On Spirit and Other Things

The information that you find will change you.

The day started with a conversation with Bacon Grits where I confessed that he and I are different from most people in that we don’t rank human beings hierarchically, meaning that we treat people with a base level of respect. I also told him that I appreciated him. Rereading something I had written online I realized how he held me down. It was nice to hear is voice.

I also learned some information about a lady friend and how she moves. I am not sure what my next step will be, but what I have learned is that I value my relationships with women more so than with Love bears. Love bears come and go, sisters are forever.

I walked into the study spot yesterday and I heard someone say my name. I turned around and Davey D grabbed me so hard he lifted me off the ground. He is my friend and colleague and we rarely get to see each other. He also reads my blog now, so we were able to kinda just pick up the conversation. #Creepybutawesome. We had a conversation about how he reads text books critically now. Its cool to watch a person become politicized.

I spoke with an old friend who is working on a short film about Black women and not only does she want me to be involved but she wants to base a character on me #nomichaelrappaport. Lol. I am excited. I just saw a rough cut, and can I tell you how awesome it is to see Black women on the screen simply doing them.

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I ran into Aquemini yesterday. Can I tell you how creepy it is to know that you are going to see someone, then actually see them. He was kinda blue. And I shared with him how I was writing in my post about serenity not having anything to do with dough or material possessions. He was reflecting on some past choices and he was pensive and I can dig that. Honestly though, I am going to fall back, not because the desire isn’t there on my end, because it is, but because my spirit is telling me to. I saw and felt some things last night that kinda got me like woah. Time will show me what I need to see, until then, Imma fall back.

In some ways I grew up yesterday.

When was the last time you got new information?

Did it change you?

When was the last time something happened to you and you realized you grew up a little bit?

A Note Black Gender Relations in 2011

After writing that post on Nate Dogg, I spoke to Rob and  learned that there is an entire dating blogosphere were men, Black and White, blog about their relationships. I always KNEW these blogs existed but I didn’t know that they existed across race and I didn’t know how popular they were.

The second thing that he mentioned is that in DC there is a concentration of what I will term men who fall under the Ugly Ducklings doctrine, cats for what ever reason or not, didn’t get play in college, high school or both or they are new to city living.  Now they are working, got that government gig, a personal trainer and for arguably a range of reasons they treat  many of the women that they interact with like they are expendable and replaceable. Which makes my ass itch, because I am a human being, you are a human being and why and the hell are you coming at me like that….Lol.

For instance, a boo snack (peace to @huny, @jonubian) I have been seeing since January has recently gotten into the habit  of calling me late after he has marinated all through out the city on Saturdays. Now I told this negro man, on spring forward Saturday, be honest, be human, express your desire and we will take it from there. You calling or texting me at God awful hours, is just disrespectful. I know him to be a kind, considerate and an analytical dude, so I thought we were good. For instance he knows me well enough to know that decent week night date me is bier, a ball game and Chinese food. I mentioned the beef with the late calls again this past Thursday. And I #swearfoJesus I woke up Monday morning with a 12am missed call.

I was done. Like I have #toldyoass what not to do, and you gone do it anyways. Ummhmm.

#Blackgirlsarefromthefuture.

I am a choice not an option.

As a writer I have to have tunnel vision. The downside to that is that I sometimes don’t see the possibilities of other perspectives. In having this conversation with Rob, I was able to see that I had been making the assumption that if Black peoples material needs had been met, then the ways in which we treated each other would improve. Why in the same hell I would think that, I don’t know. Wait, I do, my family fell apart when I was 8 when my dad lost his union job, so according to my own experience, stable employment meant, or arguably provided the conditions for an all good household and decent gender relations.

This is only partly true. Because I also know some people who have serenity no matter whats in their pocket. My daddy is one of them. But on Sunday when I was processing this I hadn’t gotten there, yet.

I think this all came to ahead because the last few days have been the first time that I have had a chance since work school started back in January for me to reflect. Normally I am on the work hustle, grading papers, reading four books, emailing students, calling my family, going on a date,  praying, paying the rent grind, talking to my sisters. In short, there is very little time to reflect.

Rob also asked me a couple other questions that got the anthropologist in me thinking. I swear I do not know another man who can question my thinking, I mean poke holes in my ideas, but not come across like he is trying to dominate or belittle. He is a light, in some ways, for this reason. So he asked me when I was talking about Black gender relations, well what are my White girlfriends dating experiences like. I said I only know about their experiences in Black spaces.  And then he asked do working class and low income Black folks relate to each other differently? I then began to think, wait, maybe I can talk to an older Black woman, who can tell me about how gender relations were in DC in say the 50’s or 60’s. Rob then responded that, during that time period, men and women got married earlier and far more often.
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It was then that I realized that we are at a rare historical moment, not only in terms of electoral politics, and youth driven social movements in Egypt, Iran, along with  labor movements in Wisconsin. We are also in a historical moment in terms of Black gender relations.

So boom. I got clarity today talking to @Afrolicious. And she asked me why I was sad. And I said, well, the constant negotiations that both my work and social life take is wearing on me. It’s cool, because I don’t have resentments, but its challenging because its work. I also said that it bugs me out that some of the  Black people in DMV who are arguably some of the most well off in the history of Black people in this country have such janky gender relationships.

She listened.

I listened.

And while I was listening to her I had an epiphany. I realized that the material needs, having your food, clothes and shelter met are important, BUT, a person who is going to treat a woman, a Lover, a lady friend like a human being is going to do so regardless of whether these things are taken care of, if their spiritual needs are being met.

Its an issue of spirit. Not the material world. Not about jobs, or Ugly Duckling doctrines or degrees. But about realizing that the people that you interact with are spirits and deserve your respect or for you to respect them enough to leave them alone.

Peace to my little sister who has her heart broke right now. Little bear you will emerge stronger. Trust. With each break up I became closer to becoming byrd Girl.  I Love you.

Have you assumed that if people had more cake, they would treat each other better?

Where are the women in the blogosphere writing about this? Why don’t we do it more?

Speaking of gender relations. I will be speaking on on panel, “Happily Every After”, Saturday March 26th at the Red Tent Symposium for Women.  Join us.

Thank you for Moya and Jessica.

For the last two years. Moya and Jessica have taken my calls, given me advice, listened to me while I was in tears and wanted to drop out.

Listened to me deal with breaking up with Filthy, listened to me deal with what it means to be a graduate student in a Research 1 University.

They are both hella busy.

Both dissertating. Both have jobs, family and Love bears of their own, yet they have taken the time to help me.

I am grateful, because they always challenge and support me.

Furthermore, they never play hide the ball on some “I ain’t gonna help her because she might get a job or fellowship I want” and they know #Blackgirlsarefromthefuture.
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You know how you call someone and say  “Hey, How do I go about finding a summer lecturing job doing the cold call” and you never hear back from them? Well, last week, I asked them both that question and they both answered quickly, with thorough assed answers.

I guess what I am trying to say is that you two have shown me what Love looks like while being Black womenin an academic space.

You don’t have to do what you do and I appreciate the fact, that, not only do you do it. But you do it consistently.

#Youareappreciated.

Love,

Renina.

How Oakland Brought Me #Aquemini

On Saturday, I met #Aquemini.

I was posted up, waiting for someone, doing me. He then spoke, and asked if I was a professor. I had just come from writing the midterm and reading so I had a bag of books next to my chair. I responded no, I am a teacher. I asked him if he taught, he said, yes, once. He was a substitute teacher in East Oakland and he was just getting ready to talk shit about the Town and I said, “Baby, I’m from there.”

He responded, “Oh, really.” Yeah, Oakland.

I gave him another look, my undivided attention and said, “When is your birthday.” He stated, “June 11th.” I was like shit.

You are #Aquemini. It sounds really creepy as I write it, but I have been really deliberate about having a Gemini or Aquarius in my life.

I have been so specific about #Aqeumini that A dub walked over and said hello, and I introduced her to him and said girl, he is #aquemini, and she raised her eyebrows like word. Word.

I ask people their birthday’s before their names. Why? I am being purposeful.

So we conversate. Marinate. All that.

He apparently saw me before. And spoke last summer. I asked if I was nice. Sometimes I shut it down. He said yeah, “You were nice, but it was clear that I were reading your book and didn’t want to be bothered.” That DO be the case sometimes and I am entitled to that. Time and place for everything, no?

He is currently and anti war lobbyist, adorable and White honey. Like Kevin Costner eye crinkles and everything. As I contemplate the politics of puttering around on that interracial in DC. Man listen.

Black girls pay a social cost when they date someone other then Black men. Because I walk like I have a right to be in the city, the threat of violence is always there. Our current sex/gender system says that women are not entitled to be in public, let alone claim the right to occupy city space publicly. Domination is maintained through violence and the threat of violence.

Ah, but the synchronicity of the night.
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So, first there is the Oakland connection. Then some how he brings up Ta-Nehisi’s blog. And I say #ummp.

He says, the man has awesome prose. And I respond saying, well he does, however I had a really public conversation with Ta-Nehisi last fall when he asked whether or not For Colored Girls was a classic at a White publication in front of a largely White audience, even though he hadn’t read the book since he was a teenager. #Ummp.

I went on to say that Ta-Nehisi didn’t respond well to being challenged intellectually around his gender politics, and I am referring to his willingness to read a Black feminist text to broaden his analysis, and that I found this unwillingness to be problematic.

He was like, what “That was you” and kinda put his hand over his mouth like “Oh Shit.”  I answered yes. Now see, this is surreal because I am not use to my work preceding me.

Further it speaks to importance of remembering that your words go places that YOU don’t go.

Lastly he has done work in South Africa around the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. You and I both know I Love me some TRC’s. So. Um. Yeah.

I can’t call it.

Oh. And I don’t think we exchanged info. #Extra. So Yeah. #Aquemini. Holler @cha girl. You know where to find me @2:26 sec.

#BoomandPow

#VulnerableyFearless

Can you believe that East Oakland ‘ish?

Peace to the Gemini’s.

The Gender Politics of the Dance Floor

I am a dancer.

I have been since I can remember.

When I was 8 years old I won the dance contest at the California State Fair on 4th of July weekend.

#yup.

Dancing on a stage in front of thousands of people, and an audience comprised of mainly White folks and my parents.

Dancing earlier this week had me thinking about how space is gendered. And by gendered I mean ideas about “men’s” and “women’s” roles are so powerful that  they shape how men and women interact AND  the roles become amplified in certain spaces.

The streets and the dancefloor are two space that come to mind, but in this post I am going to focus on the dance floor.

Dance Floor Experiences.

Well, last week, my cheek brushed passed a heterosexual identified gentleman’s. He responded, “YO, your cheeks are mad soft.” They are, I have cubby cheeks, they run in my family. He then leaned in to touch them again.

I leaned back matrix style then responded saying, “You have to get consent first.” He then asked.

This reminds me of how much negotiation goes in Black women’s bodies simply BEING in public spaces.

I think that the dance floor is the first place were I was comfortable claiming my autonomy and space even as a dancer kid and teenager.

As a good dancer, people naturally GIVE you space, because they enjoy the performance.

I am now only beginning to put all these pieces together.

In fact it wasn’t until I was dancing in August that Green Eyes, pointed out to me that I am a space clearer. It makes sense, because I need space to dance.

But the reality you simply need space to BE.

Because I am a dancer, I am not really the kind of person you want to stand next to and hold your drink and watch woman’s asses move.

You will get pushed out. Static energy on the dance floor blows my steez.

I move deliberately like a New Condo in a working class Black and Latino neighborhood.  #pow.

The party dance floor is a politicized and gendered space because of the  alcohol, darkness and music. In some ways it creates an environment where men feel entitled to grab, touch and feel without consent.

This behavior is not innate, they are not born like this, they are socialized to think that it is okay. It is not.

Two years ago I wrote about the politics of the dance floor where a White woman felt comfortable enough to kiss me. In that post I quoted Benjamin Mako Hill who states,
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Booty bass is not just playing around with the idea of the dance floor being highly sexualized. In practice, it?s about serving the sex market and all about glamorizing and making palatable, laughable, and perhaps even justifiable everything that happens in that market.

Sometimes it’s not just about making fun of, toying with, or hinting at sexual domination in a safe context like the dancefloor but about creating, quite literally, a soundtrack for the real thing.

Thinking back, that was some radical shit for a White dude to say. #ummhmm.

Negotiating Space and Bodies

Last night I had a dance partner that wore my ass out. Like. Wo’ out. And that rarely happens.

There was two stepping. A little Bachata. The wop.

We danced through an ENTIRE Prince set. In fact I think I mentioned that I was a dancer… after that I remember being spun around in the air. #yup.

Nothing like a hand in the small of your back spinning you above the crowd.

However, I do recall a moment where I was like “Imma need you to move your hands two inches higher.”

He did.

Hands on my ass is not tolerable unless I consent. Full stop.

Dancing  Sexy is “Ho” Shit.

Because I dance passionately, it is often misread as being sexually accessible, which means that ostensibly, I cannot just dance with anyone.

Dancing passionately is really about  me having a conversation with the DJ.

As Professor Imani Perry says, Black dance is discursive, a conversation. I agree.

The question for me is who is conversatin’. <<<< I am wrong. I know.

Hope

Oh, there was also a moment last night that I will never forget when the DJ played Nirvana’s Teen Spirit. Honey.  An entire room of Negro people jumping.

I am not one to say that hip hop can solve problems as a “culture.”  People committed to solving problems solve problems.

What I will say is that I felt the power of a room full of folks jumping. The energy was …I don’t know, it just gave me hope.

Dance floor politics?

Women, how do you deal with this?

Have any gendered dance floor experiences recently?