Those Few Who

"...but her construction of feminism cannot be trusted. Her vision of feminism does not call for an end to patriarchal domination. It’s all about insisting on equal rights for men and women. In the world of fantasy feminism, there are no class, sex, and race hierarchies that breakdown simplified categories of women and men, no call to challenge and change systems of domination, no emphasis on intersectionality. In such a simplified worldview, women gaining the freedom to be like men can be seen as powerful. But it is a false construction of power as so many men, especially black men, do not possess actual power. And indeed, it is clear that black male cruelty and violence towards black women is a direct outcome of patriarchal exploitation and oppression."

"In her fictive world, Beyoncé can name black female pain, poignantly articulated by the passionate poetry of Somali-British poet Warsan Shire, and move through stages evoked by printed words: Intuition, Denial, Forgiveness, Hope, Reconciliation. In this fictive world, black female emotional pain can be exposed and revealed. It can be given voice: this is a vital and essential stage of freedom struggle, but it does not bring exploitation and domination to an end. No matter how hard women in relationships with patriarchal men work for change, forgive, and reconcile, men must do the work of inner and outer transformation if emotional violence against black females is to end. We see no hint of this in Lemonade. If change is not mutual then black female emotional hurt can be voiced, but the reality of men inflicting emotional pain will still continue (can we really trust the caring images of Jay Z which conclude this narrative)."

I wrote something like this a few weeks ago: the making of lemonade is a celebration of victimhood, a means to make love to trauma and heartbreak, making something palatable of what is not, which is what women do when they rationalize staying with abuse ugly men, which is what citizens do when they cower their soul for a paycheck

"playing dead to catch corbeaux alive" we tell ourselves so many lies to make palatable our own forms of contempt, self and outer, other.

the dance and sex, seduction and making love of contradictions and misalignment, never ever the power of agency, resolve, closure and never again

"“I had my ups and downs, but I always find the inner-strength to pull myself up.” To truly be free, we must choose beyond simply surviving adversity, we must dare to create lives of sustained optimal well-being and joy. In that world, the making and drinking of lemonade will be a fresh and zestful delight, a real life mixture of the bitter and the sweet, and not a measure of our capacity to endure pain, but rather a celebration of our moving beyond pain."

 "It is only as black women and all women resist patriarchal romanticization of domination in relationships can a healthy self-love emerge that allows every black female, and all females, to refuse to be a victim. "

 http://www.bellhooksinstitute.com/blog/2016/5/9/moving-beyond-pain

to remove pain from our lives, to remove ourselves from all forms of pain. i swear, I literally just had this discussion email inbox with my old friend, a past government minister. i asked him for a ride and he wanted to ask me all these questions. fuck outta here. make yourself useful or shut up. and i had to tell him he lost all forms of respect with everyone i know, but here he is trying to check my choice to remove myself from violence and abuse that is called trinidad and its member citizens. it was kind of wild. one of those watershed moments that may remain silent, recessed. without words

then he writes me this delightfully reading message that i did and will not respond to. we dont know what love is and you know how many people in this small space of a country i have this same contempt for. man, woman, old, contemporaries.. just plain old fraudulence

"much love and more power to ya

I wish you peace and love

probably id fly into your flame when we meet again

I love ya "

in that communication thread, I tried to write moth and wrote mother. and for the first time i saw the similarity, what has a moth to do with being a mother?

this person of an old very close friend basically mirrored to me that I am a moth endlessly flying into flames, and each time not perishing but surviving., like i am that catchick of endless lives; impervious to fire. so apt. so real. and probably the reason I am always sweating. perspiring, beaded with perspiration. that internal cauldron fire.

it is not to ignore what people say of you , you know.

it is to hear it clearly and well, and know what is the true mean and engine, oil and pistons behind it.

i felt too i was asking a friend to do their little bit of just carrying me around...in my plan to escape the prison, when they know full well, they cant escape, though they dreadfully need to, and their attempt at escape failed miserably, dismally, with not even his self respect in the end. so how does he, the emblem of trinidad character gather himself up to help me fly. he is one of the ones who tended the fire my moth flew into believing i had friends and supporters

those of us who move apart and remove ourselves from and remove pain from our sphere and life. the few who dont make lemonade in life.

lemonade is for the garden party and for gin, jack daniels and vodka. not for life