《 Gorilla Woman 》
THE HIDDEN DIARIES OF NINA SIMONE (by Fernando Romano)
It was some reception evening at a chilly place resembling one of those sturdy Rockefeller palaces in Philadelphia - I was summoned to sing and play the piano to a white flock of Presbiterian WASPs (gone crazy with the seeds of their future commitment to corporate diversity and inclusion), with Christmas night (and shopping frenzy) right around the corner.
I had barely started my warm-up playlist on the piano when a pink preppie Barbie, drenched in years of hateful mindwash, barged into the concert room and shouted out loud for all guests to hear and choose to align or pretend to ignore:
《 How can you stand the pain of sitting under the same ceiling with this stinky Gorilla Woman in the house? 》
A thrilling spring of icy cold blood started running through my veins and made me raise to my feet and slowly walk toward that squirmish little peachy-rosy bitch...
I stared furiously down into the very bottom of her blueish wide open eyes and --- as if I were going to scrape her soul out of her red-haired pumpkin head --, my harshest venom started gushing out of my mouth:
《 Who the hell do you think you are, pathetic little Cinderella-bitch, to divert attention from utmost quality music and force a diva presence to acknowledge your miserable existence, wrapped up in fake fantasy-land, where all racist scum go blind in pink powder and all things pastel? 》
While the pink doll bitch drulled of anger between streaks of fear and despair, I calmly walked down from the stage to the audience, making sure I kept her attention locked up in my carmin-red silk cloth bodycover, hanging lustfully from my left shoulder, broached up by a golden cameo displaying a black tourmaline carved with the Egyptian goddess Isis depicted. My feet were bare, by the way.
The bitch doll was frantic and much likely to have aspired poppy. Nevertheless, she noticed quite regretfully that she was in for a fight she was doomed to lose and soon disappear into her dreadful nothingness.
I just went on pontificating on Blackness to indulge the frozen audience and give a lesson on biodiversity that they all seemed to lack. Starting with:
《 You, deprived lowlife, unlikely to know a thing about my ancestry, keep stumbling your piggy feet into the sewer of ignorance, ditching any possible honor and decency into the rubbish. Your alphabetization hasn't even started yet, but this is an enlightening moment of truth to rescue you and your like-minded folk from the abyss.
《 You are about to learn that:
● my feromones outcast your flimsy scents a mile away... and do they make men crazy about me! (the aroma I exhude is the kind that made men do the craziest acts from the beginning of time: the eating of a forbidden apple; the rapt of the Queen of Sheba; the fall of the most powerful empire on Earth under the feet of the last Egyptian Queen; this is something you will never be able to experience, as your sour complexion can only exhude a faint odor of baby-piss, even in your hottest fertile periods!).
● my anatomy is of a large and meety warrior goddess, used to winning battles and defeating both men and women like any Amazon fighter would do, at any historical time, and come out victorious! (I run wild in the fields like a Nubian Walkyria, walking over dead bodies, and should I have any cavity in my teeth, I would have already crunched your meek pale bone structure into it for good!).
● my voice is a resonating thunder that can fill stadiums and concert halls with passion and emotion! (the quality of sound that goes deep into people's ears and penetrates their hearts, making them transcend their regular routines and boring existence... their listening can transform their minds and hearts and level them up to the highest harmonies they will ever get in touch with in a 3D world... while, in contrast, your screetching meowing purr has already been faded even before coming out of that slit opening you call 'mouth'!) 》
At this time, after some weak mumbling and tumbling attempts, the preppy bitch was gone fainted; and people were gathering around that pink and pale stain of tule on the carpet to provide some ailment.
My last words were:
《 Drag this abhorrent figure out of this place at once! Should you still be willing to tune yourselves back into the masterpieces I prepared for this evening, erase that disgusting freak show from your minds and listen up. And no smoking whatsoever, please 》
I soon followed my repertoire on the piano, except for a significant change of order in my songlist: instead of saving it for last, I decided to play and sing it right at this moment, once the dismayed bitch body was being taken away by an ambulance:
Young, Gifted and Black
Young, gifted and black
Oh what a lovely precious dream
To be young, gifted and black
Open your heart to what I mean
In the whole world you know
There's a million boys and girls
Who are young, gifted and black
And that's a fact
"You are young, gifted and black"
We must begin to tell our young
There's a world waiting for you
Yours is the quest that's just begun
When you feelin' really low
Yeah, there's a great truth that you should know
When you're young, gifted and black
Your soul's intact
How to be young, gifted and black?
Oh, how I long to know the truth
There are times when I look back
And I am haunted by my youth
Oh, but my joy of today
Is that we can all be proud to say
"To be young, gifted and black
Is where it's at"
Is where it's at
Is where it's at
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