I Feel Like Going Home......

Etheridge Knight is one of my favorite poets. I am not a substance abuser, drunk, nor am I chemically dependent. While I have visited numerous jails and prisons I have not spent one night confined in an cell, out side of the ones I've created self imposed solitude within my mind, soul and heart.
The first time I heard:
This year there is a grave stone wall damming my stream, and when
the falling leaves stir my genes, I pace my cell or flop on my bunk
and stare at 47 black faces across the space. I am all of them,
they are all of me, I am me, they are thee, and I have no sons
to float in the space between.
The Idea of Ancestry, Etheridge Knight....
The words hit me like hip hop hit most, or as a poet friend says the first time he and a bunch of friends saw Breakin' or Beat Street. I knew there was a connection, and this man's words, powerful, and live at the very core of my being....
I have to go home. I awoke this morning with a sense of loss. I love driving, yet I loathe that drive... With each turn of the wheel, with each heart beat, I feel longing, a sense of loss, the need to escape, totally disconnected. I have no sons to float in the space between...
"I feel like going home......" But where do you go, when nothing is waiting for you at the end of the road, but memory laced nightmares, broken dreams, and an empty glass over flowing with blackened tears. I say empty, 'cuz, I lie, nothing ever quite captures my pain and sense of loss. I say black because it absords everything. It is not the absence of light, as most would want you to believe. And I am not absent of light. Neither are my tears. But they are empty. Shallow. Again, because I lie. Most things are superficial, seldom a connection. I feel like going home, but I have no sons to float in the space between. I have secrets, that eat away. There was something to float but it would overwhelm that space between, I was selfish. I carried hope for a few days, became overwhelmed in despair, and remained empty. I have no sons to float in the space between. I feel like going home. But there's nothing there.
Falling leaves stir my genes... they are waiting at the end of the road. But to face them means to face a past I want to forget. I feel like going home. I am all of them and they are all of me. Great-grand says she's all I have. She has two that she teaches the same. "You are all you have", she tells them, "take care of each other, don't let anyone hurt the other." Sound just like my great-grand. I am reminded. I have no sons to float in the space between. Will the simple laugh that greets our souls, between the secrets that leak between bleeding heart beats, be enough to sustain, to forget for a moment. Or will I simply be reminded that she is all I have. And that revelation within itself pains.
I have removed enough stones, and while my pockets are heavy, I am willing to make to climb, I feel like going home.

They Always Leave..... Or on saying Good Bye.

I spend a great deal of my life waiting for people. I wait for them to leave. It seems, during my lifetime, they always do. And they seem to do so with a sense of permanency. My mother passed away when I was a small child. I was reared in a household headed by my 65 year old grand grand and 40 plus year old aunt. Our immediate family during that time consisted of my great grand's siblings. All of their children were adults, who either had no children or their children were well into adulthood, who of course had children of their own who were college age. By the time I was 11, I had lost most of the family I was most familiar. My sister and I started our lives a new, with my grand and my aunts (my mother's three siblings). Whom, we knew little of. My great-grand instilled in my sister and I, despite our fathers presence and participation in our rearing, her constant message, "..... your sister is all you have" until the day of her death. And to this day, is something that resounds to a chill at my very core. I remember when she left during my junior year in undergrad. She and her husband were moving to California. Not only did I cry every day for nearly a month, I felt incomplete. I did not feel whole again until the day she returned to Texas. I told her I resented her leaving and how it impacted me a couple of years ago during one of our sister lunches.
During my adolescence I befriended the military brats. The ones whose parent was on special assignment and wouldn't be stationed at the base for very long. Or the ones who had that far away look in their eyes. Who had parents who were gypsy like and they never stayed anywhere for very long. It was simply my way of coping. I had experienced many loses in my life. You see, "they" were always going to leave, so knowing that made it easy for me to wake up one day and hear: "My dad is being stationed in Guam, Korea, or Germany. My dad got a job in Houston so we're moving. My mom has to go away so I'm going to live with my grandmother in.." And in Undergrad? All my friends were from South America, and after Graduation they were either going back home, moving New York, DC, Los Angeles, etc."
I've never really had to say goodbye. I always knew they were going so it became my norm. My way of life. What I called temporary or situational friendships. And for the most part, I lived my life and based most "friendships" on this simple premise "they always leave."
Until The Neo-Soul family...And now, I'm struggling. I'm struggling with the need to say goodbye. See I never thought of this cat as someone whom I'd have to bid farewell to. I know that he has the potential to do great things if given the opportunity, focus and support. Just never believed he would change his home base to accomplish it. Believed that he would use the family and Nationals as a way of making a name for himself.
He will not hear these words from me. He knows why. It is because more than anyone I've ever known, he is my pain and my struggle. We are that much alike in the battle we engage in daily with our demons. He knows that I believe in him, and that while I have a healthy fear of his choice, I would rather be silent than to negate or squash, the courage he has managed to put forth and follow his dream. He knows what I know, that it has to be in our own way. Brother, where ever I lay my head, you have a place to call home. Relentle... baby boy. I love you. Be safe on your journey. Words and deeds are mightier than any sword. And those battles which are fought in darkness will be won in the light of intelligent courage. Be intelligent. Be courageously brave.
That would make a great line in a poem.....
i love you. thir13teen

Mirrors and Reflections in Three Pains.

I used to hate mirrors. Didn't want to see my reflection. The things you want most to change about yourself take a life of their own in one glance. My teeth are slightly crooked, and I am always reminded of how I would want to get braces. Funny thing. I had the brackets placed upon my teeth in elementary. I cried and acted such a fool at the dentist each and every time I had an appointment, the dentist outright refused to deal with me any further. Who cares, my philosophy, since I would now have to pay for them. "Crooked teeth build character." I have worn glasses all my life. Despised them thru junior high school. Then a funny thing happened, they somehow "became popular in High School". So what'd I do? Went back to wearing glasses, except of course the three years in undergrad, when I felt, well, they became a problem again. Today, they are my favorite accessory.
Funny thing about mirrors and your reflection. Or at least with me, 'cuz most would probably never admit it. They talk to you. If you stare long enough in a mirror, you begin to recognize things that you may have never been fully aware of and some things that are blind to you, but others are aware of. In treatment terms, it's referred to a Johari's Window.
I have that type of relationship with three women. Two are best friends. Polar opposites. The other. Young. Determined. Strong. Dogmatic. So much promise. They are the Blind, Hidden and Unknown shades of my four pane window. They will never be trees. As they are reflections of my pain, growth and struggle. The very nature of our relationships do not allow for placement. Or as simply put by one. I cannot just check one. I am excited by the possibility of friendship, yet they scare me, individually and collectively. Not in that childhood, scary movie type of way. But the recognition of things I have attempted to bury deep within my soul are ever present in their presence. I have seen and been thru their struggle. Enduring a relationship where the love has morphed into this best friend-sibling type of love. How can you break the hearts of those we love as we love ourselves, yet continue on our path toward self-fulfillment and self-enrichment? I remember that climb. It was on all fours and I still have the scabs. On my heart and knees. Finding out that I have never lived, only to find that living my life, may strip me of those things that sustain me. Having the courage to be selfishly motivated to find the self that can give healthily to others. I crashed at least ten times on that mountain. Still haven't gotten over it. But I still travel it. And yes, I painfully miss them. But I have to continue on my journey. Finding life thru love. Yes. Baby girl, you can be lovable. But you have to allow your self to feel the love that others have to offer. I still would rather walk away than to admit it hurts sometimes. But I am learning to at least think about being still and every once in a while, I am successfully stilled.
Your importance is not overwhelmed or overshadowed by the trees. The child in me will always find the thrill in fear.

Love me knots..... Yes. Wine. This is a Love me. Love me not kind of thang...

Rings in trees show age and wisdom. Some grow slower than others. Some faster. Strong. Bold. Brilliant. Some sole purpose is that of beauty. Some shade. Protect. Shield. Nonetheless, they are trees. They filter. They are needed. Much needed.
We are tied by words and bonds that seemingly thread our souls. No we are not connected. The word itself would never do he and me just-us. It happened in one simple word. I know this, because I remember our smiles. Both sly and crooked. It was not a cliche, a simple hello. I can't remember the words, but I know the circumstances. I believed the brother was fine. And he still is. From Teddy Bear to Adonis 'cuz he comes from "a nice ass family." I loved his sensitivity and sensibility. I still do. He could never be mine, as we, well we, have always been, we have always been just-us. Zora and Langston. And I guess, if in another life time we were to lose the reddish brown of our hues, the thickness of thighs, rise in behinds, and gave in to anything other than the simple comfort of the home we seemingly feel in each others company, we would have a storied, stormy love affair, ala Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. The passionate, tender kinship we share would be much to much for our hearts to express in love. My love for him is indescribable. And oh, he is not perfect, yet his imperfections coupled with his humanity, could never keep me angry with him for very long. He he my Oak.
The conglomerate. Kimssquared and Brandi-Wine. One I have known for what seems like an eternity. The other, well, she chipped patiently away to the core of me. Somehow managing to become closer to me than anyone I have met this year, aside from my ELM. Both have been honest from the inception. Both have a way of respecting and honoring my boundaries and space. You do so effortlessly. And yes, I am sure I get on your nerves, and you each let me know. With love. Someone knew what she was doing when she added you in my life. You make me laugh. Damn you make me laugh in ways that very few have. Thank you both. I have grown thru your friendship. We stick thru thick and thin. And yes, Brandi, sometimes you can bring your little friend. ;0) You are my Maples.
Masons - Hustle. I love you as much as I love Brian. Like him, you patiently, lovingly allow me to vent. I owe you so much. In many ways you have saved my life, saved me from self, and re-introduced me to life. You set a true example of the Black American entrepreneurial Dream. Unselfishly you and your family sacrificed so that I and countless others may have a place to realize their dreams and as I jokingly put it, set up a damn good Black Verbal Country Club. You are a very wealthy man. A millionaire. I am so grateful that you don't rely on the dollars to express your worth. I pray that we are friendships from this lifetime to the next. Some one I definitely would never want to lose. My quiet brother, who's actions speak louder than words, thank you for allowing and welcoming me. 6. Thanks for believing I can. Thanks for encouraging me. Thanks for listening. Thanks for setting an example of what a wife can truly be by supporting your husband's dream. Because I know that the both of you are crazy as hell. Nutty even. You are my Pecans.
We are oil and water. Sometimes we hurt each other unknowingly and knowingly. Only we truly know how the other feels about the other. Somehow it is never truly expressed. Yet, like Langston there is, and will always be a connection. 'Nuf said. We've never had to prove anything to anyone outside of us. You know. You always know. How I miss our midnight talks. The needles don't fall off easily. You are my Fir.
Meliaceae. You have taught me that I can be friends with a woman. Real friends. That we can have the same interests, share the same space, share similar goals, and be supportive of one another. You have been a wonderful sounding board. A wonderful teacher. My critic and editor. I will always want to be a rock(et) shoot toward your star. Thanks for being brilliant thru your humbleness and frailties. I will continue to look toward you. Your name says it all. And yes. I dig him as much as I dig you.
thanks for being my shade, my filter, my strength, my shelter. i love you guys....

Sweet Potato Pie. Macaroni and Cheese. ELM trees.

She makes me sweet potato pies and macaroni and cheese just like my great grand and grand. She twists my locks, and listens to my stupid stories. Even allows me to complain, at least once a day. She smiles at my weak attempt at jokes. Has a punch line for my every mess up. It makes me laugh. Inside. She forgives me most days. Every once in a while she will tell me a story and allow me the privilege of listening. She does so infrequently. I think she does it just to make sure my ears are functioning properly. She's strong. Almost as strong as my grand and my great grand. She shares my mother's sun sign. Her penny colored skin reminds me of summer's spent washing a 1979 Black Cutlass Supreme, drinking Tang, watching cartoons, and playing kick the can in the streets until dark. Her smile reminds me of the joy I felt after coming home and finding a professionally assembled basketball goal in my backyard for my 12th birthday. Just like the one in the school yard complete with a halogen lamp that was bright as the street lights. Her laughter the happiness I felt every night afterward, playing well into the late of day or when I was called inside. Her presence. Constant reminders of my village, and that there is proof. It's thru simplicity that she reminds me that it's okay to live a little each and every day. That I can trust again.

Indian Summer

"The air is perfectly quiescent and all is stillness, as if Nature, after her exertions during the Summer, were now at rest." John Bradbury, 1817.

I vaguely remember her face. Her smile. Her words. Her voice. Her favorite colors. Most information was second hand. Casual conversation whispered beyond our youthful ears. "She was so beautiful. So much promise, Marg." They would often tell my grand. "And that Kim, well, she's just like her." I'd often smile, as I too wanted to be beautiful. I too wanted to have so much promise. Either by her own stubbornness, or innate desire to be mysteriously present in her aloofness, her essence remained, ever present. Years later, thru faded, tattered pictures her piercing, always knowing stare, meets it's mirror in my inquisitive almond shaped eyes. While my brown pales to her hazel we meet and I know intuitively what she had always known.
September 6, 1972. My sister and I sat neatly, on the turquoise chaise lounge that overwhelmed the small living room of my great-grand's living room. Indian summer arrived early, as it was still considerable warm, and we were afforded the luxury of wearing our matching light blue sun dresses. My long scrawny legs, moist from perspiration stuck fast to the to the pleather surface. My sister and I held hands. There were so many people in the room, a sea of faces we didn't quite recognize. It was not a Sunday nor was it a holiday, so we were a little excited, believing we were going to have a party. My great-grand's house was the place we gathered for special occasions and everyone was there, except her oldest, her favorite grandchild. The one who caused her lips to curl with a broad smile every time she said her name. The one she greeted with a huge bear hug, which stole all of our breaths. My sister on my mother's hip, me close holding my mother's hand, playfully hiding behind her nursing uniform. Her namesake. Our delighted expressions soon changed when we looked toward the caramel brown in our great grand's eyes. The hint of tiny crows feet which often looked as if they were leading toward the bluish grey tint of her wavy hair to nest, were furrowed. There were tears in her eyes as she reached toward us. She shook, in a way that was not consistent with having a chill, but fear. I began to cry as I didn't understand her look. My sister began to cry because I cried. "Your mother is not coming back," she said in whispers which seemed to permeate the core of every person in the room. All eyes focused, sadly, wearily upon us. "'Cuz she's at work, right great grand? 'Cuz she's at work right?" I ask. Not truly understanding the finality in her voice. "No, baby. She' not at work, she is resting with God."

Christmas

I hate Christmas.
I hate Mother's Day.
I have a personal relationship with God, but disdain for most organized religion.

Every Christmas I asked Santa for my mom.
Every mother's day I am reminded that I don't have one.
My great grandmother told me that God answered prayers. He never answered the ones about my mother.

I know God forgave me. I forgave him.

It's not blasphemous.

For Free... Hope You Use It....

I'm tripping. Been given the assignment to write about my village. It's made me think of things I believed were gone. Long gone. Has tapped into some emotions and wounds I believed were healed. Has made me think of my current relationships with people and why some are so problematic. How everyone thinks they know me, but they really don't. I can honestly say two of the people who I communicate most, who would swear they knew me, know 25% of what I truly feel and think. Wouldn't believe for one moment that the 25% they receive is less than 100%. My public self fools a lot of people.
For instances:
1) I abhor people who crush, then skulk, feigning friendship. I think of you as dishonest and untrustworthy. It makes me totally uncomfortable and I would rather not have ANY CONTACT WITH YOU THAN TO BE IN YOUR PRESENCE. Yet I smile, and am corgial. And you believe... which takes us to number 2
2) I am not flirting with you or any one else. Anyone who met my Dad would love him. I emulate his behavior as he was my only parent. Also, I was reared in a household that demanded you show you have some couth. I am attentive, polite, engaging, complimentary, blah, blah, blah... That does not mean I am attracted to you in any way. Most days it means you have no boundaries and a poor level of esteem. which takes us to number 3
3) I hate people touching me. It makes me very uncomfortable. Yes. I hate the hugging. I don't want to hug everybody, actually, no disrespect no one outside my family and a few, very close friends. And ohh my GOSH don't kiss me on the cheek, I hate that mess even more! I have learned that if I initiate the hug, I can dictate the time and position. But yes, I really hate it, I'm sorry. which leads me into number 4.
4) I'm just not really comfortable with people. Especially a large number of people. If you pay close attention, which I'm sure most won't. I'm pretty awkward in a crowd. Sitting in the corner with my girl Kim, is REALLY where I want to be. I don't like a lot of attention. Which I am sure most have ignored. You don't hear me when I walk into a room. Often when I am seen, I have been there for quite some time, I don't search for recognition. Which leads to number 5...
5) I am a relatively low-key person. That's why I sit in the back in the first place. Unwanted attention makes me more uncomfortable then a crowd. Don't get me wrong, I love that special attention you can only get from your family and the one you love. But that wanting to be that poet, bring the house down type of thing ain't me. I STILL SHAKE WITH FEAR EVERYTIME I WALK UPON A STAGE.

Thir13teen Part Deux

As stated in the previous post, I am feeling a bit anxious as I move into the New Year. The personality test is always a great place to start. I reflect on those things that are flawlessly the frailties of my humanness. I relish in them, as I strive to be an individual. The year has been a tremendously painful struggle toward growth, emotionally maturity and self acceptance.
MY VILLAGE
The women who gave forth, nurtured and nourished this idiot. Mom, I strive diligently to carry the family name. Taylor. While I know I posses Elliott traits, your legacy remained. I have been careful in life choices. I have held much too tightly, taken things much too seriously. And now? Well, now I have begun to love in that way, that causes one to lose self and search toward another lips for our life's whisper, that next sustaining breath. Yes, Mom it's dangerously bitter-sweet, yet truly intoxicating. The curve of our inquisitive almond eyes continue to puncture and pierce that which must always be questioned. Grand. One year and three months. Like my mother's, I am sure my choices have not been your preference, but life is an adventure, no matter how deliberately and desperately planned. I continue to struggle with your gift, my determined pride. And yes, like you, sometimes I hunger, yet I am unwilling to sit at the table with those who I view mild and weak. And yes, like you, I know all too well, that their dish of distinguished humility is the meal I need. Grand, I stand proud in your shadow, as I am able to make my own meal, I have found solace in silence. There I am replenished. I miss you. I still search for you. Aunts Suzy/Clara. I strive for the sweetness that flowed freely from your lips and hearts. I have begun to share those with others. A select few, but I share, nonetheless. Great Grand you are a poem which leaks between the heartbeats
of my bleeding heartaches. Our words connect at fading heart lines, we hold hands and I spit the piece of eternal peace that was once you. Please, please breathe your life back into me.
Dad, our devilsh charm and wit have taken us for one hell of a ride. What a strange trip it's been? But I am happy that I have found, just one.
While I may never truly allow another to reside within this village, I have found trees which sustain me. And often despite and in spite of me, they are there. They have remained steadfast. They represent your legacy and presence. With them I am able to revisit those times that were less complicated. I am able to recreate a place where we all reside. ELM. Oak. Pecans. Meliaceae. I love you. Thanks for sustaining me, holding me, molding me, thru you, I know there is proof....

SHellt her me

I am at most happiest when I am surround by self and in my company. My conscious self relies heavily upon others. My unconscious self, the auto pilot, which is often my driver, can give a fck about others as it relates to me and mine. As long as you don't interfere with the perimeter of thir13teen's force field, you are free to move about. Thing is, I am develing into uncharted waters. Giving more of me than I've ever felt comfortable. Currently it feels as if I giving up the things that are so important. I want to hide in a corner, keep my Elm and the sapling in one pocket and my family in another. Pull them out when it's safe. So many people now. Often I fight the idea of fleeing.
I am my best constant companion and confidant. Yet, I have a love in my life who is committed to never allowing me to swallow my quarterly dose of doubt and self pity. It is during those times I crave solitude. Now is one of those times. Yet we seemingly share this space effortlessly. It is beautifully horrific place. Everyone goes away. I don't care if others view me as a fraud. Often I wonder if I am, yet true to one of my favorite movie quotes, I know others are more fraudulent than myself. But what if?
I know where my heart is. For once I am absolutely sure. And I celebrate it each and every day. As the holiday season approaches, I fall into a sense of inadequacy, wondering if, in fact I am enough. Not just enough for the home I want to build, but comfortable enough in my own skin. One of the drawbacks to the New Year is that sense of resolution and innate desire to grow. Except you want it to be in leaps and bounds, all during the final week of the year. I am in that space.
I completed the Jung personality profile. Nothing new. It is truly me in a nutshell. Over and over again.
True to the profile, I have become pensive and crave... crave for the sense of loneliness and isolation that accompanies my next great revelation. But I am sheltered now. I have a place and someone that I call home. I have eyes to turn to when I need sympathy, empathy, compassion, encouragement and all the feelings that contribute to personal growth and development, a true sense of belonging. Ya know? Feels good. In my silence I am accepted. Actually I believe that when I go thru these periods I am possibly loved more, and a deeper appreciation for who we are, and who we can be, together and individually takes on a life of it's own.
Last night, in my, our oneness, we shared emotions and space in silently going on with our individual activities. It was beautifully courageous. Sharing glances, slight touches and being open to vulnerability....
We've been too strong for too long, and I can't live without you..... MJB

Wanted to Say

She believed we were beefin'. I wondered how can anyone beef with a chick-fil-a cow, those heifers are always hiding behind chickens.

She's Back!!!!

I absolutely love the fall. Living in Texas, makes it almost impossible to fully experience or develop a deep appreciation for it. In another life, I must have live in New England. Or at least someplace where you have four seasons and not two. Hot or Rainy.
Anyway, the grounds I work on are gorgeous. There are a lot of pecan trees. Very statuesque, towering, offering a quiet calm. There are squirrels and shyt running around. Leaves are actually crunching under my feet. It's a bit chilly. I am feeling cool, like I am a character i a New York times Best Seller. That type of confidence you know. (Oh yes, and my chest is still killing me. Okay?) So, it's late and I am chilling, ya know walking around in my chocolate brown suede jacket, a nice pair of brown slacks and a light brown shirt. Locks are tight, I swear in this moment I am cuter than I've ever been a natural sista loves some earth tones, ya know.... And of course I am talking on the cell phone. Long distance, Phoenix. I am feeling lonely 'cuz my chest is killing me and I'm starting to think I will never get better. And my physician is a million miles away, nursing me over the phone. The voice is soothing, but it's not here...
I walk back into my building to wash my hands and head home. As soon as i walk in Paper graffiti has struck again. Sign Reads: Don't Be Mad. Look Behind You. Flush. Make Sure Everything Is Clean. Don't Be Mad? Ahh, HELL TO DA NAW, Paper graffiti is a fcking sister. Only we use the words Don't Be Mad. Or maybe it's code for don't be mad that I am writing this to remind grown fcking people who are suppose to be professional to flush the fcking toilet. On one hand I'm following her, 'cuz I cannot understand how anyone can walk away from a toliet with turds floating on top? Or worse, leaving a toilet paper lump just clumped there waiting to clog the drain? Or worser (if there is such a word, I know there is no such word!) leave yellow water. Or maybe she's asking them not to be mad because only animals get mad. Humans become angry and that ONLY animals would leave restrooms this filthy. I know what animal does, It's the rare TRIFLING BITCH, but I don't want to leave a note telling her so. Or maybe she means MAD as in Much Added Distress, 'cuz it's distressing and depressing to walk into a 45 year old restroom and have it reek of 100 year piss. I don't know, but the whole thing is funny, and I can't manage a laugh without hurting myself. I tried to sneeze an hour earlier and thought an ambulance would drive up, with EMS techs running in to revive me, ripping my suede jacket in an effort to save my life. The visual was much to much for me. So I stopped thinking of all the possibilities of why it was written and began to think of who had actually written it. I am praying it's not the cleaning lady who is an older sister who looks like she does not play. She could have a little Florence (maid for the Jeffersons) in her. Next time she may want to throw water on them or make them do it themselves.

Tookie, Richard and The Boondocks.

I can be a hypochondriac. I was reared in a household of nurses and a midwife. I read medical journals as well as that home remedies book which every black family had in their home. At nine I swore I had leprosy after hearing about it in (I think) church and later reading about it in the encyclopedia. In addition to that I have had tape worms, shingles, chronic fatigue syndrome, food poisoning, lead poisoning, numerous stomach virususes, at least four heart attacks, and maybe a stroke in the last four years. Not physically, but in my mind. My sister, whom I call frequently, after DIAGNOSING myself, is often understanding, but can become a little enraged when I call in the middle of the night with a severe case of intergestion coupled with a self diagnosised panic attack, all of which I believe to be a massive to mild heart attack.
Last night, while experiencing what I believe to be heart attack symptoms. During the course of the day I had taken 6 rolaids, two Gas X tablets, drank one coke, one sprite, and one verners (ginger ale/cream soda thing) to relieve the symptoms. I was now considering aspirin, 'cuz they are good for prevention of heart attacks. Afraid to lay down, I sat up with a heating pad on my back attempting to ease the discomfort, while watching the Tookie Williams story unfold. I knew at 3:00 when my Yahoo notice stated the Terminator had denied his appeal that this would be his last day on this plane. My Godson wandered into the room and began to discuss the issue with me. At 14 he stays on top of the news and sports. I promise he could be the next great News Anchor or Sports Brodcaster. Excellent play by play man and only hits the important parts of a news story. Can you see me gushing over here! ANyway, he believed that he should be put to death. Not that he believes in the death penalty, but because it is about the crimes that he has been found guilty of. He feels that by ignoring the crimes, there should be no consideration of clemacy. Aside from the fact that if anyone killed anyone he loved he would have a hard time controlling himself. We talked about the death penalty and even discussed how often most don't admit guilt, even at the very end. Tookie was one of those people. I don't know if he was guilty, but a jury of someBODY's peers found him to be such. Rest in Peace Stanley Tookie WIlliams.
E! showed the last interview with Richard Pryor. I recalled the time my friend Lisa's mother took us to see Live on the Sunset Strip. We went to an adult movie, afterward she took us to Taco Bell for the little cinnamon buenellos things. I gues she wanted to bribe us, 'cuz she asked us not to tell. My younger sister told my Grandmother almost as soon as we walked into the house and she was fighting mad. Needless to say we never got to go anywhere with Lisa's mom again. I recalled listening to his albums on the stereo when my grandmother was away at work or on date. How I could recite almost every word he said. I wanted to be a comic, and I succeeded in being the class clown, master of the dozens and still can be pretty funny when I want. Now, had long decided that the comedic route was not one for me, but I do thank you for the laughs and the memories. Rest in Peace Richard.
Lastly, the Boondocks has got to be one of the best shows of the year. Huey. "Grandpa, these niggas love Gangstalicious like fat women love Oprah." Riley's episode was on point with the homothug gangsta rap thang. I laughed my as off in between tears (which as Riley says "was not very gangsta), 'cuz whatever the hell was wrong with me had not reponded to anything I had taken or done. And boy did I wish I had that home remedies book at that time. The part that had me cracking up was when he said, "these niggas are kissing" in between tears cuz he thought they
were going to kill Gangstalicious. I cannot wait for them to hit DVD....

Because Mo Said So

Think Three

3 screen names I have:
thir13teen
live miK
dir13teen

3 physical things I like about myself:
butt (cuz it is perfect)
eyes
mind

3 physical things I don't like about myself:
toes
elbows
chin

3 parts of my heritage:
black
native american
french/creole

3 of my everyday essentials:
internet
coffee
love

3 of my favorite musicians:
stevie wonder
donny hathaway
isley brothers

3 of my favorite songs (at the moment):
shadowless (toni braxton)
breathe (raheenm devaughn)
bring me down (kanye west)

3 things I want in a relationship:
mutual trust
mutual honesty
mutual admiration

3 lies:
i'm sorry
get with you in five minutes
no problem

3 of my hobbies right now:
collecting new coins and bills
reading blogs
surfing the net

3 things I want to do really badly now (with a special someone):
get my locks run thru by some very special fingers
kiss like there is no tomorrow
make love until we cry

3 careers I've considered doing:
lawyer
psych nurse
adjunct professor

3 places I would like to go on vacation to:
mykonons greece
the kimberley, australia
venice, italy

kid's names I like:
a. douglass
stephen randal
aubrey

3 ways that I'm a stereotypical dude/lady:
moody
change my mind frequently/indecisive
love to shop

3 people I would like to see take this quiz:
sarah
bRandy
relentle

Confessions of A Newly Reformed Flirt.

On Sunday, we had a spaghetti dinner. With great food (yes, I cooked) comes great conversation. Of course it doesn't help to add wine, Rize! playing in the background at one moment, and then a random sample of poetry.
'Chelle: Is it better have someone love you, treat you well and you never have sex or have someone treat you like crap, and you have the best sex ever?
Room goes quiet for half a sec. Then.
One person: Have the person love me and have sex with someone else on occasion.
Second person: Yea.
Me: I'm going for the sex.
Third Person: Me to.
Fourth Person: Sex.
Me: Right. You can talk to anyone all day. Hey all we have to do is make sure the bedroom is okay. You're an asshole if this person is loving you and you make a choice to cheat on them.
Conversation goes on for a while. Out of the blue
Fourth Person: 13 I'm not going to keep being an asshole.
Me: Opps.
Anyway, the conversation was lively, until it turned back to me. The conversation turned to flirting. I am often accused of being flirtatious. I know that I flirt, most things I do, people in the South consider flirting. Making eye contact, being attentive, actual listening, being courteous and complimentary is not flirting. I also see a vast difference between casual flirting with someone you know and you both know it's going no where, someone I don't know, but we both know it's going nowhere 'cuz it's been established in the conversation and flirting with someone for a desired result. I let people know I am happily involved with someone. I ain't going no where. So what's really wrong with flirting occasionally? The entire room SWORE it was DISRESPECTFUL to my partner. I on the other hand believe we have an adult relationship and they were speaking of disrespect in the venacular. Something neither of us practiced.
Well. I asked. Because I never want to do anything that could be considered questionable and could contribute to feeling of discomfort, insecurity or jealousy. I could walk the line and say they were right and wrong.
I will be an adult. They were right. While not in the venacular, it does not say anything especially positive about me or the relationship if I behave that way. It can be seen as a negative reflection upon me and perhaps the relationship, like maybe I'm not happy, another's perception that I may be available in a "sneaky way", or I have no regard for the person whom I say I love. And while it may be nothing to me, it may be everything to someone else. To that alone I say, I am not all that. I have to admit to the group of friends whom I shared food, drink and conversation. Damn, I was wrong and a bit off base. I hate it when that happens.

Remembering Kim

Death has been a significant part of my life since I was five years old. It is as familiar as the scars upon my knees and legs. Thoughts of how and why things occurred or happened have faded, but if given careful consideration, I am engulfed, flooded, drowned in memories as murky as river bottoms. The mental scars I carry today make it seemingly impossible to form healthy relationships. As I learned early, starting with the death of my mother, everyone dies. None of my primary caretakers are alive. I am grateful that I have my fathers (biological and step) and while I did not grow up in the same household with them, they were and continue to be instrumental in my life today. I have friends who have never had a death in their immediate family. I am envious of them.
I was especially reminded of my own pain, especially the loss of my mother, when I received a phone call explaining that a former co-worker and friend had died suddenly, without explanation. She left three beautiful children, two daughters, who are in high school and a son in middle school.
Kim and I met while working together in Dallas. She was a fiery young woman, who had strong opinions about anything and everything. We shared the love of debate, questioning unrealistic reasoning/expectations, getting our way, and the first syllable of our names. Our boss, at the time, often referred to her as Kimberley and me, Kim. Funny thing is, my name is Kimberley, her's Kim.
Kim and I met early in our careers, but were on different rungs of the ladder, and our choices took us along different paths. We often kept in touch with one another by phone, thru others, and there were a few occasions when we were actually able to see one another. She returned to the facility I worked at briefly, yet we parted ways again. I, moving to Austin and she moving on to a better career opportunity. And as life goes, we eventually lost touch.
On a business trip to Dallas, I was able to see her, and two of the guys who worked with us. It was great. It started with a conversation regarding difficulty working with other sisters in the workplace, particularity government entities, being strong willed, and not losing self in order to be successful. It moved to dinner, and we, along with two brothers who we used to work with, talked about old times, reminisced, laughed at each other and with one another. Whole heartedly, they way old friends do. This would be the last time I was to see her. As, again, life did what it does best. Go on. And I am left to wonder, "what could I have done differently?" How many people who play such a significant part of my life would I lose touch with, allow them to fade into obscurity. I joked with an acquaintance recently that I have friends that I don't have to speak to daily, but I know that we will always be friends. Selfishly, I hope she knew that she was a friend. And that I apologize for not keeping in touch. For not knowing your daughters well enough to comfortably tell them that you were a wonderful woman, and not be viewed as some stranger offering condolences. To tell them that when they were younger, you worked hard to obtain your degree to make a better life for them. To explain to them how important they were and that you fought every schedule rotation to ensure that you had Sundays off to go to church and have those special Sunday meals with them. But mostly, I would want to tell them that I know what it's like to live without a mother, and to stress the importance in carrying you in their heart, words and deeds. I would do that as your friend, and as a one motherless daughter to another.
Kim D. Hill. Rest in Peace.

THREE DAYS SINCE I LAST BLOGGED...

Really don't care for trying to make up the last few days. That sucks but I am lazy......
Had a snow day yesterday. Not like it really snows, but the ice can shut us down, and did it. So I slept most of the day, worked on a new piece, slept, read over a few pieces for Cousin (they are hot!)slept, watched COLD CASE FILES marathon on A and E, slept.... you get the picture.
I have nothing monumental to report. No work/pieces I am willing to place on display. No real issues I am struggling with. Everything in my world is coolly magnificent, and hella good. Looking forward to the new year. Has so many possibilities....
ONE) A sista is in Love.. Deeply. In love with self, life, and someone whom I have searched my life and scoured this world for. Yes, I complain, because it is in my nature. And also, my pride would never allow me to admit it to another human being... So, I'll write it in this BLOG for the world to see.
TWO) I am going to host next year. And am I excited?...... Hell to the Yea.... That's all I can say. I am ohh so looking forward to it. Lots of BIG THINGS and I hope I can help my man Hustle pull it off. Actually, I am going to break a leg to pull it off if I have to....
THREE) I am a part of a hella good group of writers and poets.. and as a collective, we can protect the house during NATS. I am ecstatic about the possibilities. I have Cousin looking over my stuff and I'm looking over her's. Starting to look at improving performance, spoke with another poet near the city to help me with that. Still not trying to be that Poet, just that HOST... but I don't want hosting to negatively impact my ability to perform or produce new pieces. I often hear people say that hosting impacts their performance or that they can't write, hate to say I believe it to be a cop out.... Especially when they perform weekly at the spot they host. I don't want to be that host that performs every week during the show... Nor do i want to talk alot. I just want to be able to manipulate the list, and when needed, perform to get the show going.. if nothing else I could write little short "popcorn" pieces for sheer entertainment to keep things moving without bringing up a poet who may not want to go early in the show, keep the crowd moving... I don't know, hit me with suggestions. (What ya think Mo?) I want to be the one that brought the show, not made the show.... if you read my blog on the regular and want to feature in Texas, hit me up and I'll get you to my man Herm....
FOUR) Got a feature (another paying gig) to start off the new year. (MO, getting a little dirt under my feet. I'm still trying to be a pebble to your ROCK.)
just thoughts nothing significant.....

quarter to time

i hear winds of change
a blowing,
flowing, jingling
in lint and seams.
cold, rigid, etched,
smooth to touch
of jaded hands
thrushed forcibly
deep, into faded, worn
pockets of dungaress.
contradictive
fingers,
grasp for wishes
wanting
to hold
penny thoughts
and dimes of time.
change weighs,
worthlessly,
heavy
on my mind.
cheap
perspectives
tinge
furrowed brow
chaffed by winds
of change
freeing
hands
palming
empty hope
an offering
to words I can
no longer afford.

ALL YOURS, Cliques, and Resolutions

Every once in a while I am reminded why it's cool as hell to roll with a clique. I've never really been a fan, ya know?
Little Insight 'Bout 13
i've not always been this hella cute, charming, with a devilish grin, cinnamon brown tipped, locked wearing sista.. as a kid i was fcking weird (still am) skinny as hell, wore glasses (still do), tomboy athletic, prep-like nerd. while i wore the fashionable clothes, i was never trendy. i was a fcking nerd... but i had three things that people capitalized on, in other words accepted me for 1)i was an exceptional athlete, 2) i was funny as hell, played the your mama game better than anyone in school, and 3) had a way with authority, if you got in trouble with me, you were guaranteed to be granted a get out of jail for free card. aside from that i fell strongly in that group of kids who would have never been noticed. i mean my best friend Jeffrey (langston is the adult version of him) read comic books like the damn new york times. he even STILL had that youthful imagination and skill most little pre adolescent boys had, until they discovered girls, the ability to draw comic book characters free hand. the other kids that i considered my friends were outcast and rejects. so, my acceptance to the "in" crowd lasted only the school year, while most relationships with the "outcasts" lasting during summer trips. We exchanged post cards and letters from various places we spent with our family and distant relatives. Two of those people are my friends to this day.... Don't get me wrong I loved high school, some of the best days of my life.
BACK 2 REALITY
I hate groups for those reasons, but there are some very personal reasons as well. Cliques remind me of socially accepted gangs. They can be brutal, cruel, and well, challenging. As an adult it becomes worse, because it can cut close to the core of your being as it relates to your belief system and basic values. Sometimes, being a true friend and loyalty to your group can be in direct conflict.
Last night wasn't the best night of poetry. Matter of fact, I kind of wanted to avoid it. Due to the above mentioned. I hate getting called up late in the night. But everybody can't be next. There are some who's the hot poet now shyt. Everybody can't be hot. There were some lulls, I was a bit bored. I can't wait to host 'cuz I'll be more involved and then I can work my way to being more attentive. I count the days down as I want to be inspired at an open mic. I want someone to come in and make me want to write some HOT AZZ SHYT.... and then it happened.
Brother just came to me and said, you and relentle (check my links for the golden triangle mojo) made me raise the bar. I got something for you. Now before I go into that, my manchild Relentle wrote a gorgeous piece regarding brotherhood. Funky Mike Whalen (check BIG SLEEP 666) I ABSOLUTELY LOVE HIM AS A WRITER/POET/MAN. I probably freak him out everytime I hug and squeeze him when he comes thru. He is a beautiful gentle "giant" who reminds me how I miss Jeffrey, high school, comic books, playing until the street lights came on, summer vacations, post cards and innocence.
ALL YOURS, a chocolate smooth brother with a large smile and heart, hit the stage and BLEW IT THE FCK UP!!! The show could have, no should have stopped there. PERIOD. I don't really remember who came up after that. No, I do, but you get the jest. Now, I was going to brag that Burn was the hottest piece this year, but HELL TO THE NAW, I will have to take second chair, if it was a competition... I can't even remember the name of the piece he did, I remember lines and my skin is till burning it was that damn HOT, then he followed it up with Fetish. I am afraid of what may happen once he tightens them up. OH MY GOSH! I mean, yea, I'm still talking about it.... DAMN!
Anyway. I got the inspiration I needed, not just to write, but to live. Being a part of a creative collective that not only encourages, competitively teases and fosters growth is a wonderful thing. It's only when the other shyt gets in the way that there are problems. And the problem do not define the group, the manner in which they are resolved is the true test. And the funny thing is, no one ever looked at anything as an issue that needed to be resolved, just something to work thru. you gotta love 'em... and i do, most days....