hate speech vs my mighty voice

Mighty Voices Rise

I don’t give two damns about “hate speech” against me, a brown woman. Not two. I have a mighty voice and know how to defend myself against words meant to cut my soul. What I care a lot about is whether someone attempts to do me physical harm, cut my skin. That is my biggest concern. Not the small words of small people with small minds. My words are too mighty to be concerned with the infantile ramblings of those who have nothing better to do with their lives than discuss people.

I wish to be left alone and allowed the right to get away from any “hate speech” I don’t want to hear.  Don’t allow anyone to follow me around for the sole purpose of speaking to me any kind of way (they can say what they want without forcing it on me) and don’t allow anyone to touch me, harass me or bully me. My physical person is more important to me than a bunch of words (venom) coming out of an idiots mouth.

Further, I want those who wish to say hateful things to express themselves freely, please, so I know exactly who to stay away from. If those who hate me are silenced, then they could do me even greater harm in the dark because I won’t know who is doing things to me. Could be denying me a job, spitting in my food, giving me wrong medicine, whatever. I need to know who to stay far away from, or who to report if they attempt to deny me access to something I have the right to access.

Nope, don’t ban a thing for me. Keep them away from me. That is all. I know how to use my mighty voice against those who bring small words pushed from the depths of their small souls.

little expectations

Writing Prompt: Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. Expectation.

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I am sometimes filled to overflowing with a cauldron of expectations. Ideas mixed in with opinions and beliefs that don’t belong to me or the soup overwhelm every aspect of my life. Which expectations are real and true; which are contrived notions created by someone else’s way of seeing the world?

I place in neat little rows all my expectations on the table. I examine them and wonder about their origins and why they’ve followed me to this point in time. Why do I need them? Do they need me? What are they? Why are they?

I want to detach myself from them so I may watch them from a distance. And see what expectations do when they have no one to hold on to.

leaving chaos

Writing Prompt: Chaotic

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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The world seems to be spinning out of control. Chaotic systems that have us enslaved to ways of living and being that feel unnatural to me surround me daily; they back me into corners in my life and mind.

I see the beauty and potential peace in this world, but those in control of the various systems want to create and control toward chaos.

I am tired of it all. It seems to never end. I am leaving chaos behind, at least in my mind. It is what I can do, for now, to find peace.

blue elegance

Writing Prompt: Elegant

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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The waters are not blue. They are the mirror for the royal skies that look down at an elegant white-blue swan reflecting off the mercurial lakes of a thousand lazy yesterdays. The swan glides across the time engorged waters, filled with stories of ancestral swans, regal, majestic. White feathers tinted to match the coming dusk and darkening waters. It rises above its own elegance. We are spellbound by the quiet and peace it exudes.

word scientist

Writing Prompt: Whisper

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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Most of what I write is an experiment where I allow words to cascade from my fingertips and walk about in the world, naked and unashamed. I let them roam free so they may discover themselves.

You could call me a word scientist. Forever exploring the strengths and weakness of words, even the history of words, where they were born, how they lived, and how those who use them have been transformed.

I am in a writing lab, surrounded by flasks filled with potentially volatile words. It is quiet there, so that I can meditate on my next experiment. I whisper to the words, and ask them to show me what happens when I mix them together. I add drops of words into an empty flask, then pour a cup of words atop what may or may not explode. The words combine and foam into sentences, then paragraphs rise to the top of the flask and spill over onto the table. I whisper to them, ask them what it was like. Sometimes they answer, in whispers barely audible. Other times, they wait to be rediscovered in new ways.

Dozens of flasks litter the table, each now with varied mixtures of words, reacting in expected and unexpected ways. Some good, some bad. Some inert, others poison to the touch. I continue to delve into the science, to see what it unearths. Words bubble, freeze, catch fire, and sometimes turn to fog. Always, they are there, coming together to teach us that which we didn’t know yesterday.

Sometimes they come in whispers. Sometimes they come without care. But always they come.

oh snap!

Writing Prompt: Snap

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

Oh snap, how cool is this!? It’s a writing prompt that takes me back to my junior high and high school days when saying, “Oh snap!” was the thing. It was equivalent to saying, “For real!” or “Damn!” or even “Oh wow!” I’ve even used it to express how cool something was. Like, “Oh snap, that dress is the bomb!” Oh snap could be used as a response to several strange, crazy, wild, unreal, cool experiences or observations. Many times it would be accompanied by a balled fist touching the mouth, with a slight lean backwards and to one side, eyebrows raised with an expression of surprise or amazement.

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Ah, the long ago school years. The 70s and 80s were a hell of a time. Teenagers during the 70s and 80s were on the cusp of change. For example, while I didn’t much see exclusively black and white television that I could recall, there were still shows that ran black and white interspersed with full color television shows before I had reached high school age. The country was advancing toward an increase in computer use as the average American began to discover home personal computers at an accelerated rate. We were the transitional children, seeing the world continually transition from the old to the new technologically.

“Oh snap! They got a video game called Space Invaders?”

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I remember watching many reruns of The Honeymooners, which aired in black & white and ran its final episode in the fall of 1956. Thirty minutes later I would find myself watching the Odd Couple which ran in full color. Nowadays, reruns of old black and white television programs are reserved for certain cable channels. But during those days when black & white and color programs were interspersed, the Oh snap factor was still present and profound. “Oh snap, Thriller is coming on! Grab the blankets and turn out the lights!” Everything was new and exciting and color television was grounds alone to say, Oh snap!

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“Oh snap! The Twilight Zone is coming on! Get some Jiffy Pop!” The Twilight Zone was where I learned myriad life lessons given that it was brimming with episode after episode of moral dilemmas either resolved or unresolved. It ran all the way into 1964, all black & white up to that point before they revived it in color with original and rebooted episodes. So as transitional youth, we saw many changes in cinema and television. The changes were amazing and wondrous and transformed our view of the world. Every moment was an Oh Snap moment for us during the 70s and 80s.

I still find myself using Oh Snap from time to time.

galaxy luggage

Writing Prompt: Suitcase

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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galaxy luggage found travel stickers across the milky way.
my suitcase has seen Jupiter and Saturn.
winged feet prefer clouds doubling as stones
to take me across stars flowing like waters.
i skip across clouds white and emptiness.
planet hopping is free.
so i travel light.
one suitcase.
sticker embellished.
galaxy worn.
my suitcase tells stories
of solar flares
and black skies birthing stars.
stickers carry worlds and words.
galaxy luggage remembers milky ways.
my suitcase has seen Adromeda rising.

© zaji, 2016

my books and me

Writing Prompt: Pride and Joy

What’s your most prized possession?

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My books are one of my most prized possessions. Reading is my refuge and my many tomes provide me with the escape I need from the mundane. My library is about 5,000 books strong with an eclectic group of authors writing in both fiction and non-fiction.

It’s strange, but when I am surrounded by books I feel at ease, as though surrounded by friends. Authors I’m not fond of get placed in other rooms in the house. Authors I love live right in my bedroom on shelves or on the floor along the walls.

There are times when I want to significantly shrink my library. But then I get the shakes and quickly dismiss such an insane idea.

newspapers: the other reality entertainment

Writing Prompt: Newspaper

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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Bird cages lined with yesterday’s murders and celebrity gossip keep no secrets. The fear and triteness won’t swing open cage doors to set free the small bodied beings with wings who don’t care about our words. They remain caged, trapped with sounds humans write on paper about their unsavory behavior and dying world. But they rarely use those words—dying world.

Newspapers aren’t about real news, meaning, the diversity and compendium of human experience across all possible ways of seeing existence. They’re about telling up to the minute stories about localized collective tragedies, and our sanitized collective insanities. Printing in only black and white doesn’t ease the colored stains of the real world. We read now for the reality show effect on paper. Newspapers keep the masses entertained and anxious each morning for the next fix of pain and pettiness. Sometimes, the fix allows us to keep the illusions alive, they keep us believing that we are free. But the paper sits inside a cage or trapped at the bottom of a heap. Irony.

There is really nothing to read but the same old thing. Different name. Different place. Same story and denouement. Sometimes none. Just unraveled threads wrapped in mystery and phantom or real killers, or candidates running for something we can’t put our fingers on. We give it name, but in the end, it behaves nameless.

There is nothing to read. Let the birds have it—our makeshift history. That is how important it is, really, for some. For most. Just a thing meant for waste, then tossed into large black garbage bags that sit on a curb waiting to be taken to a place where history is destroyed, meaningless in the grand scheme of it all. All soon to be buried beneath thousands of years of lifetimes and names no one will ever remember or know.

green all over

Writing Prompt: Green

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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i am green on the inside where the grass, shrubs and trees live and grow. i am green leaves flowing through thick veins trying to find their way to calm green waters of life. i am green skies and dark green soil, seeking green seeds that reproduce outside of dark green fertile flesh. my thoughts are green and grow in green rain and sunshine, birthing strong green men and women who build nations. death is green and takes us all to that after-place where green persists, trying to introduce us to a new life.

i am misplaced

Writing Prompt: Misplaced

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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The cosmic hand misplaced me, Zhala, and dropped me here. I traveled in its pocket for the better part of centuries before it realized that it had lost me, somewhere on the far side beyond several galaxies. It is filled with angst because it knows I don’t belong here, but it has yet to find me, having forgotten to make the psychic connection before embarking on its journey. Now, it cannot hear me when I call and I cannot hear it. But I feel it searching for me, desperate to find me and take me home to where I belong.

I was born with this knowing, just as one is born knowing their sex. This place where I was dropped is strange to me. I have no connection to the ways of this world called Earth. Everything feels alien, stranger than strange.

But I wait for the cosmic hand, hoping it will remember when last it saw me and possibly figure out where it misplaced me. I am waiting. I long for my home, far away from this place.

© zaji, 2016

very superstitious

Writing Prompt: Superstition

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

This song takes me way back. I was five years old when it came out, but a teenager when I really understood the meaning of the words. Isn’t this the life of humanity? We believe in things we don’t understand and because of this, we often suffer.

While some may not see the relevance of this song today, it is still apropos to our time. Many are profoundly superstitious, often calling their superstition by some other name to cover up what it really is.

I am attracted to the notion of belief and what that means to and for humanity. I am struck by the need of many to believe in even that which is not provable or probable. We all do it in one form or another, yet so many of us can’t see how volatile belief can be. It births and kills all at once. It is beautiful and ugly. It is always relative to individuals or small groups, often carried by only one or a few, or infecting countries whose beliefs are then eclipsed by whomever sacked them that particular century.

Beliefs morph and grow, some dissipate; always, however, they stay with those who carry them and then, sometimes, turn into superstitions that can last for centuries doing some good, but mostly harm when forced on the people of any given culture.

As I gather my thoughts on the nature of belief which sometimes transforms into superstitions, I hope to find a way to thoroughly dissect belief and what it has done for (or to) humanity, if anything. Has belief been more helpful than destructive? Is belief a creative force or a debilitating force? Is it both? I don’t know. But belief seems to be, in many ways, a guiding compass for our existence–for better or for worse. This guiding force more often than not gives birth to superstitions of all kinds. Today, the superstitions many carry are more sophisticated and cloaked in intellectual babble that attempts to conceal the fact that the superstition is merely a well developed unprovable belief.

Superstition by Stevie Wonder

Very superstitious, writings on the wall,
Very superstitious, ladders bout’ to fall,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin’ glass,
Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past.

When you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then we suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way.

Very superstitious, wash your face and hands,
Rid me of the problems, do all that you can,
Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin’ strong,
You don’t want to save me, sad is my song.

When you believe in things you don’t understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way, yeh, yeh.

Very superstitious, nothin’ more to say,
Very superstitious, the devil’s on his way,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin’ glass,
Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past.

When you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way, no, no, no.

untamed roads

Writing Prompt: Tricky

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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Jutting rocks pave rarely trodden roads. Walking into an unknown future is tricky. We are twisted into ideas and forms that take us barefoot across the sharp stones and even sharper destinies. But even destiny is an unformed notion. There is something ahead that may or may not be what should have been. It is tricky, this knowing, or not knowing. Speculative. Mysterious. It is the road forward into lazy villages where busy roads are sometimes made for bare feet but mostly for feet covered in stretched animal skins; tricky roads that have requited love and blind hate standing on their backs. The rocky roads are heavy with the weight of history walking to and fro across their life force. They exist untamed, the roads, charted and uncharted, remembering human souls soaked in memories they can never erase. The feet deliver the words. The road receives them. The stones crumble with the passage of time. They remember distant voices that carve thoughts into them. They are scarred and pained by the stories. But they remember it all, even though memory is tricky. They remember every word.

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raindrops keep falling on my…

Writing Prompt: Climate Control

The idea that the weather and people’s moods are connected is quite old. Do you agree? If yes, how does the weather affect your mood?

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We are all affected in some way by the weather. I have not met a person who doesn’t have something to say about a rainy day that isn’t emotion driven. Very often the emotion is negative.

I’m a rare fish who happens to love the rain. It puts me in a meditative mood. The water droplets falling from the sky are like little capsules filled with stories about Earth. I often want to stand in the rain and let the stories soak into my skin. The words about Earth could comfort me and remind me from where I came.

Rain is also sexy. It’s a great time for passionate love making. The rain beating against the roof and windowpane conjure thoughts of bodies skin to skin and souls touching places long forgotten.

Deep philosophical discussions that give way to new ways of thinking and being are born on rainy days. There is time to unfold ideas and new truths. Rain is the kind of weather that without a doubt changes moods and minds quickly. For me, it is always for the better. For the planet, it is food.

wandering the globe

Writing Prompt: The Wanderer

Tell us about the top five places you’ve always wanted to visit.

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Africa – I would love to visit all parts of Africa and explore this rich continent that I believe is central to humanity’s existence.

Vilcabamba, Ecuador – It is said to be one of the places with the most centenarians on Earth and contains trees with the one of highest oxygen levels. I am drawn to the possibilities in Vilcabamba and have often thought about moving there permanently. I would then love to explore all of South America (Turtle Island).

Vietnam – There is something about Vietnam that intrigues me. I look forward to someday visiting.

Australia – I have always wanted to spend some time with my Koori (Aborigine) brothers and sisters. The island, or mini continent, houses some of the oldest peoples on Earth, many who are losing their culture and identity with each passing day.

India – India is filled with amazing history. Exploring it, I imagine, would introduce me to a rich culture and provide me with many rewarding experiences.

There are so many other places I’d love to explore, including every island on Earth. But my top five are the places I’d love to begin my exploration of planet Earth. Sadly, this planet has devolved into a monetary system which limits our ability to explore the planet.

modern day epistolary

Writing Prompt: Handwriting

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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I love nothing more than hand written letters. I’ve always wanted to find a pen pal whom I can write snail mail letters to, to get the feel of what it was like to anticipate a response, rather than email, text or instant message that provides real time conversation.

Knowing a letter is in a person’s handwriting feels more personal. It’s as though I am reading a piece of their soul. They took time to engage with the paper, prepare the envelope, lick and apply the stamp and take the letter to the post office. There is something beautiful about this process.

If anyone ever wanted to correspond with me via snail mail, all they need do is say the word.

uncaged voice

Writing Prompt: Voice

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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i am trembling voice. i am fear finding footing and tongue. i am freedom picking the lock to my cage with skeleton key words that find their way through tumblers and springs. the door will open and i will be set upon the oppressed world, unlocking the black and gold bars of those who couldn’t see their cage. tongue lashing, words whipping, voice shaking hills upon hills of status quo. i will swing cages wide and far and let my voice spill into the streets, words littering roads, blocking hate and ego from passage. i am voice flying without wings into future worlds; fast, furious, naked for all to see. i am trembling…no longer from fear. but because my voice needs to heal; it must heal or i’ll die. it must reach ears that want peace and freedom, so they will know how uncaged voice can change the trajectory of existence. how uncaged voice can change everything that i am. how uncaged voice can set fire to the silence.

gathering of energy

Writing Prompt: Contrast

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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Life is a play of contrasts where colors watch us closely, yet find us belaboring only black and white. Too much time is spent focused on lyrics posing as rainbow-ed ideas. Black and white are not colors, but states of being. They do not adorn and arch the sky after the rain and clouds shift from view.

Our minds are heavy with the absence of light (white), and heavy with the presence of every color in existence condensed into a single energy source that holds the power of the rainbow (black). Everything lives in the carbon, even as the carbon lives in everything.

The absence pushes everything away; the collector gathers everything to it. It is the greatest of ironies—one we cannot seem to comprehend. So we remain confined to strange and limiting contrasts that bind us to erroneous ideologies and notions that burn through us, scorching skin and soul.

writing to dissolve cages

Writing Prompt: Singular Sensation

If one experience or life change results from you writing your blog, what would you like it to be?

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Something is here, among us, changing everything that we are. – me

I would want that my writing experience free me in the way described by Osho.

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I want to fearlessly write from every part of me, without worry as to how people might judge what I have to say. This life change would turn me on my axis and free me from the words I cage myself in with.

I want to write as though the world were in a relatively perfect state of acceptance of all created and manifested ideas. This would change me in ways even I cannot begin to imagine. I strive for this goal—it would make me feel relatively free.

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