When I say someone is a “serious writer,” I do it secretly during a private, one-sided conversation with myself. Because the public sharing of artistic output is often so randomly and arbitrarily judged, who really cares what I think?
America has either been denying black
Americans access to all manner of water to drink or it has let us drown; drown in filthy hurricane
water or, as in Flint, Michigan in the tainted water flowing into the
tubs and sinks of poor blacks and whites there.
I have a healthy respect for death, as a marker of absences and a gauge of time.
Since 2015 knocked me to my literal
knees, then on my ass for what looks like the long haul, I wouldn’t say
I’m obsessed with death but keenly aware and unafraid of it.
There was a time here in Cincinnati when 1230 AM WDBZ The Buzz — the de facto “black talk” station — was relevant, necessary even. It was black Cincinnati’s bully pulpit, going-off space and platform for spelling out conspiracy theories; a place where unabashed anger was aimed squarely at the white powers that be.
The terrorist attack in San Bernardino
that left 14 people dead and another 21 injured last week marked a
red-letter day for feminists the world over: Tashfeen Malik, a
29-year-old female Jihadist terrorist, is shaping up to perhaps be the
braintrust behind the ghastly massacre.
Mortar Cincinnati co-founders are
trying their hands in Walnut Hills, a land ripe for the development of a
drastically changed landscape. Their new and temporary home is called
Brick 939 and opened Black Friday to much confusion from potential