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 by ibi  | 29-dec-07 |
|  ... and remember people, Hip-Hop stands for
"Highly Intellectual People, Helping Others Prosper." | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 29-may-07 |
|  Pfingsten hab ich damit verbracht „Paradise“ zu lesen. Ich hab das Buch irgendwie nicht verstanden. Toni Morrison Bücher kommt das häufiger vor. Ihre Bücher zu lesen UND ZU VERSTEHEN ist echt eine Herausforderung. Beloved und Sula hab ich verstanden, aber Tar baby und Jazz überhaupt nicht.
Hat wohl mit ihrem Schreibstil zu tun. Die Rahmenhandlung kann man noch einige Male verfolgen; auch wenn Frau Morrison häufig nicht klar zwischen Traum, Gegenwart und Rückblende in die Vergangenheit unterscheidet. Aber okay. Irgendwann mal schnallt man da durch. Aber was ihre Bücher so kompliziert machen sind diese versteckten, subtilen Andeutungen und die Symbolik. Sei es nun Farbsymbolik, Namenssymbolik, Geschichtssymbolik und überhaupt die gesamte Symbolik der Geschehensabläufe. Wie gesagt, wenn man`s schnallt, dann sind die Bücher von Toni Morrison echt GEEEEEEEAIIILL! Nehmen wir mal zum Beispiel das Buch „Beloved“.
Erst als mir jemand gesagt hat:
- was bei Halle die Butter um die Mundwinkel zu bedeuten hat (er hatte Schmerzen, wegen der Eisenzügel, die er den ganzen Tag um den Mund hatte)
- was der Hintergrund von Sethes Namen ist,
- warum Sixo kurz vor seinem Tod die ganze Zeit „Seven-o, Seven-o“ geschrieen hat (sein Kind, dem mit der schwangeren Mutter die Flucht gelungen ist, während er sich selbst für deren Flucht geopfert hat, indem er die Sklavenfänger abgelenkt hat)
- was der Hintergrund von „Stamp Paid“ Namen ist,
- daß Beloved ein Poltergeist ist
- daß die „4 Reiter“, die Sethe heimsuchten, die biblische Apokalypse für sie darstellen sollten,
- daß es in dem ganzen Buch um Sünde, Opfer, Vergebung, Liebe und Auferstehung geht,
- was diese obskure Verbindung zwischen der Tabak-Kanne und dem roten Herzen sein soll.
- warum Sethe am Anfang des Buchs ständig von einem Baum auf ihrem Rücken gesprochen hat (Peitschennarben).
- was die Geschichte von Sethes Hochzeitskleid ist (zusammengenähte Lappen),
- warum Sethe fast 10 Minuten lang gepinkelt hat, als sie Beloved das erste mal gesehen hat.
- die Ähnlichkeit zwischen Beloved und Sethes Mutter („die Afrikanerin“)
usw..., erst danach hab ich das Buch verstanden und dachte dann, geniales Buch.
Bei Paradise...? Keine Ahnung! Was will Toni Morrison uns damit sagen? Hat irgendjemand das Buch gelesen? Hat`s irgendjemand verstanden??? | | comments: 1 | | |
| by ibi | 08-mar-07 |
| 
People may forget what you said,
people may forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel.
To laugh often and much,
to win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children,
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends,
to appreciate beauty,
to find the best in others,
to leave the world a bit better,
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch,
or a redeemed social condition;
to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded!
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
| | comments: 1 | | |
| by ibi | 23-aug-06 |
|  Sweet Lawd!!!
Sind es wirklich anderthalb Wochen her seit dem Bundestreffen? Mir kommt es fast wie 2 Monate vor!!!!
Naja, Jedenfalls hab ich die Fotos jetzt entwickelt und bei meinem langsamen Rechner den halben Tag gebraucht sie ins Internet zu „uploaden“. Komisch, ich weiss nicht wie es euch geht. Aber manchmal bekommen ich erst beim betrachten von Fotos mit, wen ich beim BT gar nicht „bewußt“ mitbekommen habe. Es war wieder schön neue und alte Gesichter zu sehen, neue Leute kennenzulernen usw. (auch wenn die Teilnehmerzahl recht „überschaubar“ war ; - )
Irgendwie geben die Fotos einem auch wieder einen kleinen Schub, wenn alles wieder Scheiße erscheint, ich morgen den ganzen Tag im Abschiebegefängnis in Köpenick bin und dieses komische Berliner Wetter einem dann auch noch den Rest gibt.
Hoffentlich sieht man den Einen oder die Andere mal auch vor dem nächsten Bundestreffen in Hamburg. Hab ja gehört, daß es fett sein soll.
“GOD IS GOOD !!! GOD IS GREAT !!!“ Everlasting love. maximum respect. Gepriesen sei Allâh – der Allmächtige in all seiner Herrlichkeit und in seiner unendlichen Güte. Gepriesen sei der Herr ! ! !
Liebe Grüße an Francis, Aissatou, Sarah, Katja, Karolin, Carl, Torsten, Lamar, Tahir, Anita, Lisa, Jonathan, Siraad, Christophe, Anke, Odette, Mary-Chantal, Jessica, Victoria, John, Chantal, Dudu, Nigel, Indira, Danielle, Mara, Kathreen, Joy, Timo, Robert, Simon, Sonia, Mike, Aminata, Christiane, Modukpe, Giselle, Simone, Joe und alle die mich kennen oder auch nicht kennen ;-)
Ibiajulu
Hier meine Fotos vom Bundestreffen:
http://www.picturetrail.com/gallery/view?username=black_panthers_europe&x=15&y=10
http://www.picturetrail.com/gallery/view?p=999&gid=12195908&uid=6273950 | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 23-mar-06 |
|  Akueke bevor er starb. Eine imaginäre Fortsetzung von Toni M.
He did not believe himself capable of framing the words, to tell her how much it had hurt. But for what did one need mere words to describe that kind of agony? People who knew nothing about it, who hadn`t suffered and endured real pain, sometime they spoke of: A man would bear it like a man, for you didn`t feel it after the first few lashes. That your body and your mind would go numb. That you would faint and get unconscious. Well, that was of course big lie. He felt every sting of it, at least I did. It cut like a razor across his back. And it went on cutting and cutting into his flesh, like acid eating into his flesh, robbing him his very senses until he could not stop himself crying out in agony like the primal scream itself. No matter how strong you were. And still it went on, pain without end, ceaselessly, unimaginably. You couldn`t even count the number, because it went on and on and on, and all you could feel was this terrible pain, and a dreadful anger that somepeople on this earth had the power to do this to you. For no other reason than: BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK. If you were lucky, you fainted, but still. It went on until you thought you must die.
Then, suddenly it stopped, and they cut him down, and let him go. Naked. Completely naked. In front of his mates. In front of all the women. He pulled himself up, struggled to his feet, somehow, anyhow, just to try to hang on to some last thread of his self, his dignity. Dignity that had been lost anyway. He walked away, staggered away rather, feeling the blood pour out of him, running down his back and legs, squelching into his boots. Besides his pain, there was one single mood that prevail in his mind. He hated them with every ounce of his being. He hated them for doing this to him. JUST BECAUSE YOU WERE BLACK. He swore himself a most sacred and solemn vow, by whatever God there might be, that someday, somehow, sometime, somewhere he would make them pay for what they had done to him, BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK!
“I hate them fo` what they did” his blurted, his voice choking with unreleased and indescribable emotion. The depth of his emotion, his profound distress, pierced the heart of the 60-mile-woman. She moved her hands around him, and held him close to her, careless of the field dirt and sweat that glistened on his back. Careless of her modesty, careless of everything else in the world, but the single driving need she felt to alleviate his | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 23-mar-06 |
|  sorrow. “Please, don`t hate. Not all of them”.
“It`s all there is,” he said, for hate had become the only reason for his existence. He lived only for revenge. A shapeless, formless avenge, against a target he could not define at first. But his means of revenge began to take a shape in his head… Someday, somewhere and one of them would pay what they had done to him, but he was patient, for he wanted the revenge to be as intense as the pain that had been so casually inflicted on him.
“But there is also love. Look at me. MY FATHER IS WHITE”. He didn`t seem to care about her feelings. She wanted to cry, for she did not know any reason else, why she would have a cause to defend her father. And that itself was a reason to cry.
…
“I want yo` baby”, she whispered to him. They lay in each other arms, and she thought he was sleeping. Although she was not sure about him. Her life had taught her, this “It is easy to find someone to love. But its hard to find someone who loves you…”. He was not asleep. He pretended he did not her, contemplating on what she had just whispered. It`s a fearful thing to love and hang onto somebody death can touch, he thought to himself. Besides that he did not know how to explain to her, why he could not bear the merest intension of bringing a chile into this world.
…
(Celia)
The charcoaled body hanging from a tree was the last bit she ever saw from him. It was morning dawn when she finally found him. A mist and morning dew hazed across the river and the forest. She saw the charred body of her man slightly swinging from the tree, even though she was still a ways away. She didn`t cry out at first, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. Hoping it was merely a nightmare soon to pass. Moaning and suffering the worst fear she ever had, she stumbled toward him. She recognized his body and screamed to heaven then. She fell to the ground, to the lowest bit of dirty earth. Grief flowing upon grief. Pain and fury at the unfairness and carelessness of God.
“WHAT HAVE WE EVER DONE TO THEM, LORD?” she cried over an` over. “WHY DO THEY HATE US SO MUCH?”, she swooned in abject wretchedness. It took hours before her only friends found her in this state. She had crawled into the corner of the huge root of the tree, into a fetal ball. She was clutching herself, moaning to herself, her mind was numb and she didn`t not hear a word her friends were consoling her with…
Well, they had finally got him and taken him to the forest at night, for darkness | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 23-mar-06 |
|  was their only friend and their mission, what they set out to do, could not withstand the glare of the Almighty. They claimed divine inspiration for their work, but like evil angels acting by some undivine direction they had in fact fallen from grace, like Lucifer himself, never to rise again. Although their symbol was a cross, it was burning outside the family`s shack with flames of hell, from whence they had perhaps come from. Their robes were black, but they wore white hoods, to keep their faces hidden from God.
They threw a rope over a tree-branch, put the noose around his neck and kicked the horse he had been seated on. He felt a sharp and sudden pain, and chocking in his own throat, he jerked and jolted at the end of the rope by instinctive reaction. His eyes getting dim, his heart didn`t really fight against the dark that was gradually befalling him, but welcomed the sudden peace that came into his mind. His last thoughts were, it was worth the sacrifice. His future; saving the life of his woman and the unborn life. His life had been meaningless to him until a simple girl had found and saved him. And just before they began dousing his body with keroseene and setting brand on him, he suddenly saw a great bright and golden light at the end of the long road that had been his life. And it revealed – just for a very brief moment – the most beautiful land he had ever seen, a land of untold promise as viewed from the highest mountain top. He also saw her und their twins walking towards him, shining faces, and he knew he had found home at last. | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 13-feb-06 |
| | Nö. habs wieder gelöscht. | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 11-feb-06 |
|  Nich schlecht!!!
Es kommt nicht jeden Tag (sondern allenfalls alle 5 Jahre) vor, daß man(n) solche e-mails. bekommt. Aber das hier hat mich heut morgen wirklich von den Socken ...
(Quelle leider unbekannt; ich glaub auch nicht, daß die mail Absenderin das geschrieben hat)
The Love I Share
The love I share is with a Black man. A strong, beautiful, talented, intelligent, wonderful, Black man. Not just as in the color of his skin, but Black in his heart: proud, confident, and secure. A man that knows that keeping it real does not mean getting blunted or that he is a nigga. He strives for excellence and looks to lift up and enlighten others along the way. The Black man I love is my friend, my lover, my partner, my advocate and the father of my Black children.
I believe in him and he believes in me. I never have to ask, “Do you love me?” because the evidence is there is word and in deed. Every morning we get up and share time with one another. Sometimes we shower together, bathing in the closeness and love that we share. Other times we make love until we are both late for work. It’s passionate and fulfilling, not borne of a morning hard on, but of genuine passion and respect. The time we spend together in the morning makes it easier to face the petty annoyances of the day. I can reflect on his love and nothing seems to bother me. I can face every challenge assured. Assured that he will never call me a bitch or raise his hand to me. Assured that the first woman with a big butt and no panties won’t lure him away. Assured that our fights will not be with each other, but against racial and societal ills. I’m assured that we are fighting for a future together. | | comments: 0 | | |
| by ibi | 11-feb-06 |
|  Do I love my Black man? More than words can say. When I speak of him, my eyes light up and I tell everybody about his talents, abilities and accomplishments. (He gets so embarrassed sometimes.) And I show him I love him every chance I get. My love is there for the long haul, I’m down for whatever. I’ll stand beside my man ready to face any challenge given to us.
Why do I love my Black man? When I’m afraid, he doesn’t make me feel inferior, he allows me to cry. When I succeed, he doesn’t feel threatened, he rejoices in my accomplishments. He deals with my faults and shortcomings. I’m not perfect but he thinks I am perfect for him. He helps me to be a better person. He doesn’t put undue pressure on me to be Superwoman: holding down a job, fixing dinner in high heels and a tight dress, ready to suck his dick and spread my legs, right after I do the laundry and put the kids to bed. When I feel down, who do you think is my biggest cheerleader? He stays awake through the entire ballet, and he only complains a little. That’s OK, I make sandwiches and snacks for him during the game, cause that’s what makes him happy.
Our time alone together is just that, alone. Away from the pressures of a day to day existence. Words are not necessary. Our deepest communication is nonverbal. Our dreams are the same, our hearts beat in the same rhythm. It’s a good thing we get to spend time apart occasionally. When I’m away on business or he’s having a boy’s weekend, we get a chance to reflect on how much we mean to one another. There is never any insecurity or jealousy between us. I smile when I see his head turn at the sight of a beautiful Black woman. He jumps to the defense of sisters when they are being dissed by less enlightened men. He takes the time to spend with young brothers, providing a positive role model for them to aspire to. How could I not love this man? | | comments: 0 | | |
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