Design a site like this with
Get started

Episode Seis of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

Humpday here, humpday there, humpday humpday errrrwhere.

Listen to this week here.

But all humps, bumps and lumps aside, welcome back to #WhateverWeWantWednesdays. This is the start of one helluva week for you, particularly if you’re in the DC area. πŸ€·πŸ½β€β™€οΈ Aren’t you glad you came? (I am!


Weekly Words: I am making my way to my highest potential.

*Dances through to next week*



Episode Cinco of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

And we meet again!

(If you don’t watch Key & Peele, you have no idea what this picture is referencing, and that is [not] okay.)

Glad to have you back, hope you enjoy this week’s cast! Listen here. (Pardon the white noise in my background– tried to block out the #ConstructionNextDoor. πŸ˜“)









Keep the Energy moving.

Episode Quatro of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

Aye Ya’ll!!!

We have been going steady for a whole month, so congrats– you’re now my boooyyyyfriiiiienddd *B. Simone voice*

Happy 1 month anniversary to us! πŸ˜πŸ˜‚

Yet again, I ask that you leave me some love and some letters, let me know how ya feeling! Also, link with me on IG, @_What.Ever.Lola.Wants_ if you haven’t already.

Listen to this week’s episode here and click the images below for links to each of this week’s podcast topics, as per usual.

Nothin but hollaz πŸ’‹ and dollaz πŸ’°to each and every one one of you. ✌🏽

Intro Music








Episode Tres of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

Third time’s a charm!

Listen here.

Leave me some love and some letters, let me know how ya feel! Also, link with me on IG, @_What.Ever.Lola.Wants_ if you haven’t already.

Click the images below for links to each of this week’s podcast topics:





Veggie Black Bean Patties with Creamy Carrot Grits
16oz of black beans drained and rinsed
1/4 cup red rell pepper cut into small cubes
1/4 cup onion cut into small cubes
1 tbsp garlic powder
1 tbsp onion powder
1 tbsp dried parsley
1 tbsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cumin
1/4 can of Panko breadcrumbs
salt and pepper to taste
For Carrot Grits:
1 cup vegetable stock
1 cup unsweetened unflavored rice milk
1/2 cup quick grits
1/4 cup grated carrot
1/2 tbsp onion powder
1/2 tbsp Garlic Powder
1. Finely mash black beans using a potato masher or the back of a fork.
2. SautΓ© onions and red pepper in olive oil until tender. Add in spices and cook for 1 additional minute.
3. Add sautΓ©ed vegetables and spices to the mashed black beans and add in the breadcrumbs. Mix well.
4. Form your black bean mix into desired sized patties.
5. Pan sear patties in olive oil on each side until golden brown and crispy
6. Set aside in a warm oven until ready to serve
1. Bring 1 cup of vegetable stock and 1 cup of rice milk to a boil with onion powder, garlic powder, salt and pepper.
2. Reduce to a simmer and continue to cook grits until tender.
3. Gently stir in grated carrots until well incorporated.
4. Place desired amount of grits onto a plate and serve with black bean patties on top.


“You’re gonna be,

The one you know you can become.

Step out alone.

You cannot hide

From what’s you’re light–

It’s deep inside…

Go for a ride.”

Already looking forward to next week. See you in the future! πŸ––πŸ½

Don’t Write It If You Don’t Mean It: Nude. & Blue.

Don’t Write It If You Don’t Mean It: Nude & Blue


Copyright Β© 2019 LLJ

All rights reserved.



For My Ancestors.

May my gifts speak for you.




Have we met before?
There must be something I don’t know–
because the me I see reflected in your eyes isn’t who I was
trying to-wanted to-intended to
a few seconds ago,
Before I knew
You’d know
the weight of all my secrets.

The thing about being a mirror is that. more often than not, people do not like what they see. In an open gaze they are forced to fall into the depths of their own abyss, fall broken only by their own imperfections. On a flat surface, their incompetencies have no way to roll and hide. In being held steadily in view, they sense that they have been seen and resentment begins to brew. All of the hateful thoughts harbored within themselves begins to bubble over. Projectile and projection are often the only gifts mirrors meet, kept at arms reach. Dis-illusion of reflection.

Dear Poetry

They say it’s true if
you ain’t making money, you’re a slave to it.
Well I wouldn’t be afraid to add your name to it.
Over beats and through leaps is how this maid chooses
to throw away all the shame of constantly bruising
and consistent confusion.
Instantaneously soothing.
Whenever I get turned around I come right back to you and
it leads to my pen and paper making perfect you’s.
And it’s easier to relapse than to go cold-turkey with facts.
So that when reality does hit it ain’t harder than that.
Harder than you.
So much harder call it a wrap.
To call it quits
would be for me to no longer exist,
to take the gloves off my fists.
is how I fight,
however passive aggressive.
You absorb my blows and still deliver my message.
You take my soul from me and give me perspective.
It’s been years and I’d never regret it.
I’m forever indebted.
I’m Forever poetic.

Nothing Makes Me Sadder
than the last sip of tea,
after going back for more
and finding the cup warm
but empty.

Not a cold rainy day.
not losing a diary written cover to cover
or misplacing a favorite scarf.
nor a full moon night with clouds in the way.
Perhaps not even losing a lover.

Fixated on the vessel that once contained my joy,
wondering if I had truly savored every bit.
flavor lingering,
not quite knowing what measurements
made it

so special.

Left with a moist mouth and hands outstretched.
If only need facilitated the reckon and reasoning.
capable of rewriting an imminent end.
The fact remains that empty cups are hollow
and they never say a thing.

Like a Cicada beneath a tree.
Like dark matter.
beneath a mountain.
In search of cosmic silence.

Footprints In the sand

I’d always wanted a best friend instead of a mother.
It took me years to realize that I had both all along.
My best friend simply had a hard time expressing
that she anguished over the idea of the world destroying me.
So much so that she contained me
in an effort to hide me.
Protection often takes the form of boxes,
figuring the ones she could configure would fit better than any pine one.
In her mind,
loves lost, lost time.
Having given birth yet one more time,
the berth of such stretched oceans wide.
My best friend carried me across–
even the times I felt left behind.
The sun rose and set on her
as she shielded me from the fire.
More often than the cold loneliness that hugged me in place of her place allowed me to notice.
It wasn’t until I rejected the protection her footprints
that I realized how hard it was for her to keep her feet moving.
My best friend is a superhuman who made the often impossible-feeling look easy.
I was not the only weight she had to carry.
Unbeknownst to me it took two hands and a soul to keep the sky from caving in, you see
Hind-sight is 20/20 and if I had known sooner I would have helped.
But my best friend kept the struggle out of the suffocating safety of my bubble,
my world of her creating,
made of fears and weathered heart strings.
Even when the land was barren and we had no claim to it,
I never noticed a thing.
I beg for forgiveness of my anger.
For my resentment of her being
a being stretched so thin
that she sizzled with tension, often lashing out with little warning.
I struggled to forgive her and estranged our womb glue of a bond.
Just to stagger for years before stumbling upon

the truth that I only needed to forgive myself.
For harboring the hurt.
When love is the only thing that got us across the sand and sea that threatened to drown us both.
Suck us in
before she could teach me to swim.
Supreme being.
With audacity she secretly
weaved me from the same cloth.
The same blood.
I carry her scars.
Just as she carries her best friend’s
And that best friend carried her best friend before.
As I hack away at generations of trauma and secrets
mining glittering gold,
I bleed gratitude.
Reminded that I am the fortunate.

No one listens when a Black woman says that she is tired.
Fatigued from the extremes and situations of dire. Of needing and wanting supplied with less means than it seems necesary to survive.
The number of dreams that die
Still breathing
And bleeding.
Of all the lies,
She is fine.
When she isn’t even close to being okay.

My Grandmother Has No Tombstone

The way southerners
who haven’t left the South
make it a point to make city family feel less black.
Afloat with no chance of ever making it back
to their roots.
Not even to be buried properly.

Divine Feminine

Great-great ma,
I’m gonna do it for the both of us.
I promise to deliver a baby before I return to this earth as dust.
Nana ma,
you had a soul full of the blues.
I swear I’ll get on stage to sing
a song I wrote just for you.

Give In

In old age
men become soft
like women.
Even those
emotionally scarred
were as hard as
the surface of Mars.
There’s a tenderness
so tender to witness.
Its essence emanating from their depths.
A lifetime of resisting
and resistance
finally giving.

Existential being

A. What I feel in thought of you is similar to what I imagine the universe sounds like.
Mountains moving into place.
Asteroids colliding in space.
The deafening presence of that which creates.

B. When I look at you–
or kiss you–
or lay heart to heart with you–
I feel the same shifting within
as when
I contemplate a flower
or watch the sun rise.


A. When I sync with someone
I store their vibration.
so don’t tell me that you’re not acting different or
that nothing is wrong.
I know your melody like an old song,
from the first note on.
Suddenly playing a reprise and the composure is gone.

B. There have been so many lovers
that changed their pitch
halfway through the game.
Hallway through our song
Acting as if I was expected not to notice, though.
While my reflex was to act like I didn’t.


I have never been INSIDE of love,
Although I’ve been at it.
The way you wait on the street
yelling up to a window to be let in.
Eventually leaving
because you haven’t been answered and just won’t wait anymore.

Deja you

I have always wanted someone to give me a reason to stay.
Say don’t go,
that you’ll miss me too much.
That you don’t want me to get lost in the wilderness without you,
That you won’t have it.
That you are coming too. But you said, and continue to say, nothing.

Still trying to figure out what to blame for this
strong distrust
of my OWN feelings.
There should be no second or third guesses about whether or not to follow my instincts.
I know this.
Thinking back on things
And how
I had to swallow objections.
The times when I didn’t
and my emotions almost got me outfitted.


I will never again be someone’s winter flower,
blooming at the promise of a warm day.
left in the cold to be frozen in place,
hanging my full beautiful head.

PrinceRogersNelson (4/23/16)

Flare of energy blasted back into the Universe
singed my soul on the way
to the Full Moon.
Now my edges are frayed
and they’re catching wind,
making my pure

As Per Burning Man

Came to the realization that black people in America haven’t yet had the opportunity to determine life for ourselves at large. Meanwhile whites are suffering in the very conditions that they create and continue to perpetuate.

How is it possible that I feel I must be anything BUT a Black Woman in order to be loved by a Black Man?
Perhaps love doesn’t see color but I can.
Can’t rely on blindness leading me back to the promised land.

Why I am not smiling
(and other excuses to be used by Black Men that don’t want Black Women)

Because we are not free.
Unlike you, I haven’t been given the opportunity
to forget that.

I have ancestors and future leaders screaming through my veins
And you no longer share in this pain.

Because I am tired.

Because there is a lot on my mind.

Because it’s a constant battle.

Because I don’t owe you shit.

Praises to the people that know the elementary parts of the ‘I’ in you.
Without you having to know it and them without ample opportunity to show it.
More often that not, having to hold it in a special place.
From before you were yourself and before your sense of self took up space.
They held you.
Your circle.
Your clan.

Whenever I get an idea or the urge to write but I don’t feel like it/would have to go out of my way to do so, I have the thought that perhaps that very thought is the key to changing my life. Like that piece will be what makes the difference. How or why, I’m never sure. But. It keeps me writing.

We need less people that are willing to let others suffer because they have suffered. There are so many women who look on at younger women as they break down because they ‘had to do it by themselves’ or they ‘didn’t have any help’. There are too many men that allow young men to go astray because they ‘didn’t have anyone looking out for them’ or they ‘had to learn the hard way’. We are mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, neighbors– who are unwilling to spare someone else pain with our knowledge and presence because of unresolved trauma within our pasts.

My truth may only exist in relativity,
like the sunrise or sunset.
I still find the beauty in it
consistently enough to return.


This is a birthing, if you will.
Painful and beautiful.
Trepidation concerning the numerous possibilities
but the inability
to call it to a halt.
because there is no other way to life except through birth.
And not a RE birth.
This is a first.
27 years in the making; Everything prior was a tumultuous gestational period.
All tunneling towards now:
for such a time as this.


Here lies my past and present so that I can allow my future to begin to take shape. All this clearing out is allowing my life and words more space to become bigger than I had ever imagined it would. I am grateful to be able to have such release on the day of Spring Equuinox in combination with the Full Moon. Growth, change, and release of the old that no longer fits. I wish the same energy of renwal for you, reader, if you so desire. May your passion reignite and burn away all that has held you apart from it.


Episode Numero Dos of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

Ayyyyye!!! Issssss warming up over here, 2 episodes in!

Lissen here.

Leave me some likes and comments, let me know what’s up! Link with me on FB and IG, @_What.Ever.Lola.Wants_ if you haven’t already.

Click the images below for links to each of this week’s podcast topics:





Idc idc idc I’ve heard that some of y’all are hating on this album. Keep it amongst yaselves! 😭😭😭

Episode Numero Uno of #WhateverWeWantWednesdays with Whatever Lola Wants Podcast!

Welcome to the very first cast of Whatever Lola Wants! Thanks for showing my creation some πŸ’›!!! Lissen to Episode Uno here.

Leave me some Likes and Comments, let me know what’s up! Link with me on FB and IG, @_What.Ever.Lola.Wants_ if you haven’t already.

Click the images below for info from this week’s podcast topics.



IG/FB: @TajiMag






I look forward to kicking it with you next week!

Women in India go shoulder-to-shoulder for 385-miles protesting gender inequality.

In the southern Indian state of Kerala, millions of women gathered to form a 385-mile “human chain”.

At the center of it all is a Court ruling from November 2018 that dictates women of reproductive age be permitted to worship at the Sabarimala Shrine, in Kerala. Traditionally, women ages 10 – 50 are prohibited from worship at this particular temple as per restrictions of its deity, ‘Lord Ayappa’. After the ruling, right-wing supporters gathered at the temple to prevent the newly legalized women from entering. Left-wing government coalitions organized the ‘human chain’ response protest to run along the major highway, estimating 3 million supporters. Over 5 million showed up.

The current government, right-wing Hindu Nationalist BJP party, has stated that the movement towards reforming temple procedures is an attack on Hindu values. Precisely, if those values perpetuate biases of any kind. It is bigger than religion and such needs to be acknowledged.

If you are willing to consider a perspective outside of willful ignorance, it quite apparent that religion can be packed with oppression, patriarchy, and misogyny.

Realistically, all religions were “created”, whether through divine intervention or a response to socio-cultural conditions. The institutions of religion do not precede human existence; in every instance, religion itself is a man-made construct. With that said, even through divine inspiration, would it not take a prophet with misogynistic tendencies to bring into existence god(s) and laws that treat women as lesser beings? Contemplating this from the viewpoint of India’s past and present struggles with gender equality, the truth becomes self evident.

Regardless of the intrinsic nature of religion and the general resistance to doing so, all practices that do not echo equality must be addressed in order for any true progress to occur. Any excuse to restrict the existence of and/or discriminate against another human being needs to be done away with.

These women are no longer willing to allow their existence to be dictated by gender inequality in any way. 5 million women say enough is enough.

Read the BBC article here.


It is the most asinine thing for Sherriff Gonzalez to state that it is somehow irresponsible to automatically consider the incident racially motivated…


Both historically and contextually, it is the only plausible motive that makes sense. Immediately so. Simply because he didn’t shout “NIGGERS” at the top of his lungs as he unloaded his weapon into a car full of black bodies, there is room for plausible deniability? GTFOH.

Gonzalez is trying to keep the skin on his ass, however, his cower and lack of cultural competence is showing. In assuming that he is Hispanic, he should KNOW that considering anything ELSE is truly irresponsible. Or are they just arresting, detaining, and deporting thousands of Mexicans due to random selection??!!

This poor baby. Her. Family.
I’m tired of this shit.

‘No Spectators’: ‘Burning Man’ festival comes to D.C.

This was the first year that I seriously considered attending Burning Man. Although circumstances dictated otherwise, in the way of the Universe, I stumbled upon the ‘No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man‘ exhibit at the Renwick Gallery here in DC. Admittedly, although I have been interested in attending the festival for years, I knew very little about the actual execution of Burning Man. I had read thoroughly the principles along with everything else on the website, but I wanted the experiential part to ride on the element of surprise. Although smaller in size, I experienced that very surprise walking into the gallery for the first time. My 26 years of life have garnered very few experiences that would have prepared me for what I was set to encounter.

Being a great fan of ‘Alice in Wonderland’, I felt similarly inducted into a world of fantasy and infinite potential. There were even magic mushrooms and kaleidoscopes dreams with no drugs involved. Such is the art of using sound and light to behoove the senses and reshape reality. Perhaps even just allowing a an alternate reality to shape itself. As I moved from one part of the exhibit to another, a new world materialized before my eyes. Testimony to the depth and breadth of the human mind and spirit, gargantuan handmade 3D installments and the larger-than-life principles greeted me at the entrance. Alternating fullness of silence and echoes of ethereal music guided me from one room to another. It was Fantasy; not in the way of simple make believe, but in reopening one’s existence to the realm of possibility. In demanding the most imaginative and authentic self in order to experience it in its fullest. Mr. Rogers would be proud. Life on ‘The Playa’, the desert location that hosts the festival, is not solely about existing within a Utopian society. In many ways The Playa seeks to rebuild a sense of what living should consist of along with a willingness to not only reject limited notions but to contribute individual goodness to the experience of the whole of society. Simply put: Accountability. Founded on principles like ‘Radical Self-Reliance’ and ‘Decommodification’, Burning Man creates its Utopian society not for escapism alone, but for a kind of meditative incubation that seeks to foster lasting solutions. Which seems kind of ironic in regards to the fact that the festival only lasts a few days, with another one of it’s principles being ‘Leave No Trace’. I found, and I would assume that all who have attended have done so also, that this doesn’t apply to the mark that the experience leaves on your heart. A thriving metropolis one day and a heap of smoldering rubbish the next, Burning Man is revolutionary in it’s elusive permanence. Countercultural by nature, Burning Man has created an Ethos that could quite possibly stand alone.

In one of the very first descriptive plaques it read “[Burning Man] radiates a heavy idealism and questioning of the status quo; it is a remedy for cynical times.” In the way of the dual consciousness that Black people often possess, as W.E.B. DuBois mentioned in ‘Souls of Black Folk’, I was able to experience the exhibition twice at once. I’ll admit that, in my foremost reality, I was entirely amazed at what privileged people with disposable income and resources are able to do with said income and resources. Burning man is a world in which all attendees get to escape the society that only a portion of those attendees and their forefathers have collectively created. Even in fully embracing the principle of ‘Radical Inclusion’, I have thoughts that stand separate from the immersive experience. Keeping in mind the fact that there are Blacks and other POC who have yet to determine existence for themselves in this country, I am interested in what manner and in what capacity would we create a like or parallel space? What would a “black burning man” look like and how would it differ from the original? Could we accomplish making a utopian society to serve firstly as a safe space for POC as such? What would come into existence if we took up not just the underlying theme of determining reality but the right to do so autonomously and imaginatively? Not to mention the tremendous sense of responsibility and intention that doing so would then engender. I am looking to join with like minds in order to explore said possibility. Somebody call the head of Afro-Futurism and tell them to send us the Dirtiest Comouters they’ve got. All Hail Queen Janelle.

Burning Man was entirely too complex to contain within this short analysis. In getting to see the likes of what man of kind can create, the sharp reopening of both my imagination and logical mind to possibility almost consumed me. I am sure actually attending Burning Man will be such a journey; so much so that the version of me that attends won’t be the version of me that returns. In fact, just immersing myself at the gallery has had a profound effect on my interpretation and interaction with reality. In tandem, I understand the necessity of repeating such a ritual yearly, if for no reason other than to continually renew one’s faith in the future of mankind and to stoke one’s own creative fires. Daily, I remind myself that there are NO SPECTATORS in life, and that we should all be actively living and building. In turn I ask, how will you participate?

An overview of the exhibit can be found here.

I spent a great deal of time meditating and simply existing in the ‘Temple’ portion of the exhibit. I chose not to write about it because there are no words to do the experience justice. Although that particular portion of art was retired mid-September, here is video from the museum itself that gives you a glimpse of the greatness that was.

No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man‘ exhibition will be open at the Renwick Gallery until January 21, 2019.