The black woman is the most disrespected person in the history of human civilization. You know it’s that bad when we as black men call them “bitch” as a term of endearment. No other race does that. It is in every rap song and on every ill-informed podcast out there. But the disrespect goes deeper. […]
Goodbye is a privilege. Taking the time to reflect on a moment with a loved one, to revel in the fleeting ticks and tocks of every second, to take in their scent in one last warm embrace, knowing that this could be the last time, that’s a huge burden for the soul to bear. But
I know of no better life purpose than to perish in attempting the great and the impossible” ― Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche We laugh at Icarus. We laugh at his audacity to think he can fly, to think he can coat his wings with sticky wax and jet for the stars. Dreamers like Icarus are served up
Perfect for you is a quiet life in a quaint little house in a town where the average age never drops below 50. Your reason to wake up is the bustling of a full house with a litter of kids jumping over sofas and chokeslamming one another all day. The ideal job is something that
I learn a lot about a person from the way they talk about black tax. The thing about throwing culture away is that the juice always goes with the grapes. Black tax is the product of “it takes a village”. Back in the day, maybe not that way back, communities pooled resources to elevate the
The last time I asked, “What’s the worst that could happen?” I woke up to tanks racing past my house. I’ll never forget the deafening rumbling sound. The events of that Thursday drained the last ounce of optimism from my bloodstream. From that day, I gave pessimism a full frontal hug. Anything that can go
Who am I? I am not the name I got at birth, not the place I was born, not the sign of my horoscope, not the color of my skin, not the amount in my bank account, not the school I attended, not the sum of my relationships, not the game I excel at, not
The church bells ring, signaling the congregation to take their seats for the service to commence. The priest walks in, places his right hand on the coffin, and heads to the altar. He then reads a passage about the afterlife and leads the congregation on an acapella rendition of Abide With Me. After the sermon,
It is easier to worship tyrants when you are detached from the consequences of their bloody machinations
Whenever evil happens on a massive scale, ordinary people with broken moral compasses act as propellants for the flame of decadence.
