BOOK REVIEW: THE DARKEST CHILD by Delores Phillipps

This book was recommended to me by some guy at Barnes and Nobles.  He was bemoaning the decline of traditional African American literature with the rise of urban fiction which he termed, "shit lit".  Now my book can be categorized as urban fiction, but I chose to not be offended.  This ended up being a good pick for me for two reasons: I love the way the author seamlessly blended the 1950s Black English spoken by her characters with her standard narration. (I read on some writer's board characters speaking in colloquialisms is distracting. I say bullshit.) The book was about a crazy abusive mother.  The mother, Rozelle, was even worse than the mother in my story, as she was completely unrepentant.  Oddly enough, both twisted broads had the same tragic beginning.

What a story.  All of the reviews are true.  The book is a masterpiece, stunning, and an excellent debut.  I am looking forward to purchasing other books from this brilliant author.

Lesson Learned:  Write Better!

OUIJA BOARD: MY EXPERIENCE

Sometime last year, I picked up an Emily the Strange Talking Board from the discount table of Barnes and Nobles.  I had played with an Ouija Board years ago as a kid and have no recollection of anything remarkable occurring.  My interest was renewed when I read a bunch of scary Ouija Board stories on a message board.  I thought they were all bullshit, but hey--you never know.  When I first got the board, I ran through my friends and acquaintances to see who would be willing to play with me.  I had no takers.  People really believed in Ouija Boards and were threatened by its supposed powers.  I was going to play by myself, but the instructions stated the game needed to be played with at least two people.  Besides, juvenile behavior is way more fun with a co-conspirator.

After a little cajoling, Remix (the fine specimen formerly known as 3MB) agreed to play with me.  Aside: I love the way he perfectly relates to my inner twelve-year-old.  He had a case to be solved, it involved a missing item and four suspects.  He needed a name.  Perhaps the Ouija Board would be able to provide it.

We set up the Ouija Board on his coffee table late one Saturday night.  He had been drinking.  A no no according to the Ouija Board directions I found online (supposedly it makes you more vulnerable to psychic attacks from unknown entities), so I made sure to sit closest to the door in case he got possessed and tried to attack me.  He didn't have a lighter to light the white candle I had brought to call only pure spirits with good intentions.  He wouldn't let me make a protective circle of sea salt on his floor.  I forgot the Florida Water.  He didn't have any incense.  So I said a prayer, closed my chakras, grounded myself, and visualized being surrounded by a bubble of pure white light.  He was on his own.  If anything went terribly wrong, I knew of a lady who could probably fix him up for a small fee.

We dimmed the lights, cleared our minds and asked the spirits to come talk to us.  He asked his question first.  The planchette started to move and spelled out the letters H and G. I was excited; it seemed like it was working.  I asked if any of the suspects had those initials and he said no.  I asked if it could be possibly spelling out a nickname, tag or something to the effect and again he said no.  I was disappointed.  I asked the spirits to give us another clue but this time the planchette didn't move.  We remained silent, deep in concentration for a few minutes and all of a sudden the planchette started moving with a tremendous burst of energy.  Energy that emanated from Remix.  He laughed.  I didn't find it funny.  He was ruining my psychic investigation with his foolery.  Well, it was kinda funny; I guess.

After a few more minutes, I inched closer to the door and asked the spirits to show themselves.  I called for good spirits, bad spirits, who cares just come and show your power--crickets.  We gave up, put the Ouija Board away and went about our night.  Nothing eventful happened: no weird dreams, no strange noises, flickering lights or anything of the sort.

This was a few weeks ago, and the board remains in his bedroom, on a shelf filled with magazines and other miscellaneous items.

The Ouija Board stories were all bullshit, just as I thought. 

EVERYTHING IS MOVING BUT THE MONEY

I haven't updated in a minute.  I've been all tangled up in my boo.  Boo is a term I got from my sister to describe the midway point between jump off and boyfriend.  It's the modern version of the antiquated term lover.  I like having a boo.  It's comfortable and cozy.  All the benefits of a friend, without the official boyfriend title.  I don't like titles.  As soon as you place a label on something, as it attempts to define, it stunts and confines.  Titles are words.  Words are symbols and signs.  Meaningless in utterance, it's the heart that evokes them.

The term boo is cute and whimsical, just like we are.  No expectations, no obligations, everything is free flowing. And boy is it flowing.  Flowing so much, I feel when we get together--we stopped the world and we got off.  And left y'all there while we just do us.  I'm in the world right now and I can't take it.  Everything is in black and white, devoid of color.  I had to take a minute.  For though the magic of you is not with me; I am attempting to recreate it.

Boo, go to sleep tonight and dream us rich!  Just give me an idea: plant the seed and I'll be sure to make sure it germinates.  I'm waiting!

EMOTIONAL TERRORISTS: THE DARK SIDE OF LOVE

A friend sent me this text. I've transcribed it verbatim:

They brag to their peers oh how romantic sincere. They've been waiting praying for years. Here I appear. Calm their fears, whatever they say I hear. Gain their trust, to their heart I am near. Saying I love you too, begrudgingly with a sneer. Not after pussy, their mind I want to steer. Control and power has given me more of an erection for years. Cold and heartless immune to their tears. Sobbing, begging, asking why. I thought you weren't like other guys. No bitch I'm worse; I'm the devil in disguise.

My friend is an interesting guy. For as long as I've known him, he has always been infatuated with some woman. I have quite a few e-mails from him proclaiming various women as "the one".  And just as quickly as these relationships began, they ended. When I would call him and ask, "What happened?" Through the phone, I could imagine his shrug.  The woman had been discarded like a used tissue. His attitude: who cares.

I would feel sorry for the women. If you've ever read the "Art of Seduction", he fits the profile of the ideal lover.

Men like him are hard to spot. Because unlike a garden variety sociopath (that's how your text message read), when he tells these women how great they are, at the time he believes it.  It's hard to spot a liar when they aren't lying.  It's hard to spot a fraud when they are not being fake.  The sincerity they felt; it was real--for that moment.

I recently met this guy. And if you have been reading, it has gotten hot very quickly. I clicked with this guy because he felt so sincere. His words soothed any fears. He is easy to trust. Hmmm. So my body will keep going along for the ride (it's a really good one!).  But my mind will remain skeptic.  And my heart? I am keeping it tucked away in a safe place at home. I don't want to fall victim to an emotional terrorist.

Thanks for the reminder, friend. `

FORGIVENESS

Beware of people who constantly preach forgiveness. They will harm you intentionally and then try to manipulate you for the express purpose of holding you to standards; they do not hold for themselves. I know how to behave and if I harm you; it is deliberate and I am out to destroy you. Best believe, they are too. Unless they are a young child, or an animal; they know right from wrong. They just don't care enough about you to treat you with respect; they don't feel you are worthy. Reciprocate the action and see how forgiving they are of you.

Why do you hold them to such high regard and think so lowly of yourself? My energy is precious; it will be only extended to those who can replenish, no forgiveness. You are expendable.

COPYRIGHT 2010

Oh yea just because the symbol isn't there please be aware that's everything I've written is protected by copyright. Not just by the law of the land but by the energy of the spirit. Copy my shit if you dare but please be aware your whole family is hexed. Go buy some black clothes, and funeral plots and prepare for their imminent death. You don't believe me? You don't have to. I do, you are about to witness the power of my voodoo.

FIRST PARAGRAPH, FIRST DRAFT, FIRST EROTIC ROMANCE NOVEL

The most defining day of my life started out pretty unremarkable.  I had always dreamed about this day; I had created images of where it would happen, what I would wear and how I would have styled my hair.  It would happen at a restaurant; I would be waiting for my friend and you would be appear; my hair would be down and flowing, blown out straight. My outfit would be impeccable:  stylish and conservative yet still form fitting.  I knew just how you would be too.  I had imagined how you would look.  You would be tall, good looking, with an easy going smile and a workout physique.  Our attraction would be apparent at first sight, we both wouldn’t show it but we would feel it.  We’d give each other sheepish grins while trying to play it cool. You would fumble a little while you asked for my number and I would think it was cute.  We would be around the same age, you’d probably be a few years older, and I liked them older.  You would be well established: finished school, nice apartment, thriving career.  You would be everything I had ever wanted in a man and more.   And you were.  But it didn’t happen quite like that instead it happened like this.