Plant strong. I went vegan over a month ago and I am not looking back. Val and I are getting ready to start the 28 day challenge on the Engine 2 Diet and it’s not the kind of “diet” that you do for a bit and then go back to your old eating habits. It’s meant to show you how your body reacts to a plant based diet, i.e improves and in some cases reverses diseases like type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. I imagine that this is going to be very hard on Val while it will be a lot easier for me since I am already vegan. I will just be cutting out oreos, chips, white rice, and oils ha. I will miss oreos and will definitely eat a couple after I am done and have been convinced that I can still enjoy life without oreos. Somehow I have survived without eggs for a month, I imagine giving up oreos won’t be half as hard :) I have never been so focused on changing my lifestyle as I am now.
Going vegan has not only been a great socially responsible change but also a great way to make sure I don’t become as ill as my mother was even before dying of gallbladder cancer. I am genetically predisposed to having type 2 diabetes, abdominal cancers and Alzheimer’s. I am not even remotely interested in becoming disease ridden; so here I am making a change in the way I eat and live. Val is doing this challenge with me because her blood pressure has been approaching dangerously high levels and because she is also predisposed to the diseases I listed. I know she doesn’t want to stay vegan forever but we foresee her dramatically decreasing her meat and dairy intake. I am so excited about the changes that will come from doing this challenge. Hopefully I will become the kind of vegan that permanently avoids extracted oils and sugars. Cheers.
Mandals ftw. Had a fabulous day at the beach today, felt like taking a myspace inspired selfie :) I am so vain. Iss okay.
"The City That Bombed Itself"
Twenty-eight years ago in West Philadelphia on May 13, 1985 the police bombed and gunned down members of MOVE, including 5 children. Two one-pound bombs made of C4 explosives, provided by the FBI, were dropped by a state police helicopter on a MOVE house in an attempt to kill and flush out the members. Temperatures inside the house reached 2,000 degrees. When firefighters arrived, police told them to hold off and to “let the fire burn”. When firefighters finally did put out the flames over 60 homes were destroyed and 10,000 rounds of ammunition were used by the police. To this day, no one in the government or law enforcement were charged criminally. It was another moment in US history that demonstrated that murder is allowed depending on who does it.
“May 13th is much more than a day of infamy. The city committed a massacre and did it with impunity.”-Mumia Abu-Jamal
That time the Philadelphia officials decided that bombing a house full for people including children, black people and black children, was a good idea. This showed a blatant disregard for black lives and their trust in this racist society to condone this level of violence against black people. Fuck this shit!
pretty tired of people equating a lot of the names Black Americans give their kids, with being ghetto or ratchet. And really, it all seems to be targeted at Black girls and women. All of those names have roots spanning across various parts of Africa, Asia, and the Arab nations.
Since I obviously have to school the Original Poster, and the 90+ people who liked and reblogged this before me (including the person I’m reblogging this from); get out ya pens n notepads, kids..class is in session:
Laquisha is merely one of a handful of derivatives of the name LAKEISHA.
La - being just a prefix
Keisha - being the root name (and spelling) of Queisha. Ergo the name La-Queisha/Quisha
It’s a peculiar name overall, in that it bears multiple origins; African (Bangi/Bobangi and Swahili), Arabic, and Hebrew.
• In Bangi, Queisha means - ‘favourite’
• In Swahili, Lakeisha means - ‘favourite one’
• In Hebrew, Queisha is most likely the variant of KEZIA, meaning - ‘cassia tree’ CASSIA is the generic name for a variety of trees and shrubs, one of which produces cinnamon. So Queisha is often interpreted as meaning ‘cinnamon’, too.
Further still, it being Hebrew, affords it some Biblical roots. Kezia/Keziah was the name given to Job’s second daughter, who was born after his sufferings (Job 42:14). Interestingly, her name has been seen to symbolise female equality; since Job’s three daughters shared equally with their brothers, in their father’s inheritance (Job 42:15). This was against the custom of things back then. Women did not receive an inheritance, nor could widows claim their deceased husband’s assets. In short, Keziah and her two sisters represented freedom and equality for women, in a time when such a thing was unheard of.
• And in Arabic, Lakeisha means - ‘alive’ or ‘she who lives’
so before you dummies look down on us for our names, keep in mind that their roots date back further than where majority of your great-great-great grandparents can trace their lineage.
We are not jokes. We are not cognitively deficient. And we are certainly not here to appease your ridiculous standards and expectations for what a child’s name ‘should’ be. We are not ghetto, and our names are not rachet. Our names have meaning, and they have soul.
Perhaps next time you feel to make a joke at the expense of our culture, just keep in mind that you’re a lowkey racist for playing on racial stereotypes..and we ain’t really smiling bout’ that.
i come from the sameSonia Sanchez
place i am going to my
body speaks in tongues.
So many days spent putting teeth on the spots of my tongue where they do not belong, holding round sounds in my throat which threaten to choke me, struggling to determine the right amount of space between tongue and teeth to hiss out tricky ths, wondering if my mouth will ever be wide enough to form unaccented foreign words that everyday must tumble out into the awkward space between my foreign body and the native speaker standing in front of me unaware of the years spent training teeth, jaw, spit, tongue, and lips.
I want to write like Junot Diaz. Not in his voice no, I am doing well enough finding my own, what I mean is that I want to write as unapologetically as Junot. His characters are honest, they hold nothing back, they curse when they want to, admit to fucked up feelings when they need to and don’t shy away from putting all of themselves out there even while they are unaware they are doing it (part of why I see Junot as a goddamn genius).
So far I haven’t tried my hand at fiction and I can’t imagine I will be doing that anytime soon but I am writing personal essays and I can feel that I am holding back. Holding back because sometimes what I need to write makes me look small, shows the parts of myself I want to ignore; holding back because sometimes I am afraid of putting into words how I really felt, writing it will make it real for me, too real, the kind of gut wrenching truths that leave you out of commission for a couple of days because you can’t bear looking at the you that you just admitted to being in writing. It’s ugly.
Personal essays are taxing. I have only been writing about the traumatic stuff, the unhappy moments, the ones I am glad I got through. But, I want to also write about the happy parts; these I have a little bit more trouble writing about because I haven’t spent much time looking at the happy moments of my experience, I am afraid of looking at the happy parts that were coexisting with the sad parts. Am I afraid to look indecent? Like I didn’t respect my sadness enough to fully live it 100% of the time? Like I said, ugly.
im pretty sure somebody hid the final paragraph of my essay on a shelf i cant reach, but i dont want to jump to conclusions
IS THIS REAL.
LETS ALL APPRECIATE FOR A MOMENT THAT THE UNIVERSE EVOLVED JUST RIGHT TO MAKE THIS PUN POSSIBLE