Would you run with an older dude?

From a Discussion Board–my response in detail to the question asked above:

“I’m 54, so I guess I don’t deal with dudes over 70 because my Dad’s 80, so that’s a bit creepy.

Young dudes in DC holla at chicks my age looking for a sugar mama or a nest–which I refuse to do because I don’t raise grown men and if you’re young enough to be my son that’s also too creepy for me.

Hell naw.

I don’t have kids or a husband, so I’m like whatever.

Men in their 50s and 60s are appropriate for me, but some of them have some serious emotional issues, bad relationship patterns, looking-for-a-house-maid energy, bad hygiene habits, too stubborn to get it up habits (as if that’s not happening to 30s/40s men).

Lot of baby boomer and Gen-X/Millenial men are cry-babies, and as they age some of them annoy the fuck out of me.

My best love affair was with a 60 something-year-old married man and we stayed friends until he died last year, long after the sex ended and I had moved on. He was from the Silent Generation. Makes a big difference.

Yeah, I know–old enough to be my dad.

Shut up.

The boundaries were clear and we enjoyed each other’s company. Clean, emotionally healthy, and kind as a man. It worked until I was ready to move on. He stayed married, and I moved to DC.

My point? It’s not about age. It’s about the whole of the person coping according to the issues of their generation…that’s all I got.”

dating memories

Anonymous:
“Have ever you dated a Libra? Describe your experience, plus genders and signs of both parties.”

My response:
“I am a Libra woman, who dated a Libra man back in my 20s.

Libra men are lying, cheating con artists, but since I also have my Moon in Capricorn I ghosted his fat ass when I moved out to go to grad school leaving no method of contacting me when I moved to NE and ZERO rent money since he lied about having a job to support that apartment I put in his name while removing my name.

Balance is key when it comes to Libras with ethics and we make it a point of ghosting you when you do us wrong. Libras with no ethics think the planet owes them–that’s my brother who is a Libra who runs game on my family when he finds an opening.”

how does today feel to me…

ICH management: moving towards reducing my BMI to decrease the spinal fluid inside my skull.

You can’t rush this process, either. Ten years after my initial diagnosis I am just now coming close to a normal weight and normal BMI.

Dealing with stress, anxiety, and depression has been KEY to improving my health overall, especially when it comes to ICH.

Confronting the bullies, gaslighting, and corporate grooming/racism/sexism/classism/elitism/biphobia at work was and is part of that process, as well as staying in prayer and meditation.

The food, beverage, exercise aspect became so much easier after treating the mental and spiritual issues.

After all, can’t keep carrying other people’s emotional issues and expect my brain and body to function as if I have not piled on other people’s ‘weight.’

Special message for Stalker-Predator only here–the rest of you are free to go: https://afrofuturismscholar.com/2020/12/14/yes-i-am-much-smaller-now-stalker-predator/

less than an hour

you spent less than an hour

hitting my site 100 times between 10 and 11:59 pm EST last night

[down to the last hour I tracked your horny ass]

looking for something tasty from me

rather than texting or calling in a discreet fashion to ask me to do something sexy for you or to you in the real world

because you don’t like to risk rejection

because you don’t think you’re hot or smart enough to get me to fuck you when

I keep telling you that you’ll get what you really want from me

if you make the first move and

stop gaslighting me and

stop lying about what you really want from me and

just accept my gift so

we can go back to

being friendly and

enjoying the holidays

engaging in some joy

accepting a gift and

chilling out

for a change

Dummy Crew

Yo, folk kind of tight tonight, huh? Acting like they trying to pull up like they have a well-organized pull-up crew, huh? You have 106 GOP House Reps saying the election was stolen because their guy lost after they did their best to keep people from voting–especially Black people.


106 dummies who can’t break their cultish devotion to one man. They should all resign if they don’t like upholding the process that put them in office in the first place.

Mother Yemaya’s Birthing Water

Size 8 or 10 — a goal right now.

Why?

I need to get away from these hurtful, hateful people next summer and I can’t do that if I don’t lose the weight that gets this pressure off my brain and skull because I can’t drive right now.

I want to drive.

I want to travel.

I want to meet new people, find a new lover/partner, find someplace nice to relax, write, make love, and just enjoy life.

I work in a toxic environment with toxic administrators and faculty

who enjoy hurting people for the fuck of it

who love draining energy from people

who enjoy gaining power through sadistic, cruel means

I need a vacation from this environment, preferably near salt water which means sea/ocean water–hot or cold water, snow or rain.

I need to clean my body, mind, and soul with Mother Yemaya’s Birthing Water in order to clean myself of the toxicity that is UDC and for that matter this whole fucked up racist, misogynistic, classist, colorist town called DC.

medicine for the wounded

medicine for the wounded predator stalking me

(that’s right–I’m giving you some medicine for that home-made hooch that’s got you thinking you can turn colonialist/slave owner when in fact the best you can do is be Massa’s personal servant)

Imagine that: get your head together or die. Just like that. I chose to live and it demanded very painful confrontations with everyone in my life having an impact on my emotional health, good or bad–and everything in between.

I had to clear my desk and go up to the attic to pull out those old records still playing just to smash them into pieces. I had to make phone calls and type out texts that six months ago would have been sitting in my brain rotting and leaking.


Six months ago no one would have expected me to dare to leave such a harsh digital trail. One year ago I was still willing to take yet another face-slap or microaggression and swallow it like fresh sperm. In some ways, I was the slave or the unpaid servant for you, emotionally, but I was in the ultimate position of the slave in that I was unaware of my state of being. I was being drained by a shaman in a cave in a parallel universe while in an ecstatic trance.


In both universes, I had two grand mal seizures that forced me into full consciousness and memory of the far past. All of this feels familiar as if this has already happened as if I am writing to you and me in a time-warped teachable moment.


Someone very dear to me needs to read this essay. Seems like so many Black folk in power in DC can’t embrace the idea that Black women do matter, that we are not mules to be driven to dust, that we are women, that we are human, that we do matter–and these days I’m not sure what’s more shocking: seeing my sisters or so-called sisters jump on the hate train when it comes to Black women, or seeing my brothers (including my own blood brother) jump on the hate train or even worse, watch us Black women being torn asunder by white supremacists while remaining silent and indifferent.

I see those kinds of Black folk at my institution running it into the ground while whining about the ever-shrinking numbers of enrolled students at an HBCU that has yet to deal with its own classism, racism, sexism, colorism, homophobia, transphobia, biphobia.

We do matter.

Regardless of your status or perceived status, if you are a Black woman, man, person, or child, you will be faced with systemic racism at some point in your lifetime—and at times frequently for no reason other than being there doing your job, sleeping, working, playing, sitting still, walking, breathing.


That’s not including the work-related discrimination, microaggressions, getting healthcare while Black, driving while Black, education-related discrimination, and other biases lodged against you if you are a woman/girl, LGBTQIA+, disabled, international, etc. Yes, systemic racism does negatively impact mental and physical health for African Americans, and we now live in an age where significant scientific, medical, sociological, and psychological research confirms that claim. However, that begins another conversation on other related issues like high BP, diabetes, depression, and PTSD.


Or think of it this way—I did not fall unconscious on the floor of a classroom during a faculty meeting last fall due to me being diabetic because I am not close to becoming diabetic or pre-diabetic (and diabetes as a result of persistent stress/anxiety and poor diet is rampant for Black folk).


Indeed, my stress and anxiety levels have been extreme enough for me to be at high risk for a stroke and heart-attack to occur at the same time, actually—and one of my uncles died from that happening at 45.

Instead, I had a grand mal seizure at 53. In other words, my body went into restart mode. It wasn’t my first seizure, but I did not realize what it was until my Mom told me over the phone while talking to her on the way to the hospital in an ambulance).


Why did I have a seizure?


Because after almost 30 years of academia (grad school 10 years and 17 years from Assistant Professor to Associate Professor), the climate on my campus had become so consistently negative and toxic with almost no indication of improvement that my brain and body shut down and restarted. Ever have your computer do that–shut down and restart in the middle of a project you hoped you saved before it shut down? That’s what God did to help me reboot and heal, and luckily I only ended up losing some short-term memory.


Chronic or sudden illness is what systemic racism does to your body and mind—and if one is wounded enough, your spirit also suffers, eventually. I am a feeling being, and I do find myself wondering how is it that to be considered even minimally acceptable in my chosen field, I had to sacrifice part of my humanity to successfully work in such a toxic environment for low pay and constant disrespect and belittlement.


Now, to be honest, that joy and passion and connection was missing before COVID-19, but the extended quarantine sharpened what was a multi-year experience of social isolation while attempting to surmount the almost impossible obstacles in front of me that kept me from advancing my career in academia as a professor.

This is not a shocking story–many Black women in academia overwork ourselves “just to get half,” as we hear so often now in pop culture, only we who are not famous enough or vicious enough to move up the ladder to become part of the machine are often not seen or heard even as we produce work that others who are more privileged and higher up the hierarchy steal or take to use for their own professional advancement and glory.

Honesty. Openness. Consent. Pride.

That’s what’s missing in your approach to me, Mr. Predator, and it probably didn’t help that I was slowly descending from a mountain of pain–unaddressed PTSD that emerged in a series of illnesses that put my very life at risk.

How can you say you are just trying to a human when you don’t allow me to be human as well? When positive in your eyes means my pain and my voice is not for human ears, least of all yours? That may not be your intent, but that’s how you come across with that Black Respectability bullshit that I refuse to absorb.


I reject the entirety of the Cult of True Womanhood, Cult of Southern Womanhood, Cult of Domesticity, and the Cult of Mary, which pretty much means I don’t allow men or women to put me in a box where I smile and endure like some evangelical wife who tries not to bring attention to the fact that her husband treats her like a rock to drag around.

Why are you stuck in the 19th century when it comes to Black women?


Why are you stuck in the 19th century when it comes to your presence on this planet as a Black man?


Why do you behave as if we are still on a plantation in 2020–almost 2021?

Why are you such a fucking pathetic asshole with so little motivation to do better for yourself and your own people?

You can’t even read my blog without having someone hold your hand to face the truth about your own behavior towards me.

Be an adult, and talk to me like you’ve got something in your pockets other than rocks and touchstones.

My description to the Irish Echo and the IAWAA

“medicine for the wounded”

Why did I write this work?

My stress and anxiety levels have been extreme enough for me to be at high risk for a stroke and heart-attack to occur at the same time, actually—and one of my uncles died from that happening at 45.   Instead, I had a grand mal seizure at 53.

In other words, my body went into restart mode. It wasn’t my first seizure, but I did not realize what it was until my mother (a retired nurse) told me over the phone while talking to her on the way to the hospital in an ambulance). Chronic or sudden illness is what systemic racism, sexism, classism, and heterosexism does to your body and mind—and if one is wounded enough, your spirit also suffers, eventually. The extended quarantine sharpened a multi-year experience of working in a hostile, toxic environment while attempting to surmount the almost impossible obstacles in front of me that kept me from advancing my career in academia.

This is not a shocking story–many Black women in academia overwork ourselves “just to get half,” as we hear so often now in pop culture, only we who are not famous enough or vicious enough to move up the ladder to become part of the machine are often not seen or heard even as we produce work that others who are more privileged and higher up the hierarchy steal or take to use for their own professional advancement and glory.  The persistence of patriarchy and racism even among allies, friends, and families speak to a greater need for empathy for each other and a need for clarity as to how to rebuild, reconnect, and heal for individual well-being and our collective well-being as a society.

Do check out my poetry and essays on my blog http://afrofuturismscholar.com

Dr. Craig Wynne, the newest professor in the English Program at UDC, will be the next guest on my podcast show At the Edge:  Think Culture.  We will talk about Dr. Wynne’s latest book “How to be a Happy Bachelor” (2020), where he discusses how to think critically about society’s perceptions of marriage, how to overcome your stigma and fear of being alone, and even how to respond to society’s judgments.  https://www.blogtalkradio.com/at-the-edge-thinkculture

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/at-the-edge-thinkculture/2020/11/21/dr-craig-wynne-the-language-of-singlehood

true selves

Fresh Tea on Me: pulling back the covers

and that involves pulling back the covers from all the wonderful goodies over the last 4-5 years i’ve shared with all of you, including photos, moments, words, poetry…..older stuff is now up along with newer stuff and updated stuff…..there’s some folk who may not understand what’s with all the activity, but there’s somebody lovelorn who’s been in need to jack off and i certainly don’t want to be labeled a cocktease…..after all, no matter how much work i put into my poetry or my fiction or my essays, i know there are men who come to my blog just to cum and that’s fascinating to me since dudes are always talking about me being a cold bitch but like to stare and walk around with visible hard-ons….2020 is one big group jack off session so grab some vaseline and a vibrator and get busy being human