Month: April 2018

MC Elis – 6 year old Brazilian musical artist

This young girl is over here singing about: Loving her natural hair: it’s NOT dry/hard, it’s her crown as a queen Being sick of racism Pride in her Blackness: referring to herself explicitly as Black (preta) rather than one of the endless other terms that refer to color (mulata, moreninha) but try to maintain distance from being of African descent. Also, peep the black panther on her shirt! Go dance with Elis! LYRICS Vem dançar com a elis Vem dançar com a elis Aqui não tem caô Só chegar e ser feliz Eu já estou cansada Dessa ideia de racismo Eu não tô de mimimi Fale o que quiser nem ligo O meu cabelo não é duro Ele é crespo e muito lindo Vou passar logo a visão Tá incomodado comigo? Vem dançar com a elis Vem dançar com a elis Aqui não tem caô Só chegar e ser feliz E não venha com esse papo de mulata e moreninha Sou preta com muito orgulho Minha coroa é de rainha (Note: some of they lyrics …

30 Restaurants: Munch Factory & Coco Hut

January was eating at black-owned restaurants. Munch Factory The Munch Factory recently moved from Gentilly to the Lower Garden District, which made my visit that much more likely. I decided to take myself on a date and dine alone while reading the Audre Lorde I reported on in a past post. This place is (sadly) one of fewer and fewer restaurants run and owned by New Orleans natives; particularly by young Black locals. It’s been called ‘contemporary Creole’ food, but I just call it damn delicious! I didn’t get to try much during this visit, because I was alone and couldn’t take bites from my husband’s plate if he had come, but everything I ate was lick-the-plate good. The gumbo is hands down my favorite in the city. I’ve gone back again, had the gumbo again, and my feelings are the same. Then I had blackened redfish served on grit cakes, topped with jumbo lump crab meat. Perfection. My mouth is watering thinking about it. On that second visit with a group of people, in …

bell hooks–on love of death

In our culture the worship of death is so intense it stands in the way of love… We will witness the death of others or we will witness our own dying, even if it’s just in that brief instance when life is fading away. Living with lovelessness is not a problem we openly and readily complain about. Yet the reality that we will all die generates tremendous concern, fear, and worry. It may very well be that the worship of death, indicated by the constant spectacles of dying we watch on television screens daily, is one way our culture tries to still that fear, to conquer it, to make us comfortable… Ironically, the worship of death as a strategy for coping with our underlying fear of death’s power does not truly give us solace. It is deeply anxiety producing. The more we watch spectacles of meaningless death, of random violence and cruelty, the more afraid we become in our daily lives. We cannot embrace the stranger with love for we fear the stranger. We believe …