A dentist office that plays Lover's Rock.
-:
Sitting long enough after your cleaning waiting for the dentist to come check your teeth that you get to hear the whole album.
While reading this and imaging what it would have been like were I in that professor's class and just how many epithets I could rattle off, it occurred to me that Black, female classmate of mine had been being called by an epithet as a nickname by classmates with no repercussions.
"Leroy
I think, at the time, I thought it was her father's name. That was something we did, although I don't think we started doing that until high school….
At any rate – there were never more than 5 Black kids in that class at that lab school where there was only one class per grade…
And I just realized that happened.
In the same school where, in 7th grade, the basketball coach, the PE coach (and maybe our grammar/history teacher) read Brer Rabbit in blackface.
At the private lab school….which I assume would have been considered progressive compared to the public schools.
Hm.
As of today,
I,
for the first time in about 18 years,
have personal credit card debt.
(other)
From today on a country road:
"I'm too sensitive to be a human."
'We must speak from our own, personal experience and fears when we have these conversations…
(race/ethnicity/sex/gender)
The big-word, college/grad school/I-Wrote-A-Book conversation have their place, but that's not the type of conversation needed with "normal" folk…'
(culled from Tori's second talk on Girls/Boys)
Of you and I engaged in a kiss
The sweat of your body covers me
Can you my darling
Can you picture this?
Dream if you can a courtyard
An ocean of violets in bloom
Animals strike curious poses
They feel the heat
The heat between me and you
How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world that's so cold? (So cold)
Maybe I'm just too demanding
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold
Maybe you're just like my mother
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry