Fashion Ideas Victims – How To Avoid Rape

Originally posted on Mumbled Truths:

I couldn’t make this up if my life depended on it.  I’m minding my business scouring the internet for news, only because I’m cutting down on my TV watching and if I’m going to be force-fed perspectives brought to me by big business, I will do so for free. So where do you go, not only for news, but reactions to said news? Why Facebook, of course. Trending on my timeline was an article from Guyana (South America), where Divisional Commander ‘A’ Division, Senior Superintendent Clifton Hicken had this suggestion to prevent rape: 

“While we try to prevent somebody from committing the offence we must ensure that we do not create an atmosphere for it to happen,” he said; adding that “and that is why we advocate for young females within a certain age group who are vulnerable, between 13 – 18, to always embrace an attire that is accepted…

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Throwback…Monday? New Poem…Kinda


Written the Summer of ’12


Dear Anonymous,
1. I wanna go back to the edge of the audience, right in the center of blackout 2 and 4 and take you for everything you havewhile God watches
Leave a trail of my DNA across your lips and a taste of my being on your tongue
Your kiss is imprinted on my cheek, even now, your kiss is imprinted on my cheek
My subconscious tried to recreate the event and failed terribly.

2. I wish I could trek through July’s days back to that Saturday night when I met you at your booth, arms loose. When your boss sends you away, I’d blatantly refuse his assistance.

3. I hope I never get to the point where I miss not knowing you. There’s a certain magic that exists when you’re drawn to someone and never feel the need to question why.

4. His birthday wasn’t January 26th, it was February. Maybe we’re compatible after all.

5. You may be the most thought-provoking person I’ve ever met.

6. In the crevices of our ego, we house all our differences. Stack them, worship them, then set out to find someone as cynical as ourselves. It is a rare thing when, in our quest we stumble upon someone whose nature is so sincere, that we question all we thought we’d learned about love.

7. Don’t ever go to bed angry at me again. Please.

8. The greatest love stories ever written are all tragedies; it’s time to break the cycle.

9. Tragedy is inevitable. Everybody dies in the end.

10. This is not the end.


Chameleon by Rudy Francisco

“This is an apology to every woman that I changed colours to get inside of.”

Chameleon (An excerpt)

I was mentored by black men with brown skin who turned yellow at the sight of swollen bellies filled with half of their DNA

I was taught that a woman’s vagina is just an underground railroad to masculinity,

That real men have tunnel vision and treat girls like subway cars, like nothing more than a space to parallel park our genitals,

a hole to bury seeds and leave orchards in our rearview mirrors


They say, they say you gotta peel a woman like a tangerine

And your job as a man is to chameleon yourself into her trees,

Bite a piece of her fruit and then leave the rest hanging crooked

And confused

This is an apology to every woman that I changed colours to get inside of.


You see, I still haven’t stumbled across the definition of man

But I know that we are hotels that stand a million war stories tall

I know that we carry guitar cases full of phobias hoping we can turn fear into our strongest instrument,

I know, that our hands break things just as frequent as we fix them…

And we often forget that sexism is a family heirloom that we’ve been passing down for generations.

As men, it’s important that we start asking ourselves…

What will the boys learn from us?


Chameleon, Rudy Francisco.

Rudy Francisco is the 2009 National Underground Poetry Slam Champion, the 2010 San Diego Grand Slam Champion, the 2010 San Francisco Grand Slam Champion and the 2010 Individual World Poetry Slam Champion.



Triangles…Caution…This is Gonna Be Deep

“And you hit me, not hard enough to kill me—Just enough to move internal organs that shouldn’t be neighbours into a one bedroom apartment on the narrow street behind the Rum shop.”

By Drewthoven



This is gonna be deep…



I love you like a man who knows he’s gonna die at the end of this conversation.

A temporary burst of inspiration, determination, fear… lifelove

Just enough for me to put pressure on the bloody knee that you left splintered; so I can regain height

Just enough to chuck you a bit further into….

Further away from…

this destiny.

Just enough to make you scream something at me that then is just enough

to make me violently chuck you once more, into the wall that you have been trying to ignore for

the amount of time it took us to find ourselves here in the first place.



I’m angry but not enough to hate you.

Just enough to—

to slam my right fist into the concrete, impact beside your faith–

I mean face

It was not to hurt you, just to scare you enough so that when you think you don’t know

what’s left of me can be enough for

my left to caress your face,


and then I whisper…


Love me more.


Not too much.

Just enough to hit a home run.



You swing like a man with child bearing pain as I pitch to you my vulnerability,

And you hit me, not hard enough to kill me—

Just enough to move internal organs that shouldn’t be neighbours into a one bedroom apartment on the narrow street behind the Rum shop

Just enough…

Just enough for me to miraculously shove you again, away from… closer toin to…






Caution, this is gonna be deep.
But Depth is the Death that I ask for…

Love means nothing without it.

Why I Hate ‘Identity’ by KingLeonidas


First off let me say that anything that triggers the urge in me to write a proper blog post must really be something. And this post is way overdue…

This isn’t a review so I’ll just jump right to it. Identity is a single recently released by poet (among many other things) KingLeonidas under local label Kindred Republic about the identity crisis that plagues many Guyanese- confusion about culture; confusion about blackness. Before you go on reading you can have a listen to the single here.




And now…my reaction to the single in sequence:

1. Indifference – I didn’t know what to expect so I wasn’t optimistic but neither was I anticipating something that was outright horrible. I know he does good work but I can be a tough egg to crack.

2. Interest – He’s talking about things I’ve pondered over…He’s pretty much speaking my mind right now…

3. The ‘eh’ moment – This was the exact moment it occurred to me that…this guy is speaking in a Trini accent. Hol’ on now…

4. Anger – You’re talking about Identity crisis and speaking in a Trini accent. Are you kidding me?


[Aside] Now a lot of people might assume that at this point I’d figure out that that was the point right? That I’d recognise the irony in the situation from the get-go right? Wrong. Wrong because I’ve heard it time and time again. Poets, musicians, tv personalities all lose their sense of identity at the first opportunity. They’re Guyanese before the camera starts rolling and every other Nationality under the sun as soon as a mic is shoved in their faces. So yes, I do believe I had a legitimate reason to be taken aback.

6. The ‘I just had water thrown in my face I feel like such an idiot’ moment – Right at about 2:06.

7. Euphoria – OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG I’M IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!

I completely lost it! I mean, I was beside myself with excitement. For one, someone else was finally saying what I’ve been preaching all this time. And two, this guy took what I’ve been struggling to conceptualise for months and condensed it into 2 minutes and 35 seconds of PURE GENIUS! On the first try! And it was better than anything I would have ever written! I felt like someone had just lit a fire in me or something, nothing has sparked this much excitement in me in a long time. And let me just say- it was a long time comin’! So the big question is, if this poem is so amazing then why do I hate it so much? One very shallow reason of course…only because I didn’t write it first.

Part three.

You appeared in my dreams too often,

A stranger.

Before I could put a face to your name, 

Before your name knew the inside of my mouth, 

Before time said, ‘Okay. Enough.

You, were a prayer in my mind,

Over and over.

That shadow of a doubt that followed every relationship

That nagging voice insisting, ‘he is not the one’, and

he was not my friend,

and how unfair,

That there are people in the world that can recite a million things about you

When I‘ve been waiting to meet you for the better part of my life.

And when finally you came,

You didn’t stay

Because it wasn’t you, but your voices sounded the same, and I was blind,

and forgive me baby,

but seeing is difficult when all your other senses get in the way.

And isn’t it crazy,

That conversations hang like corpses in the closets of ex-lovers we are still trying to forget?

Lovers that keep secrets of night and dawn folded under their tongues,

Who can probably describe to me in great detail exactly what you tasted like,

That night.

In the park.

Three years ago.

When I lay in bed less than a hundred miles away,

After my third breakup

With the same boyfriend.

And isn’t it funny, 

That even fate has a sense of humor

It takes experience, 

To rip the wool from over our eyes

And after we have given,

So much of ourselves freely to strangers we have met along the way

I can only hope,

That when time

Finally clears a path from where I am, to where you are

There will be enough of us left over,

To still be able to call it home.

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“You can’t do that! Stories have to be about White people”

Dreylan J:

Have a read…

Originally posted on Media Diversified:

Young Writers of Colour

by Hip Hop Teacher

I’ve spent almost two decades teaching in English primary schools, which serve multiracial, multicultural, multifaith communities. I want to explore two things I have noticed.

1)    Almost without exception, whenever children are asked to write a story in school, children of colour will write a story featuring white characters with ‘traditional’ English names who speak English as a first language.

2)    Teachers do not discuss this phenomenon.

Furthermore, simply pointing these two things out can lead to some angry responses in my experience.

Why are you making an issue of race when children are colourblind?”

is an example of the sort of question that sometimes gets asked.

Well let’s look at that. If children were writing stories where the race of characters was varied and random, there might be some merit in claiming that children are colourblind. However, even proponents of racial…

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