The Bluest Eye commentary


“The Bluest Eye” was riveting and provoking. It caused my mind to ache and my neck to stiffen. Toni Morrison’s words are large translucent cells, once you enter the heaven or hell of them, you stand there, transfixed gazing out at the real world with disinterested eyes. The compact bacchanalia of many black somebodies’ sorrowful, brain washed, conditioned lives, pushes you to the brink of insanity. You know this woman , this deranged soul , this dipsomaniac ; you have heard stories of him from your wisening mother , which she heard from her grandmother, because, her own mother was a victim , similar to those of Morrison’s silken embroidery of viscous locutions. For a few moments, YOU are the character . You feel their pain, the normalcy in their abnormal pathology , the violence in the selfish , misguided, deluded breaths.

Then, its over, and Morrison , with a passionate pen reminds you that this is not your life , but someone  else’s . The pain demands to be felt, but its not yours to succumb to.

And you're okay, but not as blind, for those blue eyes are lucid and piercing in their intent.

And you’re okay, but not as blind, for those blue eyes are lucid and piercing in their intent.

_Aaliyah Abdul Haqq August 5th, 2014

“I’m gonna tell God everything”

He whispered as the nurses dragged his dead mother away, forgetting one of her amputated limbs. He cried soundlessly as the army troopers stepped over his strategically wounded father, a “mis-aimed” bullet through his defiant brain. A nurse played with his hair, another wiped his parents’ blood from his starved sunken in chest.But no one seemed to feel the pain that he did, because their families, mothers and fathers ,were safe back home. And this child was just one of the few who would die today. The nurses laid him down on the hard chair, expecting him to fall asleep. And he did very deeply..never to wake again.

Only the photographer, whose camera’s lens was his only expression listened and heard. And didn’t let the boy’s words go unheard, as the cries of his country did.

THE FLOWERS in her hair


The flowers in her hand fell to the floor in bunches of salmon and creamy white. Her heart crashed through the polished rosewood floors to the reception room downstairs, when she walked into her dressing room for her veil, and found her groom beneath his best man in haste fervence. She covered her mouth, shook her head and chastised, ” You couldn’t wait until after the ceremony? Ahh, pass me a faggot while you’re at it. ”

Her groom groped for the box of cigarettes, and threw it at her. She lit it, watching as the two pulled up their trousers.

“You want a green card Louie and I want my family off my back about marriage . Let’s get to this. Bye Steve. He’ll see you later.

She stomped out the cigarette , put her veil on and went to the edge of the marble stairs as the music began.

I dreamt

I dreamt that cool is defined by the tighter the pants are and the bigger that ass that shapes it.

Forget the early promotion because my grades are high, if I wasn’t getting high. And nothing’s wrong with blazing, but to do doesn’t automatically make me amazing.

I refuse to conform to a society that tells me I’m lame if i’m not exactly the same.
One that slaps you in the face if you smile too big at the world. One that calms your bright spirit and lets your dark side loose…

A world run by people who stand behind the noose. And if you think  you’re better because your lighter, please know that you suffer from the same lynching as your darker brother. You’ve been given what seems to be elevation, but remember all thats high, must fall . They’ve fed to you these stereotypes that beautify the whitest skin and demote the chocolate flesh.

When I awoke, I heard children screaming out for freedom through thick clouds of smoke, from under snapbacks and from behind the leaders of their cliques. And I cried with them, deep in my heart , so no one would see we aren’t pleased.

Stupid..stupid. oh :'(

Today i listened to a woman complain about people who write in journals and keep diaries. I thought it was the most thoughtless tirade I had ever been subjected to. Obviously, her life is so uneventful and prosaic..she couldnt see how others would benefit from it. But apart, from her personal feelings, she took it upon herself to disrespect ALL PRIVATE JOURNALISTS and repeat …’stupid, I find its soo stupid’ , and ‘People who keep journals are stupid. If you have a thought, keep it in your brain. ‘

And I responded, “Yes, sometimes that IS the best choice.”


Blossomed Beliefs


They held her up, let her realise her dreams and whispered words of encouragement.They dropped tokens of belief on her head and tucked them behind her wee ears, so that when they said, “Its time for us to let go,” they would know she was strong enough. She struggled at first, but then all the beliefs, scattered around and in her, bloomed and became life savers. They held her up. They merged, to form one with her…a being made of blossomed beliefs.

Sadness full of joy


The world we live in is dying
Yet we keep on smiling.

Earth is a jar , marred by her owners’ mistakes. She lasts through war. Through hunger and pain. We stain her perfection with the colour of blood. Is she happy or is she sad?
We dont care, because we can’t see
The pain we inflict on her. Its easy to ignore pain- when you can’t hear the screams and the world keeps spinning- keeps working for us.
Like a child to a mother, we are ungrateful  for her efforts.
Inside the protection of a layered atmosphere, we’re blanketed by the skies. We can smile, and ignore all the troubles of Mother Dear , because she hides them behind her – on the other side of her ample back.

Physical creativity versus Cerebral creativity In Academics…Orsomething of the sort

To dismiss creativity now will only slope the south facing hill  called society more. I ‘ve come to realize that by homeschooling us, my four siblings and I, our mother saved our creativity, making us useful in the re-development of the world’s modern, and currently corruptive, proclivities.
    I’ve seen intelligence undermined, because its not of the  essence of being ‘book smart’. Many public educators view creativity that can’t be expressed on pen and paper as useless. I think that rather than abnegate a child’s talent, place them in an environment that shares their form of intelligence. My mother, having five children ALL of different intelligences did just that.
I have a twin sister, and we are incredibly different in our brillance. She has a nitch for emotion and character, a hand that draws superbly well, and an eye for identifying varieties of personalities to a point where she can emulate it.She is a visual artist, a painter and a potential  actor. I , in the other egg (because we are faternal twins) can express myself rather eloquently through words on paper and voice, but the emotional aspect behind the words in rarely expressed in my range of tones. I am what many call an ‘intellect’ , rather than my body being my creative zone, my brain is, the body being simply a means of expressing my Brain. My Brain and my hands are truly the only body parts I could NEVER live without, in academic and creative terms,of course. My twin and I often discourse about whose creativity is more creative . She, like proffessors who think intelligence is purely academic, has this idea that creativity is entirely emotion expressed into visual or verbal forms, giving her the idea that writers , me at least , arent artists. I, being the creative-academic sort, turned it into a debate, in which case  I will certainly win , agrue the side of writers being artists, as well as artists being intellects. She, being the emotional sort argues that artists are physical beings. I win, by precisely saying, ‘Well ,all creativity blossoms from ideas, dancing included, and ideas are hardly physical beings’. She frowned, and walked away, leaving me confident that my point, though unliked, had been understood!

    I think that physical/”artistic” and  cerebral/”intellectual ” creativity is All the same , or at least made the same,  by the way it HAS to be expressed by the body inorder to share with other human beings.
Some people are also very stereotypical they co-relate  cerebral strength or creativity with callous college proffessors who speak in monotonous vocals, and physical expression with the conceited jocks from films who happen to do hip-hop , ballet or acting, when in actuality those ARE ALL OVER-EXAGGERATED MYTHS, or even better the product of a labeling society. A society where-in you’re ADHD if you can’t sit still, rather than a dancer, or you’re stubborn if math isn’t your stronghold instead of born with a better understanding of words and a nich for dreaming up the so-called impossible.
  Don’t we all realize that everyone in society we’ve called stubborn or put in a learning disorder category has actually been a genius? Say, Nicolaus Coopernicus, whose  helicentric theory was considered blastphemus ( somehow) in the fifteenth century, but turned out to be accurate . I say lets encourage children’s natural born abilities, teach them academically through  forms of expression that they show strength in and our future, that of the world will be in better hands. Creative hands or feet are always predicting the next move,  exactly what science textbooks ask of us. We are all geniuses, the world just doesnt cater ,in the academic department ,to all of us.