I have always been taken by words in one sense or another.
For instance there are words that live in sounds: Splash, comes to mind,
buzz is another, sizzle and snap are just a few that speak for themselves. When it comes to sex: Warm, soft, fuzzy,
moist, slippery, apart and glistening have a complete different meaning altogether
than if one were to use the same words to describe a sliced peach that has been
left in the backseat of a car in July.
One can also use a single word to convey a wave of feelings: Dreary, passionate, inconsolable, adorable, apprehensive,
disillusioned, leery, lost and lonely are just but a few, And yet what they all
have in common is that they slip far within themselves, turn around and come
right back to the surface zigzagging all the way so that you can never quite
pin them down.
Then there are the words that are held captive in groups
of ownership. Kids have their own group of words that they use among one
another and nowhere else. Men too have their little four letter anatomical descriptions
that are shared only within the tribe of men. Women have a bit more in the word
basket, words that they use only in the company of other women, words that we
shall not touch on at this time for reasons known only to women.
It’s these words that are owned by certain unmixed
groups that I wish to discuss today. One word in particular that arises from
this thought process is normally not spoken in mixed company, mixed parties or
within cultures other than their own.
And that word my friends, is the “N” word.
Now, I didn’t
even say ‘the word’ and somehow there are about 200 million of your 500 trillion
synapses desperately trying to short circuit your neurons in the hope that you
will not read any further. However, the choice is yours.
Still around?
Spendid.
As I see it, the ‘N’ word over the last 20 years or
so has only been spoken within certain selected circles. People within these
social circles use the word almost as a term of endearment. I do believe it has
a lot to do with countering the downside connotation of how society has
associated the word with violence and actions that fall short of what most
would expect of what is moral and just. These selected individuals (The N’s) tend
to lend themselves to the darker side of life in a belief that the means truly
does justify the final outcome of any given situation. This was never more evident
than in the late ‘60’s and all through the 70’s.
However, during the 80’s and up until now this
social unit has taken full ownership of the word Ninja and proudly utilizes the word within their elite setting.
Let’s look at a few of the phases that have become
popular within this time frame of cultural bondage.
1. What was that crazy Ninja thinking?
2. What’s up Ninja?
3. Oh no, that ninja dint.
4. Man, that ninja can scale.
5. Ninja, what are you talking about?
6. Ninja got game.
7. Ninja, you ain’t getting none of this unless you get a job… (Female ninja)
8. Ninja, I don’t see no ring on this finger. (Female ninja)
9. Don’t be hatin’ ninja.
10 You feeling me ninja
10. Ninja pul…ease.
So you can see how certain verbiage can be
completely and so ever empowering and enriching at the same time within a group
that has come to terms with societies’ negativity.
Then there are the ones that wish to be Ninjas but can’t quite pull it
off even though they have all the skills and street speak. These people are mostly white and have been
termed Winjas.
Some popular Winjas.
Chuck Norris.
Jean- Claude Van Damme
Billy Jack
John Savage
Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Popeye
Uma Thurman
Charlie’s Angels.
Then we have Real
Ninjas
Bruce Lee
Li Mu-bai
Yu Shu-lien
Yu-Xiulian
Sir Te
Wudang.
David Carradine
My point being is that
if one is in the realm or reality of who they are, then they have certain rights
to the words that describe them or their group.
So back to me…
because you know WLA is really all about me even though it takes me forever to
make a point.
Every morning as
part of my daily ritual I get up, feed the cats, brush my teeth, pull a comb
through my hair, throw on a pair of jeans, commando style, some sandals, a
shirt and head on down to The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf coffeehouse for a cup of
half decaf and half regular coffee.
On Wednesday mornings there are these large, I’m talking mega big ass buses that
pull up to the curb at the Coffee Bean, half filled with elderly folks. I would say perhaps the
youngest may run about 60, the oldest, 75 or thereabouts. Then there is another
group of the elderly that meet at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf to catch the mega
assed busses. I’m thinking these are Indian Gaming buses that haul these folks
out to the casinos near Palm Springs for a day and night of old folk’s blissful
wishing
I don’t have a
problem with this, nor do I care if I have to park at the far end of the
parking lot because there are so damn many of them. They are everywhere, in the buses, near the buses, in back of
the buses, in front of the buses, milling around in the parking lot, some
ordering coffee, some not, but most of them just smoking cigarettes and cigars
like time will forbid them the remainder of the pack.
The line from the
bathroom begins at the rear of the coffeehouse and winds towards and out the
front door. There are about four people in line, so I wait.
My turn rolls
around and there are two female baristas behind the counter that I know and
banter with on a daily basis and a male barista working the pastry
counter.
So I get up to the
counter, now you have to understand, I have gray hair, salt and pepper some
say, and I’m 59 and a half. I’m wearing sandals with ankle socks. Getting the
picture?
I’m sorta old, so I
figure I can talk old people talk and share a few of old people words.
I say – in what
I think is my indoor voice – to the cat working the pastry counter.
“Dude, are those buses hauling all these old folks off to heaven or what, if so, there are a
few that look like they may not make it before the driver finishes stocking the
refreshment panel with last minute prayers.”
Well the fucking
place goes silent. You could hear a pin drop and If looks could kill I would have been shot,
buried, dug up and shot again right then and there by a horde of blue heads
Old folks can be
very, very intimidating when they all hush up at the same time.
If it weren’t for
the sound of the toilet flushing and someone fumbling with the bathroom door
lock, trying to get out of the bathroom, you would have thought time has come
to an end.
And I was right
there.
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