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The Sunflower That Grew From the Concrete- Nadiyah Gulley, Stylist
'The sunflower that grew from the concrete,' isn't a story I've ever heard, but I bet if I were to ask Nadiyah Gulley what it means to her, she'll paint herself as the Sunflower protagonist. Conviction might be an understatement when it comes to this woman's ferocity, but her soul is epic when poured into her work. It speaks volumes, just scroll below and see for yourself. Regardless, we asked Nadiyah to express her words of how the artwork she does expresses her soul, here's what she has to say. To me, styling is a judgment free vision of the world and who I truly am. It is my ambitions, sexuality, and conscious connection with the universe all wrapped up in one. It's the art of self expression, giving a chance to be as feminine or as risqué as one desires. Like my personality, my styles keep you on your toes. I like to keep it bold by using patterns and colors along with pieces that go against the grain of trendy Prêt-à- porter fashions. When styling, my inner fascinations with meaningful decades from the 20's thru 70's, (when women were rebellious, talented, and classy) started to appear. No matter if they are corporate cuties or eccentric musicians, I channel my inner Josephine's and Betty's to bring my clients' rebellious ambitions to life! The evidence is in my company, Swanky D's which consists of strong and uniquely themed concepts. During the naming process, I made sure to pick a word that captures the essence of my soul and brand -hence the word Swanky meaning stylish and luxurious. All of these adjectives capture the balance of my free spirit and corporate lifestyle within the brand. Nadiyah Gulley Owner of Swanky D's Email:Swankydfashion@gmail.com Ig:@swankyds_fashion Website:swankyds.com Fb business page: Swanky D's Linked:Nadiyah Gulley
Brandon Hardy Enterprises: The Name You'll Want to Know
I personally think it's hard not to flaunt when you got it like that. But, for Brandon Hardy, being smooth never looked so humbly. For this month's BOB, I'm Ready (Black Owned Business) feature, Brandon Hardy Enterprises (BHE) was spotlighted as our soul capture. Hailing from Atlanta, GA, Brandon Hardy -CEO and Founder- has been growing his platform of instilling self-confidence in the youth, and advocating for maximizing potential regardless of circumstance prior to his college matriculation beginnings. Now post-graduation, Brandon Hardy views the world as a sea of opportunity, versus obstacles. At Vinyle, we view anything stemming from the African Diaspora as art since the Black community is the most viably notable appropriated culture, so of course we view Brandon's humanitarianism through his clothing line as a dutiful job curated by a fellow running mate. We asked Brandon how does his artwork express his soul, here's what he has to say. "Being smooth never looked so humbly"- KRF In late March when I decided to start my own company I had no idea what I wanted to do. What I did know was that we were in a Global Pandemic, I was sent home from school during the last couple months of my senior year of college, and I needed to be creative. Thus, I started my own company, with a vision of inspiring others to seek greatness through the various companies that I want to start up. Brandon Hardy Enterprises or simply BHE is a management company, I wanted BHE to be a conglomerate company to manage all my companies. It is the Parent Company. The first company that I launched was my clothing line, BHARDY CLOTHING. The goal of BHARDY CLOTHING is to encourage customers to be authentic, expressive, unique, and simply to BE YOU. This is very important to me, as Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” In today’s world being true to who you are is not easy, it takes courage, grit, and leadership (all characteristics are my companies core values). I wanted to create something special, something that was consistent with who I am and that is what I did. My work is a replica of me; thus it is an expression of my soul. I have always been against the status quo, I am bold, unique, and very expressive and although that comes with controversy, I want my customers to know that it is okay to be YOURSELF. This brand is about authenticity it is about self-love and self-expression, these are things that come from my soul. I embrace being me, I love being me, and I want to inspire that in others. In my opinion, people today are more willing to be conformist, and they are unsure of who they are or what their purpose is or should be. I want BHARDY CLOTHING to help change that. This is my purpose and I want to fulfill it. Instagram: Personal Bhardy__ Twitter: Personal Bhardy___ Instagram: Company Bhardy.Clothing Twitter: Company BHE_BHARDY
Breaking Barriers- Fatoumata Barry, "The Holistic Wellness Coach"
Mental health awareness has always been a burning passion of mines for outreach --specifically to Black creatives who struggle standing in the power of their identity. This Black Owned Business (BOB) really stood out to me amongst the many I've worked with in my past for Vinyle zine, because she is the first wellness practitioner I've come across in the millennial BOB pool. I am certain that their are others that model her same values, but once I began to read her articles and what she is trying to bring to Black women and men -I was instantly drawn in. Mental Health and holistic health are starting to transition from being a once taboo topic in the Black community, to something we can feel slightly more easy about opening those cans of worms. Nonetheless, the transition is still in its adolescence, and plenty more work still needs to be done in order to finally break generational cycles. I asked Fatoumata my favorite question, "how does your work express your soul?" I believe the soul should always provide the framework for any pursuit driven by passion and relentless hustle; ideally, our opinions matched. Here is what she has to say: "I work as a holistic wellness coach. I specifically focus on empowering people to create a sacred space for themselves through mindset work, and self-care practices that allow growth in all areas of their life. The soul is known to be the driver of the body. My work as a wellness coach is an expression of my soul, because it literally is where my soul has always driven me towards ever since I can remember. I've always wanted to be in a field that’s about helping people, especially people who look like me. As a Black woman, I felt driven to create a space that allowed conversation about Black mental health. I work to encourage Black people, especially women, to put themselves above everything else. We live in a world where Black women will show up for everyone, but no one really shows up for us. My platform is built to allow Black women the freedom to discover and affirm to themselves all that they are deserving of in this world. It is also a place where they can work on healing and finding balance in all areas of their lives. The best part of my work is that I get to show up as my full authentic self by choosing to also be transparent about my own mental health, and sharing my wellness journey on the Positive Exchange Blog. I don’t have to pretend to be a perfect human. I show up with my heart and soul, while my physical body serves and delivers the message that allows all of my clients to feel empowered and live their best lives. I get excited when I complete a self work coaching session, and my client says something along the lines of , “I feel so inspired,” or, “this has really helped me refocus my goals,” or even “I'm hopeful.” That’s what brings a smile to my soul! In my wellness shop you can find my Balance Affirmation Cards. This 35-card deck of affirmations focuses on balancing the 7 chakras in our body. All affirmations speak love, health, abundance, and spirituality into our lives." Learn more about my 1:1 coaching and wellness programs Instagram : @positiveexchangewellness @___f.barry Website: Positiveexchangewellness.com
Celestial Divinity in Art- Bri Simpson, Artist
Art should entice your mood, no matter which direction the piece shifts your emotional balance. The feeling of serenity, balance, and power could be the adjectives to describe your wave of emotions when viewing Bri Simpson's artwork. A lot of purple covers the bodies of her painted women, and something so tranquil about their poses are striking in pondering, 'what was the artist thinking?' So we asked the artist, Bri Simpson, our favorite question here at Vinyle. "How does your artwork express your soul?" Here's what she has to say. Painting has always been therapeutic for me. I would finish my homework in college so I could have weekends to myself filling my room with new artwork. There is something magical about taking raw materials and building these worlds for others to experience. As a kid, I loved art, but for a while, I struggled with connecting to what I saw in museums and textbooks. The women in the paintings I would see didn’t look like me. The artwork hanging up in galleries wasn't colorful or vibrant. Then when it came to black art, there always seemed to be a focus on particular times in history. Slavery and sharecroppers, civil rights, and social commentary. I longed for something more, something different. When I started participating in art shows after undergrad, it was an eye-opening experience. Here I was, traveling up and down the east coasts to cities I'd never been to before, completely vulnerable, and on display. People would come over and start asking questions, and the next thing I knew, I was having these long conversations with strangers about self-care and womanhood. Over the years, my artwork has grown from being this simple act of self-care into an entire experience. Now when I go to create, I think of the stories I can tell; I choose the colors with intentions; I'm more conscious about who my audience is. I'm also more aware of the fact that who I was when I started painting is different now. My art is always changing, always growing, and still exploring new ideas. As I grow and experience new things in life, it shows in my work. The biggest take away I want people to get from my art is that black art can be more than just the pains and sadness black people have experienced. Black art can be colorful, spiritual, feminine, and enchanting. I want black women, especially to be able to see themselves in my work, as these divine, multifaceted beings. During this time of global shift, it’s becoming more apparent that we all have talents and gifts to share with the world. I hope to continue to use my platform to celebrate and uplift black women and black art overall.
AIRY TUNES- Tahira Imani's Music
For the first issue's collection of artists from every discipline, we decided to ask the singer/ songwriter Tahira Simpson 'how does her artwork express her soul?' Read below to see how her creative discipline articulates her. As my musical style has developed, I’ve come to understand that the songs I write are an expression of my inner emotions. When I was growing up, I used to have such a hard time expressing myself because I felt like no one was listening to my words. But when I would sing, all of that would fade away. This voice that I’ve been given has allowed me to express myself openly and honestly, which is something I feared I might never be able to do. When I first began writing music,I often repressed things that ,again, I felt like people didn’t want to hear. But as I really let myself get into the process, I let go of that fear and allowed myself to be fully immersed in my music. By doing this, I’ve ended up attracting so many beautiful people into my life and, at this point in my life, I’ve never felt more confident and supported. Using my music as the truest expression of myself has been the best thing I could’ve done. As I find myself more through my music, others that resonate with it find their way to me. The love and support I feel for myself is evident in those that are now coming to support me and I’m thankful everyday for the opportunity to express myself in this way. If you want to check out more from Tahira Imani go to her SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/tahiraimani Instagram: @tahira.404
"PULL" Short Story by Kandice Fowlkes
October 23, 2015 2:37 a.m. It started with the pull of a trigger. Pull, aim, shoot. I took my first life. Pull, aim, shoot. I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t flinch. Pull, aim, shoot. I ran until I couldn’t hear the sirens trailing where the firearm shots could have come from. The residents of the apartment complex prodded lividly as they inquired who was shot this time? It could have been someone’s little brother. Or cousin. Or even mines! No! I can’t turn back now. What’s done is done. I can’t regret popping him. All I know is, he deserved it. Pull, aim, shoot. The wails of the sirens were still close on the streets, and I knew I needed to get outta sight. I ran towards the back entrance of the apartments, so I could stay as low as possible until the commotion died down. I slid down behind a dumpster, and tried to justify the retribution I sought for my brother, Jay. I tried to calm my shaking hand that held the heavy iron draped in the bandana, but the trembling prevailed over my body. I wanted to believe my brother was smiling down on me, and thanking me for capping the fool who killed him. But, I felt like he was just solely looking down. Pull, aim, shoot. The scene kept replaying over and over in my head. Me walking up on the fool that shot my brother. Me shooting him in the parking lot. Him crawling through a pool of blood to escape his fate. Me kicking his body over to unmask myself. Me standing over him with the barrel pointed to his face. His final words replaying in my head. “My--.” He coughed blood in between his words and dragged his body along the pavement. “My--.” He coughed blood again, “--please.” Pull, aim, shoot. My head was throbbing from the ringing, or the replaying, or the sirens, or just a combination of it all. The noise of the sirens grew closer, as I rocked back and forth questioning him, “Was this right, Jay?” October 21, 2015 7:23 a.m. “I wish that all mornings felt like this.” I said. “Amya, whatchu’ talking ‘bout?” Jay said unraveling the Black & Mild from the package. “Like this dummy,” I said and held my hands out to the street, “just listen, don’t you hear that?” The streets were quiet. For the first time in so long I hadn’t heard Mechanicsville this quiet. There were no children on Huffy scooters, no mailman dropping off junk, no dogs barking because they see cars —just us and the sun. Jay’s white tank top and satin durag even had a glow. I knew underneath his durag was the most perfect set of waves that resembled a Black Sea. “It’s a little too quiet if you ask me, shit makes me paranoid.” Such a mood killer. He sparked his Black & Mild, and his once shaking leg ceased at the smoke inhalation. “Whatever.” I said, still embracing this peace. It’s rare for Jay to sit out on the porch with me while I read as the sun comes up. It was rare for Jay to not be moving. His constant movements would scare me sometimes because I never knew when the day would come when he would cease to move. I just felt like our time was limited. Summer was almost over and I’d be in a whole new city —away from my family. I know they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but Jay is more and more distant these days. We used to be so close because we were the youngest, but now that he’s so worried about bills and keeping his set safe I hardly see him. I feel like I’m trying to get to know him as much as I can before I go. “So when you gone give this up, Jay?” Jay cocked his head at me with a “this again” look in between the puff of his Black & Mild, and I cocked my head back at him with raised eyebrows, pressing the question again. “Girl, what you talkin’ bout’?” He returned his gaze to our neighboring houses becoming silhouettes from the Atlanta sun, rising just above our city. He deeply inhaled the rolling clouds again. “You know what I’m talking about, Jay, and don’t call me girl. I’m not one of your little hussies.” I nudged his shoulder and he slightly tilted in Mama’s rocking chair. His durag shook in the motion and Jay quickly put down the cigarillo on Mama’s ashtray to retighten it, flexing his biceps. “Aight, Amya, what are you talking about, again?” He asked, now relighting the ashed tip of the cigarillo. "This,” I said, holding my hand out past the porch balcony, and pointing to Mechanicsville, our block --his streets. “When are you going to give this up? Mama needs you Jay, and it’s only a matter of time before you piss off the right person and they put a bullet in your ass.” “On that note,” he took another quick puff then ashed his Black & Mild, “this conversation is through.” He began to rise from Mama’s rocking chair and walk back to the front door, but I followed him and pushed the door shut —staring him in his eyes four feet below his six feet stature. “I’m serious, Jay. It’s only a matter of time before you piss off the right person and they bust a cap in your ass.” “Listen, Mya. I just wanted to enjoy my morning with you. You woke me up this early to tell me about this. It’s never gonna happen. I’ve told you and Mama many times before, now let me through.” I pushed my hand harder to close the front door then blocked it with my rounded hips entirely. “Mya, why are you really doing this? Can’t a man just wake and bake with his sister and enjoy that?” I couldn’t believe he was serious. He raised his shoulders and squinted his eyes as though this conversation was really paining him. “You know I don’t smoke that stuff, Jay, and you know why I’m telling you this again and again. You’re twenty-three years old, you’ve still got time to change. You know and I know that you’ve got way more talent than those fools that follow you to make it off the streets. You got recruited not just because you were good at ball, but because you’re smart.” He rolled his eyes and turned his face towards the roof of the porch. “Uggghhh, here we go with this again.” “Why not take what you were blessed with and make something outta yourself for Mama and me?” I sound like Mama, except not this Mama, our current Mama doesn’t nag Jay. I sound like old Mama, when she used to nag our older brother Marco. Mama lectures less since Marco died. “Listen, Mya, books weren’t my thing, and you also know that. That’s your thing.” He says gesturing a finger towards my chest. “And you keep your head in them books instead of worrying about me and my business, because I’ll always be here to take care of you and Mama.” I exhale and turn my face away from his because I feel where this conversation is going. “You know what I mean Jay.” I cut him a side eye, “Don’t either of us wanna see you get hurt --God doesn’t work on our time, Jay.” I say, still staring away from him. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch me, Mya, and that’s it. If somebody wanted to touch me, I would’ve been dead a long time ago after what they did to Marco.” I got quiet because this conversation just turned into that conversation, and I knew he was bound to win at any moment. “I know you and Mama worry about me, but I’ll always be good and I’ll always be there to take care of you.” My body was completely turned towards the streets now. I needed to drown him out. I imagined kids on their rusted Huffy scooters speeding down hills. Mothers fanning themselves as they walked their kids to the bus stops. Men mowing their yards in the afternoon heat as police cruised by. “Mya, don’t I always take care of you?” I snapped out of it, but I didn’t respond. I wondered if not now, when will I ever speak up about what he’s doing and the reality of what could happen from doing it. “—and don’t I always come home every night to check on the two most beautiful women in the world to always make sure y’all are straight?” “Yes, Jay. You put food on the table, clothes on our backs, but that still doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve been having this really bad dream recently where —“ “Mya, I don’t have time for any of this. I’m a grown man. I promise I got myself just like I got y’all. I would never leave my two favorite people in a world without me.” He kissed my forehead and held my chin in his hand. His smile was so reassuring, his pearly white teeth contrasting his purple skin. How could I think God would take away a smile so perfect in our lives. “Now you need to get back to those books. Your teacher said that a lot of those outta state universities are looking to scout you and give you some money. You know you can’t live off me for the rest of your life. Go ahead and get that work in, so they can pay for your tuition.” He smiled again at me still holding my chin, and I didn’t even realize how hard I was smiling as well. Just almost forgetting the severity of our conversation seconds ago. “I just really love you, Jay. I feel sometimes useless without you— like I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” He dropped his hand from my chin and moved his index to my face, while lightly placing one hand on my shoulder. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen. And I’ll tell you what you will do if anything ever did happen, you’re gonna keep getting that medicine for Mama.” He moved the wagging finger, but the shoulder grip remained. Not so rough, but just gentle enough. “Oh shit! It is today!” “Yup it is. I’ll give you the co-pay and just go pick it up. I’ve already called in to make sure it’s there and they said that it’ll be ready for pick up by 11 a.m. She also made a grocery list and stuck it to the fridge so pick that up too.” “Okay. I’ll go get it.” He released me, and I started towards the screen door to get ready for my assigned chores. “And Mya,” I turned around after opening the door, he pulled his car keys out of his pocket and handed them to me alongside a roll of cash. “you can take my car. I gotta dust off Rosie today.” My pissy attitude instantly resolved, because he knew he had me. He knew that he would reel me in by letting me drive Daisy, and as always — I took the bait. Daisy was his mark of approval throughout the hood, and everybody knew him when they saw the lavender purple El Dorado cruising on its gold 40-inches. I’d be lying if I said my brother didn’t know how to ride clean. The tinted windows with the dusty purple glitter sealed the 70’s look for me. I tried not to sweat him so much as a teenager, because as a kid all I did was dress like him when he first got Daisy. The crisp 3x t-shirt with the egg-shell white Adidas were my favorite steals from his closet, not to mention his lucky Yankees hat that I would twist just above my right ear. “Thanks, Jay.” “You’re welcome, my love. Now go ahead before Mama gets mad at both of us.” I tore the canvas sheet off the cadillac, and stared at my reflection in the freshly waxed coat. Jay’s roll of cash was in my left-hand, the car keys to Daisy in my right, and Mama’s co-pay tucked away in my coat pocket. He slid me “extra change” for her co-pay, but I knew it was the exact co-pay amount. Mama’s co-pay or any other chore around the house, is just another time restriction for Jay that he pays me to do. He pays me a hefty service fee in fact. I would always try to guess how much was in the weekly roll each time he would give them to me. I would guess $150, or $200, but I was always wrong. Jay never gave me less than $300 since I was eight. I revved the engine with the destination of Leno’s spot in mind. I’ve memorized every street, every block, and every corner from the time Jay started teaching me how to drive. Take a left turn down Ralph David. Intersect on Fulton street. Cross onto Whitehall, and there was Leno’s one-story house sandwiched in between two duplexes. I always loved Miss Sophia’s house, Leno’s mother, because she kept the flowers in their front yard watered, and Leno kept their lawn trimmed. Me, Leno, and Jay used to “scavenge” for berries in the wild since their small house had the largest backyard. Instead of berries, we’d find poison ivy, and we’d end up pushing each other down in it. Games like that eventually stopped being fun for us. In the spring season, Miss Sophia would make me, Leno, and Jay come outside to plant her favorite yellow daffodils alongside the curb of the street. She would even make Marco help before taking me and Jay home. That’s the funny thing about being kids, grown-ups can make you do anything. Since the death of her son Ray, she never missed a Sunday at church, and to not hear her fuss, Leno makes sure he doesn’t either. As a teenager, I respectfully decline her and Leno’s Sunday offers to congregate with them at church. I think that it’s a family thing though. Mama is Christian but has never taken Jay and I to church, and Jay doesn’t believe in organized religions. Me, I’m still figuring out my spirituality. When I pulled up, Leno was already sitting on the front porch, with his mother’s windchimes coupling with the breezes. I parked behind his black Honda Accord as he stayed in the chair and rocked back and forth with a still face. It remained unmoved, until I stepped out of the car and I could see his cheeks blush into a subtle smile. I always expected the welcome from his cologne and lips before he ever spoke a word. He wrapped his arms around my waist, then let one hand crawl up to my cheek --held it, and pressed his lips against mine. “Sit down,” he finally said, letting the air return between us. He weaved my fingers through his skeleton tattooed knuckles and guided me to sit down in his mother’s rocking chair. I tried to catch a glimpse of the bookmarked novel he was reading on the table. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.” He said, still holding my hand across the mini-table. “Are you not happy to see me?” I replied, raising my eyebrows. “You know I am.” “Well, good. So why are you up this early? I wasn’t expecting you to be waiting on me outside when I pulled up.” “I told you I wasn’t expecting you to be in the car, but for some reason I felt as though I was expecting something. My ma’ had caught a ride with her coworker this morning, so I was just up alone. I decided to come outside and enjoy the sunrise to get some clarity.” He sighed at his last words and turned to look back at the streets. His face returned to stillness as though he retreated to his thoughts again. “Why are you drivin’ Jay’s car?” “It was his cop out to get me to shut up talking about something he didn’t want to hear.” “And you took it?” “Yeah. . .I took it.” There was another silence between us. The coolness of the Saturday morning began to break as the sun rose to its highest. Leno’s honey skin glowed a light amber in our summer heat. His purple chest tattoos were more vibrant at this time too. They canvassed his body more than the plain white tee. “Jay’s got me running an errand for him.” Leno quickly turned his head to me with a look of concern, or anger? “Not those kinds of errands. Just one for my mom. You know he wouldn’t do that.” He sighed and returned to his thoughts. “I came by to swoop you up to come with me though.” “That’s cool. I’ll go get ready.” I trailed him into the house towards his room, mentally re-photographing the walls of memories with Leno, his family, and his older brother Ray. One picture showed the two little tan boys standing in front of their kiddie pool. Leno’s crying uncontrollably with his fists balled tightly across his face and an ice-cream pop sunk into the grass beneath his feet, and Ray—slightly taller— holding his shoulder and extending his arm with his own popsicle in hand. Once in his room, I plopped onto his bed, as he walked to his closet. His trophies and medals for different things like “Honor Roll,” “Perfect Attendance,” “High Achievement,” etc. were perched above his desk on a mantelpiece, scaling our years from elementary school to now. What was always peculiar to us is that even as kids, Leno never let them catch a grain of dust. His bookshelf displayed alphabetized tabs, grouping each book by genre. After a read, he returned each book to its original position, but I always wondered why he never got pissed at others for not doing the same. His walls were once decorated with posters of DC characters, and Linkin Park album covers, but he peeled them off after Ray’s death, and his rise to Jay’s second in command. Every now and again, I’ll walk into Miss Sophia’s house and hear Leno blasting Hybrid Theory as he washed their dishes. Ray’s posters still dressed his side of the room with images of his favorite rappers like T.I. and OutKast. His bed was adjacent from Leno’s, and I never sat on it because I felt I would be disturbing the spirit that lingered across the room. Ironically, Ray’s bed stayed made, as if Leno were waiting for him to return, so maybe he felt the same. Leno sat down at his desk with his treasure box. He pulled out bags of pills and weed, to lift the bottom cover of the box and unveil a stack of cash. He peeled the rubberband off and began to count. I knew there was more than one stack in there, but I tried not to pry too much when he did this. “Did you eat?” he said breaking the silence. “Ummm, I actually didn’t eat today. I forgot.” “I told you about that, mama. You don’t need to be skipping meals.” “You’re asking me like you’re gonna feed me?” I said serving some attitude. He smiled back at me and his butter skin makes me melt. “Let’s go.” On the rare occasions I had Jay’s car, Leno never urged me to let him drive like some of the fools I chauffeured around in his car. He would quietly assume the role of passenger while we rode through our block, never closing his eyes to capture a moment missed one blink at a time. He slips his fingers through mines while still staring out of the windows, never turning to say “I love you,” or even letting me see the windows to his soul. His grasp is more than enough. We were just riding when he said, “Don’t chu’ got to pick up something for your ma’?” he asked. “Oh, crap, you’re right. I almost forgot.” I whip Daisy towards Glenn Street to head onto I-20. After we get off of our exit, I catch Leno tapping his fingers on his legs out the corner of my eye. I begin to steal glances at him to see what his vulture eyes nabbed this time. “Keep your eyes on the road, mama,” he said, still keeping his eyes on whatever grabbed his attention. “What’re you staring so hard at? You’re doing that thing again with your fingers when you get antsy—” I said before I looked into the rear view and saw a black Hyundai tailing us at a safe enough distance to prolong alerting our attention. “They've been trailing us for about two blocks since we got off ‘20,” he said in response to my sudden realization. “Take a turn here.” I turned in the direction he told me, then the next turn and the next. I tried to remain calm as I kept my eyes on the road with the black car pinned to our tail. He slid the pistol out of his pants and cocked it back. I looked at the clock, which just struck 12:33 p.m.. These fools couldn’t be up to no good this early in the day. I haven’t even picked up Mama’s medicine yet. “Leno, will everything be alright?” I asked now feeling my hands perspire on the steering wheel. “Keep your eyes on the road, mama. You’ll be okay.” He returned his gaze back to the mirror. The Hyundai now shifted lanes to my left. “I’m just sa-saying, Jay would kill me if anything happened to his car.” I kept my eyes pierced to the road, gripping onto the steering wheel more tightly. I tried to say a silent prayer, but my eyes kept breaking my focus darting back and forth from the road, to the Hyundai. “I’d rather Jay kill me than these bustas. Now take this left.”I turned as he said, and after a few more directions the Hyundai disappeared. We remained quiet in the car. I didn’t want to ask him if he thought the car would return, because his pistol remaining on his lap and his vulture eyes staying glued to the mirror gave me my answer. By the time I finished getting Mama’s refill from Grady’s pharmacy, the clock was at 2:00 p.m., and Daisy was getting close to “E.” I pulled into the nearest gas station, and remained in the car as Leno went inside to pay. As I waited, I began to fix myself in the mirror. I fluffed my curls a little , then glanced over at Leno through the transparent windows to see how far in line he made it before his return. I focused my attention back to myself, putting on lip gloss in my rearview mirror when I saw the black Hyundai pull up at a rapid pace with a long muzzle pointed at Jay’s car. I didn’t have time to react before the first bullet shot through the air, splitting Jay’s back windshield to the front --just missing me. I crouched down as far as I could towards the gas pedals, covering my ears and face as the glass fell. I knew that I let out a series of screeches, but the sounds of the bullets ricocheting off Daisy muffled my screams. I didn’t know how long I was down there, but I heard tires screech off down the street, and soon Daisy’s passenger door ripped open. I stayed crouched down, afraid to move, afraid to look up, until I heard a distant-sounding voice calling, “Mya!” It sounded like my head had been submerged in water when the voice called again, “Mya!” I couldn’t tell how far I was, or the voice was. “MYA!” The voice said again, this time pulling me from the sunken place. My head swayed a little as I gazed onto Leno. My eyes looked through him, until they drifted down to the crimson streaks running from his shoulder to his forearm. “Mya! I need to know if you’re hurt?” He asked, still on the outside of the car looking in at me. I began to regain feeling in my legs. They felt nimble from crouching down so low, or maybe because I was still so afraid. I used my hands to pull my body back up to the driver’s seat, and stared straight out the windshield, only it wasn’t a windshield anymore. The shield was shattered onto the dashboard, and I lifted my hand to see crimson streaks, matching Leno’s, pour from my palm. My tears dropped into my palms, causing the little deltas to flow more quickly until I completely pulled my face down into my hands. Leno drove me back home after dusting off the dashboard and the seats where the shattered glass rested. I urged him to go to the hospital seeing that he was shot in his left shoulder, but he insisted I needed more assistance than he did. We rode in silence for the most part all the way back home. He would make small gestures to rub my leg, or ask if I was hungry, but I couldn’t shake what just happened, and I knew he couldn’t either. He kept both arms on the steering wheel, gripping it tighter and tighter to where I could hear the rubber making subtle squeaking sounds underneath his palms. When we pulled up to my house the sun was still high at 3:30 p.m., Jay was sitting on the porch smoking another Black & Mild waiting for us. He stood up on the stairs while me and Leno got out of the car. I ran into Jay’s arms, and Leno walked past Jay into the house. Jay held my face in his hands and looked at me, then over my shoulder at Daisy, and kissed my forehead, “I’m glad that you’re okay.” Then he followed behind Leno into the house, shutting the door, and leaving me outside. I twiddled my thumbs together not knowing what I should do. I didn’t know if I should go into the house to calm Jay since I knew he was probably upset, or if I should just stay outside while they handled their business. My legs still felt wobbly from the shoot-out. I thought about storming Jay with a lecture, but I knew that would undoubtedly end with me crying in Jay’s arms and him reassuring me that after a body shop visit for Daisy, everything will be okay. I stayed outside and sat in shattered Daisy. At least twenty minutes had passed and Jay came storming out of the house. “Jay, what’s going on?” I ask, jumping out the car into his path. “Don’t follow me, Mya.” He responds. I look back towards the house and see Leno coming down the stairs towards us. “Don’t come close to me man. You had your chance to prove your loyalty --to prove how much you really care about her.” Jay said pointing towards me. “Jay, what are you talking about?” I said confusedly. I didn’t know how the conversation they had in the house went left. “Listen Jay, I need you to calm down before you go off and do something stupid.” Leno said, speaking at Jay. “Something stupid mufucker?” Jay pulled out his gun and pointed it towards Leno, and Leno put his hands in the air. “I’ll tell you what’s stupid, how I trusted you all these years and yet you’re probably the one who set this whole hit out on me. Am I right?” “JAY! Put the gun down! Leno would not do that!” I screamed now in tears. “Jay, I can only tell you so many times, but I can show you my loyalty. I did not set you, or Mya, up.” Leno said calmly, keeping his hands in the air. “Don’t speak to me about loyalty. If you were loyal, you’d be on the other side of this nine. Only Ray knew about loyalty. Only Marco knew about loyalty. My brother died protecting your brother. They were people to be trusted. But you? I hate they left me with you. I trusted you, because they trusted your decisions, but in reality--you’re just a coward.” With those words I looked over at Leno who now gritted his teeth and lowered his arms. My eyes boggled back and forth between the two, because I was unsure if Jay would really kill Leno right now. “Kill me then fool. If that’s what you think is right. I’ve watched you, Marco, and Ray since we were all kids, but if Ray were here right now --I’d tell him the same thing again and again just before he died.” Jay cocked back the gun and moved closer to Leno. “I would tell him, just like I’m telling you, not to go looking for a war that you are not prepared for.” Jay’s arm stayed outstretched towards Leno, with the gun still pointed in his face. It was almost as if I were frozen in time, watching the two men I loved at odds because of this life we lived in. A black car pulled up to our house and I realized it was Rocko’s car, with some of the other gang in the back seat. “Aye, Jay, what the hell y’all got going on? We gone get these bustas or what? I just got the location of their spot,” Rocko said in the driver’s seat. Jay didn’t flinch or turn around at Rocko’s words. He kept the gun pointed at Leno, clenching his jaw. Then finally lowering the gun. “You lucky you’re Ray’s brother.” He said before turning away to head to the car with the rest of the gang. My body moved towards Jay before I could think, and before I knew it I was grabbing his arm. “Jay, don’t do this. Please don’t leave because I do not know if you’ll come back.” I said still holding his arm. Rocko honked the horn again behind Jay and I. “Mya, the only thing you can do for me right now, is learn how to pull a trigger. Otherwise, stay here with that nigga. Go dust off your shoes or sumthin.” With the snatch of his arm, he walked away and jumped in the passenger seat of Rocko’s car and drove off. I watched them as they sped off, and I dropped to my knees, almost as if to pray. I think my body knew I needed to pray, but my mind couldn’t do it. I thought the worst, but wasn’t prepared for if it did happen. I didn’t realize Leno had walked over towards me. “Get up off this ground mama, you don’t deserve to be down there.” He bent down to help me up, and I folded into his chest. He took in my wails while I took in the smell of his cologne. We walked back into the house and I sat at the kitchen table. Leno fixed me a glass of lemonade then sat beside me and took one of my hands in both of his. “I think it’s time for me to leave, Mya.” He said. “Okay, I’ll take you home in my car.” I responded. “No mama, I mean leave, maybe to another city. The only reason I stayed in this life was for Ray and Jay. Now both are gone —.” “Don’t say that!” I quickly responded. “I’m just saying, Jay doesn’t want me here. He won’t listen. Just like Ray wouldn’t. And if he comes back, I don’t know if I can trust that he won’t eventually lead me to my death.” I paused and sighed before arguing because I knew he was right.“Marco wasn’t like Jay. Marco was similar to you. He made —good decisions, they were always thought out. He didn’t want Jay to get into this shit. But all Jay saw was how he was making money in place of Daddy not being here. Jay is just. . . so much like our dad.” My voice trailed off. “Daddy was so stubborn. He and my mom were young when they had Marco, but it didn’t stop him from being reckless. My mom would tell me how he called it reckless with purpose —but I loved him. Sooo much.” Leno went quiet. “My fifth grade graduation was supposed to be so special. He was so excited to come to mine because he had missed all of Jay’s and Marco’s graduations because he was locked up, but he said that this time —he got a chance to start over with me. He said it was his God given chance. He asked what I wanted, and I told him a pony. He said to me, ‘what lil’ Black girl you know in the hood gotta’ pony, and I told him, ‘I’m a trendsetter.’ The day of my graduation, we were all getting ready to go to my graduation and I was asking my mom where Daddy was. She said he stepped out early to get me a big surprise, and I just knew he had gotten me a pony.” “We get to my school and I’m watching the door, waiting for him to walk through the gymnasium with my pony in front of everyone. We’re lining up to go on the stage and I’m still watching the door, waiting for him to come through. Almost like a movie scene, ya know? But it’s the end of the ceremony, and all the students are saying goodbyes and leaving, and I’m still waiting like ‘where could he be?’” “The reception was at my Dad’s sister's house in College Park since she had a big backyard. Our cookouts were always loud, everyone would come out—.” I paused and held my arms. “Then the police came pulling up. I assumed it was the neighbors trying to call the police to shut down the party since that’s what they always did at my auntie parties. I came towards the door, but my mom pushed me back and told me to go downstairs, but I stayed anyway since they were trying to crash my party. My aunt answered the door with my mom behind her, and the black police officer asked if it was the residency of Marquis Jean. I looked wide eyed like what could they want with Daddy? And I think my mom and aunt had the same reaction although I couldn’t see their face. My aunt answered and said that’s her brother, but he doesn’t reside there—.” My voice began to crack. “My mother jumped in and said she’s his wife, and the officer said the address listed on his ID is my aunts. He asked if they could step outside to talk more privately after seeing me standing in the doorway of the kitchen listening. My mind immediately starts running rampant with thoughts about what my father did? How is he about to hurt Mommy this time? He promised he would be here.” I paused again. “I heard my mother scream on the other side of the door. And I immediately ran outside to her. She was hysterical. I just remember her bent down on the grass praying and shouting to God. My aunt was holding her crying too, and looking up at the sky. I knew Daddy had done something again that made Mommy cry, but this was the hardest I ever saw her cry. My brothers came running outside soon afterwards and so was the rest of the people in the house. My aunt saw all of us and rushed us into the house. I didn’t realize until I got inside that I was crying. I didn’t know why I was crying, but I knew something felt different.” I paused again and took a breath. “I knew the party was over, but I was just hoping that my mom and dad were okay. So we waited. My mom stayed outside for a little minute, and I could hear my auntie on the other side of the door saying, “‘Angie, breathe baby, breathe.”’ I remember hearing my mom heaving loudly and then slowly dwindling down. After she calmed down my aunt came inside, then Mama came back inside. Her eyes were red and puffy. We were all sitting in the kitchen when they came back in. Jay stood up and asked, ‘“where’s Daddy?”’ He looked straight at Mama, and I looked back and forth between them and then she just said it, ‘“your Daddy —died today.’” There was silence and then he told Mama, straight to her face ‘“you’re lying.”’ Jay told my mother that she was lying. Any other time she would have split his lip, but she tried to grab him and hold him but he pushed back. And he repeated to her “you’re lying” over and over again. He sounded like a bell. I didn’t believe Daddy would do this either. I remember sitting in the chair trembling, and trying to comprehend death. It was so confusing, being nine years old and realizing that your dad would never come back home. It wasn’t like when he told me he was going away for a long time to jail. This was permanent.” “Jay began to break things. He threw the first glass he saw at the wall still screaming ‘you’re lying, you’re lying!’ I was just sitting in the chair processing this all: my mother screamed at Jay to stop, Jay kept breaking things and yelling, my aunt was in the corner praying, but then there was a knock at the door and everyone got quiet. The knock came again, and my aunt yelled, ‘“now what the hell could it be?!”’ She went to the door and a black woman and white man were at the door.” I chuckled and smiled at Leno, “and guess what they said. The white man sounded very flamboyant and said, ‘We’re looking for Amya Jean, we’ve got a couple of horses waiting outside for her.’ And I dashed for the door to see if another prank was being pulled on me, but there it was—the portable stable and “Annie’s Horseback Riding” sign stamped on the side. It was right there that I broke down. I curled into a ball and prayed and prayed that Daddy was still coming, no matter what they said. I was curled on my auntie’s kitchen floor rocking back and forth praying that he was driving the horse van, or maybe he would ride through on one of the horses knowing I had hope—.” My voice cracked, but I choked back the tears. “I prayed that they were all lying.” I scoffed a little and a tear still made it through. I wiped my nose then sat up straight. “But he wasn’t coming. My Daddy really made the plans to come, yet he was taken from me, on my special day.” “I don’t have a dad, Leno. I don’t. I had one, and he was taken away from me. I’ve asked God a million times afterwards why did He take my Daddy? Why did He take Marco? And now the little pieces of my family puzzle I have left He’s trying to take them too. I’m getting so fed up I just want to ask haven’t you taken enough?” “I don’t have anybody, Leno. Jay is all I have. I cry sometimes because I worry about what I’d do without him.” Leno looked taken back by what I said, but exhaled and stood up. “You’ve always got me Mya. I need to go now though.” I grabbed his arm, “Leno, no wait I didn’t mean it that way —.” “Well how else did you mean it, Mya? I know that’s your brother, but when will you understand that Jay walks his own path, and you should learn to do so too.” He pulled his arm from me. “What’s that supposed to mean, Leno?” He exhaled, as if this is something that’s increasingly been on his mind. “You jump at anything Jay tells you to do.” He turned around now towards me. “Even if you complain about it, you still do it.” “Leno, Jay is my last brother, my only brother. We’re family. You should know how that feels to want to help your family out no matter what it costs.” “Sometimes it’s not always worth it Mya. Especially if it costs your life. This life, Mya,” he pointed to the ground, “is an exchange for your life.” “So what? You turn your back on them when they need you? God, if I could’ve helped my Dad, or Marco, or even Jay I would’ve—.” “Picked up a gun? That’s what you think solves this shit? Don’t you, Mya? You forget what happened to Marco after he retaliated for what they did to Ray? I know it eats my mama up, both of her boys gone. I can’t let that be on my mom’s conscience. To lose another child to a block that’s not even ours.” He starts to stand up again, and I have no clue what to do or say to stop the love of my life from walking away forever. I couldn’t think which life I wanted to choose, truth be told before today I thought it was so clear. Was I silly for wanting to have my cake and eat it too? No matter what troubles I thought could lurk around the corner, I feared nothing. Now those fears I thought I had conquered are creeping around the corners waiting to take someone else. Jay, or Leno? “Let’s leave together!” He looked at me with confusion. I surprised myself with my abrupt decision. “Mya, look—.” “I don’t want you to drop out of school, and risk all of your opportunities.” “Mya, they’d kill me long before it’s time for graduation.” “Take online classes! Transfer schools! Or something! Just don’t walk away with nothing, Leno!” I breathed deeply because I felt myself growing hysterical. “I saw your acceptance letter to Mercer. . . I got accepted too. We can go together.” “Mya, what about you? What about your mom? You’re just going to up and bounce, huh?” He said it sarcastically, but looked me in my eyes. “Just like that?” “Leno, one day we’re kids, the next day we’re adults with responsibilities.” I exhale and look up at the ceiling. A quick flash of my dream passes my mind and I see Daddy, Marco, Ray, us, flying through the evening sky. I remember us all soaring together, and all of a sudden Jay fell, but no one noticed —we kept pressing on. I blinked away the dream and returned to the kitchen. The digital clock’s red numbers were blurred. “The thing about this job, is that we’re still losing our shit. We get into this because we see how much our families have lost to this fucked up world, but in turn we lose so much more than what it should cost. What’s the point of gaining all of this power if you can’t share it with the people you love?” “Mya, who is we?” “I’m serious, Leno. I want my family to come too though. Atlanta isn’t safe for us anymore. But even if they don’t listen, I still have to make that decision to go.” I stand up now to face him. I drag my fingers along his stained collar. “Please think about it. Give it some time. Let me drop you off at your house, but just don’t tell me ‘no’ without thinking about it.” He looked at me and nodded his head, and with that we departed. The drive to his house was silent, although it wasn’t actually silent. There was just so much to say, we couldn’t start with how to say it. I looked at the clock and exhaled at the evening hour, 6:00 p.m. I didn’t want to go back home just yet. The air was too thick, and I feared the looming idea of what could come hold me back from driving home. I texted Leno and said, “think about it.” And he responded, “I will, mama, I love you.” I then put my phone on silent. I drove to the nearest gas station and laid on the roof of my car for what seemed hours. I watched as the sky blended into hues of bright orange, then yellow, then a little pink, and pondered ‘when did the sky’s blue go,’ until something pulled me to drive home. It was dusk as I pulled up to my house. Atlanta police were scattered throughout our driveway and Mama was standing on the front porch with our neighbor holding her, while a policeman talked to her. I slowly peeled myself out of the car. Not wanting to face whether what they were here for was what I was thinking. I slowly began to cross the grass, my knees wobbly. The nimble feeling in my legs resembled the feeling I had when the bullets ripped through Daisy’s glass earlier today. They felt heavy and dragged slowly like molasses, almost like to delay the reality we’d walk into. “Mya!” My Mama screamed seeing me cross towards her. “Mya!” She screamed again this time hysterically running towards me. “My baby, Maya! My baby! They took another one of my babies!” She hysterically said through her tears. “Mama, no.” I croaked. “Please God, no.” I said holding my Mama as her weight crashed down on me. The policeman who was originally talking to my mother approached her again. “I know this is hard ma’am, but we must ask that you come down to identify the bodies.” The policeman said. Bodies? That can’t mean just Jay? Rocko too? All of them?! Mama turned her face to me, “Mya, I can’t do this again. I can’t go down there and see another one of my babies like that.” Her hands trembled in mines; my hands firmly held hers. We saddled into my Dodge Charger and drove downtown to identify Jay’s body. There were at least three corpses: Rocko, Jay, and Demario, another crew member. The gun wound on Jay was centered right between his eyebrows. My mother wailed hysterically, but her tears sounded muffled in the background. My mother heaved all of her weight onto my shoulders the entire way back. I didn’t cry, I just drove us home. After Mama took her pills and fell asleep at the t.v., I stowed away to Jay’s room. His bed was still made, and everything was in order. His pictures from high school playing basketball were still on his wall, alongside all of his trophies. One picture, my favorite picture, of me, Marco, and Jay all in the tub together still remained on his nightstand close to his bed. Pictures are so deep for me. They hold so many moments that you can never relive, only retell. I wonder now who’ll tell the story of Jay’s pictures. Jay had told me once that when he went with Mama to identify Marco’s body, something in him just snapped. I think I now understand what he meant. Rosie was still on Jay’s bed, alongside the polisher and towel he used to keep her looking good. I picked her up and pointed her at the mirror, to see how we look. “It can’t be that hard to work a gun. Just cock this back, aim, then shoot. Pull this, aim, then shoot.” I eyed myself up and down. My curls were flattened on one side. Probably because of Mama laying her head on me, and my mascara was a little smudged. My Forces were dusty with old blood. But, I was me. I held Rosie in my hands and aimed her at the mirror, pretending to bounce back from shooting impact. I kept a hold of the gun, aiming it at the mirror as if I saw a new target lunging at me. I pulled out my phone; the screen displayed 11:57 p.m. My lock screen showed six missed calls from Mama, and even one missed call and a voicemail from Leno. I played the voicemail as I picked up Rosie and the towel and finished where Jay left off. “Mya, I thought about what you said and you’re right. So many people I know and loved have died because of this life, and I can’t stay confined to what people want me to do or expect me to say about what’s right and what’s wrong. I picked up the pieces for Ray, Jay, my Ma’, but I can’t keep living my life for them. I need to learn a different world —on my own. I want us to go to Mercer, and I want to leave this life for good, with you by my side. Call me back when you get this message”
Prophetic Poetry- Nailah Heard's Poems
With Vinyle zine covering every art discipline, Nailah Heard's poetry could not go unnoticed. As we all are one, poetry can be utilized to articulate the feelings some could not put into words. We asked Nailah 'how does your artwork express your soul?' Read below to see what Nailah has to say. My artwork is a true reflection of me. I love art and being creative, and one of my best creative outlets is poetry. I started to journal at a young age, around 7, and as I grew older, I started writing poetry. I feel like every poem expresses my thoughts and feelings so beautifully. I come from a lineage of writers. My mother writes, and she recently published her first book about self-love. My father loved writing music, which trickled down to my three brothers, who wrote and produced their own songs. My maternal grandmother was an artist, she loved to draw, and she loved to write. My paternal grandmother is writing her first autobiography, and she's 75 years old, and honestly, it's a beautiful sight to witness. When a person is passionate about something, it'll show in their voice, body language, and words. Using my words is how I connect people to my passion. When people read my poetry, I want them to feel my soul. I want my words to pour into others' souls and move them in a way that inspires them. God blessed me with the gift of writing, and it's my duty to share it with the world authentically and unapologetically. Here’s my favorite quote by Nipsey Hussle that helps me to continue to use my gifts to inspire others. “The highest human act is to inspire. We all are in search for inspiration everyday. Opportunities to be able to inspire or be inspired, I think is what creates movements. We all have the capacity to inspire people.” -Nipsey Hussle Tow view more of Nailah's creative disciplines, head over to her social medias: Instagram: @photobynailah Personal IG: @heardnailah Here are a few poems that Nailah picked to share with us. Enjoy! The Teachings of Poetry Poetry has taught me to be free,
To be completely me,
Poetry told me, “Don’t worry about this or that.”
Poetry whispered in my ear and said,
“Don’t worry at all. My darling when you write it out you will feel calm, at ease, at peace.”
I am happy that poetry came into my life and swept me off my feet.
At such an early age, I realized a pen has power.
The pen can curate my dreams and boost my self-esteem.
Poetry said to me, “With me you can never be wrong and I will never lead you astray.”
I told Poetry, “I love you and I am glad you love me too.”
When I write I can be myself,
I can be what God made me to be.
I have no specific reason as to why I am who I am
But through the pen I can figure it out
Think it through
Let it sink in
And I can shine in my truest form
I can never go wrong with poetry.
I write what I feel,
I write what I can’t say,
I write about the feelings of each day,
The pen has healed me
The paper renews me
Through my poems I can feel a new me. A Letter to My Womb I have not been a good friend to my womb. For that, I apologize. I didn’t know that I was allowed to be her friend, I didn’t know that she was mine. I barely knew her name and who am I to place blame? I thank God for the spiritual alignment. A lot of time has passed and I didn’t realize I was declining. My health, spirit, thoughts, and words. I pray to have a higher power and the Lord I will go to first. I’m learning to love me, all of me, my womb included. I can’t go on looking foolish. I am not embarrassed if the world looks at me crazy. I’d be embarrassed if I knew better and still made a decision not to do better. I vow to allow God to reveal my destiny. Even if the work is hard. I must make sacrifices to become better. The version of me God already had in his mind. An image created by man I will never be. From here on out I vow to befriend my womb and make peace within myself so that I can make peace with her. This letter is to my womb, whom I love dearly. Silent Killer
Cops shoot a black man down nobody seems to care,
The emotional stress is what the families have to bear,
That’s behind the scenes,
That’s covered up,
The news always says, “That black man is corrupt!”
My brother was shot and although he didn’t die,
the emotional trauma is what I try to hide,
Seeing him bleed on the ground,
Practically watching him die,
In front of my eyes,
That’s something that no one should ever see,
That day I wish I would’ve been blind,
But no I don’t,
Do you want to know why?
Because I watched the cops sit there and wait for him to die.
Yeah, I said it.
I watched them sit there and wait for him to die.
The cops try and ask him questions while he bled on the ground,
What more can he say?
He’s been shot down!
Mike Brown wasn’t as lucky as him,
The cops didn’t ask questions,
They just assumed it was him,
He was shot for no reason,
No reason at all and if he did do something wrong the cops shouldn’t have taken his life, That’s God’s call,
But as the days go on and the months get longer
Mike Brown is just another black male and his life is no longer.
Unique Beats All - SaseeChic music
Ordinary has become the new "weird," so from there on --one must continue to find a way to be unique in a forever changing atmosphere. Benny James, i.e. SaseeChic, is the artist/ producer that will continue to update his portfolio with more content contrary to the norms. the artistry in his photography are thematic and out of this world, but his music was a change of tempo so we had to ask our favorite question, "how does your artwork express your soul?" Here's what he has to say. Have you ever had nervous energy hit the pit of your stomach and didn't know why? I realized it was an overwhelming feeling to create. Something that would hit my eyes or ears a certain way to let me know it was worthwhile. A simplistic composition that is all based on mood. Whether photography or music it has to command my attention. If not images or sounds are perused until something speaks or it’s revisited later. The photography is a reflection of whatever I feel like the visual reality is. No rhyme or reason just what resides in my world. Something diverse from mainstream. Pop Culture, Hip Hop to Anime. The music is meant to be played in the background for one’s daily life. Picture instrumentals playing in the back --helping to push your day along in a good way. Played anywhere and anytime. Think being in a chill mood after a long stressful day, entertaining guests, exercising, traveling, intimacy or simply to close your eyes to relax. If this is you? Here’s your soundtrack. SaseeVille by SaseeChic EP Now Streaming https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/saseechic/saseeville-2 Benny James Artist/Producer SaseeChic Music Social Media @saseechicmusic @iambennyjames
Let's Talk About Sex! -ME Emporium
So let’s talk sex! I visited the ‘me emporium’ in November last year with the CEO and founder of ME Emporium, Tristen Simms. If you know me, you’ll know I’m unafraid to take a walk on the wild side, but this was different. It wasn’t my personal wild side, but it was definitely some entertainment I could get jiggy with. I have yet to test out Tristen’s ME Emporium products, but she showed me the physical ailments of the ‘emporium’ and what it should mean to people who truly want to feel satisfied in ways unspeakable. In ways, for me, unimaginable before we met for our interview. Tristen showed me how she stood by the ideology of ‘me’ being the emporium that should be satiated in charming, classy, and sultry ways. She took me to Tokyo Valentino in Buckhead, Atlanta, and I was culture shocked by the sexually free world people truly immersed themselves in. “Why not take a walk on the wild side?” Is what I want to think crossed through her mind before failing to brief me on the literal sex rooms at the bottom floor of the store. Of course security ID checks everyone before entering the “video rooms,” but it was really the liability of no one underage getting a taste of something they weren’t yet mature enough to handle. A man was waiting by the hallway door after we finished our ID checks, and he ushered Tristen and I to follow him. Like a dummy I did, simply thinking that the man wanted to take us on a tour. The hallway was short and immediately turned to other hallways that were just as dim or unlit. Tristen said nothing as I let this man usher me through the hall, but it was when he touched my back —it felt almost like a caress. I pulled away and said, “don’t touch me, thank you.” But then, we reached our short destination which was a door. I didn’t know him so I looked at him crazy, and then I looked at Tristen because I was about to hit this fool for trying to get me to go into a room with him. He didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak his language, but “no” is a universal word. I walked away tight asking Tristen if she saw that, but she was chuckling. After two more men tried to get at me and I snapped on them, she intervened and said “stop you’re going to get us kicked out.” She told me I had consented without knowing I did to the first guy, but that’s what people came here for —sex. The lightbulb went off in my head, but I still kept my cool. I understood why people were trying to get at me now, but I still think some of the men were not trying to take “no” as an answer. One man approached me with eyes as wide as a deer at headlights, and asked me for company. I declined. We went to the bathroom to take selfies, and the man was standing at the end of the hall watching us. We walked past him in the opposite direction up the stairs to a room that had a tall cage in the center. I jokingly went inside and began to dance, and a small wave of men followed us inside and circled the cage. Tristen also slowly circled the cage closing the doors, and said, “Make your money girl.” I pushed the door open and walked out since that wasn’t my cup of tea. As we walked away Tristen told me she bumped into a man behind her when I opened the caged doors, and his penis was out. The man who kept following me was also outside of the cage room. Tristen and I kept walking, and the sausage party trailed the kitties. We pushed open one of the video rooms to get away from the swarm of guys. The pornography wasn’t for free, but we still got down to something that was—music. Tristen turned on Cardi B’s “W.A.P.,” and we danced in the small cubicle. Tristen whispered to me that the man in the cubicle next to us was watching us through the glory hole as we danced. I laughed a little, but she also told me that we could not make fun of people for being sexually free either, because this is what they come to Tokyo Valentino for. And, we can also get kicked out for not abiding by this. We danced a little more and took a few more selfies then left to find more ventures. The creepy man was outside the cubicle room too! We held each other’s hands as we walked at a casual pace. Tristen told me that security are usually at every corner, but perhaps the lights were too dim to make out the perverted men from the security men. A large dancehall became our next location to get down to since no one had encountered this space yet. The music was loud and a huge mirror was displayed before us. Maybe the men heard us laughing, but the nest flew in, and soon enough we had a mini crowd. I’m fine with the cautions of, “you may look but you cannot touch,” but the men in Tokyo were thirsty for kitty that night --they were awfully close. So we dismissed ourselves from the dancehall. We walked up and down the three floors, passing one woman giving fellatio on a large open mattress in a spacious room, and two men behind her watching. We continued to curve men left and right telling them we were each other’s girlfriends, or simply, “no,” but the swarms still followed us. We strode up the stairs to a pole room with lounge couches. The group of men followed us, passing the woman giving fellatio, and missing the one woman on the pole. I don’t know what they thought was about to go down between Tristen and I, but I was ready to slap everyone with choice words. The lounge couches were sectioned like a small maze, so we were at a dead end of our tour with no other exits to scaddaddle to. Suddenly, a man walked up confidently to us and asked if he could sit next to us. I told him, “no,” and he asked could he take a seat in the chair next to us then. He still somewhat sat down next to me, and I ushered for him to move further away. As soon as he sat down though, the whole group of men waiting for Tristen and I to perform cleared away. The man claimed a lot of things which were very funny. He claimed he wanted to chivalrously approach us since we were the only two women in the club. He claimed he was from New York. He also claimed that he was not remotely interested in the sexual escapades going on in Tokyo Valentino. We firstly thanked him for clearing out the nuisances following us since they clearly did not understand “no” tonight. Tristen told the guy I was new to the scene, which he claimed he was virgin to as well. He also stated how he was from New York, which Tristen immediately debunked saying, “you don’t sound like you’re from New York.” He then followed up saying, “Well I grew up in Connecticut, and moved to New York.” Tristen responded, “That’s probably it. We went to school with New York people. They’re rude.” He responded again, “but I moved around a lot.” We both probably said, “yeah okay,” in our heads. He continued to talk about why he was there, and then brought up the woman giving head on the mattress. He said, “I don’t want to be lined up behind some niggas to get head.” Tristen asked him to repeat it, and he did. She said she didn’t see a woman giving head on a bed. He quickly responded to her, “do you want to see it.” She politely declined, and asked him, “do you want to see it.” We spent another ten minutes climbing the three flights, but the males cornered every angle we turned so we danced a little more than left. I felt a newness as I drove home. Sex was not alien to me, but seeing people be content with sex openly was. I enjoyed the experience more than I expected. Kandice Fowlkes Chief Executive Officer Vinyle zine Savvi Word Tech www.vinylezine.com
"KNOTTY by ARI"- Arianna Valbrun's Fashion
For Vinyle zine's first issue, we found artists in every art discipline to feature them for coverage. We asked Arianna Valbrun 'how does your artwork express your soul?' Read below to see how the fashion designer puts her all into her craft. I came up with my brand during the summer of 2019, but I’ve been crocheting for about seven years now. As a person who found herself always being heavily critical of my work and not confident in my artistry, it was hard to put myself out there. Furthermore, I didn’t want my hobby to become a job and I felt pressure for my work to be just as perfect and stylized as all the other crochet artists I had looked up. Creatively, social distancing was the best thing that could've happened to me. This alone time and space to create without the opinions of others has done wonders for my process. During this time I was able to make a cohesive capsule collection (something that I’ve never been able to do because I either had school, work, or prepaid commissions that take priority). I’ve really enjoyed just being able to create and get back to the HOBBY side of crocheting, the reason why I started in the first place. My brand expresses my soul because I’m a fun loving, multifaceted girl who cares about sustainability and expressing my sexuality through my style. I came up with “Knotty by Ari” because crocheting at it’s most basic form is just making knots, and everything is handmade by me, Ari. Also the play on the word “Naughty” comes from the fact that most of pieces are sexy and heavily focused on merging soft silhouettes, sporty looks and high fashion with a non-widely used medium— crochet. I want people of feel empowered and sexy when they wear my clothes especially considering that crocheting is such an ancient art form that is often deemed as an elderly hobby or house chore. I want to challenge that by making y2k and 90s reminiscent clothes, my favorite subculture and style inspiration. I make all of my own patterns and free hand all of my work to get my crochet to look and fall on the body exactly how I want it to. The process of crochet is meticulous, it requires effort, persistence, stamina and attention to detail. I feel like that work comes through in my pieces, knowing every stitch was woven together by me. Turning a string of yarn into a 3D wearable plane is not light work, but I take pride in making it look effortless. For more looks and love from Arianna, check out her Instagram: @ariannavalbrun
Vinyle Talks w/ 34 Young Cash
Vinyle is introducing a new segment called "Vinyle Talks," and our first Vinyle Talks is with Atlanta rapper, 34 Young Cash. We caught up with the Atlanta native to ask him our favorite question, "how does your artwork express your soul?" 34 also dropped some helpful tips for upcoming artists getting their feet wet in the music industry, and even some that are on the intermediate level. Regardless of whatever discipline you're in, support this young rapper as he documents his journey, and shares his story with you. Follow this link to our interview with the rapper.
"BRELAN Dollhouse"- Bria Fisher the Designer
For the first issue of Vinyle zine, we scouted for Black artists in every creative discipline to ask 'how does their artwork express their soul.' Read below to see how Bria Fisher's creations come to life for her! My brand, BRÉLAN, started on a regular day- riding the shuttle back to my dorm from class, approaching the end of freshman year in college. Sitting on the bus, I received a text message from a random man from the area, asking to draw his late brother on Timberland boots. He told me that he knew of my skill, and considered me really talented. I was slightly confused. I was a fashion design major. I’ve always liked to draw, but I’ve never thought of myself as an artist. I definitely did not think of myself as someone who commissioned drawings- let alone on clothing! Of course, when I finally came up with a good price and offered it to him, I never received a response. However, on that regular day, sitting on that shuttle bus, an idea was born. The concept didn’t necessarily have to do with my craft, or drawing on clothing. The quintessential light bulb had to do with me. I casually mentioned to my friend sitting next to me, “I think I’m going to start doing this, like, as a business. I think I’m going to start painting clothes”. Shortly after, I went home for the summer and was commissioned to paint my first pair of sneakers. Within a year, I had several of my items in stores and two pop up shops under my belt. The moral of the story here is that my brand doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with fashion, or drawing- what it really has to do with is how one sees themselves. I never thought it would be possible to include all sides of myself in one craft and make money from it- until the day I did. The BRÉLAN doll line represents the principal that what is believed to be true, is. Think of oneself highly, and see how much is achieved! Transforming my clients into stylish, optimized versions of themselves is one of the ways I’ve discovered to communicate this message. I could be a designer, an accountant, or even a zoologist! What remains true about my soul, in any situation, is that I have been able to create my life by whole-heartedly visualizing how I saw myself. To help others understand that through confidence and faith, they can make their desires come true is the main purpose of the BRÉLAN dolls. Anyone can be a doll, they just have to believe they can! For more looks or bookings, the BRELAN contact info is listed below. Website:BRELANDollhouse.com Instagram handle: @BRELANDollhouse Instagram and twitter handle: @Bria_Doll