aromas and scents.....

a conversation between my sister, nephew and niece upon arrival to my house, soon after opening the door, each visit.
nephew: "mom, auntie kimmie's house still smells new."
niece: "it smells good to me."
sister: "you know your aunt is crazy, she can't stand the smell of food, so she opens the windows no matter how __________ it is outside."
nephew: "does that mean we're eating out?"
sister, depending on the season: "yes, it's too damn hot/cold/wet/_____ to eat here."
nephew and niece in unison, "good, we want to go to cheddar's."
sister: "okay, your auntie kimmie is paying....."
i came home to the smell of baked turkey with gravy, rice, and salad. yes, each has a distinct smell when you are as neurotic as i am.
stepmom: "roy, this girl doesn't even have a dining room table." turning to me, "where do you eat?"
me: "uh, over the sink, on a tv tray, out?"
dad: "what'd you say k.d., out?" he laughs, "she's never here, she's on the go, leave her alone. ya doing good here kid...." he give me a hug.
earlier during the week i came home to fried potatoes and sausage. this weekend there will be some pig part, either fried or baked, sitting at a makeshift dining room table in my house, along with some "soul food feast disguised as a heart attack waiting to happen." i can hear my dad talking about his blood pressure and how he has a head-ache. something he does each time he eats pork. currently my refrigerator is filled with pig, pig fillers, beef, beef fillers, and other meat-like products... ignoring my current goal to become vegetarian.. my dad, "what ya gone do that for?" a far cry from the soy milk, peanut butter, trail mix, salad bags, fruit mixes, yogurt, tortillas, onions, various cheeses and candy which once occupied the fortress alone. they've been pushed far back into the forest of comfort food my step mom and dad assured me i (we) (THEY) needed. my pots and pans are freaking out, stating they need therapy because they are overworked. and my micro-wave is threatening to leave me cuz i've not been paying much attention lately. i say this, yet i am not complaining. it's funny and it all feels good. and i'm a little sad....
my dad and step mom will be leaving on monday morning... they will, as my dad states "be staying closer to home, as there are, things to be done." understandable. yet selfishly enough, all i could think was my 1600 plus square feet will return to it's once tomb like state. there will be no aroma's of home cooked meals and lightly scented cleaning products. it will return to be it's cold, sterile, neutral, model home like state and smell.
my step mom, gave me something i'd been missing a long time. a mother. she cooked, cleaned, nurtured, listened, observed, and managed to keep my dad out of my business.
"you say you're spending the night with who? where?" he asked before i left for work this morning. "why are you taking that bag, we will see you this afternoon before you go?" leave her alone, roy" she rescued,after his fifth round of questions.
"well, go and have a good time." he said thru laughs, "i will call you."
and he did.... time and time again.
monday... i'm not sure if i'm going to air out the house. i'm thinking about allowing them to stay as long as they are physically able. maybe i'll go home, breathe in as deeply as i can, taking in all that there is left of our time spent together.
on another note.... they did make me want to have something around to take care of... so thanks to Queue, i am now a proud virtual pet owner.... check out Oshun, my penguin.... for those of you laughing.. it's a start, okay?

Imperfectly You

Imperfectly You

phantom whispers
breeze thru air,
lightly caressing
an angelic illusion
to
mirror
near perfection,
which was once
(she)
you
we
(me).
surrender
to its essence,
cherish moments
and
journey feather-like
along aromatic mists
of jasmine
of laughter
sunflowers
smiles
lillies
giggles
peonies
parallel
our
(u)
-niverse...
we
wickedly
pilfer from
infinite tomorrows,
oblivious
intensely
intimate
bouyant
conveying
doubtless
flattery
to
redefine
imaginative
whispers
kissing
breezes
of
perfection
that
I once
called
you

kdtaylor 2005

My Gurl E sent over some words, we were bored. Let's say maybe she was, I, on the other hand, had some work to do..... I think she thinks she may have stumped me... Anyway it was a buttload of 'em, they are bolded.... She didn't care for yesterday's poem. So she gave me a list of words.......Critic is WELCOMED......

To my FRIEND..... I love you... pray all is well. I am thinking of you.... Let me know how ya doing.....
live miK

They will fck with your MIND, Your HEART, ANDTHENYOUWILLDIE

Fallacy:
1) guile, trickery....
2) a false or mistaken idea.
3) an often plausible argument using false or invalid inference (see inference). e.g. I love you.
Inference:
1) the act or process of inferring : as a : the act of passing from one proposition, statement, or judgment considered as true to another whose truth is believed to follow from that of the former . e.g. I love you. I really do.

Infererred Fallacy (a poem)
anastesia
i remember
leaves tumbling
across
autumn's
tongue,
boldly
flavoring
deception.
discoloring
the
rouge
of
your lips,
the
sweetness
of
your kisses.
september's equinox
equals
day
night
like fellows
crossing
truth's
lies.
orange gold cusp
stroke
november's skies
leaving me
barren.
wisps
of whispers
leave
me naked
visible
only to
dreary
cloaked
stars
staining
midnight's
cheek.
weep
mist
blades of
grass,
tears
haze
my mourning
due...
anastesia
i still
remember
u?

kdtaylor 2005........

(K)nights, Orphans and Heroes...

Dad came.
Dad talked.
Dad watched CNN.
Dad watched dvds.
Dad talked.
Dad laughed.
Dad talked.
Dad watched TXTN.
Dad saw my girl E. Again.
Dad talked.
Dad met my boy B.
Did I mentioned Dad talked?
Dad smiled.
Dad proud.
Dad watched CNN.
Dad ignored CNN.
Dad hugged.
Dad left.

My Dad and stepmom made it to Austin on Friday mid day. I was relieved. It was cool being treated like I was his little girl, AGAIN. He constantly called me on my cell when I was not within eyeshot or ear distance. We talked each other to death. The only thing we didn't do was play dominos and tease the other about the "last time we played."

Everytime I see him I am reminded why my mom fell for him in the first place. He looked good, despite the worry which declared war on his mind and handsome grin the moment the first weather alert aired. He paced and talked to fill empty space and ease anxieties. (An honest inheritance, one of his many gifts to me.) We laughed at our choice of comforters, he recently purchased one exactly like the one in my bedroom and the comforter which sat unopened in my doorway was the one my step mother recently purchased. He argued my recent choice to return to being a vegetarian, purchased Popeyes chicken for Friday's dinner and insisted that I go with them to a local Steakhouse on Sunday. He was impressed with my lawn, particularly after learning we were on water restrictions, and grinned sheepishly when my stepmother pointed out mine was thicker than his. He drank Big Red Floats with me. Watched Anderson Cooper and other news stations. I watched a little football with him, made fun of the Cowboys, while he continued to show disbelief at my ongoing love affair with the N.E. Patriots and Boston Red Sox. We HATED THE ASTROS together (since we both believe they traded all the brothers)... We had coffee together, as he pointed out how much I reminded him of my mother, and remarked at how much I behaved like him. He said I was a perfect balance of the two and he was proud....

What he doesn't know is that because of him I never really believed only men could be (k)nights in shining armor. While I was growing up, like most in our modest middle class neighborhood, the women held it down. He wasn't always there to read me bedtime stories, tuck me away, or watch me go on my first date. But I do believe in orphans and heros, my Dad was like a super hero with a corny theme song, some similarly goofy outfit and super powers. My Dad was there every single time I needed or allowed him to be a Father. His behavior assured my grandmother she would never have to be mother and father to me. My Grand and Great grand will always be my (k)nights, as they fought the dragons and kept the castle safe.... He will always be my hero and I love him for that.....

And while I am afraid of what he and my stepmother may find upon their return to Orange.... I am forever grateful that he found his way to me, his middle daughter's home and sought refuge from nature's wrathful beauty. And that for once, maybe, I could do for him what he's always tried to do for me.....

be there when he needed me most.....

Like father, like daughter? Like grandfather, like granddaughter?

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE

It's happening again.
Imagine a night time drama.
Unfolding.
You at the edge of your seat.
Fully aware of what's happening next.
And there's nothing you can do.
Another bitch of a storm is bearing down on my family.
And yet another family member is, well, read on.

"Dad, where are you?"
"I'm on I10."
"Good. Late start? What time do you.."
He cuts me off. "Yea, I'm going over here to get some sand bags."
"Sandbags?" I think to myself. "Hey, Dad, I thought there was a mandatory evacuation. You are at the eye of this thing. What time to you think you're leaving?"
"I told you last night. We aren't leaving."

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE..... an hour later..

"Hey there KD."
"Hey Dad. Where are you?"
"1924 Decker," he chuckles, "you know we just got home. It took us almost two hours to get to get back."
"So when are you leaving?"
"Well. I don't know. Got stuff to do around here."
"Dad. It's projected that you are now 20 hours from Austin. People are running out of gas on the highway."
"Yea, I know we passed by a couple of 'em."
Pregnant pause as I did not want to be disrespectful, no matter how childish and asinine his current behavior and language appeared in that moment.
"Uh, Dad? I think it's best to get on the road."
"Well, I know. We got stuff to do around here. Call your Brother, he's on the road. I think he's coming there."
"When ARE YOU COMING?"
"Call your brother. I'll call you back."

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE

Now at H-23. Eyewall now at 20 miles.
Landfall now predicted between Chambers and Jefferson counties. Hardest hit counties expected to be Chambers, Jefferson and Orange. Hurricane force winds (130 mph), tornados, surge of 15-20 feet, rainfall of 8-12 inches with accumulated totals (Friday to Sunday) of up to 25 inches. TX is airlifting 10,000 people from this area (Beaumont) to sites around the State. C-5's and C-17 are flying into Bush Intercontinental in Houston to assist.

"Dad. I just got an email at work and they are going to airlift people out of Beaumont. I can give you the information so that you and Chris can be ahead of the crowd. I should no something soon."
"I ain't gonna be airllifted nowhere." Poor English, I must be getting thru, he only does it when he's frustrated. "We're gonna drive. Look, get some directions offa Yahoo from Lake Charles. You call your Brother?"
"No. Dad, they're not going to let you go East. They are forcing everyone to the West and toward the North. So, you're coming to Austin?"
"What'd I ask you to do?"
"Get directions and call my Brother."
"I'll call you back later."

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE.

We spoke once more. Not necessary as it was the same. He is headed on some country road toward the northern part of the State. But not to Plano to my younger sister's. Nor to Austin with me. He and Chris (my stepmother) are just going to drive toward some East Texas block masquerading as a town and wait out the storm. My dad, an intelligent, degreed, middle class, retired Federal Government Employee is driving me to an early grave. He has three children and family members who reside well out of harms way, and he will possibly be sleeping in some Red Cross Shelter and make shift Evacuee Center because he is fool hearted, stubborn, and God knows what else.

Maybe someone should shoot me while I'm young. He and my Grandfather seem to have lost their minds as they became older. Funny thing. My Grandfather is from my MOTHER'S side of the family...... I get it from both sides. Perhaps there is hope. Maybe it's not inheritance, and just the men that the women in my family chose to love.

remember....

i once wore
your smile.
familiar
summer rain
puddles
drowning
scrawny
ashy
ankles
attached
to hopeful
steps
filling
weary
souls
on mythical
journeys.
flash of
meteors
falling
mistakenly
for
stars
granting
a gazillion
childlike
wishes
come true
fairytales
love-me
notes
petal,
pulling
heart
strings
playing
off beat.
melodically
flutter,
rise
in
cheeks.
your smile
for me
fits
snug
across
lines
drawn
faintly
on pink
skies.
white caps
seas of
green
tears
wave
toward
silhouettes
shadowing
sun shine
slide
west
toward
you
and
what
was
loneliness
i once wore
your smile.
familiar.

kdtaylor 2005

yes, it hurts, but here's a laugh..... for my broken hearted friend....

1. Love is a schizophrenic transsexual wearing a mini skirt with stiletto heeled combat boots, and, DAMN that BITCHISFIERCE.....

2. Love is a fat, lazy ass, selfish, last big piece of chicken grabbing mofo that cares for nothing other than, well of course, the big piece of chicken.

3. Love is a felony convicted, STD infected, $5.00 whore, with a dime of excuses appearing in front of a county judge for the umpteenth time.

4. Love is a never ending bombastic, super stesno-phonic fart echoing along the aisle of a public library.

5. Love is a seven eyed, twenty legged, fourteen inch, green german cockroach plummeting from your refrigerator, clutching the last cold heiniken.

6. Love is a toothless, nearsighted carnivorous vampire sucking bone marrow from your eyeballs while you are trying to sleep.

7. Love is twin two inch puss-filled zits, surrounded by a zillion ant bites, and one REALLY BIG WART, covering your face the night of your senior prom.

8. Love is a winged, usher for the devil who mistook you for a garden tool, and used your teeth, gums, toes, and finger, sans fingernails and nailbeds, to claw it's way from hell.

ça va sans dire, it goes without saying

Love can be painful, but it's worth the journey once you get to the other side.

Playing with Mo.......

1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me. (This possibly will not apply to all).
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal......

Her Responses.........

1) you love cars like women love men. i think you are more likely to nurture hip hop than a lover! lol
2)love jones - the sista of the group. she was real.
3) i dont like jello. how about pudding?
4) she didnt mean to leave, that way. the pain had nothing to do with you. and how you've resisted the obvious makes her proud.
5)rocking a poem with KA
6)anything that smirks.. lol
7)how you lend your home and your friendship so freely?

Our First Autumn

wear me as your birth right,
as if you always knew,
the complexities of
sunrise
sunset
that which falls
between
moonlight
the clouds
sunlight
the stars...
an aged sweater
falling
softly from
shoulders
scented heavily
with
secrets
resembling
sheer fresia
peony
clinging to
fibers
riding
stolen
moments
between
dusk
memories
dawn
of existence....
color you
shades
of red
yellow
draped
in autumn
orange
vibrant
warm
crisp
ever changing...
allow me to fall

kdtaylor 2005

What Most Don't Know, SO - howdahelldidthisthingknow?

Your Birthdate: January 20

Your birth on the 20th day of the month adds a degree of emotion, sensitivity, and intuition to your reading. The 2 energy provided here is very social, allowing you to make friends easily and quickly. Yet you are apt to have a rather nervous air in the company of a large group. You have a warmhearted nature and emotional understanding that constantly seeks affection. You are very prone to become depressed and moody, as emotions can turn inward and cause anxiety and mental turmoil. It can be hard for you to bounce back to reality when depression sets in. When things are going well, you can go just as far the other way and become extremely affectionate.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Gulp, no I mean "Gulf Fiction"

Bill Maher is great. He discussed George W. Bush's staff ability to clean up his image after every administration failure. He compared the Bush staffers to Winston Wolf (the cleaner) from Pulp Fiction. I looked up the quotes, flipped a few words and viola!

Check: Scene One - Marcellus is on the phone with Jules requesting help to clean the car, after Vincent shot the brother.

Dubya: I don't wanna hear about no mo'fckin' ifs. All I wanna hear from yo' ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Dubya. We're on the mo'fcker. Go back in there, chill them niggaz, Nagin and Blanco, out and wait for the calvery which should be coming directly."
Bush Staffers: You ain't got no problem Dubya. We're on the mo'fcker. Go back in there, chill them niggaz, Nagin and Blanco, out and wait for the Wolf who should be coming directly

Scene 2 - Marcellus is telling Butch to take a dive

Michael Chertoff to Michael Brown: You you formally give your resignation and they began to find out you were never really qualified, the Press will fck with you, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fcking with you. Fck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.

Can't wait for how the movie unfolds....

I'm Not Black Enough?

i drive a 1984 convertible volkswagen rabbit. i bought her for my birthday. i have wanted one since 1986. i like old cars. if i can buy another old car it would be a 1968 lincoln continental with suicide doors. the rabbit it is the first car i have owned. it needs a paint job. badly. the interior is pretty good for a car that old. i do not spend a fortune keeping it clean. i do not have amour-all, sponges, and all that other stuff in my trunk. i am grateful when it rains because it gets a thorough cleaning. i got a pretty good deal on it. it had one problem with it, i took it to several reputable automotive repair shops. a shade tree mechanic was able to spot the problem and solve it in two easy steps. it gets over 25 miles per gallon. her name is HIP HOP, not Hooptie. some have had the unmitigated gall to suggest i purchase another car.
truth is: i drive that 1984 convertible volkswagen rabbit and park it in a garage that is connected to my house. a new house in a surburban area, with high ass taxes, low crime rate. again a home i am purchasing.
i read my girl's blog yesterday. it was funny, yet unsettling. again, someone who is not paying my bills, is trying to manage my money, made a suggestion, joking or not that i buy a new car. yes, i have a good job. yes, i could get another one. but why? then i thought about the "comments and opinions", and after a careful toll and survey, i realized that it was my friggin people. BLACK PEOPLE.
then i started thinking am i black enough?
from my appearance you would believe i am black . i mean my skin is brown. i have that tight curl in my hair, but my hair is soft. i have locks. but i lack the thickness in lips and my nose is rather thin for my ethnicity. (blame it on my dad) i am also college educated (not an HBC, blame that one on me), speak articulately without a Texas drawl (blame that on my grandmother's pride!) and sternly, maintain eye contact (that's from my mother)..... but i don't do the neck jerk, hand swinging thing. never have. cousin sarah ;0) (cousin twice removed) could tell you more about 80's hip hop/rap than i could. i mean, i spent that time listening to rem, the cure, the the, pet shop boys, u2, you know college radio. and the rap music i was interested in, others weren't outside of the east coast, a tribe called quest, public enemy. no i mean real public enemy, not just the spike lee fight the power anthem. i even bought prof. griff's and terminator x's cassettes when they embarked upon solo projects.
i have always been different. i have always been curious. those characteristics have defined my course thru life.
so to my so called black folk here is my list regarding cars:
a car will never define me. i define the car.
i like volkswagens.
i will never drive a car that will prevent me from being a land/property owner. (which is the true american dream.)
high interest aside from the cost to fuel that SUV could be a mortgage payment.
hello, a car is not an investment! it depreciates the moment you sign the paper. as a matter of fact it depreciates while it's on the lot.
your insurance is not going to pay for those spinners, speakers, tweeters, tvs,.....
those wheels look good, but are they standard for that car? most modifications are illegal, and prevent you from obtaining the true insurance claim you are entitled in the event of an accident.
i will never pay more than 5.00 to clean a car. (you pay 30.00 to clean a car? Why?)
i will never drive a car a car to impress another human being.
if you drive a 2005 Infiniti FX, a Bentley, a Rolls, or ____________ , park it in the front of and reside at your Big mamma's, your mamma's, in an apartment or something that ain't yours, if you borrow money for gas, if you can barely afford the insurance premimums, if you cannot afford for it to break down, if you have no money in the bank or credit union, how can you impress me? the ONLY impression i get is you are stoopid, and you've been pimped, and not by Xibit. hell, you might even have to pay for my sympathy.
i guess i'm not black enough. like a car, clothes don't define me either. i ain't over dressing to go nowhere. i dress for comfort. most days my entire outfit on a casual day cost more than most. i have been known to pay over 30.00 for a t-shirt (my only fetish). i will rock the hell out of some ambercrombie and fitch jeans, linen from banana republic, t-shirts from hollister, doc marten sandals (or what ever ones elm finds) or clothes from any other "white" store. (with the exception of tj maxx. but even then i'm wrong cuz my people love them some Ross.) and when i did have to wear business clothes, i loved the limited and the hell out of some ann taylor and anne klein.
when i think about it. a lot of things about me aren't quite streo-typical and simply undefinable, if I were to look up the definition of black in the dictionary I would not be insulted, so why should I be insulted by someone's opinion?
the defintion of blackness is personal. it's the way i live my life and strive to live, give and represent myself within a community at large. i am an individual whose hues have been colored beautifully by the sun. to paraphrase and steal a bit from 'shelle:
where's my box for not black enough? and if there is one for not black enough, where's the one for you? the consumer, who will not contibute to his her own community. the one who takes more then he/she gives. the one who would rather knock a sister for having individuality, then to look at your own senseless need to fit in. the one who would like to cut some one down, because they stand a little too strong. i would say you are not black. not in the true sense. i am black. i am a black woman. and i will not, i cannot be placed in your box. i am undefinable, and that's fine by me.

366 Days and Counting: Remembering Grand..

celluar key tone. 210.337.5834. silence. ring. sound of phone being removed from cradle. gasp. loss of breath. heart thump. sweat forming. heartbeat. slow unsteady. beat heart. beat. sweat beading down back of neck. breathe. "the number or code you have dialed is incorrect. please check the number......" dial-tone. hands shake. eyes tear. deep breath. quicken heartbeat. breathe. after a year, no one has her number. everything is okay.

grand it has been 366 days, some hours and seconds since you've been gone. yesterday, 09.11.05, to avoid 911 stories and not deal with missing you, i watched hbo family thru restless attempts to nap to escape my sadness and depression. at times, the voices from shark tales, brought an occasionally feebled smirk to my masked expression. i screened most calls, as there were only two voices i longed for. one of which was yours, the other, the voice of god and his presence thru another human being. i slept on the couch most of the day as hurt people do. possibly from an exaggerated sense of grief and loneliness. possibly an attempt to not deal with the reality of the day. sleeping on the couch and sleeping the day away, both of which, i know you would frown upon.

i remember how i would tease you with a weak impersonation of aunt thelma calling you "maug" or great grand's "ma'ga'reet" ? i wondered if you knew i could hear and feel your smile over the phone as you would say "whatisitkim?" or "is that my first grandchild?" and happy it made me? or maybe you did know which was why you went along with it every conversation. when i awoke this morning, i wanted desperately to hear you play that game with me. so i slept hoping that somehow my dreams would bring me closer to you.

the last year has been difficult, yet i have grown. i drink less and talk more than ever. no, not that childhood bantering to amuse others and myself. i talk now to escape. somehow believing if i talk enough i wouldn't miss you. that if i talk enough i would solve my problems. talk long enough i would address my issues. talk so much that i believe that i may find the strength of your voice in another. talk so much that i wouldn't need another. talk as not to listen. talk so much that sometimes i have forgotten what i was going to say next... i have talked so much the last year, that people have actually forgotten the odd kim, the one who seldom spoke to anyone. the one whose phone hardly rang aside from family. the one who refers to adrienne and terry as best friends, having made few true lasting ones in my adultlife cuz i just don't know how to trust. the one who stayed home most nights outside of wednesday nights. the one who they believe they know, but know very little. funny, huh? the exercise of select memory. they don't know what you've always known. that i am the loneliest when surrounded by others and the insecurities of being "visible" eat away at me. you know how i've never liked a lot of attention, except from people i love. my tongue continues to get me into trouble. no, grand. i have not learned to chose my battles wisely, and i still build and climb mole hills disguised as mountains. i still love HARD, and i have found someone whom i love, dearly. i still pace when i'm nervous. i kept my locks. i stopped pulling at them, too. i still would rather sever a relationship than to deal with the issues, even if i'm the source. and yes, i still search for ways to eliminate most people as not to deal with the disappointment. i'm still working on a personal relationship with god and arguing religion. and yes, i still engage in that pensive piercing gaze listening, looking at no one, but seeing every one and thing. i keep it because that's all mom left me. but you know this. you know that i cling to black and white fibers from a worn picture, searching for her in me. that connection was you. now you're gone.

i did get up after one call, and i spent the afternoon in perfect company, companionship that was so essential and desperately needed. it felt good. some would have spent the day convincing me that you are in a better place. something stupid said, designed and oft believed to bring me comfort. the sarcastic side of me would ask, "howdahelldouknow?". truth is i don't know and neither do they. i didn't have to deal with that. but i did think about how you are no longer physically here, and that, selfishly i need you to be here, on the other end of my phoneline. i need you to tell me "everything is gonna be okay. grand is here. you can always come home." HOME. that word has been foreign to me for a year. the matrons in my village have transcended. and grand, some days i swear there are restless savages hiding behind vacant huts, waiting, plotting, my failure. i don't believe i have the strength, and on those days i need you. i need your physical self to chase them away. i need someone who understands enough to help me, even if they are figments of my imagination. so i muster the strength to stand tall and guard a village described in our million tongued tale spoken between tongue and cheek. It is a combination of our stories, told in a collective voice and it always begin with: there is a village that lies just outside my soul. where the blood of my pen and the ink of my heart connect. it flows thru my body, pump words to an ever flowing well... it is there that the matrons of my village replenish me, nurture me, protect me, guide me and sustain me thru this lifetime.. they are me, and i am we...

The Exploitation of the Orleans Parish Negro

Ray, You are the man.... I mean you were emotional, and made a damn good argument....... My Dad always says emotional outbursts lead to the subsequent fall of our people..... Ray, as much as I love you, and believe me, you have my support, as we enter another stage of grief, "WatchagonnadoBro?".

Denial/Isolation Anger Bargaining Depression Acceptance
Kubler-Ross stages of grief

The Parish and Municipal governments' Chief Executive has overall responsibility by law for the direction and control of emergency/disaster operations and is assisted by a Local Homeland Security and Emergency Preparedness Director. Such responsibilities include the development and implementation of emergency management programs to provide for rapid and effective action to direct, mobilize, staff, train, and coordinate use of local resources. The local director will plan for the protection of life and property for his citizens during times of emergency/disaster incidents.
STATE OF LOUISIANA
Office of Homeland Security and
Emergency Preparedness


Saturday Morning....
"Ray, you cannot shut down the city. New Orleans has withstood this type of storm in the past. Do you know how much revenue the city will lose as a result of this? I mean, what if they're all wrong?" Who cares who said it, you know it was whispered behind a closed door.

Now, I know what you're thinking. No, I am not turning in my black card. I, too was flabbergasted by the method in which the hurricane Katrina disaster was handled. But on all fronts. Not just the Federal Level. State. And Yes, I'm going to say it. LOCAL. No, I didn't vote for the Leader of the New World. I also have was taken a back and insulted by the insensitive referrals to the "displaced" individuals impacted. I was appalled by Barbara Pierce Bush's comment. I was also irritated by Celine Dion's "drama filled" display on CNN. Since when do you wipe tears from your face with a wisp of air from broad stroking fingers which do not come within a mile of your face? The celebrities and all their photo ops. They've been to New Orleans before, how much change did you throw on the street to the little boy tap dancing on the corner of St. Charles? And Essence Festival staff? You knew also how poor those people were? How much did you put back into their economy? Where were you when it started to mist, and the waves of Lake Pontratrain began crashing over the walking trail?. My gosh!!!!! And as much as I love Kayne's t-shirt slogan, it was ill-timed. And if you didn't give because of it, SHAME ON YOU. You didn't want to give. What I am most proud of is the manner in which AMERICANS have stood together to help. (yes, celebrities are Americans, too.)
I'm confused though. Why are we giving $2000.00 debit cards with no real plan to assist these people in long term survival? I mean some of these people have never seen this kind of money. What is a crack addict gonna do with a $2000.00 debit card? I'm thinking about changing careers, or at least look toward the "glory days" when they sold food stamps for 50% on the dollar. I wonder how much that debit card is worth on the street? I'll get to this SHYT next week. Maybe there's something in the news I haven't read.. I do know that some Houstonians have already huslted the system and obtained illegal cards.....UGHHHHH. Think people. This is turning into a horrible B movie entitled The Exploitation of the Orleans Parish Negro. I wonder if Terrence Howard will play Ray Nagin? I smell new millennium ghettofication, except this time it will be 'Domes and Convention centers across the USA. DAMN......

Ray, a little known fact, sometimes in the stages of grief, they refer to forgiveness. Once everything is clear, the Bushes, Brownie, Condie (damn those shoes) FEMA and everyone else will take a huge hit, which they should. We'll remininse, recall how Gen Russel Honore saved thousand of lives, and be remind by some 7th grader about basic government structure, and the role of commerce and revenue. We'll nod our heads, recognize your role in this catastrophe, then begin to heal and forgive you.

Paraphrase Solomon 3:01 @ 3:01.......

All night long on my bed
I looked for the one my heart loves;
I looked, but did not find

Heart....
In prayer,
my heartbeat beats
simultaneously
with the blink of your eyes.
for every blink,
my heart beats
rhythmically,
in cadence with the flash
of an eyelash.
light rides the softness
of whispers
hidden in the brown
of your eyes.
Eyes
kissing me
wishing me
wanting me
yet
Ache....
I cannot find that
which causes my heart
to beat
gingerly
anticipating loss.
desires not quenchable in this lifetime.
mango and brown eyes
will continue to haunt.
wants, insatiable,
forever yearning
forever burning
passions unbridled,
emoting
in this restless soul.
tears water
lifeless emotions.
tears
breathe life into me
beat life into me
create life in me
create you in me
sustain me.
without you
I
Break....
You've forgotten in a single blink
I, in a soul heart beat
that with a solitary flash of your eye
my heart begins to....

I'm an Alien, I'm an Illegal Alien, I'm a N*gr# living in the USA

Three things astonished me over the weekend. All of which have me clutching my chest, my heart is breaking, a newly found and enriched desire to become spiritually grounded, as well as wondering when did I bump my head and fall completely off the face of the Earth as we know it.

A quick quiz if you will,

1) How do people residing in their native country become refugees?
a) You were recently a victim of Hurricane Katrina.
b) You reside in Orleans Parish, USA.
c) You made less then $9000.00 annually and lived well below the 30% poverty line.
d) You are black.
e) All of the above.

2) According to Barbara Pierce Bush why are the "refugees" suppose to be happy to live in tent cities across the state of Texas?
a) It beats swimming/wading in an oil slick, disease ridden cesspool with a bunch of corpses.
b) The summer home at Kennebunkport doesn't have any more space available.
c) We know deep down, you never resented Texas, just always wanted to be like us.
d) It's so damn humid there, you know?
e) You're underprivileged anyway, so this should work very well for you.

3) What's the real deal with the President and black people?
a) "There's a historical indifference to the pain of poor people and black people." Jesse Jackson
b) "Nobody, especially the president, would have left people unattended on the basis of race." Condoleezza Rice
c) "What me worry?" George W. Bush
d) "We cannot allow it to be said that those who lived and those who died in this great storm and flood of 2005 was nothing more than poverty, age or skin color." Rep. Rep. Elijah Cummings (D-MD)
e) "George Bush doesn't care about black people." Kayne West, Rapper

I took clothing and volunteered yesterday at the Convention Center. I was there for about three hours. Not only were they difficult, but very sobering. The donations, a small contribution to their livelihood, would never make a significant dent in the truest form. There was no denying, I could not fool myself into believing it to be nothing more than that. Putting a shirt on someone's back. I have felt helpless, but never in this manner. I have known powerlessness, but this is simply humbling and weakening. I carried conversations and spoke to people. I walked thru the center in search of something MEANINGFUL to do. Passing out food, sorting clothing, just didn't seem like enough.
I am a Texan. Not a Barbara Pierce Bush Texan. My ideas do not mimic either of her Georges, by George! So I do not believe that "this should suffice" for the poor people who were, well poor, anyway." While I am sure our "VISITORS", as stated on the badges and nametags worn by those directly impacted by Hurricane Katrina residing at the Austin Convention Center, were happy to be alive and well, the reality of their situations was sinking in quickly. Not just for them, but all of us. Some are home owners, professionals, parents, citizens, uhhhhh VOTERS trying to put their lives back together. They are banded together, not by race, socio-economic, region, city or state, but by DEVASTATION! Fucking Barbara, don't you get it? Yes, it is estimated that 30% of Orleans parish lived below the poverty line averaging $9000.00 annually per household. But what about the others? The lost middle class? I'm not naive enough to believe that race is NOT a factor somewhere in all of this, just not stupid enough to believe that it is the ONLY FACTOR. Our current administration and extended family cannot see past their noses. They are oblivious to the needs of the masses. They don't know that poor does not mean you cannot have civil liberties and basic luxuries? They don't know that poor doesn't always mean black? And they sure don't know that Black does not mean poor? When you walk into those shelters, all of these people are not BLACK, HOMELESS, POOR, CRAZED, LOOTING, CRACK ADDICTS. It is estimated that 1 in 9 are HIV positive and in need of meds. That 500 are in need of methadone maintenance programs to remain drug free, at least 1000 have inquired about reciprocity regarding professional licenses and credentials, even more have sought assistance and are inquiring about their ongoing educational needs, i.e transferring to Texas Universities, Colleges and Jr. Colleges. There are families with children. Extended families. The profile of an Orleans parishioner is vastly different than the picture placed in the news of a looter being pulled out of a drain pipe at gun point.
Now, I'm paranoid and fearful. It appears as if those Texans who Love the Bushes are volunteering. As I walked around the Convention Center yesterday, badgeless, (I love anonymity) I was approached by at least three "volunteers", who did not share my bronzed caramel colored birth-right, asked me "How was I adjusting?", wondered if "I needed anything?", ensuring that I was comfortable and had my needs met. Mind you, a VISITOR was standing near me on one occasion. But he, too, didn't share my birth-right. Yet, I was clean. My clothes matched. Hell, I had on a 25.00 t-shirt, and I swore it cost more then one volunteer's entire outfit. I had on jewelry. My locks were tight, freshly washed. You know? A simple question like "How's your day?" or similar would have given them a clue to my identity.
Before responding, I was forced to ponder? How do I answer that question? I wasn't offended, just taken slightly aback. How, are these people, who are insensitive to me, suppose to help others. Millions of thoughts ran thru my mind: Had they done any cultural sensitivity training? Why were there so many people who looked nothing like the "VISITORS" assisting. Wasn't there a need to be culturally matched with the population. These "volunteers" couldn't understand what half the "VISITORS" were saying. Did they know how thick a New Orleans accent could be? Oh, no, indeed, no. De ha' no klu, no. Dey don no wat dem people sayin' no." As I overheard many volunteers asking the VISITOR could they please repeat themselves.
Ignorance is not an excuse. I don't care if you're the media, the president, the mayor, the governor, whodafuckever! If your're going to help. Help. But do a self inventory on why you're doing it. It's like self disclosure, who's it really for? You, the people, or the opportunity to say you did it? Ya know? If you want to help. Help. I encourage you to do so, but arm your self with just a bit of civility, empathy, kindness, compassion and most of all intelligence.
Finally, I answered the question. "I am adjusting to the temperature in the Center well. Driving a convertible can be hell in this Texas sun." "No, I don't need anything other then some information on what I can do to help. Just a little information to help, that's all. Can you direct me?"

pain, rain and water go away, come again another day.....

".....some place their feelings upon their sleeve,
carry the weight of the world upon their shoulders,
my feelings lie just below the surface of my fingertips
the weight of the world in my hands,
I guess that makes me more passionate then most."
I fight diligently to hide the heart that beats, melodically in tuned with my surroundings. My blood bleeds and spills invisibly onto the feet of those who are in need. My arms are heavy from carrying the load of others I cannot seem to comfort and find no comfort in me. I find sometimes I am much to heavy for some, and some much too heavy for me. Despite the shell, there's a soul that loves as God loves. While you don't always see or feel it, there's proof that it exists. You just have to open your heart and mind..... (thanks Shia.)
I seldom smile, and when I do, I cover it because my teeth are crooked. I laugh, often in the form of euphoric recall, so often it appears as if I laughing at others. But I'm not. I have a piercing stare, not because I'm trying to look thru you, because I don't always see well. I am impatient and often get bored at the optamologist's office, my prescription is ALWAYS SLIGHTLY OFF. The intensity of my gaze is my inheritance from my mother. It is one of the few things she left me.
Today I fight moroseness. I feel it permeating and infecting my core. I am weighed down and haunted by the images on television, my personal/family plight (no one has spoken to my grandfather and uncle for a few days), my job, my salary, GAS PRICES, interpersonal relationships and of course, thanks to modern technology, in the WAKE OF EVERYTHING ELSE, I am receiving pre-mature PATRIOTIC, DON'T FORGET, PLEASE PASS THIS ON 9-11 e-mails. 9-11 has dual meaning to me, as the last matron in my village, my Grand(mother) transcended this level of existence to another during the twilight of 09.11.04. I mean, come on people, isn't one tragedy enough? And I don't mean it sarcastically.
Last night I watched the television with a group of poets. Most of which had not watched the news in great detail. Neither had I, other then cautiously watching and listening to CNN for about 15 minutes at nightly since the strom struck. So anyone who utilized a form of modern day technology would be painfully aware that there is enough going on, that possibly, we can wait, until, at least after frickin' Labor Day to remember 9-11. Please don't think I am being calloused. I continue to mourn our country's loss and sense of devastation associated with 9-11. I applaud our troops for fighting for my "civil liberties and justices", I even question myself regarding my "cowardice" versus my "political stance" as it relates to serving in the Armed Forces.
There are rumors of Armageddon, references that the City of Decadence, New Orleans, is the Modern Day Sodom and Gomorrah, Genocide, Conspiracy theories galore. There are FAKE RESCUE AND RELIEF EFFORTS, where "people" are trying to capitalize on this tragedy. And it is discerning, indescibable to say the least.
I say all of this, because I want to be MAD. DOG MAD. I hide behind the easy emotions. Anger being one of them. Do you know easy it is to express anger? Explode? Therein, you are also allowed to save face, not allow anyone to know what's going on while getting the space you feel you deserve. Yet, I have been working on expressing other emotions. I have been peeling, tearing away at the coat of arms which I believe protects me. Today, more then ever though, I wish I could channel my anger into a chest vest and protect my ever beating heart. Today, I hurt, not for me, but for the People in New Orleans, my family, friends, community, world. And I just want to be mad, you know? It would be so much easier then to accept that things, the WORLD as we know it, is nothing what we thought it would be. That the dream of "safety in living the most Advanced Country in the World", has had turned into a hellish nightmare? Who would have thought that thousands of people who live in the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, would be sabotaging relief efforts, out of fear they may not survive. Sniping medical personnel, because you're walking the fine line of civility and savagery? Today I am afraid. Today I am anxious, annoyed, crazed, confused, depressed, hurt. And today I just want to be mad, I do not, can not, will not experience another emotion and cry. I am afraid that my tears, much like the flood waters that cover New Orleans, have little if any hope, of drying anytime soon......