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I wake up tied to a chair in a stable that is being used to raise dogs. I don't know how I know it's being used to raise dogs, but I do. The sun is just beginning to set and I can see it and a quickly darkening forest from the open stable door to my left. The stable is entirely empty: of dogs, of hay, of accoutrements, of anything. I am in the last of three stalls to the left of the stable and my head hurts like I hit it on something. The headache is aggravated by the dogs barking in the distance. It is not just a few dogs but a large pack, fifteen or more, and they sound like they're searching for something or someone. It occurs to me that they are probably looking for my friends, and I am afraid. The man that owns the stable and the dog, he's looking for my friends and he's already caught me. I almost can't breathe and I don't want to think about. I fall asleep.
~
When I wake up again it is dark outside though the corners of the stable are lit with flood lights facing the ceiling. It's not a lot of light but it's enough. Enough to see my friend Olutunji also tied in a chair. He is almost blubbering and shaking his head no. His eyes are wide and bloodshot. He's almost as afraid as I am I think but I'm calmer. "It’s gonna be okay, Tunji. It's gonna be okay," I tell him trying to get him to relax because his fear isn't helping me any and if we're going to get out of here we have to have clear heads. There's no way we're going to get by the blood dogs, I think to myself. But we have to try. He can't hear me over his own mutterings all I can make of it are "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again.
The man walks in and that's when I notice that I'm not tied to the chair anymore I am just sitting on the hay of the stall, waiting. He looks like a mean farmer, like you imagined farmer ___ from the tales of Peter Rabbit who: bald, a wrinkled and scarred face, plaid button-down shirt, suspenders, and olive pants tucked into black work boots. His voice is calm and low. "I told you people I didn't want you here. And now you're going to pay the price." The man hands Tunji a knife. "Boy, if you want to live, you’ll throw this knife at your friend. If you want to live, you won't miss. If you want to live, you'll make it hurt."
Tunji looks me in the eye and we both know. Really, he already knew. If than man doesn't let us leave we won't leave at all wither of us. The only good part of it all is that he didn't tell him to kill me. Tunji and I aren't that close but we've known each other forever through church and our parents. Something in me hopes that the sheer amount of time we've spent in each other's presence will make him hold back for me, but he won't. The man will know the difference. Tunji keeps saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He takes the knife and some part of me that is not resigned to whatever pain may come resists. "Please don't do this!" I say against my will and my arm is outstretched in the universal sign for stop. Tunji throws it straight and true and before I know what has happened the knife slices through my wrist like butter, like air.
Everything stops.
Even the man is holding his breath it seems.
I stare at my wrist as slim line of red begins to appear around the circumference. I can't believe he did it, even though most of my mind is telling me that he's my friend and his life was at stake the uncompromising survivor in me, the part of me that begged Tunji to stop when I knew it would make no difference, cannot believe that he actually did it.
I don't move and my hand, that should have already fallen, stays put. If I never move maybe I can imagine that he didn't really do it, that this never happened. Nothing hurts and I think to myself, How long I can stay this way?
The man releasing Tunji from the chair breaks the spell and "I'm sorries" start again as Tunji leaves the stable, constantly looking back over his shoulder. I use my left hand to hold my hand and arm together and gently lower the severed hand to the hay on which I’m sitting. And of course, finally, there is blood and pain and I begin to scream and I can't stop. Underneath my screams I can hear the dogs that had faded into the distance. I can hear them baying and coming closer howling and racing and the man barely has time to shut the stable doors and before he does I can see Tunji running in the distance knowing that time is running out. Just as the man lowers the bar the blood dogs reach the stable and slam against the doors growling and scratching and digging. Anything to get closer. In the midst of my screaming I fall asleep.
~
A girl my age walks into the stall with a silver pitcher and a bowl of warm water and bandages. My wrist had been bandaged while was unconscious and the girl has come to change the dressing. In the stall next to me there are seven beautiful solid black puppies with gold eyes, playing with each other. The girl leaves the bowl outside the stall and uses the pitcher to cleanse the wound. She is gentle and I begin to wonder what the man's game is. When she wrings out a towel over the bowl, a drop of blood splashes into the pitcher next to it. I see it but the girl doesn't see and I cannot open my mouth to tell her. She finishes with me and goes to the other stall with the pitcher of water for the puppies' water bowl I can hear my heartbeat in my ears but still I cannot move to stop her. The puppies lap up the water with abandon but after awhile they lose interest. They begin to amble and sniff at the hay searching for something slowly all the puppies are pressed against the low wooden wall separated my stall from theirs and are sniffing and digging at the hay. "No. No!" I'm finally able to say something, to move.
I turn to the girl and I beg her, "Tell them it's just water! Please tell them it's just water!" The girl looks confused but unconcerned. I have grabbed her arm in my begging and she shakes me off. The color of the puppies eyes are changing from gold to ruby red and their canines grow long and sharp. Their yips and puppy grumbles turn to high-pitched growls and I cower in the farthest corner of my stall.
"TELL THEM IT'S JUST WATER!"
If you are looking for a new series to get lost in this summer, I invite you to try the Cybil Lewis series.
About The Cybil Lewis Novels
Cybil Lewis is a private inspector and no stranger to loss and pain. She has three stories in the series so far-- with more to come. Join this private-eye in life-altering adventures in a strange futuristic world with her band of friends and enemies as she solves the latest whodunit. The Cybil series novels are great mysteries in the realm of science fiction.
Don't take my word for it. Here is what reviewers had to say about Cybil and SILENCED:
“Nicole Givens Kurtz is a gifted sci-fi writer with a wonderful imagination…And with the extra benefit of a strong African-American woman as the main character, this adventure captures the essence of the future.”—Affaire de Coeur, 4 1/2 Star Review
“A missing-persons case takes us into an action-packed story. Cybil is no shrinking violet, and the tale is vivid enough to keep the reader looking forward to the next chapter in this new series. This is a fast-paced, enjoyable ride.”—RomanticTIMES Book Reviews, 4 Star Review
“Nicole Givens Kurtz has written an enjoyable sci-fi mystery that displays her active imagination and her ability to build a storyline around believable characters in an advanced time setting. I found Kurtz's heroine to be interesting; however, buy-in took a minute due to the character's brashness. Once there, I was able to understand her motives and mode of operation. SILENCED is being dubbed as the first in the Cybil Lewis series. Now that my appetite has been whet, I am looking forward to the next installment.”—The RAWSISTAZ(tm) Reviewers
“For top-notch suspense, edge-of-the-seat breathless anticipation, and reeling denouements that never stop, run to your nearest bookseller and pick up SILENCED!”—Dark Angels Review, 5 Angels Review
"Silenced" has all the hard-boiled elements of sex, violence, crooked politicians and dishonest cops and a story told by an engaging but difficult heroine. It is an excellent start to what promises to be a very interesting series." --Fred Cleaver, The Denver Post
Learn more about the four stories in this series by visiting Cybil's blogspot at http://cybillewisseries.blogspot.com/
The Chief is back home in the Land of the Fjords, but all is not as it should be. Though only gone for several months, everything has changed and only the strange little girl named Mjarga seems to have the answers. The trio of travelers must solve this strange mystery if they are to find the Chief's missing men and return to the Valley! The questions will only deepen in this latest chapter of The Priestess Saga.
All Hail The Priestess!
Specter of War, the first book in my Guardians of Destiny young adult series, is now on sale. I'm very proud of the book and I hope that it finds an audience. I'd like to thank fellow Black Science Fiction Society Sister Valjeanne Jeffers for the amazing edit and for being supportive and honest.
After two dikas of peace, the United Republic of Planets now finds itself on the brink of war. The newly crowned queen of the Maraudan Empire, Mursela Mornall, is determined to return her realm to its glory days by destroying The Republic she despises, but her desire for war is dividing her people. Senator Abrecus Judi and his daughter, Dena, find themselves on the forefront of the debate, and soon their family is heading towards a collision course with The Queen that will change their lives forever.
For the citizens of The Republic, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Graduating cadets Akeen and Connor Star have enough problems living up to their legendary heritage, and balancing their complicated relationship with Kayla Dylan, without being thrust into a war they do not want. Meanwhile, Major Van Dylan finds himself an unlikely hero while on a peace mission in Maraudan space, and Parnell Star, the great hero of the last war, must find a way to stop history from repeating itself, as young and old, human and non-human alike, band together to beat back the specter of war.
For a LIMITED TIME, you can purchase the book for .99 cents. Check it out and enjoy the journey.
Terry Connors was in an especially good mood. What had really started out as a mutual aid session face to face with Warren and Elaine Buffs about their term papers for their EDU class, had turned into a warm to the marrow of his bones evening with Ginger Tolliver. The b'baller had came over on a different matter, involving her and Elaine's set of female friends. The four all had known each other since Willie Williams Elementary. The then awkwardly lanky, four eyed Ginger, had turned into the tall and properly packaged forward on the varsity girls' contending basketball squad, far, far, different from the dismally doofus men's (emphasis on the small 'm' ) team.
" I've always liked you too, Terry." He nearly whooped when she said that, after he finally came out that he'd been loony for her, since Gertie Richards' fourteenth birthday party. They kissed. And he was glad he didn't drool or bust a nut, or break wind, or a million other things that could of ruined the moments. Her brother Darrian came by to pick her up. Else Terry would have walked her home to 3497 Pasteur. Terry thought if he stayed on Clermont Avenue it would take too long to see her. He had neutral colors on. His cousin Tyrese was in cool with the Gatrillazs, who claimed dominance in this part of the 'world'. Terry crossed through an alley separating Macklin and Clermont, intending to go over Zap-a-Punk Hill to 'The Full Plate' fast food near the foot of the hill.
Traffic,whether of cars, bikes or strollers, wasn't heavy. He thought, then decided not to, to get a burrito from the 'Full Plate', even though they did put more meat in theirs than the competition. Just as he got over the crest of the hill, he was pushed down by a heavy waft of air sounding like a closet door opening on a carpeted floor! A bright yellow light filled his head. Then was gone. To be replaced by the odor of animal!
Terry rolled over to see coming from the other side where he'd been on the hill, three Black men, mounted on horses! They themselves looked like a cross between green uniform jacketed Mounties and heavily armed gunslingers. Their hats brims were folded up and back on the crown, like the cavalrymen wore in John Ford westerns. Two had pennoned lances. The third cradled a lever action rifle. They all had pistols. In their holsters. In their belts. They even had a big pistol in a flapped holster on their horses' saddles. Following behind them came nine more men afoot, wearing similar hats, but dark blue jackets and pants and lace up boots. They were all armed with bolt action rifles and had pistols either in their belts or two at least did, in shoulder holsters.
" All right my good young fellow," said the mounted one cradling the rifle. "If you understand me, nod your head. Good. What land is this? What year is it?" Terry mechanically droned out the answers. "Excellent! Excellent! Then that means..." At the foot of the hill blotting out the streetlamp, a great yellow diamond shaped light appeared. " You got it right Sarge," one of the lancers said. "That's what his majesty pays me to be Qals. All right lads, there's the shortcut home. Let's be on our way." The mounted noncom leaned over in his saddle, and not unkindly said, "I do suppose you know, that no one will believe your story,eh lad? Good! Take care now!" Terry watched as the battered, yet triumphant band of survivors of a unit of His Royal Majesty's East Frontier Force returned to their proper realm. The light winked out, the street lamp re-appeared. After what seemed a short while, still laying where he'd been pushed, Terry checked his watch. It was around 6:00 in the morning and his stomach rumbled. He got up and headed to the Full Plate to get a breakfast burrito. Maybe when he was old and in his forties he'd tell Ginger about all that happened.
Imogene Hampton looked at her date and wished she had her sister Doris stretched out over a sacrificial altar. Dennis was a supervisor at a regional bank. Divorced, with two kids approaching young adulthood, just as sane as one would want your offspring to be. Still attended the same church on Latvia and Upton he'd been baptized at as a young boy. Spoke well and with no false notes of 'hood informality that been long suppressed since graduating from college. Ran a mile each morning. Was as fun to be with as a hemorrhoid!
Contrary to rumors and expectations, Imogene wasn't, nor felt, in the thrall of loneliness nor desperate, or was going lesbian. That thought had entered her older sister Doris's murky mind, because of Gina, Imogene's friend from work, a gay woman who had told Doris so at the graduation party for Doris's daughter and Imogene's niece, Stephanie. Doris exchanged a look of panic between the two of them and rushed from the dining room! "I found the writings of Shelby Steele, Armstrong Williams, and Bishop Jakes to be inspirational, in particular in my dealings with a much wider world. The Demoncrats have compartmentalized our people..." Ooh! She was going to cuss Doris out! What did Dusty call them of that persuasion? Constipated ReNegroes. Dusty had been a cynic about politicians and politics in general. But he held those Blacks who added the adjective conservative and the pejorative republican together on the same level as pedophiles.
It was two years tomorrow since his death in that car wreck. They had been a couple only four. She took a sip of the wine in her glass and closed her eyes. A dinner out for Dusty had been to Creighton's Fish Hut or The Blue World's diner over on Petty. He would have sent back this dinner and demanded a refund for serving him such petite portions at such a high price. "Shit! I coulda fed five hungry motherfuckas at the Blue World a healthy ass meal." She spewed the wine on Dennis's shirt. Across from her, at another table with a white couple totally oblivious to him, sat Dusty, smiling and with a plate of chicken wings, Cole slaw,Sweet Potato Pie and a bottle of beer! "Now I know I'm one of a kind baby, but you don't have to settle for 2,000th best. Ditch this bougie and I'll tell you all about this fellow Harper I've scoped out. I think you two will click. He'll even sit and watch Bette Davis movies with ya. And not just 'Hush,Hush, Sweet Charlotte either."
As promised, Pt. I of the second phase of the Priestess Saga begins with "All Things Sown Before Harvest." The Chief of the Aesir with the aid of Little Fish and the Valley Knight returns to his ancestral Northlands. But in his absence an old enemy has returned to lay claim and the Chief won't stand for it! The action and intrigue begins in this latest segment of The Priestess Saga!
All Hail The Priestess!
Back in March 2003 I was sitting on a sofa in my tiny yet cozy apartment in Marietta, Ga watching the television. The local news was on and although I generally don't watch the news (its so depressing sometimes), this time I paid close attention. The president (George W. Bush) along with Congress were sending troops into Iraq & thus, war had begun. I thought of all of the young soldiers who would go to Iraq to fight for our country, and also how many of them would not return, or would return never the same. Suddenly, an idea came into my head that I wanted to write about war. I had no idea how I would do it, but that was what I definitely wanted to write about. I had read many novels in which war occured and others where war was the major theme and I wanted to take the same topic and somehow treat it differently. Most if not all novels abour war created empathy in the reader by exposing the bloodiness of battle and the carnage. This is very effective for most but I didnt want most of the human audience I wanted all (many have become desensitized to direct violence through various mediums unfortunately), and so my quest began. At the time I was unemployed, clinically depressed and was busy writing a coming of age story about a young black woman battling depression. I had named it, The Autobiography of Jane Doe since I had taken many events from my own life and some of my actual journal entries and inserted them into this book. I came up with the Jane Doe portion of the title because although it was largely my own story, I was neither famous nor well-known in any way and therefore I was a "Jane Doe"or Everywoman. I became so obsessed with writing about war in some unique and different way that I soon put aside TAOJD and began brainstorming this new "war book" as I initially referred to it. I brainstormed for a couple of months and finally I knew where to begin my thinking process around the plot & philosophy of this "war book". My mind traveled back to the days of high school and college where I had studied ecology and organisms. I particularly reflected back on what I had learned about symbiotic relationships and even more specifically, the symbiotic relationships mutualism (the way two organisms biologically interact where each individual benefits) and parasitism (a type of symbiotic relationship between organisms of different species where one organism, the parasite, benefits at the expense of the other, the host). I went back and dusted off old text & reference books on my shelf) and reviewed the material and refreshed my knowledge of examples in nature of both symbiotic relationships. My fascination was renewed and I began to wonder if humans, physiologically linked to one another through major & vital body systems by another organism, would voluntarily be linked harmoniously -philosophically & socially in order to maintain biological life for the whole. Emotion is the complex psychophysiological experience of an individual's state of mind as interacting with biochemical (internal) and environmental (external) influences. Anger is one such emotion and is an emotion related to one's psychological interpretation of having been offended, wronged or denied and a tendency to undo that by retaliation. Humans, throughout our collective history have chosen violence and large-scale wars to resolve & retaliate these feelings of wrongdoing and conflicts. #1 What if an organism such as a bacteria or virus species when introduced (purposely in The Elements) into a human host could somehow link all of the humans physiologically. #2 What if said organism directly reproduced or relied on the very biochemicals released by the human brain during an emotion such as anger and caused the harm of or death of a number of individuals who are a part of the biological whole? #3 Would man, after realizing the physiolocial linkage as well as the cause and the implications (no violent emotions=physical life of the whole) acquiesce to the mutualistic relationship between all members of his species and live peacefully together despite differences? or would mankind be ruled by their violent emotions and therefore face extinction? This was the essence of my brainstorming and I had no choice but to explore my own curiosity and quest to demonstrate that a peaceful existence is vital and possible for all of us. Writing fiction became my highest priority because the imagination allows us to experiment with ideas that could (or should rather) not be explored with real humans in real life . The latter idea is what scientists do in laboratories everyday - hypothesize, experiment, data, conclusions, applications. The writer of fiction, namely science fiction, can do the same things with his or her pen, answering the "what ifs" without bringing harm to living species. Unfortunately, human history is filled with examples of inhumane "human experiments" whose results were disastrous. Initially, I called my "war book" Una Gentis (latin for One Nation/People) since my fictional tribes would be physiologically linked and literally, One people. I came up with the idea that once exposed to the microorganism, four random groups (physiologically) would be formed, seperated by which body system their microorganism controlled when the individual became angry. There was the Cardiogas (the cardiovascular system), The Nervanu (the nervous system), The Resprii (the respiratory system) and the Immuni (the immune system) - while writing this I have to laugh at those early ideas which seem so silly but you have to begin somewhere with an idea. I thought of those soldiers on the news being deployed. I thought of their mothers and children and siblings. They had wives and daughters to escort to dances, sons to play baseball with and they were going to a place with weapons and quite likely, their deaths. I imagined the faces of the mothers, fathers, children and neighbors of the communities they would invade. The amount of death and injury that would come to both sides saddened me and I vowed to finish my work, no matter how long it took and show humanity another possibility. Peace was that possibility and I wanted every last man, woman and child to stop and think that if peace can be maintained through coersion via biological linkage (physiological symbiosis) then mankind, being the highest and most intelligent of all living species, without a doubt had to have the ability and the will to live peacefullly, voluntarily. If we can be forced, we can volunteer. The Kishnu and Lungi in The Elements learn this very lesson as did I - their literary mother, and now I share this with the world. Please return next week for Part II of The Birth of The Elements Trilogy. Do not hesitate to comment, I read every last one of them & will respond in my blog.
I signed up for this community years and years ago, but because of studies, work, etc. I haven’t really kept up with it. However, I made a promise to myself that I would be more active in writing communities this year – this forum being the top priority!
So, maybe I should tell you three random things about myself? A lot of my (future) posts and current speculative fiction stories are really influenced by who I am, my viewpoints and my beliefs. So, here goes nothing!
- I’m 23 and I’ve been writing for years but never had the nerve to actually submit my stories. For some reason, this year I’ve made it my goal to publish something. Perhaps being old enough to drink has made me bolder?
- I’m the first American-born of my family. Both of my parents hail from Jamaica. So… whaa gwaan? XD
- Politically, I’m a conservative. (Yes, you read that right. I’m a black economic and social female conservative.)
So, hello everyone! I look forward to interacting with you all for many years to come!
"Master/slave is a model of communication where one device or process has unidirectional control over one or more other devices. In some systems a master is elected from a group of eligible devices, with the other devices acting in the role of slaves."
- Microsoft Knowledgebase
"Computers are useless. They only give answers."
- Pablo Picasso
Jeena kicked me out and now I’ve got to spend my night roaming and searching for a human being in this pixilated jungle. Told me she couldn’t make love without her laptop. Fucking thing freaks me out, I told her.
The first time she came she told me she had recorded it on some microscopic camera that looked like a skin popper’s rejected spoon – it was silver and sloped and bent like a weary cobra. It was mounted on her computer. And she never took the damn thing down. In bed, I tried my best but I always felt I had to perform. And she would chide me for not showing more skin to the camera and for wanting her all to myself. She had made it clear – I could have the privilege of spreading her legs as long as the laptop had the privilege of recording them. Jeena was to be shared. I told her it was my first time with a computer, that I’d never been in a ménage-a-troiswith an electronic device. She called me a prude.
I really don’t know why I got involved with Jeena. Or why I tried to get involved with her. Jeena was clearly involved in some other region of the mind. I disliked holding her hands – her fingers were always hot and calloused from working on the computer – but her heart had some softness in it every now and then…and well, it was still better than being alone. But I was getting anxious in bed. She always seem pre-occupied, obsessed with the eye of the laptop. I could kiss her only on the sides of her face and could never mount her for fear of blocking her view of the computer and its camera. “Baptiste” she named it. And wherever she went, Baptiste focused. I hadn’t known Jeena that long, but I suppose that’s what you get for hooking up with strange women online. But Jeena would certainly not consider herself strange. No, I was the strange one – I did not own a computer, didn’t have a blackberry, didn’t have a credit card, and did not have a Facebook account. When we met, I owned a black neon car – but she would never ride in it with me. “Who would see me with my blackberry?” she asked. She said everything had to be on foot and if we were in a cab – at least the driver could look in his rear-view mirror and see her with her blackberry. I was afraid to ask what her blackberry’s name was.
Most nights, I never knew what Jeena saw in me. Tonight was different, however. Tonight, I saw Jeena as she really is. They say technology brings out your true personality. The same way alcohol speaks sober thoughts. Seeing her earlier it was as if I had looked at the portrait of Dorian Gray.
She had been anxious all evening to show me her new purchase. I didn’t know what to expect but I knew I wouldn’t like it – for every time she pressed her blackberry to check the time I felt we were entering a lower defcon number. It was incredible how that tiny device controlled the boundaries of our existence together. She worshipped clocks, always had to be precise and have everything planned out. It was her birthday, so I was to meet her in the lobby of her building at 8:00PM, we’d walk two blocks to the train station, depending on where we went – we would spend an hour at the bar and fifteen minutes exactly “loitering” (she considered talking to be loitering) and we’d have to be back at her place by 10:00 -- earlier if she planned for us to have sex, and by midnight every day on the dot she’d spend time with Baptiste. For Valentine’s Day, I gave her a pocket watch. It was a 1930’s art nouveau-type of pocket watch. Very classy, a lost glamour shimmered from its edges and I thought it might be the perfect gift for someone who deserved to be considered sophisticated. She hated it. She said if it didn’t have a warranty what was the point. What was even more disturbing is that she asked me what it was when she first saw it. She had never seen an analog watch, but even more shocking – she could not read it! No, numbers were her specialty and she was a true devotee of the decimal point. Riding in the taxi back to her apartment, I began to think about what we were losing as a couple, as souls consumed with time. To Jeena, there was nothing lost – she was determined to be a winner. And winners don’t lose. Not when her God was a mathematician.
I told her my apprehension about clock-watching and monitoring our dates like a military drill. She told me without clocks there would be no order. I told her without clocks there would have been no capitalism. She said “Capitalists created the watch, stupid. So they could keep track of all the money they could make.”
We got back to her place and the beast was unleashed. She pulled out a large golden shopping bag. At first, I thought she might have bought me an outfit – she was always complaining I didn’t look “bummy” enough and once even made additional holes in my jeans so I would look “cooler.” However, when I saw the rectangular object she removed from the bag, I became a lot calmer. I thought maybe she had bought me a laptop. She said if I didn’t carry a blackberry, I should at least have a computer so she could contact me at any time of the day. I told her she could call me and she said “You are sooo old-school. No one calls anybody anymore.”
She unzipped the computer bag and revealed the most hideous object I have ever seen.
What may have just appeared to be a Macbook to the untrained eye, was a shiny garish laptop smothered in 12,000 diamond-like studs. It gave me a headache just looking at the damn thing.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“…What is it?”
“It’s a Macbook Air. Golden Age.”
“…What is all that stuff?”
“That stuff ain’t a what. It’s 12,000 Swarovksi crystals!”
“It’s…disgusting.”
Gaudy, graceless, twinkling like disco ball. I got up closer to have a better look. I still couldn’t believe it. “BLING MY THING” was engraved on the cover.
“Where did you get this from?”
“Isn’t it amazing?”
“It’s putrid. It looks like an MTV video exploded onto your computer…”
“Show’s how much you know. It cost $40,000.00.”
“Forty-!? Who gave it to you?”
“Gave it? What the fuck I look like to you? I don’t need no one to give me nothing. Them days are over, baby. I gave it to myself. For my birthday.”
“You spent…forty thousand…Where did you get all that money from?”
“My savings, my 401K, my --"
“Do you know what you could do with $40,000.00? Especially in this economy? All the people you could help…”
“Oh, please – I donate online, I give enough money to the children in Mumbai --"
“Forget about India! What about the people right here?”
“What about them?”
“You have neighbors who’ve lost their jobs, lost their homes – don’t you think that you could have helped them?”
“Help them?? Do I look like someone’s mother to you? I ain’t giving no handout to these lazy ass people!”
“I can’t allow this. There’s no way I can allow this. You should be ashamed of yourself. Return it at once!”
“Can’t return this. It came all the way from the British. And I got a dozen people already waiting to see this baby! This is better than having a Louis Vuitton! I’m naming him Nathaniel.”
I said “It’s him or me.”
It wasn’t hard for her to make a decision. Computer addicts never have a problem telling you to back off at the stroke of midnight. The quick burst of adrenaline they get when using a digital device makes them feel omnipotent. Brains have been…rewired.
I went to shower, when I got out there was an SMS message on my phone:
“Leave or I will text the police.”
“Visigoth!” I muttered and stepped out into the rain.
The streets were hysterical, but desolate, from the torrential rain – it seems no one will go out anymore when the showers roll down. Not until they create special umbrellas to protect their electronic gear. The entire city is one large battery afraid of short-circuiting or becoming electrocuted. I welcomed the rain – God’s spit falling down on us in an attempt to baptize our digitally-funk-infested-minds. Lightning struck and thunder rolled like a pair of tom-toms signaling the end. I dove under a doorway with a deep façade and parapet above my head. I was drenched now. I looked at my pocket watch and all I could see was Jeena’s beady eyes. It was just a little after twelve. My own internal clock was breaking down into seconds…I felt like a deck of card shuffled out of order. I had been made into a commodity for Jeena. I was just another one of her computers.
Originally published in TroubL webzine
I saw this in the theater in Brooklyn, in the hood cinema (Court St!), so it was a hilarious experience of talk and response to the screen from the audience.Since then I've had numerous conversations about the flick, the role of black characters, and more--including a few on this forum. It's been fun because I get to do some X-Men history, including the always interesting role of race and comic book characters. Warning, a few spoilers below.
First up, as most know now, the early 1960s comic book X-Men was subtly talking about race--an amazing thing given the era. Stan Lee has admitted its inspiration was the Civil Rights movement of the day. And at the time, having *actual* black characters was not something mainstream comics were brave enough to do. Stan Lee himself had long been forced to use a moniker instead of his actual Jewish name (Stan Lieber) and the 1950s anti-comic paranoia (which gave us the self-regulating Comics Code Authority) was still censoring controversial topics. So the X-Men bizarrely discussed issues of race, without using any people of color. The original X-Men team (Cyclops, Beast, Marvel Girl, Iceman and Angel) didn't become diverse until 1975, when a second team was created after the original were thought to have perished at the hands of the living island--Krakoa.This team was international and racially diverse, giving us the most famous figures like Storm, Nightcrawler, Sunfire (Japanese), Thunderbird (Native American). It was part of the whole diversification of comics across the board, except that the X-men had actually been trying to deal with race (even if awkwardly) for over a decade.So this new movie, X-Men First Class, is actually a multicultural upgrade from the first. Anyone expecting to see top tier mutants of color like Storm or the like, is going to be heavily disappointed.
This new X-Men movie decided that using the original all-white team to deal with race wouldn't do, and threw in two characters to diversify the team---Darwin and Angel Salvadore.This should immediately let you know something, as in the X-Men popularity world they are darn near "special teams" (despite one of them having extreme power), at least compared to celebrity figures like Mystique, Havok, Banshee and Professor X. Darwin is actually black and latino; in the movie he's played by Kenyan actor Edi Gathegi. Angel Salvadore is played by multiracial actress Zoe Kravitz (daughter of Lenny Kravitz). One of the villains is Riptide, who is a Latino. Unfortunately no Arabs, Asians, East Indians or others appear to exist yet. Still, doing all of this they immediately rewrote X-Men origins history, stripping out key characters like Iceman, Angel and Marvel Girl and replacing them with some people of color.
Now to their roles In the comics- Darwin is actually introduced in a secret team *directly before* the diverse 1975 team, sent to save the original X-Men from Krakoa. Darwin's amazing ability is to adapt through rapid extreme evolution to any circumstance/threat. In the original comic book storyline, like in the movie, he dies in this initial appearance. Years later however, he returns--and the story is that in order to adapt, he turned himself into pure energy and its only Rachel Summers (the other Phoenix, daughter of Cyclops and Marvel girl from an alternate Earth) who helps him regain physical form. Darwin has returned to the X-world, where he may be one of the most powerful mutants to exist. In a recent X-Factor, he was pitted against the Norse goddess Hela and actually evolved into an immortal with the strength of a god to take her on. I was put off and surprised that Darwin died in this flick--but it *could* be that like his comic book incarnation, he's not gone, and will appear in another movie.
Yes, killing off Darwin was probably pretty cliche--even if there is a comic book precedent. The mostly black audience I saw it with erupted into anger at his death, with cries of "racist" and "that's bullsh*t!" and "the only brotha!?!?" It took another few minutes for the roars of the crowd to calm down. This of course came right after Sebastian Shaw says "enslaved" and the camera pans to Darwin. This was probably an attempt to inject the original issues of race into the storyline, but it was *very* poorly done with that reference--which the audience also groaned and asked WTF about. Personally I thought Darwin was a poor choice for the flick, as I was wondering how they were going to deal with his "off-the-scale" powers. It seems the decision was simply to be rid of him. Still, given his abilities, there's every possibility that he's far from done.
As for Angel Salvadore, she was never my favorite X-character. A sister with insect wings who spits venom and lays eggs (yes, eggs), was just too much IMHO. She was created during that phase when X-Men creators seemed to be trying to make characters that shocked you by their oddity, highlighting their "mutant-ness." In the original comic, she actually *does* join Magneto for a while--before returning to the X-Men fold, and being renamed Tempest. I've heard complaints of her character being a stripper. But there's a larger issue here, in that the whole movie featured women in sexual overtones. Angel Salvadore's character is probably quite toned down from Emma Frost, who walks around the entire time in white lingerie. This is something from her comic book incarnation, where she and the female members of the Hellfire Club seem incapable of finding costumes outside of Fredericks of Hollywood. I've never understood that, though admittedly my eyes don't mind it.
Not actually defending the movie, because I thought it was a C at most--but that was more because of the rewriting of characters personalities and powers. Turning Moira McTaggert into a CIA agent, rather than leaving her a genetic scientist was bizarre. And imagining that a powerful hell-dimension demon, Azazel, would work for Sebastian Shaw is like recasting Star Wars and imagining Darth Vader working for C-3PO. I was just relating to someone on here I don't mind them remaking the X-Universe every time they make these flicks (plucking a 60 year old Mystique from Eastern Europe where she should be having trysts with Sabretooth and recasting her as an identity-confused teen), but do they have to completely rewrite the characters powers and personalities too? At any rate, the creators of this recent incarnation deserve props for trying to diversify the original team. But the way they handled it, given the history of black characters in film, shows a lack of insight and perhaps poor judgment.
If one was bored with how one's life was going, it was found that to interrupt Willy Creech from his enjoyment of listening to Miss Freda Payne, would bring a jolt of excitement to satisfy two lifetimes! At Renell's, a pool hall on Dillard, or as it had been known to several generations of Cool Folk,Hot Dill Drag. It had an atmosphere thick enough to repel a howitzer shell fired point blank. That particular summer Saturday night, Willy, his running "podnuhs", 'Savage' Sam Magnum, James Lee, and Sidney Cortly, were engaged in playing pool and eating the best damn fried gizzards in the nation. On the jukebox, Miss Payne sang to the lucky fool " I Get Carried Away" and Willy felt it was for him that she had cut that tune. Measuring his shot, providing " his" Freda backup hums, he was about to take it, when a Bored One got loud. " Naw, fool! I'm tellin' you straight up, Mickey Kent dunit! I wuz there!" James Lee about to put another hot sauce drenched delicacy into his mouth, shook his head at the loudmouth's self-important blabbing. " Mo muthafukkas wind up dead or in lockdown, cuz somebody said somethin' they shouldn't have," James' Grandfather Henry said, while drinking his favorite beer, in his favorite recliner.
James eyes went to Willy. He was slowly thawing from the shock of someone loud talking over Freda! Sam, who had been winning, looked over at the Bored One, trying to register if he was anyone he knew. Sidney, short, heavyset, yet not yet fat, a maple syrup colored teen, the youngest of the group, mouthed "Uh Oh!" James looked to see what style San Remos Willy was wearing. Slip ons: meant a beat down was coming. laceups: a shooting. Willy had on his dried mustard tan slip ons , matching his outfit that night. The Bored One continued unaware. Louder in fact. "Mickey,he came up on tha muthafukka, and bust the bottle upside the nigga's head!" He pantomimed the action. The one being shouted- told the information received his gizzards with onions, and two bottles of cold beer Renell's didn't have the license any longer to sell.
"Why he do it?" he asked the shouter, putting hot sauce on his gizzards. He spoke lower. Bored didn't get the hint. " Cuz him and Mickey wuz afta Carlotta Tyson's big azz!" He gestured with his hands as if explaining to a slow child. Willy took off his shoes, and with poolstick in hand, gunfighter walked over to the pair. Sam smiled and placed his stick back in the rack then leaned over the table. Sam had a .32. Sidney rocked back on his stool to get a better view. Sidney wasn't carrying a gun. He had a sawed off 12 gauge in the trunk of the car they rode up in. The hall's regulars acted as if things were normal, but went through the motions slowly. Duck and cover originated in a poolhall.
Hey there folks! I'll be honest. I need a little bit of help from all of my friends and watchers out there. My husband was quite sick most of last month (he's okay now) and while he was out of work I had to use the money for my artist's alley table for AWA to pay for bills. So with that in mind, I'm taking some sketch commissions. Simple, portraits for $5 each. Could you lend a hand?
Examples:
Here are the details:
1) The $5 is for one sketch bust portrait of one character. Any additional sketches or characters will be an additional $5.
2) The character can be either copyrighted or original. If it is original, please include: a)Character name and b) a brief description or a link to a visual reference.
3)Completed sketches will be emailed as a high resolution scan to the commissioner.
4)Please email me your requests with the following information:
Name or DeviantART name
# of portraits wanted
character descriptions/ visual aid links
your email
5) I'm only accepting PAYPAL. I'm sorry. No exceptions.
And that's it! My e-mail is sarah_a_bowman(at)yahoo.com. Just replace the (at) with the proper symbol. I'll email you back with your total and the proper payment info and then all will be go! I'll get them done ASAP!!
Thanks in advance for everyone who's kind enough to help out! I'm telling you. I appreciate each and every one of you.
Peace and love,
Sarah
Well, part III of the Priestess Saga, "All Things Present, Past and Future" is up and an epic journey begins! On Monday, the second phase of the Saga will begin and that is, "All Things Sown Before Harvest". The Valley Knight, Chief of the Aesir and the boy Little Fish must travel to a distant place by unconventional means. Will they successfully complete their journey and what will they find if they do? These and many more questions will be answered next week. So for you old and new fans of the Priestess, get ready!
CLICK HERE FOR AUDIO PLAYER http://soundcloud.com/archivaldirections/weeksville-pumzi-x
weeksvILLe puMzI X : speculate BLACK acetate
a sound collage sourced from black wax dealing with afrofuturism and black speculative fiction. This sound collage was inspired by the screening of the sci-fi film Pumzi at Weeksville Historic Houses during the Summer of 2010. That film imagines World War III, the Water War and the beginnings of the Black character’s bold journey to a new fertile world. It is executed with the inspiring cinematic excellence of a George Lucas film. The vistas sighted in this film are breath-taking, the technology introduced in its water-depleted context is jolting. The only disappointment about this production, born from the efforts of an up & coming Kenyan-born female filmmaker, is that it is less than 35 minutes long.
The screening was part of Weeksville’s programming on Black Speculative Fiction and was accompanied by a discussion with writer Kiini Salaam and her reflections on studying under Octavia Butler , an award-winning Black sci-fi writer. As expected , the discussion flared with enriching Q & A and Show & Tell and I introduced the mix that I played out as DJ/sound provider for the event, weeksvILLe puMzI X.
I had been contemplating this mix for many years before the opportunity to play it at Weeksville on a beautiful summer evening amongst an audience of afrofuturism enthusiasts. My intrigue with the concept of an imagined Black future peaked more than a decade ago, around the time Kodwo Eshun ’s More Brilliant than the Sun was published. The book plucked hyper theories on rhythm, psychoacoustics, and music culture from the ether and revealed memes that had never been synthesized in quite the same way before. Or at least not in the same language that Eshun had invented. Then, the Internet was much newer and the community, Afrofuturism, was listserving brainfood by Paul D. Miller, Alondra Nelson and others on the daily.
The sounds found within this mix are all recorded moments on black vinyl. Sources ranged all genres of music, spoken word, recorded skits, sound effects, historical dramatization, etc. Each was recorded for widely differing purposes and audiences but are pieced together here to illustrate my Afrofuturist narrative.
FOLLOW for now, MUCH more to come.
ENJOY!!
The Inagural story story saga for The Priestess Fanpage, "All Things Present, Past and Future" has been launched! Part I is now up on the fan page ready for waiting eyes. Serious events loom large over some of your favorite characters living in the Valley. Events which will ultimately affect all who live there in unexpected ways, including the mighty Priestess! So take a look at this latest work written on a cellphone!
All hail The Priestess!
Whoo boy! After months of keeping this under wraps and getting everything ready, the short story inspired by the Sword and Soul Challenge: 'Stop This!' now has its own group page. The Priestess online series of adult/fantasy short stories is currently exclusive to the BSFS. Not only intended as a fan page, this is also intended to be an experiment with an interactive experience. Artwork both standard and motion graphic are coming in addition to more stories.
All the original stories from my blog posts will be available along with the new material. Biggest news is the upcoming 5 story saga, "All Things Present, Past and Future". This will be bring revelations concerning the major characters and flesh out the 'hows' and 'whys' of the Valley and those who live within it. Most important is the entire saga will have been written on my smartphone!
So for the Priestess' current and future fans, there are big things coming and I hope you'll come along for the run!
There are a host of films where something didn't totally click; the stars were too old for their parts, it's the sixth damn sequel, the villain(ness) had more zest than the erstwhile hero/heroine, Racism! Sitting around in one happily organic smog and malt liquored den in the late 2oth Century, several of us had opinions on what would have made the flicks we had seen Right. It was easy. Tarzan getting his ass whupped by an angry tribesman. Buckwheat pulling Dora and kicking off in Spanky's and Alfalfa's butts. The soldoff husband of Mammy from Gone with the Wind, coming down the stairs in Union Army uniform and pimp slapping Scarlett, with Melanie behind him having had his baby. The Mexicans have an easy time of it at the Alamo, putting the scum down hard. Stagolee boards the "Showboat" and sings " It Ain't Necessarily So" and blows Julie's mind. Charlton Heston and the cinematic Jews being deported from Egypt by Pharaoh James Edwards very pissed off elite regiment of Nubian infantry, who thought they had leave. The original Imitation of Life has the daughter Fredi Washington telling her slave minded mother, " Go for a 35-65% split of profits, ya dumb cow!" And in the second, Dianne Sand tells her "mother" " I love you Mamma, but gotdamnit you're a dumb bitch!" Then driving off with Brock Peters. Stuff like that.
