H2Omeloncholy: June 2013

Saturday, June 29, 2013

JeanTEL it on the mountain

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

autonomy au ton o my noun \ȯ-ˈtä-nə-mē\

H2Omeloncholy™ contribution? uh...ton o' ME or a ton of me.

Merriam Webster's say? Autonomy is defined as "self-directing freedom and especially moral independence" and "the quality or state of being self-governing."

Dave Chappelle's former, poignant, comedic offering featured a reoccuring skit entitled, When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong. One could almost qualify them as H2Omeloncholy™ public service announcements.

Rachel Jeantel - courtesy of the media spectacle made of Trayvon Martin's family's plea for justice - has gifted us with that rarest of, daresay, miraculous examples of: when keepin' it real goes...all shades...of right. Oft over my shoulder, one is grateful to credit one's astute sibling with that gem. And how it doth sparkle.

Speaking of Mr. Chappelle, the alleged conditions spurring his exit from Comedy Central struck one as H2Omeloncholy™ personified. However, this post belongs to Ms. Jeantel.

One writes with a H2Omeloncholic-conflicted stroke of the quill - well, tap of the keys. Ms. Jeantel disdains the spotlight. Irrefutably. In an age of fame as instant as insatiable, her resistance is refreshing. Is it kosher to make her the 'subject' of a post? One will continue to grapple with that efficacy. When one finds the H2Omelon vine, however, with each leaf erect, is one not obligated to blog on? When an infomercial-ed Ginsu knife slices thru race, class, and gender, one turns to you, my good peops. In H2Omeloncholic™ terms, this episode reaches beyond measured wedges plated on the summertime buffet table. It registers on one of those industrial scales at a county fair where the lay farmer's daughter parades mutant 'squash' beyond our scope of comprehension.

After one collects one's thoughts, anticipate another trifecta posting. Um...melon eva marinating...I mean, the selection of an all female, Euro-descended-minus-the-one, mostly maternal jury...C'mon, now - that alone. My good peops, 'tis nevaending!

In the meantime, please relish a fictional collision of autonomy and jurisprudence - compliments of Mr. Chappelle.

http://www.comedycentral.com/video-clips/5uemlz/chappelle-s-show-celebrity-trial-jury-selection

Autonomy is a noun. Perhaps its verb equivalent is an Act of Resistance. Are such efforts not autonomy in action? To utilize only what one 'has' at one's disposal is the requisite ingenuity of Protest. Unless one chooses to hunger strike in Guantánamo Bay. Even that intention - the autonomous refusal of the final, basic requirement for subsistence - ceases, under U.S. rule, as an option.

But back to the Bay's neighbor, Florida. In the absence of SE literacy or even will to testify, Ms. Jeantel subverted court etiquette. Somehow, she made that decision - or conscious lack thereof - admirable. That attitude translated as a fierce declaration of dignity - cameras and 'blind' Lady Justice be damned. In the eeriest of ironies, one is tempted to quote Paula Deen's continued defense:

"Is what I is and I'm not changin'."

Although no esquire by trade, never before can one recall so much exposed in legal testimony from those questions not posed and those answers not prompted. All so painfully present but void of voice. The dynamic of the court room cracked open myth number umpteenth: that of automatic inclusiveness for the (w)hole of our populous. Proof? Check it - and by "it"? One points to the consistency with which Jeantel asserted her autonomy. We are left to grapple with each aspect of The Jeantel Effect. Her 'exchange' on the stand speaks eloquently about society on every level. Some cultural levels are strained; others have failed. Copious, accolades, oh, ye melon gods! And one thought one's favorite Rachel was Maddow. Would that Ms. Jeantel's organic exercise of autonomy could possibly frame The discussion, whereva it may - and will - roam. Alas, a H2Omeloncholy™ wish at best.

After viewing Mr. Chappelle's clip, perhaps consider returning here for this post's image. No split gourd, no woman of unverified color, not even the politicized hoodie. Trayvon Martin. Just the boy - never to be man - whom one hopes is not lost in this melon-drenched moment.

http://www.comedycentral.com/video-clips/5uemlz/chappelle-s-show-celebrity-trial-jury-selection

RIP
1995 - 2012

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

enter sex shun

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

November 4, 2008 = President Barack Obama? check
November 4, 2008 = (precedence of) Prop 8? check

June 25, 2013 = Voting Rights Act(Section 4/5)? void
June 26, 2013 = Prop 8 constitutionality? void

Please consider humming the following post to School House Rock's, Interjections:

En...ter...sexshun! Entersexshun! Entersexshun!

Intersections and contradictions.

Oh, but they fuel one's H2Omeloncholic™ inkwell. How well one remembers that historical night of November 4, 2008. Count your author as one conflicted Californian. Had this distinct, uneasy sense - which one now can articulate as H2Omeloncholy™ - that a 'proper', progressive Negress was politely suppose to sigh whilst silently wishing da Gay find a way...some day. What must have been that internal struggle, however, of our LGBTQ brethren/sistren with 'Hope' bumper stickers impossible to remove from parked hybrids? He was in; LGBTQ was out.

Out for being 'out': invalidated legally by voters of a state that has given so much of itself globally - save its gender poli tolerance(once past the Castro). California is a 'state' of/in contrasts - saving bald eagles and incarcerating Black Panthers. Steinbeck published a trenchant literary voice to migrants 'central' to the state. His prose turned pages and hearts; Chavez aroused the poetry of protest. North, California has given us the innovation of Silicon Valley - unleashing platforms for us to define. Then south, the celluloid fantasy pokes a profitable diss to arrest ancestral memory that would - if It could - frame our (w)hole Union.

LGBTQ Californians canvased - in droves - for an "evolving" POTUS. Too many cheered with tears on November 4, 2008. One tear was joy; the other pain. Woe to those o' Mothaland descent. And mad props to 'outs'-of-color - especially - for enduring a category-H2Omeloncholic whirlwind of emotion. Blurred, queer eyes watched the White House land upon the watermelon-striped-rind stockings of our nation's past, inherited Dorothy's ruby still-let-Ohs, and stumbled forward to kick fallen, chipped, gold-plated bricks - all the way back to Kansas.

Fast forward, gentlesoulfolk, to Summer Solstice 2013 for a 'rainbow' ruling five technical years in the making. Roll the true dial back - way past 1969's Stonewall.

Forget not, tho', sweet, sweet intersection. Timing can be quite the teacher.

Astrophysicists - to their credit - do not always agree on their own accepted theories. However, they seem to stand united in the belief that time is speeding up due to the universe expanding. Such could easily be refuted by measurement of the Civil Right's Movement. Dr. King's quote proves less social change champion than quantum scientist:

"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album cover

Poetic as prophetic, ain't it tho'?! Whom does one thank and how does one ascribe all rights reserved? Momz Nature, herself (or her Quantum Cuz and his boy, Property o' Light), Martin Luther King Jr., the nascent 'Friends of Dorothy' - "ova da rainbow" before Gilbert Baker, the Betsy Ross of the inaugural Pride flag, or Reverend Jesse Jackson's Rainbow Coalition? My good peops, whom amongst the spectrum of Other-ed Angst owns the copyright here?

Leaving all of the above nominees for your consideration whilst one returns to this concept of entersexshun. Too giddy about this premo example where "bent" or refracted light intersects the prism (Ah...an abbreviated respite, please, from the immediate sentence? Shall we not rest, just for a bit, with that profundity? C'mon, now - prism - 'transparent'...with its own 'angle'...) to then release a full-spectrum arc.

On this day, less protection for enfranchised, straight peops of color precludes support of astrophysics. Feels less like hurling thru space than being halted. Yet again. If equality's trajectory is a string, POSTness is only the air left, once one end of said string has been chopped off to hang frayed and unknotted thus destined to unravel. POSTness - all air - is a seductive mirage of the roughest terrain somehow smoothed. MLK knew there is no smooth sailing "toward justice". Quite da contrary, our 5-4 SCOTUS ruling succumbed to this 'strung theoretical' tune of the Siren's harp. We are left concussively whiplashed with residual, physical ick - quantum physickal, that is. This queasiness is a symptom of interstellar dissOrientalism. H2Omelon seed tea is highly advised.

Nevadaless, the societal shift for marriage equality is proof of time on asteroids. The former paradigm has done far mo' than turn a page. It done tore it out and folded that page in half to demonstrate some quantum principle galactically far beyond one blogger. No other change - before - of cultural significance has transformed public opinion seemingly light years ahead of the progressive calendar, according to the words of Dr. King. May LGBTQ citizens, and thus our nation, navigate this course free of an Emerald City asteroid storm of POSTness. It was there, in the capital of Oz, that Hope was at its height right before being warned to "pay no attention" to the being "behind the curtain". His name ain't Wiz; that, there be Siren POST.

Click dem dissOrientalized heels. Back to the farm and out of technicolor.

All hail symbiosis, baby. The day after the 1965 Voting Rights Act cracks - uniformly held up high as the pillar of Civil Rights - an adjacent pillar seals up injustice. DOMA down lifts jurisprudence up. Californians are quick to put their whims on a ballot. For better or for worse, such is an exercise, if not mild exploitation, of a Voter's Right. Today, we celebrate citizen error and system correction. Yesterday, in regards to race, the black-robed-branch of government took the opposite route thru affirmation of institutional wrong. Our stability is so fragile because its strength is more conjecture than conviction. Those ruby still-let-Ohs tend to take two, swishy switches forward and one electric-slide back.

This moment of a stripped ballot on the eve of a validated bed is no coincidence, irony, nor dichotomy. None, whatsoeva. It is H2Omeloncholy™ laid bare and we thank the Supreme Court - even Justice Thomas, yep, him too. Hold up...reboot, if ye will? Like Dorothy's prediction of missing Scarecrow upon vacating Oz - weepy, with Toto pressed to our ~~red~~ blue gingham-apron-ed, adolescent bosom:

"~~Scarecrow~~ Thomas, I think I'll ~~miss~~ thank you most of all."

Keepin' IT oh-so real. Most mute upon the bench, POSTnessity is the lone oral argument ~~after~~ before Mr. Thomas. Grateful, we are reminded - too well - of our work, not by nudge but slap upside the napps. POSTness, now? It can coax the less conscious. There is a gravity to Reason whilst POSTness is melon sweetness and lite. Then, there are those of us half-hip. We know our work is never really done. The spectrum should invoke our awe. Although, sans the weight of critique, the light display blinds rather than emboldens. Too? We keep watch on the clock. Time dost not tick nor tock; it races against known reality. Vigilance is the only tool to tweak this most complicated, intricate experiment otherwise called our democracy. Not one statute can be taken for granted. Freedom is interconnection manifest. Is equality not relative to the bar we set for not just the conventional experience of liberty but its most eclectic and timely expression? Is it not, like SCOTUS rulings but one day apart, null and void whenever any citizen is less validated than another? We are only - all - as emancipated as the least amongst us whom is considered and moreova, confirmed as (w)holistically present and counted.

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

Monday, June 24, 2013

done gone ROGUE

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Vogue?
Repazents so much to so many who allegedly charge Keats with promoting a mortal fallacy:

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"- that is all
Ye know on earth, and all you need to know.

John Keats wrote of an urn though. 'Mad men' of antiquity-pottery-advertising seem to have waned in modern print media. Keats was a poet, after all, not a magazine editor, and therefore less of a perpetrator of 'our' aesthetic zeitgeist.

Point? The number of Vogue covers featuring women of color is far less than the amount of seeds that might be counted in this watermelon sliced for the August, 1951 British Vogue cover, photographed by Erwin Blumenfeld. (Lest we cast assumption upon the brunette model's heritage sans a swabbed cheek surveyed by Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates.) Nevadaless, faces from a more diverse demo may keep outta sight in this epitomes glossy. One publication, granted. Howe'er, symbolically, Vogue sets the 'industry' standard, thereby standardizin' ideal beauty. And yet? By melon, by Golly O. G., does a certain 'ethnic' absence not somehow remain? Absence. Absence - itself - as an eerie presence. Phantom 'visibility', perchance?

Concur with this haunting sense of sum'in...off? If so, then together, gentlesoulfolk, we have just collectively experienced the phenomena, H2Omeloncholy™. Do raise thy red-checkered kerchief. And dab chin. Missed a spot. No worries - we'll wait...

Remaining as undecided as unfazed as to the duration this blog may rely upon the above Blumenfeld 'shot' for our non-commercially-used title image. For now? Eh, invisibility stylishly underscored. Hence, props to our purpose.

My good peops, hoping that there 'covers' the vision for this blog, the 'non-visuals' or invisible-s it will dare to entertain, and the verve in those moments of H2Omeloncholia™ - which, here, will no longer be rendered indistinguishable from our daily doings and beings. Some happenings will be more subtle. Think: a 'dense' pink hue. Others? Well, they just might ingratiate us with a bloodied red shade at the peak of societal 'summer', leaving us spitting noir upon stained Memorial Day linen whites. Be that H2Omeloncholic™ aura - or wet ring - in our public, private, political, professional, pop cultural spheres. Plus any other 'P' adjective or 'V' noun so ripe...oh, eva ripe...for the picking.

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

© 2013 KM Fikes
© 2013 h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

Deen of iniquity

What is southern cuisine? How was it derived? Who perfected the feast despite the perils of the conditions under which it dared to endure? The NYTimes approximates Paula Deen's fortune - from soul food - at $17 million. Like Elvis - the King - who capitalized on music with southern roots too deep in African-American invention, Ms. Deen's edible empire has an undeniable lineage. The menu in her frequented Savannah restaurant is a testament to slave labor's legacy.

How is this applicable to why, you, gentlesoulfolk, return to H2Omeloncholy™ - both the blog and the concept?

Many the Mammy birthed the very recipes that brought Ms. Deen to prominence. In 1989, the marketing wizards, hired by Quaker Oats Co., gave Aunt Jemima a make-over to promote a watermelonless...er...'aura', if you will. (Kid ya not, homez...Can't make this up: 'Quaker' has 'owned' Aunt Jemima since 1926. Choke not upon that melon seed.) Oh, so H20meloncholic™, their attempt at cosmetic poli correctitude only made/makes melon far mo' visceral. One can now find her down the grocery aisle ex the bandanna, in a hair relaxer, topped off with pearl stud earrings. Jemima's cousin, Mrs. Butterworth, conversely, is still the unflattering shape of a syrup jar. At least her owner, Pinnacle Foods Group, rolls hard n' keeps it real. Whether updating her image on the side of a quasi-edible product box or still tipping her plastic cap over pancakes, neither proprietary-branded sister has hosted her own cooking show nor hawked her own line of pots and pans.

Pointedly, one would no sooner charge Ms. Deen with deliberate exploitation of Oppression's culinary ingenuity than one might indict the aforementioned Rock n' Roll Royalty. Herein lies the angst that is H2Omeloncholy™. We are but the sons and daughters of past, grey...grey sky-ed, lightening-struck summers. Our cultural culpability is intrinsically linked. The fabric of our nation is an ill-fitted, threadbare, cotton tee that still fancies itself pristine from diligent washing yet denies the existence of an overt watermelon stain - straight down the middle.

It is too easy to banish the embodiment of a remnant or relic off the air waves like Romeo to Mantua. The play - ever tragic - does not end there. Just gets juicier. In fact, the narrative relies on the absence of the melon-thumped-hard conversation. Or to quote POTUS, "a teachable moment". Sure, we can just excuse the fate of literature's most legendary teen couple as 'star-crossed'. Even as an advocate of expert astrology, the evidence of celestial behavior's direct influence on the Bard's plot alludes us all. What can be verified is a fatal failure to communicate. Firstly, why were the Montegues and Capulets mutual haters? Did they, themselves, even know? Why did it take the double suicide of their children to give their feud - as ancient as mysterious - some pause? Then that letter! Had Romeo peeped Friar Larry's scroll, he would have known Jule's had only nodded off in the tomb and would anon...awake.

Point? Ms. Deen's alleged fair use policy of antebellum vocabulary is a mating call to adult discussion. What is accomplished most by her banishment is a false sense of societal atonement that then, distorts authentic, cultural advance. Um...perhaps that last sentence can expedite the definition of H2Omeloncholy™...when one took up an entire post to articulate it, complete with excerpts.

Ye may note how little has been written - here - concerning Ms. Deen's specific commentary which landed her in the hot water usually boiling, daresay, crackling off kilter for fried accoutrement. The gentility of Shakespearean slayings is preferred by far. Besides, high upon a hallucinogen, one could not conceivably fathom, say, an Auschwitz-themed bridal shower where one might request a Jewish catering staff serve in striped pajamas whilst a henna artist tattoos guests of wrists and martinis are placed on yellow star-shaped coasters. Defies less civility or decency than it salad-tosses logic. What, then, can begin to be written? One apologizes profusely to anyone offended by the comparison but the Holocaust is one atrocity rarely - if eva - recalled as quaint or nostalgic.

Insight is always appreciated; one finds oneself longing for it. Careful for what we wish. Ms. Deen has provided us with much more insight than imaginable. Notably, Ms. Deen's apologies are too awkward not to be honest. Such counts. Each attempt at rectitude reflects an oblivious angst - utterly inconvenienced by conflict. If indeed, she is genuinely befuddled, her own reaction constitutes H2Omeloncholy™. Although ignorance cannot be innocent, it can be achingly insular - exposing another world.

Altered dimensions should not be ignored. At all.

When axial-titled perception - of the individual - is this far out of season, it illustrates internal denial, not in its extremes, but societal-sanctioned normality. This rejection of reality is more than commercially beneficial. It is a necessary societal ill - promoting the myth of privilege as inherent and above reproach. Truth changes that narrative, obliterating the perpetuation of said privilege in our 'classic' plot where the dominant culture remains foreva the justified protagonist. States of mind - and their subsequent comments - become the parallel universes or Bill Maher-ian "bubbles" where recollection is as suspended as gravity once past Earth. Strange occurrences are oft reported from this realm like conservative law makers acquiring inexplicable, alternate wisdom of gynecology or southern plantations existing in memory as big ol' parties, ya'll. These twilight zones can cross into first, consciousness, secondly, jurisprudence and/or commerce and finally, basic cable 'channeling'. There, the junk or comfort conversation, with its empty-calorie dialogue, is consumed by the masses in second helpings of syndication.

All that one is willing to lend on the particulars of this stupefying subject is how - if forced to choose between either diss - one would actually prefer the racial slur to a diet-induced diagnosis of Type 2(ness). I know I am not a nigger but we are what we eat. Therein lies the greater error which perhaps Food Network execs might have ethically explored prior to their present, lard-laden brew ha ha.

Is it fair to paint Paula Deen as da Moment's face of racism? Fairness is relative. In this instance - at least - such would be the truth and far mo' honest than some fictionalized, despicable boogey-man. Believing that racism is delivered only thru snarling, stained, crooked teeth is entirely unfair to us all. That assumption gives it no 'teeth' - although maybe a bright veneer. It insults our maturity and diminishes our capacity or hopefully, inclination to evolve. Finally! One remains melonystified that something as complexed as an Ism is incessantly delineated into an either/or 'prop'. Might the greater danger be the contraction of racism...back...inside the proverbial box? Speaking of props - not proposition now but a proposal:

Cracked glass half-full? Nuanced. Cracked glass half-empty? Insidious.

If Ms. Deen is the instant face of race, it is just for today, in an attention-deficit news cycle. Tomorrow, unfortunately, another will inevitably peek into our mirror. And that mirror - ours - is key. Ms. Deen's face - and the next - peer an image of this land back to/at us. What we view is not evil though it cannot qualify as benign. The reflection is an empathetic offering which we habitually decline. Just too difficult to accept about ourselves.

Racism, today, is less a word or act or even official policy. It is past the core of etiquette, in the depth of our attitudes and understandings and choices. How do we connect - at a substantive level? Take watermelon. As a 'wet' connotation. It can add an industrious twist to a Jim Crow (re)mixologist's mint julep. Or...not And? Its seeds might spit infinite symbolism about which some 'post'-Gen X poet may blog ad nauseum. How does that incongruity inform interactions in the acceptable workplace, down the picturesque street, and upon the cook(ed)-book-season(ed) dinner table? When we eliminate the coziest of pop cultural players from the prospect of bigotry, Isms remain as unexplored as our fear to own them and as untapped as our resiliency to be and do better.

REPEAT: Your H2Omeloncholy™ excavator has no invested interest nor personal inclination to further pillory the woman at the eye of this high caloric storm. Frankly, one laments that apparent compulsion in human nature's ego - exacerbated by this very format. Might the vehement vilification of the worst in others prevent the emergence of our own best? Further, do we not generally arrive at this 'best' thru a conscious concession to some scrap of humility and/or grace? To slaughter a Bard line, "What a 'we' that we be!" ** This 'we' is, by design, a collective. The health of our collective relies on honest examination in compassionate critique. Along with any fellow, wretchedly contradictory, implausibly saccharine, days-old crumbs left of the Confederacy, one's wish for Ms. Deen is only sincere: altruistic responsibility, critical internal assessment, measurable growth, and infectious healing. Ironically - or maybe not so - such mirrors the intention for every post of this blog. Nevadaless, my good peops, this a thematic blog thus when current events give us melons, we must...one should reiterate...must...maketh melonade.

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

** "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" A Midsummer Night's Dream Act III, Scene 2

© 2013 KM Fikes
© 2013 h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

CV

Saturday, June 29, 2013

JeanTEL it on the mountain

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

enter sex shun

Monday, June 24, 2013

done gone ROGUE

Deen of iniquity