The Real Brooklyn Darkchild

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The Mpire: In Search of The Lost

Posted on January 10, 2009 at 9:27 PM Comments comments (0)
Story: **** (four stars)
Editing: -* (minus one star)
Mallory is a very strange cat. Green eyed, faired skinned, educated in Great Brittan, with an almost anal fashion sense (he changes cars with the seasons and he never wears a color that’s not “in”) it’s easy to see why he has such a hard time fitting in with his brown skinned, ghetto acting, historically Black university attending older brothers. Mallory is so anal he has sex timed down to the minute, and his voracious appetite for the ladies has his brothers way more appalled than impressed. I don’t know why. Talk about dysfunctional: you’ll need a computer program to figure out who in this family is sleeping with whom and why. It doesn’t help much that Mallory hasn’t seen his brothers since he was a pre-teen. He doesn’t even use the family surname Haulm; he goes by his mother’s maiden name of Towneson instead.
So why is Mallory back in good ole Austin, Texas?
Well…the other three brothers are part of the “family business”…and as part of “the next generation,” they “need” Mallory too. Although the reason is never adequately explained to him, Mallory is pressed into service at Haulm Industries Company, lovingly known as HIC. (Black people: all that’s missing is the N) Never mind that Mallory has made his own name in the world, heading a million dollar enterprise called Towneson Financial. He’s expected to give it all up, or at the very least, fold his company into HIC.
Problem: Mallory doesn’t want to.
Problem: His father hates his guts.
Problem: So does his big brother Marc, the so-called “family leader.”
Big problem: This ominous black cloud is haunting Mallory’s dreams. He’s convinced the cloud is trying to kill him.
That’s not the only strange thing going on. The “family business” turns out to be the Apocalypse, and Mallory and his brothers: Marc, Merek and Marlon, are the Four Horseman. Mallory’s memory is full of more holes than a slice of bread in a rat’s nest, and everyone is angry at him because he can’t remember any of this.
What is the root cause of Mallory’s memory loss, and why was he sent away at the tender age of twelve? Why does his father hate him so? What in the heck is going on between Mallory and his brother Matthew? Is that even legal??? Is Mallory really the Final Horseman, and what does that mean? Will Mallory accept his role in “the family business” or will he walk away from everything? It’s a ride that will take you way past your comfort zone.
Along the way author James delves into many biblical topics, which is guaranteed to enrage more than a few readers. I personally was so disturbed by some of the premises in this book that I had to call her myself. I completely understand where, as an artist, James was coming from, but IMPO I believe she took some liberties/crossed some lines that God may not be smiling on. There are some things that, in His word God said He will not have. HOWEVER…I want to make it plain that I am not judging Trinia at all. I’m not in a position to do so and neither is anyone else. Just this week I had someone ask me if I was on some type of medication because of all the wild ‘ish’ that goes on in my “Christian” novel, but that’s the way God gave it to me. Trinia knew that and stood up for me, so if Trinia said she prayed about this book before she wrote it, I take her at her word. Nobody knows what God told her but her. And nothing: no naysayer, no Hator, no hypocritical salt thrower, can take away from the fact that this book was excellently written. It kept me turning the pages, despite some piss-poor editing and throughout my moral discomfort. I have only known two other writers whose work was so compelling that the myriad errors didn’t even matter. She’s also witty. As characters, War was always fighting, Famine never stopped eating, Pestilence was…just a pest, and Death? Well, poor Mallory was afraid to die.
I don’t know what’s up with these Kendall Pub books but this is the second one I read where I wanted to pimp smack the editor. Believe me: someone deserves a refund. Matter of fact, TL James should sue for damages.
Real Talk.
Because she lost a star strictly on account of the editing. And that’s a shame, too; this really is a four star work. I was so glad I already had the sequel (there’s a BOGO offer on TL James’ website: I didn’t know what to do with myself.

APOOO AA First Quarter 2009 Reading Challenge

Posted on January 10, 2009 at 9:21 PM Comments comments (0)

So I Was Thinking, Right???


(which is always a Bad Sign, but that's neither Here nor There right now)


There are a lot of good books that I wanted to read last year but didn't have the time.


And since my New Job--DOESN'T HAVE THE INTERNET...


(sorry for yelling but Please Don't Get Me Started, cause: Who Does That???)


What better way to Pass The Time than Catch Up On My Reading.








Like a Lightning Bolt From Heaven...I saw that APOOO is having a Reading Challenge.


It's Quite Simply, actually.


During their First Quarter 2009 African American Reading Challenge:


1.       Commit to read a book a week or 13 books from January 1st through March 31st 2008.


2.       Read whatever you would like.  All genres are welcome.  It’s your list make it fun, interesting and inclusive of books you want to read (and are likely to read).


3.       The books can be prior releases or new releases.


4.       If possible, post your list by January 1st, 2009.  If not, post it as soon as possible.


5.       If you have a blog, post your reading list on your blog and leave your link in the comments section so that I can stop by and see what books you’ve chosen to read.  Note, the link should be to the specific post/page and not the general URL for your blog.


6.       A blog is NOT necessary to participate.  If you don’t have a blog, please feel free to post your list in the comments section below.


7.       If possible, post all 13 books that you plan to read.  However, partial list are acceptable.  If you supply a partial list, challenge yourself and provide an initial list with at least seven books.


8.       You can change books on your list, but hopefully you will read at least 13 books over the next 13 weeks. 


9.       You can include books that you are reading for other challenges.


10.    Once you’ve read one of the books from your list, please share with us your thoughts via the Weekly Update Post, a review or your blog.  If you have a blog, don’t forget to include the specific link for your review/post.


11.    Hopefully, many of your books will be African-American reads (APOOO Promoting Our Voices, Showcasing Our Stories) and if you’re looking for a list of books CLICK on one of the following links for book list:  2009 African American Book Releases; 2008 African American Book Releases; APOOO Favorite African American BookList.


I love a good Challenge.


So Here's My List



Reading Challenge List:

1.      BACK STABBERS by Nyema


2.        Where There’s Smoke by Terra Little

3.        Born in the Streets but Raised in Prison by Tra Verdejo

4.        Shameless Hoodwives by Meesha Mink & De’Nesha Diamond

5.        The Hood Life by same

6.        Keep the Faith by Faith Evans

7.        The Best of Everything by Kimberla Lawson Roby

8.      Half of the Battle is to Surrender All I Have by Adrienna ‘Deo’ Turner


9.      Murder on the Down Low by Pamela Samuels Young


10.  What If It Feels Good by DJ McLaurin


11.  Blackbirds Pt 1 by Andre Coleman

12. Mpire: Death Cometh

I know, I know: I'm missing one. Any suggestions?

Let a sista know...

Is Rap Music REALLY "The Problem"???

Posted on August 15, 2008 at 8:41 AM Comments comments (2)


Today?s Rap music is Truly Horrendous; I ain?t gon? lie.
I can?t stand to listen to it, I mean: there?s only so much
"I got spinners on my ?lac, girl suck my di**" music one can Tolerate, ya dig?
Yet, Depth Of Lyrics aside...
Is Rap Music really the problem with Black America?
I think not.

Popular music has been decried as "the downfall of society" as far back as the 1800's. However, music does not create trends; it merely reflects them. "We?re A Winner" did not spark the Black Power Movement; "People Get Ready" did not spark the Black Power Movement; and "Treat Her Like A Prostitute" did not spark the?
well, the Treat Her Like A Ho Movement.

The incarceration rate for Black males has risen 300% in just 20 years.
Black on Black murder is 1,150% higher than White on White homicides.
Single-parent households are now the norm in our community, but worse than that:
No Parent Households are growing steadily.
Why: because we Listen To The Radio too much?
Don?t get me wrong, I too think today?s youth are way too influenced by what they see in videos. Are the videos the problem though? Or is the problem why our kids being "raised" by music videos? What has happened in the Black Community over the last twenty years that can be attributed as the cause of this nonsense?
The answer, people, is Crack.
Remember Crack???
I do.
We face its twisted legacy every day.

Black on Black Crime? The Crack Trade is legendary for the scope of its violence. Heroin addicts weren?t going around shooting folks, but couple Crack dealers with the availability of high powered weaponry previously only seen in the military and suddenly you have dealers shooting up everything in sight.
High Incarceration Rate? With more young men selling Crack, the odds seem to favor more of them being arrested. And I?m Almost Positive none of them are in prison because of a BET Overdose. Lack Of Respect for Our Women? With Crack came the advent of the Crack Ho. Believe me: two dollars and fifty cents never bought so much sex. You say the dropout rate is at an All Time High? How important can school seem when there are only three parents at every PTA meeting, and two of them are married to each other? How is this tied to the Crack problem you ask? Well how interested in school would you be if you were scrounging around for something to eat because your parent is...
a Crackhead.

By far the worst thing Crack has brought about is the destruction of the family. Research shows cocaine was the first drug to break the maternal-infant bond. Simply put: it makes mothers stop caring about their kids. For a long time cocaine was the only drug to do this; it has since been joined by "crystal" meth, the Trailer Trash equivalent of Crack.
What does this mean...
Well, there has always been addiction, but nothing, not even heroin addiction, has made mothers forget all about their kids. Obie One, a central character in my book This Ain?t No Hearts and Flowers Love Story, describes his mother like this:

"Suze was a Junkie and a Whore and we lived in the streets.
This much is True.
I was born a junkie, addicted to heroin. True That also.
But that don?t mean she was a Bad Mother Per Se.
Suze Loved Me To Death and I Loved Her Right Back.
Suze could a gave me up, left me with my Grandma and Gone On About Her Biz
but she didn?t.
Suze kept us together.
Suze taught me How To Beg and How To Steal so?s I could eat.
And she taught me The Plan.
Cause Everybody Gots To Have A Plan.
At night Suze always made sure I got the softest spot to lay in.
When she went into a nod Suze would throw her legs over me to keep me from Wanderin. "

The part about the legs? This is a true story.
My sister-in-law was a heroin addict; she threw her legs over her infant daughter every time she nodded out. Just like in my book, she got into a big fight and got thrown out of the house when she did this to a family member?s kid while "babysitting". And like Obie?s mother, she left her child behind To Keep Her Safe, not because She Didn?t Care. By contrast, another character: BB Johnson, got hooked on Crack and didn?t remember he had a son until his son?s SSI check came on "the first."

Motherlessness (the central theme of my novel), not That D@mned Rap Music, has led to the decline of the Black community. How can you treat a woman as anything other than a prostitute when your mother is a Crack Ho? How can you love/trust a man or woman to Do You Right when those Essential Images of Trust: your parents, have abandoned you to drug abuse; left you floundering on your own? Because unfortunately, today?s children are raising themselves.

If they are not the children of addicts then they are the offspring of a generation of addicts, who?ve had no parenting and who?ve learned early on to care about no one but themselves. Or: Their Single Mother has fallen victim to "Welfare Reform" and now has to travel four hours a day to a job that barely pays for bus fare there and back. She has no Back Up System because...? Trace this back a generation on either side and you?ll run smack back into the fallout from the Crack epidemic.
So Many Paths, yet they all lead to The Same Destination.
As long as we keep focusing on Rap music, the problem won?t get any better. And young people won?t listen to you because:
You Sound Stupid.
I?m sorry, but you do.
Like battling The N Word, this is Knee Jerk Reactionism to a Much Deeper Issue. Banning The N Word won?t make Black people Love Each Other More or make White people Hate Us Less. And Young People know 50 Cent is not the reason their momma/grandma (and possibly their daddy, if they can find him at all) is blowing some guy in the alley.
Unless 50 Cent personally sold their parents the rocks they smoke.
Rap music reflects the problem, Rap music perpetuates the problem, but Rap music is not the problem In and Of Itself. If Black families had a Stable Family Base: a mother and a father who were instrumental in guiding their children into Adulthood, would 50 have the impact you claim he has today? Well...I don?t see all those White teens who listen to Rap suffering from these same social issues, so obviously...
It?s Not The Music!!!

But don?t take my word for it.
Demico Booth, author of Why Are So Many Black Men In Prison, was recently a guest (along with this writer and several others) on Ella Curry?s BAN Blog Talk Radio show. Mr Booth, a first time offender, was incarcerated from the time he was eighteen until he was thirty-one years old. His crime was possession of crack cocaine. One segment of his book deals with the effect the media and music have on young Black minds.
Did Mr Booth blame his arrest on Rap Music?
He blamed it on...
Poor parenting.
Which made him more susceptible to the messages in Rap Music.
You see...
Mr Booth?s parents were drug addicts.
Are you feeling me here?

So if you Really want to Help Our People,
Put down your Placard,
throw away your Soap Box,
and mentor a child in your neighborhood.
Tell a child God Loves You, and So Do I.
Because Hate, or Apathy, he can get at home.
Or at school.
Tell a child: You Don?t Have To Live Like This;
God Has Something Better In Store For You.
Take Him or Her to church; to the fair; to the pool.
Show them Something Different.

Of Course it will Work.
Darkchild does it every day.

Stuck In An Elevator With You

Posted on June 26, 2008 at 10:00 PM Comments comments (4)
Stuck On An Elevator With You

So I was gonna blog about how dismally my online marketing campaign was going, right? Even though I had Nothing But Time on my hands cause, alas, like Tommy: I ain't GOT no job, right?
And then: The Lord Delivered.
And Darkchild got a job!
Cue the Choir, I'm about to sing.
What a pity the marketing thing is Still In The Toilet Bowl.
Yasmin said if no one is talking about your book, she don't wanna read it.
It Ain't My Fault, Yasmin. Honestly. I'm doing everything "they" told me to do.
When I inquired about a Virtual Book Tour the other day, the person responded: You could do it yourself. I see you networking All The Time.
Bless Her, Lord. I am So Glad someone thinks I'm Making A Dif.
Then...on one of my groups...there was a writing prompt about two people in an elevator. Shoot, I Already Did That, I thought to myself.
And it Hit Me.
So here is my Elevator Story.
Like it? Hope you do. If so...
Let a Sista Know

CAUTION: These people cuss like sailors. There's a reason for this.


At the end a the concert Princess has her Meet & Greet
and I have my Ass Chewed Out.
Ole Dude the Tour Director is pissed; we was half-a-hour late.
Oh Well.
He act like he never heard a Better Late Than Never.
Better Suck My Dick and Leave Me The Fuck Alone then.
I'm Stressed, I'm Exhausted, my Nerves is On Edge
and All I Wanna Do Is Lay Down.
While the other fellas is Grabbin A Groupie,
I'm Grabbin A Ride Back To The Hotel.
No Sex for Obie???
Obie's goin to bed.
We got those Special Back Elevators to use and one is closin fast.
I make a Mad Dash for it, my bag bangin against my leg all the way.
It's gonna bruise later. Believe that.
When the door opens ain't nobody on it but Cess.
Remember Cess?
The 'Girl Who Ain't Speakin To Me?
Well she looks like I feel:
Like Shit.
Holdin the door open I step to the side.
"This; is a Public Service Announcement.
If you don't wanna ride with me I suggest you Get Off Now cause
I am Too Tired To Wait for the next one. Have A Nice Day."
Bone Weary herself and Too Tired To Argue Cess glares at me.
I let the door close.
We ride in Silence which must a been Chiseled Outta Granite for maybe
two or three floors, my back against the side, her back against the wall.
Without movin anything but my hand I push the emergency stop button.
The alarm don't ring: I had tested it out before.
By now my back hurts so bad I slide down to the floor in my
Nice White Costume: knees up, head hangin, one elbow on each knee.
Tired As Fuck- I Yearn for My Bed but me and Cess
can't keep dancin around whatever it is we feel for we'chother.
Cess is so Hard Hearted she don't even ask what the Hell I'm doin.
The Ornery Bitch won't say a word, won't even sit down til it's Way Past Apparent we're Not Goin Anywhere For A While.
She'll need more than a Snickers to get through this one.
Cess assumes a posture much like mine's.
I slide my foot out ever so slowly til I make contact with Cess's.
She raises her head to give me The Evil Look a Death. I smile back.
"Obie I'm not going to fuck you."
Well that blows nine-tenths a my argument to Hell.
What's left to say except:
"What makes you think that's what I want?"
Cess gives me the DUH!! Look and drops her head back down.
I nudge her foot with mine again. This time she don't look up.
"Seriously Cess. Who told you all I want is a fuck?"
Again she don't answer me.
"Have I Disinfected you in any way?"
"YES DAMN IT," Cess snaps.
I think she mad.
Caller, you say what?
"It's not respectful to push a girl up against a wall; take a kiss from her.
It Simply Isn't Done."
Ooh! Ooh!
It's my turn to be mad now, right?
"Cess did I grab your titties or your ass. NO.
Did I stick my tongue in your mouth? NO.
Did I press up on you? Rub my dick on you?
I ain't gon treat you like some Trashy Ho.
I got Way More Respect for you than that: very very much so.
I'm sorry, I really am. Your lips was pretty and I wanted to see
what they taste like. I did not mean to push you hard like that.
What had happened was?
I had got a little Overexcited and Frankly Scarlet
I thought you was gon put up more fight than you did."
"Why even try if you thought I might fight?!
At the very least you should ASK Obie. Ask.
Not take.
My lips, my body, my choice to give it to you or not.
Nothing on me is yours to take."
"You right? you right? I wasn't thinkin.
But we got passed that Long Time Ago."
Cess gets quiet on me again. I know what I did wrong.
"You were supposed to call me from Jamaica remember?"
Yeah I do. I fucked that one up Somethin Fierce.
"Oh now you don't have anything to say Obie?! What's the matter:
you want to fuck me but you can't call me on the phone?
Who does that?"
"This ain't about a fuck Cess. I done Already Told You.
I said I was sorry before and I meant that. Sincerely."
"Do you know how much that hurt me Obie?
Maybe I made a mistake Putting My Heart All In It
but I thought we were getting Closer. Then I see you all in the papers
and on TV with that Ho on your arm. How do you think I felt?"
"I can't explain it Cess. You was on my mind the whole time.
I couldn't seem to call."
"Was I on your mind when you were between that bitch's legs?"
"Very very much so. I kept thinkin Why Can't This Be Cess?
She'd Love It Here."
"That's the oldest line in the book, O.
I Was Fucking Someone Else But Thinking Of You."
"Must Have Some Validity then. It's Been Around Long Enough."
"Or maybe it just Sounds Real Good On Paper."
"I can't help that. All I know is I thought about you every day."
"You didn't call me when you got back to LA either."
"I made a Big Mistake. That was a real Moment there,
Obie At His Finest. This the
first time I been through somethin like this.
Tryin so hard not to fuck up everything
I fucked it up anyway.
All I wanna do is make it up to you."
Cess chuckles softly, her body and attitude goin soft too.
That wasn't meant to be funny, Cess just took it that way.
She stretches her leg out nexta mine. I stroke her leg tenderly.
Captain, We Have Lift Off.
"I missed you Cess," I whisper.
"I missed you too O. So so very."
This warms my heart more than you could possibly know.
"Come watch a movie with me?"
Cess nods and I set the elevator to movin again.
I slip my arm around her waist and she puts her arm around mine.
I'm so happy.
Very very much so.

Read more excerpts on my website:
Or buy the book here:

Does Society Owe Victims of Sexual Terrorists?

Posted on June 17, 2008 at 12:00 PM Comments comments (3)

R Kelly?s acquittal in his child pornography case has many people, including Darkchild, up in arms. Sadly, though, this type of thing seems to be Par For The Course in the entertainment field. Young girls aren't the only culprits, and too many parents are being swayed by the amount of
money these predators are flashing. According to an expose published in this month's VIBE magazine, producer Chris Stokes may very well be the R Kelly of Black Boy Bands.

This past December two videos by brothers "Ricky Romance," formerly of Immature
and "Raz B" formerly of B2K, surfaced on YouTube describing in chilling detail sexual abuse the two young men allegedly suffered at the hands of Stokes, who was their producer. Almost immediately, Ricky Romance backed off of the allegations. Raz B held his ground for quite some time before he too issued a retraction.

B2K is one of the most successful boy bands of all times, with two of the top grossing tours on record and a number one film under their belts. During their time together the young boys claim to have been totally at Stokes? mercy; they claim he even limited their contact with their parents.

I?m sorry...but that?s a Red Flag right there. And despite the group?s successes:

They made no money.

Or so they?ve been told. Regardless, when the band members parted ways with Stokes, they were Flat Broke and Homeless. Nothing they "owned," not even their houses, were in their names.

Is this a reason to scream Molestation???

Chris Stokes seems to think so: he maintains these claims are made up solely to extort money from him. However, in light of the YouTube confessions, and subsequent retractions, VIBE has uncovered yet another of Stokes' former artists, Quindon Tarver, who claims to have been molested for four years while under Stokes' tutelage. Tarver claims a member of Immature molested him while Stokes watched, and gave directions.

It is interesting to note that when Tarver was first asked to fly out to LA, Stokes told the young boy and his mother, that there were molestation charges pending against him, "...but it?s not true. I?m going to win it." VIBE was not able to find any documentation of any past charges against Stokes. Still, Tarver freely admits that he and his mother were so psyched by his impending stardom that they disregarded what Stokes supposedly said to them.

And that?s the problem.

Like the mother in the first Michael Jackson case, certain parents too often concentrate more on the money and/or attention coming their way then on their children?s welfare. Why else would they allow some man to dictate how often they speak to their own children??? To complicate matters, Chris Stokes?like R Kelly and his "god daughter"-- is related to Ricky Romance, Raz B, and Omari Grandberry, another B2K member.

Related often equals Safe in many people?s minds.

Yet most children are molested by someone they know well.

Marcus Houston, an Immature member Tarver says he was forced to kiss on the mouth, says Stokes is "just like a father" to him. Hmmm....

Didn?t Lil Wayne say that about his producer-slash-mentor Baby???

Right after he kissed him on the mouth??

Sorry, but that?s Another Red Flag. If you don?t believe me, ask any woman who, like Darkchild, had the misfortune of being someone?s Special Girl when she was growing up. You?re Just Like A Son To Me is another lie molesters screw up their victims with. You?re Just Like A Son means you should be glad I?m paying you all this attention; I love you so much and this is how I show it. Sure, the "son" or "special girl" gets showered with gifts and gets taken to all the hot spots. Some develop a natural affection towards their abuser because he?s kind and generous to them.

But at the end of the day there?s a price to be paid that no child should ever have to pay.

Tarver?s story mirrors that of Romance and Raz B in many ways. Like the brothers, Tarver says he too was forced to shower with other boys. Tarver also says that once he confided in a female artist whom Stokes managed, his reputation was destroyed, his album was shelved, and he too ended up on a bus back home: penniless.

Again: Is being robbed reason enough to "cry rape?" Darkchild thinks the similarities between the victims? stories is too eerie to be a coincidence. She also doesn?t know too many men who would lie about being molested.

Darkchild doesn?t know too many men who would admit to being molested.

Why is that? And what exactly does society owe those victims of sexual terrorism who are brave enough to step forward? In my book, This Ain?t No Hearts and Flowers Love Story, Princess endures a brutal rape by her ex lover, keeps it to herself out of fear she?ll be vilified in the press, and cracks under the strain.

Does life imitate art?

In the VIBE article Raz says, "...something happened to me in my childhood. So I?m not ashamed about that." Unfortunately, what he?s going through is taking its toll on him:

The boy is clearly Not Well mentally.

Raz B has now become quite literally the "butt" of many insensitive jokes, including a pointed dis by Yung Joc on the "Lookin' Boy" record/video. Joc screams, "No Chris, no Chris, No!" in a pronounced falsetto. Then, to remove all doubt as to what he?s talking about, in the Overkill Moment of the Year he turns around, bends over, and spreads his butt cheeks for the camera. Radio has the decency to censor that line. On the other hand, BET (which must stand for Broadcasting Everything Tasteless) has no problem adding to Raz B?s pain. This same network has the nerve to be offended because they are The Boondock?s number one target.

What?s happening to Raz B is Not Cool. In fact, it?s Just Plain Mean. People are also quick to blame the failure of the R Kelly case on the young lady who claims not to be in the video, but:
Who wants to be known as The Girl R Kelly Peed On???
I don't see many hands.

Maybe when society makes it safer for victims to step forward,
More Will.
Until then, I?ll continue to pray for Raz B, for Ricky Romance, for Quindon Tarver, for the girl in the R Kelly video, and for victims everywhere.

What about you? Let a sister know...

Alzheimer's Finally Hits Home

Posted on June 5, 2008 at 10:13 AM Comments comments (2)

This weekend I attended a unique event:
It was both my five month old granddaughter?s naming ceremony,
and a celebration of the life of my 88 year old grandmother.
For those of you who don?t know, I?m the mother of nine,
grandmother of 15 and counting, so we were five generations deep:
a historic event for any family.

The first thing I realized is...
There?s a lot of us.
Real Talk.
Tack on another 50 or so Muslims from as far away as Atlanta and
Guess What??!!!
You can?t squeeze that many Negroes in one room and
expect the air to work right.
So it was Hot As The Blue Blazes in that place too.

Me and the kids and grandkids I brought with me from Ohio were
The Only Christians In The Room.
But the biggest shocker of all was the state my grandma is in.
She has Alzheimer?s.
Or "Old Timers."
Take your pick.
I didn?t even recognize her, and I was sitting right next to her.
It doesn?t matter ?cause she didn?t know who I was either.
Mind you, this was a woman who had physical custody of me for two years.
When my mother wouldn?t, or more accurately couldn?t;
Grandma Doris stepped in.

We lived on the 21st floor of a high rise co-op on Lafayette Ave in Brooklyn.
Her lock was hard to turn so she bought my five year old self one of those
things you squeeze to build up the muscles in your hand. Every morning she
made a bowl of All Bran and put canned peaches on top. She made a plastic
holder for my bus pass out of half a two-fold wallet and a piece of yarn
so I could wear it around my neck.
She taught me how to cook.

The years rolled by and another grandmother took over,
one no where near as kind as she, yet Grandma Doris remained
the Flyest Grandma Around. If I learned a new dance
Grandma already knew it.
"A guy showed me that at the club last night," she?d declare, joining in.
I mean, this was a woman who sewed me a fake fur coat and
matching hat when I was five.

Always a robust woman, Grandma stopped eating several months ago,
now she?s approximately the size of a twig.
I heard she was giving the food to the cat.
"Why didn?t somebody just feed her?" I asked, annoyed.
"Well, we?re doing that now," my mother informed me.
Methinks it?s a Tad Too Late.
Besides, she won?t eat anyway. My daughter said if she eats breakfast today,
maybe she?ll eat something else around dinner time tomorrow.
"She used to like ice cream, so we tried using that as a treat.
?If you eat your food you can have some ice cream, Grandma.?
Then we were happy if she just ate the ice cream.
Now she doesn?t even want that."
So they have her on some Old Folks Version of Ensure.
Back In The Day we called those Shakes In A Can 
Crackhead Meals, cause crackheads don't eat either.
She also wears Pampers.

When I finally realized it was her, I apologized, but like I said:
she didn?t know who I was. She opened her mouth to say something,
but much of it was unintelligible. When it was time to take her place in the
Seat of Honor, I watched dumbfounded as my once fly-beyond-her-years
grandmother struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

"It must be rough taking care of her," I whispered to my daughter.
"It takes a community effort," she replied, referencing the four-out-of-five
generations living under one roof.
She told me how her two year old helps Grandma back to her room when
she gets "lost."
In the kitchen.
Or Sounds The Alarm when Grandma pees on the floor.

Once Upon A Time Grandma?s Alzheimer?s was actually funny.
She would put something in the microwave and then jump from fright
when the darned thing beeped.
"Did you put something on?" she?d ask me.
"Noooo...Grandma," I?d reply slowly. "That was you."
Then somehow she set the bed on fire with the heating pad
and it Just Wasn?t Funny anymore.
Her mental confusion progressed rapidly after that. No longer able to tell
Day from Night, Grandma would get dressed at 8pm and wait eagerly by
the door, often for an hour or more, for the bus to come take her to
the Senior Center. Learning that it was night time, she'd cry in frustration.
Grandma's Alzheimer's still has it's ludicrous moments though;
moments when you don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Two months ago, at the very end of Grandma's lucidness,
she told my mother:
"If I have to eat I'm moving out!"
and packed all her stuff in a bag.

As I painfully watched my Grandma being led by the hand like a small child,
shuffling a half-inch at a time, the Muslim sister to my left said:
"I thank God every day I?m well, I?m not on medicine or anything,
?cause who would take care of me? I don?t have any girls; all I have are sons."
I thank God, too.
Because my grandma is living out her twilight years surrounded by family
and not in some home.
She might not always know who they are or even where she is.
But her Spirit-man knows she?s loved.

God Bless You, Doris Enid Stout.
Cause God knows I love you.

The woman of the hour next to my brother Guy. My son Ali, known professionally as
ATL Rapper Papi Hey is in the background.

Just SOME of my many kids, grandkids and their spouses

Passin--I Just Wanna Know (Repost)

Posted on June 5, 2008 at 10:10 AM Comments comments (1)

Just finished reading Passin by Karen E. Quinones Miller.
WOW. What a ride. I mean: What a Great Book.
I loved the character Shanika, and even though I didn't agree with her choices,
I felt for her strongly.
Sympathized even.
Her situation was believable and very very real, but:
Do people really Pass anymore???

Those of you who've checked out my blog Light Skinned Party??? or seen my web posts know that Obie, one of the main characters in my book This Ain't No Hearts and Flowers Love Story (buy it here) struggles with the same skin color issues as Shanika. EXCEPT:
Obie refuses to Pass.
What most of you probably don't know is:
I have a son who is Passing.
Yes. It's true. He lives an All White life in an All White neighborhood with his All White girl and his All White friends and teaches History at an All White school.
And you thought Passing was an Old School phenomenon.

It's not his fault really; people can be so cruel. When he was a kid the Spanish people in our neighborhood told him his White behind couldn't possibly have come out of my Negro butt so he Must Be Adopted. He asked his brothers and sisters and they said: Yes, we found you in a garbage can.
I think he's been waiting for his White Parents to come and take him away ever since.

I actually have two blonde haired hazel eyed children white enough to Pass.
Like Obie, my seventeen year old daughter Madonna Starr cherishes her Black Identity and wouldn't give it up for the world.
"Besides," she tells me, "Something about my face always makes White people ask: What are you?!"
It's not your face, dear; believe me. It's the Ghetto Superstar hair styles that scream: "I'm Straight From The 'Hood." How do I know??!!! When she was young I used to "pass" (sorry--I couldn't resist) around her school/team pictures and play Find The Black Girl In This Picture. 
Madonna told me something else, too.
She told me when she's with her brother...
She Passes too.  
"People just assume we're White and I go along with it."
Going Along With It means, when they step into a restaurant the servers make a bee line in their direction in order to seat them, often ignoring other patrons who clearly have been waiting a while.

Does Passing still exist?
Are people Out There Passing yet denying it to their friends/families? 
Are they Passing outright even?
Or are my kids simply Retro Throwbacks from a Bye Gone Era?

Let a Sista Know.

Color Wars: The Red Dress (Repost)

Posted on June 5, 2008 at 9:52 AM Comments comments (0)

(This is the excerpt that started a Crapstorm of Controversy when I first posted it.
All blog excerpts are from the book This Ain't No Hearts and Flowers Love Story. Buy it now at or here on the website by clicking Stores)

[First a word from Princess]

"Obie; some crazy chick is tryna slash yo' tires," Malcolm rushes in screaming.
Baby Girl? Name That Tune!
Outside Rahshaun's kids are trying to stop Toya from fucking up Obie's Porsche,
and that crazy bitch is fighting with the children.
Who does THAT?!
"HOW COULD YOU CHOOSE THAT CRISPY BLACK BITCH OVER ME?!" Toya screams, her meduom-brown face turning a mottled red.
And, I'm thinking: this-can't-be-happening-to-me.
"Don't disrespect my girl," Obie warns Toya.
"How can that even be your girl? That's your cousin. That's nasty."
"Sounds like something you'd-need-a-protective-suit for," I whisper to Uncle BB.
"I believe that's called 'a condom,'" he replies.
"Whatever, Toya," Obie lets this one roll off his back;
"Look; you a nice-girl-and-all, but I wasn't feelin it."
"But you said we were getting married," Toya stomps like a disappointed child.
"No!" Obie corrects her. "What I had said was: 'I'm lookin for a wife. Let's try-it
and see-what-happens.' Well, we tried it; and it ain't happen. SORRY."
"Obie, I'm pregnant," the simple bitch whines, all wide-eyed-and-tearful.
Boy; did she fuck up. The Obie-bomb detonates square-in-her-face.
"Oh, HELL NO YOU DIDN'T. Why you have to go and say that,
make me lose all
respect for you?! How could you even come out here
in front a my family with that BULLSHIT, HUH?!
I am twenty-eight-years-old. Know how many kids I have?!"
He puts up the "Black Power" fist.
"ZERO." O points directly at it;
"That's a goose egg, trick. I don't have kids because
I KNOW HOW TO PROTECT MYSELF. It's best you take that weary shit
back to whatever 'hood that works in."
Obie starts to walk away; spins on Toya with his "Final Thoughts."
"What's the matter with you, HUH? We dated for six weeks.
That's not a love-
connection; that's an 'ep.'
While I regret that it didn't work out, please take your ass
on home
before you get hurt."
"Who's gonna hurt me, your cousin/sister/homie/lover/friend?
I'll bust that Black
bitch's ass; snatch that weave right out of her head."
D?j? vu all over again, eh Yogi?
I do my "wing thing;" show this bitch this ain't no weave.
What do I have to prove to her crazy ass anyway? This bitch is nothing to me.
Flexing powerful biceps, I strike a kick-boxing-stance;
signal Toya Bruce-Lee-Style.
"'Bring it' if you 'got it.'"
It wasn't one-tenth-as-easy to stop Toya's big-fat-ass as it was
to stop little Nicole.
Toya barrels past Obie at top speed,
straight into an uppercut that lifts the bitch off her feet.
On the way down I three-piece her ass.
Completely demolished, Toya crumples lifelessly to the driveway.
"Gonna fly now?," I sing, bouncing on my toes;
arms extended upward in victory.
In a kind gesture O helps Toya to her feet;
sees her to her car, parked on the beach.
"See you in seven months," Toya tells Obie.
"See my lawyer," Obie tells her right back.

After all that's happened I'll be damned if I get up to get the door.
Somebody lets in a courier bearing two D&G garment bags.
Well, all righty then; these must be our "prom" outfits.
Giddy with anticipation I snatch my bag from O;
the contents knock-me-for-a-loop.
"OB, this dress is red."
He doesn't make the connection.
"You don't put a dark-skinned woman in a red dress."
"And this is because??"
Mothafucka, you know why.
"Come on O; you didn't marry into Blackness,
you've been Black your whole life.
How could you do this to me?"
"What, Cess?" Obie sounds exasperated. "What have I done?"
"That dress is going to make me look dark."
"Make you look dark?! You mean darker than you look already?!
If there is a color
that will make you look darker,
there's a color that will make me look darker, too.
We must find this color at once."
Why does Obie have to be so got-damn stupid all the time?
Okay, Obie isn't really stupid, he's just not feeling-me-here.
He thinks dark skin is God's second-greatest-achievement.
He doesn't have to walk-around-in-it.
Frustrated by his lack-of-empathy I put the dress on, totally prepared to hate it.
Oops; my bad?
Why it's nowhere near as awful as I thought though?
You figure.

[And now a word from Obie...]

A courier from D&G delivers me and Princess's Prom outfits.
As is So Typically Her Style, Princess gets all Bent Outta Shape cause:
The. Dress. Is. Red.
She say the dress will Make Her Look "Black."
Like I would have her on my arm Lookin Like A Picaninny.
As If.
Have you seen her?
I love her to death but Cess ain't no Snow Bunny.
She couldn't look One Whit Blacker if she tried.
First off: The Dress Ain't Red, it's Brick.
Second: Bein Black and Lookin The Part ain't a crime.
Ask me how I know.
I sure wish I had that problem, Some Folks Don't Know when they
Got It Good.
"You so Black and we so White cause when we was kids you
fell in the tub and
Soaked Up All Our Color," Freak jokes.
That Goes Over like a bomb.
I hafta keep tellin her Over & Over to Put The Dress On Princess,
Try The Dress On Princess; Just Try The Damn Dress On.
Like she a Two Year Old or somethin.
That 'Girl can sure try my patience.
Days Like This I wish I Didn't Love Princess At All.
At Long Last (Love) Princess puts on the fuckin dress and Guess What?!
The color's A'ight.
What was that all about?
Who does that?

Only A Princess.

(c) 2007 Brooklyn Darkchild


The Other Side of the Color Coin (Repost)

Posted on June 5, 2008 at 9:26 AM Comments comments (0)

(An excerpt from This Ain't No Hearts and Flowers Love Story)

As Obie said, Light Skinned Ain't No Party, but for Princess,
being  Dark is no Luxury Vacation, either...

We pick up a few things at the supermarket that really
could have been delivered but:
I wanted to get out of the house. Thank God Toya wasn't there.
From there we stop at a rental place out in Long Beach where
Rahshaun has gotten "mad" shit by signing Obie's name. The bill is astronomical.
Who rents a PlayStation anyway?
Who does that?
Anyway, Obie needs a full accounting; I figured I'd help him out by picking it up;
we decide to check out a couple of stores in this strip mall.
Now, I love my Black people in all-their-glory but I can't always figure them out.
My superstar status not withstanding, I think I'm a great looking girl:
thick long black hair that hangs to my butt, almond eyes, curvaceous C/D breasts,
slim waist, great ass; but let's face it:
I'm also a darkie.
The eyes of almost every dude we pass slide off of me like I've been
dipped in Crisco only to get super-glued onto Xena.
I ain't mad at her. It isn't her fault she's yaller any more than it's
my fault I'm crispy but I know I look better than this chick.
Xena's face might be pretty and she's got those grey eyes and that
long sunstreaked hair,
but she looks like she's starving to death.
Somebody says:
"'Dark & Lovely' looks just like Princess. And her ass is bangin, yo."
Momentarily I have captured their interest, convinced I couldn't-possibly-be me,
each eye wanders back toward my cousin.
This is why I didn't hang out with females when I was a girl.
If I hadn't always had a man my self-esteem would be in the toilet right now.
On the way into the rental place a dude stepping out of his car grins; says hi to me.
I return his greeting warmly; we exchange a few banal pleasantries;
while I'm at the front desk discussing this bill, Old Dude walks in.
"Where's my wife?" he asks no one in particular. "She just came in here."
Catching sight of me he smiles brightly and says:
"There you are."
Shook, I turn to Dude and say:
"I have a husband, honey; he looks nothing like you."
Old Dude is up-on-my-ass like a pair of dollar drawers:
I mean, I just-can't-break-free.
"Look, Chief," I readdress him, all flustered now.
"I don't know who you are, but my husband is Obie One.
Best you leave before I have to call him to come down here."
An arctic breeze blows off of Dude's glare;
I guess "the honeymoon" is over.
He asks the "cat" behind the counter a few questions about a DVD;
beats-it for the exit.
"What was that about?" Xena's face is crinkled in perplexity.
I-don't-know, but I don't like the look in his eye.
Suddenly scared, I call Obie,
who gets here sooner than I expect,
which of course means he's upset.
Xena fills him and Hood in. Really upset now, I'm finding it hard to breathe.
"Yo; I'm sorry, Playa," the salesman fawns apologetically over Obie;
"I thought yo' girl knew Ol' Dude and they was playin.
I ain't know that was Princess."
"Son, I don't know Dude from a can of lead-based-paint," I spit out angrily.
"What he look like?" Obie interrogates me.
"I don't know. Dark skinned; in a cheesy, blue-fleece pullover."
Obie scans the parking lot; "Old Dude" is "long gone;"
"You see why I don't let you go nowhere by yo'self?
Why you even talk to him!?"
"He said 'Hi,' I said, 'Hi,' back. He seemed nice enough; I was
"You far too pretty for that shit; one little 'Hi' and you become
Just then the group of dudes who were eyeing Xena comes sauntering past.
"Oh SHIT," one of them exclaims, "'Dark &Lovely' is Princess."
Obie's head snaps around so fast I got whiplash.
He stares at Dude hard; he and his boys slink off.
I want to ask Obie:
If I'm so "pretty," how come I couldn't get any play from those "cats"?
But I keep-it-to-myself.

The doorbell is ringing again.
You'd think with all these clowns here someone would get-off-his-ass,
But noooo, I think not. The instant I open the door I regret it bitterly.
Without ever having set eyes on this girl I know exactly who she is.
The weave gave it away.
I thought she'd be darker; that blondish color looks semi-natural against her
put-some-cream-in-my-coffee complexion. She has chinky eyes and
high cheekbones too, but "girlfriend" is at least fifteen pounds past "stacked."
Toya is plain-old-dumpy: wiggly and jiggly.
She knows who I am, too; that didn't require four-years-of-college.
More importantly: Toya knows who I am.
"I've come for Obie," she announces like she's come-for-her-throne or something.
Bitch please.
There's only one Princess here.
"Let me see if he's available," I tell her.
"If you tell him it's me, I'm sure he'll be available," the bitch replies with Attitude.
"Right On," I toss out, turning to go.
"You look a whole-lot-blacker in person," Toya snips.
That stops me in my tracks.
Why do bitches always think "Black" is the worst thing they can call me?
I know who I am.
"Don't hurt yourself, Girlfriend," I warn her before walking away.
"Bitch, do I look like Tracey Ellis Ross to you? I am NOT your 'Girlfriend.'"
Obie needs to handle this shit.

I guess that's what he calls himself doing, anyway;
he's been gone for three hours.

Nikki comes strolling in with her sisters; I haven't seen her since Europe.
Absence does not make the heart grow fonder
but peroxide definitely makes-the-hair-grow-blonder.
Hatred bores holes in my soul;
her rubbing Obie's dick doesn't improve our relationship one iota.
In any case, even with his dick in a head-lock,
Obie doesn't exactly look pleased.
He keeps pushing Nic off;
either animal magnetism or sheer stupidity draws her back.
I'm putting "five" down on "sheer stupidity" for the win; simple bitch.
Obie is patiently telling the girl he isn't interested; she-don't-hear-him-though.
I give-her-the-good-news;
Nicole laughs so hard I thought we'd have to mop up pee water.
But I could see she was shocked; she thinks Obie could do a lot better.
That's how I feel about her.
Then Nicole starts ragging on me, calling me Black as Hell.
Anybody besides me keeping score here?
Because already it-has-begun:
That's twice today I've run into irate Obie-philes;
I've only been Obie's woman for two weeks.
But let another motha fucka call me Black again today;
like it's leprosy;
there will be a murder.

I'm not putting up with this shit;
I have a crib of my own; am so, so very ready to 'get gone."

(c) 2007 Brooklyn Darkchild

Like the story?
Don't be scared to buy the book.

Light Skinned Party??? (Repost)

Posted on June 5, 2008 at 9:09 AM Comments comments (0)


(An excerpt from This Ain't No Hearts and Flowers Love Story)

Light skinned ain't always a party,
a least not for Obie.
Obie Who ??? you might ask.
Well, read on...

This Jam would not a been Complete if the weather wasn't disgustin in Canada.
I mean, that's The Icin On The Cake, ain't it?
I leave my Beautiful Woman in Warm Sunny California
to be All Alone in Arctic Ass Toronto.
It's Cold & Crappy and already I want to die; always.
It's Gonna Be A Great Day folks.
Even Hood looks Beat Down By Circumstance and he always been The Anxious Type.
Who's responsible for this shit?
He better not let me Catch His Ass.
I'm not in a Good Mood, can you tell?
First day on the set don't make it no better.
They shootin a NY movie in Toronto, AND it's a Club Movie with No Niggas.
I ain't know they still made All White Movies.
Who does that?
Ain't there a law against This Type a Thing?
Shocker Number Two: They want Hood to straighten his hair.
He ain't had to do that since The Eighties, MAN.
I'm gettin heated here.
Me and Hood deliberate for hours about whether to Pack Our Shit & Go,
but we (HE) decide to Stick It Out.
Good Career Move & All.
As If.
Hood looks Damn Near White with his hair pressed.
He could Pass just as easy as me. Which got us to thinkin?
On Closer Inspection there's some Mixed Kids on this set who's either Passin or
was chosen cause Like Us they can Pass.
People think that whole phenomenon a Passin- Died Out in The Sixties.
Ungawa; Black Power right?
To those a you who think that, let me direct your attention to Mariah.
Just cause she Open about Her Black Daddy do not mean she ain't Livin & Actin
Just Like A White Woman.
That my friends is Passin.
Mommy was Passin too, cause Until Recently, Mommy thought she was White.
You know Hood's Black Ass useta Embarrass Her??!!!
In fact, Mommy insisted she was White,
and no Amount a Persuadin convinced her otherwise.
She useta say: If A White Momma Don't Make Me White
then A Black Momma Don't Make Her Black.
As If.
I hate that shit. I hate the whole emphasis on skin color.
Why is White Skin supposed to be So Much More Desirable?
I'd ask Who Made That Shit Up but I Already Know.
Well I been Trapped In This Skin my whole life
and it's never done much for my Self Esteem.
I could Pass more easily than the majority a Light Skinned Folks.
I choose not to.
First, I would Lose My Family, and that's simply Under Acceptable:
I love these niggas.
Second, I was raised in a Black environment, steeped in Black culture.
My Whole Entire Identity is in my Blackness.
Even if I tried on White Culture it would be Foreign to me.
Like a Ill Fittin Suit it wouldn't Serve Its Purpose nor Meet My Needs.
I adored my White momma yet I don't identify with either her Whiteness
or with Whiteness in General.
I need to be surrounded by Loud Vibrant Dynamic People of Color.
Lotsa mixed kids Pass, either ProActively or ReActively.
Even the one's as dark as Halle Berry demand to be called Bi Racial,
as if you could be both at once.
They just tryna Distance Theyselves from they Blackness.
Like that's not The First Thing A Person Sees.
They may not know what country you from or how deep your pockets is but they know
You're A Nigger.
That's For Sure.
I ain't never Proactively Passed in my life but I have Reactively Passed.
Once I was on a bus in Bensonhurst when
several White kids pelted a Black kid with The N Word.
The second time I stopped to pee in a bar
and a bunch a rednecks was laughin and tellin Nigger Jokes.
This the spot where I'm supposed to tell you how much I hate bein Light Skinned right?
Under True.
I hate lookin like a White person.
I would kill to be Light Skinned, even light like Freaky and Hood.
At least people can More Or Less tell they Black.
A Once Over Lightly with The Color Brush would a sufficed, very very much so,
but if I had came out Lookin Like Baby Girl I would not be cryin.
You can never be Too Rich or Too Black Sayeth The Fabulous BB Johnson.
I however am not Light, I am White. Light Skinned is this Lovely Euphemism
Black people created cause ain't no other polite way to describe me.
Looks Like a White Guy is Not Polite.
So here we are stuck in this Hell called a Movie Shoot, a Hell a My Own Makin,
and the producers is Workin Us To Death. Production starts at The Ass Crack a Dawn
and continues almost until The Moon Calls It Quits, which is Fairly Typical for a movie.
Me and Hood hafta teach The Principals all these Complicated Dance Steps.
Most a these people can Master The Steps
but they can't Breathe Life into them, you feel me?
They Look Like Actors, not Club Mavens.
If they target audience is anybody connected to The Club Scene they bout to be
Sorely Disappointed. Plus, Hood and me's got parts in this Piece a Shit.
I don't wanna Show My Face in this Stinker but Hood said:
Everybody Makes A Bad Flick Now & Then.
We ain't bonded with the cast or crew either so there's no one to hang with.
"You think it's cause they Sense Our Disdain for this project?" I ask Hood.
"No, I think it's cause you asked Where All The Niggas On This Flick At?"
We giggle despite ourselves.
That was some funny shit.
"You Too Damn Outspoken for Your Own Good," Hood snickers.
"Oh Well."
"Why you ain't eatin nothin?"
"I don't know, dog. I ain't been hungry lately."
"Well you startin to Look Bad. Like a 'Head or Somethin."
"Well you suckin up every pound I lose so I know where to go when I need em."
I'm jokin and we laughin but I can't have people thinkin I'm Smokin so
I fix a plate and force myself to eat it.
"You wanna go out?" Hood asks me.
"Not really, maybe next time."
"This's why I Don't Subscribe To all this Love Bullshit. It's Painful," Hood complains.
"But it's cool when you with her though, a'ight?"
"No Doubt," he confirms, "but She Ain't Here Now and I'm Lonely, yo."
That folks is Hood Speak for Horny.
I commiserate with Hood, my Partner In Gloom.
I think I- Live There Too.
"Let's Hit The Clubs," he suggests.
I beg off though, not In The Mood for Casual Sex. Instead, after he gone I call Princess
and we have Phone Sex. For me this A Whole Lot Better. Only?
Stressed, a week later I end up in bed with some chicks I don't even know.
My Dick Was Happy, That's About All.

Tired a my grousin, the next morning the Director lashes out at me.
"Graduate from High School first and then come talk to me about my film."
"Mothafucka I graduated Valedictorian a one a the most prestigious private schools in
New York City. There ain't a damn thing I hafta prove to any White man on this
. I got a 1700 on my SAT's and I can Read Write & Speak a more perfect
English than Webster himself. I also speak four other languages. I speak a dialect
comf'table for me and easy for Those In My Circle to understand. You don't
understand; therefore you must not be in my circle. Too Bad For You.
Let Me Help You Out and Express This in a language far more to your Personal Liking.
In my Professional Opinion, a film about the club scene in New York City that totally
omits Black people is not only Insulting, but is Racist Propaganda. I say that not only
as a Life Long Club Hopper and as a Fellow Director but also as a Black Man."

By the weekend four Black faces was added to the cast and they let Hood braid his hair.

(c) 2007 Brooklyn Darkchild


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