Tag: legacy

The Expectation Of Life

I’m in mourning. Pray for me. -JBH

I believe once you become conscious of your own mortality, you fight for immortality.

You change diet, illuminate stress, sleep more… doing anything to stop the clock or wind it back in a few years.

The great sadness of it all is that we know and ultimately this is futile. Will know there will be one day where the Reaper will come for us… Yet, we hope that the day is a long time off.

That day, where the world will miss us, and we will no longer be in the world, yet prepare for the Great Getting-Up Morning.

We expect those in our world to be a part of our lives as much as they can as long as they can.

We speak to their hopes: so their heart don’t fail.

We sow into the talents: so they may not be discouraged.

We ask them to stay. We plead with him to stay!

We believe God with them, for them, to stay.

And yet they slip through our fingers in early mornings. Or late nights. When we leave the room unattended.

They leave because they’re tired. Or uncertain. And we are forced into mourning clothes. And pray they don’t fit too tight.

Life is steady, linear… And unfair. Yet for the great unfairness of it all, perhaps it is best that we not walk the clock too closely.

Which makes us forget the Reaper is there…holding it.

-JBHarris, January 2023

Written after the death of my adopted brother LeArthur Antonio Lee at age 40.

Being A Granddaughter

Thinking:

My grandmother was the indomitable presence, she could restore familial order with a look or a sound. She had the strength, and wit I envied. I aspired to master, not emulate. I wanted this essence she had. I figured if I had it, that wit would allow me to maneuver with ease through this life. Now, that same woman, granted mortality to teach us her descendants how to run, I learn was only mortal, perhaps more mortal than me. I now learn only a fraction more her after her passing. The regality of aging is not lost on me. I want to be able to retain a measure of grace and charm that will not make me stone, but won’t make a fool or trifled with either.

Good thing sanctification is a process.

-JBHarris, December 2013

The Immovable Trinity

Day-jobbing and listening to MasterClass:

Never think that this gift I have is not demanding. I have leaned into this gift, succumbed to the demand of it.

It is the best restlessness.

It is the most intimate of imagining.

Yet, I am keenly aware, what I do—

Black woman writer
Writer, Black and woman
Woman whom is Black and writer. —

Is an immovable, immutable trinity.

For such designations, I write.

I persevere and preserve.
I remember and reckon.

I reimagine.

-JBHarris, December 2022

Overview: SOCIAL MEDIA LYNCHING

This is the series idea that caused me to walk away from ALL my platforms late 2021. But, I’m stronger now–and this needs to be said. It’s way overdue.

I sat on this. I truly sat on this…since September 2021.

It was in August-September 2021 when my first TikTok account (whatjayesaid) was mass-reported and permanently banned.

Over this 4-part series, I am going to explain this process, how I define this concept, and just how insistent social media is about erasing Black people.

The Death & Burial Of Kanye West-I

The opening of that
classic song says
‘nothing‘s ever promised tomorrow today’ that same energy
that kept us afloat
is now a millstone
around our her neck—
beckoning us to look
this way in that,
even though it hurts
our whole body
to do so.

looking at what
promise, privilege and power
does when at the core
the soul which was Black
is now White—
not by the washing of the Word
Or of the Blood,
but by the seeking of
validation of those who only know subjugation as power.

how ironic that villains of
This world whom prey on
The hungry desperate of power
Devoid of peace
seduce a prophet from
the midpoint of this
of these disjointed United States
to join into that dance
that is, and will always
call you nigg3r.

How befitting
he betrayed all that
he is all and he was—
with his mother already be dead?

how fitting it is
His father,
who he did say
he loved him so
can no longer be found
when he is in the throes
of what it means to be
Black and man
seeming to reject both!

at this time
in this space
and in this very place
at the time where 45
has been deep-sixed
that we may live again
to see 46
that he at age 45
be stuck between boy and man.

Wanting us all to follow him—
This Pied Piper forgetting
We know how that story ends;
betraying all that he is
all that his mother told him
all that the streets gave him—
drying tears opening doors,
to bestow title of genius!

Yet…we who demand accountability
who are alive and remain
to demand the better,
now we are now the problem…

and yet he wants us to not clap at his downfall

We already know the Chi town‘s finest ain’t always found on the mile.

-JBHarris

Life In Three Parts

I am tired of Kanye.

Donda’s son is working the REST of my nerves!

I didn’t want to write anything else about him. I planned on riding out this yearly YENAMI and go on about my business.

But the t-shirts. The tweets. Tucker Carlson. The school shooter comments…and the inevitable slide into anti-Semitism powered by anti-Blackness.

I couldn’t be quiet. And I got heated. Then…I started writing.

Kanye Omari West–who’s name means Only One–is gone. And we need to not wait for him to come him to come back.

Out of respect for the dead, we give a eulogy, right?

Right.

These Days of Night #5: Trycian

He mourned for Circe, watched the light fade in his room.

His Circe. First of his blood—his. If she had waited, been patient, let him…be. She never let him be. That was the first thing she had done when she opened her impossibly beautiful eyes—from mahagony to cognac. “Why?” She had mouthed her, her lips barely changing, she plump and wanting. 

She has kissed him. Wrapped around him then, and in the field where her life became his as it flowed into his mouth. There was none like Circe…none. 

In this dark room with his new fledgling her first scene marked by his blood, he could only look out the window. Thinking of their last argument, her snatching away from him to go feed and her telling him that she would never return to him. Never return to his bed and she would rather die than see him with someone else. The siren six she could understand. Those were her sister wives, all of them together as one being made by him, but she could not stand for as what she called her an interloper. It was not come in for one is older Searcy to kill herself and he refuse to believe that she had! That she had left them in such a state, when they were supposed to have gone together down the devils road. To meet Hades there. She had gone without him. And the war was coming. His strongest queen was gone.

He could feel it in the air and knew without doubt the war was coming.

NEW BOOK-Next Lifetime Things

Grab a copy on Amazon! The Kindle version is coming!

Thank you to Erykah Badu for Baduizm.

One of my favorite songs is, and may always be, Next Lifetime.

There is a honesty to this song, a wondering, and a realizing that while life is changing–so are you.

This collection of poetry was written about a year ago, and started with the work Reflections From A Back Porch Swing. This poetry collection tells of how my own body is aging and betraying me at points. I talk about the new relationship I accidentally fell into, and even the shifting nature of motherhood now.

Everything is happening, and I am in the everything! In this shifting levels of amazing, there is a peace I have found in these pieces. There is more of me in this work, as a realized, happy 41-year-old woman, than I ever had before.

This lifetime, this lifetime and next lifetime, is amazing!

NEW WORK: These Days Of Night-Draft Peeks (October 2022)

Note: I was able to get though 25/50 nights (Gotta save some for the book), but enjoy!

I know we are about 4 months from Halloween, but as the benevolent being I am, I wanted to announce this work soon to come starting September 12, 2022!

As a horror fan who desires more representation of the melaninated, this project will be a set of 50 short stories—one story per night for 50 nights. The 50th night ending on Halloween—as my writer girlfriend Tonia says is Goth Christmas. In all earnest, I finished 25/50 nights. But I am hype about this project, and want to share.

For this project there will be vampires, Reapers, werewolves, witches and all matter of other mischief of my own making.

I will give you this teaser—you will need to follow every night, otherwise you will be lost! Remember, I wanted you.

I am excited to bring this work to you, I am so proud of it, and I believe you all will love it too!

Watch this space for more of this burgeoning universe!