Archive for love

The Olivia Pope Scandal

Posted in satire and sarcasm, social commentary, TV with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 29, 2013 by blackstarr

The white coat 01First it was the Tyler Perry debate.  Then it was the Kanye West debate.  I vowed that I was going to stay away from this debate, yet, here I am .  .  . again  .  .  .  going against the grain in the SCANDAL debate.  No shock here:  I HATE that show with a passion!  The first thing that will enter a lot of women’s minds who love the show is that I hate it because the lead character, Olivia Pope (played by Kerry Washington) is having an affair with the president of the United States, a Caucasian man.  I can’t speak for any other Black man, but, I could not care less about with whom this woman is having an affair.

My hatred for the show is strictly because, in my opinion, the writing sucks.  To high heaven.  The first and most important thing that grates my nerves is that Olivia Pope is supposed to be this crackerjack who has such a discerning mind, who leads a team of similarly crackerjack minds, but we don’t see that.  The problem is that she completely blows their very first case in the pilot.  The argument that I have encountered is that her losing the case just shows her human side, that she, too, is capable of human error.  I would be alright with that supposition had that same “humanity” not been brought out in the very first episode.  It would have served the show better had she went on to crack cases, back to back, establishing the idea that she and her team were so fantastic.  After a few episodes or so, then they could have shown her vulnerable side.

The second thing that irked me, to no end, was the incessant babbling of each and every character on the team.  Every time a member of the team would speak, it would be an entire diatribe about whatever it was that they were trying to push.  It turned out to be one long, drawn out paragraph, devoid of commas, and sending me to my knees, begging for someone to drop a period in there.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.  Perhaps it would have come off better if that diatribe had been made by just one character.  It could have been presented as a simple character trait.  But, everyone on the team?  Nah.  Not working this way.

I looked forward to this show before it hit the airwaves, with bated breath.  Forget the plot – Kerry Washington is a treat for the eyes, before even mentioning her acting abilities. On the night of the pilot, I sat, with my family, snacks in hand, prepared to be dazzled.  Instead, I  – we were so taken aback at the poor writing that was given to us to swallow – swallow like a huge, disgusting pill.  In my small circle of friends and family, I have seen mixed reactions to the show,  My sister, a Black woman, HATES the show.  My daughter, a black woman (who initially did not like the show, and is married to a Caucasian), hit me up on Facebook and said that she had watched it again and found that it’s not as bad as she had first thought.  Many other friends on FB have said that they have been successful in converting a few of their friends to become fans.  For me, I have to be convinced that a show is good by the pilot.  If I can’t be swooned by the very first episode, there is no going back for me.  Just my own little quirk .  .  . but mine to flaunt.

I am also a firm believer in the motto “To each their own”, when voicing my opinions.  For whatever reasons that I have for hating the show, can I please just be a hater without being verbally attacked for doing so, particularly if you’ve misinterpreted my reasons for disliking the show?  I realize that there are two tons of people who watch the show faithfully and love it to the max.  To that, I say, “Enjoy!”  I’m not one of them.  Having heard my true reasons for not liking the show, can I please just exercise my prerogative, be a hater, and still live in peace?  V.

copyright  2013  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

The Strength Of Mother Africa (Soliloquy for female)

Posted in Love, poetry, prose, relationships, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 28, 2013 by blackstarr

 

            This is a play about a Black woman, a mother, a lover.  She finds that for whatever reason, she is about to lose her man, her family, her life.  If we should assess our situations, and find ourselves not unlike this Black woman, it may be well worth our time to give the answers that she gives.

(She turns to the right, as if looking up a set of stairs.)

            “No – you’re not getting anything else to drink tonight.  Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.  Good – I love you, too”.

(She turns to the front of the stage and pauses.  She takes a deep breath as if getting herself together.  She wipes her eyes with a tissue that is in her hand, and then turns left to face the man who is seated at the nearby table.)

            “I can’t begin to tell you how I feel.  Just what the hell is it that you want?  Am I a disappointment to you?  Do I nag too much?  I try my best to be the woman that makes you happy, but with all my efforts, the best you can do is stay in the streets.  Well, this is for you”.

(She balls up the wet tissue and throws it at the man)

            “Those are the last of my tears.  I refuse to cry another drop.  Don’t think for one minute that my tears are a sign of weakness.  Those tears are the emotions that come from my heart.  I am not weak, I am strong.  I am the pride of Mother Africa, and the most extreme conditions only serve to make me stronger.  So, if you think that I am going to fall apart, if you think that I’ll just roll over and die . . . think again.  I am the woman who loves you.  I need you, and you need me.  You have two children up those stairs who think the world of you, and you still can’t be happy.

You might as well start smiling, because this is where you belong, and this is where you’ll stay.  Is there another woman out there that you think can make a better home for you?  I never thought that you’d cheat on me, and, right now, I still don’t think it can happen.  But, on the outside chance that there is another woman, be advised that you belong to me.  You tell that wench that I will bring her mad drama!

That’s always the first thing that comes to mind.  I suppose that the streets and you so-called friends can try to take you, as well.  Have you forgotten who I am?  I am the woman who has been at your side through it all.  When Mister Charlie said he didn’t need you anymore, it was this Black woman who went out and got a job.  It wasn’t because I was hungry – it was because you are my man.  Who cries in your place when your macho standards hold your tears inside?  Who hurts with you when prejudice tries to make you believe that you’re less than a man?  Tonight, I remind you . . . in case you’ve forgotten.”

(She raises her hand in a “Don’t speak!” manner, and then runs her fingers across her lips.)

            “These are lips to die for.  These are the lips that kiss away the pain when you think life’s not worth living.  They speak the words that make your heart sing, words like ‘I love you’.  When passion comes to play, these lips glide across your body, and send you into ecstasy.”

(She smacks her hip with her right hand.)

            These hips are strong.  They bore babies for you, and they still rotate like the earth on its axis.”

(She cups her breasts with both hands.)

            “These are the breast that fed Mother’s Milk to your children.  I know that they hang a bit more than they used to, but, even now, when your hands caress them, it’s you who breaks out in a cold sweat.  It’s your moans that echo into the night.”

(She sweeps her arm the length of her body.)

            “Black man . . . tell me you don’t want some of this, and you can walk out that door and never look back.  I won’t lift a finger to stop you.  But, the, again, I won’t have to, because you know you can’t walk out on this.”

(She walks over to the chair where the man is seated, and lifts one foot onto the chair beside him.)

            “I get older with each new day, but I keep myself desirable for you and only you.  Touch this skin and tell me that you are leaving me.  I defy you.”

(She returns her foot to the floor and kneels beside him.  She grabs his hand and holds it to her heart.)

            “Touch my heart and tell me that you can’t feel the love that waits for you, and I will set you free.  My heart beats only because there is you.  You can’t find a woman who loves you more . . . because she doesn’t exist.”

(She rises and walks back to center stage.)

            “Yes – my body is worn and I have seen a few years, but I am no where near finished.  I don’t have to beg you to stay.  If you leave, there will be another to take your place, and willingly.  But, that’s not going to happen.  Understand that I am not begging you – I’m just trying to make it plain.  You belong to me.  If there is no other woman, then you tell the streets that they can’t have you either.  Do the streets keep you warm at night?  Do they feed you when you’re hungry?  Do they love you when that need comes over your body?  No?  I thought not.  Well, they can’t have you.  I refuse to let you go.  You’re a good man.  If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have to leave.  I’d walk out the door my damn self.  But, you’re a good man, with a good mind, and a good heart.  This body, this mind, this heart . . . they draw their strength from Mother Africa.  Nations have conquered every part of her, and she has managed to survive.  She has managed to thrive.  As she is strong . . . so . . . am . . . I, and I will not be defeated.”

(She begins picking up clothes from the backs of chairs.)

            “I’m done.  My ranting is over.  I’ve already bolted the front door.  Don’t think that puts you on lockdown.  I’d be the last woman to try and kill your spirit and freedom which lies within you.  You have a key.  You have both the ability and the right to walk out that door, just like you’ve been doing, lately.  But, hear me, Black man:  I’m going upstairs, and if you know like I know, tonight, and every night hereafter, you’ll be right behind me, to warm my feet and caress my body and to make me understand that . . .

(She touches her finger to his forehead.)

You have not . . . lost . . . your mind!”

(She turns towards the imaginary stairs and walks off the stage.  Fade to black.)

*

copyright 1997 blackstarr

*

freerealm@gmail.com

Poison (part 1 of 8, from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”)

Posted in Dreamscape, Love, poetry, prose, relationships, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 17, 2010 by blackstarr

Tellurium . . . she was its human portrayal.

born in the year of fifty two,

passivity consummately overdue.

When she revealed herself to me, this sensuous Aphrodite

was a delightful one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds,

sister to the four winds, free-spirited, untamable.

Tell them that she is as exotic as neon, but, is, in no way, as innocuous.

Her beauty will be astonishing, a rare sight, to be sure.

But, let them be warned that she is

at the same time . . . toxiferous . . . noxious,

a tincture of tellurium.

Her voice was euphonic, yet, like a Grecian siren,

it was full-scale seduction,

and, imminent destruction.

She came to me as the eidolon,

that dream of perfection found, which never comes to be.

And, in the end, she became

. . . my injection,

. . . my addiction,

my reason for self-annihilation.

She was liquid xenon, flowing and unresponsive,

and, nearly as unattainable, her free heart unrestrainable.

My actions brought no reactions.

My words of affection were

. . . weightless molecules,

. . . soundless thoughts,

lost to the wind.

She was a secret code, an indecipherable mystery.

Here was the essence of the arcane,

perched upon a cryptographic plane.

Her eyes pulled me in, and,

her touch replenished.

Her kiss drained me of life itself.

She remained . . . ensconced, . . . unsolved,

even cloaked in a veil of non-divulgence.

Tellurium . . . but a faint trace is certain obliteration.

for to grasp the exotic, to taste of the erotic,

obliteration would have been a welcome relief.

So I grasped, I tasted, and, hastened my own undoing.

She was . . . astonishing . . . a rarity, she was a tincture of tellurium.

***************

copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

***************

photos from across the web

“when” (excerpt from Black Woman)

Posted in Love, poetry, relationships, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 20, 2010 by blackstarr

When I hold a BLACK WOMAN in my arms,
the world is mine.
There is nothing more that I could want for.

When I hear a BLACK WOMAN tell me that
she loves me, my life becomes complete.

When I look a BLACK WOMAN in her eyes,
it is my glimpse into paradise.

That is when I
feel her warmth,
when I
hear her magic,
when I
see her majesty:
BLACK WOMAN.

When I feel the softness
of her skin caressing my own,
a feeling of exuberance overtakes me.
The ebony skin of a BLACK WOMAN
is more radiant than a diamond.
Her skin is richer than fresh cream.
A BLACK WOMAN
has a softness like that of windblown clouds.

When a BLACK WOMAN speaks,
and her words drift into my ears,
I am no longer a void, no longer alone.
When the words that she speaks
express her love for me, I find a completeness,
and total satisfaction.

Her words are not just phrases,
nor sentences, nor mere thoughts,
but, their sound is
music,
their sound is
poetry.

My heart, and,
even my soul,
can feel the piercing stare
of a BLACK WOMAN.
When her eyes meet mine,
I am
mystified,
hypnotized,
mesmerized.
The eyes of a BLACK WOMAN
peer into mine,
and, they are filled
with love,
yet, they can be clairvoyant:
crystal balls . . . knowing, reading.

When I hold a BLACK WOMAN in my arms,
I feel the warmth of her embrace,
and,
when I hear a BLACK WOMAN speak my name,
I hear the magic in her voice,
and,
when I see the beauty of a BLACK WOMAN,
there is majesty in her face.
I have but to speak the words:
BLACK WOMAN.

copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Black Magic Woman by Santana

photos from la2day.com and wallpapersgalaxy.com

a whispered love

Posted in Love, music, poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2010 by blackstarr

you whisper your love

like stolen kisses.

as with summer drizzles,

so, too,

you sprinkle your love

in whispered drops.

yet, even in the roaring crowds,

i hear

the whisper of your love.

copyright 2007  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Breathing Out by Doveman

photo “SF Rain” from watersecretsblog.com

verb

Posted in music, poetry with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2010 by blackstarr

why can’t i
just look into your eyes?
why must i
give in to my demise?
silence is not deception.
it is reflection, introspection.
let’s just call it soundless conversation, or perhaps . . .

“verb!”, you said.
“l-o-v-e”, i responded.

(i thought that my verb was heart-filled,
thought that it meant
‘me-you,  you-me slash we’.
but,
could it be that she
could see that we
two were too new,
and knew that ‘we slash me-you’
was just a hypothetical?
)

my verb was something quite un-designed,
and, as yet, totally undefined.
my verb was unspoiled by over-zealous thought,
in its finest state of raw innocence.

but, . . . it was my verb.
i had been looking into your eyes,
holding soundless conversation,
reflection without deception.
you said verb,
i said l-o-v-e,
and deception was the interpretation.

copyright  2000  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

“Tossed Salads and Scrambled Eggs” from “It’s Just Jazzy”

sculpture “introspection” by Matthew Cummings

photo “beach chairs” by Paul Walsh

i get miffed. . . number three

Posted in relationships with tags , , , , on June 2, 2008 by blackstarr

i get miffed by Black women who constantly put brothers down.

i understand that so many Black men have brought children into this world and have no inclination or desire to be the man that they claim to be by helping to raise those children. i understand that so many black men have left that task to the mother, a hardship that no one should be forced to bear.

i understand that there are Black men who have contracted diseases, never bothering to inform their mates that a problem exists.

i get it that some Black women are faced with the choice of either not loving at all, or loving a Black man who neither works, looks for work, nor has any idea as to what the word means.

i understand all of these concepts and i even understand why a Black woman can feel the way that she does.

what i have a hard time comprehending is that so many Black women take every opportunity that comes their way to put a Black man down. It sometimes seems that they even go out of their way to achieve that goal. what i have a hard time comprehending is why some Black women close their hearts to every other Black man because some previous Black man has let them down. i don’t get the concept that when a Black woman succeeds, her glory has to come at the expense or slander of a Black man in the process. many times a woman will rightfully boast that she has accomplished a particular goal, but, ruins that accomplishment with the unnecessary revelation that there was no man in the picture to help her accomplish that goal. just as many times, when a man tries to assist, he is confronted with “I don’t need a man to get where I need to be”. while that is true, no one offered forth that notion or said that a woman cannot make it without the help of a man. so, yes – i get miffed by Black women who constantly put brothers down.

i spent the better part of my weekend pc time perusing blogs that are written by females, mostly Black females, and the great majority of them focus on the slander of a Black man. they emphasized the vast number of men who produce children and walk away. they harbor ill-will towards all Black men because some Black man in their past took the time to break their heart. these particular women seem to concentrate their efforts upon the convoluted idea that Black men don’t want to hold down a job. although the majority of those blogs discussed a variety of topics (all in the name of degrading a Black man), most were of a romantic nature, crying their hearts out about the man who hardened their hearts and ruined it for every other man on the horizon. in short, they never miss an opportunity to put a brother down.

generalizations tend to kill the interaction of males and females of all persuasions. i suppose that a lot of it has to do with upbringing, but, as we grow older, i would think that we grow wiser as well, and gain enough knowledge to understand that each of us is as individual as a snowflake. whether the subject is sperm-donors, laziness, unfaithfulness or any of the other subjects that put us at odds, why can’t these particular women see that what one man does should have no bearing on the next man who steps up to the plate?

i have been in several relationships which were dissolved because the women with whom i was involved had no inkling as to what it meant to be in a relationship. i have shed the tears that only a broken heart knows. through all of the good times turned bad, i’ve had the good sense to know that each heartache was one that was individual and that each heartache was one that was caused by one individual. i have wisdom enough to realize that not every woman falls into the category into which i’ve placed the previous woman who has caused me that pain. it has been my experience that a lot of women cannot seem to separate the old from the new, are not able to fathom that this new Black man giving her the eye is not the same one who winked at her with the right eye and at another woman with the left eye. i guess that i’m trying to say that i’ve grown rather weary of being blamed for what someone else has perpetrated. i have a lot to offer and as such, i am offended each and every time a Black woman tries to group all of us into the same category – worthless. what saddens me most is that i have lived my life catering to the needs, desires, and aspirations of Black women, my queens, for as far back as i can remember.

go ahead – put a brother down. that’s ok. if he’s done wrong, it’s probably what he deserves. if your heart has been broken, go right ahead and put that brother down. if he became a sperm donor and nothing more, feel free to put that brother down with every high-fallutin’ term that you can muster. but, i beg of you – put THAT brother down, and THAT brother only. for a change, give us good guys a running chance.

freedom says I am not the one.

copyright © 2008 freedom

freerealm@gmail.com

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