Dave Chappelle tells four (4) people that he will give a free performance in Portland, Oregon and about 4,000 people show up. It was 1am in the morning.

You know what that means, don't you?

Everyone remembers Dave Chappelle--except Dave Chappelle.



However, somehow... I think his memory has been completely refreshed.

Have you ever seen Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story?  Of course, you have.  On the off chance that you have not, I'll give you a brief synopsis.

In the movie, Bruce has this Demon that pursues him. The demon seeks to destroy him.  He encounters the demon in sleeping and waking dreams. The demon is much bigger than him, heavily armored and determined.

This plot device of the demon was taken from Bruce's real life. He truly did believe that he was being pursued by a supernatural force that was bent on his destruction for reasons that have yet to be explained.

In the course of the movie, he repeatedly encounters the demon and his only option--at least in his perception--is to avoid it, to run, to hide until the encounter is interrupted. This theme of avoiding what appears to be insurmountable appears quite often in film.  Other examples would be The Sixth Sense where the life of the young lead character "Cole Sear" is reduced to merely avoiding the "dead people" he has the gift (if you can call it that) of seeing and The Matrix where Morpheus' crew, when confronted by agents, simply run as fast as they can.  

Eventually, Bruce faces and engages the demon. However, Bruce dies quite young, at the age of 33, which many would consider to be premature.  Bruce's son Brandon, who also believed that he was being pursued by the same demon, also dies quite young.

Which brings me to the matter of Heath Ledger and co.

What happened to Heath?  A sensitive and talented artist dissolved into an incoherent mess. Unwilling or unable to live alone, he "chose" to stay at a friend's place where he met a suspicious and untimely death.

What happened to Britney? A vivacious and enthusiastic performer dissolved into an incoherent mess. Estranged and disconnected from her family, speaking in faux British accent we found her keeping less than savory company and crying hysterically whilst sitting on the curb.

What happened to Dave Chappelle? The funniest man on TV with the highest rated show on television left on a trip to Africa on a moment's notice without even informing his wife.

What am I saying? I'm getting there. Wait for it.

When Dave Chappelle was asked what lead up to his sudden trip to Africa he explained simply that he turned up at his office one day and there was a purpose-built stationery wall in front of his office door which separated him from the rest of the office.  When he asked who had put it there, he was told that he had requested the installation. He replied that he had not.  When he returned the following day, the wall was gone.  When he inquired as to who had ordered its removal, no one would admit that the wall had ever been there.

As if by magic, Britney has returned to glory.  Her much publicized behavior characterized as psychosis by the media has seemingly been forgotten, as though it never occurred.  Dave is alive and well, although sans his lucrative contract and the highest rate show on television.  And, Heath, well... Heath is no longer here.

In The Sixth Sense, Cole finds strength and peace when he begins to acknowledge the dead people he sees. In The Matrix, resolution is found in facing the agents.

Today, I am 35 years old. My mother died when she was 35. Her challenge was AIDs. My challenges are different, but I am almost there.

Have you ever gotten to the point where you are tired of dealing with someone's bullshit? I'm at that point.

I've been patient, I've been forgiving, I've been compassionate but after awhile you have to realize that someone is not just fucking with you for fun, they are actually trying to harm you, your life or even end your life.

It's not going down.

You know who the fuck you are. You've been antagonizing me for over a year. I'm sick of your shit. It's coming to an end right now.

These are the things that are going to happen:

You're gonna fuck right off. And, by "fuck right off", I mean you're going to exit my life permanently. You're going to stop lying to my family and friends. You're going to stop lying about me in general. You're going to stop inserting yourselves into my life. You're going to stop violating my privacy. You're going to leave me alone. Forget you ever knew me the way I've been trying to forget I ever met you crazy fucks.

I'm going to finish school in whatever subject I choose, at whatever school I choose, in whatever city I choose. If I want to change it daily, I'll do that. You will not decide for me. I don't know where you got the idea that my course of study or location is *your* choice. You're out of your fucking minds.

You can not shame me. If that's all you have, you have nothing.

Stop.

i was swimming about
a plump, brown mermaid
having fun as i like to do
i dove to the bottom
to go exploring
when i came up
it was covered with ice

well that's strange, i thought

but i didn't care
because swimming was oh so much fun
the water ice cold
the same as my blood
and my heart was made of stone

a perfect mermaid

swimming fast and diving deep
not a care in the world
the ice growing thicker
and colder each day
i didn't mind, i had nothing to say

to anyone

except hello, goodbye
and maybe a smile
before i dove again
leaving their questions unanswered
what are you doing? where did you come from?
are you okay underneath all that ice?

go away

i would say
without saying a word
spending my time exploring the floor
of this pond i don't quite recall entering
but somehow had become my home

and then it happened

there he was, standing at the edge
peering at me through the ice
i smiled
are you having fun down there? he asked
i nodded and giggled in mime

he could not hear a word i said
by then it was several feet of ice

he began building a fire

on the surface
so he could draw closer
i didn't know why
but i was amused

i didn't dive, i just waited
smiling and giggling, a laugh he could not hear
as the ice grew clearer
i tracked his eyes
realizing why he was there

my earrings

these things? i thought
i found them on the pond floor
what could he want with these?
i gestured go ahead, build the fire
there's several feet of ice
will you really wait for this?

the flame goes out, over and over
but he begins again
he and i are speaking with our eyes
what are you doing?, why do you bother?
he says, i want to melt this ice

i didn't dive

i was curious
could he do it?
and i had to overcome a wave of fear
you mean i won't have to spend my life
swimming around down here?

now there's a blaze
oh my god

we're looking at each other
silently i say, i think it's working!
he gives me a strange smile
i'm smiling back, both sort of happy and proud
until i realize there's a problem

the water is rising

there's some space, but not much
of air between the water and ice
i begin to panic
and he begins to worry
wanting to know what's wrong

put it out! i say

douse it now!
why after all this time?
you don't understand
the ice is melting, the water is rising
i'm not really a mermaid, i can't breathe underwater
i've been stuck here since i was a kid

stupid bitch!

why didn't you tell me?
why did you encourage me?
now you want me to save you?

i need an axe

he's swinging away
breaking a sweat
with every stroke
there was a great vibration

and then it happened

there was a giant crack, the ice bobs away
and i am gasping for air
limp and dazed, coughing up water
he leaves me there sans my earrings
alive and well but shivering on the ice

"We were never able to scare him. They had just filled him so full of that poison that he was hopeless." – J. W. Milam, the shooter

Do you know the story of Emmett Till? If you don't, it's OK. PBS.org has what appears to be the complete chain of events well-laid out in a charmingly macabre feature, so I won't re-invent the wheel with that. I'll just give you the highlights and the pertinent details.

Emmett Till was a 14 year old boy from Chicago who traveled to Mississipi to visit some of his "kinfolk" during August of 1955. Emmett was only about 5'5" but he was about 160lbs and built in a stocky way. His uncle, whom everyone called "Preacher", remarked that "he looked like a man". What's that got to do with the story? It has a lot to do with it, although that might not be obvious at this point.

Let's continue…

During Emmett's visit he, with a group of Black teenagers comprised of family and friends, were hanging out at a country store of sorts run by a white family. The store was being tended by a young white woman who Emmett asked out on "a date" on a dare. Several days later, Emmett was found in a river, shot to death, his body weighted down by a cotton gin fan barb-wired to his neck.

J. W. Milam and Roy Bryant, half brothers, confessed to killing Emmett and explained precisely why they killed him in great detail once acquitted for both Emmett's kidnapping and subsequent murder in a fascinating article written by William Bradford Huie for Look magazine. The thoughts and motives expressed in the confession are so utterly revealing, I can only describe it as breath-taking.

Very few people know who Emmett Till is, but the few who do know of him are under the wrong impression completely. They all believe that Emmett Till was killed because he made a pass at a white woman. That's not what happened. Emmett is dead because J.W. Milam and Roy Bryant tried to control his behavior, and the behavior of the Black men in that area by proxy, by scaring him and subjugating him. When Emmett did not succumb, they believed that releasing him unafraid and laughing would embolden him and other Black men, which was the exact opposite of the effect they were trying to achieve, and they couldn't have that so they killed him.

That's not my analysis or opinion. That's what the killers stated in their confession.

In their own words, their intention was to "just whip him... and scare some sense into him" by taking him to "the scariest place in the Delta" near a cliff with "a 100-foot sheer drop", pistol "whip" him and convince him that they would throw him over the edge, all the while thinking, "Brother, if that won't scare the Chicago -------, hell won't."

However, when J. W. and Roy showed up in the dead of night to "scare some sense into" Emmett, he made them wait while he took his time to put on his socks and shoes, explaining that he didn't "wear shoes without socks". They were brandishing guns and urging him to hurry and he made them wait.

Having driving in the dark for hours, but unable to find "the scariest place in the Delta", J. W. and Roy had to settle for pistol whipping Emmett in a shed where Emmett uttered some words that J. W. simply could not abide.

The fateful exchange?

"You bastards, I'm not afraid of you. I'm as good as you are. I've 'had' white women. My grandmother was a white woman," Emmett said.

J. W. Milam, the shooter, made up his mind. After picking up a cotton gin fan, J. W. and Roy drove Emmett out to a riverbank.

The "tap or snap" war of words continued.

J. W., the shooter, asks, "You still as good as I am?"

"Yeah," Emmett replies.

"You still 'had' white women?" J. W. asks.

"Yeah," Emmett said.

And with that, J. W. shot Emmett in the head with a .45 pistol.

What's interesting and comical about this story, if such a thing is possible, is that Emmett didn't ask J. W.'s wife out on a date on a dare. It was Roy's wife. Roy wasn't interested in killing Emmett and didn't say very much during the interview for Look magazine.

In his confession, J. W. said, "Well, what else could we do? He was hopeless. I'm no bully; I never hurt a nigger in my life. I like niggers -- in their place… They had just filled him so full of that poison that he was hopeless."

What was the "poison" to which J. W. referred? The "poison" was Emmett's belief that he was just as good as anyone else. This was something that J. W. simply could not abide.

You can read the full confession/article at PBS.org.

What I find most interesting about this story is that it sparks the following question(s): What was it about J. W.'s personality that made it impossible for him to co-exist with Emmett? Why did he feel so deeply and personally threatened by Emmett's personal experiences? Killing Emmett would not change the fact that Emmett and many others like him believed themselves to be "just as good as" J. W., nor would it change the fact that Emmett had a white grandmother and had been with white women. Why did J. W. become a murderer over the life experiences of a single, 14 year-old boy?

If Emmett had simply recanted and said, "No. I am not as good as you and I have not been with white women," even though it would not have been true, would J. W. have driven Emmett back to his uncle's house?

If I just say what my aggressors want to hear, will they stop bugging me?

and just like that i'm
seventeen again, young and
free, free to be me

but i'm half naked
exposing my big bare ass
but i'm half naked

Do you know what "propaganda" is? No? Well, I found a really concise definition.

"Propaganda consists of the planned use of any form of public or mass-produced communication designed to affect the minds and emotions of a given group for a specific purpose, whether military, economic, or political."

Linebarger, Paul Myron Anthony. 1954. Psychological Warfare, 1954, Combat Forces Press, Washington (p. 39)

What do you do if this sort of thing is directed against you? That's a difficult question to answer so I'll talk about something else.

There used to be this show on TV. I forgot the name of it. It might have been called something like "Reflections" or "Insights" something similar. It was a religious show, I guess. It consisted of dramatizations of life situations, followed by commentary from someone who looked like he was dressed as a priest, but I don't know the denomination.

Anyhoo...

There was this one episode that I saw when I was just on the cusp of becoming a teenager. It made a very deep impression on me.

A woman threw a party at her home. At the end of the night, she said "goodbye" to all of her guests (or so she thought) and she went to bed. The next morning, as she's preparing to leave for work, she opens her closet and finds a man sleeping in it. She's surprised and frightened. She doesn't know him from anywhere and asks the usual questions, "Who are you? Who brought you to the party? Why are you still here?"

He gives her some answers that don't amount to anything. "Oh, Dave brought me... I just... uh..." He asks to stay for a bit and at first, she refuses. "I have to go to work, you can't stay, please..." He cajoles, insists. She relents, but uncomfortably.

The longer he stays the more uncomfortable she becomes, the more insistent she becomes about him leaving. Eventually, he tells her that he is not leaving. She tries to avoid him. He eventually corners her. It's clear that he intends to harm her and that was always his intention. The scene ends abruptly.

The clergyman is on the screen, speaking calmly about Satan and his ways of gaining entry into your life and opportunities to cause harm. He quotes the bible, saying, "Satan roams the earth seeking whom he may devour." He will exploit any weakness, any opening, any opportunity whatsoever to harm a human being. That's his purpose. His entire existence is devoted to expressing his hatred of man.

The moral of the story?

Evil isn't reserved solely for extraordinary circumstances. Evil is here everyday. It is all around you, seeking an opening to affect you and you don't have to be a "bad person" to have it harm you. For instance, having a party is not wrong. That woman didn't do anything wrong. She was living her life. Evil was lurking. It found her.

Even if you don't believe in the concept of good and evil, God and Satan, Coke and Pepsi, you can still appreciate the principle that sometimes bad things happen no matter what precautions you take.

The Q'ran says, "Seek refuge from the evil of His creation." It's a powerful statement, heaving, pulsing with meaning. I understand it to mean:

1. There is evil.
2. God created evil.
3. Evil can not be avoided.
4. There is refuge from evil.
5. Refuge must be sought.

To take "refuge" means to "flee to safety, to find a safe place". If evil could be avoided, you wouldn't need to flee, to seek refuge.

The bible refers to "the secret place of the most high" and "the covert of His tent". Buddhism refers to "The Three Jewels".

When the woman opened her closet and found the man there, why did she not flee? I have to ask myself that question. When I first recognized that my abuser was dangerous, why did I not seek refuge?

He said plainly, "That's what you get for flirting. You get fucked and then you get killed. You get fucked in the ass and then you die." That's not a normal thing to say to a woman unless you mean it. Evil revealed itself. I did not seek refuge. Why?

This is what I mean by Easter Island. I am Easter Island. It is inexplicable. It is not to blame myself, but only to evaluate, to try to understand.

Do you do this too--fail to seek refuge? Stop doing that.

In my situation, when I finally did seek refuge, it wasn't easy to find. I did not find it in the school. I did not find it in the police. I did not find it in other people. It's not easy to find, but neither is anything that must be sought out, right?

Oh, yeah. I started out talking about propaganda. Who are you voting for? Why? Was that different from a couple of weeks ago? How do you feel about Britney Spears today? Love her? Hate her? Why? What'd you hear about her?

"Yes, I'm Mr. Burns! I'm Mr. Burns!" --Me to Sarah during dinner many moons ago.

It's no fun having enemies.  Seriously.  It's lame.  It sucks ass.  Actually, I need to correct that.  It's no fun having enemies, but it doesn't suck ass until you have no friends!

Have you ever seen that episode of The Simpsons where Mr. Burns gets shot and he's staggering through the street and nobody helps him... at all? It's trippy. It's hilarious on multiple levels. There's a delayed hilarity to it. I'll explain.

You see... Whenever there's a medical emergency like a shooting or a car accident, people usually don't do anything. They experience something called "diffusion of responsibility" and it's easy to spot. It's happening when you hear people saying things like, "Somebody call an ambulance." But, which somebody? He's staggering, clearly shot, bleeding in the street and everyone just stares.  So that's funny right off the bat.  But then it begins to dawn on you that it's Mr. Burns and everybody hates him! So now it's really funny--unless, of course, you're Mr. Burns.

Unfortunately, I am Mr. Burns, but I'm not sure how this happened.  It was something about a website and a guy and I was a bitch or something like that. Or so it would appear.  But, of course, it's deeper than that.

Anyhoo...

Something really bad happened to me last year and no matter how much I asked for help, nobody helped me. In fact, they did the opposite of help me.  It's like I got into the ambulance and the EMTs took me back to the garage instead of the hospital.

That's not said for the purpose of whining. That's said for the purpose of pondering.  The perfect ponder being: how did someone as lovely as I end up surrounded by such evil and practitioners of evil?

Well, the answer is simple, but first I have to tell you about the garage...

Tune in next time and read with wide-eyed amazement as...


The garage is lame-O.

jah loves nubia
he hears sincere prayers and
the red sea is dry land

Have you ever met a pathologically competitive person? I mean the kind of person who is primarily motivated by the desire to deprive another human being of anything perceived to be of value.

Don't know what I mean? I'll clarify.

I'm talking about the sort of person you'd meet in a department store aisle and if you were standing in front of the last tea kettle on the shelf, they'd sprint down the aisle, punch you in the face and take the tea kettle to the register and do a dance in the customer service area as if they'd won something.

Now you know what I mean, right? OK. Good. Let's continue…

The pathologically competitive person doesn't have an independent desire or need for the tea kettle. The pathologically competitive person wants the tea kettle because they think that you, the unsuspecting shopper who was merely standing near the tea kettle, wants the tea kettle. The pathologically competitive person wants to deprive you of something, anything.

What the pathologically competitive person rarely realizes and refuses to accept is that you don't want the tea kettle. You never did. The pathologically competitive person can't accept that the tea kettle was never in contention because they thrive on competition and the desire to deprive others. They can not allow their minds to accept that there was never a competition. To accept such a thing would make the victory hollow and they live for the "victory" of depriving others.

I have someone like this in my life right now. It's a royal pain in the ass. Let's call her "Ria".

Ria is so insanely competitive that she believes and attempts to convince others that I want and am pining for a man that I haven't spoken to in over a year, a man that abused and assaulted me, a man from whom I had been trying to escape! Let's call him "Vilas". Why does she believe this? She believes it because she has to believe it. She fell in love with Vilas because she read a story I wrote where the star character was a flawed hero based on Vilas. In the story, the character based on me, the author, muses that she will move Vilas into her apartment and figure a way to get him to marry her. IT WAS ONLY A STORY! I had no intention of moving Vilas into my apartment, figuring a way to get him to marry me or anything like that. But, Ria took it so seriously, that she actually played out the story in real life! She moved Vilas into her apartment, got pregnant and married him. Just like the story! That's creepy and not a coincidence.

Take a deep breath. I'll wait.

I don't think Ria would have done that if it hadn't been for the fact that she thought I was going to do that. I don't think she would have done that unless she perceived some sort of competition. There was no competition. I didn't want Vilas then. I don't want him now. I was only having sex with him (ill advised, yes I know). Remember the tea kettle? I was only standing nearby. But, if Ria accepts that, then everything would have been for nothing. All of her effort will have been for naught. The victory would be hollow.

That's not all that's going on though. There's the little matter of the assault. The matter of the assault was settled between me and Vilas the day after the incident wherein I told him to "stay away from me".

Why, then, are Ria and Vilas still in my life?

I think that Ria and Vilas are still in my life because their relationship was forged in the false crisis of Ria protecting Vilas from me. I am the glue that holds them together like America after 9/11. If the false crisis of me goes away something essential in their relationship dissolves, so they've got to keep the crisis going. They've got to remain united against the false threat of me. It's the old protection scheme: Rob the store. Come back the next day and offer to provide security services. The store never gets robbed again and the store owner sings your praises, never realizing that you're the one who robbed him the first place. Ordo ab chao. Order out of chaos. Create a problem for the sole purpose of implementing a solution that suits YOUR agenda. Vilas married the woman that saved him from a threat that never existed. Good job, Ria. Good luck, Vilas. Best wishes. Seriously. I said that before.

I love it… in stories, in film, but not so much in real life if it's affecting me negatively. I don't want to be in their fractured fairy tale of a story. But, for real, tho.

Let me be perfectly clear in case anyone still doesn't understand. I don't give a fuck about Vilas. I never did. I was using him--first for the story and then for sex (ill advised, yes I know). I didn't want to be so blunt, but it seems like this is the only way. Of course, Vilas turned out to be a fucking sociopath and lost his shit and assaulted me and I regretted ever speaking to him in the first place, but that's beside the point. I don't want Vilas. I don't want to hurt Vilas. I don't miss Vilas. I only think of Vilas when Vilas, Ria and co remind me of Vilas. I want Vilas, Ria and their merry band of fuckheads to go away.

For the last time…

Dear Karen,
I am immune to what you do. Goodbye.

Dear Vilas and Ria,
What you're really asking me for is mercy and forgiveness. You already have that. Accept it. Goodbye.

People tend to confuse forgiveness with reconciliation. Forgiveness is the lack of a desire to punish the person for the transgression. Reconciliation is to kiss and make up. They are not the same. Forgiveness is the most important (in my opinion) but some people don't recognize forgiveness unless it is accompanied by reconciliation.

The band of fuckheads are so far up my ass that they monitor my email and the contents of my computer's hard drive. I wonder if they'll see the file on my desktop that tells them what they can do to smooth everything over once and for all and give them a sense of reconciliation and that everything is just dandy! I wonder if they know what color undies I'm wearing? Probably. I don't know. But why is grass green? Chlorophyll, nigguh. Cholorophyll! That much I know for sure!

you liked my pancakes
because you like to batter
stop battering me

go away
go away
leave my ass alone
forget you ever knew me
leave my ass alone

two step, two step
to the bridge
break it down

throw your bionic arms in the air
and wave 'em like you just don't care
somebody scream

like a name you can't remember
or something you forgot to say
when interrupted by a waitress
forget me in the same way
TURN THE PAGE

keep your rage
act your age
while I burn some sage

dental floss is for teeth
wigguh
for teeth
wigguh
for teeth
wigguh

dental floss is for teeth
wigguh
for teeth
wigguh
for teeth
wigguh

remember dat
remember dat
peace out for the umpteenth time
wigguh

remember dat
remember dat
peace out for the umpteenth time
wigguh

goodbye

(c) 2008 jehan aka j-ski pancakes

So, yeah...

Recovering from a sexual assault is not easy.  It's especially not easy when you have the perpetrator and bunch of his cronies relentlessly harassing you, following you, violating your privacy and just plain getting all up in your life 24/7.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "What the hell are you talking about?  Usually when someone assaults you, they go away. They don't hang around."  Yeah, I know!  But, this is a special situation.  You see there's the little of... race.

Here's what happened... Well, actually, A LOT OF THINGS HAPPENED.  It's difficult to explain it all.  It's multi-layered, enriched with 24 essential herbs and spices...

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "If this shit is that deep and fucked, why talk about it? If you don't talk about it, maybe they will leave you alone."  That's what I thought, too.  I was wrong.  Here's the deal.  I haven't talked about it.  I haven't written about it.  I even moved away.  But, even so, I'm still being harassed.  I tried to be quiet, but it didn't make the situation any better.  I'm still being harassed, I'm still being stalked, so obviously there's no benefit for me in not writing about it or talking about it.  So, now I'm just going to do whatever makes me feel OK and let the chips fall where they may. Fuck it.

You see, what's really going on is that these people hate me. They hate me.  Period.  I'm Black. I'm female. I'm bisexual. I'm talented.  I'm intelligent.  I'm outspoken. I'm articulate. And, I know that I am just as good as anyone else and I act like it.  In fact, I'm so convinced that I'm just as good as anyone else and not inferior to anyone, that I had the absolute unmitigated gall to REJECT and DESTROY the hearts of countless "white" men including their little golden boy who flipped out and assaulted me because I rejected him.

They hate this and thus they hate me.  It's OK.  I accept it now.

This shit has been going on for a long time and he's been fucking with me for a long time, even before the assault or should I say the final incident betwixt he and I that cleared up my case of "maybe I should try to appease him" syndrome. The relationship was crazy and abusive.  That's another post for another time.

His way of dealing with me when I displeased him was to cause indirect interferences in my life that he mistakenly believed I would not realize stemmed from him.  This jackass had the nerve to get a professor friend (that's like a sistah friend, but worse because it's a professor and they're not supposed to be your friend like that) to change my grades and cancel a class I needed to graduate.  Why did he do that?  Because he was mad at me.  Yes, he was mad at me because he felt rejected and/or insulted and/or humiliated by something I said or did to him.  Yes!

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "That's crazy.  A professor would never do that.  Never. You're lying. Are you serious? Stop playing."  That's what I thought, too.  I couldn 't believe it and that's why I didn't take action sooner to stop the crazy train of him fucking with my life and academics as if I don't have enough trouble with my own fuck-ups.

I confronted the teacher about the grade, it was changed.  I let it go.  When the class got canceled, I didn't confront the teacher, I just sought out a substitution through the official channels.  They tried to stop me, but I got the substitution and *I* let it go.  But, that just seemed to make them boil with rage and that's when things really began to heat up.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "Alright. Fine.  That *particular* teacher hates you, but why is their such collusion against you with all the teachers?"  The person who assaulted me is the son of a professor and a policeman (and I use the term policeman loosely) who's assigned to the precinct that covers the location of the assault and was assigned to handle my harassment complaint.

If the person who sexually assaulted you and to whom you said, "Stay away from me," began emailing you incessantly over the course of several months with death threats and bizarre messages about sex and other creepy inexplicable things and still talking about the personal ad you placed that hurt his feelings the PREVIOUS SUMMER and all of this is happening after he's supposed to be with someone else and you're back with your own husband, what would you do?  You'd be like, "Fuck the high road. I let you off the hook and this is the bullshit I have to deal with?  You are crazy and deranged. I'm calling the cops."  But, what would you do if his FATHER answered that call?

You'd do what I did.  You'd say, "Tell your son to LEAVE MY ASS ALONE." And, then you'd go home and scream until you got tired.  And, what if after all of that, you were still being harassed and stalked?  What if they made it impossible for you to get a job in your own city even though you have expensive, in-demand skills?

You'd move.  You'd run away.  Or at least that's what you'd do if you were me, because by then you would have realized the truth, which is:

There is no reasoning with someone who hates you.  None.  That would be like making an appointment to meet with the KKK and asking them to please stop burning crosses on your lawn.  It's ridiculous.  These people simply hate me.  The perpetrator hates me because I rejected him and he lost his mind and almost tanked his future.  He's got a huge case of, "Look at what you made me do?  Why do you make me beat you?!"  He takes NO responsibility for his actions. NONE.  And, his wife hates me, because... Well, I'm just going to give it you straight.  She hates me for a lot of reasons but the biggest reason is that his sexual appetites were developed and revealed during his escapades with me and now everytime they get into bed, it's like I'm there. He has these appetites and prefers to satisfy them with women who are the color of pancakes, of which I am one, and she is not.  So, it's like I'm always there. Even though I'm not there, she still has to contend with me. I'm sure this is very antagonizing for her, but it's not my problem.  I can't do anything about it.

Everybody knows the history of Italian men and Black women.  The operative word here is "history".  The dental floss turned me off for good!  Actually, the hickey incident was enough to end it, but that's beside the point.  I moved.  Whereever he is when he's not with her, she can be sure he IS NOT WITH ME enjoying my pancake-ness. Everything should be good.

There.  I said it.  That's the nature of the beef these two people have with me.  That's why they can't leave me alone.  I said it.  Ahh, I feel better, don't you?

But, as for the rest of the cast of characters?  They hate me because... I'm Black. I'm female. I'm bisexual. I'm talented.  I'm intelligent.  I'm outspoken. I'm articulate. And, I know that I am just as good as anyone else and I act like it.  In fact, I'm so convinced that I'm just as good as anyone else and not inferior to anyone, that I had the absolute unmitigated gall to REJECT and BREAK the hearts of countless "white" men including their little golden boy who flipped out and assaulted me because I rejected him.  And, even after everything they've done to try to harm me, to destroy me--not my life, but *me*, what it means to be *me*--I'm still me.

They find me FRIGHTENING.  People hate what they fear.  People kill what they hate or at least try to kill it.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "You need to sue the fuck out of these people.  Now. Sue them.  Why are you still typing? SUE!"  I don't want to sue them.  I just want them to FUCK OFF.

They offered me money, I didn't take it.  Why?  Because I want NOTHING TO DO WITH THEM.  Of course the money is tempting, but I would rather be free of them than take money from them.  Anything I bought with it would rot, would reek with the stench of their evil actions, it would be infused with their ill will for me.  I could never accept that money.  Never.  When they asked me what I wanted to settle the matter, I said I wanted to go to school in PEACE.  What was so hard about that?  I had to move away to find that?

I stopped interacting with the person who assaulted me COLD TURKEY after the incident and haven't spoken to him since. This is a clue.  I didn't pursue the complaint against the school even though they had NO DEFENSE and I had PROOF.  Are you catching on?  I moved away, taking only what I could carry.   Why? People, TAKE A HINT.  I don't want to hurt him or anyone, I just want to live my life in PEACE.

If I'm not hurting anyone, why are they trying to hurt me? I'll tell you why...

Aside from the fact that they HATE me, people tend to believe that other people are like them.  For example, if you like ice cream a lot, you would tend to assume that other people like it as well. You'd be shocked if someone refused your offer of ice cream to the tune of, "How can you NOT like ice cream?!" This goes for things like hatred as well.  Racists always think that the person they are talking to is also a racist. That's why they get caught out there telling racist jokes and are always surprised when the other person confronts them or doesn't laugh.  Because these people are hateful and unforgiving, they think that I'm hateful and unforgiving.  They can't believe that I'd just go on and live my life after all they've done to me without seeking retribution, because they know that if they were in my position they'd plot revenge forever. It's their culture.   A culture of vendettas, paybacks and false smiles.

I'm not from Sicily or Israel/Palestine. I come from a place where we eat mangos and drink beer with milk and nutmeg.  We get over things. It's good, but not as exciting.

Dear Stalkers:

Keep your money. Use it to buy the following clue:  The reason why I haven't pressed charges or sued the fuck out of the school is not due to any misery to which you believe you've subjected me.  It's because I DON'T CARE enough about it to do that.  I get over things.  GO AWAY.

Sincerely,
jehan

Sigh.  Oh, yeah. So, getting over a sexual assault is difficult.  It makes you feel sad and not very sexy.  It actually makes you feel guilty about having sex or wanting to have sex, but guess what?  It took a year and a lot of coaxing but I started having sex again and it feels good.  Yay for me.  I want to do it now and that's such a good feeling.  This past week, I had to abstain and it made me crazy and I just said to my lover, "I miss fucking.  It's really bothering me."  And, he says, "I miss fucking you, too." What? You never heard curse words before?  I'm over it.  My vagina isn't broken.

I'm brown and fluffy and the color of pancakes!