Exhibit B: Proof that the world is regressing!



OH WOW! This is terrible! The things that people do and call it art. It’s blasphemous to the real art that truly exists!

Originally posted on The Chronicles of Nadia:


Friends and loved ones,

I regret to inform you that the picture above is not of a window dresser preparing a mannequin for a summer sale (although in some respects, it could be argued otherwise). The picture above is of the non-artist, Brett Bailey curating  his latest work, Exhibit B – The Human Zoo. This four day sham of a show, “…critiques the ‘human zoos’ and ethnographic displays that showed Africans as objects of scientific curiosity through the 19th and early 20th centuries. Translated here into twelve tableaux, each features motionless performers placed in settings drawn from real life. Collectively they confront colonial atrocities committed in Africa, European notions of racial supremacy and the plight of immigrants today.” barbican.org.uk.

Contrary to the condescending message the Barbican has tried to sell myself and others, this exhibition does not contribute to the awareness of the objectification and exploitation of black people. Rather…

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Prelude To A Memory


Not one for kissin

but lips like yours

make me wanna

break my covenant

make me wanna


the flavor

most recently gracing them

don’t wanna

suck your tongue


press up against

the sweetness

that must be hidden

in their plumpness.

Looking at them I wonder

if your mama

slathered them with

Vaseline when

you were a child

to preserve their ripeness

for your wife

if she did

I wanna thank her.

Is your lip chap scented?

Can I get close

enough to get a whiff?

Close enough to steal a

kiss from ‘em?

Betcha kids in

their ignorance

picked on you in

grade school days

but now full-grown


play hide and go get it

for a taste.

Can I get in that line?

I’ll wait my turn


pay my quarter

at the kissing booth

take my peck

and walk away happily

their softness

resonating through my memory…

© Joi Miner

She’s Still That Woman


She wears a familiar face

girl I knew from high school

had a baby way too young

now he, eight,

pulls at the back of her skirt

as she flirts her way into a

few more dollars from the man

at the barbershop I hoped she knew.

And I drove by with a

friendly remembrance wave.

She’s still that woman

I used to be at 16

looking to men for security.

Making excuses for why he beats her.

Her son having uncles who visit on

a regular basis with no blood relation.

Confidence she wore with comfort in classrooms

now packed in love handles,

useless in reality.

She saunters now

searching the cement for stability.

Hop scotching over blocks of her life that

are filled with disinterested men.

Spray-painting graffiti life lessons onto

project walls

hoping to project son into

a better way of life.

And in high school she knew all the answers.

© Joi Miner

Let the red ink fly!! Editing my first draft


I submitted my first, and very rough draft, of my novel to my publisher this past Monday, September 8th. After my Dragon software kirked out on me and my cat ate through my good headset (so even when I got Dragon running, it wasn’t understanding my commands), I resorted to my typing abilities (65-75wpm, thank goodness). It took me 2 and a half nights, staying up until 3am, after dinner, homework, and working at 6am (do the math and that equals tired as spit) to get my 2 and a quarter remaining composition notebooks typed.

Then came the fun part. I tried to upload it to the FedEx app and it wasn’t taking. Lol. The Universe was working against me. I finally emailed it, and went on yesterday to exchange $50 for a copy of 8 years of blood, sweat, tears and drama. I opened the box and saw this little bitty book with the cover my husband designed (that will be changed), cut and wire bound. It was a bit anticlimactic. Lol. But I took it in all of its tiny glory.

My friend Minna saw it and cried, she’s one of my biggest supporters. She may have sold a copy to the hostess at the Olive Garden. My two year old, Phoenix, saw it as something to color on but one Mommy look stopped that cold in its tracks. My 12 year old, Qadira, started writing her own story then got frustrated and told me I always make hard stuff look easy. And my husband gave his signature ‘I’m proud of you’ smirk.

I went on the hunt for my red pens. I started editing and laughed because Dragon really threw in some interesting words (blame my Southern accent and Southside Montgomery dialect). And I, myself made a hilarious editing snafu. I used find and replace to correct the spelling of every ‘ok’ by replacing it with ‘okay’. Well, it took it upon itself to also replace the ‘ok’ in words like look, book, took, etc. My hair stood up on end. Lol.

I know my publisher is reading it like ‘what the neck is Joi on’. Lol. I know I would be.

Besides that it’s a pretty good story (in my unbiased opinion). Of course, I’m reading it for errors, but it’s flowing pretty well. I’ll let you know if I still feel that way at the end of this 95,000 words, though. Lol.

Wish me luck. Time to let the red ink fly!



September is Sickle Cell Awareness Month. The theme that is trending is #boldlipsforsicklecell I love this challenge. It lets women put their lips and their love for this cause TOGETHER. I lost a dear friend, Erin Singleton, to this disease and watch another sister, Marcy Anderson, push through the crises with so much poise and grace it makes me ashamed to ever complain. These women are warriors. I have the trait and know what it does to my body. They suffer terribly with the onset of a crisis. It’s a disease that plagues African Americans more than any other race. So, I really try to make a big deal of this month.

I’ve been playing in my makeup since the 1st and many of my friends have joined in. Join us! Donate. Educate yourselves and others.




























First Friday Fix: Jahshan “Jukebox” Harper


You do what you have to do for love. You deal with what you have to deal with. And accept the fact that no one is perfect. ~Bonnie Jones

A young, up-and-coming singer and hip hop artist, J was all that Bonnie could have ever wished for. Intelligent, handsome, kind to her, great with Tzionne, and one of the most genuine lovers Bonnie had ever had, he was a man that she could see herself settling down with. His misplaced loyalties, fear of committing to the “ready made family” life, and secrets proved too much for Bonnie to deal with. She soon discovers that letting him go may have been the biggest mistake of her life… one that she may never get the chance to take back.