In journalism, the phrase “off the record” is often used to mean the information being given is neither for publication nor attribution. Within the journalism community, there are varying arguments on how specific one needs to be when telling someone it’s “off the record” in order for it to truly be considered “off the record.”
For what it’s worth, I have always believed “off the record” to mean not for publication nor attribution, and I honor that.
This, however, is my story, and I am sharing it with you with the understanding that this is the internet, which is forever—whether it be the Wayback machine or screenshots.
With that understanding, please know that in this context, “off the record” means while the events you will read about did happen, names, locations and other details have been changed to protect the guilty, the innocent, and the game.
We always respect the game, and that shit is to be sold, not told.
It also means that what you read here are my thoughts, experiences, and opinions—and mine alone.
I am a journalist by trade, and as such, I report, aggregate and commentate on the news regularly. In the annals of this time in history, that makes my work a primary source.
It’s important to me that I include an accounting of my experiences in this time period.
I’m a Gen X Black woman existing in an America that is growing increasingly hostile toward me and others who look like me.
This matters in the context of what we see reported in the media as well as what we don’t see. This matters when we look at whose stories are amplified and whose stories are left untold. This matters when we consider the collective experience of Black women in this country is one rooted in immense pain and often repeated trauma, and we need to turn the volume up on our stories about this shit.
Speaking of shit…
I cuss. A lot. Cuss words are peppered all throughout my language on a daily basis. You are probably going to see some cuss words here, and if that is offensive to you, I don’t apologize for it because I just gave you the warning. If you decide to stay, you do so of your own accord. Please don’t order the apple pie and then call the server back to complain that you don’t like apple pie.
That’s just silly, baby.
In addition to cuss words, you are likely to read what in other contexts could be considered tasteful and lightweight erotica. I promise you it will be tasteful and not gratuitous, but that is as far as I go with the promises. In other words, if reading about pussy, dick, titties, people kissing and touching and loving and sucking and fucking each other make you queasy, I won’t be offended if you unsubscribe right now. This may not be the creative project for you.
If you have made it this far, I thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you will stick around and enjoy the vibes.
Storytelling is a revolutionary act.
This is mine.