First blog post

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I can’t believe I’m finally doing this, sharing my life to a world of complete strangers. It didn’t come easy, but after my 2nd niece informed me that I was blogging on Facebook lol, I decided to give this a try.

I’m always asked why did I move back to my home town, my birth town, the city who made me, New Orleans… Why leave the security of Minnesota Nice with its wealth of family resources in addition to being one of the top states to raise a family in the nation. I just had to…

Hopefully as you walk with me on this journey of My Nola Life you will not only understand, but come to love my city as well with all her beautiful loving faults… We have soul ties….

Fyi I refer to New Orleans as She. I truely believe the intense magical intoxicating loving feeling that gets deep down in your soul and heart can only come from woman… plus the fact that the city continues to give life after she is deemed baren…

#NolaLife #NewOrleans #BlackGirlsRock #FromTheBottomUp #ImStillStanding

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beyond the Smile 

I feel lost in a world of others perceptions and idealization of me. I  wonder if they are daring enough to step a little closer or at least get a magnifying glass to get a better view of ME. I keep my door open, my life is an open book, that goes unread, well most look at the cover and sit ME back down as if their eyes read every word attached to my life.

I fill myself with hope, thinking they will eventually see ME as I do, but as I get close enough to show them my reflection, I am greeted with rejection and festering wounds of hurt, disappointment and unbiased judgement. Once again I sit and wonder why they choose to stand from a distance and make up their mind about me.

I’m at a lost. So lost that I have become comfortable with every type of pain they inflict on me at every turn. I realized that, sometimes I put myself out there to be hurt, because it’s an emotion that tells me I’m alive. I’m alive to hear the painful words fall from their tongue to my heart and tho it’s bleeding from the damage inflicted, it’s still beating.

Once again, I’m wondering why and at times I feel the need to pull my heart from my chest to show them that my heart is still beating, I’m still alive and healing without the need of their emotional doctoring of sorry’s.

I’m a grown woman who have endured and survived physica3l, emotionally and mentally abusive relationships and I’m codependent. Do I really love them that much that I sat for years wondering and wishing they would see me? Yes. Did they hate me to the point of begging to be that revolving door of pain in my life? No. Was there something that I felt I lacked that allowed me to be a door mat, used up rag and human foot stool? Maybe.

I always felt that I had to go though life’s trauma, whatever that may come my way, must have been meant for me, I assumed. Out of concern for others I endured the pain, telling myself not to complain, because there was someone suffering worse than I.

I purposely did not pray, well I actually told myself, not to bother GOD, because HE was needed by another. Who was I to takeaway a prayer, a call for help, a plead for their life? I placed my value with GOD last to everyone else. Plus, I have always been fully aware of the suffering in this world, the horror someone is living and the real life nightmares that people live. 

My pain, was mines to bear, regardless to inflicted it upon me it was up to me to love me enough to survive it.  My wounds would heal eventually without the need to call of GOD or to ask for prayer or even call upon someone who could have helped me, but I found that my soul had not healed.

I found that pretending to be ok with what was done to me only showed on the outside. I have gone through life smiling, a no aide smile at that, but my heart was bleeding to death with in. I pretended to be ok with what was done, wiping my tears prior to seeing someone. I decided I can’t pretend anymore and I do not have to suffer the unjust pain and abuse others so willing dish out to me. I’m reclaiming not only my life, but my heart and soul. No longer will I hide behind my smile. When you see my smiling know that I’m truly happy and no one will be able to still my joy again ever. 


Thoughts on “I’m the Baddest Monkey”

What is your stance on the issue with the sweatshirt wording chosen to worn the Black little boy model for the H&M ad??? His parents had to agree during the photo shoot and approve the print.. If his parent’s, why aren’t we??

As you all know children clothing with monkeys and monkey phrases have been a part of child fashion for some years now. 

There are t-shirts printed with the body of a monkey that would fall on the child’s chest and the child’s head would create a monkey child, giving this visual effect: 

My family was blessed with the birth of four boys during the monkey ffashion fad. We loved some of the clothing, bedding and accessories. We had no qualms about dressing our boys in the monkey prints, until the birth of my nephew last year. My niece, Nene whose theme colors for all things baby was blue, yellow and brown, from my creative standpoint I pictured monkeys and bananas.. 🐒🍌 No, I  had to rethink not only helping her decorate, but my cake concept was out the window. I was excited to make my 1st Monkey Baby Shower Cake. 

My niece refused to buy anything with a monkey on it, stating it would lay the foundation for people to call her baby boy a “Monkey.” She added that white people have called us “Monkey’s” for hundreds of years and she would not buy into their subliminally brainwashing by paying to call ourselves monkey’s, even if it was a cute phrase. 

My blog is based on my life therefore, I must be honest with you all and say that we Black People, African American folks are guilty of calling each other “Monkey, Gorilla, African Booty Scratcher” and the list goes on. It has been said that we learned this from those that oppressed us and we use the same phases as “Nigga” and so on to break the other person’s spirit and to plain ole being mean. It’s not right and it tears away at people, leaving them broken, damaged and void of self confidence for years. Words hurt worse than any physical pain. 

My niece is a 90s millennium baby who is self-expressive, liberal, upbeat and receptive to new ideas and way of living and I was shocked by her “Monkey Views.” She has friends of every skin color, therefore I did not realize she had concern over racial issues, besides feeling as if we are all equal and color doesn’t matter. She is from an era of acceptance of individuality and freedom of mind, body and spirit and yet she refused to allow her baby where anything with a monkey on it. 

I  love monkeys, I love the baby Monkey Fashion, but I am offended by H&M and their choice to use a black little boy, a chocolate, darkskinned one at that and their choice of wording. Why??? Unlike all the examples of clothing I shared with you all, there is a big difference and that is…. there is no picture of the monkey. Therefore, one, anyone, black, white or blue would  figure that this child is wearing this sweatshirt to express how he feels. 

If I was wearing this shirt what would you think?

It’s the same for all of us, our clothing defines who we are on every apsect, from our economical status to how we feel on any given day. When we pick out a piece of clothing with a phrase or logo, we look at it, read it, buy it and wear it, because it is reflective of how we feel and shows who we are. 

What does my sweatshirt says about me??

Emojis are the go to for saying how you feel

What we select will allow a person to see who we are, it’s part  our 1st impression that we leave people with. Reading his sweatshirt we think he feels like “The baddest monkey in the jungle.” Now, we will remember this child model as “The Baddest Monkey” forever, because of someone’s poor choice.

 I fault the parents as well. I’m pretty sure they only agreed, because the child had the opportunity to be seen all over the world and was nicely compensated for the modeling gig, it is H&M, but all money is not good money… I am happy that a black child was given the opportunity with such a big label, I’m sorry it resulted in negativity.

Let’s say there was a little white boy wearing the sweatshirt, the monkey wouldn’t be the issue, but the word “Baddest” would stand out to parents, especially white parents. Why? The word “bad” is used heavily with children who are labeled with behavioral and mental health issues, such as ADHD. White children are the majority who are diagnosed and medicated for it. 

Someone would have been fired long before the concept was thought of and there would be a mega lawsuit against H&M for just the thought of putting an offense phrase on a sweatshirt that their child didn’t wear. It never would have passed the designers meeting, their design would have been torn from their pad and tossed in the trash. 

However, the issue at hand is this little black boy wearing a sweatshirt entitled ” The baddest monkey in the jungle” with no cartoon monkey hanging from a tree in the jungle, shouting the phrase. Which gives us the only option to conclude that the baddest monkey is the little boy. Right?

I have a few shirts and etc with no pictures on them, only words, phrases, etc, such as “My black is beautiful.” I brought it and wear it, because I am. 🤗 Need I say more??

Little Street Drummer Girl, help me help her ⚜

As I was walking to the Dome, this young girl was drumming on her buckets with so much passion that I can not believe a child could have. Not one did she make eye contact with me or the people that passed by the record her, nor did she look to see if we dropped a tip for her.

She beat on those buckets, because she loved it. It was as if her life, her heart was beating with her strokes. I literally could feel this child’s heart, her soul. She left me looking at my passions, my talents and my purpose and if I am showing you all how much I love what I am doing with my time here on earth.  This little girl inspired me.

You will notice that she lifts the bucket up with her feet to create different sounds…🔉🔊🥁 Amazing 

If you’re in the industry or know of someone in the business I wld like you to help get this lil girl at least a real set of drums, but she is deserving of much more like a full ride to some artsy school. She is worthy of all the good the world has to offer. She has no concept for money at her age, other street performers do not move unless you drop a bill in their buckets, she was drumming without us being an audience to her and she continued as we walked off. The only time she looked up was to catch her sticks….that hit my heart… She was out there, because she wanted to share her talent with us.

I do not know who she is, where she lives at in New Orleans, but she gave us a free performance, without knowing we would tip her and threw her sticks in the air as if she was Sheila E 😲🔥💯⚜👏🏾. I’m pretty sure she has a band teacher out there who is proud of her.

She is talented and should have been in the SuperDome, instead of on the streets of New Orleans performing for tips.

Let’s find her New Orleans. ⚜ I think she is the next Shelia E….

As I was walking to the Dome, this young girl was drumming on her buckets with so much passion that I can not believe a child could have. Not one did she make eye contact with me or the people that passed by the record her, nor did she look to see if we dropped a tip for her.

She beat on those buckets, because she loved it. It was as if her life, her heart was beating with her strokes. I literally could feel this child’s heart, her soul. She left me looking at my passions, my talents and my purpose and if I am showing you all how much I love what I am doing with my time here on earth. This little girl inspired me.

If you’re in the industry or know of someone in the business I wld like you to help get this lil girl at least a real set of drums, but she is deserving of much more like a full ride to some artsy school. She is worthy of all the good the world has to offer. She has no concept for money at her age, other street performers do not move unless you drop a bill in their buckets, she was drumming without us being an audience to her and she continued as we walked off. She was out there, because she wanted to share her talent with us.

I do not know who she is, where she lives at in New Orleans, but she gave us a free performance, without knowing we would tip her and threw her sticks in the air as if she was Sheila E 😲🔥💯⚜👏🏾. I’m pretty sure she has a band teacher out there who is proud of her.

She is talented and should have been in the SuperDome, instead of on the streets of New Orleans performing for tips.

Let’s find her New Orleans. ⚜ I think she is the next Shelia E….

Nola have you heard of Mark Essex? 

If you are in New Orleans, you would know that not only is it a big weekend for the Saint’s game and Comic Con, but it’s the 300th Birthday of New Orleans. The city celebrated as one would for a birthday with a huge cake, well a huge cake like float was wheeled thru downtown, but cake No less. There was a huge King Cake, pieces where given out, parades, fireworks on the river, people filled Bourbon St, it was a huge Birthday Party and you know how we get down the party, is not over yet, not by a long shot.

I was among the party goers when my cousin said “You and New Orleans have birthday months in common, you are really a Nola Chic, huh?.” He was being seriously playful, teasing me, but I said “Yeah, Me and Nola are Capricorns, that’s why she endures, continues to love those who try to destroy her.” No wonder I feel so at home, at peace, mind, body and soul within her bosom, Nola is beating within my very being. I realize the pull I felt to move back home, knowing with certainty that I can fulfill my dreams, because Nola birthed me, she raised me, show me the way and made a way through my ancestors, my family. Whenever my Daddy would call me in Minnesota at some point in the conversation he would ask me why I left, stating I can make it in New Orleans. “You can be successful here, you can do it, you need to come back.” Like a Capricorn I was too cautious to just leave on the word of eveb my Daddy, but eventually I did. 

When I think of all that New Orleans has gone through and she keeps on getting back up after all the drama, all the hurt, disaster, being used and abused, New Orleans was determined to make a way out of no way for those she loves. Nola, had no choice, but to get up, revive herself to show the world and her native seed that she will recover and make a better home for all of us to return. New Orleans has a responsibility to her people. A true Capricorn lol. 

My next question was “I wonder besides the Birthday of New Orleans what happened in the world this time years ago?” My cousin Eric spoke of visiting certain areas of town that he recalled being historical as far as slavery, like Woolworths and how there was a black and white area. He made a good point about the two movie theaters downtown, the Joy and Loews. He believes the Loews was for blacks and the Joy was for whites?? I do not know, but all my life all I knew was the Loews, because it the only Dollar Show. As he made me a visual of his walk through New Orleans, he asked me if I heard of Mark Essex. No, I never heard of him, but I would learn tonight that it was the anniversary of his death along with others he killed in 1973. 

When I googled and searched Wikipedia there was little on him which I think is odd given the state of racial crimes that have happened since. I noticed that the articles written make a comparison with his and the Dallas Sniper, both were in avenge for black crimes, violence and/or deaths committed by officials.  

A black military veteran uses a high-powered rifle to target white police officers. Like all well-trained shooters, he knows that aiming for center mass is an efficient takedown, but a headshot is a guaranteed kill. His one-man war against the police department is broadcast to millions of American homes. Black citizens cheer him on, convincing the “silent majority” that a race war in a major Southern city is possible.

 

You probably think this is a description of last summer’s ambush in Dallas. The shooter, a former member of the US Army Reserve who served in Afghanistan, used a , Saiga AK-74 rifle a civilian version of the standard-issue Russian army rifle, to kill five police officers who were providing security for a Black Lives Matter rally. Before being killed by a remote controlled bomb, Micah X. Johnson told police negotiators that he “wanted to kill white people.”

 

Micah X. Johnson

Micah X. Johnson

 

Such killings are nothing new. The first paragraph describes the massacre committed by Mark Essex, a 23-year-old, ex-military, black man who used a Ruger .44 carbine and a .38-caliber pistol to kill nine people between December 31, 1972 and January 7, 1973. Five were members of the New Orleans Police Department. Then, as now, he blamed police officers—especially white officers—for “systemic racism.”

 

Born and raised in Emporia, Kansas, Essex lived a fairly ordinary life. Emporia was only two percent black during his childhood. Like most mass murderers, he was described as a “loner.” In 1969, after graduating from high school and very brief stint in college, Essex joined the US Navy. The war in Vietnam was still very hot, but Essex, who served as a dental technician, never went overseas.

Not long after joining the fleet, Essex began complaining that white peers and white petty officers made his life extremely difficult. At the Naval Air Station in Imperial Beach, California, Essex provoked a fight with a white superior. Essex wrote letters back home complaining about white racism. He grew his hair long and ran afoul of military grooming standards.He started reading about the Black Panthers and other militant black organizations. Whether real or imagined, Essex’s encounter with racism in the Navy inculcated in him a hatred for all white people.

 

Mark Essex

Mark Essex

After just two years, Uncle Sam kicked Essex out of the service with a general discharge. Officially, Essex was considered unsuited for the Navy due to “character and behavior disorders.” Once again a civilian, Essex drifted around America. He briefly joined the Black Panthers and lived for a while in San Francisco and New York, before finally settling in New Orleans.

 

 

New Orleans had mostly been spared the anarchic violence of the Civil Rights Era. However, the city was hardly a multi-racial paradise. Black Panthers and anti-war demonstrators numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. In December 1972, Essex mailed a note to WWL-TV, a local broadcasting station, warning about an attack on the New Orleans Police Department planned for New Year’s Eve. This was his letter:

Africa greets you. On December 31, 1972, aprx. 11 p.m., the downtown New Orleans Police Department will be attacked. Reason — many, but the death of two innocent brothers will be avenged. And many others.

P.S. Tell pig Giarrusso the felony action squad ain’t shit.

Mata

The sign off, “Mata,” was what Essex had begun calling himself—meaning “hunter’s bow” in Swahili.” “Giarrusso,” referred to Clarence B. Giarrusso, the police chief at the time. True to his word, Essex drove to Perdido Street and waited for NOPD officers to leave the nearby station on December 31, 1972. He shot black police cadet Alfred Harrell to death and wounded Lieutenant Horace Perez.

 

Essex fled the scene and broke into a warehouse in Gert Town, a black neighborhood where anti-cop prejudices ran high. Responding officers had no idea that the break-in was related to the murder of Harrell and Perez. K-9 officer Ed Hosli, Sr. was investigating the warehouse at South Gayoso and Euphrosine streets when Essex shot him in the back. Hosli died from his wounds two months later.

 

Six days after New Year’s Eve, Essex shot and killed a white grocer who had told the police about him. Essex then stole a car and promised its owner that he did not want to kill black people like him, “.” On January 7th, Essex invaded the Howard Johnson hotel at 330 Loyola Avenue. Essex raced up an emergency staircase to the 18th floor. The first employees he saw were black maids. He told them not to worry—he was there to kill white people.

Essex entered room 1829 and found a white couple, Dr. Robert Steagall and his wife Betty. Essex killed them both, then used lighter fluid and phone books to set the room’s curtains on fire. Essex eventually moved towards the roof. Along the way he killed hotel assistant manager Frank Schneider and shot general manager Walter Collins, who died three weeks later.

 

From the rooftop, Essex fired on NOPD officers who tried to use fire ladders to get into the burning building. Here more police officers would die from .44-caliber rounds. Officers Philip Coleman and Paul Persigo were shot and killed while taking cover in Duncan Plaza. Deputy Superintendent Louis Sirgo received a fatal wound to his spine while trying to rescue pinned down officers.

Police finally borrowed a Marine Corps CH-46 helicopter to pour fire down on Essex. The two sides exchanged rounds for a time, but after he died, investigators found that Essex had been shot 200 times.

After looking for and failing to find a suspected second sniper, New Orleans Police officers found Essex’s apartment on Dryades Street. Inside, the walls were . Most of the words were nonsensical phrases borrowed from Swahili and other African languages. Essex, it seems, thought of himself as a resurrected  warrior fighting white settlers.

Mark Essex anti-white writings

Interior of Marx Essex’s apartment.

Following Essex’s death, black militants were quick to praise him. Stokely Carmichael said that Essex carried “our struggle to the next quantitative level, the level of science. “More frightening was the real-time, on-the-ground reaction of New Orleans’ black citizenry. When they realized that Essex was targeting white people, they roared “Right on!”

These are the direct ancestors of the Black Lives Matter movement. In allying themselves with the Black Panthers and other militant black organizations, the American Left is turning more people into the likes of Mark Essex. 1973 was a terrible year for white America. Besides the crimes of Mark Essex, San Francisco’s Zebra killers were killing white police officers and butchering white civilians while white and black Leftists cheered them on. The Zebras killed fourteen people, but you have probably never heard of them. Essex held a city in complete terror for weeks, and you’ve probably never heard of him either. Forgetting such history makes whites vulnerable to the next attack.

 

Source: ‘Africa Greets You’: The Anti-White Terrorism of Mark Essex – American Renaissance