FLIPSIDE : Letter to King

I was listening to The Game's last album, "LAX" the other night. More specifically, I was listening to "Letter to King". Of course my mind began to spin while I thought of all the marchers and protesters who devoted their lives to the cause. Our future was made possible through their efforts, however, it seems as though our generation has forgotten. If we have not forgotten, we have definitely acted as though we have.

Every night, news reports tally up shootings and deaths in our neighborhoods. Shootings and deaths conspired by our own neighbors. Perhaps we need a history lesson. Oddly enough, while listening to Letter to King, I was browsing the web and found a "Letter to Mrs. King". What a coincidence? Now I would like to share my findings with you. Catch ya' on the FLIPSIDE.

Thank you Ms. Coretta for the grace, strength, and dignity that you displayed. Since your wonderful husband was assassinated by the bullets of fear and hate. You know they killed him because of their ignorance. Thank you for not allowing bitterness and anger to engulf your very existence. Now that you are reunited with Martin tell him that they are stripping our rights away, day by day, but his fight was not in vain. Tell him that although my generation glorifies drugs, debases black women in song, and calls us vulgar names - that his dream still remains. Our men no longer celebrate our natural black beauty - we have to have long weaves, small waists, and big ole booties. The videos are so degrading, they mirror soft porn. Us Blacks own television stations now, but that's all that's shown. Tell Martin that my generation apologizes for its lack of respect for his legacy and the dormancy of our elders, we might as well call this the Civil Rights of Unmovement Era. Tell him that although we as black people make more than we've ever seen, that we squander it on diamond clad teeth, 24 inch rims, and designer clothes due to our sagging self-esteem. Tell Martin that our babies are growing up without fathers, while the mothers are catching buses just like he remembers. Our children take to the streets in droves, not to march or proclaim the injustice of this nation, but to pledge their gang affiliation. I can't rhyme to this next line. On any night thugs hang out while bullets ring out - not freedom. And yes we continue to be judged by the color of our skin by America but I wonder most about the lack of the content of our character. Advise him that the grand-daughters of the Civil Rights era are making their money as strippers. The Grand-sons of the marchers are ignoring their sons and daughters and hanging and slangin' on corners. They're going to jail in mass numbers, not for protesting, marching, or defying racism, but because they commit illegal acts to gain materialism. Our children are making babies, ignoring education, committing felonious capers, I wish they'd read his Birmingham Jail Papers. Tell Martin that those in the ghetto are not the only ones forgetting his dream. There are those who've forgotten where they came from because of a little cream. Who refuse to give back to the community, because their motto is 'More for me'. They've forgotten how to lend a helping hand, to help their fellow man - all the while thinking, 'If I can make it, they can'. Looking down without offering a leg up, getting on elevators with their noses up. Some of us are even republicans now, but that's a very exclusive black crowd. Striving to get to the top of the ladder, to make their pockets fatter - instead of doing something that truly matters. Leaving the 'hood' in droves and only moving back when Whites buy up all of the homes. Tell Martin that we still like to dance and sing, but not Negro spirituals cuz we've got Beyonce grinding and shaking her thing. Ms. Coretta, this may hurt poor Martin the most - it just may seal the deal, we as a people don't attend church anymore. Cuz we've gotten a little education and found out that God wasn't real. For those of us who still believe, it makes us want to holla, we've got a pimp named Bishop and a Bishop named Dollar. I don't know Ms. Coretta, maybe you'd better not tell Martin that for all that he's done to make us free, equal, and just - that we still migrate to the back of the bus. I'll bet looking down - he doesn't recognize us. We've forgotten how to march, protest, and vote - but be at the club, standing in line for hours - in the freezing cold. Sporting the latest gear; stilettos, hoochie clothes, teeth that's froze, and Tims - driving cars with less tire more rim. Dying to get in so that we can 'shake it fast', drop it like it's hot' - forgetting the respect and dignity that we were taught. I neva' thought I'd think this thought, but please don't eva' give Martin your report.
Ms. Coretta, maybe you should just avoid mentioning my generation all togetha'.
Bitter B
Released: January 31st, 2006

FLIPSIDE : Random Thoughts

Dope Boys

Sometimes I forget the world exists
Caught up in another place, another dimension
Not the Twilight Zone, but close.

Bake up the pies, open up the bakery
Cakes all day, assembly line like Lucy
But none of these bitches better be eatin’ off the line!

Trappin’, hustlin’, rollin’,
Joints and blunts serenade nerves to sleep
Waking from the demands of the job.

Where am I? Who am I? What the hell is going on?
If you don’t know, I certainly have no clue
Mind still conjuring meaningless answers

The block loves me like no family of mine
Owe it my life, your life, anyone’s life to satisfy
The block. Don’t flip me like Brutus—

Caesar I feel your pain.

After years of loyalty, betrayed by the streets that raised
My eyebrows mangled by fear and anger resting on my face
The world is mine today, until she decides I’m no longer worthy of her glance.

FLIPSIDE : The "ME" in America

It's amusing sometimes to sit back and soak up society. Tucked away in some small corner of existence, I found a pebble of absurdity among the tremendous heap of large stones that build the foundation of good ol' America. A place where capitalism rules. A place where greed strives. A place where slaves were once held captive, both mentally and physically. A place where overseas wars are funded, but children starve at home. A place where money reigns supreme. There is no place like home.

I often wonder what the big deal is about President Obama's health care plan. Is it so controversial that health care seminars have been mimicking an episode of WWE Monday Night Raw? America has been a place where supposedly everyone here has the right to the pursuit of happiness. After all, this is suggested to be the land of opportunity. Unfortunately in the shadow of capitalism and our neighbors on Wall Street, it seems as though it is the land of opportunity, but only if you can afford to do it yourself.

While a very small percentage of Americans are wealthy beyond belief, there is a hefty percentage of Americans who are not that fortunate. Some are even less fortunate than that. With this in mind, it is disturbing to come to the realization that Obama's health care program is being scrutinized so harshly. What is saddening though, is the sheer selfishness of America. We spend millions on liberating a country who has been trying to kick us out since we've been there. We spend millions on relief efforts for every country other than our own. If you don't agree, I'll just let you think about Katrina and New Orleans. The 5th Ward still looks like Katrina just happened yesterday. When do we take care of home?

The health care debate fits accordingly. The conflict may appear to be about plan particulars and a loss of freedom of choice. It may even seem to be a ploy for "Big Brother" to manipulate and dictate our lives. That's the absurdity that I mentioned earlier on. The basic and idea that is evident here is the overall audacity of the "haves" to think of it as despicable to give a helping hand to the "have nots". I thought that was the whole aspect of charity. Helping out others who are less fortunate. Or, is that only true when its a tax write off? Catch ya' on the FLIPSIDE.

FLIPSIDE : Letter to Ben

Dear Ben,

What's good lil' homie? I noticed that you are from Farmington Hills. That's not too far from where I live. I was watching the evening news last night and I saw your story. I can't lie. I cried a little. They said that you were fighting brain cancer and most doctors had given up on you. I know that you are only 8. It must seem as though the weight of the world is on your shoulders. In spite of all this, I saw you smile. On several pictures, I see you smiling and enjoying life to the fullest. You are a brave little guy. I wonder if I would ever have shown the strength that you posses if I were in your shoes at that age .

As I and probably millions of other people watch your story unfold on the evening news, we all no doubt are wishing, hoping and praying for a happy ending. In the meantime, in the midst of a storm, you respond by smiling and saying how much you miss your friends at school. Alas, the beauty of a child's innocence inspires and softens the most hardened heart. Your friends also miss you as they appear on your website coloring a banner as wide as the chalkboard. The huge banner that says "Get Well Soon Ben" is also filed with the names of all of your adoring friends who miss you dearly and hope for the best.

We've never met, but I feel compelled to write you this letter to let you know that you have the support of a young writer who hopes one day we will meet. Sometime after the treatment from the Burzynski Research Institute has spared your life and you become a cancer survivor, we might have a chance meeting. Perhaps on the way into a local 7-11, I might hold the door for you and notice that it is indeed you. Maybe I'll introduce myself and you'll probably respond, "Do I know you." Then I'll just say not really, but I did write you a letter once. Be strong BJ. Catch ya' on the FLIPSIDE.

Sincerely,

Q. Lewis

http://superherobenfightglioblastoma.blogspot.com

FLIPSIDE : Accepting Failure

For years the people in my community have struggled to keep their children out the violence and drugs that plagued our neighborhoods for so many years. It was once a community that was lead by parents who worked collectively to discipline and teach its youth how to survive the struggles of inner-city living and how to make it out into the world. Times have definitely changed.

Everyday I ride down Conner Avenue near the City Airport and see a neighborhood that has lost its motivation to exceed the expectations of the general American public. America already sees inner-city living as futile and unworthy of existence. The only time ghetto living is popular is when its selling newspapers and music. Unfortunately, the youth of my fledgling neighborhood have decided that they will accept their label and strive to personify this label as opposed to breaking through and proving that our community can produce an upstanding citizen. The average person in my community would rather cause trouble than get rid of it. Where did we go wrong?

Directly across the street from the City Airport was once a vacant lot that we used to walk through back and forth to the candy store when we were children. Since then, investors who thought perhaps a small shopping strip could offer our neighborhood some employment and shopping opportunities, built a strip of shops where the vacant lot once was. What a novel idea?

Opportunities for business owners to lease space became available as soon as the construction was done in a few months. Then it happened. Broken windows. Glass in the parking lot. Finally graffiti on the building. Oddly enough, what was once a vacant lot has now become a row of abandoned buildings. When will we learn? Why would you destroy things in your own community?

America has already labeled mine and neighborhoods like mine as a problem that has become unsolvable. It is a direct reflection of the people who live in these neighborhoods. Nevertheless, we navigate through life as though destroying our own neighborhoods with vandalism, violence and drugs is what we were put on Earth to do. It is unacceptable. But, does anyone realize it? Catch ya on the FLIPSIDE.

FLIPSIDE : Understanding the Struggle

We have the first black president of America. We have multi-million dollar music producers. There are black men and women in high ranking positions in the political arena as well as corporate America. More and more black students are attending and graduating from universities. There are even black entrepreneurs who have built empires from little or nothing to begin with. We have indeed accomplished some astounding and humbling feats that were seemingly unimaginable not too long ago. With this in mind, it is more than certain that the younger generations will not fully understand and appreciate the movement of black success. Will they realize that the struggle was not that long ago?

Less than sixty years ago we couldn't even dine in the same restaurants. We even had to enter the Apollo Theatre in Harlem through the rear entrance in the alley. The Apollo! Will they realize that our entire future was threatened by white supremacists who thought blacks to be less than human and didn't mind treating us as though? Will they read the Willie Lynch letter?

The intent is not to dwell on the past, but the history must be acknowledged in order to fully appreciate the strides of black people in America. Small lessons in black history should be introduced to our up and coming generation so that they do not take the grand opportunities that have been afforded to them for granted. The struggle is what makes you stronger and strength is what will be needed to make it to the highest plateau of what ever endeavour you set out to conquer. Without that you cannot truly enjoy and appreciate the movement of the black community.

Knowledge of the past will allow for the next black president to realize his or her dream and prepare him for when racism sneaks up behind him and draws monkeys and think its a joke. Catch ya' on the FLIPSIDE.

FLIPSIDE : Thinking Out Loud

Today was a quiet day. Not much going on. So, with the tranquil atmosphere I began to reflect on life. The is a certain ambiguity to life. It would seem that the uncertainty in life would motivate us to strive harder in everything we do, however there is a tendency for us to hold back and become lazy. We lose the tenacity to forge our own avenue into the asphalt that has held us hostage our entire lives. With that in mind, I work hard. When I become tired, I work harder. This is because I know when I'm sleeping, there is a writer writing. I will continue to work harder to hone my craft. For those who have passed on before me and I owe my existence to, I will not quit. Love you granny! Enjoy our conversation and I'll catch ya' on the FLIPSIDE.

In My Granny's Words

All my children, oh I have loved you all so dearly and unconditionally,
Even though I am gone, I want you to always smile when you mention me.
I look down from Heaven and have been blessed with a brand new start,
And though I am not physically with you, trust that I still love you with all my heart.
My sister, oh I know times have been rough for you, but your head must rise,
You must be strong, laugh about the good times and wipe the tears from your eyes.
Don’t weep for me, for I am hand in hand with our creator and free from pain,
Good times and joyous memories is what you should have when you hear my name.
Oh Lord, it’s my time and I accept you as my savior,
To my family I won’t say goodbye, but rather I will see you later.
Love you all.