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Due to being stalked by mother’s ex-husband, I have decided to move my blog to a different address which I will not disclose here.

All content will remain unaltered but no new posts will be added. I have a lot of memories here after almost three years. I view this as a space where I can express myself and let people know what I think whether they judge or not. I have viewed it as my space, my place in a great big crowded world and I really don’t appreciate having to move, as if I am being forced out, but…

I apologize to those who are following this but I make no apologies for making an attempt to ensure my own safety and well being.

If you are currently following, sincerely wish to continue to hear from me at my new blog address, you may contact me at ms.queenly at yahoo.com, OR post a comment, if you prefer.


evermore,

Queen


Due to being stalked by my mother’s ex-husband, I am considering moving and privatizing/deleting this blog.

I know this will be an inconvenience not only to me but to everyone who follows my posts. I appreciate you but this is a choice I may have to make since this stalker is subscribed to my blog and stalking me and my family in every way he can. There is no way I can block my blog from his visitations. I don’t like feeling like I have to rearrange my life because of his behavior and harassment but I do not want this person in my life at all.

Should I decide to move and delete or move and privatize this blog, I will ask that you send me an e-mail and I will give you the new blog address if I see that you are currently subscribed.

Evermore,

Queen of Queens


In high school, you hear all your teachers and all the so-called grown folks talking about getting prepared for the “the real world”, for “real life”.

But what is the “real world”?

I recently got my first “real” job since graduating from college in 2010. I like the work, it makes me feel confident because its something I feel can do. However, its alarming and infuriating how similar high school is to my job.

Same bullshittery dealing with many coworkers and managers that you get from condescending teachers, immature brats trying to impress, and bullies. I never believed it when I saw it in movies, but “the real world”(TM) is very much like high school.

College was the greater world of high school. So work is like the greater, greater world of high school I guess. That’s if you manage to get a job.

The “real world” is not even “the real world”. I feel like a cog among cogs in a great big clock sitting in some rich person’s living for decoration.

Sometimes I’m jealous of people who work well in these constructed environments and make it look easy; I wish I had their propensity for “accepting things the way they are” and learning how to operate within the system.

But most of the time, I just think its sad. I see how society is. However, that doesn’t stop me from seeing how things could be, should be, ought to be, or whatever, and always being in the frame of mind wanting, needing, and trying to be a catalyst for change by my very presence.

Looking back on all the “on how things are [in “the real world”(TM)]” advice from school, I can see why society keeps rolling the way it does, under the guise of order, routine, and systemic process. We’re taught from day one exactly how to operate like good little cogs.

smdh,

Taviante Queens


In my stories, I have never written a character who is my skin color or lighter. All of my characters range from several shades browner than me to dark ebony-brown shades in skin tone.

Growing up in Atlanta of the Deep South, I was surrounded by Black people all the time and lived in working class/poor Black neighborhoods, so most of the direct interactions I had with white people up until I went to college came from analyzing television, reading and learning about their treachery in history class, from warnings I got from my family, and through lived experience with the system/society in general.

I appreciated and saw the beauty and glory of darker brownness in many of it’s manifestations through the people around me. These darker browns are the default Black and the default humyn being in my mind, even as I am aware that many people around the world have been brainwashed/socialized/browbeaten into believing that white is the default humyn being. Even as I was aware that we live in a world that tries to destroy and denigrate the spirits, minds, potential and bodies of darker brown Black folks.

My sister and mom (and my brother—RIP) are all darker than me and my uncles are too (aunts, not that much), which is why I was only part aware that I wasn’t the same tone as them. I never thought I was different from other Black people or should be treated differently. Additionally, my sister and I are twins so until she started calling me “white” when we were little, I didn’t realize there was any big fucking difference honestly.

Growing up, I wanted to see more fantastical stories with darker brown/dark-skinned people in them as three dimensional main characters and heroes, the people I thought I looked like, so I began writing them.

People around my skin tone or lighter just don’t occur to me. In my imagination, there’s medium brown and there’s a spectrum of darker than medium brown, there’s white people/peachy white people, and generally other people of color and the various skin tones that they appear in according to my observations.


Like that time they gave Three Six Mafia and Terence Howard awards for Hustle & Flow. (I’m still bitter because I was forced to watch this movie, so this will most likely always be my prime example.)

Or when they gave Hallie Berry that award for Monsters Ball.

Or when they gave Nikki Minaj a BET Award.

Or Denzel Washington for Training Day??? Or something like that.

Or when they awarded/nominated(??) Nelly for “Country Grammar”.

Or giving Adele, a white British woman, 6 Grammys for adopting a Black art form. (She’s got talent but I don’t know about no 6 Grammys.)

I feel like these “prestigious award-giving committees” that are televised every year are just a bunch of white people, sitting around laughing at Black people and making a mockery out of the most talented, well-known members of our communities and their careers.

The white-dominated industry decides what roles we get and in what movies. They have these images and ideas and impressions of what they think Black/African American life is like, what roles suit us–in their minds, it’s usually stereotyped, side characters, urban, abusive, and full of illegality. Because, of course, they think we should get Grammys for acting in and making music for a movie that glorifies going to jail, prostitution, abuse, exploitation and misogyny of [Black] women, violence, patriarchy, and drug trafficking.

They get to decide what we get awards for. It seems like it’s rare that Black folks get awards from these people that revolve around anything original or actually unique.

We don’t get awards for anything that they don’t intend us to get awards for.

Evermore,

Taviante Queens


This past summer in Fresno was pretty hot, even for someone like me. I come from a place of heat +++ humidity. It’s like a baking kind of heat here, like being in an oven. No me gusta.

~Queen


Black Faces, [insert Other Race here] Masks

Contrary to popular belief, there are these living concepts called internalized oppression and internalized racism. Better known, in this instance, as not wanting to Black or of African ancestry.

There are many reasons for this:

People really are multiracial and they know it for certain, with proof/documentation/photographs/family oral tradition/physical features, etc. to support their claims.

But many of us, unfortunately, have no clue. So once we are

  • socially conditioned to think Black and African peoples are the lowest, most uncivilized race on the face of the planet
  • hard-knocked and brutalized with systemic injustice for not being white,
  • indoctrinated and brainwashed by the American “melting pot theory”,
  • taught and shown that many Africans do not claim or want us either,
  • bedazzled by Black celebrities and political figures who aid white supremacy,
  • socially acclimated to claiming/imitating “blackness” only when it’s cool to someone else and it might get you something, usually status, money, or some material object
  • and boxed into believing that Black = ugly, nappy-headed, muddy earth creature,
  • anything we claim as our culture is wrong by default,

then the only logical conclusion many Black folks come to is a) being Black is the problem, not society, and b) that being Black is a horrible burden so I’ll see if I can claim something else, something cleaner, more acceptable, more exotic and revered.

They learn to defend themselves against their own Blackness by justifying it with multiraciality and multiculturalism fostered by internalized oppression and racism.

Ms. Queenly’s Testament:

I am from the Deep South, yes, the place of northern nightmare, Atlanta, Georgia. I was there and I lived there until this year, or until I went out into the “real” white world (away from the predominantly Black communities where I had lived) when I went to a predominantly white liberal private university.

My mother taught me that being of African descent is something to be deny if not be ashamed of because Africans are “dirty, old conniving folks”. She insists, even to this day, that she is Black though most of her racial makeup is that of “dark-skinned” [American?] Indians, mixed white Eurpean-descended folks, and even Mexican on my great grandfather’s side. We are “part Cherokee”, says the mama. There’s just a “little”, a smidgen of African, says mama, because “I ain’t descended from no Africans”.

I was praised by members of my family for being pretty and having somewhat longer hair and being lighter than my siblings but fat (so basically ugly), particularly by my grandmaw and mama.

Personally, I would never claim being white, even if I knew it to be true. I have never met any white relatives. Ever. I don’t mind being Mexican or Native, however, I have never been interested in investigating even if the information is there because a) its not readily available, and b) I have known Mexican@ folks to hate Black peoples and I know for sure that the Cherokee Nation has some shit they need deal with, what with expelling the Black folks that their ancestors enslaved (and raped) on a whim, and all that.

Both of my parents are Black. I identify as Black, as opposed to African American, because I view myself as someone who is several generations removed from any direct African ancestry. (Still, I do not view myself as any less connected to my Black/African ancestors who communicate with me spiritually.) I have lived in Black communities all my life, I was locked up in APS (Atlanta Public Schools), which is 96% Black, last time I checked. I have lived in working class and poor communities my entire life and and have been in and out of virtual poverty. And I have never witnessed more ignorance, pride, and hatred for Blackness and African people of the Diaspora than in the Black people I have lived in community with.

“Multiculti(s)” (multicultees): Multiraciality and Multiculturalism as a Fad

I coined my own term when I was in college dealing with the office of multicultural affairs at the university. For those championing multiculturalism and justice-free diversity: the multi-culti.

They are a cult of individuals tied together by a single purpose: creating environments that thrive on erasing racial and ethnic difference under the high-flying banner of justice-free diversity.

Black people running around claiming bi/multiraciality and multicultural heritage, whether it’s true or not, as a means to “lighten” their Blackness or African ancestry is nothing new. But when a half white, half African man became president of the United States, whoa did it blow out of control. “Looking Black” and actually being or claiming bi/multiraciality has become a fad. Because some Black people don’t view “just Black” as good enough. The words “mixed” and “ambiguous” have become even more popular.

In some Black communities, in my experience, “multiracial superiority” is a step under white supremacy.

Suddenly, it’s officially okay to “be Black”, as long as you’re mixed.

Appropriation of African and First Nations/Native Culture and Identity

Appropriating Native culture by Black folks, particularly in the U.S. doesn’t always look the same as it does for white hipsters dressed in feather headdresses swinging plastic tomahawks, and calling on their “spirit animals”.

It’s a little less flashy than all that and I’ve already mentioned it. Its something you have to live around to be able to see and comprehend. Its as simple as claiming to be Native, whether its true or not, without bothering to even learn anything about the group you’re claiming. It is as simple as saying you’re Native because you’re ashamed of being Black/of African descent, or hate yourself.

Appropriation, or more relevantly, fetishizing of African culture is a lot more visible. It’s in everything from music videos to movies to styles of dress to the way we talk about our relationships to one another (like using phrases such as ‘my Nubian queen’ and talking about the motherland without knowing anything about the motherland and being interested in making connections with its people). Coming to America staring Eddie Murphy comes to mind (that sexist shit but I will admit to letting my soul glow… (any who has seen the movie will get it)).

When I was a child, my teachers made an effort to teach Black Southern children about different African cultures and how we are connected to them. As I got older, no one did that anymore. They just taught us how to pass standardized tests, white history, white literature, white political figures, and how to fit into a white world.

The Privilege of Knowing

If you know beyond a shadow of doubt that you are Black Native or African, particularly with passed-down truths from the family or documentation and other forms of “white-approved” proof, then good for you. Congratulations, you are officially “not just Black”.

But a lot of us don’t have that kind of proof nor do we desire it.

Otherwise, I think we’re alienating, pissing off, homogenizing, and appropriating the identities, cultures, and heritages of people who are of Africa or from Africa and people who are Indigenous/Native, who are struggling to have their voices heard.

Wrap-Up

There are:

  1. White people and indigenous folks who say there are no Black Indians
  2. People, like myself, who may be Black Indian but may have no way of knowing and therefore trying to trample on Indigenous/First Nations identies
  3. Black people who claim to be Indigenous because they are ashamed of being Black
  4. Black people who ignorantly fetishize Africa and peoples
  5. Out and out cultural appropriators and racists

The whole situation is beyond frustrating and at this point in time, I don’t even know how to sort the whole thing out or even if I should be trying to.

evermore,

Taviante Queens


Typically, I wear a size 18 in pants. I’ve gained a little weight recently, no big deal. Still though: My mom got me size 26 and size 28 pants today.

I like loose clothes for being around the house when I am at ease, but its really pissing me off that she thinks that just because I’m fat anything beyond size 20 is fair game, even though I keep telling her that those sizes are usually too big for me, depending on the maker, the type of garment, and the style of how it’s made.

I insistently told her that the pants she bought me were too big. She snapped at me to try them on anyway and walked out of the room, as if I would magically find out that they were just the right size after giving them a try.

I am trying to be more confident when faced with her nonsense and bigotry. I know what size I wear. I don’t need her telling me what size I wear. It’s almost like she’s angry that bigger sizes don’t fit me. This isn’t the first time she’s done this. It bothers me that I appear larger than I really a in her eyes because I’m plus size/fat. It’s like she just sees me as this fat blob that she’s struggling to outfit because I shift shape like some kind of amorphous gel to her, always a different size but too fat for “normal sizes”.

I have suggested that if she plans to get me clothes, I will come with her but she insists on bringing stuff back home that I find disrepectful of my wishes.

shaking my head,

Taviante Queens


I keep forgetting to post this. I did work on my novel during November’s National Novel Writing Month this past year. I finished between Christmas and New Year’s at about 65,000 words and submitted it to a potential publisher who was interested in reading the whole thing. Yay!

The first and last time I officially participated in NaNoWriMo was in 2009.



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