ZIP COON

بِسْــــــــــــــــــمِ اﷲِالرَّحْمَنِ اارَّحِيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Dearly Beloved Sisters,
 
This song, currently known as “Turkey in the Straw” was originally made in mockery of free Blacks who tried to better themselves by improving their appearance. The devil made mockery of these Black people by creating a character, that they nicknamed “ZIP COON” and popularized through Minstrel Shows. 
 
Minstrel Shows were theatre productions produced by white devils and starring white devils donning blackface.
 
 
These types of shows were popular until the 1950s when Black people began waking up by the masses.

Three characters stood out among others. “Jim Crow” was the stereotypical carefree slave, “Mr. Tambo” a joyous musician, and “Zip Coon” a free black attempting to “put on airs” or rise above his station.

You can go to YouTube to see more videos of the original Minstrel shows.

CELLULAR PHONES INVENTED BY BLACK MAN

بِسْــــــــــــــــــمِ اﷲِالرَّحْمَنِ اارَّحِيم

BISMILLAHI RAHMANI RAHIM

IN THE NAME OF ALLAH, THE BENEFICENT, THE MERCIFUL

HENRY T. SAMPSON INVENTOR OF TECHNOLOGY

AS-SALAAMU ‘ALAIKUM BEAUTIFUL SISTERS!!!!!!!

If you haven’t heard about this man, his name is Henry T. Sampson and he is responsible for the invention of the modern cellular phone that we would all be lost without today. Yes, that’s right, the cellular phone was invented by a Black man. Teach your children. But can you imagine if we had our own country, the things that we could accomplish. No nation on earth would be able to fuck with us.

 

https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=HENRY+SAMPSON

MY KING

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

Bismillahi Rahmani Rahim

MY MEMORIES OF US

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  1. Received a note from a boy I didn’t know. Asked me if I liked him. Don’t remember what I said. Most likely, “Yes” considering the turn of events that followed.
  2. You rubbing your feet on the carpet and shocking me. Ouch! I don’t know how you did that. Boys…
  3. A butterfly landed on you and I was so JEALOUS!!! I had no idea how rare an occurrence that was. I’ve never seen anything close to that again in my life. I guess that was Allah’s way of pointing you out to me as “The One for Me.”
  4. You showed me honeysuckle and how to partake of its sweetness.
  5. You having two last names.
  6. Me writing down the lyrics to love songs and timidly giving them to you.
  7. Blue Jay finally being alone together and our classmates pulling us apart, breaking my heart to this day, it hurts. Finally alone together. And never able to get back together since.
  8. Basketball games. I seem to recall you being the youngest (smallest) member of the team.
  9. Rancho Cienega – you told me you didn’t play baseball. You played Basketball. That was the coolest thing I had ever heard in my life. They didn’t even have a gym yet. I guess that’s why you were at the playground with me. :)
  10. Saw you at L.A. and didn’t know who you were. Stephanie Trice told me you were “A.J.” now. i thought that was cool. But still thought of you as My Jamal.
  11. Tennis
  12. First kiss by the girls’ gym. Braces and all. 
  13. Walking to work holding hands and passing The Merchant of Tennis which is gone now. :(
  14. You told me you played tennis at Jim Gilliam. I had never even heard of that park back then.
  15. Ditching class on the stairs listening to your Walkman. Patti Labelle and that devil. I hated that song. Now, I know why. Sweetheart with the devil; Go to hell with the devil.
  16. Going to Burger King and you borrowing money to buy me something.
  17. You and Al coming over and me getting mad because you would always be in the office with my father.
  18. Al jumping in front of and getting hit by a car and ending up with a broken leg. Crazy! I don’t remember him coming with you to my house after that.
  19. Sitting on the couch, listening to Stephanie Mills feel good all over (I hated that song too), not wanting to go to work and you making me.
  20. Me getting mad and poking my bottom lip out and you flicking it making me laugh.
  21. You wanting me to go to your Homecoming. I didn’t even ask. I knew my parents wouldn’t let me go to a night dance. 
  22. Writing a rap about you that I lost. I think I gave you a copy. Hope I did anyway. All I could remember was the first line. “I know this COLD-CRUSH guy. His name’s A.J.”
  23. Laughing at you because you couldn’t dance.
  24. You doing the Guess with your hand behind your head when you went low.
  25. Singing A.J. by K.B.
  26. Pee-Wee’s Playhouse
  27. You working at cool Intellitoys while everybody else worked at the food court.
  28. You making me feel good about my jacked-up braids.
  29. At some point your mom took you out of L.A
  30. Thought you were cheating on me with a white girl at your new school and didn’t have the confidence to ask you about it. Gave up and just started cheating you.
  31. Suddenly you didn’t want to talk to me anymore when I called and you never calling me.
  32. Being at the Beverly Center and we must’ve seen Mike and you made me feel stupid for still liking him. “You still like him?” (Thank-you for that, Bae)
  33. Saw you at Paradise 
  34. You Leading me up the stairs to V.I.P.
  35. Slow-Dancing to “Adore” every week
  36. You buying me a rose seems like every week
  37. Asking how you got so good at dancing and you saying, “I practiced.” So sensible!
  38. Being in the audience with Michelle cracking on your suit and then you leaping from the audience onto the stage like Plasticman or something, stunning the whole audience and shutting her up. That was the dopest thing I had ever SEEN in my life.
  39. YOU BUGGING ME ABOUT THAT BELT!
  40. You coming up to the Plantation and taking me to Taco Bell where they had that un-carbonated soda that was super-sweet. It’s a subway station now. 
  41. Me and Michelle driving you and Kaiu to some party.
  42. You not wanting to talk to me again all of a sudden.
  43. You kissing my daughter (who shares your initials, ;) ) ON THE MOUTH at Venice Beach and left me feeling dejected wanting you to kiss me too. That was so cold!
  44. Seeing you at that party on 59th and Alviso that Damu told us about earlier that day at the Fox Hills Mall. And being the only girl slam-dancing with you guys to that song by those devils.
  45. My cousin having a picture of you out of some magazine (you had dreadlocks and mudcloth on) on her mirror. :/
  46. Asking my cousin if she could have any man in the world who would she choose and you were my choice unquestionably. 
  47. Seeing you at The Roots’ show, I don’t know how many times. Once some Indian girl asked me if I wanted to stand near you. I shook my head vigorously, “No.” I was insecure back then. Never, no more.
  48. Seeing you at that birthday party that I realized later must have been for you and you kissed me on my lips and sent me spinning. I managed to make it outside before I had to sit down and nearly passed out.
  49. Seeing you at that club, I think it was called Chocolate something, and the next week again, it was your birthday.
  50. Going back to the same club and giving you a rose and the lyrics to Endless Love.
  51. Being in the pool/Jacuzzi at that hotel when The DF was in town.
  52. Seeing you at the club for the last time. That was the best night of my life. Oh, to be able to sit on your lap and cuddle up with you with your arms around me! That was the closest I’ve ever been to Heaven.
  53. You waking me up at 10:22 and making me think about you at 10:22 twice a day every day ever since.
  54. Not being able to get you off my mind ever since.
  55. Coming back and it was a completely different scene.
  56. Your wife seeming to be so interested in me.
  57. Makaya as uncomfortable as I was.
  58. You asking me where was my camera, which I had completely forgotten about for the next 15 years. Someone stole it before I ever had a chance to view the footage of you.
  59. You taking me home in that cool little Supra. And you HATING The Dogg Pound. “What is this?” Me asking you to open the sunroof and you doing it. I was so impressed with your strength and determination and ultimate success.
  60. Wanting to wear your Shawn Kemp jersey to whatever awards show you were working at.
  61. You again, not wanting to talk to me anymore.
  62. You telling the police your name like it means something.
  63. Me feeling so disgusted at the pride you showed saying it.
  64. The police taking my sunglasses off my head.
  65. You telling me to “Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never come back.”
  66. You telling your neighbors some story about me that I wanted to hear SO BADLY.
  67. On my way to your house and Erika showing up out of nowhere and taking me to the movies instead.
  68. On my way to your house again, but hearing all those “Nevers” in my head, and ending up at the police station where I sat for hours until they took me to the hospital.
  69. Trying to replace you and getting burned every time.
  70. Reading about and going to your show. You were aight. Looked a little green. Way too much cursing. And leaving so embarrassed, when the D.J. played “Ms. Fat Booty.” Too proud to try to get backstage to see you.
  71. Finding you on Myspace, right after you signed up.
  72. Being so happy to be able to actually send you the actual song instead of just the lyrics. Allah U Akbar (Allah is the Greatest) for technology!
  73. You having a show with Acey and asking me to come. But I couldn’t. I would now.
  74. Missing you. Wanting you. Loving you. Coping by writing poetry.
  75. Wondering when I was going to see you again. I knew it was going to happen eventually. You had been in my life all this time, popping up unexpectedly. So, since I didn’t go to the club anymore at all, I figured it would be in Leimert. Then I heard you were performing at the Artwalk. But it was at night, so I couldn’t go.
  76. Trying to get my mind right so, I would be cool when I finally saw you again. It was inevitable.
  77. Learning where you worked and resumed my pursuit.
  78. Being cool while you were trembling like a leaf. Why didn’t you look into my eyes, Baby? You know what was there. Love. Love. Love. And you knew you were not deserving of it in there with a devil. Couldn’t handle it. But it’s still here (LOVE). Still. Still. Still. Still. After all this time. I still love you. I’m so sorry for hurting you. Hurt me until you feel avenged. I deserve it. Plus, I don’t have any other options. You are the only man for me. You are the BEST and I’ll not settle for less. I’ll just wait until you come to the same conclusion. We were made for each other and no one else is going to work for either of us. We are LOONEY TUNES, like our classmates called us all those years ago, Beloved. Crazy for each other and for tunes. Allah Made me for you and you for me, Brother. We are SOULMATES. Trying to make it work with anybody else is a waste of time. I know this and you will soon come to know. I’ll be waiting. Still. I’ll Always Love You. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFLY9VLW9SY

 

 

THE CENTRAL AVENUE JAZZ FESTIVAL AND ITS AFTERMATH

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

CENTRAL AVE

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Dearly Beloved Sisters (and Brothers ;) )

I was so excited about this year’s Central Avenue Jazz Festival that I could hardly go to sleep the night before. All week I was preparing, getting my soup ready, bread baked, I even planned to sell my Honey Whole-Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies. The one thing I DIDN’T plan to sell, which Allah, Master Fard Muhammad, to Whom Praises are due forever, told me twice to make sure I didn’t forget, were the Messenger’s (Peace Be Upon Him) DVDs and CDs.

The day before, I bought a cute little bag to hold my cookies, and made a cute sign which I decorated with glitter. Patrice and Ndugu (the band I wanted to see) weren’t scheduled to perform until 4:10 or 4:30, I couldn’t and still don’t remember exactly, but festival shows are never on schedule, so I knew as long as I got there a little after four I would get there around the same time they came on. The important thing was staying on the path of Allah – Al Sirataal Mustaqeem – and it wouldn’t matter what time I got there, I would still be right on time.

I got up early to make my cookies and I don’t know what the problem was, but I didn’t get one to come out right. I ended up eating them and giving some to my neighbor and son. That was an omen right there of what was to come.

I left around 3:30, with my sign and my goodies and caught the bus to Central. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was probably too excited to think. I walk to Central all the time to go to the Post Office. But in my enthusiasm, I stood and waited for the bus. It only costs me a quarter, but still. I could have used that quarter to go somewhere else.

Anyway, we get to Central and the bus comes almost immediately. The Bus Driver was not very friendly, but I asked him what was the best stop to get off to go to the Jazz Festival since I knew the street would be blocked off. He said something I can’t remember because it didn’t help.

So, on the bus, I gave the Black People cards, and two wheelchairs got on the bus. It was crowded and I had my “ghetto cart” and my huge sign, but we made it do what it do. I talked to a Brother and a Sister, whom I thought were together, about the Teachings and we all got off at Vernon before the bus made its detour.

The Brother walked next to me and continued talking, but the Sister lagged behind. I asked the Brother and found out that they weren’t together and the Brother started asking personal questions, so I quickly told him if he had any questions about the teachings to give me a call and waited for the Sister while he continued on.

The Sister, I found out was an “undercover” Muslim and she expressed an interest in The Messenger’s (PBUH) DVDs. That was when I realized I had left them right by the front door. I felt like such a donkey for not taking Our Saviour seriously. We talked for quite a while, exchanged numbers and then parted ways.

I continued on to the Festival, walking in the middle of the street, trying to be as conspicuous as possible and sure enough, it wasn’t long before a Brother on the sidewalk flagged me down. We met half-way and he was inquiring about everything. I showed him the soup and the bread, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. Then he asked about the DVDs and yet again I felt like Shrek’s best friend.

I detest making excuses, but I didn’t want to remove the notice of the DVDs from my sign because I figured they could take my number and call me later, In sha Allah. So, I gave him a card and continued down the Avenue.

I passed an art vendor who had some paintings of some Jazz musicians on display, but didn’t stop. As I neared the stage, I didn’t hear any music, so I turned back around to go take a closer look at the art. She had an amazing painting of Charlie “Yardbird” Parker, affectionately known as “Bird.” And another bearing a resemblance to Miles, but not really. She was a young woman, interested in but not too knowledgeable about Jazz as of yet, so I told her whom her paintings immortalized and gave her a card. Then a Sister who lives around the corner from me walked up and co-signed on my blog. I felt like a BOSS. ;)

When I started heading toward the stage, I couldn’t decide which side I wanted to enter, so as always, I waited until I got a Word from Allah and He Told me to cross the street to the opposite side.

****

So, I crossed and I begin to hear some music, but I’m not thinking it’s Patrice so when some Sisters started eyeing my sign, I stopped to talk and give them cards and whatnot. I am really not paying any attention to the music as I walk toward the front of the stage, but when I reach it, I notice Patrice is at the piano and my heartbeat quickens. I think it’s so cool that they didn’t bother with an introduction. They just started playing. That show their love for the music right there. No egos.

I’m right in the very front of the stage on the right and she’s facing my direction. I’m so happy I obeyed Allah. Then, it occurred to me to see who was on the drums. I peeked around to the other side of the stage and I see a thin man who bore no resemblance to Ndugu Chancler. He noticed me peeking and started acting silly; putting on a show, and I mouthed, “You are not Ndugu Chancler,” like he was trying to fool us or something. I thought Ndugu couldn’t make it and he was a stand-in. But when he looked completely dejected at my lack of restraint masquerading as a joke, I knew I had put my foot in my mouth. I looked closer but still was sure it was someone else. I mean Ndugu Chancler was chubby, with a butterball body and a doughboy face. This man was long and lean! But as I continued to very openly stare, I realized, he had just lost a lot of weight and started to show a few signs of age.

NDUGU

Then this devil came and walked right in front of me. So, I was like “Hell, I’m her mother. If she can go in front of me, I can go up to the stage!” So, I left my ghetto cart, but took my sign right up to where Patrice was and took her picture and some video of her and Ndugu close up.

PATRICE

My assertiveness prompted others to do the same, and soon everybody who wanted a close up picture who was intrepid enough to come up and take one, got one.

When I realized Patrice was playing a solo, I thought that would be video gold. So, I went up to get a close shot and as soon as I got there, she wrapped. So, I stood right there and waited for the next one. But as soon as she got to her solo, my cameraphone suddenly stopped and said something like “Memory full.”  I thought, “Figures.” And went back to the curb, pun intended :/ .

Then I tried to video tape some more and my camera started working again, so I went closer to the stage so when Patrice’s solo came again, I would be ready. But as soon as she started her solo, my cameraphone turned off again! I thought, “This can’t be happening.” But it was, so I just watched. She is absolutely amazing.

I couldn’t believe it when I was talking to this Brother later and he said, he wanted her to do her R&B stuff! I was incredulous. I love her R&B music too, but Jazz displays her true skills of incredible musicianship and virtuosity. You can’t get that ANYWHERE ELSE BUT AT A JAZZ FESTIVAL. I felt so HONORED just to witness it!

So, then I asked a Brother near me, who was on the saxophone. He didn’t know. He (the saxophonist) looked like a Mexican/Hispanic but I didn’t want to believe that, so I thought maybe he’s just one of those high yellow Brothers. But after listening to him play, I knew he wasn’t. I can just tell. Black musicians make me feel their music all through my body. It just permeates through my skin to my bones. Other musicians feel like it’s lacking something. In France, they call it je ne sais quoi. We call it SOUL. And he didn’t have it.

He was Justo Almario, and I deliberately ignored him. It’s easy to get a point across tacitly. No one wants to say it, but I will. There is nothing wrong with loving yourself enough to ONLY want to be with people who look like you. Nobody else IN THE WORLD feels like they have to have people of other races in everything they do, but the American so-called Negroes.

Mexicans have all-Mexican stuff. Devils have all-devil stuff. Chinese and Korean people have all Chinese stuff and all-Korean people stuff. They have TOWNS right here in America, where there are nothing but Chinese people; Korean people. AND THEY ARE SELF-SUFFICIENT. We don’t have one square foot in this whole country that we can say is ours, as a group of people. It is a shame.

But I digress, the bass player was Reggie Hamilton. I had heard of him but never saw him play. He was pretty good. I couldn’t remember his name though after they said it twice.

So, I’m standing on the side and Patrice stands up to the mic and the paparazzi is going crazy. She said something like, “You know a lot of Jazz Standards actually come from musicals. This next number we’re going to play is from a musical – “My One And Only Love.”

I was floored. That is my favorite JAZZ love song of all time and I tried to stay put but I couldn’t hold back the tears. So, I walked over to an empty spot on the wall and turned my camera on again, just to get the audio. I thought about covering up the lens but I thought it would be cool to get some random shots. I was not paying ANY attention to what I was filming and had no idea I was taping this couple who looked like they were in love.

So, when I regained my composure, I walked back to where I could see the stage and when I sensed Sister Patrice’s solo coming up I ventured toward the stage. But as soon as I got near the piano, my camera abruptly turned off. By now, I had resigned myself to the fact that she and Allah were in cahoots to deter me from capturing any footage of her marvelous abilities. So, I just stood and watched in awe, filled with emotion at her choice and then rendition of my favorite song. I was so melancholy, I barely noticed when the song ended.

But, I was jolted out of my reverie, by the joyous opening of “Cantaloupe Island,” which always makes me happy. I need to learn how to play that. It always lifts my spirits and it is so impressive watching and listening to the pianist who can play such a complicated piece. It’s comparable to that song Schroeder from Charlie Brown plays on his tiny piano for me. And the next thing I know, I’m happy and smiling again. A crowd of dancers started to form in front of the stage so I moved back to my spot by the curb and took out my guiro. I felt like that was the instrument Patrice wanted me to play. So, even though I wanted to play my maracas, I played the guiro. After a while, I tried my tambourine, but it didn’t mix well. Then I tried the maracas and they didn’t either. So, the guiro it was. It was nice to practice even though nobody could hear it but me. They saw me. ;)

I thought it would be nice to give Sister Patrice a card, so after years of experience going to live shows, I knew that they would be coming out of the back and since I had to go that way anyway, I went that way. I passed a Brother who looked so familiar, I asked him from where did I know him. He didn’t know but I kept thinking, I didn’t want to miss Patrice, but Master Fard Muhammad, to Whom Praises are due forever, told me to keep talking. So I did as long as I could. And when I started walking again, he followed me.

We reached the back of the stage and I stopped to regroup and we were talking for a while. Then I see a swarm of people and cameras gather around a very short nucleus. I knew it had to be Sister Patrice, so I got out a card and went and handed it to her. She was very gracious and I got to tell her how much I enjoyed her performance and her music and that she is an inspiration to me. She said, “Thank-you” and looked very sincere and smiled genuinely. I turned and went back to my stuff and the Brother.

Sister and her entourage passed right by us, and she was so forbearing with all of the people who knew her from back in the day. It was very nice for them. I know they are proud of her success. I wanted to take a picture with her, but knew that my camera was trippin’. So, I didn’t even ask. And she continued greeting her obsequious sycophants. All while this is taking place right in front of me, I thought about my next door neighbor, who told me that Patrice Rushen used to like her husband.

After she told me this, I looked up her videos and “Forget Me Nots” bears witness to what my neighbor told me. So Allah, to Whom Praises are due forever, told me to “Ask her.” I did NOT want to ask her. So, I’m standing there with lead in my shoes and Allah Tells me again. And I still did not want to ask her such a personal question that might bring up old memories and pain that I did NOT want to be the one to dredge up for her.

But I MUST OBEY MY MASTER.

So, very trepidatiously, I tapped her on her shoulder and said, “Sister, do you know a Brother, named Abdul?” Her face lit up. She said, “Abdul??!! “YES!!”

I felt terrible but didn’t know what else to say, so I just said, “Oh, Okay,” smiled and just walked off.

I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY and I don’t do awkward well.

THEN I HAD TO GO BE BY MYSELF FOR A MINUTE BECAUSE THE WHOLE SITUATION JUST HIT TOO CLOSE TO HOME.

She was obviously in love with this Brother and had dreamed of him leaving his wife for her, which never happened. I sent her this message on Facebook yesterday.

“In the Name of Allah

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Sister Patrice,

I pray Allah, these words reach you in the Best of Health and Happiness and Enjoying Abundant Blessings From Allah, Master Fard Muhammad, to Whom Praises are due forever. I am thankful and happy that I am the same. Al Hamdulillah!

Dear Sister, I am the Muslim Sister who approached you after that magnificent performance you and Brother Ndugu Blessed us with yesterday. Please apologize to him for me for accusing him of not being himself. I felt like such an idiot after I realized he had just lost weight and gotten a little older since the last time I saw him. I hope he is just being more health conscious.

In any case Sister, if you are wondering how I know about Abdul, it’s because I live next door to the woman who married him.

Sister, I’m so sorry to inform you that He passed away in 2009.

If it’s any consolation, she’s been mentally ill since the eighties.

We used to be good friends. They were homeless for very many years and when I met her, in 2010, she was still homeless. I let her move in with me and my nine-year old son but she didn’t want to look for her own place. So, I made living conditions difficult for her and she moved out.

But, when the apartment next door became available, I told her about it so I am the reason why she is not still homeless, Sister. But then she started inviting all sorts of strange men over and spending the night with them. I tried to tell her that that was not respectful behaviour and then she really started acting crazy. She hates me now and is a miserable, lonely, psychopathic hermit. I really hope you get some satisfaction from that, Sister.

The bottom line is we’re all Sisters and even though she hates me, I love both of you. Sometimes, love can be such a complicated and sensitive issue. But the truth is, all of our histories were written 15,000 years ago, Sister. We are just living out what has already been predicted. The Best Thing We Can Do Is Submit To Allah’s (God’s) Will and Plan For Our Lives.

He Is The Best Planner And He Loves Us. The ONLY Way To Find True Peace and Happiness in Life Is Just To Submit To What Was Already Written. I Believe You Have Done That, My Dear Beloved Sister And I Pray Allah Continues To Bless You With Peace of Mind and Contentment.”

And I sent a video of my neighbor acting crazy.

I met up with the Brother again at the bus stop. He was MUCH older than I am. He said he graduated from Locke in 1969 and that he knew Patrice and Ndugu. Anyway, we talked and he told me that Sly Stone used to be a D.J. on some radio station up North and that his was the first integrated group.

I started telling him how he (Sly) was a SELLOUT. The Brother disputed with me saying he could make more money that way. I told him that that is the definition of a SELLOUT. I’m sorry, but that’s probably why Sly is in the condition he’s in now. Living in a trailer parked somewhere in Leimert.

Was it worth it, Sly?

So, when I got home, I was pretty much in shock. And my camera wouldn’t play any of the videos and wouldn’t let me see any of the pictures. I had to delete all of my picture and all but two videos just to get it to work! The two above, I just happened to send to Facebook right after I took them.

Sometimes, Allah won’t let me look at footage I have taken. That’s what happened the last time I videotaped my Honey-Stick. Somebody stole my camera before I had a chance to view the footage. My life…

Later on that night, I remembered something I had seen in this documentary about Charlie Parker. After he found out his daughter had died, he kept sending telegrams to his wife because he was in L.A., I think. Anyway, I thought it would be cool and piquant to send my Honey-Stick a telegram too. So, I Googled it and at first all I could find were singing telegrams and I didn’t want that. But eventually, I found a reputable telegram service. I wrote down the name and put it on the “back-burner.”

So, yesterday (Sunday, the Jazz Fest was Saturday. Now, it is Monday night/Tuesday morning) I’m still buggin’ out over everything that happened at the Jazz Festival and I’m starting to just accept that our lives parallel somewhat. So, I decide to go ahead and watch “Forget Me Nots” again. It has been a few years since I’ve seen it, I guess. And I wanted to watch it immediately after the Jazz Fest, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. You see how long it’s taken for me to write this blog!

finally, I sat down to watch it and the first thing I see is someone in a bellhop styled uniform ringing a doorbell with a telegram in her hand. I freaked out. This type of stuff happens almost every day to some degree in my life, but I’m still not used to it. That’s why everybody is scared of me. I gave up a long time ago trying to be normal though. Take me or leave me.

As I write this, “My One And Only Love” is playing on my Internet Radio station. It shocks me a little, but what can I do? But submit?

I think about my Honey-Stick and how he is in love with his enemy. But I know I will NEVER love anyone else. No matter what. I always thought about it from the perspective of if I gave up and married one of these men who would love to have me as their wife. I would always be wondering, “What if he changes his mind???” Marriage is sacred and when I get married, I’m going to do it the way Allah ordained (for life and for fidelity). So, marrying someone else is out of the question. I can’t marry anybody but him. And I had/have no problem with the possibility of loving him unrequitedly until I die.

But, after bearing witness to Sister Patrice’s life, I started seriously thinking about what if he dies? I’ve seen enough people die to know that life goes on regardless. Then and only then will I even contemplate marrying someone else. Our Nation will live forever, regardless. Just like Abdul, my Honey-Stick knows how I feel. And I’m always going to feel this way, but our situation is different in that his life is at stake.

So, before I can even express my love, I have to get him out of the line of fire and I mean REAL FIRE. America is going to be burned up and all I can do is show and prove. It’s up to Allah for him to accept it. And I know time is running out. I see the signs. If I go places and see more inter-racial couples than Black couples, I know it’s the end. And to be Truthful, I’m ready.

My daughter has rejected Islam. My son has rejected Islam and my one and only love is rejecting Islam. I’m going to continue to give him the Teachings as long as Allah Gives him time since I can’t marry any one else.  But it’s not easy.

A PROGRAM FOR SELF DEVELOPMENT

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

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Message to the Blackman

CHAPTER 76

A PROGRAM FOR SELF-DEVELOPMENT

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     We must remember that we just cannot depend on the white race ever to do that which we can and should do for self. The American so-called Negroes are like the Bible story of Lazarus and the rich man, the story that Jesus must have foreseen at the time. This Bible beggar was charmed by the wealth of the rich man to whom he was a servant, and he could not make up his mind to go seek something for self.

     This beggar was offered a home in Paradise but could not make up his mind to leave the gate of his master, the rich man, wishing for that which God had in store for destruction along with its owner. The beggar’s eyes could not turn from that perishable wealth. So it is with the American Negroes; they are charmed by the luxury of their slave-master, and cannot make up their minds to seek for self something of this good earth, though hated and despised by the rich man and full of sores caused by the evil treatment of the rich man. On top of that, he is chased by the rich man’s dogs and still remains a beggar at the gate, though the gates of Paradise were ever open to him and the gates of hell were open to receive his rich master.

     The American Negroes have the same gates of Paradise open to them but are charmed by the wealth of America and cannot see the great opportunity that lies before them. They are suffering untold injustices at the hands of the rich; they have been and still are being lynched and burned; they and their women and children are beaten all over the country, by the rich slave-masters and their children. The slaves’ houses and churches are bombed by the slave-masters; their girls are used as prostitutes and at times are raped in public. Yet the Negroes are on their knees begging the rich man to treat them as the rich man treats himself and his kind. The poor beggar kindly asks for the crumbs, a job and a house in the neighborhood of the rich man.

     The Negro leaders are frightened to death and are afraid to ask for anything other than a job. The good things of this earth could be theirs if they would only unite and acquire wealth as the masters and the other independent nations have. The Negroes could have all of this if they could get up and go to work for self. They are far too lazy as a Nation — 100 years up from slavery and still looking to the master to care for them and give them a job, bread and a house to live in on the master’s land. You should be ashamed of yourselves, surely the white race has been very good in the way of making jobs for their willing slaves, but this cannot go on forever; we are about at the end of it and must do something for SELF or else.

     The slave-master has given you enough education to go and do for self, but this education is not being used for self; it is even offered back to the slave-masters to help them to keep you a dependent people looking to them for support. Let us unite every good that is in us for the uplifting of the American so-called Negroes to the equal of the world’s independent nations. Ask for a start for self and the American white people, I believe, are willing to help give us a start if they see you and I are willing to do for self. It would remove from them not only the worry of trying to give jobs and schools to a lazy people but also would get them honor and sincere friendship all over the Asiatic world and God, Himself, would prolong their time on the earth.

     We must stop relying upon the white man to care for us. We must become an independent people. So-called Negroes should:

     1. Separate yourselves from the “slave-master.”

     2. Pool your resources, education and qualifications for independence.

     3. Stop forcing yourselves into places where you are not wanted.

     4. Make your own neighborhood a decent place to live.

     5. Rid yourselves of the lust of wine and drink and learn to love self and your kind before loving others.

     6. Unite to create a future for yourself.

     7. Build your own homes, schools, hospitals, and factories.

     8. Do not seek to mix your blood through racial integration.

     9. Stop buying expensive cars, fine clothes and shoes before being able to live in a fine home.

     10. Spend your money among yourselves.

     11. Build an economic system among yourselves.

     12. Protect your women.

     Stop allowing the white men to shake hands or speak to your women anytime or anywhere. This practice has ruined us. They wink their eye at your daughter after coming into your home — but you cannot go on the North side and do the same with his women.

     No black man feels good — by nature — seeing a white man with a Negro woman. We have all colors in our race — red, yellow, brown, and jet black — why should we need a white person?

     Africans would not dare allow their women to be the targets that we allow ours to be.

     If I were not protected by Allah (God), how would I be able to stand before this white man unafraid and speak as I do.

     You educators, you Christian ministers should stop preaching integration. The most foolish thing an educator can do is to preach interracial marriage. It shows the white man you want to be white.

     Educators should teach our people of the great history that was theirs before they were brought to America in shackles by slave-masters.

     Our children should be trained in our own schools, not dropped into the schools of the enemy where they are taught that whites have been and forever will be world rulers.

     I am the first man since the death of Yakub commissioned by God directly. I say no more than what Jesus said. He said that he came from God. I say that I am missioned by God.

 ****YOU CAN READ THIS BOOK IN ITS ENTIRETY HERE.****

EARLY R&B PROTEST SONG

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Sisters,

This song was banned from the radio. I say it enough to make you nauseous. BOYCOTT THE MEDIA. The white-dominated media, next to Christianity, is the primary cause of our self-hate. There is NOTHING of good on the television, radio, magazines, newspapers, books, movies, billboards and anything else I missed, for the Asiatic Black Nation in the Wilderness of North America or anywhere else on the Earth.

This song was our way of voicing our protest over the murderous actions of the Ku Klux Klan towards our own people and the devils BANNED it as if WE were the ones committing murder!

It’s just like if a white person attacks a Black person every thing is cool until the Black person starts fighting back. Then they send out the National Guard to arrest the BLACK PERSON!

The white race is a race of devils. All Praise is Due To Allah, Master Fard Muhammad, for The Honorable Elijah Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him). You will believe Us one of these days.

Universal made this cartoon.

Believe me now?

THE CENTRAL AVENUE JAZZ FESTIVAL

 بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

CENTRAL AVE

 As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Beautiful and Jazzy Black Sisters, 

Central Avenue will forever be known as the place where Black social life in Los Angeles got its name. It was affectionately known as “Little Harlem” due to the influx of Black musicians, actors, athletes, politicians and socialites.

In memory of this Golden Era in Los Angeles History, Ms. Rosie Lee Hooks, back in 1996, started the Central Avenue Jazz Festival.

Now, it has been overtaken by politicians and commercializers disguised as sponsors who are openly exploiting Black Culture.

Nevertheless, there are some bands I want to see. Patrice Rushen and Ndugu Chancler (the Brother who played drums on “Billie Jean”) and some other people you’ve probably never even heard of. (sigh)

I’m sorry if I’m not even attempting to hide the disgust and frustration in my writing, but I went to their website and there’s a little boy, who’s not even Black on the background picture. Every page I went to, there he was. I’m getting disgusted just thinking about it. Why can’t we have anything ALL-BLACK?!?!!!!!

Then there are all of these corporate sponsors and I feel like our little neighborhood get-together is becoming a platform for everybody and their other-than-Black mama to take a bite out of our music. I wasn’t even going to post this because devils read it (my blog). :/

The Messenger (PBUH) taught us that they wanted to hear his teachings, but he would not allow them into his lectures. They KNOW that what he taught us is the Truth. But it is not for them. It is for the Little Black Slave Baby being born into The Truth that will make him FREE. All Praise is due to Allah.

He also even taught us that they used to try and JOIN the Nation. They would write the “Saviour’s Letter” that you had to write to join back in the day, but our Saviour, Master Fard Muhammad, to Whom Praises are due forever, could tell that the person was a devil and they would separate those letters from the ones written by His Chosen People, The So-Called Negroes.

But you know devils do not care. A devil even liked this post. That goes to show their arrogance of ownership of this doomed world. She can have it. They act like they are going to live forever but I know better. They will not tell you the Truth of themselves nor of the time that we are living in – the end of their time. But I will. You will kill them all yourself, right now if you knew the Truth of them, Sisters (and Brothers).

WE, THE SO-CALLED AMERICAN NEGROES, ARE GOING TO BE THE RULERS IN THE NEXT LIFE.

The devil knows this but they are not going to just give up the seat of authority that they are in. They are going to hang on and try to deceive you into thinking they are going to rule forever as long as they can AND try to deceive you into going to Hell with them. But I am going to tell you the TRUTH and let me assure you, My Black Sisters (and Brothers) Their Time Is Up!!! The only reason they haven’t been destroyed yet is because of The Black Nation’s slow-awakening into the Knowledge of Self, God (Allah) and the devil (Caucasians).

Fly to Allah! He is your only refuge from the destruction coming to America. Read MESSAGE TO THE BLACKMAN IN AMERICA BELIEVE IT! PRACTICE IT. AND TELL EVERYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW (BLACK PEOPLE) TO READ IT, BELIEVE IT AND PRACTICE IT. SO ALLAH CAN HURRY UP AND DESTROY THEM.

I HATE SEEING DEVILS IN OUR COMMUNITY AT OUR EVENTS.

BUT WHAT I HATE EVEN MORE IS SEEING MY OWN BLIND, DEAF AND DUMB, MENTALLY DEAD BROTHERS AND SISTERS HAPPY TO SEE THEM THERE.

IT’S ENOUGH TO MAKE ME SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But, despite all of this, I’m going, In Sha Allah (If it Pleases Allah), so I can do my duty and Teach Separation to my people who are willing to listen, and I can listen to some good LIVE Jazz, which is my FAVORITE thing to do……….. :)

Here’s the lineup.

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