Closed Captioning for the Jive Impaired

And If You Happen To See Her, Will You Let Her Know That She's Still Fly?

2016-02-14T22:19:00.001-08:00

"Do it for me...for my birthday. Baby, go write a blog today. It'll do you good. Write."

It's Valentine's Day and his birthday. And the only gift he wants: is for me to blog.
Okay. I can do this.

*stares at blank screen *stares at blank screen *stares at blank screen *stares at blank screen

types:
I don't know how to write this.
I don't know if I can remember.
Will muscle memory swoop in and save me like Falcor in the Never Ending Story?
Or will I sink into the earth, voiceless, my energy
zapped by fear.

Will I share too much?
Will my passion be irksome?
Will I expose my fuck ups?
Missteps,
Miscalculations
Missing you.
Man I miss you.

Here, silence is not golden.

So whom shall I fear?

I'm outta fucks to give.
Mattafack, I'm fucks deficient. It's time I blogged again gatdammit.
I miss it.
I miss you.

I look at my hands.
I fight to uncurl them. Straighten them.
I stare at them
I command them to restore.
Restore.
I don't recognize them anymore--
they are battered and bruised.
They're not pretty-I didn't realize I even thought they were pretty until...

I dare a tear drop to form.
I don't have shit in this world but my hands. They've clawed, punched, scratched, waved, lifted, pushed and pulled me all over this world.
My hands are battered and bruised
But the screen is no longer blank.
Uncurl, straighten.
I am fatigued. Just tired. Not nearly as tired as my mother. And her mother. And her mother.

Then I remember my shoulder.
Reconstructed and stronger than ever.
Keep going.

How shall I write this?
First, I'll use my hands
these two beautiful agents of destruction.
We've had some good times, haven't we?
My two greatest weapons.
Surely, we have more tom fuckery left to have.

Me against the world.
Typing defiantly
so what,
that 90 words a minute pacing has slowed down.
I can adjust
Keep calm, toke and carry on.

How shall I write this. What the fuck to talk about?
I blame social media for this! Easy excuse. But I've lost my ability to
express myself over 150 characters, past 6 seconds, tumblr-ing, pinteresting is a fucking verb now, insta, re-gram, I don't even know what the fuck snap chat is....what is that little ghost emblem anyway? isn't that weird???? Everything is fucking weird to me. I wish Bowie was still here.

Bowie said, all art is unstable.
I think I'm beginning to understand why.
And it's a beautiful thing.
So fuck it, here I am possum

Mummy is back.

Don't Worry Possum-

2014-10-07T19:13:00.000-07:00

josephine will relaunch soon with stories, love and tom FUCKERY.

ciao for now,
xx

Mid Day Tom Fuckery!

2014-03-27T12:18:00.001-07:00

Ciao fucker!

It may not seem like it, but spring like weather is actually coming! Here in NYC its 32 degrees and we are all walking around like in a fucking daze--shell shocked by the long brutal winter. But look here pimpin, this song right here will give you all the sunshine that you need.

Happy World Theatre Day to all of my comrades! The struggle is real, and its an honor to fight side by side with you. Alright mummy's little possum, blast this song for all to hear. I love you. Yes, YOU.

(*oh and sorry for the lame commercial before the song. That's fucking youtube. So hope you don't get blueballs waiting on the song :)

x

mum

'ERES A LIDDLE MID-DAY TOM FUCKERY FOR YA LUFF!

2014-02-20T12:50:00.002-08:00

Mummy loves you. Dance now fucker.

Rest In Peace Mr. Hoffman

2014-02-02T13:13:00.001-08:00

Mid Day Jam! Celebrating 20 Years of Jamiroquai

2013-12-05T10:33:00.002-08:00

Ciao fuckers!!!!

If you can believe it, this album turned 20years old this year. So like Tom and Donna say "TREAT YO SELF" and give this a listen. Peace to your day. Mummy loves you.

x

Live and Laugh friends.

When the Sun Rises Over The City Of Shoulders

2013-10-29T07:11:00.003-07:00

And then sometimes I wonder if ol' John Henry would look at his sledgehammer collecting dust
in the corner of the room
(in the corners of my mind)
and think
Shit. I am tired.
I know the folklore as well as I know the
folks who dwell in the city of Chicagoland
Poughkeepsie
Scranton
Detroit
Watts
Gary
racing against a steam powered hammer
the closing of schools
the closing of minds
the closing of legs
(you pray because, just what the fuck are you sposed to do with that baby?
You're a baby yourself.)
And I try not to get mad when I see Flaming Hots, high fructose purple drink
at 8am on this bus-top; It's cold.
We are tired
We are weak
but we are strong.
Depressed economy
Depressed minds over sharing on social media
your pain
your disappoint and endless selfies
that annoy the shit out of me.
Finding the right angle in the bathroom
Filter
upload
caption
Are you sure you want to post? Yes.
upload that pain
for all the world to see, with a caption befitting him and her and her and him.
Oversharing. But then I think,
who else will celebrate you? Its always open season on little black girls.
Big ones too.
But then, through my annoyance of terrible images
(uploaded by us)
you decide whether or not to click Like
or simply look over the photo again.
And that's when I notice the all mighty powerful hammer propped against the wall.
Collecting dust.
Though she's mad and wants to live a life like she sees on VH1
I ask her, why bother being a muse to the worlds bullshit
When you have that mighty hammer right behind you.

Replace the selfies, with better images I beg you.

Folklore says this old hammer killed John Henry / but it won't kill me.
that was my chant, growing up here in Chicago.
I sang songs about John Henry as a child
replacing the lyrics
this old Daley segregationist legacy killed/ but it won't kill me.

Now pick up that sledge. For you are the victor.

Slick's Return to Closed Captioning for the Jive Impaired

2013-09-28T18:11:00.000-07:00

Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooo mummy's little possum!!!!!!!!!

Where oh, where have you been?

I'm hoping dear reader, that is your burning question regarding my absence. I've taken hiatus from the blogesphere before, but this for certain has been the longest gap. And for that my friend, I humbly place flowers, candies, incense and garland at your feet begging forgiveness.

I hate being away from you. Especially with so much shit that has happened in the world. Mass shootings, heart breaking trials, terrorist attacks, hate crimes, government shutdowns, class warfare, gender disparity, rape culture, and somehow thru it all...Coldplay still sells out stadiums, yet I can't find a Tears For Fears tee shirt to save my life. Way to go assholes.

After the George Zimmerman trial, something in me broke. I couldn't think straight. I fell into a bit of a depression, and little by little the headlines each day consumed my thoughts. And I didn't have the strength to commit my thoughts to the page.

But that period is over now. This blog means more to me, than just jokes and funny pictures. It may not have huge circulation--but someone out feels me. So, to the 37 of you that are reading this: thank you for not giving up on me.

If you are new to my blog, welcome fucker. I make a lot of dick jokes, and have a fetish for writing the obituaries of assholes like Newt, and Ted Cruz. If you can stomach my humor and opinionated opinions, I have 2 cardinal rules for this blog:

1. To write from an honest place, never mind the grammar, structure & rules. I am not a journalist.
2. To write only when I have something to say.

(and I suppose the third unwritten rule, is to always do thing in love. No matter how angry I am.)

That's it. Plain and simple. If you thumb back through my postings you'll find plenty of typos, run on sentences, and dense vernacular that only the spazziest of spazzes could decode. But over the last few months, writing my blog became difficult.

I moved to New York--Brooklyn, to be exact. After living in Southern California for nearly 10 years, I decided to relocate to the east coast. Talk about life altering. I've had HUGE adjustments since early May.

I moved from Los Angeles.
Moved into a tiny apartment and started a new life with my boo thang.
Traveled to Eastern Europe.
Got sick. Really sick O_o
Battled ailments, not to mention rats. They're everywhere outside in NY. And will rob you.
Got healthier *\0/*
Celebrated one year of my new shoulder!
Brokered peace agreement with NY rats -__-
Had to adjust to the higher price of vodka. :(
Discovered recreational usage of marijuana is frowned upon in NY but not coke. **I can't begin to tell you how much I miss dispensaries. I always felt safer in neighborhoods with tons of pot shops. Because pot heads are too stoned to get as hopped up and aggressive as some New Yorkers can be. *side eye
Adjust to the noise. The constant noise. The languages, and dialects spoken a mile a minute.
The insanely high cost of living.
Walking. I walk everywhere. Brooklyn to Manhattan. Manhattan to Brooklyn.
Some days it's for exercise, some days its to save money.

My life hasn't been awful, don't let that list above scare you in the least bit. There are a few other monumental things that have happened in the last few months, that are taking me on a wild ride.

I have some exciting shit going on. I'm in the process of writing 2 new original plays and creating a television series. I am also working to get another play produced in the world of commercial theatre; something that I have never done. My brain is full to say the least. There are days where I cannot simply be bothered to have interaction with human beings. Then there are other days where I want to hug kiss everyone I come into contact with, and skip along like a hippie in a field of mud.

Publicly, I've not commented on any of my professional goings on. But for one particular project, I've been navigating a ship through some tricky waters. And I just thought "you know, I'm going through some major shit---and if I cultivate this correctly, my experience could be of interest to others. I won't over-share, or put annoying FB status everyday-- but maybe sharing a bit about my life, could help a young sister who's hoping to venture into producing---or writing or whatever the fuck. I don't know. And my life is filled with shenanigans, so why not?" So, I've decided to open up and share some experiences.

I don't have anything to loose, really. Now, because things are on going I won't always fully disclose every detail--but I'll keep you posted from time to time. Because the stories are too fucking good to keep under wraps. So when the aliens come and probe our anus' for a glimpse of what we've done in this lifetime, I hope that they will see that I am stumbling down this journey like a fat toddler, curious, and determined to be the victor.

Also, my brain has been speaking to me from a higher frequency. So yeah, if you see some poetry on here every now and again...welp, it just is what it is folks.

So darling fucker, I'm back and mad as a hatter! I've missed you. Welcome back to my life.

Won't you have me again?

I love you.

Ciao for now,

x

Everyone, calm the fuck down. Mummy is back.

Dearest Trayvon

2013-07-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

Dearest Trayvon,

You deserved better. I'm so sorry.
I'm not smug,
I'm too hurt to be angry,
I'm just sad.
And so sorry.

Rest now.
Love,

all of us

Hold Tight For the Rebirth of SLICK!

2013-07-11T01:44:00.000-07:00

Doctaslick.com is coming soon fuckers. And its gonna bust thru the world like this:

*Cept its gonna be a lil black baby.

DR. SLICK NEW WEBSITE COMING SOON FUCKERS!!!!

2013-06-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

Ciao mumsy's little fucker,

Please darling, try not to be too upset with me. I've been away from the blog and I do apologize. In the last 4weeks, I've traveled over seas and returned only to become sick as a dog (more on that later. ugh). But I'm recovered, getting back on track--not to mention adjusting to a new city (I'm 3 1/2 weeks old here in Brooklyn!) So check it...I've left you with a love note and some music for your day. Thanks for dropping by, and I think you'll like to new website....

Until then remember to do everything in love.
Bow down to no sacred cows.
Sonically hear the beating heart of the world that surrounds you.
And finally, wash your hands after rubbing one out.

Enjoy this tribute to the legendary musician Darando, from my favorite KCRW dee jay, Jeremy Sole.

x,

mum

Üdvözlet Budapestről Fuckers!

2013-05-29T04:21:00.000-07:00

Szia and jó napot mummy's little possum!

Though it's the middle of the night back west, I've basically said hello and good day to you fuckers. I am writing to you from my beautiful hotel lodge here in Pest. I've been quite fortunate to travel in a few European cities and worldwide since I graduated university in 400BC.

I've picked up a few phrases and customs from around the world. I don't want to give the impression that I am some aristocrat that goes into Banana Republics buying up relics and looking down my nose at the natives--but I have always had a curious mind. I like to see the tourist-y things, and I also like to chill amongst locals. I didn't really grow up that way. My provenance Chicago, was pretty segregated back in the day--still is. Now, I live in Brooklyn...it's no utopia, but it's pretty damned diverse--but I've not forgotten that feeling of being a little girl and looking at a globe and wondering "What do they do over there?"

The older I get, and the more stamps I have in my passport my goal is to become a citizen of the world.

This is my big fat opinion, but I can honestly say that traveling as a Black woman is not always an easy faire. In some places, seeing a Black face is not a big deal. But in other places you are immediately thought to be a prostitute. A thief. Or some machete wielding mad person, on some agenda bullshit. I have a dear friend, who is a respected fashion designer and professor at an institute in Kaula Lampur...she's one of the most intelligent and loving people that I know. And man, it hurts my soul when she shares with me the bullshit and blatant racism that she has to face.

Believe it or not folks, sometimes that very thing can discourage one to book a flight and seek adventures in foreign lands. Again, I am not speaking on behalf of any group--this is simply my opinion...that happens to be a fact :)

The Chinese believe that traveling nourishes the soul. I happen to agree with that. I have been here for 5 days now, and I have 2 days left before I fly back home. I'm gathering stories, and I've collected a lot of video. When I have more time, I will construct a story to share with you chronicling tales of Eastern Europe. But for now, I am so grateful for this opportunity...despite the challenges of being in a place where the language barrier is intimidating, and the gastronomy offerings are...well...I'll say difficult to be polite (for now).

I'm off to find a postal service so that I can drop postcards into the mail for some of you back home. Man I gotta tell you, sending and receiving post from the other side of the world is such a good feeling. Not everyone can afford travel due to different circumstances...but if you will allow, I will be your guide to travel and tom fuckery--world wide.

Alright kids, I'm off. But for now, a quick lesson in Hungarian! Oh don't worry, it will be easy. But trust me when I say, this language is very difficult. It's not like the base is Latin or Germanic. I don't know what it's core is...at first it sounds agressive...then you can hear the beauty. To my ear, it's a hybrid of Russian and Spanish. Still, it's hard.
But próbálok magyarul tanulni; translation "I am trying to learn Hungarian." Now it's your turn fucker!

Szia (pronouced see-yah) is an expression sort of like "ciao" in Italian. Szia can mean hello or goobye.
köszönöm (ko-so-nom) is a formal thank you.
Igen (ee-gan) is yes.
Nem (nam as in Vietnam) is no.

And here's the most IMPORTANT expression that you can learn: Szeretlek (seteck-lek)

This friends, means I love you.
And you know I do.

x

Negro Boy by sculptress Anna Karpati (1923-1993)

Funky Buda & Pest

2013-05-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

Szia fuckers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's right mummy's little possum, that means Hello in Hungarian (according to Google translate)--which is where I will be traveling to tomorrow afternoon! BUDAPEST! Igen barátom, I will be in the land of ---wait....besides baths, goulash and an oppressive war(s), I realize that I don't know a whole hell of a lot about Hungary. Truth be told, I didn't even know that Buda and Pest were once two different cities. Ha! Yo ass didn't neither.

All jokes aside, I am very grateful for this unique opportunity. As an actor, I have had the rare experience of having a cultural institution support my career. I am an ensemble member of a highly respected theatre troupe Lookingglass in Chicago, an associate at Collaboration Theatre Company and Fox Fellow at TCG (Theatre Communications Group). This trip is made possible by the good folks at TCG, so them I say köszönöm. I will travel to Eastern Europe and soak up foreign culture, food and arts. I will see opera, take some dance classes and hopefully find a troupe of clowns to fuck around with.

So expect plenty of Tom Fuckery. Eastern European style. Bless the gods, I'm so excited. Lookit:

x,

mum

Just Let It Go--Let It Happen: Birthday Musings

2013-05-18T16:43:00.001-07:00

Ciao fuckers!

Mummy wants to thank you for ALL of the birthday love that you've shown me. This birthday has more glory, than a praise dance during 1st Sunday services at church. So thank you baby. Enjoy a few clips on the Slicklist--a few videos & images that always leave me feeling renewed an reborn again.

H.R.H. Lucille Bluth

Talking Heads

Vanderzee photo

Artist Anatsui's brilliant creation...

BROOKLYN--I'm Inside You (Yes, In THAT Kinda Way)

2013-05-16T14:03:00.004-07:00

next blog:

Why dropping acid, then using a cheese shaver to remove dead skin from your feet has been banned by the North Koreans.

Queen Mother Reign

2013-05-12T09:24:00.004-07:00

Mother, you fed us.
Nutrients
From your milk
be it breast
or formula in a can.
hydrogenated fats transformed the undesirable
we ignored the Velveeta commercials because we knew
Government cheese slices made the best grilled sammiches.
Before reality food tv, everyday was Chopped in our kitchen.
The cabinets and shelves had

tripe

chit-lins

Pig ears

Feets

bubbly cauldrons with dumplings

greens

smoked turkey necks

fat back, biscuits that popped out of a can, and canned fruit. Go.

We didn't know we were poor.

We didn't know about food insecurity

We were child soldiers, deployed daily by our commander mom

who fought to win the war on wealth concentration.

Mama

Brushed our hair neatly,
adorned our locs with ribbons and Goody barrettes.
Little boys hair brushed backwards, forwards, picked up, out and braided in corn rows.
No doubt, you planted seeds in those spaces.
So that we could grow tall and strong.
And while they STARED at us--distracted by our
Intricate styles, you taught us to look from the Aquarian part of our mind's eye.
So that we could really see past all of the lies and mendacity
We sat between your legs while you created
irregular networks of passages and paths on our tiny heads.
And why shouldn't we celebrate that nappy coiled texture?
An intricate and confusing arrangement to them, but beauty to us.

Try not become defeated when you watch Cain kill Abel.
Try not to become confused when the only roses you see are on a liquor label.
Try not to become overwhelmed with hatred when your white swim teacher refuses to get into the pool with your black classmates.

Those standardized tests, don't reflect what mama taught you. As long as you are willing, you can and will learn.

Learn to love with the unlimited powers that divinely flows through you.

Do love one another fiercely.
Do make an extra plate for that elderly neighbor, and deliver it.
Do respect all houses of worship.
Show up on time. Say please and thank you.
and baby, when it comes down to it--don't argue with nobody.
Tag that fool in the nuts and keep it moving.
And most importantly, do you boo. Mama gonna support your wildest dreams.
That's mother wit, for a hyper-segregated city.
Her children sequestered in the ghetto, will not dwell their forever.

Thank you Queen Mothers--related by blood and spirit for raising me.

x

Burbank to Brooklyn

2013-04-30T17:27:00.001-07:00

I'm moving to New York.

Dearest friends, I cannot tell you how hard it's been to say, type or admit those words in these last few days. But it's true. It's time to hitch up the wagon, and take the circus to another town.
I will be moving 2, 796.4 miles on May 5, 2014.

Hitched to my wagon will be my beloved weave, wig & merikin collection, vintage marijuna bottles & baggies, every printed copy of LA Weekly, In-N-Out burgers cryogenically frozen awaiting consumption moments into Armageddon, and a fuck load of amazing memories.

My poor roommates and closest friends have watched me boo hoo and cry like the Tin Man in The Wiz. Contrary to what you might think, I LOVE Los Angeles. I love everything about Southern California and will defend this mothafucka until the day I die. I put that on ev'rythang Joe. Some of my best friends and my spiritual home are here. My sisters, brothers, cousins people who have had my back since I arrived May 10, 2004. Man--I can't even get into the hole in my heart, when I think about not seeing my friends on a daily basis???? Nope--another blog posting.

This has been one of the most difficult and liberating moments of my life. Y'all know I'm an old sentimental fool, so fuck you for laughing at me. When I moved to LA nearly a decade ago, I was fresh off the boat from Chicago. Flat Midwestern accent, 15lbs heavier, hair short and butchy, and a snarl on my face.

"FUCK these muffuckas. I'm gone set off a revolution in this industry."

It was my daily mantra. My modus operendai. My dao. My everything--drumming to the beat of my own sound. Fast forward 10 years later, the passion has not dissipated, but let me tell you friends--it ain't supposed to be quite like this. I know I deserve better. Especially as an actor. And more opportunities will arise from my writing, directing, and playmaking. And though it seems light years away, I know one day I'll make a significant impact in world cinema.

"You're not "leaving LA." You didn't fail. Or quit. The endeavors here bore fruit that is now taking you on a road towards NYC. All is well. And unfolding as you and the great God of the Universe designed long before you were cuttin' folks with your switch blade and needing to be bailed out of jail. Smile! And be excited for the next leg of your amazing journey. Airplanes, phones, emails, and tweets can still make it back to LA when you need some sunshine, hiking, kombuca, and crispy granola hipster vegan assholes and hackneyed movie stars!" xoxoxxo Hoebag

This was a message sent to me from my very dear friend Linara (aka Hoebag). I reached out to her in a tearful panic--nearly overcome with fear, convinced that I couldn't make this move happen--and that I would be seen as this way or that way, or that I didn't quite hit the career goals that I set---that financially my house always seemed out of order---OR: I actually like driving. I don't wanna be on a public transit with other---people! Humans are gross. Plus as an actor, I sometimes run from call to call. I'm used to changing in my car, so what am I to do now?? Lug some suitcase around with me? Where will I change my clothes running from call to call in between working a real job--

THEN, it hit me: Wait wait wait WAIT WAIT. I don't have to live like that anymore. Why forecast more financial duress?? Changing clothes? Pffft. What if in fact, I don't have to change in public bathrooms and all that jazz--because maybe, just fucking maybe I'LL BECOME AN OFFER ONLY ACTRESS?

And why the fuck wouldn't I be?
Why the fuck wouldn't I be a dope playwright?
Director?
It can all happen in NYC. And who says, I have to worry about a day job? As a matter of fact, I just retired from my day job just 5 days ago. That's right; my working days as a figure model? OVER.
Bigger and better things ahead.

So
So....
After a deep breath, and some help from my friends...here I am--announcing to the world, that I am not a failure.

Doesn't matter if I'm the last in the room to know--but as long as I know it. And with that friends, I have to resume packing.

If I have not been able to spend time with you personally, please accept my humble apologies. Moving is incredibly stressful and mind boggling. Especially coastal moves--Again, I love you and I'm sorry if my leaving bums you out. I hope that you will love me, like I love you.

So, that's the word mummy's possum. Brooklyn's newest resident is a little black girl with freckles, called Slick.

x

SHIT. DAMN. MOTHAFUCKA: IT'S TAX DAY

2013-04-15T11:27:00.003-07:00

Don't worry little possum--if you don't get your shit together by midnight, no one will tar and feather you. Take deep breaths and remember one day you will be on top of your fiscal responsibilities. I wish you abundance and love today....

Speaking of which, I love this video!

Ciao for now fucker!

x

NEXT BLOG: Examining why creatures of middle earth don't do well in housing projects.

WALK ON

2013-04-14T21:49:00.000-07:00

Midnight Dedication

2013-04-13T00:07:00.000-07:00

Sleep well mummy's little possum..

Kinfolk (Westside The Best Side, South Side Pride Worldwide. Chicago Rememberies of Distinctly Black Shit)

2013-04-11T11:13:00.002-07:00

PRESS PLAY

Yeah, you know this here is yo jam!

Here's a favorite peckerwood of mines, Paul Hardcastle. He is a treasure to Blue Eyed Soul. Hearing it takes me back. Back to 1984.
Though my trip is not Orwellian, it is my truth.

Personally--well if you wanna get personal, this reminds me of when my mother would play records/ or tune into WBMX radio on Saturday mornings /while she cleaned the house. PineSol, bacon, Hills Bro coffee and her Benson Hedges Menthol overwhelmed my olfactory, in the very best way. The phone would ring and my Auntie Bubbles/ or Uncle Che/ or Auntie Nonni/ or Uncle Willie/ or Auntie Gladys/ or Ain't Maggie (**funny side note here folks, all of the other ladies were referred to as "auntie" with the more rounded almost British sound. Maggie however was "Aunt"--flat definitely closer to a midwestern sound. But I thought they were saying "Ain't Maggie".) Anyhow...one of the kinfolk would call to talk to Mami, and no matter the combination, the two of them would cackle like hyenas. The music blared from the hi-fi. Some days the music was so great it would bust from the player --almost like the way, when you open a can of Hungry Jack biscuits? Speaking of which, I smell them...the biscuits are ready.

Well 'scuse me whilst I butter them with margarine and purple jelly.
It is after all 1984, and I haven't a care in the world.
We are Black and we are poor.
Yes. And I thank God for making me/us that way.
We had no money, but we had all the riches.

Soon, somebody is gone sneak a wrench from their Daddy tool box,
pop the fire plug,
THEN watch the water spout like a geyser, 200,000ft in the air! And us? We gonna get wet up.
Mami, can I please go get wet up? Please, it's hot. Please? Ma? Ma? Mamma. Ma. Mummuh. MumucanIgogetwetupunderthewaterhose? Please? Mu? Muuuuuu?

Yes!

We finna get wet up! To hell with a water shortage. Cuz we ain't got no fuckin pools to go to. You gotta walk all the way to King Drive to the park, and them project niggas be jumping people, so all y'all kids stay on Lafayette. The grown ups here will sit on the porch and watch you while you play.
Ain't no cops gonna stop us neither.
Matterfact, when the squad car comes cruising thru, Officer Friendly gonna slow way down. He likes playing this game, that's why he moves thru like a shark. You see all drivers in the 'hood knew how much fun/ how much fun it was getting that car completely wet/ The car would get doused/ we would scream and laugh/ the cops would smile back/ and wave and then speed off.

It was the one moment neither side had distrust/
There was no "Fuck The Police" attitude when the squad car rolled thru our fire hose waterfall
(though we had not forgotten about Fred Hampton.)

I can dance in the street under the water hose, because Mami presses my hair on Saturday nights, so I can look good for church in the morning. I go to Sunday school with my cousin Marlo, then church where my grandfather the preacher.
Rev. That's what everyone, even his daughters call him. I call him grandaddy.
And at church--oh Mami, doesn't actually GO to church.
But she watches Rev. Clay Evans, Rev. Hinton & Bishop Brazier on tv.
She can't be bothered with actually going into the church building. "The house of the lord."
But surely, there was god in our house. Sundays and my Mami is another story.

But back to Saturdays. Saturday Night is now. Let the steppin begin.
PRESS PLAY

Love is...
Saturday nights.
She smoke squares and presses my hair. It's later in the day and I'm dry now.
The card table is set up. Libations flow. Spaghetti baked and cheesy.
Auntie Mouse (my play aunt) with her pretty red hair, mocha skin and stylish glasses was cleaning perch, catfish and "girl, we got some raccoon." Yep, so and so had gone hunting. And brought back carcass my mother couldn't bare eating. But they could. So she let 'em. She continued pressing my hair. "Yeah, I guess some niggas really is crazy." she offered.

The sink was red and full of flood. Better it be blood from meat, fish and poultry versus the blood of our people.
We have eaten chitterlings, ox tails, pig tails, tripe, feet and hog head cheese.
And nobody got sick. And nobody was ashamed.
Because we have worked in kitchens on plantations, and as short order cooks, pit masters and line cooks. We can take any leftover meat, and give it artisanal flair.

The Stroh's beer bottles gave the room an amber glow.
We laugh, and dance and I balance the styrofoam plate on my lap.
So does Big Titty Pat, who is laughing at them dancing.
"Vera, girl this perch and spaghetti so good! Pooh Baby (that's me),
Go gimme some more garlic bread and grab that hot sauce. When I'm done with my plate
I'mma show ya'll how to move, cos you niggas from the South Side can't Step!"
South Side argues best side. West Side argues best side. Best side of town folks.

Soon they will all be drunk, and I will perform songs and dance for them.
They will shower me with quarters and dollar bills.
"Sang Nicky! That girl look just like her big headed daddy! Look at her! Get it baby!"
I dance. I sing. I twirl. I sashay. And
we
We are all together, and I want this love to last. Forever.

It's 1984 and I have family, food, music, and everything I need....I am in my tiny house with every one. And we stepping. Like Kinfolk.
Mami.
And La Shaun. And Uncle Billy. And sometimes but not really Webster. And Marlo. Sammy. Plummie. Charlynn. Chuck. Uncle Willie. Karen. Charlie Hughes. Billy Collier (Pronounced "Kayah" isn't funny how throughout the slave ages reconstruction tumultuous teens, 20s,30s,40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90's to present that we change our). Cousin Toad-A-Bump (I still don't know my cousin's real name). Godfather Malcolm X. (really, he changed his name to Malcolm X to honor the leader). Regina Price. Mr. Price. Uncle Bobo. Mookie. Monica. Monica. Lil Billy. Che. Lee Lee. Auntie Tutu. Marquitta. Bay Bay. Lil Yolanda. Jennifer. Breonna. Elisha. Kimberly. Tynaya. LeKia. Michael. Lucille. Rev. Cousin Molly. Grandma. Aint Maggie. Uncle Checkers. Uncle Bobo. Auntie Gwen. Ms. Nell. Niecy. Deborah. Big Titty Pat. And you. And you and you and you and you. You are in the house of my mind. Loving me. And me loving you.
Yes you.

x

I've Discovered A Gray Pubic Hair and I Fear I Am Losing My Freckles (Ruminations On Growing Up)

2013-04-10T00:09:00.000-07:00

Ciao Fuckers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Man-o-Manischewitz it's been way too long since you and I got together. I miss you like the days of when gas was $1.18 a gallon, and the Jays Potato Chip plant offered tours to Chicago school children. Well, the Jays Potato Chip plant has closed, much like 127 schools in the Chicagoland area. *Rolls eyes real hard at city hall.

So, what's happening with Slick you may be wondering? Well, I am alive and well friends! My shoulder is regenerative, and my mind (though cluttered at times) remains curious and consistently constructs stories. I actually spend most of my days, trying to figure out "How can I make people laugh?"I know that may be annoying as shit to read, but it's true.

Writing this blog gives me such great pleasure; much like singing along to the theme song from that great American sitcom, Amen. When I first started this blog, I only had 2 rules:
1. To only blog when I had something to say.
2. To remember that I am not a journalist on staff with the New Yorker or some egg
head institution, so I can make as many mistakes as I wanted
not really give two fucks about grammar or puncation. ;)

I know my postings have been less and less so, but I implore you to remember that mummy does her very best to weave an elegant tapestry of Tom Fuckery each chance she gets. Much like in the way chef Anthony Bourdain travels the world to explore food as it relates to culture, I like to examine humor as it relates growth. Otherwise, I feel immutable. Stagnant. And just plain sluggish.

I'll admit, there are some days where it's very dark for me. I'm an artist, so that can't be too much of a surprise to you dear reader. Despair, anger, disappointment and limitation makes me wanna holler--throw up both my hands. I admit, I'm a bit of a news junkie so after reading the NYTimes, watching Al-Jezzera, scrolling Twitter, listening to NPR & Radio Pacifica--some days the news headlines make me weep. In fact, I do weep. They scare me. They disgust me. They infuriate me. **Now before you go sending me text messages asking if I'm ok, and putting me on the prayer list at church--don't worry, I'm doing just fine. But you can still pray for me.**

I just happen to be a point in my life, where I no longer wish to protect others from my-self. I am who I am. I'm a weirdo kid from the south side of chicago who know's that thing called Black Rage all too well. Of course there is more to me than my skin color, but it's the struggle that I love the most. I was raised by a strong warrior queen, who always reminded me that I wasn't alone. That I would always have a flotilla should some shit go down. Because I know I ain't nobody's lone ranger. I'm out here fighting along side some of the most righteous mothafuckas you'll ever meet.

I've never really been good about keeping the waters calm...as I child, I loved the story the Emperor's New Clothes because acquiescing to mendacity and other falsehoods was never my thang.

But no matter how dark it gets, I always look to writing--specifically blogging as my north star.

I'm no philosopher, but I can tell you that life can sometimes kicks you square in the urethra. For some INSANE reason, I thought by my 30s, I would have my shit completely together. That magically all of the bullshit would fall off, like a delinquent credit card bill from the 90s. But money comes and money goes. There are days where one can drive up the coast to Santa Barbara to go wine tasting, and then there are the days where you have to coast down hill, because you can't afford gas. Eating macrobiotic vegan grass fed beef from chicken cum fair traded by Peruvian miners who look like Caesar Chavez
------> Grocery shopping at the 99 Cent Only store; trying to figure out if the pack of Ramen noodles with 34500000 grams of sodium will kill you immediately. Completely attached to your smart phone, creeping on social media and texting constantly ------->Call up your cell phone provider, beg them not to interrupt service. Working on some of the most acclaimed and promising productions ------->begging agents & managers to represent you. One minute you're eyeballing a frilly titty holder in Victoria Secret, and contra wise nervously await biopsy results to find out if you have breast cancer. Hoping to have a house filled with children, and then being grossed the fuck into celibacy after witnessing a mom's meltdown because her toddler is a evil little shithead.

Life is all about that ying and yang hunny. I've looked in the funhouse mirror having dysmorphic thoughts far too long. So now, every time I pass a mirror instead of tearing myself down for not having hair that's pretty enough, flatter stomach or clear skin I just start dancing. I literally dance until the demon bids me farewell. So baby love, here is what the good Docta Slick prescribes, should you become weary with life.

For every person you cuss out in the heat of road rage---->shout words of love at the next stop light. Trust me, someone will hear you and it will change the trajectory of their day.

For every slice of pizza you eat...every bucket of hot wings....bottle of Patron -----> treat yourself to a dark green leafy meal sans ranch dressing fucker.

For every afternoon you waste time looking at pictures of people taking bathroom self portraits on Instagram, look up portraits of people from the WPA in the 1930s.

For every time you use epithets like nigga, fag, cunt, dyke, re-tard---->remember those who heard it just before they took their last breath.

And finally, every time you get sad....log onto this blog spot. Surely there's something here that can make you smile.

Be kind to your self. Remember, being human ain't easy. But you're gonna be okay.
I love you.

x

next blog:
WHITE MEN WHO MISS COLONIALISM

And Ain't She Got A Right To The Tree Of Life?

2013-03-19T16:02:00.000-07:00

182 days
I think that's about right--
Now before you get any ideas, I'm not here to eulogize...
(testify, signify or any of that jive)
I'm not here to--
well
I don't know why I'm here.
None of us should be here, Not here when you think about it.
We, the children of Chicago grow up with
hyper segregation in our hearts
not always knowing when injustice is being served
because for the most part there's no justice
it's just us.

Where my disciples at?
My disciples of love
soliders ready to deploy into the battle fields of the
South Side
I'm on, the battle field for my lords-
Where's the code? Of honor? What happened to the days charming organized crime in Chicago-

NO No no no darling, you've got it all wrong. There are no more gangs in Chicago. It's all interpersonal conflict, you see. Honey these children ain't loyal to nobody, but they own damn selves. And they'ont care if you walkin with your me-maw down the street after she just came off Dialysis--they shoot. They'ont care if it's broad daylight. They shoot. Cops? Shhiiiid. If squad cars is close--hell, I done seen gunfire right in front of cops while they was on a call for somethin else--Dick vehicles and everything--they shoot. They shoot you. Yo mama, Yo daddy, greasy greasy gran mammy AND they'll shoot a 6 month old baby. Jonlyah was six months old. Man...I can't call it.

I return home
And smile at my City.
My mothers house. My neighborhood. My Washington Park.
Childhood rememberies flood my brain...
but then
I see them
My brothers?
Naw, we not from the same tribe.
Dressed in white tee shirts
pants saggin
skinny locs twisted (funny back in the day, brother's with dread locs meant righteous...now? thug)
lips blackened by dank
eyes as red as the blood be-speckled Stop signs.
I know my thoughts are limited
fueled by anger, disappointment and a seemingly broken spirit.
What is it, with this deleterious disregard for life?
Why do you hate, your skin so?
After being lynched, dragged, exploited and cast off as kafir to the world
we proclaimed
that we shall over come, because no lie can last forever.
This is where we've come.
Here?

Breaking the cold earth, to bury a 6 month old baby girl.

Come children, clap your hands and lift your heart upwards past the tree of life.
We speak her name.
And many others.
We are
Gathered via printed publication, online access and televised punditry
to bid farewell.
To cry out "how dare they!"
to gnash, weep and wail
to turn the channel "quickly" because
Local news is so fucking depressing.
"Yes, I know we have to stay informed,
but I just can't watch it."
We all do what we can, right?
Huffington Post, Mother Jones, Al-Jeezera, Jezebel yeah I look on all their twitter feed.
Meanwhile if Colbert, Louis CK or Jon Boy Stewart ain't mention it
then, I didn't hear it.
It's just too fucking depressing.
6 month old slain by bullets.
6 months old?
Should I RT this? Jeeze, it's too early in my day to even think about this shit
Blah blah blah fiscal cliff
blah blah blah drones blah blah
gun blah control
Control! Janet Jackson got married on you bitches on the low
blah blah
Roma Downey blah jesus blah blah Obama is blah blah obviously the devil
blah blah CBS is a gross fucking blah blah bah net blah blah work
man I wish we could make this work.
Why can't we?
6months old?
I can't turn the channel.
Esc from the website
I can't switch the station.

This much we know--
For one hundred and eighty two days
(Six months)
Jonylah Watkins
a beautiful baby girl
skin the color of wheat
and eyes dark like the night sky
lived in this world.

She was a person.

A Babygirl who will
never make it to that year One.
that anniversary
that jubilee
notating the date in which an event took place that previous year
Her birth and her soul must be commemorated.
She had the right to life.

Rest now sweet angel.
When we're afraid of the dark, we'll look to your eyes in the night sky.
I'll be glad when we're planting trees, and not attaching RIP monuments to them.

x

Le Sigh

2013-02-10T06:18:00.001-08:00

Ms. Gurl, we sure do miss you.

x

15

2013-02-09T12:35:00.002-08:00

When I was 15 my best friend Anastasia Platt (one of many of my best friends)
made me a cake in anticipation of my sweet 16
the cake, chocolate and vanilla
large
shaped like Mickey Mouse
was delicious
we all giggled and swarmed over the cake
(like locusts, except cuter)
our tummies filled with sugar
and our hearts with love.
We stood in the courtyard of my high school
Curie Metropolitan High School For The Performing & Creative Arts
we were all ways
safe and sound.
Safe at
Fifteen.

When I was 15 I learned what true friendship was
from boys and girls
gay and straight
poor
rich
white, black and brown....
A bit of a utopian society within the walls of the school
I learned that I could be loved and accepted
for being a chubby nerd with freckles
and that I could cultivate
many things thru my art
--excuse me y'all, my heart is cracked--

When I was 15 I had many mothers and fathers
Ms. Holda who taught me how to dance
Mr. McCowan who taught me the beauty of opera
Mr. Pajeau, in drill seargant like form taught me in
militaristic form to have pride in being an artist
Mrs. Butler who taught me how to site read
and sing

Sing loud and clear. All lessons, I still learn from 'til this day
---excuse me y'all---

Mrs. Bacon, Ms. Monkus, Ms. Meyers
taught me EVERYTHING I know about acting.
Fifteen.
At 15 I had many firsts
My first time acting on stage--a tribute show to Langston Hughes (thanks Mrs. Bacon)
Plucked from a class filled with able bodies, I was chosen
to perform in Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat
Mr. Pajeau, that insane director who barked at us like a 3 headed dog from the pits of hell.
"THIS WILL BE THE BEST GODDAMNED PRODUCTION CURIE HAS EVER SEEN!"
We stood at the lip of the stage, yelling into that auditorium for the world to hear.
Sage instruction, that I've carried with me from the South Side to Hollywood, and New York.

And for the next few years I learned
Soliloquies, monologues and poems.
When I was 15, shy and awkward
at a renowned performing arts school where all the kids
were
agile
lithe
nimble
endowed
adroit
and
Immortal.
--excuse me--

I learned a lot at 15.

Monday thru Friday I learned Latin, Mathematics, Science, Arts & Literature.
Saturday's I learned even more music
and on Sunday's I learned the interpreted words of G-d.
I knew the challenges of learning, but there wasn't a subject I wouldn't tackle
until I learned...
I learned...
that my cousin
Little Billy
my peer
my ______
my cousin
was killed.
I learned that he was murdered by gunfire.
Billbo was his moniker.
Billy Brooks, Junior. I speak...
---excuse me---
I wasn't ready for that subject.

I wasn't ready to learn that subject.
I could not prepare my heart for that crack in its foundation.
and now
Hadiya Pendleton.
excuse me....

I wasn't ready to learn about you.
Or Derrion Albert
or the scores of faceless nameless black and brown children taken from us...too soon.
O my Chicago babies,
the shit you have to trudge thru.
Politicians and platforms be damned
until you have sat in a church
with the wails of a mother...

---excuse me--
Hadiya my dear girl, I'm still learning.
And I speak your name.
I speak it Black
I speak it Brown
You have my heart.
Yo tengo a Hadiya en mi corazon.

Your obedience, zest for life, and your bright smile fills my heart.
Forever 15.
Now, teach us.
For we must learn.