DID I SAY MO WAS IN TOWN?

Mad crazy week...
did I say Mo was in town?
Tuesday:
Crazy.... Vocab takes care of her Neo-Soul fam by picking up MO for us.... Bfran, Jo and I have a hard time getting out of the ATX. Juiced on spiked Chick-Fil-A lemonade (Jo and I) and frustrated by Austin traffic, we head to SA, home of Puro Slam. MO's featuring and we're bringing her back to her second home: ATX... Puro Slam is off the chain as usual. This cat T-Bone is hosting the show. I served as one of the judges for the evening. Now judging at Puro Slam is as exciting as participating in the slam. This is one of the few venues that has hecklers, that's right, HECKLERS. As usual, SA has it's slew of characters, and I had the opportunity for the first time, to score a poem a 0. One that should have never been written and believe me, I hated he wasted the pen's ink, paper and my time. The audience agreed by beginning the Car Wash clap in the middle of his piece. (REMEMBER, PEOPLE COME TO HECKLE). MO, as always, did an excellent performance. And congrats to Baby Bop (Vocab) who took home first place. We drive back to ATX at 1:30 am stimulated by discussion with our sister MO. Bfran and she catch up. And I get the much needed sistergirl lovin' vibe thru conversation and inspiration. That is, until we get to Bfran's and she makes a crack about HIP HOP and the distance between my house and Bfran's (17 miles) she swears it was a thousand..... We get to sleep about 4:00 am.
Wednesday:
8:00 am. Up and at 'em. MO's is scheduled to facilitate a workshop at the Conference fof Alcohol and Drug Addiction Counselors and Prevention Workers. Mike G. (Ft. Worth), Vocab (SA) Amanda (Kentucky/Austin), Relentless (Austin: NEO-Soul), B-Fran (Austin: NEO-Soul), Korim aka Jono (Austin: NEO-Soul), Element (Austin) and myself (Austin: NEO-Soul)are a part of the workshop. I was honored to be in the company of my peers (Poets) with my peers (Substance Abuse and Prevention). It was a rare experience, in that, truly gratifying. And my day kept getting better. After the conference we went to eat at the Cheesecake Factory. Mike Guinn is as goofy as he is talented. That's all I'm gonna say on that. Nothing but laughs and positive reflection. Another rarity as well as a favorite, good food, good drink, surrounded by good friends that pose as good family. Did I say my day kept getting better? I got to host that night at our spot!!! Thanks B and Hustle. If I might say so myself the show was HOT HOT HOT.... MO came thru as special guest. This cat Kevin out of Cali came thru and did the THING... He tore the house up with "Is It a Crime.. And the NEO-Souldiers showed everyone who's house it was.... Also, the bartender Mike, introduced me to a new favorite drink, Red Headed Slut.... Didn't I say my day kept getting better? And it did. It ended as well as it started. I closed the night with Raheem DeVaughnn...... what more can I say? Wednesday, my favorite day of the week. Anything can happen day, and it usually does.....
Thursday:
I met MO to go to dinner and later go bowling with the crew. HIP HOP showed her tail shortly after dinner. She cried all over MO (she leaks a bit and of all the times to rain, yesterday was the day. Plus I have no air conditioning. So we're both sweating and fighting off raindrops as we head, what Mo believes, to be the thousand mile trek to my house. I'm mad apologizing cuz, I would have left her at the hotel if I had known it was going to rain. I'm used to it. I'm going to restore it before I buy another, so it's a labor of love for me. She was cool about it though. Bowling 101 for dummies. Mo talked us into going bowling. I have never bowled in my life. The music was better then any club, that had that 70's club thing down pat. I'm serious, it felt like a flashback into time. It was mad cool though. I don't like to do things I'm not good at so I quit before the end of the second game. It was all for commardorie, and showing love.
Friday:
MO's plane took off, just before the sky exploded with rain...The last three days have been fantastic, filled with friendship, poetry, and love. I will probably spend the rest of the afternoon napping while some movies watch me. I will also catch up on some writing and recitation as the rain waters my yard. Her visit, as always, much like the rain, refreshing and much needed....

Raheem and the Penguins

aside from the good times marathon which ran all weekend long there was little if any cause for celebration, until late sunday. hustle, a man of many talents, parlayed me a copy of the love experience, by raheem devaugnn. a must have. believe has got to be the love song of the century... it's where i'm at people. aside from being a wannabe a poet, i love old school love ballads. and this was definitely some slightly cold, gray outside, rainy day, picnic on the floor (don't be cheap, get some real food and real wine) in front of a burning fire place, blinds slightly open, love making and taking, audio consisting of the melodic sounds of _____, soft taps of rain along the eaves, and believe playing in the background. ya know what i mean? i know you do. anyway, i've been playing the entire cd all week, am sure my co-workers can sing the lyrics along with me.
so my weekend picked up when he laid the cd in my hand ( i also got a copy of jaguar wright, haven't gotten to listen to it yet.) i spent my evening chilling with my favorite drink, listening to the cd, writing, conjuring and pondering penguin love.
march of the penguins was also released this past weekend. penguins are my favorite animals. yesterday i took myself on a cheap date after work and went to see march of the penguins, a documentary about emperor penguins. facinating tale about their annual mating season. it's much more then this. but you have to be interested in penguins or be a true romantic to really get what i am talking about. emperor penguins don't have mating stones, they do have an incredible courtship ritual.
i sat thru the movie and did some much needed soul searching and cleansing, aside from self loving and forgiving. i laughed when appropriate and shed a few tears as i watched the movie. (yes, i cry at some movies!) emperors y walk a minimum 70 miles in 48 degrees below 0, to the place they were all born (mating ground). once there they perform a cruising the snow type of ritual to find their potential mate. (just like the club there was some game playing, cursing and fighting (females outnumber the males). once a mate is found they sing this song then form this pose, that is loving, statuesque and simply beautiful. they're saying "hey babe, i walked a hundred of miles to find you, i want to build a home, have a baby, me and you for a single season. (emperor's remain monogamous for one mating season/year, then return the following year to find another mate.)" that shyt is instinct, not ceremonial. instinct. the true sense of love. once acquainted with the facts about emperor penguins then you will know that building a family is life or death for them, and that many die following that instinctual commitment. it's real. now i don't know if i can do the life or death emperor penguin love thang, but i can do the rock thing that other penguins have established. i have a stone in my pocket 'cuz i think it's the illest thing, you know.
but maybe, just maybe, i might find my true inner penguin and have the ability to conjure another penguin spirit, and if the love was worth it, truly worth it, i'd take the emperor penguin's stance, make a trip many believe to be harsh and foolish. despite their objections, my heart would know it was right. i would instinctively know what to do in most cases, where to go when i felt lost, and feel the reward that may be no where in site, just somewhere waiting for me once i reached my destination. and when i find it, it will not be for a season, but for a lifetime......

guess who's back?

We got that Bobby and Whitney kind of love. That Left Eye - Andre Rison kind of love. Florida and James. We like oil and water. We ghetto, on fire and don't friggin' mix, but DAMN DAMN DAMN......I love her.... Damn I love her....MY HIP HOP is back. And we are in love!!!! Or at least for the moment. She's temperamental. Moody. Some may call her a bitch. She's not nice to most, kind of smirks at you, on the count of her crooked grill. Half ass talks to you, at times inaudible, others she just mumbles. I even had to slap her a couple of times to hear what she was saying. We had serious relationship issues until yesterday afternoon. Her mouth is still a problem, still can't quite understand her, but I listen to her whisper.. Even after all the abuse, cries, and prayers, my BABY has returned!!!!! We no longer have that off and on kind of love.... Currently I don't have to worry about her being in the mood. I can now turn the key only ONCE and she PURRS...... Her grill is even straight thanks to Mr. Miller and a six pack of genuine draft..... It pays to be kind.... That's another story though.....
Mariah Carey's Vanishing blew her speakers a few days before she conked out on me at ABIA (airport) after I returned from El Paso. So while we are riding and starting at nearly every first twist of the key, I could care less about music. Maybe I can memorize a couple of new poems until I can get some more speakers. But like the paint job we're waiting to ensure that she's gonna run... I ain't buying her no new dress and fixing her mouth without knowing if she's gonna do what she's suppose to. Ya know?
Last night the crew laughed at me as Hip Hop and I did doughnuts in the parking lot. Love even had the nerve to be funny thinking she might not start after I turned her off. Psych!!! Her engine turned right over. I'm just grinning, doing my best Tina Turner (during the Ike years)impersonation... "Cuz, I'm almost waiting for her to call me Annie Mae and bitch slap me in front of everyone, shoving birthday cake all over my face, as we sit in the diner.. Oh, I digress, got caught up in the movie. But you know the horror of it all....... Hip Hop abuses, but I keep coming back for more. Chris Rock says it best, "they get you on the comeback" .... She knows I'm gonna keep comin' back. And I sure as hell do. Believing that the next repair is my last repair. We did 80 on the way home last night.
Hell she woke up with vigor and pep!!!! She did 95, yes 95 miles per hour on 685 this morning!!!! We rode in the cool breeze high off life, in love with each other and the road. I pray that this love is not temporary. Fleeting. Vampire-like, sucking me dry of finances and hope...
But when you're love sick, you're love sick. I now have three God given blessings and passions. Each brings me joy in so many ways. I pen words that are on my heart as frequently as I can. I carry three rocks in my pocket to entice the inner penguin, reminding me that I have a greater purpose and joy if I remain patient. And I drive the hell out of my little longhorn orange 1984 VW rabbit whenever she's in the mood.

constantine and other forms of affection

a conversation from late february 2005...
FADE2BLACK
"hey"
"hey"
"whatyadoin?"
"nothin. you?"
"trying to get some work done. something you should be doin."
"i know. i'm on break. checking out movies. i really want to see house of flying daggers. i love movies. you like going to the movies?"
"uhh. i really don't have to go. uhh. you know?"
"oh yea, i forgot."
"but, sometimes i like to go. I like independent movies, i really want to see million dollar baby."
"yea, me too. i also want to see that movie constantine......"
FADE2BLACK
yesterday i received a copy of the movie constantine. in the midst of darkness and lightly scattered rain, my Indian Summer crept from behind cumulus clouds, stretched across the western hemisphere to embrace me in the cradle of a smile and a simple touch of a hand. fingers touched, head slightly titled, thru beautiful, groggy brown eyes, i was blessed with a reminder. not of whence i had come, but where i want to be. no one knows the often dark and lonely 26.3 mile trip filled with winding trails, farmer to market roads, highways and byways traveled, like we do. so, the fact that i recieved such a gift in the late of night, nearly two hours before the dawn of another day, was in itself, priceless. no, i never had the opportunity to see the movie at the theater nor did i watch it last night. i don't think i can even tell you what it's about without reading the synopsis on the cover. i can tell you i didn't read it last night. . .
last night, i relished in the idea of love. and how sometimes the heart knows what the heart needs. and while the movie may or may not be something i will enjoy. it's good to be remembered and heard.
so as i laid in my bed and pulled my teddy bear close to my heart, i thought of a future moment when we might enjoy the movie together. or perhaps a moment when i could let my guard down enough to share exactly how i felt in that moment. i am learning that love comes in very unusual ways, and sometimes it just comes, who would have thought it would have flown on the wings of a reluctant angel named constantine....

slipping thru folds of crossed arms disguised as hugs...

Today is my mother's birthday. Unlike most, I have never made a homemade card or gift, bought a cheap bottle of perfume, burnt a birthday breakfast or even had the opportunity to scrap penny change together in an attempt to purchase her a birthday cake. My mother chose to burn her pages and allow her pen to dry long before she recognized the prose which glistened the rouge of her lips, or the green of life which hid slightly behind her halzed colored almond shaped eyes. She, like me, had an unusual attachment, not to life, but people. Love was and is our downfall, and a broken heart means just that, broken. So that fateful August, when her heart shattered like an icicle falling from an abandoned building, so did her soul and ultimately her life. Now one would ask, why did I pick an abandoned building? I did so, because there was no one was there to see or hear her fall, and no one was there to help her pick up the pieces. She didn't know that a broken heart was the natural evolution of things, it allows us to love deeper, so that we may have a stronger appreciation of emotions and the epitome of the most elusive emotion of them all, "unconditional love". It's similar to an icicle falling, melting, evaporating and becoming a part of the essence of whence it came. We are born from love, out of love. But we could never see the big picture.
We're was caught in the details. Clinging to words and behaviors to make decisions. Picking lovers and friends as closely as you'd pick roses with thorns. Always expecting a hint of blood, yet, looking for the perfect one. Picking lovers and friends as closely as the last words one would say to their beloved on their death bed. Never knowing what impact it may have, but wanting it to be something they can hold onto forever.
She and I know there is no such thing as forever. But we search for it in others. We know that people come into our lives for reasons and seasons. I have met winter, summer, spring and fall in different faces, smiles and behaviors. And I have chosen to not get involved, to stay just on the outside of things as not to totally experience it. I know what seasons mean, temporary, ever evolving, ever changing. Sometimes seasons merge, and when they do it causes confusion, pain. Occassionally they stay a little too long, and when they do, the same confusion and pain are ever present. I fear the grave consequences as I am she, and she is me. I have loved, but never allowed myself to love along the brink of uncertainty. I love just outside the four seasons. They call it Indian summer. It has dual meaning. It's that sunny, warm weather, just before the bitter cold arrives. Or something that blooms late, unexpected, when it is no longer interesting or revelant. Those have been my past love relationships.
So today, I was awakened with the loneliness of child seeking the warmth of a womb that has since grown cold and barren. Today is a reminder that I am without roots. And since I no longer have my grand, she, the soil which I once used as camouflage, no longer exists, so I feel alone and exposed. Today, I am reminded why people who are unavailable and noncommittal are attracted to my aloofness and seething simple air of arrogance. We are both lonely warriors, who seemingly understand the true meaning and duality of Indian Summers.....
Mom, it's been thirty-three years. And while I look for an excuse not to love or write, almost daily, I know that I must piece together the chapters that we were never afforded.
I love you for your legacy and the story that has yet to unfold. continue to whisper in the breeze, I am always listening....

Penguins and Elm Trees.... my heart's transgression of sort...

FADE2BLACK
"have you ever wanted to get married?"
"yes"
"really?"
"yes"
"then why haven't you."
"i don't know."
"you've had time and opportunity."
"i know"
"what is it then? do you want marriage as the ceremony or the commitment."
"the commitment. the ceremony I would do for the other person, you know?"
"why would you do it for them?"
"not them, you. i know it would be important to you. i only want to be committed to. you can commit to someone naked under the stars. it's about the promise. me, i like penguins. they take the time to shine a single stone, then look across the snow at all the other available penguins... and from all of those funny looking birds they find one. one they are really diggin', and that penguin takes a chance. a huge leap of faith and in front of all the other f'ckin penguins, he just rolls the stone to the feet of the one he wants to spend his life with. that shyt is cool."
"it is. but i still don't understand why you've never been married."
"'cuz, i'd want it for life. like the penguins. and when i looked into the eyes of past relationships, i saw quit in their eyes."
"quit?"
"yea, they were quitters, and could never commit to themselves, let alone me for the long term."
FADE2BLACK
what i wanted to say was i found the perfect stone. that i've been carrying it in my pocket. waiting. everyday i remove it from my pocket, inspect it, clean it, polish it a bit, but i know it's not ready. it does not mirror you. when it's perfect in it's imperfections, then i will know. maybe today your heart could never see the significance of a simple stone and the value i place upon it. it's something i found while walking, thinking about you. wondering. exploring possibilities. when i look at you i can imagine the vastness of the universe and depth of what can be..... and unromantically enough, i also see those funny little birds.... but know, that i am polishing the stone, preparing and perfecting it, to roll and place at your feet.......
Until then, I will bask in the shadow of your smile, seek peaceful slumber in the cradle of your branches, and ponder methods to entice, intrigue and captivate your inner penguin.......

Yes, I missed you also.....

It's been a while. I have been on travel status and attempting to complete the tasks which allow me to pay bills and eat. This past week has been full of poetic adventures and life's lessons.
1) I have learned that my people meter is broken!
When I had the time, I once read people well. Until recently, I was a lot more cautious. I am working on myself, I am in love and I am a part of a poetry collective. So I can't always be my BITCH SELF in some situations. Anyway, I ignored my average response, tried to be "nice" and made a "mindful" mistake in befriending someone. I am now hardpressed to take serious action and self correct as quickly as I can. HINT: There are very few people I want to talk to daily, a list of the obvious three, GOD, DAD and ELM. Then there's my girls Love and Jai, we catch up daily. The only other person I would talk to that much is my boy B, but he does not do the phone well at all.
2) Some people take SLAMS much too serious!
Participated in the ALL - Texas INDY Slams in San Antonio this weekend. Got 4th on Friday, won a bottle of wine which I gave to Rialistic (COOL SA Poet) as a belated birthday present. I didn't make it out of the first round on Saturday night, despite an impressive first round score of 29.1. There were four 30(s) in the first round. It was a great night of poetry, got to see Queen Sheba before she hits our spot on Wednesday. And seldom do I get to catch talent from across the state, so I milked in the words and performances. Other poets pouted and complained that the judges were scoring too high... For those whiners I say "BOOOOO!"
3) Never do a homosexual piece in the slam off against my boy FLUKE!
Joaquin was damn good, but let's say Fluke told him and showed him about "street boy poets" and may have convinced Joaquin to retire his piece. (They were both good and it was THE BET SLAM OFF I'VE SEEN THUS FAR.)
4) Krissi Reeves and Mike Whalen can ride with me anywhere!
Good conversation, good poetry, good chicken. Krissi ripped a piece in the car that shows she is far more diverse, then her stage persona. Not just comedic, for those who are not familiar with her. Really wanted to hear more, but she was tired. And Funky Mike, well, as Jay Z would put it "What More Can I Say?". Mike was also one of the poets who scored a well deserving 30 on Saturday night.
5) And love, does, literally coming knocking at your door when you least expect it!
Let's just say, I had a thought, then my morning prayer, and immediately afterward the prayer was answered. Sunday morning was more then I could ask or hope for. It was a perfect way to start my week.

So much more to say, but so little time to say it in.....
holla

NUMB/ENCORE & JIGGA WHAT/FAINT

Yeah
Thank you, thank you, thank you
You're far too kind
Haha
Uh, yeah
Ready?
Let's go
Can I get a encore? Do you want more?
Jay Z

Been digging in the archives, currently, Jay Z/Linkin Park's Collision Course is in rotation, along with Anthony Hamilton's Soulife. Particularly digging the Jigga What/Faint & Numb/Encore tracks. Kind of like my current state.

I am a little bit of loneliness, a little bit of disregard
Handful of complaints but I can't help the fact that everyone can see these scars
I am what I want you to want, what I want you to feel.....
Linkin Park

Last week, I stumbled across a sneak listen of Anthony Hamilton's Soulife. The first song, "I Used To Love Someone" hit me pretty hard. Not only was it poetically haunting, the music was reminisce of true...... longing. I cannot adequately describe it. Only say it held me, captivated me. Took me someplace.

"I remember when I used to love someone who looked just like you, and also I can remember the smell of ...."
Anthony Hamilton

And it was consistent with my heart's ache at the moment. The lyrics shared my place, my space. They coaxed hidden pain and conjured tears from someplace I'd hidden from myself. The tears hydrated insecurities and unpleasantries that I believed I had conquered, if not tamed. Wise folk say you cannot tame the wild, the wild only become clandestine and unpredictable. Thus....

I am a little bit insecure, a little unconfident
Cause you don't understand, I do what I can but sometimes I don't make sense
I am what you never wanna say, but I've never had a doubt
Linkin Park

I have written a new piece. It is autobiographical. Problem is, I keep getting asked the same question, "who is this about?". I mean people who I believed knew me, asked this question. And in that moment, I realized I had really become a bigger then life facade.

Monday was probably the worst day of 2005, aside from Mother's Day which I absolutely despise. This year, the entire Mother's Day weekend, which I worked hard at planning to be a good one, was THE WORST EVER. Anyway, on Monday, after I took my morning shower, dried my face, and grabbed some oil for my locks, I noticed a small pimple on my cheek. Immediately, wanted to put toothpaste on it, in hopes that it would dry before work, but I knew I needed to have done that last night. Anything I put on it today will not begin to work until tonight. So, I began to examine it, trying to think of a quick fix. And in less then, COUNT IT, fifteen seconds, I recognized and saw my every flaw. Okay, I exaggeratete, most of my flaws. All I did was look past the some basic lies I had been telling myself.
Like:
1) It's okay to ride every day with your convertible top down.
2) It's okay to exercise without washing your face first and then immediately after you are done.
3) It's okay if you don't moisturize nightly.
4) It's okay to not wear sun screen. You're already tanned, it won't hurt.
These behaviors contributed to my pimple. A pimple is an irritant due to dirt just below your skin. (Not totally scientifically accurate, but you're following me, right?)

Her mind says closed as surely as it was written upon her eyelids
her thoughts neon lettering painted atop leaning stop sign posts
seeped thru lips chapped with facts that lack her basic truths...
thir13teen

I know it doesn't make sense from there, but it makes so much sense HERE. I have been telling myself that things are okay. I wanted to medicate the problem. Not look at preventive measures as being part of my solution. Everything I have been, done and not done thus far has contributed to my current mind set and difficulties. Yet, I have not wanted to accept responsibility. Last week I drove nearly 400 miles in the wee hours of the morning for the comfort of home. But it wasn't home that I longed for. It wasn't my stuff. It wasn't sleeping in my own bed. I just wanted to NOT DEAL with the feelings associated with staying. Truth is, I don't trust a lot of people. And the few I trust I place much too much emphasis on them. And my Dad is someone I place a lot of emphasis upon. I hate leaving him. So, as not to deal with it, I made an improptu decision to leave.

I've been writing to escape since I was in the sixth grade. My art teacher, Miss Fleming, was a portly Jewish woman who taught me to write backwards. She also taught me basic pen strokes, and art techniques. She stoked my already outlandish imagination, by allowing me to tell her "stories". Which she then encouraged me to write. My great-grandmother told me stories, unschooled words dialectically scrawled into the folds of my creativity. Both dads, tell great stories. My Grand lived her story. And my Mother, well she believed hers was much too painful, so she burned the paper and allowed her pen to dry, long before her letters became words, and her words became prose. And mine, well, it will always miss several chapters.....

So today, well, I struggle with silencing my pen when I experience pain. I love the autobiographical tales of artist who suffered for their work, their art, and their deaths often dictated this pain. I quit writing in undergrad, as I needed a little too much inspiration, and sometimes the pain was much too great. I also often feared the consequences of living an artist's life. And while I will never say it, I quit writing everyday for at least an hour, as I know all too well the autobiography of my mother. I will set my pen aside, but it shall never run dry..................