Diamond & Silk, recently have written back to me, after a letter I wrote to them. I am certain the letter touched their hearts.
Those I am closely associated with, fear I am too closely involved in our countries politics. Setting guidelines or advising people like me not to vote or hold any faith in our politicians all together. Many consider them to selfish and ungodly men or women whom have very little room in their hearts for the compassions of Christ, to help them govern the administration of this country. I’ve asked those around me, “Where would they rate people like Diamond & Silk?” There were actually people talking of not being associated with them because of Party differences. I’ve heard it said that we as Christians should not be campaign contributors; or spokesman or women.
Yet when atrocities are committed in the name of the Democratic Party we are asked to forgive as Christ forgives and move on. Then a moment of unity is set forth in the Church, movies are made to highlight that moment, yet no real reality can be manifested because Christians are asked to stay out of politics. Under the premise of “Separations of Church and State?”
Well while the world remains indecisive, I aim to meet with these women one day. Regardless of Party lines and simply ask them, “What makes them support Trump and where can they shine a light upon the destructive nature of Democratic thinkers and where does Jesus Christ lead them throughout their hours of temptation?”
What do they have against supporters of BET and MTV and where are they mentally on issues of the LGBT community; economically where do they gauge Americans and what would be America’s best investment strategy in the coming future?
It took ten years for the crimes of Banks to come to the forefront of the daily news channel and Federal mandates to be placed upon the sharks that stole from hard working families and it’ll take another ten years for America to truly bounce back from the pains of the 2007-2008; news reports will continuously sing the praises of our economic security but no real conception of the prosperity fantasied about will be materialized without another boot strapping Revolution.
One that sets so deep into the skin that people are not afraid to produce language that sets an anthem and makes people want to break free from their sin trapped inner cities and burst flaming stars from their mental. Determined to ride of shooting stars beyond the prisons of abject poverty. A poverty that has been reported to be of no fault of their own, even by their enemies.
Dear NEWYORK TIMES~ (If It Is not at the top of the corporate ladder what makes you think people will believe it is at the bottom; we all know corporate policies roll down hill, and if there is nothing wrong at the top of the ladder; why would we assume there is something wrong at the bottom?)
There is no safety in the land of shadows and grey, don’t allow the witches who produced Harry Potter to fool you. They would suggest sleep to be safer than civil unrest.
I was asked once, “Do I live in regret?”
I lie and tell them, “No, everything is fine, I am bidding my time, keeping my eyes open waiting for the world to forget about the thousands made to sleep in tents and contemplate cannibalism, questioning if GOD is real and if he cares about them, whispering dreams of peace and hope to come.” All in the name of an ideology the whole planet has dreamed of nullifying. A word they would never use publically, they hide behind closed doors and homes with no shutters, fearing what would happen to them by men who ride on shooting stars.
Our children remember tales of Spartacus, Ben-hur, The Monkey King, William Wallace, Blind Japanese Swordsmen, Jackie Chan, Superman and some other men in tights, that sets wrongs, a-right, have been pacified to sleep by gypsies and little wizards with bolts of lightening seared upon their foreheads. My life in a flash but still I am made to hear echoes upon the asphalt as I walk into the grocery store.
“What are you seeking Dream Weaver?” They ask,
“I’ve come for the keys to Revolution!”
avproductionsblog 
Well-written! Though in the end I still know nothing about Diamond & Silk. It seemed like a reference required only to ignite the revelations below it, leading up the tales of heroes and… revolution. But shhhh… we cannot speak openly of such things. 😉
Sometimes I do feel like it might be required to make the world a good place to live in, once again. All around the world our social foundations and moral values are crumbling, but to tear it down juts to build it up again… it seems we keep repeating that cycle.
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Well Diamond & Silk are an open-ended question in themselves. Most who make it in front of the camera are. I would love to presume that they are worth placing in the line up of individuals that came before them that spoke of Revolution, lived outside of the norm and showcased positive energy people could get in line with and also make some money. It is certainly outside of the norm to have two black African American women speak out against BET(Black Entertainment Television.) MTV and any other mainstream programming that has been teaching our generation there is no moral law and then the moment they act out what they have seen; they fill the prisons with numbers as tall as the nearest skyscraper. In a pervious post I make a reference to a number https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/19/the-rage-of-landslide/ *1869243* that number rises every year and has been increasing in American prisons since before I was born. (Mainstream media proclaims if we legalize everything from weed to prostitution then the crime rate will lessen and the prisons will present a turn around.) That is the same thing they said about alcohol back in the 30’s. I do believe there was a time of social grace among the nations; But it was when everyone had an occupation and where not made to grovel at the feet of another broke man and ask for validation. I really could not go into a lot of detail about Diamond & Silk because I have yet to see if they are who they say they are. I would hate to stand behind them and then they turnout to be as hypocritical as many celebrities have the propensity to be. (You know they are sisters who may have a history of being, “Man-haters,” and that is why they never speak of marriage or can speak to the world with a certain grace that reveals their age. They are human with issues like everyone else and I would never suggest they’d have something they are not willing to claim on their own.)
I purposely left there origins, and presence an open question because they have not finished what they set out to do and I don’t want to give the ending away. I just want to know if anyone else thinks, their desire to stand alone in a world that had already but them in a box; (Black African American Women are supposed to be Democratic Supporters!) makes them legendary?
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It is true the Mafia and mob wars came about due to the alcohol prohibition in the 30’s though, isn’t it? And that they legalized it in a (failed) attempt to turn the rising crime rate around. By then it was too late, though. Do correct me if I’m wrong.
As for Diamond & Silk I didn’t know who they were or what they stood for before this – good info! Can’t speak out more about them either, but at least I know what they stand for now.
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Yes it is documented that the Mob was created behind the alcohol issue. Yet as the years have set into motion legalizing of the substance has done little to nothing to lower the prison population. Especially when a man can be pulled for a DWI in America and have to serve 25 years. (Mind you I am not condoning DWI’s; I am simply suggesting that the legalization of a substance does not lessen the prison rate; and it is not the fault of the people either. When the law legalizing something and places restrictions such as not blowing a .05 in a breathalyzer (the equivalence of half a beer, they have done nothing but proven how hypocritical they can be.) It will be the same occurrence for marijuana. They will legalize it but what can that do for the men and women that were shot and imprisoned behind the substance already, is the government going to release the (remember my number 1869243+) prisons that are now doing time behind the manufacturing and selling of a product that was deemed as vile as alcohol? The short of it is “NO.” Yet there are a lot of people that can not see how the Federal Government simply wants to get in on the act of manufacturing a substance that brings in a lot of money; They can’t say that just like they could not say that in the 30’s.
I don’t know where Diamond & Silk stand but they don’t look like drinkers or smokers to me and it seems like they would support the “stop and frisk,” laws and the secure border laws. The only thing these laws really support are land owners and property owners. Which in my book is a good thing. It adds incentive to own property but if they are confused about privacy laws; then I might not have many nice things to say about them.
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Yeah that’s true. I see the similarities, but it does seem like it’s more for profit now, and indeed, I don’t think it’ll solve the underlying problems either. They need to dig deeper than that. Everybody smoking the herb and calming down… maybe the long-term effect will be a more peaceful population, but in a way it feels like a way to put a veil on the want for rebellion too. Just get everyone drugged up and calm; let it all keep derailing, and they won’t be the wiser…
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In my book Black Amethyst, in the 4th Chapter called Pleasure, the main character (Clive Dawson) is faced with a similar discussion of the purpose behind such maneuvers of philosophers that have sought to have a “peaceful population;”
Book2
Chapter 4
PLEASURE
It is a seduction in every-sense of the word. Not a seduction of merely two people but of this entire world perceived by its inhabitants. How do you trap the willing into their own consciences and make them like it. Then accuse them of indulging in sin. As a philosopher I can endorse the claims of moderation. To maintain balance is a feat worth writing about. Only I cannot truly claim the extremes of any side. For I see them as simply, extremes.~ Clive Dawson.
Pit-pat.
Pit-pat, goes the rain.
“Stop living for them, they don’t deserve you,” The silent plea of the shadowy, Mr. Thursday.
“Is humanity to be Identified by its actions alone. You see me, A man in living flesh, tall, dark, limited in visual ability so I wear glasses to compensate. To uphold a professional appearance, I like to keep my hair short, A tapered fade, skin tight. I am not noticed unless I wish to be.
Maroon sweater vest, complemented by a tie that brings out my smile. I am unassuming and my khakis do well at the job and my dockers fit well too.” The waiter brings in the glasses of water each man takes a sip of his glass of water. “I have worn the same pennie loafers for years, they are comfortable.” He looks at Clive to engage his attention. Honestly not caring if he is paying attention, enjoying the chance to talk to him. “Thousands of kids in this town walk by me day in and day out and the unassuming “me” cares not if they are paying attention. Because of what and
who I am, I’ve determined that they wish to have nothing to do with me or are simply too busy.
And then you pop up. Though you are only there to obtain what it I can provide. You are engaged. You see me but make no judgements and seem not to even care.” Clive is not certain how to take this so he listens.
“Early in my career this institution was a lively arena; I was like you, interactive and a socialite. Then I was dipped into this play ground, surrounded by all sorts of characters and made to feel an outsider because of my own convictions.”
“One night I was at a party and there were bodies everywhere. Naked, black skin from one room to the other the ratio between the women and men as a whole in this institution was a miniscule
1/5 already. So in this room and due to the fact that no one was from any other city for a hundred miles, men and women alike poured their frustrations upon each other; Devoured,
indiscriminately, seeking, grasping hold to the one solace that this party provided. Pleasure.”
There is a silence, shame is a potent atmosphere filler. Clive, as a writer, ultimately is ahead of this confession, only like any good thrill seeker waits for the bottom to fall out.
“The relations between man and woman, after you have developed a taste for it becomes so mechanical, don’t you think?” Thursday ask.
“Not really,” interjects Clive.
“Honestly, think about it, the guy gets the woman to his room and undresses her, might not even get undressed himself. Shoves her head down to his phallic, with not so much as even a kiss to encourage her; after he finishes, what is left?” Thursday flips two ice cubes of gin in his glass of water.
“That is the fun part, it is up to the readiness of the two, before the act, of how far they will go.”
Insists Clive, “if that is all she or he is looking for then that is all the be expected.” “Where that the world was so black and white.”
Mr. Thursday stirs the watered tonic.
Mr. Thursday slams the table, barking at Clive to lose the Bogart drab impression, as attractive as it was, he wanted him to see the world for the colors that it was. His homosexual nature was due to that skin tight night; Bodies rolling up on each other, crying out for release and minds expecting the warmth and closure of its darkness.
It was this entropy that breathed life into his universe. He never claimed to be born with the
Identity. Only understood it and did not seek to apologize for it. The man created Identification cards for all the young minds searching for a synthetic tomorrow and upon the first encounter with Clive saw a man worth confiding in. Though the words never came off his lips and though his tenor voice skirted around the phrase, “I am gay.” Clive could feel it. The human in Clive would not allow his Ideology on the matter condemn Mr. Thursday. Instead he listened to the pulse of the black man. His only friend.
The incessant pitter-patter of the rain upon the glass drove home the point of the conversation. A constant reminder that they were moving forward to a predetermined destination, more so together than either one of them could have hoped.
Lauran Shriller of CNN news reporting on the issues of homosexuality and abortion;
“Do you believe this air of tolerance presented by the media to be another attempt to Mask covert hidden agendas?”
Who is really the enemy, those that believe in conformable classical standards or those that preach in an every entropic universe living life like there is no tomorrow is ok; Responsibility is irrelevant until it’s relevancy is made manifest?
I know due to obvious reports of death after death that cigarettes cause cancer but I still choose to breathe in the toxic addictive substance. At what point am I not the reason for my affliction?
Upon Identifying a standard of living are we not demanded to act accordingly?”
“Parallel computers and the ‘oneness’ of consciousness was all the rage in 1989. To be homosexual was a misfiring in the brain in the 1950’s. Hitler and the United States split atoms, we have landed on the moon People!
At what time do we accept responsibility for our minds the good and the bad and begin to ascend beyond the mundane mediocrity that we call existence, or are we to accept that this is all there is?” ~Clive Dawson’s dissertation on expectation:
Some of the greatest Con-men have stolen millions from corporations, lawyers, and other high dollar industries under the premise that the human variable will not change. That the nature of
mankind is predictable and the successfully fill your pockets with the bullion of the undeserving or hard working, is to simply be aware. Now is this awareness, this connived ability apparent in most. Of course not or we would all be millionaires.
Can it be learned? Sure bit it won’t be digested from a book such reasoning can only be mastered through trial and error.
Darn; I know right, means most will have to place the marijuana down and apply themselves.
Oh, but wait, can you build it?
I am sure most of you have heard of such stories.
Building the perfect woman that algorithmically understands your every need, Building the perfect man; Building the perfect computer, that hacks into the world banking system and
drowns you in digital greeneries. My question to you all is; After the machine has completed the algorithmic process that you could have already achieved on your own, at what time was that system aware of some ground breaking achievement?
The question was rhetorical; honestly, at the end of the adventure with your Automaton sexdolls and robotic assessment nothing will surpass the physical enjoyment of the Identification registered between two sentient beings.
Does make for good science fiction though.
As the two observe the smiling faces in the E-vapor filled room, with mood lighting that coordinated with the era, blue, the men could not help but to grow nostalgic for days longs past.
Though the people that frequent the dive bars generally remain the same, one could not help but to feel as if somehow the city had took it upon itself to make fantasy a reality. Only the fantasy was plastic, stoic, and lacked depth.
In Mr. Thursday’s time the women that frequent the bars could never be trusted. Animal vixens that clearly desired green-backs opposed to flowery promises for a drink. Women that, as you
accompany them down the dark alleys with intentions of a night of deep needed passion, turned
into a blood red moon of empty bed sheets and crimson droplets that lead to a dead Armani suits that witnessed the trail of her scarlet disappearance. The click of her heels upon the cobble stone re-enact her itchy fingers counting the fifty dollars, his death amounted to.
Noticeably younger, Clive, could picture the same decadence emulating from the four dark haired voyeurs that presently were more interested in their bar tab than the occupants, satisfied
that they would not be bothered by the suits and skirts, he returns to their previous conversation.
“I’ve been invited to a soiree as it were by the very people you claim I should stay away from. You do realize that no matter how much you encourage me, my better nature will win out.”
“Selling yourself short, admirable, still want to get the bills paid kid.” Comes Thursdays address.
“it is not always about the money you know, I honestly feel some deep-rooted obligation to this woman.” Clive protests, “Asserting the belief that if I treat her better than the others she may realize her own worth and simply feel entitled to it all.”
“That goes without saying, only keep in mind humans are slow learners.” Smirks Mr. Thursday.
The door to the outside opens with a loud bang. The two seemingly simultaneously look to the door, the rain is still falling in sheets. The grey sky is blinding in comparison to the hue of the establishment.
She is Bianca Aries. A working girl that has been a bombshell knock out since the seventh grade.
Moved down from Clive’s from New Jersey when she turned sixteen and since after graduating high school, served drinks for tips of the Nightingale. She could remember the before times, when you could drop out of Grade school and still maintain a family. When your merit
determined how far through the rabbit hole one was expected to go. She crawled and gouged the
eyes out of many, simply to claim the little sets of creature comforts that her 5’3’’ and a hundred and ten-pound frame, accented by her sensuously pendulous breasts would allow. She
confidently sashes her hips to the natural rhythm that has been the tempo of her smooth jazz life and after a quick glance at the unperturbed patrons of the bar, dives for the back office.
Who she saw was not how she wanted to start her day.
It always spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
In the 1940’s, a drug called “Curare” was used as an ‘anesthetic’ in operations performed on young children-whereas the actual effect that this drug has is to paralyze the action of major nerves on muscles, so that the agony that patients experienced in no way was made known to the surgeon. Dervent 1978.
:Re-reported by Lauran Shriller of CNN news; Her response to the silent steam rolling the citizens of Clive’s city.
In an air of insufferable distaste, wet, miserable, and clinically perturbed, Ms. Aries removes her stilettoes in the time it takes her to round the corner leading into the hall of the red room office.
Situated towards the back of the bar, though as graceful as the movement was it gave Clive and the many other patrons time to appraise the meaning of her presence.
She was to suppose to have the night off. The wood flooring is slick; her bare petite toes curl to grip purchase upon the newly waxed surface.
‘Harry is going to be pissed that I gave him an extra mess to clean up.’ Waving off the previous night with the janitor, ‘have to remember to dedicate a cocktail to the silly man,’ she like a pitbull in heat, finds the door knob.
Opens the door, the red hue does little to hide the surprise on Jimmy Mac’s, the owner of the
Nightingales, face as he sits behind his desk amongst towers of managing billing, half finished vodka bottles and an embarrassed Shelia-what’s-her-name posed in mid-suction upon his exposed lower torso.
Crack.
Goes the first shoe against the oak desk, ricocheting harmless off scattering papers.
Lauran Shriller of CNN news reporting; the entire world is effected universally by the lack of inspirational thought that it has allowed the focus of conversation to move away from preservations, family togetherness, Heritage and social standards. It is now muddled with
laboratorial declarations from earthly men who can only sustain on earthly regime. Even upon such standards all is made to fade. So what does the philosopher claim is the answer the impossible questions he is obligated to answer.
“The world is going to end anyway, so why worry about it.”
“Where have all the good men gone,”~ Clive’s thoughts.
Amidst the leaflets Jimmy and Sheila expectedly wait for the other shoe to drop. The distance from the desk to Ms. Aries seems unnaturally immense. The stretch of glass paned
window and book shelves that encompass the décor of Mr. Jimmy’s office breathes an air of education that not a single individual in this room can honestly say they readily associate with dear old Jimmy.
Caught with his pants down, Ms. Aries attacks, in a voice boisterous and husky as smoke. A musical shrill that makes most men exhausted.
“Can’t a girl go one day without seeing this place! My day off Jimmy! Not a useless vacation to play with my toys, toys that you seem to lack no end of! I can’t stand this place Jimmy, I feel
trapped, suffocated by the stench. The human need to huddle in one nostalgic fantasy long since pissed down the drain. And where do I find you, calling me to work cause you want a blow-job! Well toddles Jimmy
I quit!”
In a burst of pure indignation and residence she hurls the final shoe along with her charm which is clumsily connected to the heel of the stiletto missile. Not lacking any grace in the
befuddlement of discourse twirls on bare lithe heels and walks off toward the staff voyeur; every step making demands of the floorboard, that the splintering wood, objected of by way of creaking in step.
“You can’t quite!
Sheila please get up!
Look I’ll pay you double,” Jimmy coos to the air. He knows she won’t leave. The only home she has ever known.
He escapes Shelia, reluctantly, boxers of polyester-silk with heart shaped designs can do nothing to suppress his hairy claves and shins. Dress shirt and cotton tie askew he bolts after Bianca.
“Listen, I called you in…” his left sock catches on the nail of the floor board separating the threshold from the hall. ‘where is Harry when you need him?’ “…because it is supposed to be busy tonight.” Still pulling at his now unraveling left sock he manages to free himself from his office. Hesitantly approaches the door properly denoted with signs that say ‘Lounge and Staff.’ Rapped with a single knuckle on the support beam and invites himself inside.
“Honestly, what else would you do without the club?” Jimmy smiles.
Bianca is not amused, looking over her shoulder, hair still wet from earlier but now in a professional bun eyes deep brown which speak volumes. With her usual sarcastically charismatic manner corrects her simply mannered boss.
“Oh, I don’t know Mr. Jimmy, maybe I’d be at home like any good American girl and making sandwiches for my hubby.” Rolling her eyes in Mach humor, fixing her mesh, “In all seriousness
I enjoy my time off and the when I get here who do I see? The one black stallion of the country that could have stayed out of my life, You did this on purpose you two-faced snake.”
Jimmy takes her in, back against the door. ‘Look you’re going to stop calling me names, your mad, cool. Get over it.
Now who is here and why should we care so much?”
“Oooh Jimmy, that fleet wood mac of the eighties.” She is not impressed with his candor. “An old flame that burned me; Might be fishing for tuna-don’t go around talking about me to people Jimmy—ugh, anyway you’ll see him when I get to work. Just try to keep the coke out of your nose long enough to pay attention.” The joy could not be more apparent of his crocodile face.
“Great cause I need you kid.”
“Can it boner-champ, and go get dressed; you’re a mess.” Shoots back Bianca.
Jimmy, still confused and finding it hard to keep up asks, “should I be worried? Cause you looked worried and if you are shook—then, should I be?” Finally dressed and feeling
presentable for a bar-made the Puruvian Princess in mach disgust smacks Jimmy on the butt.
“You should only be worried if you’re not ready to play the game champ. The man out there is a master craftsman at the business of being a Con and will destroy you with his words and whims,” she smiles coyly as she sashes towards the blue hue that makes the bar of the Nightingale.
‘Words and whims sweetcakes.’
Jimmy can’t take his eyes off her hips, “so I should keep my pads and pens away from the guy? What about my bar, is that safe?’ he is speaking to the air again. ‘Now where is Sheila?’
“Harry Come Fix This Floor!”
If you liked this excerpt and want more be sure to order your copy of Black Amethyst by Advent Voice @ https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AVplusME or tell all of your friends and have them order it. E-books available.
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Not all THAT similar I think, but indeed, and well-written. 🙂 Spot a typo though, if it’s not intentional: “You can’t quite!”
Didn’t know you’d written books already too! Interesting…
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