? Because I'm trying to train people to leave me the fuck out of bullshit.

I don't like telling people that they suck. I prefer to look inside and evaluate the varying ways in which I suck. Then, I work to accept that I'm sucking and either suck with more aggression or correct my approach. Denial only wastes time and ain't nobody got time for that. Furthermore, I don't really care if people see that I suck. I know I suck. I'm a human being. As a result, sucking is what I do. Sucking is what humans do very well because we've been doing it since we were infants.

If more people looked within and simply admitted that they suck, then accepted that they suck, they'd be able to spend more time either altering their behavior or being the best sucker in the world. We are a culture of cowards who are afraid to suck or be seen sucking. Fear of confronting the truth is a huge reason for why we're so damn stagnant. Furthermore, when we're doing us well, other people's sucking only becomes an opportunity for us to be the change we want to see.

So from me to you: you suck. I also suck. So let's stop celebrating bullshit because frankly, I don't like doing that. And if you must celebrate bullshit, LEAVE ME the FUCK OUT OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Feed Your Soul

People get so bent out of shape when folks don't "support" their "events." I used to get upset when my friends didn't come to my performances. Then, I took a step back and realized that I didn't want to be there my damn self. And since I wasn't making any money, I had to ask myself "why am I doing this". I was doing it because I thought that was what good singer/songwriters did: went out into the world and cooned for a couple hours at a time for peanuts. Well, I discovered that good singer/songwriters don't do that. Good singer/songwriters use their gifts and talents in ways that feed their souls. When the soul is getting fed, it doesn't matter who shows up. Ironically, people will start showing up more because they want to be in the midst of that good soul-fed energy.

People also like to pick their crowds instead of letting the crowds pick them. There are times when the people we like simply aren't into what we're into. But that shouldn't stop us from packing houses and not lovin' these hos. Just be who you are and you'll attract the people who like you. Now if you discover that you don't like the people you attract, well, that's a problem for you and your therapist.

On tomorrow's episode of "Being Responsible For Our Desired Outcomes", we'll discuss men who don't like women and the women who love them.


Monday, August 12, 2013

Love, Blue

I make jokes a lot, and sometimes, they're even funny. In my jokes, I bitch a lot. It's how I get through my day and if more people wrote our their pain, there would be fewer manifestations of that shit in the real world. I am aware that I'm the only person who can hurt or heal me. I have bad days. I have good days. I go crazy sometimes. Then, I make fantastic seafood dinners for my family. But whatever it looks like and however it seems, love is really all there is.

Believe it or not, there is no such thing as racism, sexism, ageism, xenophobia, homophobia, necrophobia, or agoraphobia. There is only fear. We can tear fear apart, call it different things, evaluate and judge the outcomes of fear. We can clean fear up and implant it with silicon, relax it, wax it, lighten it, and tan it, but at the end of our obsessions, it is still only fear.

We can give fear a job, put a tie on, iron it and keep it away from humidity. We can take fear to the doctor, feed fear, starve fear, give fear a warm place to sleep or regulations to keep it from impeding itself. We can educate fear, give fear titles, and put fear in charge. We can take fear to court, fine fear, beat fear, rape fear, steal from fear, lie to fear, or make fear bow down to us.

We can buy fear and sell fear. We can discriminate against fear and vilify fear. We can wait for fear at the stop sign at 3:00pm and whoop fear's ass. We can destroy fear or create enough fear to keep us all sedated. We can lease fear for 5 years, renew fear for another 2 years, or enter a 10 year fear payment plan. We can call to reduce the payments on fear. We can lie and pretend we never knew fear. We can tell on fear to protect our egos.

But when we get done with our obsessions, our processes, our meeting places, our evaluation stations, our quick fixes, and our drawn out bullshit, it's all just fear. Transcend. Transform.


Monday, August 5, 2013

Yes, I'm crazy. Now can we make this music and stop bullshittin'?

Bruce Poinsette of The Skanner News recently wrote an article on me that began with the words, "Not many people will exit an interview, encouraging a reporter to portray them as crazy. Then again, Blue doesn’t claim to be like many people."

Throughout my life, I have been called crazy, angry, insane, sensitive and all forms of dismissive words by strangers and people who are close to me. Women and people of color are often told that they should relax or not take things too seriously when someone who believes they're higher on the social hierarchy does something to piss them off. Essentially, they punch us in the arm and say "that didn't hurt."

Moreover, I have heard countless black women explain away their lack of assertiveness with the moniker that they "don't want to be perceived as the angry black woman," to the point of smiling when someone violates their person or touches their hair or clothing without permission.

I started making subversive art in 2007 while in graduate school. Until then, I had been receiving the typical diminutive gaslighting (see this explanation of gaslighting written by a man, so it's gotta be true, right?) that any young woman of color would receive in this culture. Every original thought I had was disregarded. I dated men who, though way less intelligent than I (and I knew it) had somehow found their way on my list of people I had to prove my value to. I edited and re-edited everything I thought before I said it to keep the people around me from feeling uncomfortable by their lack of experience with information, as compared to my abundance. I found a haven among local poets because, well, they were reading, writing, thinking people. Furthermore, they allowed others to speak their peace without judgment. Untethered and on stage in front of a microphone listening to my own words while others listened as well, I discovered that my original thoughts were not only worthy, but were transformational. I had a guitar, so I started playing music to my original thoughts and people started paying money for them. Once I paid my rent from the money I collected delivering my original thoughts to people, nobody could tell me shit!

But that doesn't mean the gaslighting stopped. In fact, it got out of control! The more notorious my voice became and the more people knew who I was when I walked into a room, the more people would pop out of corners to try to remind me of how crazy I was. Or disrespectful. Or radical. Or untalented. Or fake. Or unaccepted. Or stupid. Or not quite pretty enough for the attention I'm getting. Or can't sing good enough to think I should be able to sell albums. Or that my music is offensive. Or that I should wear some piece of clothing that accentuates certain body parts. Or that I shouldn't dress so provocatively because it sends the wrong message. Or that I'm sending the wrong message! Or that I should get my eyebrows waxed. Or that I should wear my hair in a bun. Or I should wear my hair down. Or I should sing this song like this. Or I should sing that song like that. Or I shouldn't sing that song at all!

There was a breaking point that made me realize that gaslighters are really just cowards. Not much unlike the hecklers at a comedy show. They are too afraid to shine, so they stand in the path of another's shine and try to convince the world that they created the light. I get all that, but being on the receiving end of the bullshit, it wore on me. The breaking point was gradual, then sudden. The breaking point occurred when I realized that I wasn't even enjoying making music anymore because I was too busy feeling some kind of way about gaslighting cowards. Had the cowards won? Had they finally intimidated me into silence?

My shit giving to production ratio skyrocketed in favor of production when I stepped back for a minute and looked at what was really going on: People were loving my music and buying it. Though I could spend a lifetime arguing with naysayers, it was a little harder to argue with the numbers. The numbers told me that I was good enough to make music for a living. When a family member told me I couldn't sing, it didn't affect the numbers. Not one bit.

As a human who has melanin and a vagina, I still experience many people who seem to believe it's their job to put me in my "place". I have no idea where that place is and I don't think they do either. However, I'd love to find out. I imagine that my place would be full of chocolate, malt liquor, and kittens...but I digress...The proverbial "yap yap yap" is so frequent and so loud that it has become gross and overwhelming. It's like what happens when a child is served a plate with too much nasty food on it. They'll play in it. Might even throw it on the wall or smear it on the table, but they ain't eatin' that shit no matter how much you threaten to beat them.

Then, I realized it was time to grow up: time to cook my own food and make my own plate. Then, I could sit down and eat it in peace. And if somebody looks at my plate and goes "ewwww!" I can put them out of my house and never invite them back. Yet, if someone looks at my plate and goes "oooh. That looks good," I can't wait to make them a plate too and even poor them a glass of my most expensive malt liquor! Then, I can invite them back for dinner on another night and encourage them to bring friends. Before I know it, I'll be hosting dinner parties full of appreciative people who like the food I serve...and they'll bring their own culinary creations to share...straight potluck style.

Well, I'm growing up. I am more determined to continue to love music and writing than I am to impress anyone. I don't know exactly what my life story will be, but I know for damn sure that I wasn't put on this planet to make anutha muthafucka comfortable. So as far as calling me crazy goes, I encourage all reporters and media people to do so. It'll make it easier for the other crazies to find me and then, we can have fun potlucks with malt liquor! For those who don't like my food, no worries. You're not invited to the party.

Masigi: "You're a very strange woman!" 
Blue: "Fuck yeah I am. Now the question is, what you got on my 40 homie?"


Sunday, August 4, 2013

It's 5:00 Somewhere. by Blue

On a walk through the Rose Garden with artsy friend DJ, Blue decides it's time for a beer. Let's listen in on the conversation between them.

Blue: I need a beer!
Dj: but it's only 3:30 in the afternoon!
Blue: So? It's 5:00 somewhere dammit!
Dj: Blue, I think you're an alcoholic.
Blue: Well, since you're doing all this thinking, why don't you help me figure out how to get a beer?

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Dear Blue,

Esteban writes:

"Dear Blue,

I am having issues moving on with my life after my separation. I seem to think about my ex constantly and only want to share my life with her. Yes, we have children and have been through hell and back. But I know I love her. With a love only known to love songs and Disney movies. But I'm getting lonely and she's showing no sign of wanting to put our family back together. What do you recommend?"

Blue writes:

Dear Esteban,

First of all, my condolences. Now on to the main course. There are some challenge premises that emerge from your question. These challenge premises are:
1. You want to move on in life
2. You're enamored with thoughts of your ex and a life with her
3. You're lonely
4. She's not that into you.

I say we tackle these issues one at a time with the understanding that we cannot control others. However, we can control our own thoughts and behaviors.
1. Live your life: Take an inventory of the things that you like in life that have nothing to do with "her." Then, do all those things really well. It'll keep you preoccupied until you die.
2. Go there: Give yourself a time limit with a clear beginning and end. Then, sit and think about your wife non-stop for that time period. Perhaps a 3 day ex wife crying fiasco. Turn off the television, radio, unplug the phone. Look at all her pictures and masturbate to all of them. This will take a lot of concentration. I recommend vitamins and naps. Lots of naps. Then, cook all her favorite foods and eat them all. You will gain weight. Watch all her favorite movies and cry to them. Write her a letter that tells all the ways that you love her and then burn the letter with a purple lighter. Make sure to have a bucket of water nearby just in case. Make sure to scream and cry loudly while doing all these activities. Neighbors should be afraid. After the third day, pack a bag with all that you need for a week, put it in your car, pick up your best friend, and drive to Vegas. What happens from that point forward will never be spoken of again.
3. Call your aunt. Your aunt will undoubtedly want company from you and you won't be lonely anymore. Learn to make macaroons and take them to her every Sunday afternoon. As you develop more exquisite macaroon recipes designed to wow your aunt and the other ladies in her book group, you will become the talk of the town. Before you know it, nice ladies from all over the state will be sending you emails wanting to hook you up with their daughters. Their daughters will also enjoy your macaroons. You will become known within the try-state area as "Macaroon Man". You will then open a small shop named after your aunt where you make and sell specialty macaroons and you will employ inner city youths and teach them to make macaroons. You will be featured in TIME MAG as one of the most innovative entrepreneurs of our generation. Then, leave your business to your children with clear instructions on the mission behind defeating loneliness through sharing macaroons.
4. Stop wasting time giving a shit about a muthafucka who doesn't give a shit about you. In short, fuck hos.


Thursday, August 1, 2013

Show Me Your Soul. A conversation with Teddi B

::: Sex and Souls / My inner thoughts :::

So, Uhuru Rahman (Blue Azul) said "I want to see your soul. Then, I want to rub up against it." and it got me to thinking about something that I have not yet articulated.

All morality aside, sex is a beautiful thing. In fact, its hard for two people to be closer than during intercourse. However, in and of itself the act is not something I necessarily pursue.

I have never (saving once or twice) had sex with anyone who I didn't feel had shown me their soul. And by that I mean their truest self. I have, on many occasions, had women in my bed and didn't attempt to have sex with them. This was a stumbling block for me for many years in adolescence and in my early twenties.

See, for whatever reason, women expect you to want to have sex with them. If you don't, when the opportunity is there, they feel like something is wrong (not necessarily consciously). And this always lead to withdrawal.

I spent a long time thinking something was wrong with me. Like, "how could I not want to have sex with this beautiful woman in my bed? am I gay?" ... I hadn't yet figured out how to articulate the fact that I wanted to Know them, deeply, before I knew them physically. And it was a point of great inner dismay for me for a long time.

In my older years, I learned to recognize what it was that I wanted, though I still never articulated it. Just knowing made me much more comfortable with my decisions. Understanding that societal norms and expectations, are not necessarily the gold standard. It's ok to want more.

and lastly, let me clarify, that we're not talking about "love" in the way that people generally associate it with romanticism. We're simply talking about openness that leads to understanding. Nakedness before nakedness.

Teddi B

I was a "late bloomer"...a term I take issue with because it really only means that I wasn't having sex in high school which is kinda what I thought was healthy and sort of lead to my educational and career success because I wasn't fighting the emotional and ovular unexpected consequences...but I digress from my original point...I interacted with men physically beginning in my 20s and was turned off almost immediately. It seemed that the men I attracted viewed me as a way to boost their earning potential and social collateral (money and power). I also may have represented something that would make their mothers proud of them because of what I looked like on paper. I admit that I was not completely innocent. I had been taught to find a young man who was educated and had a job...I mean, this is the lesson that young black girls get: "Make sure he has a J.O.B.!" I was never taught to find a young man who was sensitive and loved me. But how could I be? Looking back, I almost feel as though my family and community attempted to mold me into some type of, I don't know, great hood hope. And of course, all the typical cultural modifiers made their experience of me even more disassociating: nappy headed black girl; doctoral student; musical performer. Regarding my early boyfriends, I have no idea what they saw in me. My truth was that I was confused and doing whatever I could to keep from wanting to kill myself as a result of my severe social disappointment. Sex became something that I figured was just expected of me. A currency for love. Those men I attracted wanted sex from me. They would give me love in return. That's the exchange that I learned. What the men actually thought of me was irrelevant. My relationships with them became proxies for the relationship I had with myself. I found that I was having sex with them, yet wasn't getting love in return. So I'd stop having sex with them. Then, they stopped paying attention to me at all. They became bed warmers and I became less attached to reality. Then, the relationship ended. I had no idea that the love that I so craved was something that I had to give myself. I wish someone had taught me that instead.


Bringing Her to Climax: The Eternal Male Struggle. A poem by Teddi B

Bringing Her to Climax: The Eternal Male Struggle
a poem by Teddi B Poet

can't breathe, can't see
can't hear, can't speak
no strength, just will
no valleys, just peaks
stay high, stay strong
don't fall, long strides
breathe in, breath out
don't stop, just try
one more, last one
one more again
good job, keep it up
almost a win
host sun, find shade
no rest, just go
breathe in, breathe out
breathe in, breathe out
in through the nose
out through the mouth
one more, last one
one more again
good job, you're done
progress is fun

(c) Holy Drawers Productions

How to be a REAL Artist. An abstraction by Rasheed Jamal

How to be a real artist by Rasheed Jamal

You're only supposed to give people so much because their minds can only take so much... So, to make "everybody happy" you have to give your "art" time to "breathe"... Therefore, you should release every 3 - 6 months so that you're consistent, but not as overbearing as "less talented artists that make 'bad' art"... (Those people make it harder for "real" artists to get noticed apparently.) These talented, "real" artists can do what they want including and up to nothing at all even to their own detriment because their influx of creativity gives them the flexibility to make up scapegoats as time passes until finger pointing is what their true strength is.

(c)2013 Holy Drawers Productions