Candy Cane Jane’s

Image Credit: Black Girls Inked

Image Credit: Black Girls Inked

Sweet Candy Cane…blue-banged Jane

Peppermint Patty‘s saucy grin..high chin.. Silver-Pricked Bright Poinsettia Lip

Roman Numerals tattooed from her shoulder down to her hip.

Course knuckles and studded wrist

Her Pin-up way more resonating then the “70′s Black Power Fist”

Pierced how SHE likes.

Dressed how SHE likes.

Colored how SHE likes.

Not, the norm but far from unusual. Outward Alter-Ego, No Mirrors to hide behind, It is what (it) is..from HEAD to TOE.

It’s Not a Coverup nor a MASK …just pleasurable adornment….of anyway SHE see’s fit

Fishnets, Platform Pumps, and Leather Corsets

Hooded Velvet Capes, Combat Boots, and Hair shaved at the nape.

Bright Stars and Stripes, Purple, Red, and Hair Highlighted White..

Contrasted on Jet Black skin, with Heavy liner and Gloss

Or Pale Light skin, Dark hair with skulls and bones crisscrossed

Still, a Priceless Cutie and a Holy Alternative to the Worlds false misconception of beauty

She ain’t average and she’s not… NO Punk.. Steamed, Afro-fried, or Inked, Altered, Goth, or Dark…NO defining her or Purposely Posed Pics in any Encyclopedia..

Reveled Deep within her soul’s scheme..She CHOSE to be rejected from the typical Beauty Queen Scene..”That’s their ideal..not mine… I got my own dreams”

Dark Gothic Goddess

A walking bold printed political poster…

with nothing but the Truth in her latex holster.

 

 

 

 

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I Feel Different-Release The Alien (Remix)

Kamal_Imani_-_big_kamal_new_rastajacket

I love highlighting artist that sometimes bypass  mainstream media‘s eye.  This dude is quite interesting.. (In a Great way).  His name is Kamal Imani.

This is a hot Afro House Mix on top of smooth Spoken Word Poetry.  The video is psychedelic too.

“I feel different, too..”

 

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Ebony Bones

ebony-bones

Ebony Bones

U.K. sensation Ebony Thomas, aka, “Ebony Bones”, is transforming the air waves and fogging up the monitors with her intriguing style. Her sound is a mixture of Afro-punk, rock, and funkadelic.

Independently, thrashing down stereotypical brick-walls, she kicks high in her blond Afro and combat boots. An origami rainbow walking, she screeches and wails her song (our song)..her colorful anthem shouts “Hell, YEAH!! BLACK GIRLS ROCK..and we ROCK HARD!”

Listen to “Warrior”

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xo3CseqnhbQ

and check her out on Myspace

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I Float

muhammad-ali-fist

The Great Muhammad Ali

“I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee”

I tap-dance on moonbeams; bowing down at every tree..

Kicking over bulldozers in pink pumps…
…..in church blasting “Fergie‘s..My humps”

I shoot down the rain with the flick of my wrist..
….Now, who was that? That said..”Don’t quote me boy, cause I ain’ say shit”…

But..I did… I DID! and I always do..
….down for the cause, the earth and my people too.
But, not just the Earf..the Sun, the stars..
….Space.. them Pyramids that “they” say is on Mars..

I’m down like the “Roots” and the “Underground”..
….Sound that is.. the ish that they won’t play cause bull-ish is constantly set to replay.

“I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee”..
….cain’t NO Body mess wit me.

Tight like the “BluePrint” by Jay-Z.. FLY like Mos Def, Erykah Badu..
….and I’m kinda quite cute too.

“Say CHEESE” I’ll take a pic..
….while I tight rope on yo’ grand daddy’s walking stick.

Watch..Watch..watch me now..
….this gon’ happen fast, it’ll soon be all over and you won’t know how..

…How I vomited in your face..
….purple voodoo all over the place.

See, I don’t get high just to get by,
…..I’m High (All the time) cause that’s just how I fly.

Ahh!.. I’m done..
.. and check it, I used my new hydraulic water gun..

…I gotta be honest I ain’t know what it was gon’ do..

… but I knew it was gon’ spit all over you

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Janelle Monae’s Interview with SoulCulture

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WE RIDE

Image Credit: Unknown
Image Credit: Unknown

Image Credit: Unknown

We ride on the backs and breast of those that have come before

On ancestor’s shoulders and great, great, great, daddy’s toes

With drops of frankincense and myrrh and rows of gold around our necks

We ride on ocean waves of blue blackness on top of undersea ancient temples imprinted

of our blue colored faces

We ride on Congo drum beats

with dancing moving hips and

breezy Blowing dreadlocks

on Cowrie shelled waist bead covered bellies

We ride on lion’s mane and canine teeth

On Elephant tusk and Zebra stripes

On library book covers

On wall filled Art Museum canvases

We ride in church,

in-between church pews and in the lines of church hymns

We ride on Egyptian tombs encased in limestone adorned with

(Us riding) in hieroglyphic text

We ride on guitar strings and thumb machines

In Paris, Korea, Alaska, and of course Mozambique

We ride through Southern towns pass southern trees

In Submarines, Rockets and Purple Ford Cadillac’s

with hydraulics and wheels that float on air

We ride on the lips of poets and the high pitch sounds of Opera singers

On the laps of Authors and the laptops of professors

We ride on the cheeks of babies and the smiles of playground playing children

We ride on the thick skin of plantains and the sweet of yam

We ride on lilies and bumblebee stripes

We ride on the baobabs trunk and in Kapiti plains playing peek-a-boo through high grass

We ride on internet webs and crowded emails

We ride on white-gold Aunk wedding bands with matching anklets

On Milan fashion walkways jet black and bald even at the nape

We ride in fubu, and Rocka wear, Baby Phat,

Green converse chucks, and Alonzo Mourning Jersey’s

We ride on corner store newspaper stands

On billboard fonts and 8 track cassettes

We ride on veggie burgers and spicy chicken wings

We ride right past death, right through heavens gates

We ride on waterbeds, the backs of futons, canopy ropes and hardwood floors

In Ma Ma’s basements, and Granddaddy porches and Uncle Eddie’s barbecue

We ride in Kitchen stews and Afua’s “Heal Thyself”

We ride on double-dutch ropes and pebbled filled hula hoops

We ride on Panther fists and Tupaks rap

On Afrikan Liberation Day and at the Million man March

We ride on Shaggy’s Bombastic and Michael’s “Thriller”

We ride on Kush’s thigh in Shiva’s arms

On Buddha’s Nubian Knots

With Rasta purple smoke and bouncing booty

and swinging ankle bells

We ride deep

We ride full

We ride high

We ride low

We ride “Tuff” and never ending

We ride deep

We ride Black and deep

We ride black

We ride black

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