Things I Imagined

Monday, November 27, Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee Day, 7:00 a.m., while driving through Boca Raton, I conversed with the Creator concerning my artistic desires, one of which involved my hopes in, one day, receiving a Pushcart Prize nomination and winning. Revered in the writing world, Pushcart Press is a publishing house probably best known for its Pushcart Prize, wherein, annually, editors of small, independent presses select up to six writers as nominee referrals for the renowned literary award, thus getting published in a Pushcart anthology among other winners.

In the hours following my prayer request, I received word from The Elevation Review at approximately 3:00 p.m. the same day. This biannual magazine that published my poem, ‘WOMEN,’ revealed that their editorial team handpicked me to be a 2023 PUSHCART PRIZE NOMINEE! I nearly went through the roof of my car, at a red light, of course, yet proceeded to praise the LORD, i.e., my Heavenly Father, who makes all things work together for good and blessed me with the gift of telling stories through what I deem, the poignantly written word. I asked, HE replied, and I received. 

To anyone wondering, no, all of my prayers have not been answered in general, let alone in a matter of hours, but, in this case, one was; yes, I still await responses for some and accept that others, especially those outside of His calling for me, will never come to pass because He plans to equip me with something better. And lastly, yes again, if He can answer me, He can answer you. Give Him a shout, but don’t forget the shoutout upon getting what you asked for in faith. 

I am grateful to The Elevation Review (TER) team for giving ‘WOMEN’ a home among their publications earlier this year and for considering me worthy of this honor. Being chosen alongside five other Black poets, four of whom are women, makes me feel seen and heard yet again along my journey. Admittedly, at times, I am disheartened, as it often seems like tumbleweeds blow through my works more often than interested eyes; still, this now-crossed milestone tells me to continue honing my craft at all costs, even if I think something I penned or filmed is terrible and non-sharable. 

Some say, ‘outta sight, outta mind,’ but I say, ‘outta mind, outta sight,’ in that manifestations are products of thought, and if something can be imagined, so can it be achieved. Another great thing about this recognition is that one of my favorite artists/poets/musicians, Jamila Woods, whom I’ve referenced in blog posts before, is a Pushcart Prize nominee herself, so I feel even closer to her creatively and, if nothing else, believe that I am in pretty good company. 

So, there it is. I am Venus Se7en, and, in the words of SOLANGE, ‘I saw things I imagined.’ 

"Saw things I imagined.
I saw things I imagined.
I saw things I imagined.
I saw things I imagined.

I saw things I imagined.
Things I imagined.
Things I imagined.
Things I imagined
taking on the,
taking on the light.
Taking on the,
taking on the light.
Taking on the light."

For your listening and manifestation pleasure. Pay it forward if led to.

Until the Next Opus,

Ghost of Relationships Past

Out of the clear blue sky, I received a DM from an ex. While I, at first, was curt but cordial, I ended our small talk upon noticing an all too familiar pattern in his way of discourse, something I like to call ‘fishing.’ I know you know what I am talking about. At the time, I was happily single and focused. A few weeks later, I received a text from an unsaved phone number I discovered was his only because messages from eons ago appeared in the thread above. I ignored it. Months later, fresh into a new relationship, my phone rang, and to my surprise, his full name stretched across the screen, thanks to the advancement of caller ID, which identifies the person trying to reach you even if their number isn’t saved. I let it ring. I was perplexed at why he still had my number, considering we hadn’t been together in a decade and had not really spoken for the last seven years. Part of me was amused, but mostly, I found it unnerving. 

Aghast by a ghost of relationships past, I blocked him. Not that I was tempted by or still desiring him in any way, but because I had decided during my single girl days that the back-and-forth dance many do with their old flames was, more often than not, never worth the rekindling. Besides, I was looking forward to all things and people who would come into my life and help improve it. I had no desire to look or go back, and it felt great not to want anything from yesteryear or my lesser year. To arrive at that conclusion, I had to reach a certain level of healing along the walk down Love Life Lane, which relieved me, given how much pain I endured at the hands of each ex, including the fisherman. 

I imagine that if I had not emotionally matured, the thought of entertaining his conversation and contact attempts would have appealed more to me, and this got me thinking about the importance of emotionally reaching The Point(e) of No Relational Return. Man or woman, we’d be much happier if we allowed ourselves the time to heal correctly. Returning to an ex has nothing to do with having love for them but attachment and convenience. Convenience may be comfortable but not comforting. Accepting seasons of solitude is the first step in the direction you want your life to go. While, at times, uneasy and painful, this stage is an ideal opportunity and invitation to love yourself more, which was something I wish I had learned sooner. 

The love you give or have given to another is of no more importance than that you can give yourself. Once you’re individually complete, who stays or goes becomes secondary. This does not mean we should ignore or deny ourselves the need for companionship, partnership, and love. But it does mean that if internal work gets left undone, it won’t matter where one goes and with whom because that void will always be accompanying. Whatever your forms of self-care will inevitably attract the new, and the more one heals from the past, the less likely they will carry it around, especially into their next relationship.

Common sense teaches us how we handle the past affects our present and future. So, even if you move on to someone new, what you share and have built with them will be compromised and potentially ruined if you look the other way for meaningless, inexplicable reasons. In doing so, the new person in your life will ultimately pay for the pain they didn’t cause and the scars they weren’t responsible for. And every human has a limit, no matter how loving, reliable, and dedicated. Leave your past behind and those in it.

Notice how the past pulls a Jack-In-A-Box when you’re where or with whom you should be. This is no coincidence, but a test to see how much you have evolved emotionally. Keep looking ahead, leave the cobwebs where they are, wish them well, and love unconditionally, but ghost the spook imposing upon your festive seasons with ‘Boo.’ Rolling your progress and blessed present relationships across the table increases your risk of crapping out.

Until the next opus,

Lunch & Laughter

The digital nomad that I am, my weekday lunch hour either involves music or choosing something among the plethora of video streaming services to enjoy. On this particular Tuesday, I found myself on Amazon, watching one episode of a television series called I Survived...Beyond and Back; on this show, people worldwide share their after-death experiences before returning to their bodies. 

In this episode, a gentleman suffered a string of heart attacks and died in a hospital; within moments, he found himself on a mountaintop and a few feet away from a man he identified as Moses. With stone tablets nearby, Moses articulated to him the horrid state of the world resulted in humanity not following the ten commandments. 

As far back as I remember, I either heard or read the ten commandments, but in naming them, I’d always forget a few; prompted to remind myself, I searched. One of the commandments I could never retain over the years was the tenth: ‘thou shalt not covet.’ It tells us we should expel any desire for whatever doesn’t belong to us. 

When I read this, I immediately put my phone down and started laughing; before I knew it, I couldn’t stop. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t just laugh; instead, I’m the type of person who slaps their knee, bends to the point of falling, runs, or staggers like a bacchanalian, although sober. While akin to those kinds of reactions, this was something different.

I laughed for so long and so hard that after a while, it began to scare me; there was something Jokeresque about it, but minus evil intent. The feeling was more a knowing one, like something profound hitting you over your head, i.e., when you know God is speaking directly to you; amidst guffawing, my eyes welled with tears, which doesn’t happen often, and eventually, the laughing ceased. Before you think I’m a psycho, allow me to explain myself. 

Depending on how long you’ve been on this blogging journey with me, you might recollect To Be Or Not To Be Me, wherein I gave insight into the origins of my bouts with low self-esteem, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I described how much of my relief stemmed from wanting to be who I wasn’t, constantly searching beyond myself to fill voids I thought I had. It was how I coped and when imagining wasn’t enough, I sank into deep and dark places where I sat for years before finding the light. 

Coexisting on a planet with others, we often get glimpses into their lives and often do something we shouldn’t: compare ourselves to the people around us. If I had a dollar for every time I said, ‘I wish I looked like her,’ or ‘I wish I had or could do that,’ I’d be a billionaire by now. I clung to life by a thread and narrowly resisted urges to check out. While in a better place than I had been as a younger girl, there are times when those kinds of thoughts reappear.

After identifying the issue, I prayed for weeks to receive help seeing myself in the only way that mattered: how God sees me and not forgetting who or why I am. Several prayers later, HE answered me in one line of text I had seen many times before physically, yet not spiritually until that moment. What’s funnier is that I found what I needed when I wasn’t searching for it; isn’t that often life? 

After composing myself, I could only thank the Holy Trinity through the lump in my throat. It was unlike any experience I had before, but I was grateful. Grateful for the nudge that influenced my choice to watch that series episode, grateful to reread the Ten Commandments afterward, grateful to seek the meaning of what I neglected to understand, and more grateful that I got it.

To covet is to tell I AM that He made an error in my design when the only issue was in my thinking. In retrospect, I regret nothing because I can see clearly now.

Essentially, all of me is alright with me!

Until the next opus,

Fridays

for CODE

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I love Fridays; I don’t entirely know why, but to me, everything feels much better on that day. In speaking to a new face in my life, I remarked on how grateful I was that the weekend was around the corner, to which their response implied that the new day would change nothing. Afterward, my initial thought was, ‘It does for me,’ followed by, ‘It’s a matter of perspective.’ It hit me, then, that change is a choice; ultimately, you decide to adjust or maintain sameness. In this, I exclude things beyond our control and primarily focus on what is in our hands.

This brief exchange made me think of my life and times when I could have thought and behaved differently or better but instead chose the lousy alternatives. Moreover, I pondered instances wherein I remained among internal places that ceased to benefit me, knowing it would get me nowhere and not entirely caring. While I believe that sometimes allowing ourselves to feel the waves of emotions is necessary for healing, we don’t always extricate from them promptly. And the [un]funny part is when somehow, amid this madness, we get frustrated about our present situation.

How much do we want things to change if we are unwilling? This question ran across my mind several times, and not once had I a sensible answer with which to counter. Essentially, there is no excuse for knowing better and not doing so; indeed, change is a decision, but it is also inevitable. I believe it is better to change willingly than to have life leave you no other option. Then again, both are necessary and something we all have faced.

My spiritual leader often says that ‘everything goes head-first,’ in that when our minds change, our lives follow for better or worse. Naturally, no one desires a catastrophic life, and minds do not change on their own accord; we make that choice. It’s so easy to revert to old ways or cave under pressure brought on by life itself, but how we handle those feelings, thoughts, and actions is, too, a choice. If we feel that nothing will change, it won’t; the first step toward transformation is the belief or FAITH that change is within reach.

Recently, I have adopted the practice of thinking about Fridays when I feel like a Monday i.e., mundane. While I adore the weekday from beginning to end for many reasons, metaphorically, I define ‘Fridays’ as those things that make us feel our best. For some, it means accomplishing a goal, being with loved ones, learning something new, listening to music, reading, creating art, having in-depth conversations, and the beat goes on. Because we are so different, no one’s Friday is identical, and we are not in a position to tell others what their Friday should look like.

Who knows? Another person’s Friday could be your Monday if you see what I mean. When thinking of Fridays (or what brings us joy), it’s often easier to get through those complex situations when the latter emotions attempt to resurface. Reacting negatively to an unfavorable condition worsens and prolongs that state, so for your sake and peace of mind, find your Fridays and remember them to get you through Mondays. Eventually, a time will come when the day of the week won’t matter.

Until the next opus,

Listen

As I reflected on my first year as a blogger, I clarified in my last post that writing about ‘just any ol’ thang’ is not my cup of tea. I can’t compose regarding a new pair of shoes I purchased or how delicious eating a bagel was without feeling I have shortchanged the reader who took a moment to click my bio link and arrive here. Others may have the ability to talk about such things in their blogs engagingly, but I am not one of them.

I would much instead share my epiphanies and revelations that descended upon me over time, and thus, if I haven’t something of substance to convey, I’d rather say nothing. It isn’t that I consider myself an inspirational author or speaker. As Sir James Baldwin once wrote, ‘nobody knows my name,’ but even if they did, I articulate lessons learned because it is in me to do.

It is my duty to pass on what I’ve come to understand by living life and what others have taught me. Lately, it has become increasingly difficult to finish what I start, almost as if I had arrived at the door which confines all the words and visions in my head, but I’ve got a ring of keys to test before unlocking.

Meanwhile, time goes by, and my efforts are futile; I don’t know if it is worse to be unproductive or make conscious attempts and get nowhere. I’m sure you would agree that both instances are frustrating; in despair, thoughts of why I continue to write and create flood my mind when things aren’t going according to plan.

But then again, perhaps they are; I must remind myself that my goal or dream is not mine but planted within me by God for someone else. Maybe this dry spell in which I find myself is where I need to be to return to the Source in that He might use me to carry on his purpose for my life.

I don’t believe for a second that I have said and done all that I was designed to, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know; therefore, it is with great gladness that I spiritually retreat and rejuvenate for a while. I will not promise a two-week return, although I would love one; nonetheless, I will return so long as I have something of value to share. I don’t care what anyone says: when you’ve done the spiritual work, everything else falls in place; I have aligned, misaligned, and realigned far too often to believe the antithesis.

When we talk, we don’t listen, and I’ve spoken consistently in this blog, but now the time has come for the latter because to do so is to learn.

Until the next opus,

My First Year of Blogging

In the words of Tony! Toni! Tone’!, ‘Do you know what today is? It’s our anniversary!’

Me and BWB, as in BE WRITE BLACK!

One year ago today, I challenged myself to begin a journey for which I was uncertain I was equipt: creating another blog after many years of disregarding the encouragement of others. In my late teens, I tried a hand at blogging that went south because I threw in the towel before the bell ever sounded; it didn’t seem right then, and I had nothing to say.

I never thought the idea would arise again until I rebuilt my website in 2021; I wanted to fill my macrocosm, Venus Se7en Space, with all things me and what I loved artistically. Writing has been a colossal part of me for over half my life, so utilizing a new space to share my thoughts in addition to visual stories whenever I wanted made sense.

I’d be lying, however, if I said Peanut, my inner procrastinator, didn’t nudge me and furrow an eyebrow, reminding me of my commitment issues. Still, 29-year-old-not-wanting-to-stay-stuck me disputed and brought back to mind what my spiritual leader often says in his coaching groups: ‘the greatest investment you can make is the one in yourself.’ So, Miss Peanut took a backseat. 

As an introvert, one of the most painful things is getting stuck in dead-end conversations, and because I prefer those with substance and depth, my writing, be it poetry or anything, for that matter, will always reflect that. 

I love food bloggers, but penning a post about an egg bagel I had for breakfast is not my tub of cream cheese if you know what I mean. I know my heart and what brings me joy, and some of that is right within the confines of this space, this blog in particular; I wanted to make a difference or rather ‘my difference’ in the hope that others also value my voice.

I didn’t know it then, but I also wrote for myself in writing for others. James Baldwin confirmed this for me in his renowned discussion with Nikki Giovanni on ‘SOUL!’ when, at one point, he said that if his art is painful to an outsider, it is essential to remember that the result had to hurt the artist first. 

The same rule applies no matter the emotion; it’s easy for someone like me to forget that because whenever I create, the viewer or reader is always at the forefront of my mind. In The Leonine Lyricist, I’ve written this before about how we are all here to use our gifts to serve those around us. Indeed, self-preservation is the law of the land, and if we cannot do anything for ourselves, it is impossible to do things for others. 

As I proofread posts before publishing, I found that my words both poured out of me and filled me up again; it gave new meaning to ‘my cup runneth over,’ but in all honesty, it does. Operating according to our calling is innate and fulfilling, and while I can’t presage all my life path requires of me, I knew early on I’d write until I died. Be Write Black is the newer chapter of my journey as a storyteller; I’m proud to have been consistent overall, trusting God in the process and receiving what He grants me so I can share it with you. 

Thus far, I am humbled by the support I have received from old ‘faithfuls’ and new friends; things are on the horizon regarding the evolution of this blog, and I am excited for them to manifest. In retrospect, blogging has been swell for someone who still knows very little about it; this experience has taught me that my work here is only beginning! As my fellow Sagittarian and Jersey-bred ascended homeboy, Sinatra used to sing, ‘It was a very good year,’ and I welcome all divinely timed opportunities moving forward to grow, learn, and write. 

Until the next opus,

Everything

In 2020, I’d have laughed in the faces of anyone who told me that we would still be amidst this pandemic after two years, but here we are. While I, like the rest of the world, eagerly anticipate the end of this debacle, I am thankful for the divine protection and prevention throughout.

2018, B.C., the actuality of energy crashed down on me while talking to an old friend by phone; I revealed that humans are incapable and even non-existent without spirituality. Despite my strong feelings, his silence blared, and we changed the subject, but in these present times, the significance of energy consumes my thoughts more than most things.

The pandemic only solidifies what I tried to get my friend to see and what I needed to remember: everything is a gift, not a luxury, and it takes energy we don’t innately possess to function in all we do, and yet, we are such an entitled people. We believe things will always be available to us; therefore, we belittle the most significant and give importance to the unimportant.

Not until something gets taken away do we learn to appreciate it; before March 2020, I never thought twice about going outside to feel the sunshine and take a deep breath of fresh air and not wonder what was waiting for me in the wind that I could not see. Or being around others and pondering where they had been or with whom before me and where those people had been; I never hesitated to embrace friends and family.

The only times in life I could not smell were after too many whiffs of candle scents while shopping for new ones or when I had a cold that came, went after a few days, and my sense returned to me. Aghast at learning some people recovered from the virus so long ago but still cannot smell, taste, or breathe on their own, I began appreciating everything I still had and could do. My prayer life became elaborate, and I praised our Creator for things I had never once uttered before.

As I said in my Rainy Days blog post, our lives are a multitude of moments and, in an instant, can be unrecognizable to us. I am grateful for every moment I can smell, taste, touch, hear, see, and that I have an able body, a cute car, a wonderful job, family, and a contingent of real friends. While what I say is not new, it is titanic once examined and considered; it is also humbling to receive grace, mercy, and favor that I do not deserve daily from the Spirit from whom all life and good things flow.

I understand that scripture now, ‘I will bless the Lord at all times.’ To me, it does not mean we praise and worship 24/7, but that no matter the day or moment we are having, be it good or bad, if we are thankful, it shows Him that we appreciate what we have and in His time, He blesses us with more. I must point out that we should not extol our Creator to get things from Him, but because it is the right thing to do, we cease to exist without Him.

We cannot bend a finger nor bat an eyelash without that energy, which is Him; so, in everything, give thanks, because not only could things be worse, but even in individual and collective troubled times, we are protected.

Until the next opus,

Venus’s Top Se7en: Contemporary Music Artists

1. Jamila Woods

Pronounced juh-mee-luh

In 2017, I had given up on the future of music; for the longest time, my quests for qualitative verses and melody were a dead end until I found HEAVN, literally. The name, Jamila Woods, was foreign to me, but I got to know and love her quickly by playing the words off her debut and sophomore albums. 

This poet writes about self-love and coming into the fullness of oneself in songs like Lonely and Holy, where she sings, ‘I could be crazy, but my crazy is my own,’ and ‘Give me today my daily bread; help me to walk alone ahead...My cup is full up; what I got is enough. Nobody completes me, don’t mess with my stuff.’ I just love that! 

Jamila doesn’t shy from telling it like it t-i-is about what unifies people of African descent and unapologetically celebrates the fire of Black women and Blackness in general. Aside from her Afroetic elements, Jamila leaves herself open to love and the degrees to which she deserves it; she also has a fantastic gift of translating persona poetry into a broader sound. Her entire second album, LEGACY! LEGACY! is proof of this. 

LEGACY! LEGACY! is a melodic billet-doux dedicated to the memory and bequest of some of my favorite people to walk this earth: Miles Davis, James Baldwin, Nikki Giovanni, Eartha Kitt, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Betty Davis, Sun Ra, Sonia Sanchez, Zora Neale Hurston, Octavia Butler, Frida Kahlo, and Muddy Waters. 

In 2020, she released two singles, SULA, one paperback, and a hardcover version, inspired by the Toni Morrison novel...as if I couldn’t love her any more than I do. 

Jamila’s music was similar to a spiritual journey for me; absorbing her lyrics and learning every inflection of her voice helped put words back into my mouth, reigniting the blaze in my belly, having extinguished during one of my darkest times. 

2. Noname

I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t begin listening to Noname until August 2021, especially considering that I first heard her on Jamila’s debut album in 2017; one afternoon, I watched a Netflix documentary called A Love Song for Latasha, which featured a track of Noname’s: Don’t Forget About Me.

‘I know everyone goes someday,’ she says. ‘I know my body’s fragile, know it’s made from clay. But, if I have to go, I pray my soul is still eternal, and my momma don’t forget about me.’ Those words pierced me, and upon finding the whole song on YouTube, I cried continuously and replayed it in the hours that followed.

There is something about blue skies, daylight, and the cosmic neo-soul-jazz fusion of Noname’s music; I bathe in her soundwaves, reemerging healed and purified. Her songs were a respite I didn’t seek; sonically, she found and saved me. Her calming, rhythmic outpour not only mollified my injured soul but was far from circuitous from a lyrical point of view. Noname can orate truth with a smile in her voice, refraining from sounding preachy or confrontational.

And yet, her flow is often sorrowful in pieces such as Casket Pretty, where the chorus is self-explanatory: ‘All of my ni**as is casket pretty; ain’t no one safe in this happy city. I hope you make it home; I hope to God that my telly don’t ring.’ On the flip side, she celebrates Blackness in a youthful way with songs like Diddy Bop: ‘This sound like growing out my clothes, with stars in my pocket, dreaming ‘bout making my hood glow. This sound like every place I would go if I could fly.’

Noname’s subjects span politics, Blackness/Black death, sex, family, relationships, and personal evolution. Another of my favorites is the hook in Part of Me: ‘I am too focused on the part of me that I’m trying to be; I can’t pretend I’m not myself, but if you go, wipe your shoes ‘fore you leave.’ *MIND BLOWN!* I am excited to hear that she’s returning to music after a few years’ hiatus following her albums, Telefone and Room 25! Hopefully, I’ll get an opportunity to see her live one day.

Outside of music and poetry, Noname started a book club, which highlights authors of color; it’s a virtual/irl community that meets monthly and also provides books to inmates within correctional facilities. She’s doing amazing work, so please show some love.

3. Little Simz

My introduction to Little Simz was her tiny desk concert from 2021; she had recently dropped a new album, Sometimes I Might Be Introvert, and she had me from the title alone because I relate to introversion. I found a music video to the title song, Introvert, on YouTube and became an instant fan. It was carefully conceptualized and told a compelling story, as do all of her other music videos.

Aside from Simz’s insane lyrics, I love the orchestral influence, overall musicianship, and production quality; the chocolate on top is her voice and sound: deep, distinctive, and dipped in a British accent. Her blood raw honesty appeals to me, as do her theories about empowerment, youth violence, self-awareness, fulfillment, Blackness, and damaged domestic relationships.

I adore every track on this latest album; however, the ones I have in constant rotation aside from Introvert are Woman, Protect My Energy, both parts of Little Q, I Love You, I Hate You, Speed, Miss Understood, and Standing Ovation. Even the shorties like Gems, The Garden, and Never Make Promises nourish my essence.

From the interludes and everything in between, Sometimes I Might Be Introvert is an eclectic, purposeful masterpiece that paints pictures so elaborate that one does not require visuals and is my favorite out of all her albums [Grey Area, Drop 6, E.D.G.E., AGE 101: DROP 1, 2, 3|000, and 4 and A Curious Tale of Trials & Persons.] One of my other cherished Simz opuses is Stillness In Wonderland; it changed my life. Her earlier work contains a dusty, jazzy quality, and I don’t mean that horridly. Some of Simz’s previous tunes remind me of neo-soul-infused jazz and lo-fi, which I listen to when I am not jamming to one of these seven artists.

4. James Tillman

Don’t you hate when your Spotify playlist ends and the app starts playing random music? I do, too, until its arbitrary selection is precisely what I need to hear! That is how I came to discover James Tillman; I was at the office in work mode, hearing only bits and pieces of melody that inspired the corners of my lips to travel south and a head-bob in me. 

I was too busy to look up and see what I was listening to until I heard those lyrics: ‘You hold the key to my heart, but why you keep losing it?’ I faceplanted my keyboard with such force I had a ‘QWERTY’ tattoo on my forehead for about an hour. All that mattered was finding out who the hell this neo-soul prince was and where I could find the rest of his work.

The song I speak of is titled Missed Encounters, the closer to his 2016 album, Silk Noise Reflex; can we pause for the cause and give God glory for putting it on James’s heart to have such a dope ass album appellation? It wasn't just a moniker, but silky is the best word I can think of to describe his style and sound. His singing voice; is a coalescence of pain and openness in a whisper. 

Lyrically, James’s work is some of the best I’ve heard in a long time. I haven’t yet listened to his songs and equated them to a hodgepodge of nothingness; he sings a lot about love, which is universal. I especially appreciate hearing a modern perspective of men in love. One of my James go-to’s is a collaboration he did with another artist, Flwr Chyld, called Luv 2 U. 

James’s songs make me feel as though I am floating in blue; not an ocean from a typical view, but something like it; liquid silk, perhaps? As I listen to Luv 2 U, I drown in that mysterious brine but remain alive; between Shangri La, Silk Noise Reflex, Modern Desires, and a few singles, some of which are new releases, there isn’t a song by James Tillman that I dislike. Check his ass out!

5. Rebel Noire

I only discovered Rebel Noire and the Accomplices this week while aimlessly scrolling Instagram, as one does. A link in her bio directed me to a Bandcamp profile which consisted of a triplet EP named after its title song, truthteller. 

Self-described as Afroetic rock, I was intrigued and am so glad to have taken a listen; Rebel is New Age Nina Simone, teeming with self-awareness, fearlessness, and unapologetic Blackness.  In the final track on the EP, rosewood, she defines herself as charcoal beauty, which I love, and in the chorus, she sings, ‘when the enemy be come for me, I’m on my guard.’ The music is enticement without remorse and protective of what is ‘mine’ and ‘ours.’ 

Life in Black is somber yet powerful and something to which people of African descent can relate. ‘Are we growing or dying?’ she asks; it’s a poignant question proven valid and one we shouldn’t have to ask at all. But we do. 

My favorite on this digital album is truthteller. When I realized she was singing from the perspective of Blacks who became lynch victims, my mouth fell open. Rebel gave us a modern-day twist on Strange Fruit, an account of observing a lynch victim, possibly seen through passersby’s eyes or someone else. Her way with words is what I search for when checking out new music; for example, she parallels levitation to the act of lynchings itself. 

She illustrates the swinging cadaver as ‘dancing,’ made into incense, ‘flying, but never dead, holier than broken bread.’ I almost broke my fingers snapping so loud!  

‘They all come to see the latest fashion; Sleeping Beauty by a tree...the hottest necklace.’ OMGOMGOMG! I have never heard a poet articulate the viewpoint of the cadaver, and it’s brilliant. I hope she drops more music soon; the EP, truthteller, really fed and roused my spirit.

6. Megan Stoneson (née Steinke)

One day, shortly after lockdown, Megan followed me on IG, asking if I wouldn’t mind checking out her music. She had just dropped an EP called I’m A Bee, which became the soundtrack of my life at that point, and to this day, I go back to my playlist, drifting away to her voice. If you hear her, that’s relatively easy.

Megan captures me with the airiness, tranquility & vulnerability of her voice. She thoughtfully evokes emotion, making one feel all that her lyrics & melody suggest. That’s a great artist, in my opinion; Spotify creates playlists based on songs a subscriber listened to the most during the year called ‘Your Top Songs,’ and in 2020 and 2021, many of Megan’s tunes like Cave, Okay, and both versions of How It Feels made their ways to the lists.

I love the gentleness of I’m A Bee; it parallels humans to bees, wherein we are, at once, fragile and potentially harmful. ‘I am a bee, but I’ll try not to sting,’ she sings in the chorus. Megan also calls upon God to redirect her despite carnal flaws; it is so relatable.

I usually enjoyed listening to her in the morning as I prepared tea with honey or warm honey water in my chartreuse mug; it’s the little things for me. Although not officially recorded, I found a short video of her covering a gospel song called This Is A Move, on her IG profile once, and it made me cry; it was spiritually stirring and healing. I don’t think she will ever record this, but if she did, I’m sure that would make my top songs for the year, too. 

Megan has new music out now, which I highly recommend if you enjoy lyrics with substance and lovely melodies. My personal favorite of hers at the moment is Come Home; some of my favorite lines in that go as follows: I feel like you’re a planet away; among the stars, I’m sure it’s pretty from your view. Just look down, remember we’re waiting for you.’ *And there goes my sinking heart!*

Se7en. Lexii Alijai

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am a die-hard Zapp & Roger fan. In 2019, someone told me that one of Roger’s granddaughters, Lexii Alijai, was an up-and-coming rapper based out of the Twin Cities; I found her on IG and started following her. While I didn’t immerse myself in all of her music at once, it was evident to me that she had a musical gift. 

Some of her posts were freestyle raps, and in a minute or less, you knew she was a poetess; her voice was distinctive and she had an articulate delivery for someone so young and seemed wise beyond her years. Before she was 20, Lexii released two albums: Joseph’s Coat and Growing Pains. 

I could relate to some things she wrote and rapped about as a once late-teen/early-20-something girl who lost her dad but had a fire in her and was apt at telling stories while coming of age. Lexii’s music was mainly about defeating the odds of poverty, love, loss of love, personal growth, and family.   

Her father was Roger Lynch [sometimes known as Roger Troutman II,] a founding member of Mint Condition: the best band of my generation. He left the band to pursue a solo career in the late 80s, and while his career didn’t take off, he was also multi-faceted musically. On April 25, 1999, Roger Troutman Sr. of Zapp was murdered by his older brother, Larry, and in January 2003, Roger II was also killed by unknown culprits in Minnesota. 

Less than a year after I first heard about Lexii, news spread like wildfire that she died on New Year’s Day 2020; she was 21-years old. I remember feeling shocked, and to this day, it still saddens me. She certainly had promise and what it took to make it all the way, and I would have loved to see how she and her music would have evolved with time; I am sure that her work will inspire other artists to rise and change lives with their messages and music.  

On February 19, 2021, what would have been Lexii’s 23rd birthday, her people released what I believe was an unfinished album, Come Back Soon. A music video for her debut single, Anthony, was released within the week, too. While the entire album was great, my top two tracks from Lexii’s posthumous EP are Figure It Out and Hoodie SZN.

In Figure It Out, she paints a picture of her frustrations as a starving artist who knows there is more within herself than life reflects; ‘I’m staring at these pay stubs and runnin’ out of patience; like, why the f**k am I still livin’ with my mom? Depending on her for dinner like I can’t do it on my own and have the nerve to say I’m grown—can’t even do shit alone and that’s partly why I’ve been feelin’ like something I’m doing is wrong.’ DEEP AS FUDGE!

Meanwhile, Hoodie SZN, featuring Wale, is a clever portrait of the imperfect human face amid doomed intimate relationships from the lies we tell ourselves and others and how quickly the tapestry of our affectionate connections unravels when we were finally comfortable enough to be who we really are. The song is conversational between rappers—each has valid points and in typical young ex-girlfriend fashion, Lexii says, ‘I don’t want your love, but I’ll take your hoodie, though,’ whereas, at the end of Wale’s verse, he slyly returns the venom, ‘Gimme back all my hoodies until I hang up my jersey!’ POETRYYYYY! O, THE POETRY!

My response to this as a single gal is those hoodies ain’t s**t! I don’t want any memory of exes lingering in my mind, let alone in my closet or drawers. LOL! Not that obtaining such things would trigger and excavate feelings for them again, however, out with the fudge-a-duggin’ old!

Although her life was too short, Lexii made her presence known, left a mark, and thus attracted more fans to enhance the large bevy of followers and supporters she had before she died. 

In her song, Confirmation, Lexii raps, ‘And when I turn 21, it’ll be sunny where I stay.’ I’m sure it is.

Until the next opus,

Venus’s Top Se7en: Recommended Documentaries

1. Summer of Soul

I was counting down the days for this to stream on Hulu, and while, at times, the anticipation was murder, it was so worth the wait! I could not believe that my history-loving ass was unaware that Woodstock was not the only star-studded music celebration born in the summer of 1969. The other, Harlem Cultural Festival, took place in Mount Morris Park. Although filmed, the concert series footage got canned and placed in a basement for half a century, never seen until Questlove and his crew unboxed and unfurled it all for the world to see! Thank God he did!

In another of my favorite documentaries, What Happened, Miss Simone?, I saw some of the festival’s films of Nina Simone. Still, I didn’t know that she shared the same space and stage as Stevie Wonder, Mahalia Jackson, Gladys Knight & the Pips, David Ruffin, BB King, The Staple Singers, and Sly & the Family Stone, to name a few among music royalty. I was obsessed! Not only had Quest locked down interviews of a few of the artists who performed that summer but also festival attendees; one gentleman broke into tears, saying he was relieved to know that he had not dreamt it all.

Marilyn McCoo of the 5th Dimension looked on with misty eyes, too, due to the overwhelming energy and support of the Black audience during the group’s performance. The Harlem Cultural Festival even had the backing of the mayor of New York, John Lindsay, a liberal Republican who advocated for Black and brown communities and provided employment to many in the younger generations. Seeing this guy made me wish I was a Harlem native coming up at that time or that there were more John Lindsays around today. The pivotal moment was witnessing a duet between Mavis Staple and Mahalia, singing ‘Precious Lord’ in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who died the spring before, but favored the song immensely.

According to Jesse Jackson, who was present with King the day he died, MLK requested to listen to that song over dinner seconds before he was killed. UNREAL MOMENT! Every time I watch Summer of Soul, I am overcome with joy and energy from the artists and the sea of countenances in attendance. To quote an attendee, ‘It was like seeing royalty!’ I am so proud of Quest for winning an Oscar with his directorial debut; I’m inspired and I can’t wait for the next documentary he’s planning to direct solely on no other than Sly Stone! I already know it’s going to be FIRE!

2. Mr. SOUL!

I discovered SOUL! in 2020, and from minute one, I was in love; these chocolate faces that stared back from the TV, some familiar and others unknown to me, were inspiring in more ways than one. SOUL! was the first show to provide a platform for Black and brown communities and its notable figures, from poets, singers/musicians, dancers/choreographers, activists, athletes, actors, and authors to spiritual leaders. The man behind the magic was Sir Ellis Haizlip, recently regarded as Mr. SOUL! This documentary offered insight into the life of Ellis and was a tasteful remembrance of the show’s inception, rise, decline, and legacy.

The program itself appeals to the maverick artist and intellect in me; it unlocked doors to my eyes, mind, and heart I wasn’t aware were confined and encouraged me to persist on my path of creativity and self-discovery without apology. SOUL! reminds me of who I am and the brilliant, beautiful people from whom I derive; although ahead of its time and unsung, SOUL! was an immaculate conception and representation of Blackness. Since its release, Mr. SOUL! has received such acclaim, and for a good reason; its producer/writer/director is not only a Black woman but a niece to Ellis Haizlip. She packaged the essence of the program so beautifully; she definitely gets roses from me.

Meanwhile, the musical marriage of Lalah Hathaway & Robert Glasper won them an Academy Award last year for Best Original Song, ‘Show Me Your Soul,’ which I attached below. That track has been a savior to me and on a constant loop since I first watched Mr. SOUL! In fact, I’m listening to it as I write this; the chocolate on top, though, includes some of Ellis’s monologue from the final episode of the show: ‘Although it’s over, it is not the end; Black seeds keep on growing. There is NO alternative to SOUL!’

To me, he wasn’t only talking about the television program but Blackness in general. There is no replica of us, and there never will be; WE ARE SOUL! It’s in our bones, blood, and being, making me even prouder to be Black. There’s nothing in the world like it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Mr. SOUL! is streaming on HBO Max and if you have a Prime membership with Amazon or a Tubi TV subscription, you can watch the entire series of SOUL! By the way, Tubi TV is completely free! Happy viewing!

3. A Love Song for Latasha

Latasha Harlins was a 15-year-old girl from South Central, Los Angeles, who was killed by an Asian store owner, Soon Ja Du, on March 16, 1991. Unlike most of what you see in the media, this Academy Award-nominated documentary gives depth to Latasha and, in a way, separates her from the event that ended her life. Told from the perspective of her best friend and cousin, Ty and Shinese, we discover that Latasha Harlins was a courageous, benevolent youth, who, at an early age, knew her value and encouraged others to recognize the same in themselves. The community’s “big sister,” Latasha was protective, stood for what was right, and dissolved malfeasance.

She had dreams of becoming a lawyer and developing youth programs in the neighborhood with Ty. A Love Song for Latasha is a poetic, cinematic, and intimate account of the life of a promising teenager; the film possesses a nostalgic element as if one is watching it from a VHS tape, perhaps played far too often. What also impresses me is that there is only one talking head scene; every visual aspect from modern dramatization to animation reflects Ty and Shinese’s accounts without distracting us from the overall picture co-producer/director/cinematographer/editor, Sophie Nahli Allison, attempts to paint. When I think of Latasha Harlins now, her life is the first thing that comes to mind.

One of Latasha’s favorite songs was ‘Stand by Me’ by Ben E. King; she would sit and listen to it every day with her best friend, Ty.

4. In Our Mothers’ Garden

This documentary helped me remember the importance of tradition, culture, and ancestry. I am reminded of my first-hand experiences with the women who raised me and thus, collected and enjoyed stories told to me primarily by my mother and great-grandmother. 

In Our Mothers’ Garden is a narrative of selected Black and brown women who share tales of where they come from and why it all plays a part in who they are in the present.

This film also inspired me to write a poem called ‘Women,’ which I intend to share with you all soon; In Our Mothers’ Garden is an unending well of the knowledge, spirituality, self-care strategies, strength, healing, love, and magic of Black women! If you’re interested, the documentary streams on Netflix.

5. Bitchin’: The Sound & Fury of Rick James

I’ve always argued that there was more to Rick James than Chappelle’s Show and Super Freak and if you do not know much about the man, feel free to start with this documentary, but don’t end there! From my perspective, Rick’s amorous stage persona overshadowed his gift as a vocalist, composer, and producer; he was far more intelligent than he gets credit for. If you really pay attention to his discography, Rick James exceeded Funk; he composed music in a multitude of genres and it was all amazing!

Bitchin’ [I hate the title, by the way] shows us the good, bad, and the ugly of getting everything one wants; while I commend Rick’s blood raw honesty, it proved to be a blessing and a curse as far as his career was concerned. All and all, Rick was a very sharp guy; check out this interview with Rick on Tom Snyder; it’s pretty hilarious. If you have a Showtime, Fubo, or Amazon subscription, I encourage y’all to watch this film.

6. Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal, & Greed

If you read a previous post of mine, Venus’s Top Se7en: Self-Care Patterns, you’d know that I watch Bob Ross not only to witness the beauty of ‘nature’s masterpieces,’ but also to relax; off-topic, but if you ever need unorthodox therapy to wind down or mitigate stress, watch Bob Ross on YouTube. It does wonders, I’m telling you! Although I knew he was a renowned painter, I didn’t get into Bob Ross until a few years ago.

I was bewitched by his placid conduct and talent and just fell in love with him; however, all wasn’t happy little trees once the cameras were off. I was stunned by the revelation of this documentary, learning that his former business partners and present owners of his likeness are turncoat pieces of shit whose only interest in him was the capital he accumulated for them. 

I don’t want to spoil anything for those who intend to check it out on Netflix, but I can guarantee that your admiration for Bob Ross will increase after seeing it. 

Se7en. Lady Boss: The Jackie Collins Story

Lady Boss is girl power! Plain and simple; while some consider the work of Jackie Collins sleazy, she might not have caught such flack had she been a man. From my understanding, her heroines were solid and possessed authority and sensual liberation, which is intriguing; I related to her in a few ways: for one, I, too, am a baby sister who always journaled and considers herself a writer.

I love her fearlessness and confidence in that she believed in what she did and gracefully brushed off the many opinions of the public who thought her books were tasteless. None of it stopped Jackie from being herself or continuing the path she found her voice; rocking some leopard-print blazer with shoulder pads that killed, she always said, ‘Girls/women can do anything,’ and many ladies found hope and courage in her work. Furthermore, if one can change lives doing what they love to do, I doubt it gets any better than that; she is woman! Hear her roar!

Until the next opus,

Rainy Days

All of us have lived many moments which turned into days, weeks, months, and years; some of those moments teem with highs and others, lows—sometimes the lowest of lows. Often, our circumstances derive from life’s happenings beyond our control; however, in some cases, our worst periods are consequences of our actions. Whether or not I find myself a victim of fate due to life or my poor choices, I refer to these lows as rainy days, and I think it’s safe to say that stormclouds still gather above Fresh Prince Palace and Planet Rock. 

As much as I’ve tried to dismiss every thumbnail containing Will Smith & Chris Rock on my social media timelines this week, the Internet has me right where it wants me: on the ropes as it throws jab-cross-hook combos using yet another article, meme, and every gibe in between, and I can’t seem to peer past stories regarding Sunday Night Smackdown at the 94th Academy Awards ceremony.

I have too many mixed emotions to unpack regarding the arbitrary incident, and even now, as this farce continues post-Will apology, I can’t help but shake my head and reexamine society. It kills me how quickly we can separate ourselves from being human whenever we observe another’s wrongdoing. I am reminded of a quote by African & Roman playwright Terence, who once said, ‘I am a human being; nothing human can be alien to me.’ 

As mortals, no emotion or action is beneath us. Therefore, how can we be so sure of our capabilities without sounding hypocritical? No amount of malfeasance weighs more than another; in my opinion, there is no question about whether or not Will Smith was wrong for assaulting Chris Rock. However, I understand his reaction as another individual who has not always made the right decisions. And so should everyone else. 

When we develop amnesia, sanitize, or rationalize our misconduct, it is just as damaging, or in some cases, more harmful than an outward act because we’re forming a pretext that justifies our misbehavior. A negative and negative is only equivalent to a positive in mathematics, and in life, two wrongs will never make a right no matter the involved parties. 

Let us assume this confrontation was not a publicity stunt, as many folks believe; some spectators say this because Will first laughed at Rock’s G.I. Jane joke before abruptly storming the stage. I can dig it. I felt the same way until I remembered times in my own life when it took a few moments for something to register to me; or catching a glimpse of a loved one who was hurt or angry and then becoming angry and hurt myself. 

Even if my reasons were not his, and granted, I don’t entirely know his reasons because I have no first-hand experience on what it is like to be Will Smith, but everyone, including me, has had a straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back-moment. And if we’re honest with ourselves, we will admit to having more than one; again, assuming this confrontation was not a publicity stunt, a lot of the time, impulsive judgments are blinding, thunderous, and cloud the very voice of reason in us all.

In this instance, Will possibly reacted out of impulse, his brain left in the seat of his chair, heart on his sleeve; it’s an example of the same thing I mentioned in my blog post a few weeks ago, Love: Part One, about how that emotion often causes us to act unreasonably. And this is true for any kind of relationship, not just intimate ones.

Now, on to Rock; while I am not, have never been, and probably will never be a die-hard Chris Rock fan, I commend him for keeping as much cool as he possibly could in that situation. Whether cameras point at you from every angle or not, failing to retaliate in a time where you would be justified takes more strength than it does to not; we all can relate to not retaliating when another does something wrong to us.

Sometimes, it is easy to roll any ill thoughts or feelings off one’s back, and other times, it is not; be it good or bad, it’s natural to wish you said or did the opposite of what actually occurred. THAT’S HUMAN. While he handled it like a champ, I am sure there is something in Rock that is bothered and traumatized by Will’s actions, and if so, there should be; THAT’S HUMAN, TOO.

However, Rock’s joke keeps him on the hook for me because apparently, not only was it unfunny, like most of his witticisms, it was a sore penetrated for the Smiths. Still, I wouldn’t say it was worthy of him getting the taste slapped from his mouth, but there is always a risk for one’s words and actions, actor, comedian, or not, and in their own ways, both Will & Rock are dealing with the consequences.

In all of this, I am not choosing sides because I acknowledge and relate to each perspective. I see many people on social media and elsewhere are, and that’s fine, but in closing, allow me to leave you with this. Can you withstand another’s rainy days alongside them? Or will you only appear in their lives when the sun shines? If you can’t withstand both of these, you were probably never for said person from the beginning; this analogy goes beyond Will & Chris—this is about life. 

If we can’t accept each other at our worst and most remarkable moments, we might as well stay gone like the wind no matter one’s kind of day! Otherwise, we appear to be exploiters, using others only when it is convenient for us. Another thing that kills me is people who get sunshine out of another’s rainy day, for instance, saying another’s attempts to make amends or change are not good enough; who are we to say that, Humans? No one, other than separate, imperfect individuals who, often forget our imperfections. 

Like lots of things, empathy and respect are reciprocal, and even if you’re in a good season of your life, give both and then some as much as you can today. You may very well need someone else’s benevolence tomorrow.

Until the next opus,

Destiny

Harry Reasoner: Would you be a musician if nobody ever heard you?

Miles Davis: Sure!

Harry Reasoner: Why?

Miles Davis: Because I love music; it’s in my head. I can’t get it out.

Harry Reasoner: You’re hearing it yourself?

Miles Davis: I hear it now.

Miles’ responses to this 60 Minutes journalist are a perfect example of calling; I believe God assigned us a purpose He wants us to achieve before our earthly lives are over. While the Creator has an objective, things don’t always go according to plan, not because of Him but us; in short, when we misalign, we miss a lot. We can cheat ourselves out of receiving blessings at an appointed time due to impatience, impulsiveness, and negligence; some of those things could reappear far later than God intended, but only when we realign with our calling. 

Passion is fuel to the fire of pursuit; there are many things with which we are passionate. However, not everything we are passionate about is part of our purpose. A spiritual leader I follow said we discern whether or not our dreams line up with our calling when we determine who is holding whom; in other words, if the goal has a hold of you and won’t let go, that’s your purpose, but if you can release the dream, then it isn’t. 

When I learned this, I reexamined what I thought might be part of my purpose; immediately, writing came to mind, then mime and visual storytelling. Not a day passes that I do not think of these art forms or practice them somehow; it is second nature to pen a poem, blog, or screenplay. It is second nature to manifest movement for mime, point a camera at something or amass, rearrange video, audio, and effects in an editing timeline. 

Our callings do not require coercion; we come by them innately and never tire of pursuing them. While everyone is not called to be an artist of some kind, I think we all can take a lesson from the late great Miles Davis, who did not equate success and fulfillment as a musician with how many people heard or liked the sound of his trumpet; he liked the sound. Do you like the sound of your trumpet? Do you press on and continue to play it despite not always being heard, felt, or appreciated?

I hope you do, and if not now, there’s no time like the present to start again. I’m telling you what I know and have experienced in my life thus far; it isn’t too late as long as there’s breath in your body, a remembrance and rekindling of that passion-fueled pursuit. It seems that so-called cancel cultures trend among most discussions and online media as of late. 

And while many of us are not celebrities, in my opinion, cancel cultures only exist when one loses sight of themselves; I’ve said it before, and it bears repeating: no one can tell you who you are unless you allow them. When you remember not only who you are but why you are, the opinions of others do not derail your goals or put you in a regretful space concerning your work. 

Don’t become insular and deceived that you won’t ever require another’s help or perspective, but don’t permit another’s thoughts and vision to override yours along the journey. Two people cannot drive the same car at once; somebody must sit in the passenger or back seat. Ideas and viewpoints among peers and oneself work the same way because we all have unique ways of doing things. And if you receive support and understanding for your decisions even when they differ from others, fantastic! And if not, at least you like the sound of your trumpet; no one can tell you how yours should sound, or what you should or should not do with it.  

Your inner voice is there for a reason. If it encourages you to pursue an aligned dream, proceed and pray to connect with the right people when teamwork is inevitable, and it will come to pass in divine timing; no one can cancel your calling except for you! In carrying out what you receive from above, not only are you satisfying your soul by fulfilling its predestined assignments, but you’re blessing somebody else. Before you know it, a chain reaction occurs because now the one you helped is inspired to travel their designated path and serve others. So, what are you waiting for? Get to blessin’! 

Until the next opus,

Genesis: The Name that Chose Me

It all started with Jamaica T. Jones and the End of the World, a short film about a 20-something-year-old Black female photographer who is emotionally impulsive and encouraged to make personal adjustments and reap the benefits. Immediately, I felt seen because, at the time, I worked as a photographer and needed to get my emotions in check to reach the next level of life.

As the end credits rolled, a duo of pretty, Black voices captured me not only melodically but lyrically: ‘If you want to do better, believe it; if you want to do better, foresee it,’ they sang and continued. ‘What good are your dreams if you don’t really think that they can be? What good are your desires if you’re afraid to do what you see?’ Much like the film’s main character, Jamaica, I was in a transitional period, and the messages throughout spoke loud and clear.

According to the credits, the vocalists were Venus 7, and the song title was ifu. I know what you’re pondering: I bit off their name, yes? Well, no. Not long before I first watched Jamaica T. Jones, I decided on Venus as my pseudonym after ditching the one I had been using in my college years: Kimani, which rhymes with Imani; despite the unforeseen elocution lessons I dreaded to give, most people neglected to pronounce it correctly, which was frustrating, and what’s more, the secondary reason I began to shop for a new alias.

While I always considered Kimani a pretty name, there was no real reason or meaning behind why I chose it, and once I realized this, it became incumbent to find a name that was somehow reflective of me. As a child, I loved learning about mythological gods and goddesses and, one day, spent ample time sifting through countless Greek names, but none of them grabbed me.

Remembering that Roman gods and goddesses were the Greek counterparts, I resumed my search later and stumbled across Venus; some historians believe that she was the granddaughter of Jupiter, while others say she was his daughter. Jupiter, or Zeus in Greek mythology, was the king of the gods, the cosmos, and lightning; it wasn’t only the beauty and freedom of the goddess, Venus, that drew me, but that she was a descendent of the divine, most high God, one of Jupiter’s many children.

As a child of four, I swore to anyone in my family who listened that Jupiter was my original home before traveling to Earth at birth. Six years later, I discovered that Jupiter was, in fact, the ruling planet of my astrological sun sign: Sagittarius. It all connected beautifully, and therefore, I was sold on Venus; granted, all living beings come from God, but I gravitated to the simplified Father God and goddess child relationship. Digging the intent behind Venus, as in me, a question interrupted my bliss: ‘Venus what?’ I required a last name, and while Venus from Jupiter slightly intrigued me, I wasn’t entirely devoted to it and refused to reintroduce myself with half a moniker on social media.

Fast forward to googling the songstresses Venus 7 in hopes of learning more about these extraordinary ladies. Surprisingly, I came up short in the information department; I remember getting faked out by a Wikipedia page under the same name, but its contents were not about the musical pair. Eventually, I discovered Primer on YouTube, the only album recorded and released by the duo in the mid-2000s.

Aside from Primer, there was nothing online about Venus 7, not even their real names or likeness; the cover of Primer depicts two glowing silhouettes walking through wet paint in a night sky. The album is a consuming fire and coalescence of poignant messages and anecdotes, purposeful interludes, otherworldly vibrations, and occasionally, Primer was there to lift me out of life’s black holes in which I hopelessly descended.

Two years later, the duo arbitrarily popped in my head; I googled them once more and came up short a second time. I began referring to them as anonymous Black girl magic, and while I do not know what separated them, maybe remaining a mystery was a part of their plan, whether or not they made it big, kind of like Daft Punk or something. Who knows?

As usual, that blasted Venus 7 Wikipedia page appeared before me at the top of the search results, and finally, I decided to read up on just what the hell Venus 7 was. Essentially, Venera 7, Russian for Venus 7, was the first spacecraft to transmit data to Earth from another planet. It launched in the summer of 1970 and landed on Venus on December 15th of the same year; although born in the 90s, December 15th is my birthday.

I hit the ceiling in a good way; ‘what are the odds of that,’ I thought. And how fucking cool? I find that my pseudonym is a birthright and declaration of my arrival on Earth. Not from Venus, though, but Jupiter. I thought to spell the word seven out but replace the ‘v’ with the actual number to separate from the music duo and the soviet spacecraft. It certainly wasn’t something I saw every day, and it was unique.

As I rebranded, I found comfort in the perpetual availability of Venus Se7en, as far as usernames went. I even googled the pseudonym to ensure no others used it. Hence, there is no doubt Venus Se7en waited for me to find it; I thought I had to be what others thought I should be when I went by Kimani. Yet, as I searched for an exodus, I was unaware that I possessed the key to free myself and be myself at last.

Following liberation and being completely comfortable with who I was, my love of the cosmos, its Creator, and creations led me to find a part of myself I didn’t know by name yet. She’s always been there, patiently waiting in the wings, everpresent, loving, strong, beautiful, intelligent, radiant, and free! There’s truth in that epiphany I had some years ago: everything I want to be is always inside of me. So, why look elsewhere?

For your listening, liberating pleasure, Primer by Venus 7, the duo.

Jamaica T. Jones & the End of the World

Produced, Written, & Directed by Nzinga Kadalie Kemp

Starring Janet E. Dandridge

Available on Amazon [FREE]

Trailer below.

Until the next opus,

Love: Part One

On Valentine’s Day, I attended a poetry space on social media and read a poem I wrote called Queen Bee. This verse paints a picture of reclaiming self-love, recognizing one’s value, and the joys of being a woman. Before that night, I had never shared it with anyone, and at that moment, I found myself in conversation with another poet I admire who said she loved my piece.

The poet of whom I speak was also the creator and hostess of this social media space; when I told her the meaning behind Queen Bee, among other things, she said that while love is a beautiful thing, it can also be a destructive force, which may not be wrong. Still, it causes you to look at what aligns or misaligns you. I thought her perspective was interesting, and it reminded me of something I had been thinking about earlier in the day.

I wondered how much truth there was to the phrase, love is blind, and how those sightless moments are often noxious. An example of destructive love I gave was when one ignores every red flag and silences all discerning voices because they are in love.

I likened that experience to driving across a bridge that one knows is unfinished rather than U-turning and beelining to safety; the co-host of the poetry space laughed as he chimed in and said that it surpasses destruction and is insanity. I couldn’t have agreed with him more because madness is an extension, a synonym of obliteration, if you will, in that you are abandoning reason for the sake of how you feel.

Afterward, the hostess expounded on what she meant by love being destructive; she said it destroys you in the most incredible ways, and as a result, you reconstruct as a better version of yourself. In terms of self-destruction or self-harm, she thought it was unfair to call love destructive in the same way because of how often people mistake it for things that it is not, such as co-dependency, lust, etc.

By this time, other poets in the space had requested to read their work, and I’d had the floor for approximately fifteen minutes, so I made no attempts to add further insight on the subject. I bowed out gracefully and continued listening to other great poets in the “building.” As I went to bed on a high, I awoke later that night to the discussion of love from the poetry space replaying in my head.

Had I had more time to discuss my thoughts in the poetry space, I’d have concluded that love is perfect, but people never will be, and individuals complicate life for themselves and others when passion gets improperly positioned. A perfect example is my past relationships; I fell head over heels and shared my world and love with two of the wrong people. I gave away soulmate adoration when each of them should have received unconditional, friendship love. In hindsight, I question whether or not they even deserved that from me.

While we can all give and receive love, we must correctly assign it to everyone in our lives. I didn’t know to do that then; I just ran in the direction of my heart and detached my head for a while. Back then, I didn’t realize I had to love who I was first and believed that my exes’ love for me would fill the rest of my glass; I was as wrong as the day is long! Even if someone loves you the right way, the relationship will falter if you see yourself the wrong way. And that is a note for any kind of relationship. Oh, and the exes never loved me, which further complicated matters, but now, I thank each of them for not falling in love with me.

Not that I don’t think I am a good catch. On the contrary, I am more golden than gold itself, and my fellow will be praising God for me, and I, for him. But I mean, in those times of singleness, I realized that my exes were incapable of loving me the way I deserved. Because I know how my soulmate should and will love me, I haven’t a tolerance for anything less. Yes, potential candidates have come into the picture since those college days relationships, but they were quickly torn out of it when I discerned that traveling down those roads went nowhere.

There’s a line from a movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, that I love: ‘a lady always knows when to leave.’ While the character who ‘left’ died, essentially, I died in those toxic relationships, starving for love that only I could give myself. And once I fell in love with who I was, I became a new creature: resurrected, complete, one step closer to the man of my dreams, but in-between time, I don’t bother counting the days because I am and will always be enough for me.

Until the next opus,

Reese

I remember the night of February 4, 2016, so vividly. At the time, I worked as a photographer, and as St. Valentine’s Day approached, countless lovebirds flocked to the studio to take advantage of the holiday discounts on portraits. A radio station, which I loved that played ‘70s and ‘80s music predominantly always boomed from the speakers, but often, we only heard songs in spurts depending on how loud the clients and their families were. That’s how I can best describe hearing Sing a Song by Earth, Wind, & Fire that evening. 

My groove lasted only a few seconds as I couldn’t put on a whole three-minute performance and lipsynch with customers in a session with me. Although I wanted to, I managed to hold my composure. About twenty minutes passed before I heard the radio over the crowd in the studio again. When I did, a line of recognizable lyrics grabbed me: ‘Do you remember the 21st night of September?’ 

Once again, I had to acknowledge and allow myself to feel the music, to feel Verdine’s bass and Fred’s drums thumping under my toes. To sing the melodic ‘baa-dee-ahh,’ that wordless excellence that EWF weaved so well in the fabric of their catalog; I thought it was fantastic to hear two Elements tracks so close together, and I didn’t think much of it as I snapped back to reality, as Marshall Mathers once said. However, there was something in hearing a third Earth, Wind, & Fire song within that hour that didn’t feel as good as the first two; nothing at all was wrong with the music, but something was wrong, and I didn’t know what.

By now, my session with a couple I photographed ended, and I excused myself and headed to the restroom. Rather than use it, I pulled out my phone, opened social media, and there it was: Maurice White, founder of Earth, Wind, & Fire, Dead at 74. In a panic, I searched for Verdine’s [Maurice’s younger brother and EWF bassist] Facebook page, and sure enough, a sepia photograph of Maurice walking away from the camera in the direction of Egypt’s pyramids at Giza stared back at me. The entire caption was a blur, but I remember Verdine writing that Reese died peacefully in his sleep. 

My heart crumbled, and its remnants descended to my ass. My chest caved, and I lost my breath; immediately, I dialed my mother, my equal in Earth, Wind, & Fire adoration. She answered after the first ring and told me she had just found out; we said little words and tried to keep ourselves together, as I still had a few more hours in my shift to go. Once I finally left the restroom, I told my coworkers that I would take out the trash, there were dumpsters in the back of the building, but no back door to the studio. On any other day, the walk would have taken several minutes, but needless to say, I intentionally dragged my feet that trip because I had to get away, no pun intended.

As I rounded a corner in the back, a fiery sunset lay ahead of me; a sucker for magic or golden hour, I stopped and admired the vibrance of the clouds and how, at once, the sky was luminous and dusky. Somewhere between the air and closed eyes, I bid Reese ‘goodbye’ and thanked him for his creative and innovative contribution to the world and my life from childhood to the present day. Growing up a 90s millennial, I was 70s obsessed and still am; my mother happily shared EWF’s music, live performance VHS tapes, and documentaries with me; the band had me hook, line, and sinker.

Although I loved each member in different ways and reasons, something about Maurice stood out, and I gravitated to and identified with his spirit and energy. I saw pieces of me in him on some cosmic level as if celestial propinquity existed between us. Sounds strange, right? But, it’s true. I have wondered if some of that influence was astrological since our birthdays are the same week; thus, Reese and I share the same zodiac sign. But at the time in my childhood, when introduced to Earth, Wind, & Fire, I didn’t know what astrology or signs were, including my own or anyone else’s.

In any case, what I didn’t know then and do now is that Maurice White was one of my first teachers. Beneath his sonic instruction and leadership, I had several spiritual journeys, learning about the essence of love, which is God, and sharing it with others yet not forgetting about myself, to be ever wonderful in my own, sweet way. At the ripe age of thirty, I still take refresher courses, listening for the adages I know by heart in most, if not all, Earth, Wind, & Fire songs. Their opuses are healing, transformative, and I don’t think my life would be as radiant without the genius of Maurice White, his visions, inception, and the manifestation of his band.

Meeting him in person was a lifelong dream that didn’t come true; however, there’s always the next life on high, and once I reunite with my father and the rest of my ascendents, I’m beelining to the music section of paradise. Surely, Reese will be there.

If you’re ever in an Earth, Wind, & Fire mood, hop in the groove line with me and jam to my Elements playlist below on Spotify.

Until the next opus,

The Roses

While creating my first batch of business cards a few years ago, I decided to include an epiphany-turned-mission statement on the back that God dropped in my spirit during the last leg of my college career: the greatest thing about staying out of their way is having the liberty to make your own. 

This adage graces the top of my homepage and has resurfaced off and on since it was given to me. For example, it helped me look on the bright side after a former employer told me to stay in my lane in so many words. But today, I peer at this maxim with fresh eyes and wonder. 

What about the times when staying out of another’s way isn’t an option and coexisting with dissimilar people on a regular is inevitable? While I wholeheartedly believe in the imperativeness of creating space to get where one wants to be, some moments and seasons in our lives require us to remain exactly where we are. 

Instead of wrestling the urge to move on, sit tight and smell the roses in your current setting. I had to remind myself of this recently after days of attempting to shake off the uneasiness which often accompanies being unheeded among those with whom you share a common space and yet with whom you have nothing in common. Not to mention the blatant ‘Why are you here?’ stares or lukewarm, inspecting gazes up and down your body amid surfaced conversations.

I have also come to terms with being a martian and had to learn to be at peace with the fact that some people won’t care for or like me. I struggle to determine whether or not the following statement is arrogant, and if so, it’s not my intent, but it is a fact. And that is anyone who’s never liked me hadn’t the foggiest idea of who I was. However, despite being this cool cat, there will always be Rhett Butlers to my Scarlet O’Hara, and frankly, my dear, they won’t give a damn. But that’s alright because I AM HERE.

HERE, dressed in God’s best and favor for me, although I am unworthy of His goodness.

HERE, perpetually looking on the bright side with a hearty laugh and straight spine, an elevated head, a perky bosom, and eyes like arrows—determined, despite the passing, stormclouds.

HERE, cut open to my readers, bleeding words on a blank page, hoping to fill my soul and watch the overflow pour into yours.

HERE, at peace, because while I’m not for everyone, I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, and no one can tell me otherwise. The same goes for you, too. It’s funny how often people who know the least of you have the most to say about you. Don’t bother asking, ‘why?’ anymore; let them talk while you walk among the roses, the mere blessing that you are alive, present, and making a difference.

Until the next opus,

The Great Pretender

“Pretend you’re happy when you’re blue; it isn’t very hard to do. And you’ll find happiness without an end whenever you pretend. Remember, anyone can dream, and nothing’s bad as it may seem. The little things you haven’t got could be a lot if you pretend. You’ll find a love you can share, one you can call all your own. Just close your eyes, she’ll be there; you’ll never be alone. And if you sing this melody, you’ll be pretending just like me. The world is mine! It can be yours, my friend. So, why don’t you pretend?”

— CLIFF PARMAN, DAN BELLOC, FRANK LA VERE, LEW DOUGLAS

While ‘The Great Pretender’ is the namesake of this post, the lyrics I referenced above derive from a different tune: ‘Pretend’ by Nat ‘King’ Cole; growing up, I loved that song and still do. But to prepare my thoughts for you today, a question ran across my mind. Do you find there’s a line between pretending and imagination? I conclude that there is a difference, although, as a natural woolgatherer, I used to grapple with separating the two.

Imagination is vision, the advent of manifestation while pretending is unproductive and inactive, costing one borrowed time they don’t even deserve to possess. I’ve learned this the hard way in substituting imagining for the lesser. In addition to time, once, I lost the desire to dream; my faith was small, and I deemed myself hopeless. Though the season I speak of has passed, I’m well aware that feelings like those are bound to appear in my life again—this time, not stealing my appetite to imagine, but with hurdle placement.

A perfect example is what you’re currently reading; I am two days past my standing blog post schedule for the first time since I began Be Write Black last spring. Previously, there were times I posted things on second or fourth Fridays rather than the first and third, which is when I announced potential adherents would get content. [Perhaps I should just change it to Fridays?] In any case, my time management could have been better in certain areas, but for the most part, I’ve been consistent, and I aim to keep writing for whoever finds me interesting.

I might stress that I will keep writing for myself, too, and while the price of being a writer is high because we’re often scatterbrained litterateurs with ideas like stars in the skies of our minds, I wouldn’t have it any other way. However, enmity lies between myself and writer’s block as it’s gettin’ in the way of what I’m feeling, as Jilly from Philly sings. And rather than pretending that I haven’t been a drifter near Baffled Junction these last few weeks, I’m telling you like it is. I have been.

As a Sagittarius, I’m an innate optimist, but still, very much a realist. And the reality is I’m not a great pretender of anything; as mentioned in a previous post here called, The Leonine Lyricist, I will not waste words on insignificant rhetoric. If I have nothing valuable and worthwhile to offer, I will not pretend I do, nor will I question or carp the timing during this process anymore. The message or concept of whatever I create in whatever medium will come when it’s supposed to; hell yes, dry spells are the devil to creators.

I suppose the real devil keeps us clouded with frustration, preventing us from catching a glimpse of the sun behind them. I’ve fallen prey to vexation enough times in my life to know it’s just as bad as pretending in that it gets you nowhere for a long time if you permit it. Nowadays, in these cases, I unplug from every thought or feeling that pisses me off, chuck ‘em in the Fuck-It Bucket, and engross myself in things I love. Before I know it, I can see the sun again, inhale the concurrent fresh air, and stroll wherever it sees fit to take me.

If you’ve never heard ‘Pretend’ by Nat ‘King’ Cole, you’re welcome.

Until the next opus,

Dear 30

December 15th

Photo by Venus Se7en

HELLO, 30! What a trip it's been since my descent from Jupiter. [Story for another time!]

I used to think we were so far apart, but here you are with me now. Not the stranger I imagined you would be, but a friend—a long-awaited friend with a fresh face who will escort me to new places on my ever-evolving journey.

In this season and others to come, which I am blessed to witness, I anticipate and welcome ALL THINGS NEW AND DIVINE from relationships to perspectives, leaving no room for the futile I held onto for longer than I should have.

The trip through my twenties was anfractuous, to say the least. Not all bad, of course, but I'm excited about the new chapters! The Creator has truly blessed me, and I plan to use the remainder of my time in this space living the life He awarded me and the purpose for which I am here: to be kind, to love, give, help others, make people laugh, conceive creative works, and continue being the superfly bad motha[shut-yo-mouth] I've been since birth.

Nina said it best:

it's a new dawn,

it's a new day,

it's a new life for me...and I'm feeling good.

Until the next opus,

Venus’s Top Se7en: Reasons Michael Jackson Would’ve Gotten His ASS WHOOPED In THRILLER!

Until the next opus,

JOY

I can’t rely on external things to remedy the broken within. Within is where everything begins, and one’s inner conditions compass their outward paths. I recently came across an image that read, ‘happiness is where you find it.’ While I understand the inspiring intent behind this, I find the anonymous quote misleading.

I believe that one wouldn’t bother searching for happiness if they had joy; while both words get used interchangeably, happiness is more of a fix and a seasonal redress, whereas joy is eternal since it derives from the Creator.

Happiness is of this world. Joy isn't, and neither is that infinite spirit who, in the words of Bobby Seale, ‘put this shit into motion.’ [While Seale, at the time, spoke of Dr. Huey P. Newton rather than God, I think you get the idea; I hope, at least.] In any case, the sacred text tells us that the joy of the Messiah is our strength and that He completes us.

We wither as branches without the true vine from whom all life flows, and so does everything that does not come from it or falls away. The quote, ‘happiness is where you find it,’ instead should encourage us to grow introspective on our quest to find joy; if one is not joyful or at peace within themselves, they won’t be no matter where they go or what they do. Surely, moods change more often than not during the day, and things outside ourselves can influence that shift.

But if your positivity, pleasance, and peacefulness depend upon your settings or the people around you, that’s happiness, not joy. Of course, some people in our lives are conduits of inspiration; however, their purpose there would prove futile if we did not peer inward and reexamine our patterns.

The Bible also says we’re required to be doers of the Word and not just hearers; that principle applies to life beyond scripture, too. One can read self-help books until their eyes bleed, attend church or therapy, and sign up for all the masterclasses, events, and seminars they can stand, but if they hesitate in doing the internal work, it defeats the purpose.

As I told you before, within is where everything begins, but it is also where things reach an end; we can choose to conclude a cycle at any time but will not move forward until we’re tired of being where we are, knowing that we are better than our current position. I think the Universe only intervenes when we overstay our welcome in futile chapters.

The Creator knows that you are better than what you portray and perceive of yourself, for He made you in His image; He’s waiting on you to remember that. Hell, no pun intended, but even Satan knows who you are, which is the reason he pulls every trick in the book to hook your mind, heart, and spirit, so you don't reach God’s best for your life. He’s that crab at the bottom of a barrel that DuBois wrote about in The Souls of Black Folk, always trying to pull you down because that’s where he is. And albeit, that’s where some people are, too.

I pray productive self-reflection and spiritual tunnel vision over every eye that sees this. Stay in your lane, focusing only on things that satisfy your soul, and look to the Creator for guidance on how to use them for good, which, in essence, is His glory. Believe me, in doing this, and revoking all fruitless patterns, you will abide in joy, and it, in you.

Until the next opus,

It Had to Be You

This past August was a little bit of heaven, hell, and everything in between for my family and me; life got derailed like a locomotive, and it took time before I saw the beauty in it. On my darker days, though, I often questioned my circumstances’ vicissitude and wondered, ‘why me?’

We tend to do that when we sense our worlds crumbling around us without realizing how blessed we still are. A few days ago, my mother and I reflected on our personal and collective experiences that month. Amid our conversation, the answer to my question from late summer dropped in my spirit: ‘it had to be you.’

Professionally, many changes took place, too, and I found myself at a crossroads; ‘I’ve always been an only,’ Jamila said in her song, ZORA. I knew what she meant. If I wasn’t the only, or a faction of chocolate chips someplace, I was always one to follow my heart, even if that required me to egress the crowd. The closer I get to thirty, the less inclined I am to misalign myself to fit another’s mold.

I thought of what it meant to be a revolutionary; they inspire change but first, identify and acknowledge their differences. By differences, I am not alluding to race, but something more profound; revolutionaries cannot accept living in a broken-record world. They are unafraid to speak the truth in hopes of opening the eyes of their programmed societies. 

Where would we be without people like that? It always takes someone coming before us to prepare our place, and do what others wouldn’t because conforming to posited narratives was not an option. In that sense, I, too, am a revolutionary; I’ve replaced, ‘why me?’ with ‘why NOT me?’ and, ‘if I don’t, who will?’

It is a blessing to find oneself as a first or "an only;” while it can be uncomfortable, frightening, and uneasy, we are assigned these roles by choice. Sometimes, not ours, but God’s, who knows the higher selves we have yet to become, which are the higher selves He destined us to be. The blood, sweat, and tears are prices we pay as firsts and onlies, but we’re designed to withstand the storms that accompany standing out.

I have never known anyone who faced a trial and didn’t get something positive out of it; consider this: sometimes, when things “go wrong” in our lives, they’re going right. It’s called redirection.

Until the next opus,