Did She Just Play Me?
By kittycleopatra | November 19, 2008
So I’m at the grocery store, it’s just after five so it’s crowded as usual. The woman behind me just threatened her son with a “time out” for opening a pack of pre-prepared cupcakes and licking one of them. Her basket is a little too close for my taste, but in her defense there’s no where for her to go. Or me for that matter but luckily I’m next in line. I’m just waiting behind a couple to finish up at the seafood counter so I can take my turn.
<——————insert elevator music here——————->
Finally it’s my turn, and two half pound salmon fillets later I’m on my way to the register. Turning the corner I made the mistake of getting distracted by a counter covered in cupcakes…I blame the boy. Just as I resisted the temptation to “lick the frosting” I turned around to see that there was an older lady coming around he corner from the opposite direction but instead of continuing to pass me or stopping short to let me pass she stopped right in front of me. She smiled, I smiled. I maneuvered a little to the left to give her room to pass, even though she already had it. She didn’t move. She looked down at my feet and then back up to my face, smiled and said “Girl, those boots are serious! The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes protruded as her cheeks raised with her smile. She tilted her head to the side, “you’re so cute with your pretty shape and smile.” she said. Flattered, I smiled, and replied “Thank you” and before I could say anything else she continued, “I remember when I was younger, before I was saved, I would put on boots like that and a little skirt–shooosh!” “Couldn’t tell me nothing, but that was before I was saved.” “I would have to tip toe real fast across the parking lot to get to the club because it was so cold.” she continued. (What the??) I just smiled and said “I’m sure you were a force to be reckoned with, you have a good night.” Before she could say anything else I slide my ass around that corner.
#1-I was wearing a trench coat. Soooo, aside from the fact that my coat was belted, there wasn’t much of my “cute little shape” in view. Did she think I was wearing only lingerie under it or something? (I’ve never done that….) My hair was in a bun, scarf around my neck, earlobes bare, what was it that screamed “going to the club?”
#2-Why was she referencing the status of her soul in relation to my boots? Was she implying that my boots were tools of the devil? Because I enjoy stilettos I’m in league with Satan? Had her stilettos once led her down some dark path that’s caused her to have a permanent hedonistic impression of all fly-a$$-heels?
Did seeing my five inch black suede babies actually conjure memories of her in the club making it do what it do back in 84′ or was she trying to play me?
slick $hit
Topics: Random as Hell | 1 Comment »
Two Left Shoes
By kittycleopatra | November 16, 2008
You court certain types of bullshit when you write about your life on a blog. Especially from the people you may write about. That said, today I don’t give a fuck.
Names,etc. have been changed…because I don’t need those phone calls. Obviously I’m paraphrasing this situation. To the best of my recollection.
The phone woke me up. Nothing makes the attitude shitty quicker than being awoken by my phone. I suppose It’s my own fault, don’t want it to ring? Turn it off. It’s two thirty in the morning. So who is calling me two hours past the booty call cut off? Caller I.D says *Rea. Uh-oh, something must be wrong. Rea was one of my best friends, easily my best female friend. We were probably too close. Close like, you know why they could never marry a politician. Close like you already know the DNA results. Close like, there’s that picture of them doing you know what– at that place where they didn’t have no damn business being and if anyone ever found out, the shit would hit the fan…and your the one who took the picture. Or, that time they fell on their ass crossing the street and you both laughed until tears streamed down your face as cars passed by honking for you to get your silly asses out the way. (I might have been the one that fell…) The kind of close where you can call them and spaz the fuck out for no reason and they don’t even ask what’s wrong because they already know you just need to blow of steam. You just know way too much shit about them and vice versa. Figuring something must be going on between Rea and her on again off again boyfriend; I sat up and prepared myself for the lack of sleep I was going to be getting. If I had to stay up and comfort my girl, so be it. That’s what friends are for after all.
“Hey you, is everything okay?” I asked. “Yeah fine, sorry it’s so late.” She said. She sounds happy… “Late?” “You mean early right?” “It’s two thirty, I hope you want something!” I said irritated as hell. (Friends are not spared the wrath) “Calm down grumpy ass! I’ve got news.” She said. Her words were full of anticipation. She sounded like she couldn’t wait to get them out…she was excited. Not, “I just won the lottery excited”, somewhere in between “I just landed a great job/new car/sexy date” excited and “Boris Kodjoe is leaving his wife for me” excited. “Okay, Rea.” “Spill it,” I said, fully awake and headed to the kitchen for a little thirst quenching. “Weeelllllllll.” She said, drawing out the word with her southern boughetto accent, “You know I went up to Avery* today, right?” “Yes.” I replied between gulps. Mmmm…Iced tea. Lipton not Long Island. Nice and cold. “Well, I was having lunch outside at Barelli* and I saw Marcus*” (Insert ominous music here) Had she really called me at two thirty in the damn morning to tell me she saw Marcus? I don’t give a damn. Let me be clear—I DON’T GIVE A GOOD COTDAYUM. Before I give you the cliff notes on Marcus, let me preface them with this statement. WHAT I’m about to say may feel bitter; I assure you it’s not. It’s just over, (it’s been over a long time! Let old shit go people!) It’s not warm and fuzzy, it’s not necessarily cold, it’s just short—short but cordial, and it’s most definitely a wrap. And appropriately so. I don’t wish ill on anyone; I love myself too much for that. I could just do without ANY updates, feel me? No? Keep reading I’ll see if I can change your mind.
Long story very short, Marcus* is an ex of several years, who systematically broke my heart into tiny fragments while turning my entire world on its ear in the worst way. And though there are two sides to a story and two players in a relationship, I swear the fault does not lie with me. And last year when I ran into him he made it a point to tell me so.(As if I was unaware of that fact. smdh) I played my position. And none of that matters today nor will it tomorrow; it’s a done deal. So understand that my irritation which is bordering on anger at this point is only indirectly involving Marcus. My current quandary is with Rea. How many times had she been with me as pretend friends, acquaintances, and random strangers called and texted me all types of assorted nonsense? Random women calling and laughing on my phone. She knew in intimate detail what kind of previously unimaginable buffoonery I had been subjected to. Who did I turn to? Her. I had made the decision to isolate myself and she was the only other person allowed on the island. She would lie and tell people I was okay when I was oh’ so far from it. She’d tell them whatever they needed to hear actually, whatever would make them stop asking. She once came to my house bearing three prepaid cell phones, as I kept breaking my phones (on purpose) and was in repetitive need of new phone numbers. She knew better than anyone, that if I never heard a peep that referenced that particular section of my life, it was all gravy, baby.
“He was eating with a few people, one chick and two dudes.” She continued. “The chick was not even cute—” “Really Rea?” “Really?” I interrupted. “This can’t be what you called me for” “Tell me after you saw him you choked on a chicken bone and the Rock (I was referring to sexilicious Duane Johnson, yes sir.) appeared from nowhere and gave you the Heimlich and rode with you as were rushed to the hospital.” “Tell me you two eloped and got married in Vegas, tell me something”. But I don’t want to hear that other shit” Now, I know that may have been a bit much, and I assure you, I’m not nearly as melodramatic as it seems. It was two damn thirty in he morning and she woke me up for that shit? C’mon.
“Will you let me finish?” Damn” She huffed. “He saw me and came over to my table. He asked if he could sit down, and I said that I didn’t see the point in that. He said he just wanted to say hello. Mind you, he sat down while he was saying that.” “He asked how I had been, and you know I stopped his ass right then” “I said nicca, you don’t give a damn how I’ve been. We both know why you’re over here.” “And he just laughed and then he was like, “Well how is she?” I was like, wow, you care?” He was like “Hell yeah I care, blah blah blah” “He said I was always making it seem like he was a monster and blowing things out of proportion.” At this point I considered putting the phone down. I could feel myself getting warm and I was angry that it bothered me so much, but I still for the life of me can’t figure out why she was telling me this crap. “I cursed his ass out and told him he could keep it moving” She said, sounding satisfied. I know for a fact that’s a lie, there’s no way my friend, Rea, the one of us most concerned with the proprietary, would ever cause a public scene. She may have cursed at him but she certainly didn’t curse him out. And, yes—there’s a difference. She continued to recount their encounter in astounding detail. She knew what brand of jeans he was wearing, his shoes too. Why was she looking at his shoes? She went on and on about the size of the diamonds in his ears, I’m surprised she hadn’t counted how many were in his watch because I know she looked. “He looked good, girl.” She said, “He eyes looked so sad when I said your name out loud” “I think he’s sorry” She didn’t say anything for a couple seconds, and neither did I. My mind raced. How did I get here? Am I being “punked”? Had this woman not been there to help me move in with a “friend” who was also his “friend” (LONG story–dumbest thing I’ve ever done) had she not sat across from me as I sat dazed and motionless for an hour? Didn’t she beg me to move to **** and stay with her? How could she possibly think I would want any parts of this conversation? Yes, time heals wounds, but that doesn’t mean you need to be all up and through the bullshit again. Baffled, I said “Rea, I’m going to bed now.” “No, wait–”she said. “I know what your probably thinking. I can’t believe she called me for this shit” she said, imitating my voice” (Imitating me pretty well, too) “…this was different” “He was different” “So much shit was said”— I cut her off, “Oh my God, what the hell is going on with you?” I said, half laughing and rubbing my forehead. My bare feet felt cold on the kitchen floor. “Something is wrong with you,” she said. “You’re on some old shit” “That was a long damn time ago” “That nicca knows what he missed now, at least get something out of it” “Remember how much you left on the table?” “I don’t understand working harder when you don’t have to” “You’re on some small shit right now” “I’m going to assume your acting like this because you’re sleepy” she lamented. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take ‘em.” (Dun da Dahhhhhhh, yes. She actually said that.) Then she immediately started talking about some party that was going to happen that weekend and who was going to be there and why I should be too. Whoa, was my damn near bougiest friend really the on the phone sounding like a straight up bamma bird, right now? I laughed aloud. “What’s so funny?” She asked. “I’m laughing out of amazement.” I replied. My friend once very grounded friend, was blinded. Blinded by diamonds, money cars and houses. I won’t front, I had been there too(and trust I was swiftly brought back to Earth. As much as I love shiny things and expensive shoes—They’re just stuff-and stuff is replaceable. If someone who spends 2k on one pair of jeans buys you jewelry and fly’s you all over, they can afford it. Big deal-don’t be fooled. Because someone spends cash on you does not mean they love you. They’re trying to buy you like a railroad in monopoly. Okay, not always but certainly often. (And if you like it, more damn power to you. But call it what it is.) Now there’s a difference between a guy spoiling his lady and buying her, (My brother say’s a the difference between a KING and a Pauper is that a KING comes bearing gifts…no wonder I’m so spoiled.) and there’s a difference between a woman enjoying material gifts and possessions and a woman dating/pursuing someone for that reason alone. If a man works Monday through Saturday and only has Sunday off but he spends it with you, that means a lot more…but I digress) How could she be so dense? (And disrespectful, as far as I’m concerned) “I don’t know what happened to you today, but you’re not right.” I said. “I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation. You call me at the crack of dawn, I thought something was wrong.” “Little did I know you’re bringing up some really old shit out of the blue” I wondered whether or not if she possibly thought I was sad over my recent semi-breakup (It’s a weird situation…more on that later…maybe). I don’t think I have given anyone that impression. While I was still struggling to find reason in her words she replied, “Look girl, the past is the past” Why don’t you…” “Yes the past is the past,” I said talking over her again. “Kitty!” She yelled (My government name) trying to get my attention, as if she didn’t already have it.
As I ended this lame as exchange once and for all, the figurative light bulb went on. We still did things together when in the same cities. We still talked and confided in each other (sort of), but over the last year our conversations had been sifted like flour. Once filled with our dreams, struggles, goals and ideas, to now just random everyday bullshit, chitchat, shopping, entertainment and gossip. Gossip I don’t need to be frank. Now a little is okay. But once we regulated it to just a couple minutes, (can’t let bullshit ruin your mood) and what’s the harm in a little bit of B.S right? Well, now it’s like she has nothing else to talk about except what someone else did, has, is about to get, wants, stole or who they are screwing and/or screwing over. None of which these days includes me. I have left the drama behind. Now I won’t lie, I dip my toe in the pool to test the temp every now and again, but I don’t swim. (Ain’t getting my hair wet, laugh at the contrived stereotype all you want) I have associates that fill the 1-800-Party/Bullshit/Drama/I’m bored as hell/What’s the 411 role. She’s supposed to be an ‘actual’ friend. We have become watered down. We’re a flat Pepsi. And considering her march into oblivion with that Marcus bullshit I don’t think the bubbles will come back. That night it was him, the next night it would have been something else to put on display how far apart we’d grown. That said, this kitty cat needed her sleep so I went to bed. I’ve put thought into that night and our overall situation since then. We’ve talked. But not really “talked”. A pair of shoes, now just two lefts. I’m kind of sad. But not too damn sad. I’ve had a toxic friendship before but that chick was crazy (Crazy as hell..throwing bricks threw her BF’s windows, sugar in your tank, crazy). Can you continue to be around and or communicate with someone who brings you down? Or just seems to bring drama to your door? No. I don’t think so anyway. I just never thought this would be a door I’d have to shut. So, with that said, into oblivion you must go.
x.o.x.o.
if you don’t want him, I’ll take ‘em….Wow.
Topics: Life | 4 Comments »
I’m Sorry
By kittycleopatra | November 9, 2008
For neglecting you. I know that I have not been on my blogging “A” game lately, and I promise that very very soon we’re going to spend a lot of time together. I just have a lot of stuff going on and I need to get that crap together so I can devote the proper amount of attention to you. (Just realized I sound like a lying girlfriend..smdh) I have so much to say, and much to catch you up on, but I can’t tonight. So bare with me.
I swear I’m not a lazy a$$. Honestly, I haven’t quite recovered from the “We have a black president” party from the other night,(and the “party because we feel like partying” party from this weekend) but that’s not an excuse. I’m going to call write you this week! I swear! He’s just a friend! I don’t know why he left his jacket here!…whew! flashback. (I’ve never used that line before, by the way) Anywho we’ll talk soon, I’ve got a stockpile of shyt that needs my attention tomorrow. Don’t be mad with me…you know you’re the only one.
Hey,doesn’t this guy kinda look like a………………a lady’s special friend? You know what I’m talking about, don’t play Forrest Gump.(LOVE that movie btw, LOVE it.) 
naughty Kitty
Topics: Life and Lifestyles, Really Though | 5 Comments »
One Giant Step…
By kittycleopatra | November 4, 2008
Okay I erased my rant from earlier because
WE DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously, I cried like a newborn when they announced Barack’s win. I can’t even believe how emotional I got. I’m going to need a box of tissue for his inauguration! Oh my God! I’m still in shock, I can’t believe it!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so happy, I actually woke up this morning thinking that I need to have a child so one day I can tell them that I voted in the election that brought forth America’s first black president! The first thing I did was scream, (on the phone with one of my brothers at the time) then I called my mom, she screamed, I screamed. There’s so much I want to say, but I’m going to step back and try and get my emotion’s under control.
I hate to go here right away, but I’ve heard way too much of this “racism doesn’t exist because we have a black president shit” hinted in the media. Don’t trip people. The official tally wasn’t even done yet, and now we’re all square? Me ‘tink not. Don’t put blinders on, but enjoy this victory!!!! The work isn’t over though.
Barack is coming into the office with the highest expectations EVER. This will not be an instant gratification presidency. There is a lot that needs to happen, and he can’t do it all alone. Be patient, and be realistic and be aware. America took a step last night, but we aren’t down the stairs yet.
Topics: Current Affairs, Droppin' Knowledge, History | 1 Comment »
Voting is a Right-Excercise Yours!
By kittycleopatra | November 3, 2008
So many people have fought for the right to vote. I didn’t earn it it was just a gift given to me by those that came before me. You have the right to have a say in how your country is ran, a right to decide who should represent you! As much as I feel like the government is fucked up, and although there is much to be done, won’t be done overnight or may not be done in a four year term, don’t use that as an excuse to sit on your ass and do nothing! Progress has to begin somewhere. Don’t let things happen to you! Be apart of the process! Your vote does matter! This is your chance to effect change in government! VOTE! VOTE!! YES WE CAN!
Important Notes:
*Do not wear any candidate gear to the polls, no shirts, buttons, nothing. It is illegal to “campaign” within a certain distance of a polling place, and you will be turned away.
*If you encounter ANY fuckery at the polls with crooked ass voting officials call: 800-our-vote! Don’t get discouraged! The snakes will be out.
*The lines are going to be bananas! Expect it and plan for it. Wear some comfortable shoes. Bring some fruit snacks, your ipod, water and get comfortable. BE PATIENT!!! It will be worth it! Don’t give up!!
I have discussed some of my views, apprehension and fears, but later for that shit. I will post on all of that again after it’s decided. People of all walks of life want change, but don’t let it fool you. There’s a lot of misdirection going on. We don’t have this thing “won”. It’s not over until the ballots are counted.
Let’s make history!
x.o.x.o
Topics: Current Affairs, Government & Politics, History | No Comments »
My New Ish– “Make Purple”
By kittycleopatra | November 2, 2008
Here’s my latest entitled, “Make purple”. I haven’t varnished it yet. Can’t decide between high gloss and matte. It’s one of the largest pieces I’ve done thus far (3ft by 3ft). It’s simple and clean, hope you like it.
Make purple 
x.o.x.o
Topics: Art, My Paintings/Sketches | 2 Comments »
Remember: “Blind Tom Wiggins”
By kittycleopatra | November 2, 2008
Born on May 25, 1849, Tom Wiggins had a condition that with our current medical advances, would have probably been diagnosed as an “autistic savant” (like Dustin Hoffman’s character in the film Rain Man)–one of only about 100 cases recorded in medical history. Unfortunately little was known about autism in his time and he was just thought of as blind negro boy, strangely talented and consumed by idiocy. Tom’s father Domingo Wiggins, a field slave, and his mother Charity Greene were purchased at auction by James Bethune of Columbus, Georgia when Tom was an infant. Domingo and Charity’s former master thought the blind sickly “pickaninny” had no labor potential and he was thrown into the sale as a no cost extra. Although Tom’s parents were married, the prevailing custom of the time dictated that female slaves and their children retain the names of their owners. Following slavery tradition, Tom received the name Thomas Greene Bethune or Thomas Wiggins Bethune (according to different sources).
For the first several years of his life, Tom’s only sign of human intelligence was his interest in sounds–any sound–and an uncanny ability to mimic them. Charity was allowed to bring Tom with her to the main house where she worked for the Bethune family–a family of seven musically talented children who overflowed their home with singing and piano playing. When the Bethune children practiced their piano lessons, Tom listened. Once given access to the keyboard by himself, Tom astounded the family–his small hands and fingers able to reproduce the sequence of chords from his memory exactly as he had heard them played. General Bethune told Charity that her son had as much intelligence as the family dog and he began teaching Tom to respond to animal commands like “sit” and “stand.” Members of the Bethune family delighted in teaching their family pet the names of objects that he could feel and smell.
By age of six Tom started improvising on the piano and creating his own musical compositions. He claimed the wind, or the rain, or the birds had taught him the melody. Even though a local music teacher told Bethune that Tom’s musical abilities were beyond comprehension and his best course of action was simply to let him hear fine playing, Bethune provided Tom with various music instructors. One of Tom’s music teachers later reported that Tom could learn skills in a few hours that required other musicians years to perfect. In October 1857, General Bethune rented a concert hall in Columbus and for the first time “Blind Tom” performed before a large audience that had difficulty comprehending how a blind idiotic slave child could master the piano keyboard.
Slaves with musical talent meant income for their owners and in 1858 James Bethune “hired out” Tom to concert promoter Perry Oliver for a period of several years. It has been estimated that Bethune pocketed $15,000 from the arrangement and that Perry Oliver made profits amounting to $50,000. Tom, now age nine, was separated from his family and exhibited throughout hundreds of cities on a rigorous four-shows-per-day schedule.
Not only could Tom perform world classics, he would astound his audiences by turning his back to the piano and giving an exact repetition–a reversal of the keys the left and right hands played. Musicians in the audience were invited to challenge Tom to a musical duel. Tom could successfully reproduce on the keyboard any piece of music a challenger would first perform. And taking that feat one step further–Tom could play a perfect bass accompaniment to the treble played by someone seated beside him–heard for the first time as he played it. Tom would often push the other performer aside and repeat the entire composition alone. When audiences applauded, Tom followed suit–mimicking the sounds of approval.
After hearing the battle(Civil war:Battle of Manassas,) discussed for several weeks, Tom sat down at the piano and produced a composition incorporating melodies representing the Union Army, the Confederate Army, and Confederate and Union leaders Beauregard and McDowell. The composition became a popular signature piece and a favorite with concert audiences in the South. One surviving account of his performance at Camp Magnum appeared in the North Carolina Fayetteville Observer for May 19, 1862:
“The blind negro Tom has been performing here to a crowded house….He performs many pieces of his own conception– one, his “Battle of Manassas,” may be called picturesque and sublime, a true conception of unaided, blind musical genius…. This poor blind boy is cursed with but little of human nature; he seems to be an unconscious agent acting as he is acted on, and his mind a vacant receptacle where Nature’s stores her jewels to recall them at her pleasure.”
General Bethune’s sons enlisted in the Confederate army and in 1862 the General himself took up managing and traveling with Tom–always attempting to keep far south of the Union army lines and out of the line of fire. Word of Blind Tom was kept alive in the North by noted writers such as Rebecca Harding Davis who tantalized readers of the prestigious Atlantic Monthly with a report of Tom’s abilities. Davis reported a childishness about Tom that required coaxing and promises of cake and candy before he would perform; she also noted, “Some beautiful caged spirit, one could not but know, struggled for breath under that brutal form and idiotic brain.”
Foreseeing that the South would soon fall to Union domination, General Bethune arranged for Domingo and Charity to sign a contract giving him management of Tom until he reached the age of 21. Tom would receive food, shelter, musical instruction, and an allowance of $20 a month. The surviving parents were to receive $500 a year plus food and shelter. Bethune would retain over 90 percent of the remaining profits from Tom’s performances. Conservative estimates place that amount at $18,000 a year. After the War’s end, Tom was dispatched upon another tour, which included appearances in major cities of the Northern states. One of the first in New Albany, IN, became a monumental news event.
After the War’s end, Tom, who never knew he was free because he had never actually known he was a Negro slave, was launched upon another tour which included appearances in major cities of the Northern states. One of the first in New Albany, Indiana sparked a monumental news event. Tabbs Gross, an entertainment promoter sometimes described as the nation’s black P. T. Barnum, came forward claiming Bethune had accepted his down payment toward an agreed upon $20,000 in gold for possession of Blind Tom. He further claimed Bethune later changed his mind without returning his full down payment. The Bethune entourage, with Tom in tow, hastily exited New Albany and fled to Ohio.
Tabbs Gross and his lawyer pursued the Bethunes into Ohio and the civil case for ownership of Blind Tom’s services came to court in Cincinnati with a flurry of newspaper attention lasting well over a week during July 1865. Medical examiners who interviewed sixteen year old Tom reported that he was extremely emotional and “might become combative if taken from those who were then treating him so kindly.” When the examiners asked Tom how he as able to play so well, he only responded “God taught Tom.” In this case of a black man pitted against a white man for possession of a Negro youngster, the judge rendered the decision in favor of Bethune. Newspaper coverage from far and wide concerning the case provided a wildfire of publicity and fanned the flames of public desire to see “Blind Tom.”
In 1869 Tom’s path crossed that of Mark Twain who was traveling across the country on his own lecture tour. Twain, who was also writing for the San Francisco Alta California newspaper, reported that he attended Tom’s concert three nights in succession. From Mark Twain’s first hand account of Tom’s performance:
“He lorded it over the emotions of his audience like an autocrat. He swept them like a storm, with his battle-pieces; he lulled them to rest again with melodies as tender as those we hear in dreams; he gladdened them with others that rippled through the charmed air as happily and cheerily as the riot the linnets make in California woods; and now and then he threw in queer imitations of the tuning of discordant harps and fiddles, and the groaning and wheezing of bag-pipes, that sent the rapt silence into tempests of laughter. And every time the audience applauded when a piece was finished, this happy innocent joined in and clapped his hands, too, and with vigorous emphasis.”
Upon Tom’s twenty-first birthday and end of his indentured contract, General Bethune played another legal trump card and requested that the courts declare Tom legally insane and appoint himself as legal guardian. The courts complied. Tom continued to perform. Throughout his life Blind Tom would tour Great Britain, Scotland, Europe, Canada, the Rocky Mountain states, the far West, and South America. His repertoire included up to 7,000 pieces with approximately 100 of his own composition and he had added the coronet, French horn, and flute to his list of mastered instruments. His life consisted of concert stages, hotel rooms, and train rides. Tom’s social graces remained undeveloped. He usually ate his meals in seclusion and required assistance in dressing before appearing onstage before his audiences.
On July 30, 1887, a federal court ordered General Bethune to surrender Tom at Arlington, VA, into the hands of Charity and the General’s former daughter-in-law, Eliza Bethune. Newspapers reported Tom, disappointed and grief stricken at the thought of having to leave Virginia and the old General, was threatening to “fight them all.” On the date of surrender, General Bethune’s son, James, brought Tom to the courtroom. The family, which had made a fortune estimated at $750,000 at the hands of Blind Tom, gave possession of him over to his mother, Charity, a mother he hardly knew. Tom, who brought with him nothing more than his wardrobe and a silver flute, offered no resistance when he boarded the train to leave Virginia for New York and a home with Eliza.
One month later, Tom was again on the concert stage showing no signs of emotional trauma from his latest custody battle. Now a source of income for Eliza who promoted him as “the last slave set free by order of the Supreme Court of the United States,” Tom’s performances continued throughout the United States and Canada. He now performed under his father’s surname as Thomas Greene Wiggins. With the exception of his brief reunion with Charity, who soon returned to Georgia, nothing else had changed. Tom spent the remainder of his life in the care of Eliza, continuing his performances, concerts, and vaudeville acts until 1904.
His last days were spent in seclusion playing the piano and holding imaginary receptions. Tom died at age 59 on June 13, 1908, at Eliza’s home in Hoboken. Mystery surrounds Blind Tom’s final resting place. Some historians related that in a final victory for custody of Tom 20 years after his death, Fannie Bethune, the youngest surviving daughter of James Bethune, received permission to move Tom’s body back to his old home in Georgia. They give his final resting place as the old Westmoreland Plantation just outside of Columbus, GA, where a historical marker has been erected.
Sources:
AA Registry
Wikipedia
Archangels Unaware by Barbara Schmidt
Photos courtesy of twainquotes.com
Topics: Entertainment, History, Life and Lifestyles | No Comments »
She be…Unleashed
By kittycleopatra | November 2, 2008
Somebody f**ked around and let her out of her cage again. Catch her if u can.
The airport is always some BS
Got in later than I wanted. Mojitos and chocolate cake with the Marvel.
Beautiful smile topped off by dimples…Toffee covered trouble.
Gangsta’s don’t dance but I do tonight. Well, only a little.
Dreadlocks, Caesar’s no love for the rows tho.
No need for jealousy, not leaving with him.
Chicas in video fashion show mode. Good times, I suppose.
P.I.C and boo curled up in a corner, slow dancing to a fast song–adorable.
The party after the party.
Troop, Maxwell and Smirnoff
no rest for the weary.
Breakfast, fruit and pancakes. Got the best massage…back and thigh.
Palpable testosterone. Caveman steez. I can dig it.
I eat grapes and count pull ups.
Caveman possibly lion-esk? Reads to me from the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius and gives me Gilgamesh.
The game was so-so. It was good to reconnect with the connect.
New shoes, a given.
Favorite part of men? So hard to choose…
shoulders, back, biceps? Lower?
Strength.
Needed release, so tired.
I feel a-l-i-v-e
Green polish on my left had, purple on the right.
Green for the money…purple for the honEY’s? LOL
I ebayed that bitch.
Lift my little dress like light wind? hmph.
Mimosa’s with new new,Steez and P.I.C w/boo in tow
chatter of Football, Gucci and ballots led to revelations, the Koran and psalms…odd.
New new’s seen the sphinx live and in person, been to Sierra Leone.
Taught me something 2day. I taught two.
I’ma do me…watch me do me.
x.o.x.o
Topics: Juicy Fruit | No Comments »
Random Thoughts, winter this way comes…
By kittycleopatra | October 28, 2008
Don’t live in your fear because what you fear, you attract. Can’t remember where I read that, but it’s so Richard Pryor, nonetheless. (the truth..keep up)
Random lie I told myself today—Coffee and an a little Debbie oatmeal pie, make a perfectly healthy breakfast.
Am I wrong for really not giving a fuck about saving dolphins? I’m sorry, PSA’s about saving dogs, whales etc.; just don’t move me. They usually leave me irritated. I can’t help wondering why there wasn’t any coverage of this young black man being drug behind a a truck in Texas….
(Side note:Deja vu anyone?) Where was the PSA for this? The public outcry? No telethon, not even a damn breaking news segment. I didn’t even see it on the news, I saw it on a message board and googled it to see if there was any coverage. Google some Hollywood tramp and you’ll get pages of links— I got three legitimate hits on this story. WTF? I don’t hate animals, I recognize they’re place in the world and they’re significance. But, I’m dumbfounded by by the fact that people seem to care more for animals than other people. There are people who will protest and raise funds for animals who don’t even flinch at missing child reports or murders in their own community. Please don’t let me get into hunting vs. cock/dog fighting. Who gets to determine where the line is drawn in these “sports”. Dog fighting is more brutal and warrants jail time ONLY because western culture has grown to treat their pets like children while they’re delicacy’s in many parts of the world, but I digress.
So this guy asked me out today, (he happened to be white) and when I was replying that I wasn’t interested he cut me off and said, “you don’t want to go out with me because I’m white, huh?” And before I could answer he says, “I’m black on the inside, I love black people.” I walked away. I’m sorry, I had to.
A 90 year old woman attempted suicide after her home of 38 years went into foreclosure. It was the latest attempt by sheriff’s deputies to evict Polk from her modest single-family home because she could not keep up with her mortgage. “It appears they’re evicting her over her mortgage. She’s lived in the house, the neighbors said, something like 38 years and in the last couple of years fell prey to some predatory lending company or financial institution.” Local news reports said deputies had tried to serve Polk’s eviction notice more than 30 times before her suicide attempt. The elderly and people living on a fixed income are the ones who are most affected by our Willy Wonka economy. People who were scraping by before are fucked now, if you were hustling up coins to take the bus before your now living that “I used to walk three miles in the snow to get to school everyday” sitcom ish your friends grandpa used to kick in your ear. Not to mention the mother that’s been in desperate need for a root canal since 92′ and can barely keep up with the rent, lights and food on the monthly. Her child’s braces are a daydream, her slipped disk, a mere inconvenience. She just learned to live with the pain, popping BC powder while waiting at the bus stop to go to work and cater to some privileged shitty brat. She stands on her feet all day, never mind that debilitating foot pain she feels when she walks, the clinic doesn’t provide podiatry. I have an idea! Let’s throw a tax break at it! (wink wink, Mr. McCain, I see you.)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>———————Shrimp salad interlude————————–>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The NBA regular season starts tonight, and is it me, or are these games coming on later and later every year?
I’m switching up my exercise regimen for the winter. Trying to keep myself motivated. Nothing like snow to make your nights sleep feel like the best post sex -raining all day–Thanksgiving…after dinner—Christmas story marathon—those bomb ass beds at the “W”—massage after a long day-sleep you have EVER had. And if I don’t work out in the morning, it ain’t happening. So, I’m officially an early bird.
Um-er-ah, how come reality dating show rejects get their own show? (Yes, I said how come) How come “Real” from I love New York, is rocking the best virgin indian remy 20inch I have ever seen? WTF? What woman wants to get up in the morning and watch her man flat iron his hair? No thanks. Wonder if he wears panties too…
Still at a crossroads with my genealogy research. Found my great great grandmother in the 1900 census with her husband but they disappear after that and there’s no record of them before that. The census shows them being married for 4 years at that point with a 35 year age difference between them! My great great grandfather was so old at the time I’m thinking he died before the 1910 census, and taking in consideration the historical and social climate (which I’ve been researching) of that geographical area at the time combined with his age he was certainly born a slave, I can’t figure out why he isn’t in the 1880 census. I’m not quitting though. I’ve got some theories. I’ll post on that separately another day.
I chatted up this chick in my building today, why does she let her four year old son watch the family guy? Come on people! Don’t we all know that just because a show is animated doesn’t automatically make it suitable for kids? You can flip on the family guy with the TV on mute and see that’s it’s for adults. It’s not on Nickelodeon or the Disney channel for a reason…
I voted early, just because I wanted to get it out of the way. And honestly, as proud as I feel to have a brotha on the ballot, I still have mixed feeling about what happens at the end of this electoral process. The act of voting is empowering for me because I know for a fact it’s a right my ancestors didn’t have, but the end result of all the politics, posturing, propaganda, fake ass debates and campaigning seems flat, if it was ever fizzy to begin with. I just think the government has it’s head so far up it’s ass it is going to take A LOT more than a good president (if Obama ends up being a good president…assuming he wins) to really change anything. I think there are people walking around thinking that when and if Obama wins the streets are going to flow with milk and honey. Get a clue. We are many many many years away from reaping the rewards from constructive legislation. Legislation that is still a fairytale right now. And O’ still has a lot of question marks as far as I’m concerned but he’s a FAR FAR FAR FAR …….FAR better choice than than ole dentures.
fuck PETA..I’m just kidding… no, not really.
If I’m ever starving on a snow covered mountain..the dogs gonna be the first one to get it. No, never mind, I’d never be on a snow covered mountain….If I’m ever starving, isolated in some space where no one can bring me biscuits or there’s an biological weapon attack that I happen to survive and I can’t steal grapes from pick and save and have no other options and death is certain without sustenance, don’t leave your dog round me, cuz Fido’s a goner.
x.o.x.o
Topics: Good Lovin', Life, Random as Hell, Really Though | 1 Comment »
Sure, I’ll buy a lapdance.
By kittycleopatra | October 26, 2008
The party was for Genie. But it felt like it was for all of us. Grey Goose is the devil. Spades, shots and pictionary….yeah that’s how we get down. We went from Tracy’s crazy ass baby mamas(all four of ‘em) to the bible, Barack, and f**king on the first date. Never fails, the conversation ALWAYS shifts into sex mode. Then it was story time. Adrienne told the story about splitting her pants in Macys. I told the story about me busting my ass in a Wendy’s parking lot (embarrassing moment #6), Daryl told the story about him getting chased out of some chicks apartment by her boyfriend. (Take that ass whooping like a man D ) and then Dub decided to tell everyone the story about the time “I stole his stripper”, I didn’t of course.(He loves to tell this story)
I’d gone to strip clubs before, either with Dub or my BF at the time. It never bothered me. You might ask, why even go? I’m not sure honestly, There first time I went to a strip club with D I went because I was curious. I wanted to see what men liked so much about it. How much ass can one stare at in a night? Ha, little did I know there were people giving their entire paychecks to strippers, still can’t figure that shit out. Anyway after the first time, it just didn’t seem to matter, I didn’t go too often just every once and awhile but I enjoyed watching the guys blush and act all embarrassed that I was there watching them turn into “little boys”. (Ohhh, the amount of money I’ve seen wasted) Like there wasn’t any ass they could stare at for free at the crib. Anyway, there would always be a chick that would hit on me, I’m not a homophobe so I didn’t care but I did draw the line. Don’t touch me, once I say “I’m straight/heterosexual”– you need to bounce, and don’t touch me. Now, I am not above buying a lap dance, I just don’t want you to dance for me, so I’ll buy a dance for my male companion. 
I don’t remember the name of this particular lounge, but I remember it was nice. Posh, clean, comfortable, surprising so. We ordered food and drinks and began to banter back and forth about something. In this club the woman stood on a low table in front of you, stark naked. There was a bodyguard/butler standing there to hold the dancers clothes and to lend her a hand onto and off of the table. And most importantly, to make sure nobody got too fresh. Anyway, I don’t really remember where this chick came from, Dub didn’t solicit her services because at the time we were talking shit about a very drunk Rod Strickland and crew sitting across from us. All I knew was that that she was suddenly dancing on our table. It was funny as hell because Dub was trying to act all cool, but it was clear he was anything but at that moment. His damn mouth was wide open. She was gorgeous though, I have to give credit where credit is due. She must have worked out religiously because her muscle definition was bananas. But I suddenly became very uncomfortable because she was staring at me. I figured she must have thought Dub was my man and was trying to be respectful by looking at me not him. So I kept making little remarks to Dub about how much he was feeling her to let her know he wasn’t mine, without coming out and saying so. I thought that would have seemed odd, being that I wasn’t asked that, and I didn’t want to draw attention to my discomfort with her attention. I didn’t want to look at her body so I tried to look at the TV on the wall behind her, but it must have been insanely obvious that I was uncomfortable because she let out a laugh, and then I let out a laugh, at which point Dub looks at her and then looks at me and then the shit starts. One minute he’s pouting the next minute he’s teasing me mercilessly. This felt like the longest fucking song ever. Since I didn’t want to look at her body, I looked her in the face. Dub was thoroughly enjoying this and kept poking and laughing at me. Anyway to make a short story shorter, Dub went to the potty after he was done with his henny. Miss lady finished her dance. I paid her, she smiled, I smiled and that was that. Or so I thought. Dub continued to tease me all night after that and as he was paying the check one of the waitresses came over and handed me a small slip of paper. On it, it read “call me, ok? insert name here ###-###-####”.
(No, I didn’t call, I heart d***, trust me.) It was hilarious though, Dub’s feelings were truly hurt, he’ll never let it go, he’ll be telling that story when we’re eighty.
Anyway the party was the shit, lots of laughs, too much drinking and a lot of dancing. Don’t remember whose idea it was to start cranking the slow jams. But that’s the way you end a party. Dub’s story must have set the mood because Dari decided to give her husband a show right there in front of all of us.(She kept her clothes on) A bunch of degenerates, I tell ya. But I’ll end the story there. Ya’ll don’t need to know everything.
x.o.x.o
Topics: Juicy Fruit | 1 Comment »