Crazytown

NO JUSTICE FOR BLACK LIVES

I have no words at a moment like this.

I hope that you are all able to remain safe and maintain your mental health in the wake of this travesty.

I turn to poetry for support. 

"Warning!" x Langston Hughes

Negroes,
Sweet and docile,
Meek, humble, and kind;
Beware the day
They change their mind.

Wind
In the cotton fields,
Gentle Breeze:
Beware the hour
It uproots trees!

 
"Still Life with Police Sirens" x Zora Howard and Joshua Bennett

I send all of my energy to the citizens of Ferguson, the protestors around the country, and everyone who suffers from the monstrosities committed in America. You are important. Your voice matters. Your life matters. Black Lives Matter. 

Be Safe. Stay Woke.

Alexis Haynie is a college student, writer, and feminist, from Arlington, Tx who moved to NYC in search of a word. She hopes to spend her entire life looking for it. 
EMAIL HER |  FACEBOOK | TWITTER |

 

MUDER ON THE AVENUE: A POEM FOR ZALE THOMPSON

A poem dedicated to Zale Thompson, who was murdered by the NYPD on October 23rd, 2014 in Jamaica, Queens, NY.
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

Zale Thompson, portrayed by the media as a hatchet-wielding Muslim extremist, attacked a group of four officers on October 23rd, striking two with a hatchet in broad daylight. The media has used his Muslim affiliation and New Black Panther Party membership to paint him as a deranged terrorist. To counteract this defamation, friends have created this Facebook page to share memories of the intelligent, caring, gentleman they knew and loved. His non-lethal attack was met with a spray of 19 bullets. One shot critically wounded a female bystander. His lone-assault was swiftly ended and erased. With martial law being implemented in Missouri, I wonder how many more black lives will be lost before a State of Emergency is realized…

 

Inspired by Nina Simone and in dedication to his memory, I am crafting this poem. I have been working on this poem for a while, and will continue to do so, but I feel compelled to share it. I am writing this poem for both Zale Thompson and "The Ave" he was murdered on. I walk by the place where he was gunned down nearly every day, and it amazes me that both the place and the community seem unaffected.

Not only will I never forget you Zale, but in the words of George Jackson, to the destruction of your enemies-- I dedicate my life.

Zale Thompson, Teachers College, Columbia University Graduate

FULL MOONS AND SUPER POWERS

There was a full moon this Friday night and our mother Nina Simone was blessing black women with all sorts of super powers. Creativity was at an all time high. Here are some artists you won't want to miss out on.
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

I had the great pleasure of attending an open mic event at the Wow Cafe Theatre where I was introduced to a powerful hip-hop artist - Likwuid Stylez

 

It really was a magical moment, a space full of carefree black girls performing their art--- It gets no better. Check out some work from a few of the artists:

 
Crimdella x Rose Hart x Joi Sanchez

 

Likwuid - #BTL

I encourage everyone to support these artists and check out more of their work. Also support the space (WOW Cafe Theater) because trust me, this city ain't built to provide places for this type of magic.

It really gave me life to perform amongst such powerful people... During my piece, I tried to channel this little girl performing "So What If I AM a Black Woman?"

 

Laaaawwwwwwdddd ! Don't let me memorize this... You'll see me down in Times Square preachin' !

Stay Woke.

 

DEAR WHITE PEOPLE: A MODERN DAY TRAGEDY

Spoiler alert— if you have not seen the film “Dear White People” yet, this post pretty much reveals the basics of a plot that you have already seen played out before.
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

After watching numerous trailers and tracking its journey to the box office, I subjected myself to the tragedy that is “Dear White People” (mostly sober). Pitched as social satire, I spent the whole time trying to figure out who the joke is really on. I doubt the producers were unconscious of the choices they made, but they sacrificed a potentially radical moment for a more marketable one. I laughed, I cried, I called for characters to be burned at the stake, all at inappropriate times apparently (I was shhhhh’d more than once).

Apparently, this film was meant to open a dialogue after it was over. Not during. Whatever.

I’ll give you the rundown, but you already know the story…

SOLIDARITY FOR THE SELECT: WHEN YOUR ALLIES ARE M.I.A.

While Black women are on the front line in the battle against the oppression of others, our “allies” seem to be absent when it comes to combating brutality against us. With the recent killings of two black women, will anyone notice their deaths?
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

Early Wednesday morning, Oct. 1^st on 171^st in Jamaica, Queens, NY (not too far from my home in Saint Albans), a young black man chose to fortify his damaged ego by slashing the throat of the black woman who ignored him. The scant reporting by the New York Post romanticized the interaction by referring to him as a “ruthless Romeo” who turned violent after the woman rejected his “romantic overtures.” She was found on the sidewalk, clinging on to life and lying in a pool of her own blood, after crawling out of the apartment building lobby to seek help.

There is nothing romantic about street harassment. 

It has nothing to do with courting or romance, it is a type of violence enacted to constantly remind women that men have the right to access their bodies at any given time they choose to exist in public.

Four days later in Detroit, on Sunday, October 5^th, a 38-year-old man gunned down 27-year-old Mary Spears who was uninterested in his advances at a bar she was patronizing with her fiancé. Fox reports the man shot Mary "Unique" Spears 3 times, twice in the head. Is he also a “ruthless Romeo” or can we, at this point, call him a raging murderer?

Where is the outrage? Where are our allies?

 

 

FOR BLACK GIRLS WHEN THE RENT IS DUE

For all black girls who have ever dared to live in this world.. this is for you.
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

I performed this poem on Oct. 1^st, in remembrance of my mother’s birthday… and my niece Kayilee who turned two. This poem is for all black girls because I love you, and you deserve to live in this world… I’m fighting every day so you can exisit. I am typing this on my twenty-third birthday. Today, I dedicate my life to you black girls so you can know Alexis cares, if don’t nobody else care.

For Black Girls When The Rent Is Due

You ever feel like your drowning?

When the cost of living raises over your head a little higher than you can afford to pay?

Cold showers

Candle lit dinners

More like...candle lit vigils.

Hunger pains so strong that you feel like you’re dying,

Making gourmet meals out of Ramen noodles and you call it

"Surviving."

Baby girl somebody's lying!

Their denying you the chance to live

All because of what you can't give.

Funny, they never seem to call it murder.

Technically, you can't kill what's already dead, so just…

Turn up the TV and mute your mind 

Perfect your speech and silence your soul

Build your career and demolish your dreams

Then all they'll have to do is sweep up the debris of the lifeless bodies.

You ever wonder what's that smell in the projects?

That's the stench of black bodies rotting

Black girls decomposing into dead black women

Subhuman

Nonexistent

The pressure of oppression will bruise your chest

Break every rib

Splinter bone and puncture arteries

Your heart can hardly beat

And it's kind of hard to breathe with a foot on your neck.

They tell you to, "Throw Dat Ass in A Circle"

Then scold you with, "You should have some respect!"

They tell you to smile but don't give you shit to smile for

Break you down, carve porcelain dolls out of ebony

And they wonder why you don't smile more.

They expect you to be Barbies 

Hardly noticing that this ain’t plastic

Nah, this is 23 years of scar tissue

And I still bleed for you

For you black girl

This poem's for you black girl

This world is for you black girl 

It's your oyster.

Except she's never had one,

She never even been to a beach.

But her building is filled with aqueous inadequacies

Where dry lips kiss relief only on the 15^th.

With nights so dark they feel like they're blue

And you feel so low getting high is the only thing left to do.

Even though project heat is hotter than the devil is,

Sometimes snow is the only way to escape the cold.

 You got bottles for buoys

And Brillo pads for filters,

But nothing is there to filter the filth from the kids.

Who gives a fuck about scrubbing the filth from the crib?

If I could make a wish, black girl,

On the brightest star or the thinnest last,

Or with all the magic blowing on a weed could have…

I’d spin you a tale of better days 

And lace together a reality where you don't have to pay.

"If I take a chamois and rub real hard on the bone,

Right on the edge of your cheekbone

Some of the black will disappear.

It will flake away into the chamois

And underneath there will be gold leaf.

I can see it shining through the black.

I know it is there.”

I know you are here.

 

HAVE YOU SEEN MY SERVANT –UH... SERVER?

Have you ever considered where your server is when you really, really, really need them? Well you probably were completely wrong. 
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

After a wait that feels like forever, the meal you ordered arrives to the table. You prepare to dive in, but when you go to grab a hot crispy fry you notice there is no ketchup!

You frantically search the dining room for your server while your fries grow ever colder by the second. How could they have abandoned you in such a crucial moment? The person who is charged with your dining experience is nowhere to be found. At this point you will settle for anyone. You ask the first person walking by the table if they could bring you some ketchup.

"Who is your server?" they ask. You cannot recall their name, as if that’s what’s important here.

Nevertheless, the ketchup arrives and the fries are eaten.

Your server returns in a few mintues wearing a smile and asking about your dining needs, but your resentment festers. When the check comes and you figure the amount you will leave for the tip, you recall those lonely moments where you were deprived the pleasure of a piping hot fried potato dipped in ketchup, and had to settle for a merely hot fried potato dipped in ketchup. You decide to leave nothing. You conclude the job of serving you was not fulfilled to your standard, and thus you will not contribute to the wage of the servant—uh server.

What you have failed to realize is that the person charged with ensuring your pleasant dining experience, is not your personal servant. One server may be charged with about 5 tables, usually seating between 4 and 8 people each. That can be 20 or more people. These people can need an almost infinite combination of things at any given time.

DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS (OF STREET HARASSMENT)

In the streets of this dark unsafe world, women are targets for any and all men to direct unwarranted acts of violence, both verbal and physical. This calls for a nontraditional defense course. Quills ready?
By Alexis Haynie (Writer)

They say the job is jinxed, teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, but the risk is necessary. There are daily assaults against women, women ignorant of their powers of defense, martyrs armed with fake smiles and fake phone numbers. I am here to impart my knowledge of spells and techniques that will enable you to walk through the world of patriarchy and domination, without willingly submitting your body, time, or space.

Let us begin.

Invisibility Cloak (Headphones)

Their first line of assault is usually verbal. While walking along the course of your day, you may hear these curses uttered--“Hey ma” or “How you doing beautiful?” and experience the resulting uncomfortable sensation sweep over you.

What you’ll need is an invisibility cloak, of sorts. Headphones. Preferably ones with magic noise-cancelling capabilities, cloaking you with a soundproof barrier.

This has proven quite effective, and can normally give you the chance to evade this verbal annoyance unscathed. However, it will not stop the more persistent. There will be men who simply escalate to an elevated more aggressive voice, or even block your path. You’ll need something stronger.

Polyjuice Potion (Bitch-Face)

If the assailant has view of your face, you’ll need to morph into the most “over-it” face in your arsenal, a face that says “I am not here for you.”

 

THE POP STAR'S GUIDE TO CULTURAL APPROPRIATION

From cornrows to twerking, follow this guide and you too will be able to successfully appropriate marginalized cultures -- just like your favorite pop star!
By Alexis Haynie

Do you wish you could walk like an Egyptian? Do you often find yourself bent over in front of a mirror trying to shake your backside to no avail? Do you attempt to incorporate the phrases "swag" or "thot" into your everyday lingo?

If you answered yes to any of these questions than this is the guide for you!
You've seen your favorite pop stars do it and now I will give you the tips and tricks to be "down" with the black and brown people of the world, without actually having to be subjected to the oppression of said people.

Where do we start?

At the top of course.

Your sleek blonde strands just won't do. You'll need some color. You'll need some kink. 
We'll take our cue here from Katy Perry's classic cornrows in her video, "This Is How We Do."

When it comes to color--the brighter the better. Nothing in the crayon box is off limits. Also note the slicked down edges of the hair, this step is vital if you want to be authentic.

Now I know what you're thinking-- I don't know how to braid hair!

I don't suggest you even try. If you don't have a stylist like Katy Perry does, look for any black girls you see rocking the style and ask who does their hair.

THE BIG PERIOD SECRET… AND OTHER FORMS OF INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY

So, women are no longer forced to the outskirts of the village while we’re menstruating… but we still have to hide our tampons.

by Alexis Haynie (writer)

Want to know why the men don’t have to banish menstruating women anymore? We do it to ourselves. They have successfully internalized a grain of misogyny.

Want to know what internalized misogyny feels like?

That flush of mortification you feel when a tampon falls out of your bag in public. That hushed whisper you use when you ask another woman for a pad. That constant paranoid check you do for any leak or smell giving off notice. That black ski mask you wear when walking down the feminine hygiene aisle.

That’s it.

I’ve been keeping my period a secret ever since I first got it. The first time I bought tampons was a covert ops mission. I remember telling my sister I was going to go buy a snow cone and then sneaking to the grocery store. I remember slipping from the magazine aisle to the feminine hygiene aisle like a FBI agent. I grabbed the world’s smallest box of tampons, sweated through the checkout process, and rushed home to find a place to hide it.

I spent much of my formative years finding ways to obtain tampons, hide them, use them discreetly, hide the evidence, and make sure no one ever found out I even had a period. Time I should have spent learning to love and embrace being a woman, I spent trying to keep it secret.

The thing is, there’s nothing secret about periods. Everybody already knows.

They just don’t want to know about yours. Actually they want you to know it’s a disgusting issue that you better deal with in complete secrecy.

You know, that one thing that makes you a woman and not a man? Utterly gross, socially unacceptable, and shameful.

Ah, ladies and gentleman, internalized misogyny.

And thus, control.

Control of your time and of your thoughts. Change the world? I would but… I’m on my period. Someone might see my pad through these pants!

It doesn’t end there. Not only do you have to spend a significant amount of time finding ways to conceal your period, you have to make sure you never let them see you sweat.

Literally.

You have to make sure not a drop of sweat ever soils your clothes, even in blazing temperatures, and it better not stink. Sweat on women is not acceptable.

And Athena forbid your vagina sweats.

You might as well just end it all now.

Women do not sweat. They perspire potpourri, didn’t you know?

Now I don’t know what voice I heard that from, or any of this from specifically, but it became my own voice as I developed. I told myself that my period was gross. I shamed myself when I sweated too much in perfectly normal situations like gym class. I took unnecessary precautions to conceal things like tampons and pads, or my bra, or to not sweat out my clothes or my hair. It took me a long time to realize that these thoughts were aimed against me. Shame and secrecy go hand in hand. I realized I had no place for either of them.

I figured out I don’t have to be embarrassed for bleeding when I’m menstruating or sweating when it’s hot. I don’t have to be embarrassed for being a girl.

Thinking this embedded, however, is hard to reverse. I caught myself slipping a tampon from my bag into my pocket and then creeping into the bathroom at work like I was going to do drugs. I still keep all feminine products in a separate compartment in my bag. I don’t, however, whisper about my period anymore. And I don’t usually hide my tampons. Baby steps.

I mean, I hate periods as much as the next woman, they’re no picnic. But --- I do not hate myself and I am definitely not ashamed of having one.

You are a human. You are a girl. Don’t let anyone tell you that something is wrong with that. Not even yourself.

It will take time, baby steps are still steps forwards. Go ahead, drop a tampon in public. For bonus points, ask a man to pick it up for you.

Alexis Haynie is a college student, writer, and feminist, from Arlington, Tx who moved to NYC in search of a word. She hopes to spend her entire life looking for it. 
EMAIL HER |  FACEBOOK | TWITTER |

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