romeo standing: kissing can be deadly

A fifteen year old teen died after kissing her boyfriend. Apparently her sweetie had a peanut butter snack before laying a deadly one on her. The young Canadian suffered from an nut allergy that prevented her from recovering from the kiss even after the immediate adminstering of an adrenaline shot - a quick and common remedy for severe allergic actions. Check out the full story here.

I am curious as to how the boyfriend is feeling right now. I extend my deepest condolences to the friends and family of the young lady. But how does one live with the knowledge that your lips, your kiss, in essence, took the life of your dearly beloved? Will he ever kiss again? Does kissing continue to have the same urgency for him as it does for most teens his age? This must be a terribly difficult situation to live with. Shakespeare's Juliet killed herself due to the desperate emptiness she felt upon laying eyes upon her dead lover, Romeo. This young lady's death was senseless. However, how can one blame the young man? I'm sure that blaming boyfriend is a battle her family struggles against every day that separates them from her smile, her laugh, her last frustrated sigh or glance. This is the psa for waiting until you know a person to be intimate - kissing and the like. Maybe he didn't know, maybe he didn't remember, however, from this story we learn that, in addition to sex, kissing can be deadly.

We should take this story as a caution to think before we act and to definitely have another person's best interest in our hearts before we take an action that may hurt them (Disclaimer: This in no way assigns guilt to the boyfriend. I simply wanted to draw attention to our abilities to overlook our loved ones' foibles in pursuit of our own gratification).

Embodiment

What does it mean to embody something? On dictionary.com, this is the given definition of embody:

v 1: represent in bodily form; "He embodies all that is evil wrong with the system"; "The painting substantiates the feelings of the artist" [syn: incarnate, body forth, substantiate] 2: represent, as of a character on stage; "Derek Jacobi was Hamlet" [syn: be, personify] 3: represent or express something abstract in tangible form; "This painting embodies the feelings of the Romantic period"

The definition that most aptly describes the nexus of my point is the third. I am convinced that embodiment is the corporeal representation or expression of the abstract. That is the way that I am trying to live my life. Surely, those with power and privilege as well as money - all of which are unequal and mutually exclusive - embody the essence of the lifestyle that power, privilege, and/or money can afford them. Embodiment is my aunt Mary who, on Monday, pierced her nose. She is a beautiful milk chocolate woman with intense eyes and a soft yet intense voice. At 56, she woke up feeling particularly radical and pierced her nose. She has turned the abstract - a feeling, a mental motivation, a soul stirring - into something concrete.

Embodiment, to me, asks more of us than who or what we want to be. When considering the epitome of embodiment, we are asking ourselves how we will show the world who we are. At the heart of the question, we, as constrained by social conventions and mores, are interrogating what abstract conjurings we have of who we are and what ideal abstractions will we choose to make concrete-observable to the whole world. Moreover, the public consumption of these aspects of our selves become moot. Embodiment delicately rejects social perception in respect of and pursuit of the truer self.

As I reflect on my aunt's boldly bodacious statement of self, I ask myself what do I embody? What do I want to embody? How many selves will I try on and toss out before I come to embody my true self? I look forward to the journey.

Number Three

Today, Morgan Quino Press released its annual list of the ten most dangerous cities. Among the listing, Saint Louis was listed as the third most dangerous city in the United States, falling behind Camden, New Jersey and Detroit, Michigan. Flint, Michigan, Richmond, Virginia, Baltimore, Maryland, Atlanta, Georgia, New Orleans, Lousiana, Gary, Indiana, and Birmingham, Alabama fill in spots four through ten respectively. At first glance, many of these cities are suffering blight and large populations of unemployed/underemployed people of color (one day I'll write a rant that deals specifically with the term "people of color"). So how do I feel about living in a city that is the third most dangerous city? Similar to my feeling about living in the country that has murdered so many human beings since its inception - I feel bad, real bad. The United States has fought more wars in the name of democracy than any other independent country in the contemporary context. Going to war in the name of demoncracy seems as contradictory as it is contentious.

As I sat back to ponder my safety and just how I would walk from the buildings of one of the city's wealthiest campuses to my car without getting mugged, my mind wondered to the number of violent crimes in the city as recorded over the past year. There were almost 6,900 violent crimes in the City of St. Louis. Of those crimes, 113 were labeled as murder and non-negligent manslaughter. My mind immediately went to Larry Griffin, executed by lethal injection in 1995. Griffin was convicted of the drive-by shooting death of Quinton Moss in 1981. Mr. Griffin maintained his innocence until his murder in 1995. Murder, you ask? Yes. In June of 2005, ten years after his execution murder, Griffin was proven innocent of the crime. What's worse, Griffin wasn't even present at the time of Moss's murder. The NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund published the report on Quinton Moss's murder. In the report, the NAACP establishes that Larry Griffin did not commit this murder. Since Griffin was murdered nearly ten years earlier, I wondered if they included him in the number of people murdered in 2005. Or, did the state of Missouri increase the number of people murdered in 1995 by one?

It truly doesn't matter your views about the death penalty. I believe that we can all agree that one life taken in vain is one too many. But when another entity - person or state - chooses to take another life regardless of innocence or guilt, legally sanctioned or not, are any of us really safe?

Revolutionary Discourse: "Catch Me If You Can..."

Revolutionary Discourse: "Catch Me If You Can..."

Heard from an old friend, yesterday...

I heard from my dear friend, emerson. Funny how your life goes on, but with old friends--no matter how much time has elapsed--you can catch each other up in a matter of hours. What are we to make of these relationships? As we talked, I wondered how I could have forgotten how well she knew me and how well I knew her. Nothing about her had changed. Sure the circumstances of her life had changed after however long we had been apart, but the essence of her being--the part of her that had connected with a part of me--had not changed. It was both scary and comforting. Comforting for the obvious reason: our friendship has been strengthened by our time apart. While I hope a similar absence never again occurs, I am relieved that our friendship is as easy as it has always been. I am scared by my own possible stagnation. Am I in the same place as where we were the last time we talked? God, I hope not. I want to be a happier, more confident and content person. I wish to be closer to my dreams, if not by days, weeks, and months, then by degrees. I desire to be more loving, more deserving, more honorable, more generous. I hope that I am kinder, more patient, more patient, and more patient. I wonder if she can see that I am a better sister, a better daughter, a better student, and, most importantly, a better friend. I am all of these things as a result of knowing her--a golden thread running through my life--often seen though sometimes hidden. Our friendship is as beautiful as the two young women pictured above. It is enduring. From this friendship between her and me, I am boldly enriched, deeply appreciative, and forever blessed. I thank you, my friend, with unabashed love, grateful recognition, and peaceful abundance.

Friendship is truly an ever-changing, revolutionary discourse.

Ali says, "I know where I'm going and I know the truth, and I don't have to be what you want me to be. I'm free to be what I want."

Yesterday, Muhammad Ali donned a black tuxedo in his hometown, Louisville, Kentucky. He, along with his wife and a star-studded audience, celebrated the opening of the Muhammad Ali Center--a center paying tribute to the champ's boxing career as well as his commitment to peace and tolerance. Ali was anti-war at a time when it was uncool for a black man to "fight the powers that be." This brute of a man, the heavy-weight champion of the world, was expected to turn his golden gloves in for a standard issued M-16 Assault Rifle in pursuit of the Viet-Kong. The hard hitting Ali responded to the United States government's 1967 draft demand. He didn't dodge the draft, rather, he boldly withstood the harsh criticism of many American patriots by unabashedly and conscientiously objecting to participating in the Vietnam War. Ali reminded the world that "Ain't no Viet-Kong ever called [him] 'nigger.'" This in addition to his 1964 decision to embrace the Nation of Islam while surrendering the worldly moniker, Cassius Clay. Ali required the US to accept him as he was. He told us all that he was America. Ali maintained, "I am the part you won't recognize, but get used to me. Black, confident, cocky -- my name, not yours. My religion, not yours. My goals, my own. Get used to me."



Father of nine, Ali was never at a loss for words and his good works have further entrenched his legendary status both in and out of the ring. At the Muhammad Ali Center's dedication on Saturday evening, both former United States' presidents Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter (via video) congratulated the champ and commented on Ali's dedication to peace and humanity. While Ali has embraced Islam in its entirety as opposed to the narrow vision of the NOI, his deep religious belief has led to his desire to pursue and promote peace, justice, understanding, and love. Looking at Ali (above), he is a beautiful specimen--muscles straining with the gleam of his sweat, just begging the downed Liston as well as any onlookers to record, remember, and worship at this fleshly shrine he'd donned the greatest of all time. To Ali, though, boxing was simply a job. Out of the ring he has been a relentless heavy-weight, fighting injustice, prejudice, and, unfortunately, Parkinson's disease as diagnosed in 1984. While Parkinson's has robbed Ali of much of his mobility and the ability to speak more than a few words, it has not taken his ability to fight oppression. The morning after his fight with Sonny Liston, Ali told reporters, "All I want now is to be a nice, clean gentleman. I've proved my point. Now I'm going to set an example for all the nice boys and girls. I'm through talking." While I'm sure that he didn't know how true this would come to be at the time, the champ has worked toward and continues to accomplish his desire to set a good example for children. My fear is that we will forget the worldly contributions of Muhammad Ali. Sure he has his humanly failings, however, we too often look at images like the one directly above and forget the man Ali is today. His story should give a sense of pride to all children--black and white, yellow and red. From Ali, we understand that it is our right to accept ourselves and each other regardless of and in celebration of our differences. He told us "Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth."

And he has lived up to this maxim, continuing to prove why he is, truly, the greatest of all time.

beautiful, beautiful emerson has a conversation with Lucille Clifton

Just for all to get an idea, this blog is brought to you by Lucille Clifton (who had something to say) and my dear friend, emerson...

"eve thinking"

it is wild country here
brothers and sisters coupling
claw and wing
groping one another

i wait
while the clay two-foot
rumbles in his chest
searching for language to

call me
but he is slow
tonight as he sleeps
i will whisper into his mouth
our names
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.