Stuffing (What I Think and Feel)

I like me...to an extent.

I hate not liking cerain things about me.

I dislike the smack during a kiss, as if you're unscrewing a metal cap off of a bottle.

I like college football MORE than the NFL.

I love the underdogs, upset-minded teams, and overlooked people.

I hate prejudice.

I love music that doesn't get overhyped.

I despise bourgeois Pro-Blackness.

I like harmony.

I love those who love my mind.

I hate indecisiveness.

I abhor self-loathing.

I question using labels and historical references according to half-assed research (i.e. "Nubian God", "Hotep"...) Know what you're using.

I hate "I am" people. You ain't shit. Stay off the narcissist tip.

I adore old school hip hop moves!!

I hate haters. Should I hate myself? Nah, I'm not a hater.

I hate 0-60 mood swings.

I get crazy over video games that aren't geared towards stupidity.

Love basketball. PERIOD. Well, I dislike the standard slave mentality they add to it.

I DESPISE these words: Swagger, money, guap, stunt, jump-off (in terms of describing a woman), beastie, monster (last two words used to describe how a person is in a magnanimous way)...and there are more, but I'm quite perturbed by these.

I will never say Fuck My Life. Fuck your own.

If you think I made your life worse or better...you didn't try yourself. I don't like that.

I like my family...but I do not like their mentality towards each other. Africans abroad and displaced Africans here in America need to unite.

I hate incorrect assumptions.

I must admit...I love honey buns!

I love the family gatherings and the feelings of unity and love during the holidays. I hate the meanings behind these shiesty-ass holydays that were given by the oppressors.

I hate those who won't do shit to stop oppression. Therefore, I love Harriet Tubman-minded people.

I hate the University of Texas, and the fact that the archives of our black history is locked up there in the state capital city's university.

I don't care for funny-sounding black sports announcers. Maybe only Ian Eagle...and that man that calls The Road To The Final Four games (not any Gumbels).

I hate being the only one to make a difference and getting to be the only one to not get thanked for it. Fuck you. I put in work!

I like poetry. I LOVE dope poetry. I wanna MARRY words that are so intrinsic and beautifully placed, I have a honeymoon spot planned already in my tablet.

I hate wackness.

I don't know about those who claim they are not shallow and picky...but I do know about those who don't brag and love to give anyone a try. Love that. Respect it.

I respect elders that aren't stuck up and heavily critical of the youth.

I respect the youth that give credit where credit is do.

I will not hld on to the stanky legg, I will not jerk, I will not rack daddy...

...but if the children dance, I will dance with them, cause I love the children (As long as the dances aren't filthy).

...I love dirty dancing!

I love creativity. I love Aquarius thoughts! I love Leo adoration!

I can't STAND haters up and down the Zodiac. Get a fucking life.

I ove who I love, but despise who doesn't think it. Even if it is the one I love.

I love to hate and hate to love certain things.

Stuffing. My mind is full.

I BeLOnG II (5 Day Edition)

So blah blah blah, meeting on Monday. The drummer came in, no Sarah. She is a professional dancer, you know. From Uganda, no less! The South African dance teacher came to replace her, no big. It went well. It's good to see Africans reconnect. However, the young boys are playing a bit too much, while the girls are getting serious. Where have we heard this before? yeah, I understand there is a such thing as a childhood, but really, when you have a Sunday like we did previously (hearing about last Friday's runaway from Blackshear Elementary School, a school already mired in controversy over an apparent attempted suicide by an 8 year-old, and a young student sexually assaulted by three trifling-ass men in a tinted car right near our block) this seems to be small. Seems. There is nothing that guarantees these young men will make it here. Everyone's a damn 'doughboy' (thanks to Jeezy and Gucci and Wayne, etc.). Makes no damn sense that we blame hip-hop. Really, blame those who utilize hip-hop for the sexually explicit and derogatory comments that I hear sung by these young boys coming into my classroom.
But I digress. Tuesday, I got a taste of Project Row Houses' "competition". These MacGregor Elementary children are extra special, yet their demeanor leaves one to think that music keeps them calm and at bay, for they are SUPER hyper! I thought my group was amped. Emaniah Shinar (some African man in extravagant clothing and equally extravagant behavior) has molded both of these youth groups into a steel drumming machine. They have learned at least four, if not five songs. Simply ridiculous. MacGregor showed out.The announcement for the performance dates were given, and needless to say, I hope we can improve before the 23rd of April (commercial promo at MacGregor) ...we will be there Saturday and Sunday at IFEST (Houston International Festival) throwing down. Shinar has done wonderful things that I have backed him for since he touched base in 3rd Ward (or since I've seen him). He's also put me in a position to re-evaluate everything I choose. At a point in my life where I suffered a huge blow to my confidence and relationship, he shed light onto an appearance of a certain "sista" that always shows up towards the end of my relationships. Of course, he even tried to pair us together, but that history with her goes back, and respectfully, I think she is here for guidance and a shoulder to lean on.
Again, let's skip this and move on to Wednesday. Art and writing with two instructors with an Indian background. I was thinking Ms. Keya (Mitra) was actually indigenous and of this land (what some would consider "Indian" as compared to Cherokee), however "Mitra" should have been some sort of giveaway. She is so mild-mannered. Maybe too mild-mannered. She looks like a movie star that could play a teacher. But she always gets the children crunk enough to jot some lyrics or bars. You heard right. I have never been so amped to see my group scribble some rap lyrics and poetry. Summer and Amaya always put in the silliest and most creative. I love it when the parents come to hear their children rhyme. Keya must have caught my old-school hip-hop vibe/poetry aura, because she's giving them Nikki Giovanni and Sugar Hill Gang!! Or is she just "ill"... hmmm.
On to Thursday and Friday. Thursday, we discussed Lemonade Day (May 2nd) with the children, and, oh yes, they are stoked (totally, dude)! I'm hoping it will be better than last year's, seeing that a young sista outside of the ASP sold the unique lemonade we offered like it was life insurance, while our smartest and straight-forward sistas in the program bickered, and almost threw down. *SMH* Everyone has great ideas, and we (Jesse Lott, Sara, Corisha, Daja and I) taste-tested lemonade varieties, built and painted the stand, and stayed late night to celebrate our project culmination, which was later discovered to be thrown away this year. This group I have is ready to tackle the great job ahead, and not scared to go at it, "feet first". One parent offered her services in managing the crew, (part-time event and catering planner), but I cajoled her into just putting in work as they've always done, no more, no less. Sorry, I love my group like you love your children, parents, but, yeah...they are mine when it's project time. ONLY. *laughing*
Friday - Good God Almighty on the throne of everlasting truth and power...I witnessed a beatdown (not physical, per se) of epic proportions: My 2nd-4th grade girls smoked the daylights out of the boys. Nothing new, right? What about these same girls beating 7th and 8th graders?!? Seriously, I remember when it was cool to find an uspet here or there. Now, it's rampant! It's becoming a trend to upend! Zipporah, the smallest of my 2nd grade girls, was fast enough to beat some of my second grade boys by at least a few yards. Artizia, 4th grader, only passed up a checkpoint before losing to Dujuan, another 4th grader, and the only boy to stay on course to win the title "Project Row Houses' fastest kid." Then I lost the door key (how Esu is that?!?) I had to explain to Ms. Lee about how the key got lost. I mean up and disappeared. I know that's gonna be more fire from the church about that. But I think they can cover a 5 dollar expense as such, seeing the big flat screen TV in the reception center must have been a much needed prayer tool. *rolls eyes* Anyway, the children went home, and I was building with my homie, T. He's still young, but able to make some room when he can focus. After that, I was dropped off at the train station going to Downtown Houston for one of the greatest nights I had. Sort of.
I won four Aqua Teen Hunger Force (LIVE) tickets off of Twitter (See? It is useful!) and scored some Houston Luau Party reservations for seven people three days before. Since I have such great friends that wanted to join along, (Grand total = 0) I made the stop at Hard Rock. Only it wasn't AT Hard Rock, because I thought House of Blues was located in that same area!!! Well, I regrouped, and I started on to HOB.
Never been there.
Will be going back.
God Bless Houston, Texas.
I've heard about this supposed bowling alley and whatnot here, but I thought they mean either in the City Hall area or somewhere just a bit past the way. There's a freaking BOWLING ALLEY DOWNTOWN. It's like the Sims exploded here! I saw ladies in bikinis and grass skirts (sadly some pudgy white fellas as well *shudders*) and others dressed up to the letter. Obviously, BOTH events were going on. I didn't check the time beforehand when it said, "Luau starts @ 7 pm and ends @ 2 am". Conflict. ATHF started at...8 pm. and I was missing about 15 minutes of it already trying to locate the damn place. No matter, ATHF first...
OMFG
These cats that created this show:
A: Did a "Show us your Meatwad" contest
B: Acted out the characters with large hand puppets and dummies
C: Cussed like sailors on weekend leave
D: Also created Squidbillies
E: Got an audience member to participate with an aquatic puppet making sexual advances on him.
Answer?
F: All of the above.
I would tell you more, but let's just say the Luau got me too crunk. That is another blog in itself.

Ifeanyi Okoro II

I BeLOnG (Grand Edition)

Usually, I would write my feelings (no matter how horrible or high-spirited) in a poem form. Right now, I am just going to let this go.

Warning: The following briefing may unnerve the reader or readers of this blog. If so, oh the fuck well. This is an informative blog, not a "watch your feelings" blog.

***The nerve of some people...MOST people...to have a skewed view of my life, when NO ONE HERE has lived a perfect life. The strikes against me are starting to mount out. The naysayers and speculators are having at it on my happening's behalf. Let's see the next move. I am sick of it. I know my Iwapele isn't perfect, however, I am not a fucking imbecile. I'm not proud of my past, but I can damn sure place it above a lot of folks who have the flip-top nerve to judge me and my moves. I would love to write this down on paper, better yet, say it to everybody's face. some of the people I want to put back in their car seats are not available. The people are stacking up in my head count. I'm loving the force. I'm revelling in the process of elimination I am about to level upon these people. Fuck embracing change . I am the change. Embrace me, and I will shake your foundation. I'm going to blog the inner thoughts in the form of how I haven't done so during my poems. That is very unfortunate that I have to do so, seeing that I would be comfortable with just being me. Some people aren't. This blog then, is for you.

Let's first start of with social networking.

I'd like to say that I like the Facebook and Twitter networks that utilized information and the world events for both social and political landscapes. MySpace did so for an entertainment aspect. However, like most sites that sprout with the latest...thy shall fall by the wayside with fatal flaws. It appears to be fun for the novice, yet, destructive for the old hands. Overall, it's becoming seriously played out. Porn spam, ignorant-ass computer worms and viruses, bickering, overt pride without personal opinions, standout narcissism, and fantasies are rampant in the following sites I have encountered (past and present) : BlackPlanet, MySpace, MrBlunt, Facebook, Twitter, and "Yahoo!" Chat Rooms/Groups. Really, life should take a break from the surreal and focus on the real. I have had relationships from both landscapes take good and bad turns. I am now realizing I don't need a "revitalization" or "awakening" every damn three days, just to go back into a funk. If I'm in it, I should know the proper steps to get the fuck out of it. That's it. Why are we obsessed with help on and offline? What is it about this Age of Aquarius that people don't get about changing or staying steadfast in their own opinions, and not of someone else's? I am part of this group, for the simple fact that I was once usurped in the lore of online entertainment. I don't blame anyone but myself. Some of you should do that as well. BLAME yourself.

So what if people constantly have something to say about what you say. Fuck em, right? Well, let's analyze this. Many of the people online are in a trance, constantly relying on these networks to give them instant escapism form their own lives. In turn, they add their lives to it, looking for the sympathetic few to comfort and/or participate in getting their lives straight. Get over it. I, again, add my own body into that pool, making sure to put an asterisk beside this year. Look, if you haven't had the first experience of being a self-fuck, give it time. I don't constantly say silly shit like "NAGL" (not a good look), ""fail", "failure", "FML" (fuck my life), "GTFOH" (get the fuck outta here), and all the now-cool ass shit that is overrunning the once-creative ways of showing your reactions, like "lol" and "smh". If I do, more oft than not, I am being derisive, or may have used it for the first time. Either way, emotions are now totally computerized.
The following are some major ways to get you caught up:

*Make sure you stay to one alias, or one ID. It's always best to be yourself (from experience, putting up one of your favorite band's name as a screen ID will attract some wanted and unwanted attention, even if you also did it for a spin on your personality).

*Make a choice. Be serious or lighthearted most of the time, or both with a nice balance and handle on yourself. Don't fake either one.

*Avoid drama queens/kings, firestarters, and filthy net personalities.

*Speak mostly from your own perspective, but also be open to others.

*Stop fucking quoting and posting pics 90% of the time. Do it with discretion

*If you're gonna hound somebody about something, keep your goal safe. Make sure YOU have clean sheet. It's best you DON'T hound anyone, frankly.

*Leave your beliefs/feelings at the door if you don't want to be offended or emotionally torn to pieces easily. This is a different beast.

*Don't spy. Yes, it's JUST like stalking (unless it's your admirer or love interest being unfaithful and you have right reason). Even then, make sure you have good reason and facts.

* Be weary of aggressive texting and/or questionable activity that may affect you and whom you deal with. (See Craigslist Killer and the the girl on MySpace that committed suicide)

*Get the fuck off of the Internet!!! Unless your job requires that you use the Internet, no more than 14 hours a week online, seriously. Trust me, I have been a victim of the bullshit that I got sucked into for being on it for more than four hours in one day. Go outside and do something, like....live!

This reads like an instructional book, however, some of you bastards out there desperately need this. For those who have a grip on reality and the superinformation highway...congrats!

The irony? How many will ignore this to continue on to the fuckery that is "social networking ruination"? If you got this far, post your opinions. Or not.


I. Okoro II