Celebrate True Beauty! Loving this Nigerian Sister! ♡ ♡ ☆ ☆
Celebrate True Beauty! Loving this Nigerian Sister! ♡ ♡ ☆ ☆
Today at work I had a good laugh. One of the male security guards actually went to one of our Lady Shop Stewards to complain that his feelings were hurt because I stop speaking to him. I nearly burst out laughing but I managed to contain my chuckles because dickhead knew very well why I stopped speaking to him.
After a prior incident where he not only insulted me but had nerve to do it in front of the visitors well I blasted him good. My initials stand for Don’t Play. This is a job where we are required to be professional. If you got beef with me you need to talk to me in private not in front of the general public. I warned him then and there that I don’t know who you think you’re talking to but you picked the wrong one. Unfortunately if you work in a department that’s mostly male you’re gonna have men who challenge you or attempt to intimidate you.
I don’t do challenge or intimidation. Just because you’re a man does not make you better or smarter than me. Since his dumb ass is not a supervisor you need to watch what you say to me. Even if you are a supervisor if you talk out of turn I’m gonna speak up for myself.
I’m one that once you mess with me unless you apologize I’m not forgiving you. Fuck Forgiveness. Fuck Feelings. Wrong Female. I don’t owe you anything. There is No Love nor Light. The only Light you will get from me is when I Light your ass up! And that’s not a Light you want to experience. I Do Not Tolerate any disrespect from anybody. It’s that simple!!
Mable and Edward Palmer did not raise me to be a doormat. In fact my parents told me not to take crap off anyone and that I had a right to defend myself.
Mr. Angry Asshole had offended several co-workers and many stopped talking to him. Many years ago he was demoted from a higher security position because of his temper. His anger has gotten the better of him to the point that he has had several heart attacks. At least one on the premises and he is not even 50 years old!
I think he feels I should and I must converse with him because we are both Veterans. Well I’m a Veteran all he is and was what we in the Military call Weekend Warriors. Meaning he was in the Reserves. One weekend out of the month and two weeks out of the year of actual service. I was in four years full-time, 24/7/365.
Just to show you how truly nasty Mr. Numb-nuts is we have a gentleman who is also a security officer who served bravely during the Vietnam War. This wonderful man actually saw action. He suffers from PTSD but goes out of his way to be extra nice to all our co-workers. He is a pleasure to work with. He follows the Catholic faith always with his prayer beads and follows Jesus teachings. Everyone Loves him. Except one person. Guess who? You guessed right! Private Jackass. The Lumpy Paleface Lunatic actually had the nerve to badmouth a great man who went through the trauma of seeing people killed and trying to save the lives of wounded soldiers (he was a medic).
As for Knucklehead most of the guards try to avoid him. He has very few friends. Not many will put up with his rude, nasty, sarcastic remarks. I’m all for humor, cracking jokes and laughter but making fun of people, insults, lack of proper communication skills and zero people skills are not acceptable.
I have not guilt nor shame in cutting ties with abusive co-workers. That person does not write my checks nor are they paying my bills. Forgive and Forget don’t work here. I will dismiss you and keep on stepping. I have no shame in my game.
Moral of the Story: Don’t Let your mouth write checks that your ass can’t cash!!
Dreams Never Die
Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.
Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.
Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.
The Working Poor Leave No Footprints
Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw. Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds. Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers. Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads. Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands. Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.
I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served. Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.
My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead. Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games. Freedom lies dormant within my imagination. My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin. Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table. Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!! Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them. We be Aliens in our own Land. Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.
Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
– Hamlet (1.5.166-7), Hamlet to Horatio
2 Corinthians 12:3-4
New International Version (NIV)
3 And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows— 4 was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell.
Lately I’ve been having some very odd spiritual experiences. They are akin to the TV program Quantum Leap where the guy leaps into another person’s body or even more personal like the protagonist in the Octavia Butler novel, Kindred. Mine is not quite that spectacular but it began last year with my mother’s spirit speaking through me to create a memoir for her. Even though my Mom has been deceased since 1998 it was like she and I were one flesh. The stimulus was a rather unpleasant family disagreement but that one trigger melded our spirits and I began to feel the emotions she had over 50 years ago concerning my Brother Stephen’s developmental disability. All the hurt, pain, sadness, anguish and depression she felt when she was unjustly accused of causing her beloved son’s autism surfaced within my spirit.
I just began to write and write over the course of the last 7 or 8 months. Then after finding out some interesting family history concerning my maternal grandmother again I began to experience her emotions. Then a few days ago when I was posted in the Civil War Photography exhibit at my museum, once more an ancestor’s thoughts and emotions came to me. My Great, Great Grandfather William Henry Halstead fought in the Civil War. There was a steady stream of visitors but everyone was quiet, calm, serious, deeply affected by what they were seeing. During the course of the day as I walked through the photographs taking everything in it was like I began to see through the eyes of my Great, Great Grandfather. I could hear the sounds of battle, the screams of pain from injured soldiers, feel his adrenaline as he surged forth with his 29th CT. Colored Regiment brothers. All I can say it was like I was in his head. I had to make an effort to turn off so I could finish my day without freaking out. Even now I feel he is still with me even though I never met him. Maybe this is genetic memory. All the memories of our ancestors stay with us though we are separated by time but not necessarily by eternity. As a writer it gives a different aspect and flavor to my writing but it is a very strange sensation and I don’t know what to make of this new development.
It happened last year as I was making a Family Photo collage for the Employee Art Show. It was as though family members long deceased most whom I never got the chance to meet were telling me where to place all the photos within the collage. Very strange.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’m some type of an Empath like on Star Trek.
Empaths have the ability to scan another’s psyche for thoughts and feelings or for past, present, and future life occurrences. Many empaths are unaware of how this actually works, and have long accepted that they were sensitive to others.
I posed my questions to the FB Black Ancestry page and received several intuitive responses.
“I’ve been chosen as a Portal by my family members who have passed on.
Some inanimate objects do have an impressed energy and will release to an open mind/spirit. Some good, some negative. In your case, the familiar of family to present themselves to you to share an understanding of who they were to help others in their journeys here.”
The Battle scene I heard while in the Civil War Photography exhibit as described by one of my Great, Great Grandfathers fellow soldiers. http://conn29th.org/stories.htm
Maybe my Great, great grandfather is trying to connect with me. Sometimes I wonder why he speaks to me. Also I never had experiences of this magnitude when I was younger. I did have visions between the ages of 4 and 5 but I never told my parents for fear they would think I was nuts. These visions began again after I turned 50. I’m 54 now. An odd age for the portal to reopen. Now I know why he waited nearly 150 years not just for me to make an appearance on this earth but he waited for “The One”. The Anointed One who would be able to tell the stories of the ancestors and who could make Spiritual Consolation so their souls could be at rest.
In December of 1863 my Great Great Grandfather, William Henry Halstead, who lived in Tarrytown, New York, traveled to New Haven, Connecticut to join the 29th Connecticut Colored Infantry. On his Volunteer Enlistment papers it notes his occupation as a farmer. He enlisted for three years and was discharged on the 24th day of October 1865. He married and had five children. William Henry Halstead passed away in 1888 and was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Tarrytown, New York. His wife moved to New York City with her five children. Her children grew up in Harlem and belonged to various organizations such as Odd Fellows, Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic and the Daughters of New York.
Sp4 Palmer, 569th PSC & 101st Airborne Division.
I’m glad my spirit is open and that some family members have decided to reconnect through the veil of life and death to communicate with me. I would say that they don’t want to be forgotten by current and future generations. I am Chosen to tell their stories.