Tuesday, October 21, 2014

"Ebola??!! Baby, I hope I don't catch Moby Dick!"

By Sekou OSEI
and William PLEASANT




This is a time for some serious reflection on the American character and its social development and outlook.

Here is why. I've witnessed in several "revolutionary" Black political meetings:

Young people argue and fight about the greatness of Rick Ross versus the greatness of  B. I. G. 
People tell me that Barack Obama is a Black Nationalist Radical Muslim and that Jamaica is the name of the region called the Caribbean, and everyone from the Caribbean is actually called a Jamaican.

 Meanwhile, I have been told that World Wars 1 and 2 were tricks played by a secret Jewish conspiracy "of" and "for" world domination. 

A number of people argued that Africa is a "nation" and they, Africans, live among and had to protect their food from angry monkeys, thus the basis for the spread of Ebola.(???) Oh, just like Moby Dick is a form of STD, I guess?

A number of Black people couldn't tell me the years of the American Civil War. Did you know that Nelson Mandela was the biological brother of Martin Luther King? Yes, lawd! 

Likewise, the American revolution was to create the greatest democracy that ever existed, and slavery was a minor contradiction in the evolution of this great republic, a brother has recently told me, with a straight face and professorship at a name brand university.

Prof. Molefi Assante might insist: 
"But I is the authentic Afrikan niggest!"
Really, he might. 

I have seen Black people with advanced degrees cry and throw a pissy-fit and actually vomit over who lost American Idol, while they haven't found a job in 8 months. 

I have heard that the TV program "Scandal" is an inspiring role model for young Black girls. This only came from Black women in their 40's 50's 60's, of course. 

A number of people have insisted that before Jessie Jackson became famous he started his career as a professional wrestler--from TV to politics.
Egypt is not in Africa, but a part of the Middle East, you know. And Turkey is the place where Oscar-Meyer cold cuts began. 

In short, Americans, even members of the erstwhile educated stratum, are fucking stupid!

What we have in the US is the vulgar marriage of technological over-development and social under-development  encapsulated in the cult of FASHION and vectored like malaria by the corporate-owned infotainment industry. 

American youths are inculcated with the notion that actual life means nothing, thus words and concepts mean nothing. Everything is just "style" and style alone is the apex of social presence. In this wasteland of empty gestures and postures, the young wait like sheep for the slaughter.

--30--

Monday, October 20, 2014

NEWS FLASH!!! Michelle Obama praises vegetables today.


Alas a goddess is discerned


For My Real Nubian Princess 
       by
Malik Sekou OSEI 
       
      To my ebony 
                          "love" of sea food
         all the food she sees she eats...
      whose struggle
                              with
                                      addiction
      to
          Chinese take-out
           and
                  TV has
                                  shown 
                                              me 
                     her inner strength
                     of
                         milking
                     A 
                       McDonald coupon
                                                        dry.
                       Her magic
                                        of
                                           of
                                             of
                                                of turning
                        2 for 1
                        inta...
                                    8 for 1
        I LOVE YOU...
                      for 
                           your ability to 
                           understand, 
                                               if you understand
                           under
                                  under
                                      under
                                           under
                           the 
                                 weight
                          of
                              life
                                    of
                                      of
                                        of
                                          of being
                                          469 pounds.
           I LOVE YOU. 
                         For you don't 
                        see my Nigger 
                        dysfunction 
                                        as 
                                        dysfunction,
          my smelling 24/7 
                                    of
                                       stale cigarettes and
                                                                       weed, while showing my drawers in the street as Nigger Style
        is only 
                 my 
                    nigger
                              creativity.
      I LOVE YOU
         Even tho you sex me for my food stamps
          but
               but
                    but
                          but I-I-I-I-I
        I LOVE YOU for
                                   for
                                      for
                                          for
                                            for
          FUCKING you
                                  I found
                                              GOD
                                 remember the 
                                                       time we was 
                                                      at Snooky house 
                                and she 
                                         left to do 
                               the laundry? 
                              and 
                                  we gave her 
                             7 dollars worth of quarters 
                                                         to keep her ass 
                                                         out de house 
                                                                             and 
                                                                                  we 
                                                                                     fuck 



                                                                                          and 
                                                                                                 fuck 
                                                                                                      and 
                                                                                                            you got on top and the sun died.
                        My house drug counselor called it a solar eclipse
                                                                                                           I call it
                                                                                                                      GOD...
                     I LOVE YOU 

Friday, October 17, 2014

New Ebola Virus discovery

..and it's been afflicting us for six years so far.
--Baba Rumraisin

For My Nubian Queens


This is for My Nubian Queens, for the socially redundant and mentally retarded and general Obama supporters who insist that mental retardation is integral to the creative process. And this is also for those who think that "Scandal" is the proud apex of confident Black entrepreneurship, epitomized by the image of  a colored belly warmer who can be more than a social role model because she screws the "president" while humping from the top. Moreover so, from watching "Blackish," My Nubian Queens understand the importance of colored multi-culturalism in Black-face, since all that negroes need to assimilate in americKKKa today  is the ritual significance of a Bar Mitzvah in order to move beyond "race."  

Coonery has triumphed for My Nubian Queens, as they tread the the ruins of a once great culture.

--Sekou OSEI

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Baby Doc Duvalier:The swine who escaped slaughter.

By Sekou OSEI
Baby Doc Duvalier - tens of thousands killed and tortured under his ...<b>Baby Doc</b>” Duvalier back in Haiti is (should be) BIG news































                            







Jean-Claude Duvalier (THEN & Pre-demise)

Hello,
Today has finally become a GOOD and GREAT day. The world is now a 
cleaner place. The clown pig called Jean-Claude Duvalier or "Baby Doc" 
has finally left the world and now we all must clean the stench that he left. 
He has left a tradition of harlot proxy betrayal of the people and now the 
world can flush this bloated Dung compost of useless fertilizer of a person. 
Konsa, deye mon yo,mon and the resistance and the resiliency of the of 
the Haitian people will never be stifle the ugly and intense beauty of it rose of liberation. 






Dessalines.jpg
Jean-Jacques Dessaline
          

















For its "insane" to think that the slaves would forget their slavery and Jean-Jacques Dessalines cease to be a ghost when children are kidnapped to line the pockets of white American run orphanage in the Dominican Republic. The ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessalines cease to be a ghost when the children of Haiti must suffer with cholera, where the means to stop it are just ignored as Nepalese soldiers pee in the river were to introduce the bacteria into the river as peace keepers, the ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessalines cease to be a ghost as the people give a terrifying whisper--Madame Martelly is pocketing the money...while the people collapse from hunger and can't send their children to school--As Sweet Micky is a sweet harlot who ceases to be entertaining. The ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessalines cease to be ghost in the body of Charlemagne Peralte who heard the peoples screaming whisper of Jean-Jacques Dessalines. 

Mort de Charlemagne Péralte [ modifier | modifier le code ]
 Charlemagne Peralte

 Michel Martelly on April 20, 2011.jpg 
Michael "Sweet Micky" Martelly

While in this century the struggles to stifle the intense 
beauty of ugliness in the liberation of the people as the 
slaves try to unlock the lock of history around their necks, 
put there by Black figures of proxies As a Papa-father of 
Doc the sterile curse Duvalier, while he bring himself to share 
power of money with the lights of mulatto, he jumps into the 
darkness with the new Black middles class who was barren 
of concern of the vast vast vast vast majority called the peasants
so under the vacuum of Vodou cultural nationalism the Papa had 
won the election in the birth of 1957, while the educated took to live
in the Congo the smiles of the Tonton Macoutes were too much 
on a bright day of ugly rains. The North Americans of White had 
found a useful ally to isolate those Spanish speaking radical 
revolutionaries whose sins were picking up the guns and knew 
how to aim and where. As nature whose have it because justice 
is the social human effort of the beauty of focus and the focus 
of beauty Papa Duvalier died a peaceful death.
Papa Doc at his presidential desk, with a .45 automatic pistol ... 
François Duvalier

While the ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessaline's hand was to materialize and 
violently clutch heart of this comfortably pig, seeking not to remain a ghost. 
But the new stench among humanity who live without the air freshener 
of real democracy and liberation Duvalier the baby of Doc, while 
Jean-Jacques Dessaline whose atheism couldn't wait for his turning 
from the world of ghost as the Doc of Baby continued to have foreigners 
work the people to death giving life to death making baseballs,

Michelle Bennett Duvalier
Michele Duvalier and Baby Doc


     As Jean-Claude ran the world of Haiti to the ground to impress 
a mulatto of self-involved conspicuous consumption whose disease 
was called "Michele," who dance with imported French shoes and 
fur coat in very high air-conditions gold-plated rooms on Rue St Martin 
where she so grand that she fart perfume that could be smelled in 
Jacmel as she helped in the vulgar dance of the world-life of Haiti's 
parsimony into ceremoniousness empty burial, she couldn't hear the "click" 
of the magazine to know life is now in session, thus the usual divorce 
when the cash was to run away and low through appropriation of 
foreign aid and heavy taxation of the vast majority who stare.Baby 
and she shook the hands of General Henri Namphy and Prosper 
Avril they wipe the gun powder off their bows to shake hands. 
The ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessalines will cease to be a ghost 
as the children of the earth quake begin to stomp and get the focus 
of beauty and the beauty of focus as memories cease to be memories 
but the ugly beauty of the hostile rose of ghostly red.

Haitian President General Henri Namphy Attends the UN General Assembly
General Henri Namphy 

   Namphy et Avril devraient être questionnés par la Justice
Prosper Avril 

As we and the world must cleanse the world of dead 
swine and put the stench of the inhuman against our 
humanity into the needed dungeons of justice. 
No peaceful reconciliation with war crimes against 
our humanity. Well the nature had flush the toilet in the 
most needed way and now the world a little cleaner way 
as the ghost of Jean-Jacques Dessalines cease to be a 
ghost as he plants the ugly beautiful rose of intense red of liberation....  
   
 Pou istwa kanpe pou nou, men, pa fwa.

Today was a Good and GREAT for an old bloated harlot now has 
achieved his internal rest in HELL.   


  

Monday, September 1, 2014

And how was your Labor Day?

By William PLEASANT

And this is Baltimore, 9/1/2014...

There is the mist and smoke and fog of holiday flesh roasting for happiness, seasoned with the rot of wet garbage melting beneath a sadomaniacal summer sun.

There are the the grey, opaque eyes of the toddlers bobbing in heads braided as tightly and barbed as wire in gross plastic balls of too many colors. These are children dragged to full march by grossly obese mothers who keep the painful cadence with a drum roll of profanities.

There are the other morbidly obese women who gather at the curbstone, bent at what were once waists but a couple of years earlier, bent in some sort of supplication while spewing neon-pink vomit to the pavement and the frolic of gorging flies.

There are the Black men lounging beneath trees, on the greasy doorsteps of tenement caves, lounging after a gnut in/on one of the obese women or some of their children, lounging after a long drink of something cheap and poisonous, lounging and decaying on living bones, as juvenile vultures circle on stolen bicycles, separating the dying from the dead and calculating the booty the night will bring with darkness.

And finally, there is me. I survey the asphalt prairie. I dodge the blowing tumbleweeds of rubbish. I step lightly, 'less I detonate the landmines--daggers of broken bottles/molehills of dog droppings--that wreath the coffin of a dead American city. 

There is me in a mock quandary. My lips quiver: "Is this what the American working class dares call the star of its achievement? The singed meat and waxing sewage smells like a victory worthy of celebration?" Again, the quandary is a mock one. And I am not alone in my knowledge.

--30--