RACISM Is on iTs Way O(ut)n

I think racism is going to take a long time to leave earth. This week two major events showed racism.

First, in Spain, a footballer eats the banana of racism. He proved to the world that there's another way to deal with racists.

Second, is, is, is, an unbelievable phone conversation; the owner of a basketball team filled with blacks had the following to say. My brother, Dr. Boyce Watkins, talks more on the issue.

How can racism be kicked out of the world? How can it be kicked out of poisoned minds?

Play Words

         Weather: Sunny.

          

Location: Lakeside, Essex.

My Mrs and I went shopping today at the above location. I was struck by a sweet idea—to play with the name of five shops. I got these results:

1.

Should we call it EXPRESS VISION? To elaborate further, try to EXPRESS your VISION no matter what? It has a motivational side to it. Or should we PRESS-EX VISION? There are various ways to look at it. 

2.

             I  love this. I turned it to 21 FOREVER. So imagine you could be 21 FOREVER. Did Jay-Z get inspiration for his song from the above? EVER-FOR 21?

           3.

               This is quite boring. There is a need for a verb in between the names. So I came up with  JONES IS ERNEST. 

           4.

               

                I kept playing with this one. I came up with: HOP SPOT, SPOT HOP, POH STOP. I didn't think of any definition. 

          5.

                  I simply came up with MAN-POT and AN OPT-M. May be OPT-M could morph into one character in my script. hmmmm.

       So, next time you go shopping try playing with the words. It's fun. 

What Music Said...

            

            Open your ears, hold your fears, and let me in, near your heart. Allow me to sit while you judge my gist; do I deserve to be in you?

            I come in different forms. From the hip, I hop into brains; I roll like rocks in cars; give rhythm to blue eruptions from souls. But, how do you use me? To dance? To reason? To curse? Whatever, men!

 I form in human hearts, unfold into inks or sometimes released through mouths. I'm never wrong or right. I’m me. I was born about fifty thousand years ago, in a particular community. I was taken from that community, married, beaten, raped, and formed into many things. Happy I'm to be able to put smiles on faces, make people think, make people cry, hmmm, yes and aha! make you love!

Have I made humans kill? Well, that’s what they say.  That since I'm in their head, I  make them do what they don't want to do. Awful. I do such things not. Humans know how to read wrong meanings into my existence. I am not a tool. Or maybe I am. Like all tools, you use as you see fit. 

But, whatever, men! I'm still proud of what I've done. I'm in politics, sports, just name it. Filling your ears, teaching your kids history and making your life better and damn, you need me everyday. I mean it, everyday! Just enjoy me!  

Best,

Music

The Evening Restaurant

The evening restaurant on Apollo Street opened only in the dark. Its light blue walls, outside the restaurant, matched the azure skies that overlooked it. The menu contained two meals: Fried Golden Fish, Vegetable Salad and No Drink.

Mr. Pig owned the restaurant. His father, Mr. Horse, bequeathed it to him. Mr. Pig has two employees: Mrs. Chicken and Mr. Porcupine. Mr. Pig took orders and served dishes; Mrs. Chicken made vegetables while Mr. Porcupine fried the golden fish. The evening restaurant used to open twenty-four hours, seven days of the week and three hundred and sixty-five days of the year during Mr. Horse's time but Mr. Pig always believed that evening meals were the most important, that any food eaten in dark was the sweetest and it must be vegetable salad plus golden fish with no drink.

The clean sea by the evening restaurant brought in yellow airs and green noises from far lands. He saw the air enter, heard it rearranging plates and spoons, witnessed it dancing around the three thousand square feet space and felt it gently tapping his chubby cheeks. It lifted the red table clothes, moved the napkins and went out through an open window near the toilets. He prayed for the hundredth time that nature threw in his first customer. 

            After three seven seasons of bright rain, dusty sun and heavy harmattan, the first customer, since Mr. Horse galloped to the other side,  stumbled into the evening restaurant. The customer wore a white tuxedo suit, an orange bow tie, white shirt and a dark pair of Ray Ban shades. He found his way to the first seat and placed himself on it.

            A fresh stream ran across Mr. Pig’s heart. His wide smile revealed his golden teeth; he cracked his fingers and watched his expensive looking customer. He sniffed in the perfume of the customer and noticed as the man looked around his beautifully arranged restaurant.

            “Welcome,” Mr. Pig spoke with excitement, “to the best restaurant in the world where we serve the most important meal of the day.”

            “Can I see your menu?” asked the customer.

            Mr. Pig rushed to the customer’s table and pushed the menu closer to the man’s right hand. He studied as the man tried to feel the words on the paper.

            “What do you serve, Mr.?”

            “The menu is right in front of you.”

            “I see.”

            “You’re not blind, are you?” Mr. Pig queried.

            “Yes, I am.”

            “My first customer can’t be blind! How would he appreciate us? Get up, Mr! Time for you to leave!

            Mr. Pig grabbed the customer by the hand, pulled him up and pushed him out of his restaurant.

            “Not for the blind!”

            Mr. Pig cleaned the table and chair where the blind once sat then resumed his wait for the next customer.