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Special Guests Bloggers

Sometimes our lovely team of bloggers are tied up and we want to keep you in the loop with relatable content. The SPECIAL GUESTS  blogger page will keep you hip to with substantial conversation starters until our bloggers are back.


Check here anytime you don't see the scheduled blogger and enjoy! Scroll down for the newest blogs. 

Brianna Clark

Brianna graduated from Prairie View A&M University with her BS in Chemical Engineering. She is a twenty something at the start of her writing career and is a lifelong learner. She is a lover of food, family, children, and art in all forms (In that order, in that order...). Her humor is dry and her wit is quick but beneath it all she has a heart o' gold. Just outchea tryna make it like everybody else.

Written By: Brianna Clark | Wednesday, November 2, 2016

About that time I dropped that baby

Got to be more care full...

Once upon a time I dropped a baby. No way to ease into that one. I dropped a baby on her face. On the ground. Outside. On the cobblestone. There is no feeling in the world analogous to this one. When you’re full, you feel like you’re about to explode. When you’re overwhelmed, you feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. When you’re nervous, you feel like there are butterflies in your stomach. But when you drop a baby?......You feel exactly like you dropped a baby. There are also no euphemisms for endangering infants. When you’re pregnant, there’s a bun in the oven. When you’ve got to poo, you’re taking the Browns to the Super Bowl. When you don’t have a heart, you’re Donald Trump. But when you drop a baby?......You dropped a baby. What else would you say? The eagle has landed....face first on the pavement? Not exactly.

Here’s what happened:

It was a warm, sunny day in Prairie View, Texas. On this day, my good friend, also mother of one (now two), had a graduation photo shoot. My job for this photo shoot was to assist with outfit changes, show support, and to watch ze bebe who was about 20 months old at the time. (And such a beautiful bebe she was....IS! Don’t worry she survived the fall!) Keep in mind that at some point this darling child was supposed to take part in the photo shoot. I entertained this little angel by carrying her on my shoulders as I had so many times before. But this time, she tried something new. Moving around, playing and.....leaning back? Y’all she was on my back, upside down, and I had her by the ankles. I tried pulling her forward, or up, or something to get her sitting on my shoulders again...but that failed. Until this point, she ain’t eem realize that her life was in danger. She’s laughing and playing around like all beautiful children do. But I knew that if I didn’t figure something out, and figure it out fast, hell would break loose.

Thinking on my toes, or not, I tried to keep her from falling onto her skull by countering her position. I slowly squatted and leaned forward so that instead of hanging up side down, she was just lying on my back. I don’t know what in the name of Santa and all of his elves and reindeer I did wrong, but somehow by the laws of physics, this tot went flying forward. Over my head and onto the ground. It happened so quickly. She was just lying down right in front of me. I was terrified for her.

There were four people there: the baby, my friend (the mom), the photographer and myself. The whole world was silent for a split second. Me and the photographer were freaking out. But my friend, BKA Mom of the Year, was calm, cool, and collected. As expected, once picked up off the ground, the child screamed at the very top of her lungs and her mouth was bleeding. *infinite cringe* We ran full speed ahead to the bathroom. I’m crying, the baby is crying, the photographer is crying, and mom is just like, “Okay, let’s all take a deep breath and comme des fuggdown.”

My friend sat her daughter on the bathroom counter, and began to calm her down. *Cue my anxiety attack* I was frantically emptying the paper towel dispenser, wetting the towels and handing them to my friend, pausing periodically to catch my breath, apologize and wipe my own tears. After wiping her down, my friend found that there were no cuts or bruises on her daughter with the exception of a little damage to her lip and two front teeth. Face was fine, head was fine, hands and feet fine, arms and legs fine. She was still crying of course, but then something crazy happened. Something I could never have predicted.

This child, whose life I had just endangered, whose lip and teeth I had just busted, reached out to me. ME! The very person who caused her all that pain. She reached out and wanted to be held again Of course I refused, but her mother practically insisted. I couldn’t believe it. I held onto this sweet little girl so tightly with all of the love I had. She didn’t fight me, she didn’t squirm, she didn’t whisper any threats in my ear. Sure she was young and probably confused, but how awesome is that?

I'm the kind of person that finds meaning in nearly everything. It’s how my mind works. I knew in this situation that God was at work. Showing me the power of forgiveness. No matter how many times I had thrown my relationship with Him away, He would forgive me. Not after He had time to think about it. Not after first berating me via text. Not after calling me everything but His own child. Not once He felt like the stars were aligned and Venus was in retrograde. He would forgive me without hesitation.

--Forgive without hesitation--

What a concept! This little girl who hadn’t lived a tenth the span of my life, taught me a lesson in forgiveness. Here I was holding major grudges, throwing thick shade, and serving sharp side-eyes because folks wouldn’t text me back. At least no one had thrown me onto my face onto the gravel. I knew I had to get it together. Scorn and contempt are two very heavy bags. Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (That’s Erykah Badu’s “Bag Lady,” not Elsa). Forgiveness is for me. For my peace of mind. Forgiveness says, “I acknowledge that this situation is unfavorable and it hurt but it is now the past and, for the sake of a better quality of life, that’s no place that I want to live.” I understand that unforgivingness impedes growth.

**ALSO! Baby is super safe as confirmed by her doctor.

***ALSO ALSO! I love children.

Tézya Jackson

Founder of Life Starts Now Productions, Filmmaker, and Artist. To learn more, click here.

Written By: Tezya Jackson | Wednesday, October 26, 2016

The Crucifixion of the Strong Black Woman

To be young, gifted and Black is one thing. Add being strong. Then slide in woman.


Pin her to a cross and watch her heels dangle off her feet while the world munches on popcorn. You can open your eyes now, that's what Black womanhood feels like.


Now I'm sure Christians are ready to march in the streets while reading this but examine the stance I'm making before final judgement. If you don't believe, that's fine too. The Black womanhood experience transcends religion. Stay with me here.


In a perfect world being Black and woman doesn't mean much different than any other human experience. We all brush our teeth (fairly) the same. We all put our shoes  on the same. We all chew the same. Yet, I'd be a fool to not outline that being of African descent AND female is not like everybody. Not by a long shot.


Try being the bud of every joke from your brotha counterparts on a daily basis. Brotha sometimes feels like the enemy himself when it comes to assassinating our character, belittling our physical features, tackling our hair and calling us everything under the sun. The moon. The clouds. The steamy coals below. Brotha do all this while holding the hands of "Becky" and screaming they love their Mamas that resemble Black women head to toe. Oh the irony.


The piercing nails of pain hurt when you enter work spaces and are asked to leave your natural self at home. All the education and business sense mean nothing when you don't look like "Becky with the good hair". Yeah, whatever that means. *side-eye*


By the way, Becky isn't the enemy. I repeat Becky isn't the enemy. Becky was crafted to counter everything Black women aren't. It's not her fault, she doesn't like it too.


The blood seems to stream a little bit more when you realize that being strong, independent and proud are all a sin. It's a the 11th commandment that only apply to Black women worldwide and must be enforced under the term, "attitude". Watch your step, down slip on the oozing truth.


No consideration for the contributions made, and innovations Black women have attributed worldwide, it makes it difficult to convince me this isn't crucifixion. I'm not going to list but I'll start with birthing the nation as sustainable proof. Black women have loved when she wasn't loved, been strong when she was suppose to be weak and create miracles over and over while smiling tooth to shining tooth. She's never made it about her, knowing that her mission is beyond self gratification. Always overstanding and loving while the world watches her perky breast be feed my millions and never asking what/when should she eat. Allowing everyone a seat at the table and standing at the door when others didn't do the same.


She isn't perfect but she understands purpose.


Much like Jesus, she'll be loved when she's dead and gone. Poof.


Christian or not, it's fair to say that The Black woman around the world have been over-sexualized, under appreciated and a second hand citizen to society. I'm sure most would argue that women of all shades could relate. I can't deny that relation isn't present but the swaying of Black women on the global cross is an exclusive club. Trust me girl, you can't "relate" to this. It's sympathy versus empathy in this matter. On the third day you might be able to join us at the table but only Black women could go through all of that, cook dinner, work 2 jobs and make it there on time.


Make it a practice to compliment her and praise her as much as you can. She deserves forms of glory even when you don't see her works. Put down the popcorn and save her. In turn, you'll be saving your self.


She is you and you are her. Amen.

Written By: Tezya Jackson | Wednesday, October 5, 2016

The Frustration of Letting Go

I'm not talented at everything. I'm always trying to grow. I have the type of personality that is always searching for ways to educate myself.  The go-getter of the group. I'm the overzealous talking head that will motivate anyone to pursue their dreams and then set a goal to do it again. Well, unless that pep talk involves "letting go" of frustration that's been built up. I'm usually as quiet as can be; it's actually scary. It's the type of fear you don't share because you don't want anyone to think you're weak and less powerful than the words you speak. However, this type of fear is real; let me further explain.

My family means the world to me. Somehow I found myself in tears after learning my parents were both officially remarried. My prayer in revealing this dark truth is anyone attached to them don't try to process my feelings as hatred for their spouses. If they are reading this, i pray they're empathy is unspoken or isn't addressed in some strange way to convince me that, "We are all one big family." At almost 25 years old, I mentally understand that but my heart is still rendering this new information. I'm taking it one day at a time.

I was blessed to witness my parents be married until about 15 or 16 years old. Honestly I can't remember but for most of my life I was raised in a two parent home. My sister and I had the perfect batch of parents. Both were goofy, one was laid back and the other was strict (when needed). We weren't the kids you NEEDED to over discipline because well like our parents we understood what needed to be done. My mom worked at night and my dad during the day. We were balanced in perception and lessons within the means of their marriage but at some point there was a visual switch.

Anyone who knows me, knows I'm private so out of respect for my parents I won't describe what all happened to end their marriage. I'll just say, when they switched somewhere deep inside I didn't. I continued to believe that ONE day my parents would fall back in love or friendship. Friendship happened sometime after going back to college but love didn't. It was clear that they were happy being with their new mates. "Grown me" understood that and wanted them to love again. The "little girl" deep inside wanted otherwise for some strange reason. I've always had a problem of letting go.

It's ironic that my favorite gospel song is, "Let Go, Let God", by Dewayne Woods. Rivers seem to flow down my eyes when that song comes on because it strikes a nerve that I constantly try to overcome. It's like being at church and the pastor is preaching to you that Sunday. Outside of family, letting go has been that one thing that I've not been extremely talented to rid or conquer. That frustration of not simply accomplishing that task like weight loss or career moves baffle my ego. I'm constantly trying to find the balance; admitting is the first step to growth right?

I'm making baby steps in this new acceptance that life is forcing me to live out. My family are all going their separate ways. I'm getting my own place, my baby sister is almost a senior in college, and my parents are happily married to the loves of their lives. I sometimes look at pictures of us all in it and yearn for it to happen again until I realize that I've gained much more. I'm now an aunt of 6. I have two older brothers and a baby brother. I have more grandparents, uncles, aunts and family. I have more love.

It's frustrating letting go but now that I look at my own life I have to. I don't want that type of emotional trauma to find its way in my relationship, marriage, or motherhood. I don't want my children to be "pack rats" because of the decisions that I make or how I react to life. I want them to remain encouraged and trusting unto God that everything in his favor is their favor too. Sometimes you have to let go of that frustration of uncertainty for a life of entirety.

I still struggle but I'm still growing. I'm still growing.



Brianna Clark

Brianna graduated from Prairie View A&M University with her BS in Chemical Engineering. She is a twenty something at the start of her writing career and is a lifelong learner. She is a lover of food, family, children, and art in all forms (In that order, in that order...). Her humor is dry and her wit is quick but beneath it all she has a heart o' gold. Just outchea tryna make it like everybody else.

Written By: Brianna Clark | Wednesday, September 21, 2016

For colored girls who have considered silence when the revolution is too much

I am a proud Black Woman. There are no mistakes in the way of my ethnic identity. My skin is brown, my hair is thick, my nose is broad, and my lips are full. I always have and always will take great pride in my physical features, my black experience, and my heritage. I come from a family of strong black women whose talents run the gamut: Educators, musicians, engineers, doctors, artists, lawyers, nurses, military service women, accountants, ministers, mothers, wives, activists, and the list goes on. Much of the black woman’s allure exists upon her innate ability to uphold these titles, exceed expectations, and to do so without complaint and without rest. This allure, this expectation, competes and often wins against her humanity. That is not fair.

Personally, the weight of the title "Strong Black Woman" is sometimes too heavy for me to bear. Imposed by the world, the media, and other black women, the expectations for black women are numerous and often contradicting. The black woman must be mentally strong. The black woman must be physically strong. The black woman must be intelligent. The black woman must be nurturing. The black woman must be opinionated. The black woman must be cool. The black woman must be shapely. The black woman must be powerful. The black woman must be ladylike. The black woman must be gentle. The black woman must be tough. The black woman must be well-groomed. The black woman must always be prepared. The black woman must be attractive. The black woman must be a revolutionary. Harpo, who dis woman? Where she at though? The woman who is all of these things could rule the world, but if she is none she will most certainly be consumed by it. She must have an attitude but not too much attitude, be nice but not too nice, guarded but not too guarded, outspoken but not too loud. Even in a time when she must watch the unlawful executions of her people on an endless loop, she must hold herself together, lead the resistance while promoting justice and peace, and do so tactfully.

Many times I feel I have fallen short of the expectations of my title. One time in particular helped me gain a much greater understanding of my self and solidified my stance and my role in the fabric of the current movement. Earlier this year I attended The Taste of Chicago. Despite my perpetual state of pisstivity with the current social and political on-goings, I would take this day to spend with friends and food. I imagined I would walk and talk and laugh and even dance. I did. As I was walking and talking, I was stopped abruptly. The crowd of attendees began to shuffle to the perimeter of the walkway. A protest was happening. I heard the rallying cry all around me, “BLACK LIVES MATTER! BLACK LIVES MATTER! BLACK LIVES MATTER!” Instead of leaping into participation as I presumed I would, I was jolted into a state of paralysis and deep thought.

What should I do? Should I chant? What will happen if I do? What does it mean if I don’t? Should I cross over the barrier of police and incorporate myself into the demonstration? What will happen if I do? What does it mean if I don’t? Who are these people? Who is their leader? What would I do if this situation were to get out of hand? Would I run? Where would I run? Would I fight? Would I be hurt? Would I be arrested? Would I resist and then be arrested for resisting and then be killed? Right now I am angry. Maybe too angry to make a sound decision.

I watched intently as the protesters oriented themselves into very organized rows. I listened as other attendees openly agreed and disagreed with their message. I looked into the eyes of the police officers who were tasked with monitoring the demonstration. I observed the young black children passing by who were too young to process what was happening, yet old enough to belong to the demographic of those affected by the violence. Surrounded by all of this, I did nothing. I was quiet. In that moment, I was overcome by emotion. I believe that Black Lives Matter. I stand firmly against police brutality. Yet I said nothing. I did not chant. I did not cross any barrier. When the time came, I did not join arm in arm in the circle. I did not lie on the ground. All I could do was think. I imagine if I had opened my mouth, I’d have only been able to scream. So I remained silent.

Some say, “If you want to know what you would have done during the Civil Rights movement, now is your chance to find out.” Was this true? Would I have been silent? These words were among many thoughts that crossed my mind. After looking and thinking for a while, I pinned myself a coward and reluctantly continued to peruse the nearby vendors. I processed the situation and my reaction for days. I felt guilty. I thought that it was my duty - as a strong, proud, heroic, intelligent, outspoken, opinionated black woman - at a moment’s notice to be ready to physically protest. To raise my fist in the air and to demonstrate. I had instead been weak, quiet, and pensive. Fortunately, a conversation with my father, a black man, would help me understand that this was okay.

“Why do you feel guilty?” he asked. “If you don’t feel like protesting, don’t protest. If you feel like protesting, do. But always follow your heart.” I know where I stand in moments of injustice and that stance remains the same whether I verbalize it or not. I have nothing to prove to onlookers. What I also knew during that protest was that, as necessary as it was, that one in particular was not for me. I am a black woman. I am a walking protest. That means my story, my experience, and my choices are inherently a part of this movement. I may not contribute as a demonstrator but there are other ways in which I have contributed. By educating my peers, engaging in thoughtful conversation with members of other ethnic groups, by working with and uplifting black children, by educating myself on the history of my people and this nation. Although I had been silent, I had not been idle. I learned that there is a differnce. Sometimes the most important and lifesaving choice you can make is to process, to be in control of your mind.

Black woman, you owe this world nothing. Continue to fight, even if that fight is just a fight for your own peace. Heavy is the head....


Love & Light,


Taylor Hayden

Taylor Hayden is a 2014 graduate of Prairie View A&M University, where she received a B.A. in Mass Communications along with a minor in Marketing. Through writing & photography, this Houston native expresses her passion for adventure & creating new life experiences on her travel & lifestyle blog, Taylor Takes a Trip. It is her hope through her blog to be an inspiration for others to work towards becoming the best possible version of themselves while having fun doing so. 

Written By: Taylor Hayden | Wednesday, September 6, 2016


I have a confession to make. I haven’t published any blog posts in the month of March. The reason wasn't because of laziness or procrastination. I basically caught a cold case of the blues that lasted the whole 31 days of March. Why? Well, I wasn't aware of the cause early on but I knew it stemmed from it being my birthday month.


My whole life, I've always been a lover of birthdays. Each year I'd plan a celebratory occasion with family and friends. For some strange reason however, I wasn't anticipating the one in 2016. Everyday I would wake up feeling a little melancholy and didn't know why.  As my birthday, March 15th, started approaching, this melancholy feeling grew more intense. Some days I would start crying out of nowhere. It frustrated me to the core! I'm the type of person that's not too fond of being down or allowing others to see me at a low point. On top of that, I had no idea why I was having this joyless moment of self-reflection.

March was a roller coaster of unwanted emotions. I kept them bottled up and didn't have the desire to share them with anyone with the exception of one individual, God. I'm a believer and I pray every single day. The bulk of my prayers are about my love ones, asking for forgiveness, and expressing my gratitude of my blessings. But for this month, I was in need of some clarity and strength to get through whatever I was going through. As the days kept passing by, March 15th finally came. Assuming that this will be the most depressing day ever, surprisingly, I was wrong. 


I woke up that Tuesday morning, thanked God for allowing me to see another year, and decided to just spend the day to myself. As I was making my way to my kitchen for coffee, I spotted a cute little surprise sitting on top of the dining room table. It was a bouquet of flowers with balloons given to me by my mom; shout out to her! It was a great way to start off my day.


The rest of my birthday consisted of thoughtful gestures, phone calls, text messages, emails, and even an unexpected Edible Arrangement delivery. The day concluded with a simple, yet, meaningful evening with most of my favorite people eating ice cream and cake. March 15, 2016 turned out to be a pleasant surprise. It was a reminder of how loved I was by all of these amazing people in my life. 

After my birthday, things were better but I still felt uncertain. I started questioning myself towards the actions I've been making. I always strive to be righteous and work hard for the things I want but I wasn't reaping any benefits. I was feeling unhappy and wondered if my best was even good enough.


I couldn't continue dwelling in sorrow, so I started attempting to find solutions. My first step was to be completely honest with myself. I dreaded this birthday because of time. The upsetting part is that I'm not doing any of the things I sought out to be doing at my current age. Time is slipping away and it seems as though the older I get the more time speeds up. I'm a college graduate that's been living the past couple of years working for various individuals making little to nothing as far as income goes. Two years have flew by and I'm still drowning in student loan debt, can barely afford to take care of myself, and still living at home with my mom. I was very disappointed with myself and worried about my future. 


As I started to come to grasp with my issues and prayed on it, that’s when I received a gratifying revelation. I realized that it's okay to not understand everything right now. Sounds quite confusing so allow me to elaborate. We all have some sort of purpose to fulfill, but you have to go through a few storms in order to become who you truly are. During those uncertain periods in your life, be grateful for what you have and remember that God is just positioning you for a greater blessing down the line. Later on, everything will start to make sense. All you have to do is be patient, work hard towards your aspirations, and most importantly have faith. 


"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." 

Jeremiah 29:11

For those who have similar concerns, you are not alone. It is my hope that by sharing my current situation I could motivate others to remain strong and have patience. Although I'm still going through my storms, if I didn't experience my "March Madness" episode, you wouldn't even be reading this blog post.


"Eventually all the pieces will fall into place. Until then, laugh at the confusion, live for the moment, & know that everything happens for a reason." -Unknown



God Bless :) 

Check out Taylor's Blog, CLICK HERE

Kwon R. Bill

Kwon R. Bill is a recent graduate of Prairie A&M University with a Bachelors degree in Political Science with a minor in Communication. He enjoys writing, and believes that it is "My freedom of expression in a sense. I am able to write how I feel about a subject without being political correct." 

Written By: Kwon R. Bill | Wednesday, August 31, 2016

A Broken System

Brock Turner, a student of Stanford attempted to rape an unconscious woman behind a dumpster before two men came and prevented the young man from continuing. What makes this situation worse; he only got six months in jail and three years of probation for this horrendous act. 

This incident should have opened your eyes to how broken this legal system really is and why people don’t have faith in it. Brian Banks, who last played for the Atlanta Falcons was falsely accused of rape and lost five years of his life to prison. 

Banks was a high school standout and had verbally committed to the University of Southern California. This was an accusation and he went to prison for five years but, Turner who actually committed this act got a slap on the hand. It is clear that when it comes to this, the punishment does not fit the crime. 

Dan Turner, the father of Brock Turner, defended his son by saying, “That is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20-plus years of life.” I am disgusted by this comment, your son raped an unconscious girl and you had the audacity to call that “20 minutes of action.”  

Aaron Persky is the California judge who put the icing on the cake by only giving this adult six months in jail and three years of probation. Persky stated, “A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him. I think he will not be a danger to others.”

It makes no sense that a person who sales 50kg of marijuana starts off at 5 years of prison, but I am pretty sure he was not a threat to others. Why didn’t you try to help him better his life where he would not have to sell drugs to make a living? 

The incident with Turner has sparked heated debates and put a focus on how differently whites and blacks are treated in the legal system. The question that I have heard a plethora of times, “what if this were a black person, what would the outcome be?”  

It is issues like these that have people on their toes and always questioning the phrase, “white privilege.” Some people try to deny it, but when you see stuff like this, how can you not at least think about it?  

If you feel that what this young man did was not that big of a deal, most likely you are a part of this problem we have in America. If you acknowledge that this is an issue and something needs to be done about this broken system I salute you. You actually want to see this country in a better state then it is in now. 

Written By: Kwon R. Bill | Wednesday, August 24, 2016 

What does Racism really Mean?

Recently, Kenderick Lamar performed at the Grammy's, where he made clear all the issues that are going on in the black community. A week or two before that, Beyoncé told the world that it is time to get information to attack a lot of the same issues.

Ricky Martin who is most famous for making the hit, “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” posted on Twitter, “I’m still high from your performance. Thank You”. Ellen DeGeneres took to twitter and posted, “you are brilliant.”

Nothing ever goes that simple though. When there is positivity and praise, there is also negativity and hatred. Twitter users posted things like, ‘Unbelievably racist. I liked it actually but his words were mostly ignorant. Learn some reality.”

There’s nothing wrong with you having an opinion, if you did not like the performance, that is okay, but how were these two performers being racist? Kendrick Lamar got on stage to encourage his community and gave hope to the hopeless by saying, “we gon be all right.”

Merriam-Webster Dictionary has multiple definitions of racism, but I think this one sums it up in a whole. Racism is “a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race.”

Now if we go off the terminology, how can we say that Kenderick Lamar and Beyoncé are being racist if they are trying to uplift their community? An example of racism was separating the blacks and white during segregation because people thought that blacks and white were not equal. This is known as racial segregation.

Another example of racism was Dylann Roof walking into a church and proclaiming he wanted to start a “race war”. Roof’s roommate stated, “He was big into segregation and other stuff. He said he wanted to start a civil war. He said he was going to do something like that and then kill himself.”

All these issues that are going on in America right now should open your eyes to society and should be a wakeup call. A young teen walked into a church and shot nine people while they were at bible study and we did not call him all these names. Instead, the people who were hurt most stepped back and prayed for the young teen.

For these two artists to cause this much commotion because of a performance should raise some alarm. We need to stop being so quick to pull out the race card and others need to actually learn what the definition of racism truly is.

We have come a long way, but we still have some more to go. It starts with us and I have faith that we will change the attitude of this nation when it comes to race.

Tézya Jackson

Founder of Life Starts Now Productions, Filmmaker, and Artist. To learn more, click here.

From Consumer to CEO

May 25, 2016|4:54 AM 

It's about 5 minutes to 5 AM and like the typical artist, I'm WIDE awake. It's not that I can't sleep but I'm putting together my very first website and listening to old recordings of myself. Hopefully I'm not the only one that records themself in deeper thought and cocktail conversations while driving to work. If so, I'll gladly take that "L" with honor. 


However, I ran across a podcast that is important to discuss because I'm a brand ambassdor for independent artists and people of color entreprenuers. In my very BLUNT and personal audio recording I stress the importance of investing into the images, sounds, and thoughts you want to see. Trust me, there are people that are up at 5:03 AM like myself tapping away at the computer carefully and dilengently putting together content that is pure in delivery and non-stereotypical. We are among the living and we NEED your help. We need your clicks on our sites, we need your attendance at our events, and we need your overall support. We are attempting to do something that's not average and we are putting ourselves out there to be riduculed so that your thoughts are freed through art.


As my fellow Dallasite Queen Badu has said, "We're artist and we're sensitive about our...", well you know the rest. It's true, we NEED your support because we're doing it for you, too. If you can zip through a McDonald's line flashing dollars and buy your favorite sneakers mindlessly then support the entreprenuers you know. This is NOT a cry out for help, completely, but more a concept that hasn't quite transferred well. I'm not sure if it will even be taken well after reading my post and listening to the podcast. Yet, it's worth a shot.


Hopefully, it can be felt from a person that wants to serve as your ambassdor of art, independent, and communal sista (not sister) that wants to live out her purpose to better serve you. 


Leave a comment and if you want to discuss email,

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