Is the Black Diva or Legend, a thing of the past?

With an army of Pink Cadillac's, we said goodbye to the Queen of Soul. Aretha Franklin's death marked another end of an era. Her passing had me thinking about the Black musical greats who have passed during my lifetime. From Natalie Cole to Whitney Houston; Michael Jackson to Prince, I not only witnessed legends pass, but an entire music industry devolve. It seems that the definitions of the words "Legend" or "Diva" have been adjusted. Beyonce redefined the word Diva in her song, "Diva" by stating that "Diva is the definition of a hustla." Though we are temporarily blessed to still have living legends whose powerhouse careers spanned decades, they are not participating in Billboards Hot 100. Even at Aretha's funeral, a petite young white female, belted out the classic "Natural Woman." She was beloved so much, that she had her White breast groped by a Black preacher, while Fantasia and Jennifer Hudson did what they do best. They paid tribute to a Black diva with resounding vocals while not having their own music on the charts. 

Meanwhile, Ariana Grande has a legendary career, she could be considered a diva in training, but she's White. Demi Lovado, when she's not overdosing on unknown substances, is surely a powerhouse, but she's White. Sam Smith and Adele put down their tea and crumpets to take over the world with their version of soul. Aretha even praised Adele and covered her music. However, they, once again, are White. So White, that they are from Great Britain. It seems that Adele is creating a catalog similar to what a Great like Aretha would create. You know, timeless ballads, undeniable classics. The problem is not her talent, nor is there a debate about her right to be on the charts, but the issue is in preferential treatment. 

Lets discuss the ghosting of Black singers who record but are not afforded the same visibility Adele has achieved. Black women with powerhouse vocals and timeless classics do exist in the recording studio, but they rarely perform on a Grammy stage. They are rarely charting or receiving acclaim in this modern era where White dominates rap and soul music. Correct me if I am wrong, but both genres were created by Blacks, yet White musicians seem to not only be placed in starring roles these days, but they are also in the boardrooms profiting off of it. Is the Black female diva dead? Or has she simply changed?

Does she now make the crowd go "Ape Shit" and dumb her vocals down like a mumble rapper? Does she now have a Barbadian accent and a mediocre singing voice? Don't get me wrong, these charting modern Black women are extremely talented. However, some of their peers are almost nameless. Where is Melanie Fiona? We know what Fantasia and Hudson are doing. Where is Jazmin Sullivan? Why is KeKe Wyatt mostly known for making funny faces on television and for a couple of hits with singer Avant? You mean to tell me that KeKe Wyatt isn't as famous and awarded as Adele? Hmmm, why is that? 

We love Beyonce, we appreciate her support of our Black Lives, and she's delivered nothing short of HITS and club bangers. However, can I be frank? She's not creating a string of Dionne Warwick timeless classics. She's not even giving us a signature song like "I say a little prayer" 

She's not belting out anything like Whitney's "I will Always Love You" and consistently delivering classics like that. Sure, she has "Listen", "Halo" and "1+1" or whatever mathematical equation she claimed to master but this isn't her standard. She's unfocused. Her career is all over the place. She's apart of a generation of performers who lack a road map. She started out like Diana Ross and ended up like Nicki Minaj. Now she's rapping, trapping, twerking, raising a fist while mumble singing. She's riding a conscious wave and that's fine, but while she's On the Run for a second time, her new music is lackluster. Will the crowds go "Ape Shit" fifty years from now? That song isn't memorable like many of her newer songs aren't. Meanwhile Adele is so loud that we can barely hear her. 

I don't agree with respectability politics, however we no longer commercialize the Black classy diva/pop star. Though I maintain cynicism, there are aspects of yesteryear written on a few acts of today.  I do believe that James Brown lives inside of Chris Brown. The older divas and legends had their issues, but with social media, we now know ALL of their issues. Once again, Chris Brown is a legend in my opinion, but his music isn't legendary. Think on that for a second before you react to the statement. 

This in my opinion is a fault in the music industry machine itself. It has become lazy. It pushes out mindless hits rather than innovation and longevity. Long gone are the days when someone like Mariah Carey can stand on stage and belt out music without dancing or having some kind of gimmick. Then again, the only people who are able to get away with that are folks like Adele or Jesse J. Sure, Black girls can stand and sing, if they don't want wealth and recognition, that is. Twerking is required, singing about being a Thot like SZA may be required.  (But she lost her voice so it doesn't matter) Jesse J can rise to super-stardom, solely with her voice, while Dawn curses and gets plastic surgery. And we wonder why Chrisette Michele didn't say no to a job? Can you blame her for performing at a racists inauguration ball? Where else is she going to perform? It's a Black mumble singing world, complete with blonde weaves and twerking. A Sista has dinner to cop. 

I grew up worshipping the talent of Blacks in r&b. Whitney sang the national anthem and made you think you were actually free. Brandy's vocal Bible runs and Monica's sassy slayage. CeCe Peniston had my little ass in my parents car, feeling like a baby drag queen. Not to mention the countless groups and the many men like R. Kelly and Tevin Campbell. It seemed music was about talent first, there were few gimmicks yet multiple real talents were out at once. You could envision a Tevin Campbell lifetime achievement award in the future. You just knew that BOYS II MEN weren't going anywhere. Now all BOYS II MEN can get is a cameo in a stupid commercial. The nineties was the grand finale of real music. They pushed everyone out at once so we could prepare for the death of Black Music Excellence. Mariah did it like none other and even made Christmas synonymous with her. Fast Forward to today and shes a flop. Regardless of her record breaking diamond career, she can't score a hit. Nor can Toni Braxton, Shanice, Tamia and countless others. It seems the world forgot about the Black voices that made it possible for the appropriation. Adele should take it as a compliment if anyone were to ever call her a "Fat ass Kelly Price". Kelly claimed she is "booked" but she wasn't even in a position to get groped at Aretha's funeral. A little White girl was. 

Former Mariah Carey backup singer and 90s solo soul singing sensation, Kelly Price
has lost weight over the years but hasn't gained hits

Me with diva Kelly Price, August 2016

While Patti Labelle bakes her pies for Walmart, I have to wonder, are there any young Black singers who will enjoy a career and image like hers? Where are they? Are we witnessing the extinction of the Black diva? Is she now just a hustla, willing to compromise for wealth and international fame? Maybe the people are to blame. They are buying into the dumbing down of black music. We sat there and let Robin Thicke make a mockery out of Marvin Gaye. How did we do that? By buying into the damn song until it was a hit. Though he has been cast away like the trash he is, we still have other White faces, sneaking in and making it even harder for Black artists to get a foothold in the industry. We aren't even going to talk about the tatted up faced rap game where a Mexican calls us Niggas. 

When a White woman belts out vocals, she's decorated. When a Black woman like Ledisi does so, we forget that her name rhymes with legacy. However we also have John. Last name Legend. He to me, is one and I can't write this without mentioning such a man who is the epitome of class and continued longevity. We can name Black artists who are legends to us, but they lack consistency. Keep in mind, A diva and a legend must have consistency. Veterans like Mary J. Blige, Faith Evans or R. Kelly arrived before the fall of the industry. They are aging divas/legends and are no longer viable. This conversation is about the current industry and its current class.

We once boycotted Whitney for being "too White" and selling herself short. She got the message. Now we help White musicians on stage to receive their awards for soul music. Now we applaud a blonde weave and cursing all over a record and call her a revolutionary diva. Funny how times change.

Where have all the Black divas gone? 

Many will argue that Beyonce is THE Black diva. Sad even if she is one because she would be the ONLY one. A diva has to be able to SANG not sing, so Rihanna is out of the running. Queen Bey, She does call herself a diva, but why should we settle with just her? She did mirror Tina Turner and Diana for a while, but again, she's inconsistent. She's several years overdue for a powerhouse ballad that crosses genres.

You could never clone any of the greats like Tina, Chaka, Whitney, Aretha, Patti, Michael, Prince, James, Marvin, the list goes on. However, we don't have acts coming up now who could thrive in their arena. What we do have, are three high yellow people who aren't consistent and have recently watered themselves down. They all seem to take an interest in mumble rap as well. Bey, Rihanna and Chris, I respect your careers but don't respect the lack of growth. We actually need more than hits, we need a legendary timeless body of work that evolves. Further, previous generations, especially Motown artists were able to achieve hits and support well into their forties. Now Toni Braxton has to rely on a reality show and Mariah is resting on her old laurels. 

There is an entire generation of greats dying off, sadly their legacy ends with them. Yes the industry is allowed to change, but not if raw talent is no longer a necessity. It was so sad when Aretha Franklin was only able to praise the vocals of one current artist. Adele. A white woman from another country. 

Constantly Mourning Relationships I never had

He looked similar to this, always shirtless too...

He was perfect. An American alpha male, bearded and ready to fight to the death like Leonidas. He worked that beefy body out daily and it showed. Every time I went to his place, he answered his door shirtless. He was strong, beefy and had a commanding presence. He was also humble and easy to talk to. He had dark features and deep fiery eyes that looked into mine every time I spoke. He was attentive and supportive. After drinks at the straight bars, he would allow me to crash on his couch. I yearned to enter his bedroom as my erection pressed against his couch pillows. I wanted him to take my mind, body and soul. I wanted him to unleash his fury and turn my ass into a battlefield. However, those thoughts did not overshadow my appreciation for the bromance. He was heterosexual after all, at least that's what he called himself. He never made a move on me, but his presence was addictive. We lost touch and he moved away. I miss him everyday. But what exactly am I missing? He gave me so much more than any of the gay men were willing to give. He was foreplay without sex. We had late night conversations and we laughed together. I felt human around him and his laid-back personality was refreshing. He had that organic manliness that I craved. Grindr or Craigslist Personals, made me feel dirty afterward. They weren't interested in simply going out and having a good time. It was almost as if I experienced dating, with a straight man; Something gay men refused to provide.

The Jamaican's Patois talked me out of my pants and he fucked me on the floor. For several days, I pulled at his locs as he entered me. We spoke of my parents, grandparents, my fears, my past, my dreams and my insecurities. He had a boyfriend back on the island, but that Summer, he was all mine. I knew he would depart eventually. I understood that the stroke of his tongue against my neck and the scent of natural oils from his body would dissipate. I knew I'd be back to reality, but I submerged myself in his dark brown skin. He wore tank tops like a uniform, His rippling muscles flexed as he raised his glass at the bar. He danced with me at a club and I remember the elation on his face. He called me beautiful, in the way only an island man could. He went back to his little boyfriend in Jamaica, but somehow, I went into shock. I can still taste his dick.

Actual Photo. LEFT: He was delicious in every way possible

Often, I feel like the universe is teasing me. It allows me to taste the sweetest, juiciest fruits, only to snatch them away and deem them forbidden. I can't seem to keep anyone around, or meet someone who is even available. The moments I have shared with so many are beautiful, breath-taking, others not so much. However, those beautiful moments of sitting on a Ferris Wheel or bowling with my straight friend, I wouldn't take back. I miss Daylin, the beautiful heterosexual who I often wondered about. How drunk do I have to get him? Why is his dick erect while he is sitting next to me? I recall Benn, the tall, dark and handsome gay man who had a good job but the mind of a child. He was only interested in playing with my emotions. He was the type to celebrate my birthday and come to my graduation party as my "Date", only to never commit. After ghosting, he drunkenly told me he loved me, then he went ATV'ing with his new lover in the desert. 

I miss bowling with this STUD

The father of all of the ghosts was De'Andre. I was naive, insecure and seventeen. He was twenty-three and afraid of himself, hiding in a masquerade of heterosexual images for the world. He was light skin, fit with long cornrows. I was his dirty secret. I was his long ride around Rock Creek Park, Washington DC in the late of night. I was sex in his apartment but I was never to say hello to him in public. I was his shame behind the tinted windows of his Cadillac. I went away to Atlanta for college and learned to love myself more. It took catharsis to realize that he was never a boyfriend. Yet I miss the way he got inside of my head and kept me at the edge of reason. 

Why do I torture myself? Why do I even attempt with these men? I've been a slut just to feel wanted, just to feel SOMETHING because there always nothing. Voids never filled. The men were never too thrilled about anything consistent or long term. I knew I'd feel the burn, but what is to learn? Should I just be a recluse and take no risks at all? Bitterness isn't healthy either. People say that love will find me and to stop looking for it. But I rarely am even in situations where I believe I will meet someone. Most gay men like myself are relegated to apps since there aren't many venues for us beyond bars. Even when I think I find someone, it always appears that I am the only one sending a text. I am often left on "READ" and I hear excuses about busy schedules. Kissing stopped meaning anything over a decade ago. They can french kiss me for hours, then leave me dehydrated. 

I try not to be cynical, I try to maintain hope but it truly is a challenge. I want to FEEL that feeling and have it stay. I know what I want. I understand the law of attraction but that new age shit hasn't even delivered an appetizer. 

What if this gay lifestyle is just so sexually driven, that I am more easily impressed by any hint of depth? Even the gay couples I come across are in open relationships. They are often more promiscuous than they were when they were single. I've been invited into numerous marital bedrooms. I often wonder if there is such a thing as a monogamous gay couple. Then again, the straights seem to have difficulty in that area as well. But for this purpose, I will focus on the gay lifestyle because it is my perspective. 

Just like the film "MOONLIGHT" I miss what I never had. They constantly had me wanting more

When a gay man like myself comes across a guy on say,... Grindr, you're already being asked about sex. "What do you get into?" Is the first line of questioning, typically before your name is asked, if at all. Your name isn't important. Your identity is a sex role. Top, bottom or versatile. I've had great sex, but little to no real connections. I mourn the loss of those who brought me feelings, but butterflies have a short life span. I don't want to lead with body parts, I want a guy to investigate my Zodiac sign. I've never truly had a romantic relationship. I've never been fulfilled. I am mourning moments, rather than rings. I am naked on an island of orgies, waiting for someone to dress me up and respond to the dissertations in my mind. 

I am Waiting...

I'm a gay man, kissed by straight men. I've had dates with straights and parted ways with gays. I miss sex as if it mattered. I miss bowling when it was all a mind game. I've lived in houses that were never built. I am constantly mourning because every package is always fleeting. I go forward armored with spectacular moments that I want duplicated and merged into one man. One man who stays. One man who wants my mind, body and soul. One man who can penetrate my mental like the hetero's have, but fucks my body like no gay man ever has. One man who calls to hear my voice. One man who is moment after spine tingling moment. One man, who makes me forget about the men I never had. The men I never needed. One man who kisses me on a beach after years of playing in the sandbox. One man whose eyes communicate with one single glance, that he will never, ever leave my side. 

Like "MOONLIGHT", I hope the years of confusion and unrequited love, reward my lack of patience

And then, there was CARDI...Why CARDI B Rose to Hip Hop Prominence

The sound is faint, but the eighties baby struggles to hear echoes from dynamic voices of the nineties MC. The generation that witnessed the assassinations of Tupac and Christopher Wallace, has now become a generation like many before it, wondering what happened to "real music."

We are perplexed to say the least. Now exists a hip hop scene that has grown unrecognizable. It doesn't look or feel like the hip-hop we remember. New York and Los Angeles aren't ruling the airwaves with unmistakable lexicons, everything seems to have blended. The internet has birthed a fleet of young rappers with Instagram fame and Sound Cloud validation, when once upon a time, the masses had to actually go out and purchase a physical body of work. They exist as Itunes hits, flamboyant but cloned personalities with little life experience and little to no substance in their lyrics. They call themselves rappers, but they feel like impostors, as we remember the grit of a rapper like DMX.

We shake our heads in disgust, as clowns receive clout and disrespect the legends of our great era. Gone are the days of real life testimony of the Black experience in urban America, even though we are gunned down by police. Now we witness lighter hues, that don't share our experience, speaking in a vernacular that should insult our intelligence. They call themselves hip hop and grant themselves awards before they are recognized. We remember the humility of Niggas with Attitude. (NWA) Now a Mexican screams the word Nigga and places himself above the Black rappers of New York.

Throughout all of the auto-tuned rappers and one hook wonders, there remained an unmistakable and unavoidable void. The industry was slowly losing money due to streaming, but that was only half the story. The public craved authenticity. They wanted a love story. They wanted to FEEL someone! They needed a backstory, someone relatable, a different perspective....Hell...SOMETHING! Catchy hooks and cute gimmicks couldn't keep the buzz alive. Even Nicki Minaj failed to maintain her glory, as her music charted but didn't stay there. We grew tired of her larger than life posterior body part, her gimmicky presentation, resting bitch-face persona and arrogant attitude. She was known for her music but not for her personality. And there-in lied the problem. She had no real substance. Her personality? Well there wasn't one, per-say, there were many. Many scripted theatrical personalities that confused the Hip Hop heads. Hip Hop was built off of authenticity and upliftment out of struggle. It originated from people expressing their most personal struggles through spoken word.

Nicki popped on the scene posing like someone we remember; legs wide open and the next thing we knew, She was a "Five Star Chick" But who was she? We didn't know and many didn't seem to care. They bought into her many personalities that had nothing to do with the real her. She hid behind neon wigs and costumes while those her age looked at her like she was crazy. We didn't understand this rap version of Lady Gaga. We wanted what we fell in love with as children to return to the mainstream. We wanted Queen Latifah to stop singing and modeling, we wanted her to shed the blonde weave and wrap her regal head. We wanted her to speak about Unity and we wanted Lauryn Hill to come back to Earth. Meanwhile, Nicki developed a fanbase with teenagers who knew nothing about the women of Hip Hop from our hay day. We appreciated Nicki's lyrical word play and the woman had bars, but she just didn't have that round the way girl feel. It was as if she were, dare I say it, a manufactured BARBIE. Pure perfection, wigs hot against her skull, a feature on everyone's hit song and we grew tired of her early.

 It began to feel as if the machine were pushing her clout more than the people were. She was a lone wolf in a sea in a male dominated industry. Even though there were plenty of female rappers around, somehow, she was the only one on our radio stations. Something didn't add up. As she twerked her firm ass on our televisions screaming about an Anaconda, we rolled our eyes to another Azealia Banks controversy. We said goodbye to the rapper Eve as she frequented Dubai with her Billionaire husband. We felt sorry for Foxy Brown who couldn't hear, and we were confused by the new Lil Kim. Dej Loaf was cute, but that was it, she couldn't compete with someone like Nicki, nor could Young Ma who wasn't even trying to. There was a White Austrailian who developed a southern accent, and she was pushed as a pop artist more than a rapper. She was just too fancy to spit bars in the alley with Remy Ma. Speaking of her, there was so much hype surrounding her return, but she didn't deliver what we asked for and her obsession with Nicki overshadowed any attempt at a hit song.

So Remy reemerged with a confusing looking and sounding Lil Kim, whose autotuned singing wasn't what we ordered from the menu.

And then, there was Cardi.

It was a sound we remembered. The hard beat and aggressive voice that effortlessly told an unapologetic story of resilience. It sounded something like female empowerment that we missed. Her red bottoms were "Bloody Shoes",, and though it was simple, it communicated a strength that was greatly missed. She was that round the way girl we craved. There was a huge vacancy, and she was right on time. Who is that girl? People whispered. Many knew who she was but were surprised to actually love Bodak Yellow. Some knew her from funny Instagram videos while others, Love & Hip Hop. Either way, Cardi, was an authentic personality. She was that stripper who had a mouth that no one could tame. She felt like a rebel rather than a robot. She was a woman with flaws and a woman who rapped about those flaws. We had enough Barbies, we wanted a gangsta bitch. We wanted a conversation and not a commercial. We wanted a stripper with a machine gun. We wanted a bitch who didn't sing, but rapped about getting her teeth fixed and how expensive that shit was. We could relate and she was the warrior princess of us, the underdogs. Men felt her, women felt her, children felt her and Hell, Even Oprah Winfrey felt her! What Cardi B brought to the game, was the clarity that only broken English could communicate. She didn't need to speak the queens English or discuss who she's better than, she only needed to tell us who she was. No frills, no diamond necklaces. She was the imperfection we missed.

She was that woman who didn't need singing on her single. She didn't need to sound like pop. She carried the entire song with that hardcore beat and we responded. It had been quite some time since a song like that, male or female had hit the radio waves. Even the men were singing or making strange incoherent noises in their lackluster music. The music industry was already trying to comprehend the public's obsession with social media talent. The masses were losing interest in the machines Barbie dolls and GI Joe's. Internet rappers were all the rage because there was at least somewhat of an illusion of authenticity.
However, a girl from the Bronx managed to talk her shit right onto Billboards Number 1 slot.

She went from oversharing on Instagram to co-hosting with Jimmy Fallon. The more people were exposed to her, the more they fell in love with her. The more people had experienced Nicki, the more indifferent they became. The industry had to cope with the idea that the public didn't want their manufactured doll babies, they wanted life. They wanted an artist who would curse on live television or discuss feeling butterflies in her vagina at the GRAMMYS. They wanted a woman who wasn't going to apologize for being pregnant nor stop any scheduled promotions because of it. They wanted a woman who would pop her pussy at Coachella while nearly about to give birth. The world wanted a rapper who actually spoke to them rather than someone who treated rapping like a term paper. Others bragged about their writing skills while Cardi just said what she felt. She was a Cinderella story. While a Barbie twirled and bragged about her wealth before entering her private plane, the world craved Cardi. When she spoke up, we knew we were receiving what we prayed for. There was no mistaking CARDI. The world is partying with Cardi.

THE 5 BIGGEST SIGNS OF LONELINESS

The funny thing about loneliness, is that you don't have to be alone to feel it. I can't place the moment when I started forcing jokes and faking smiles. It seems to have always been this way; Simply existing. Painfully, I tolerate the presence of people and the absence of myself.

Sometimes I think that we are all lonely, but some just hide it better than others. The crazy part is, most of us aren't even aware that we are lonely. After some deep introspection, I have diagnosed myself and maybe you can as well. Here are FIVE ways to tell that you are lonely.

 Social Media Addiction

1

"A selfie a day keeps the tears away"  There's nothing wrong with it, we all do it. We find ourselves walking down the sidewalk and encounter the perfect lighting. We snap a selfie, we wait for the LIKES, we look to see WHO liked the photo and we hope there are positive comments. But how many is too many? Anything over one selfie a day in my opinion is a bit too much unless you're an "INSTAGRAM MODEL" getting paid for it. However, multiple selfie's a day in my eyes is equal to a desperate cry for HELP. Not just for attention, but a cry out to the universe that screams, "I EXIST! WHY IS NO ONE REALLY SEEING ME?" You can't possibly be content with how the world sees you if you have to force yourself on your followers every hour with a brand new selfie. Ask yourself, Why am I posting another photo instead of really EXPERIENCING my day? 

Why do we take selfies with our friends for the admiration of strangers? These random people on social media like our photos but they will never send us birthday cards. They will never be there with you eating ice cream in the middle of the night if your boyfriend breaks up with you. Why do we want their approval? We just want to perform, but we aren't truly connected. I recall going to bars and thinking to myself, at least I'll get a good photo from this. Yet it's all fake. I didn't have a blast at the bar, but by looking at my smiling filtered photo, you'd assume I was the life of the party. Who am I trying to impress? It seems I am only trying to convince myself. See, I went out, I was around other humans in a social environment, LOOK WORLD, I exist and I am smiling! But I can't convince myself of it, even though the likes keep chiming on my phone, I have no one to actually CALL.

Are you obsessively reaching out to others on social media sites? Do you constantly feel the need to comment on gossip sites, hoping others will interact with you? Do you troll just to see if you can affect the emotions of others? Does it make you feel alive, just by the acknowledgment of pure strangers? Are you spending hours every day online, snapping, chatting, uploading and tweeting? How much time do you spend in the real world, face-to-face with others or merely being happy with what the mirror told you?

I pull out my phone and take a selfie from the "GOOD" angle that guarantees likes. I just wish I could FEEL the likes.

Feeling Disconnected

2

You hate the Thanksgiving dinners because you never seem to get full. Not from the food, but from the people who are suppose to be family. You see, we fill ourselves with food instead of real conversations with family members. You see them once a year but you've never seen their tears. The cousins who have never seen you without a turkey involved. The aunts who arrive and hand you money, but they've never called you on an August afternoon just because.

There are so many ways we cover up loneliness with false abundance and false connections. Our entire culture is lonely, thus the creation of Thanksgiving. We aren't giving thanks, we are inventing a time of year that we can feel comforted by. However Calendars cannot cure loneliness. I've covered myself with so many distractions. It's like the more people that are around me, the lonelier I become. I want to tell fake people to shut the fuck up with their small talk. I haven't spoken to you since college, we didn't talk much then and now you are showing me photos of your babies. Why? It burns even more, when the mouths move but the hearts are frozen. People ask, "How are you?" but they're rushing away, not giving an actual fuck. But back to you, do you feel like everyone is an actor? Do you often feel that no matter what anyone says, they are just being polite? When you are around a group of people, do you feel like your mouth is moving but you aren't really present?

They say stop and smell the roses...

But what about stopping and smelling each others spirits? What about the humans? Roses can't speak. It is truly insufferable to walk into work only to feel like a piece of a program, instead of a piece of humanity. Co-workers talk to you, but they have to be there. You have to censor yourself, so that you don't communicate too realistically. You must always adjust your essence to a work environment of fraudulence. You are here to be a drone. You don't feel valued, not because you fear could be fired at any moment, but because your boss sees you as merely a worker bee. It seems you are always at work and always having to exist in this fake sphere of interaction. And we all carry it with us beyond work.  Do you work well with others? It's a commonly asked question on the job applications, but how can you work well with anyone whose not even being themselves? You aren't even being yourself. It's a performance, you are playing a role. You are escaping to the bathroom every chance you get. Yes you work well with others because you know how to read a script, but during lunch, you're in the handicap stall, balling your eyes out. It's just like junior high.

Overindulgence

3

How did I become an adult yet I am still waiting on text messages to be answered? Like a melodramatic teenager wondering if my friends put me on the back burner, I like their photo hoping they'll remember I exist. I look at all of the happy friendships on Instagram and I wonder what they share that makes them so elated. I look at my unanswered texts and I feel like a loser. If only we could box our human connections up in pretty Valencia filtered Instagram posts. If they only felt as good as they look on social media. If only those same people in the photos smiling with you, actually show up when the party is over. Parties are fun, but only because you are drunk or eating or being fooled by dance music. Why did I come in the first place? Why am I overindulging on the food?

Though I am skinny, food has always been a drug for me. Hell we all know what comfort food is. It's hard to remember you're lonely when you are making love to a Five Guys burger. It's just food, yet we feel so bad about eating at a restaurant bar alone. We eat comfort food because humans aren't comforting us. We eat because we want to talk about the turkey, rather than pour into each other during Thanksgiving. We need a delicious distraction.

What if families sat around a table during the holidays, and that table didn't have food on it?

I remember going to a new high school after tenth grade. The horror of it all still sends fear up my spine. The quintessential moment of walking into a crowded cafeteria and knowing no one, well that applies to my entire adulthood. I walk into rooms full of people and I don't know where to sit. I don't know where I fit into any of it. Even when I mingle with a certain subset of people, somehow I feel that I'm just performing and not truly engaging. This is why we as humans often congregate around food, it's a way to overindulge to distract ourselves from the loneliness that people make us feel. Yes, that is correct, most people are MORE LONELY when you add more people to the equation. Or what if it's just two of you? And you're naked?

Well overindulging in sex is a clear sign of severe loneliness. Its more than just promiscuity, you desperately NEED to feel some kind of connection with another human. For me, Sex is all about feeling but often times the more sex, the lonelier and more unfulfilled I become. A warm body isn't always an easy answer to being alone. After I cum, I look around me wondering how I can extend that good feeling. After all, he's already putting his clothes on and returning to his stoic form of expression. It can become an endless cycle, like a drug addiction, Searching for more sex but never achieving that ultimate high, that ultimate connection.

Sex can be the closest you'll get to someone, or it can thrust you away from them. Sex can take you deep into someone, but it can also make you feel so far from them. What guys have done to my body has felt amazing, but most of the time, I wasn't even there. It's like I was watching my own porn. After it was over, I had to come back to earth and realize, "THAT'S NOT MY MAN" and I will probably never see him again.

Partying way too often

4 

We combat loneliness in our own ways. I have stuffed animals, Apple Music, Grindr, a bar tab and coupons for Popeyes printing out right now. There were times in my early twenties that I couldn't stay out of a club or bar. I would flirt, drink and dance the night way and do it all again the next day. I wanted to feel connected to others, but I was just a blur in the strobe lights to others. The people I met wouldn't remember me the next day and the friends who I went out with just saw me as SOMEONE TO GO OUT WITH. A club buddy and nothing more. The only sober times we spent together were when we were waiting in line to get into the club.

There is nothing wrong with partying, I love to have a good time, but sometimes we have to take step back and wonder if it's too much too often. Maybe stay in and have a movie night instead of going to that crowded club of smelly people. You can pour your own drink the way you like it at home rather than a bartender who stiffs you on alcohol content. Do you feel that you always have to go out just because its the weekend? Does it usually not even fulfill you? You keep doing it anyway, because lil' Jon's "SHOTS" came on the radio and now you feel its Friday and its time to get wasted. But you'll get wasted and you'll be unable to feel any connections. If you go out all of the time, but never feel like you felt when you sat by a bonfire in middle school with friends, then its time for adjustments. If you are truly connected and content with the people in your life, then you don't ALWAYS have to go out just to be around strangers or mere associates. If your social life always involves being around multiples of people, then there's no way you are connected. You are lonely, because that's a crowd. And crowds cannot give you all of its attention.

Dating Indiscriminately 

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The truth is, you don't NEED to date anyone, at least right now. You will continue to breathe if you go a few months or years without a relationship. However, the TV ads and movies have you wanting that cinematic romance. Or maybe even just someone to argue with and have make-up sex with. You crave someone, anyone in your bed and in your life. However when you find someone, they make you unhappy....EVERY. TIME. Why? 

Because you're only dating them for their existence. You have not done your homework on yourself to find out who is the best type of person for you. These men, these women are just available, so you take them up on their offer. You may have good sex, even great sex but there is no deep connection. You move on from that fling to another one and its the same thing. You are searching for someone to play a role and not for someone to love. What is the point of dating if there is no path toward love? Without a path you will continue to feel empty with every new body that enters your bedroom. You are addicted to someone calling you "BABY" rather than someone who can really make your heart skip a beat. The fact that he or she can kiss your neck isn't special, it feels just as good as if anyone else did it.  There is nothing wrong with dating, or even dating multiple people, but if you are someone who dates and gets in and out of relationships quickly, there's a problem. That problem is loneliness. The cure is not another person, the cure is yourself. You have to realize that the more of these "Dates" you bring into your life, the less fulfilled you will feel until you FOCUS. A person who is not lonely can go a while without searching for a date or craving a relationship. They can sit with themselves and let the universe do its work. You, my friend, know good and well that this individual isn't THE ONE, yet they are in your bathroom brushing their teeth. You hate how they leave the dental floss all over the sink and the only thing you have in common is a love for red wine and 90's sitcoms. Why are they there? They are only there because your subconscious needs this illusion of companionship. It's a fraud. You don't need to rush into dating, sit back and get to know yourself. You are less lonely when you are alone. It sounds strange, but if you are constantly needing to date new people, then maybe who is missing at the table, is YOU. 

CHRIS ROCK SHUNS BLACKS FOR WHITE ACCEPTANCE

What did yall expect?

Legendary Comfort Girl Chris Rock, hosted the White Oscars and took that opportunity to throw Black people under the bus.
In the midst of heightened controversy surrounding Hollywood's lack of diversity and the Academy's lack of fucks to give for people of color, Rock decided that the best position for him to take on a platform that reached millions, would be the position of "You're not a Kappa" Yes, Rock in typical fashion, secured his place in the establishment by tap dancing and smiling WIDE to an audience of pampered chosen people. If you were expecting him to take a stand and use that platform to preach the revolutionary gospel then you were sadly mistaken and quite frankly, you were not paying attention. 

White Hollywood darling Leonardo Dicaprio, star of "DJANGO" laughs with his house slave Stephen 

Rock, like many A listers in the entertainment industry, is a paid comfort girl, propped up to make White people comfortable. Occasionally the machine will allow for one of these Black comfort girls to raise a fist and feign a revolution but the puppet strings are never too far behind. The establishment has taken these serious issues of diversity, racism, police brutality, government mishandling of Black lives and so forth, and trivialized it. Put it into a catchy beat and under a SAFE blonde weave. They have taken the biggest Black comedian next to Kevin Hart and put him on a national stage to praise White people and shame the Blacks. These Blacks, his so-called people, were the punch line the entire night. 

Racism, whether it be "sorority" or "cross burning" racism is far too serious to have a punch line at all, especially when you stand on the very stage that racism permeates. These were his peers who dared to question the status quo of be a slave and the White man will give you his Oscar statue that is a rip off of our African ancestors in Kemet. These were his peers, Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith who sang his praises expecting for him to be the voice of the voiceless when instead he was the voice of the slavemaster. When Black people are rising up left and right, demanding better police forces, water systems, justice, diversity in media and entertainment, you sir, Mr. Rock, stand and discuss a Black woman's panties. This Black woman, RIHANNA, recently broke records with 14 number one singles to her career, but at the Oscars, she was just a pair of panties. As Leonardo Dicaprio laughed knowing he was one of those men to get into those panties. Jada Smith and Rihanna, you need to respond. 

It is time to clap back. I mean, why not PARIS HILTON'S Panties? Or here is something, how about we stop the misogyny and make jokes at White peoples expense. You know, the people who caused this issue to begin with. Black people did not cause this. Sure the OSCARS has always been racist, but so has many of our police forces. Are we not suppose to be upset at police brutality in 2016 because it has been happening since the 60s and even before that? The comparison to the 1960s should have opened your eyes to Chris Rock...

This is a Black man who stood up there and said that racism happened in the 1960's so why get upset about it now? As if to say, it has always been this way, just deal with it. I recall Black outrage over the Oscars over the years and though I was not around in the 60's, I know history, and Dorothy Dandridge created a bit of outrage when she did not win an Oscar and there was also talk about her playing a "floussy" and how she was a "Sell out" for White Hollywood in hopes of an Oscar. The conversations existed, the outrage existed, there was just no social media. And if you were not uncomfortable as White people sat and laughed at an image of someones Black grandmother hanging from a tree....then you are just fast asleep and frankly a waste of space. You should never put something that graphic and historically painful in the context of a joke, ESPECIALLY as a BLACK A LIST ACTOR on a stage that is currently experiencing accusations of racism. 

WHITE PEOPLE LAUGHING AT THEIR PAID FOR ENTERTAINER, CHRIS ROCK JOKE ABOUT LYNCHINGS

And what a way to welcome Black history month, by having TWO shuckin and jiving COMFORT GIRLS to promote WHITE POWER, CHRIS AND STACEY. Oh yes, she came out looking like a flapper in Black face. The woman who notoriously exclaimed that Blacks do not deserve nor need their own award shows, showed up to the Oscars with Chris Rock to basically say, THIS SHOULD BE GOOD ENOUGH! TAP DANCING AND LOOKING LIKE CLOWNS ON WHITE AWARD SHOWS SHOULD BE GOOD ENOUGH AS LONG AS A BLACK FACE IS THERE. 

And Whoopi and Kevin Hart and the rest of the SPONSORED black people smiled and nodded. After all, they are paid for and have all of the toys and trinkets that Hollywood can offer. Will and Jada have been shut out, all because they have been creating Black productions like Taharqa...yea, a movie about ancient Egypt accept the characters are historically accurate...they look like me. 

ACTOR KEVIN HART LAUGHING AT ROCKS JOKES ABOUT BLACK PEOPLE

What most do not know, is that they have experienced a lot of roadblocks on other productions and have refused to play by the game, and it did not start with him not being nominated for CONCUSSION. The media is careful about what is reported, the narrative has to remain, that Will is just bitter, Jada is just defending her mans talent...and its no big deal. Chris had a job to do and his purpose was damage control for the Academy. Rock was a paid public relations antic. They knew long ago that no Blacks would be nominated...again. It wasn't HIS show. He was there for the best interests of the network and the Academy. Just like the head of the academy is a Black woman, the host of the show was a Black man, and they are both hired clowns to make everything look diverse. But you can put a Black man or woman in the White House, at the end of the day, it will still be called "THE WHITE HOUSE"

Malcolm X spoke of the house negro. 

"

And the house Negro always looked out for his master. When the field Negroes got too much out of line, he held them back in check. He put 'em back on the plantation. The house Negro could afford to do that because he lived better than the field Negro. He ate better, he dressed better, and he lived in a better house. He lived right up next to his master - in the attic or the basement. He ate the same food his master ate and wore his same clothes. And he could talk just like his master - good diction. And he loved his master more than his master loved himself. That's why he didn't want his master hurt. If the master got sick, he'd say, "What's the matter, boss, we sick?" When the master's house caught afire, he'd try and put the fire out. He didn't want his master's house burned. He never wanted his master's property threatened. And he was more defensive of it than the master was." -Malcolm X

So it appears that the White master is indeed sick, uncomfortable and traumatized by his own racism reflected in media. And here came CHRIS ROCK, to comfort his White master, to wear the masters clothes, speak the masters diction and live in the masters neighborhood....Here came Chris Rock, to put his BLACK peers back in check, back on that plantation of complacency. Why complain when this is just how it is, always was and always shall be? This is who you are nigger. FALL IN LINE. SHUCK AND JIVE. 

But the field negro, the smart one, waits until they have penetrated the masters house. Gotten in good with the house negro and the master. Graduated to a form of house negro status, and only then, when all the tables are set with the finest china, THEY STRIKE!

MORE POWER TO YOU JADA PINKETT SMITH!