The A.B.C.’s of the DNC

I’ll be the very first to admit that I don’t know much of shit about politics.  I’ll go even further and say that most people who cast their votes don’t either.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re all too busy living our lives I suppose.   However, as a writer, I sometimes feel compelled to have a  “voice” or a solid opinion on “key” issues when all I really have is my experience which is the source of most of the material I write.  If it resonates with a group or speaks to  larger “profound” vision.  Cool.  If not, it doesn’t really matter.  It’s still my truth, and I am the only person I can speak for.

Now I find myself in the middle of a political convention as a writer wanting to say something, but not feeling qualified enough.  There are plenty of people up and down the glorious throughway of North Tryon St., on television, on the internet, and on the radio poised to shove their opinion down, through, and in any orifice you have available whether you’d like it or not.  Me, well all I can give you is this whole shindig through my own cultural filter.  With that said …

… this is who I am:  I’m a lower middle class black female, a single mother of one.  I grew up culturally rich but fiscally poor and black in the New Jersey.  These elements are my lens through which I see my life. It is that lens that I will present my muses, random ramblings, and flickers of inspiration for the next few days. It may not be comfortable for all audiences.  I will be non-belligerent, and as honest as my cowardly soul will allow me to be. I vow to keep is simple as Sesame Street when I can.  Come to think of it, that’s what Uptown Charlotte feels like right now … a really warped Sesame Street … only  there are too many guest stars and not enough Muppets to greet them so they just roam endlessly and scream about the things that bother them …  All while Snuffy sits in the infamous “empty chair” and smokes a hooka and giggles. Anyway … Ready kids?  We’re going to the DNC!

Rosie.

 
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