“mad at the world for the way she never understood/and if she couldn’t explain, what makes you think i could?”

“i’m afraid to be seen reading this in public. it’s like Twilight for black kids.” this was confessed to me the other night by the same woman who also told me, “decolonize- your hair just won’t do that!” but it fans the flames of what it is that has sustained the listening to Sister Souljah for so long. not since k-os have i been so torn-my love for dood’s every studio album (almost) makes me forget that his stage show makes me sick. in this case, i can’t get past the horrible fiction style to actually read any of it, but i’m fascinated by her public persona and her activist life. her self-confidence is like that of most of those who choose to wear variations of spandex (currently, jeggings)-of equal parts awe-inspiring and delusional. the way that i’ve reconciled is to read No Disrespect, which, for better or worse, has its place in the canon of hip hop books. today’s focus is on her beginnings:

“Ever since I was four years old my mother had made sure I had my public library card. I knew, as any New York street kid would know, that I was more mature. I wasn’t even ten yet and already I had experienced two murders, several drug overdoses, mental illness, danger, and poverty. I could cook any of two dozen different meals, meats, vegetables, salads, and desserts. I could take care of babies down to the most minute detail. I could think fast, and felt I could mentally outmaneuver most adults. I could care for an entire family while maintaining the illusion that my mother was home with us.” (31)

“A month or two later, a friend of mine named Cedric stabbed and killed another little boy over a kick ball. Cedric was seven years old.” (26)

“Or say you decide you’ve met a good man. You would like to get married and try again at having a family. You must report it to welfare and they will cancel everything because you are not allowed to be married and receive welfare benefits. This policy perversely encourages single-mother households, as women are asked to choose between their man and the financial survival of their children. It destroys any impulse of self-improvement. It is a system designed to fail.” (14)

“Maybe when she’s twenty-eight or so, and I mean just maybe, she figures out what being a woman really means. But she won’t tell anybody ‘cause nobody told her. Like a worn-out shoe, she throws on the polish and won’t ever admit to the dumb shit she did because it’s far too embarrassing. She can’t believe she was so stupid. So she quietly hides the abortions, the stab wounds, the lies about men she’s ‘had’. She puts a Band-Aid over the broken pieces of her heart, puts Revlon on everything else, and faces the world like perfume on shit with a fake smile and a false sense of security.

But Souljah won’t hide. I won’t hide because the Bible says to whom much is given, much is expected, and I already told you I was blessed with spiritual eyes. To hide would be too costly.” (xv)

this is what i’d like to focus on.

see you at Prince, toronto.