Read My Book!

"She may not be pretty to look at...in this kingdom of the blind." (James Baldwin)

The old addage, "Don't judge a book by it's cover," is more than just an insightful, wise saying that should be applied to more than books. It's an act of courage that forces us to look at ourselves first.

Dust jackets are for those who read  books but need to be attracted by the provocative. That's their purpose - to persuade us to dig deeper because we are, obviously, in need of motivation to go forward without ease of  an"all clear" warning, especially when it comes to reading. Dust jackets are supposed to provoke a certain feeling in a potential reader. Attractive, colorful, and splashed with titles that promise a different side of life, subconsciously enciting excitement. Beneath the cover, however, there's one thing quite clear about all books - they're all books. MOST require effort.

We are visual beings, aren't we? Anything that looks good, from food to the opposite sex, we make up our minds to pursue. Different things are attractive to different people. Variety is, after all, the best part of life, but what about really varied outliers? If we are honest, we'd admit that it's okay for people to be different as long as "different" fits into available categories. Whatever we misunderstand we classify into categories we understand...but don't want to understand.

The emotionally illiterate read seedy titles with sexy pictures, believing all female protagonists want to be the damsel in distress or need their attractiveness or sexiness validated through typical comments like, "Hey, Sexy," "You gotta boyfriend?" and my favorite, "Can I be your friend?" (while committing eye-rape). Most women handle this with social grace - they don't like it, but they brush it off with a smile or kind look. Any outliers earn hasty, negative titles and are dismissed with no further thought. I'm an outlier.

I have accepted that, to the emotionally illiterate, I'm "scary."  "Scary" is a judgement call on my dust jacket, which I honestly don't put much thought into. I'm far too busy writing the book. My title is, "Me...Uncensored." I claim no pseudonyms. I'm no artist, so I don't paint my face or nails. I guess the cover art suffers even further because I don't concentrate on showing my teeth to every person who crosses my path (or showing them just in case someone crosses my path). I think a lot. Perhaps, I think too much, but I have accepted my story for what it is...a damn good piece of literature that isn't for those who don't like a challenging read.

You can't buy me; I'm not for sale. You can't bid on me; I'm not on e-bay item. I'm not cheap; Amazon didn't farm me out to discount sellers. In fact, I'm out of print and only available in hard back.

I guess all this is to say we sometimes put our feelings about ourselves and what makes us comfortable on others, placing a value judgement on the covers of others because we don't really understand what we're looking at. If she doesn't smile, she may be pensive instead of mean. If' he's tatted up, he may be a man of conviction and commitment, inking whatever he holds dearly in his skin to connect him to it. Open the book. Flip through the pages.

Reading is still fundamental. It teaches us about ourselves. It makes us examine the writer. It feeds us. Eat heartily...

Started as a Tweet...Evolved into a Movement

(This entry is based on actual tweets...)

I'm not sure if this is appropriate or not, but I just saw someone shout out AAliyah in a trending topic named for her.  My first thought was news flash...she can't hear you... But then I started to to wonder why Black people do strange things like "shout out" dead entertainers on Twitter or make obscure statements about dead entertainers with no explanation (someone on my timeline retweeted, "Aaliyah was to young girls what Tupac was to young men. RIP Aaliyah.") What was Tupac to young men? He was in his early 20s when he died; he was a young man himself, so all he could be to them was what Wayne is to them now (and I'm not sure what that is either). Tupac was just trying to find his way through. At times he was profound; at others, he was volitile. In other words, he was human, so let's not canonize him (The Book of ThugLife).

I've got a point here, and it isn't to mock the questionable words of people on social networking sites (although that's fun too). I guess I just wish if we were going to "shout out the dead," we would shout out the dead who really weren't even "shouted out" (I don't think it's "shout outted") when they were alive.

Here's my installment:

Shout out to MLK for all the marching! I appreciate it man! I'm a dreamer too!

And while I'm at it...shout out to James Baldwin for contributing to the academia of American culture that all the "Wayne-iacs" ignore.

Can't forget my girl, Zora. When Janie watched God, so did I.

And Ralph E. - You're still invisible to the masses, but no one could ever mass produce you. Can't say that for a lot of "novelists" these days.

Sojourner - you really are the truth.

L. Hughey - I'm what happens to a dream deferred. Thanks for the motivation.

Oh, and I can't forget Mark Twain - the Eminem of the game. I heard what you were saying to us, even if you used their words and rules to say it.

That's all for now GOOD PEOPLE. BE EASY...