Life Would Be Great If It Weren't For The............

Didn't post yesterday. Torn between something beautiful and a rant. I needed to reflect and ponder, so I chose neither.
Often we are asked if we care about what another thinks of us. We are taught first impressions are lasting ones, let your deeds speak for you, keeping up appearances, etc. anything that "shows" another person who you are. I have never really cared what people thought of me, only how easy or difficult they could make my life based on their beliefs. So, no, I don't always make good impressions. Doesn't mean I don't try when I'm thinking about it. Sometimes I talk too much, others too little. At least two of the people who would describe me as their least favorite person in hell have " forgotten" the numerous good things I have done for them. So much for deeds. Truth of the matter is I would rather walk out of the house in flip flops/converse tennis shoes, an overpriced t-shirt, equally overpriced baggy jeans and jean jacket (despite my upbringing). I drive a 1984 volkswagen rabbit, as I am only interested in where the car will take me. People have talked about the car, less about the way I dress (thank goodness). Have tried to spend my monthly wages, "she has a good job and makes enough money to get a better car... well you know she lives by herself, has a mortgage....but she has a good job, though.." They probably don't mean anything by it, I think it's just people. We have to talk. And I am by no means living in a glass house, I have had my share of words. I just try not to be as viscous. I ask questions and when I do speak up, it's bluntly honest based on my opinions and experiences. That's the only place I know to come from.
I'm angry, not because it's my true feeling, but because I'd rather be there than the delusion and disappointment that is currently weighing me down. Langston says one of my biggest problems is that I believe people will act the way I would in various circumstances, I have unspoken rules of life. That, often, the root of my hurt is I believe people will act as I do. The way I see it is people are selfish and self seeking in nature. It's true, it's written in the Bible. Actually, the bible refers to man as "the intent of a man's heart is evil from his youth...." I don't refer to people as evil. Yet some would say I was....
Cases in Point:
a poet person whom i still care about, but had to seperate myself from because they were just too damn heavy. well, he's blaming me for only performing once during the weekend showcase.
- it was for charity, it was about the family not about you. how fcking selfish and egotistical are you?
- i wanted everyone to perform ONLY ONCE as not to have to deal with the selfish, egotistical bs in the first place. i wanted to be fair, even though it ONLY exists in it's truest form in the fcking dictionary.
- there was an initial list for 6, count it SIX poets to perform twice. Between two people you were not chosen. i didn't change the format or my mind, i was also out-voted!
- and NO i'm not jealous that we both finished 5th, (or did you finish 6th? that's how much I care) for slam team finals IN TWO DIFFERENT CITIES, and you lucked up and moved ahead because TWO people from that slam team went to another team. Get a fcking LIFE. And think about it, when have you ever finished ahead of me when we were in the same slam? Get a fcking LIFE.
- lastly, i could go on but.... get off the cross already, jesus ALREADY died for our sins, he did a good job, everyone's still taking about it, your's pales in comparison. get a new act and stop blaming everybody and being angry because you believe they're "Hatin'" ! Please.... Maybe if you shut the fck up you'd hear a compliment or two.
my life, is a bit uncomfortable 'cuz i got to hear about the shyt. hell, if i had the power you gave me........ oh my gosh the things i'd do with the blink of an eye.... and funny, even then you wouldn't be impacted cuz you never cross my mind... except of course incidents like this.....
some others bs....
- because i have what most believe to be a big mouth (speaking what's on my mind) most are quick to repeat what i say..... ask me, it's been proven i have no problem repeating it. the problem is the sneaky people who bring you this bs are trying to tell YOU SOMETHING.... searching for their own answers.. making a sly point... think about it, why would anyone go out of there way to hurt your feelings?MEANING THEY HAVE A HIDDEN AGENDA!!! no blind or mute jokes, to make my point... but were there three or four blind mice? people see what they want. it's never my job to snatch pink tinted glasses from those who want to see the little PRETTIES, or steal candy from babies...
- i am really not mean. i only say what's on my mind. sometimes, i can sugar coat it, sometimes i can't.
- i stay away from you and the nonsense, well, cuz i just don't have the energy. do you know how hard it is to carry my weight, let alone carry your big ass all day? and you can weight he size of an ant, but if i have to carry you too long, your ass also becomes big!!
- if you trust me, then you can trust me. i work at not betraying your trust, even on those rare occasions when it impacts me. or you have to talk badly about me to sell your own tired ass.... believe me, i have been the fcking bad person for a lot of BAD PEOPLE and never opened my mouth.....
- how can some one who hardly talks to ANYONE on the scene aside from Wednesday nights get so much attention.
and to those who just don't understand....
- there are laws in the continental united states for your behavior.
- when a person says they don't want you, it's not a game. they don't want you.
......i aint't no motherfcking rockstar so i don't want no got damn groupies.....

sunday's reminder or why there are so many single sisters....

fade2black
she, he and i are riding to the auto parts store to pick up yet another part for hip hop. he and i are discussing a mutual acquaintance and behaviors. she abruptly interrupts after what seemed like a gazillion attempts to engage her in conversation."
her: "so you know why people don't like you, huh?"
me: "uhmm, yea. it's pretty easy. i can come across a little arrogant and at times, rude, i'm often hurried or disinterested. never my intention. i do not want to offend or ostracize anyone. i prefer few words, and act quickly, yet deliberate. i'm cool with me though."
"are you?"
"yep. gotta wake up with me every morning."
"well, i can tell why they don't like you. or at least you what you did to me."
i knew it didn't have anything to do with the subject. a woman knows when another woman has a problem with her. especially when it's about her man. "what's that?" i ask, half heartedly, i knew what was next.
"you disrespected me, you don't need to brang my nigga no liquor. i can do that my damn self. also, you left my house without saying bye. i thought i ain't done nuthin for dat. you can be standoffish and shyt."
"my bad. where i come from when people under charge, you give a tip or bring a gift. he did not want to look like he was overcharging me, so don't give him too much extra. he said i gave him too much the last time, so i purchased a bottle. i didn't sit with him and drink it. i was also aware that you didn't care for him to do work outside your home, and that you didn't feel well. he insisted he could do the work, so i walked to the park and talked on the phone while i waited. as not to disturb you, or be a reminder that he was doing work outside your home. i apologize for being raised by WOLVES." i was sarcastic, but knew she'd never catch it.
"i ain't said all that shyt. and i DID drank that up with him. i just said to myself, why would she do dat. i ain't done shyt. ya know you a woman, i'm glad you let me get this off my chest. i feel better."
"good." i replied, but i knew better. she didn't see me as a woman, but a threat. i knew she was lying. she had unresolved issues that didn't have anything to do with me.
fade2black
three days later as he didn't finish the previous work.
he: "come by the house sunday. i gotcha."
me: "you sure. you know, ya girl. she doesn't care for me."
"aw man, come on by. she know this is about money."
"man the last time, i was there, well, you heard what she had to say. i thought i was appropriate."
"come around noon."
"what if i come around 1:00 that seems early. i don't want there to be a problem."
"come on, what'd i say? i gotcha."
sunday, after i waited for an hour for him to get home, he beckons me outside.
he: "i can't fix ya car. man. she's trippin'. i don't know what her problem is. man, she trippin on you. she thinks it's something going on between us?"
me: "what a car?"
he: "naw, man. you know."
me: "black, i'm cute and all." we both laugh. "but damn...."
he: "take your car to the old man's,i gotcha tomorrow."
fade2black

he and i do business. he has a woman. whom, at least within my limit eye sight he seems to be faithful. problem is, they have a history. a history of cheating. he on she. she on he. it has nothing to do with me.
if your man is a cheat, then he's a cheat. the reason he cheated is about him, not about you. you can have a million dollar __________, but if he has taste for a million and one dollar _________, yours is no longer the flavor of the moment. every woman that comes around does not notice your man, let alone want your man. especially the way you want him. matter of fact, you could possibly make the "whatdoeshehavethatmakesthisbitchsocrazyattitude' type take you up on the challenge just on g.p.. and that small percent of women who will "fckyourmanandnotgiveadamn" are easy to point out. a lot of us know a good relationship is hard to find. we respect the few that exsist. yet, out of our own insecurities and limited abilities to view each other as sisters we create a divide. no one wants anyone who is so insecure that they are willing to sabotage their livelihood. his woman and her insecurities are messing with his business. interfering with the money he's bringing into their household. *those of you that know my beloved hip hop know any good, reasonable mechanic will get me on the comeback.
not only is it destructive to her, it's destructive to the relationship. i could see the disgust and embarrassment on his face. i felt bad for him. and her. in the end, i went to the door to tell her goodbye. she came outside with the INQUISITION.. why am i leaving? why did i come over? (DUH!!!! my fcking car, why else would i drive 30 plus miles in horrific construction and weekend traffic!) he lies to her. (none of my business) did he invite me to dinner with his family? (uh, no... he's was trying to earn some quick cash to buy some more groceries, which you just managed to fck up!) you do understand where i'm coming from? (bitch please and hell to da naw. i am very involved with someone else. and he's told you who it is so YOUAREREALLYTRIPPING!) you can stay for dinner if you want. (uh, and not get my car fixed?) the whole scene was pathetic and disheartening.
as i got into my car, i didn't worry if i'd make it back home. i had let go of things i couldn't control, and had faith that someone, like always, would be there. i hoped that she too would learn to let go. for her own sanity and self esteem. the look in his eyes and the far away tone in his voice screamed this was the last straw. he treated me like a little sister. looked out for me, cuz, as he says i needed a real brother and not a bunch of "poets and suits" in my life. i felt bad, 'cuz the brother was always on the grind. not an illegal hustle to bring heat to her block, let alone her home. took care of his little girl, hell i've seen him leave cars on blocks with a bunch of n---s cursing to go pick her up from daycare...... he's done the same with her, picking her up from work, when she had a car and was able to drive herself back and forth. he flirted and talked dirty around his boys, like any man... but i never saw or heard the dog in him... and believe me, i'd seen sisters throwing themselves at him to get a "discount" on their car repairs. then, i wondered...when will she realize that she's not expressing love, but a desire to possess. and that you can never hold onto anything that long or that strong without suffocating it.....

what i want to hear

i yearn to hear her... hear her kisses. they, a sweet nectar flavored fit... they smug deceit upon rouge cheeks doused in midnight sun... absorbing lights, colors.... they silently slide hugs 'round waist, past noon moon just below curve of dawn.. sticky bitterness clinging desperately to yesterdays.... plead mine eyes to hear her kiss in small of back... back of neck... pout of smile.. lift of frown... brusque past lives to death... lips plead to feel soft kisses smear on subtleties... abrasively... harsh words mistaken for chapped adoration... mouthing i love you... her kisses i long to hear...

I Rise...

i, fire smoldered, flicked from tip of spent cigarette butt left to die alone..... suffocating.... shallow breaths steal farewell kisses exhausted by inhalation of ash from phoenix's tears... i rise.... to fall from loose lips betrayed by exotic truths left on tip of tongue... spilling... fallacies real imagined.... once... u and i, gum and cheek, smoke lingered 'round fingers, threading shattered exsistencies sowing seeds like cloth... to blanket me... covet me...once...wish like moons upon stars upon suns upon you...badly like a child's desire... then come true... i red lips tattooed upon butt of cigarette left dying alone... your fragrance a star i call upon.. child like... shallow breaths leave like golden hues upon autumn leaves.. soon

half the space

she swallows space spiced with basil, rosemary and thyme...gingerly... delicate... decadent... the slumbered ascent from graceful prayers to lissome beckonings left unanswered.... questions slight... right... clouded figments fragment to flatter a dream mare's iniquities... lithe hallucinations weep stilled reality showering purgatory stakes seasoned by laughter/tears, volumed silence/muted din, first/last inspirations, i/she, me/we... she swallows infinite inceptions wanting to become whole....

speak lightly

we speak... we speak in light and I am mesmorized by images transcending matter... of facts... occupying darkened time... pre you and i... minutes rush hours retrograding... shrinking in valor... considering... pondering... communicating in volumes at frequencies audible only to mass and gas flirting with the andromeda galaxy... begging to commune... praying for unison... dying to become stars... voices twinkle... we speak... unimaginable... universes milk light from barren holes disguised as souls... drinking in solace... comfort... consolation... wholeness... yet we speak... in light... in love... in lust... spiraling galaxies toward infinite heavens... i smell hues of unattainable deep blues... permeating... peaceful... tranquil... boisterous silence... yet we speak... we speak to pierce fruitful blacks tones to expose explosion of colors... fertile... life... yet we speak... we speak until impression, incarnation, semblance, effigy of his likeness answers... speak lightly...

Autumn, I Dew... Even When the Leaves Stand

I walked thru rain today.... mist, dampened the soul of my feet, toes gleamed from droplets which grimaced at the pall of the noon sun. Dew traveled upward, timidly tracing aged ankles which have forgotten how to skip and frisk thru crayola tinted blades of lavender... weight defies senses gravitating toward the haze between soundwaves and light... I inhale your hues, nose stained by yellows and pinks... I walked thru rain today, it slowly trickled from ankles to wobbly knees, weak in love, wanting to stand, professing unyielding.... relentlessly.. water canvasses the horizon in shades of somber and melancholy, bold orange strokes flow vertically.... and the rain continues to flow.... sprinkling up knees to thighs, spine to hands and fingers, triggering, begging to quench insatiable thirsts for reds and greys.... aisles and rings... me and you..... brush me warm with your browns, cinnamons, and coppers with petals of peony, freeshia, your touch... i smell your colors heavily in the autumn leaves rustling.... soaked, cascading along side dreams of heavens and earths.... breaths masquerading as whispers swirl desperately longing for God's ears... your thoughts I hear.....and the rain continues to rise....

i can smell the petals fall

no one understands the weight of an echo. the difficulty in taming it's unbridled desire. it slips easily thru misconception. often misunderstood, it does not mimic, nor mirror. fluid lucidity. no one can see a heatbeat's shadow. only feel the artic chill resounding in each beat's absence, as it moves, dancing along the sun's beams. flashes on air tone heat waves streaming above sticky concrete.... no one can hear a teardrop fall. it's mass, booming silence deafening the listener straining for proof of it's existence. painfully knowing it's there, yet unable to recognize it's song, as it cuts thru rainstorms tormenting the soul.. no one can touch a dream fulfilled. the thrill is not in what's materialized, only the emotions tickling your nose.... triggering cayenne tinged tears, hot flushed achievement that swirls in the breeze. i can smell the petals as they fall, bitter sweet the descent from grace to disparity. blues, pinks, yellows, meld fragrantly outside my window beckoning..........

Pillsbury Dough Man and Barry White, whadafck?

There are somethings that just don't fcking go together.
Oil and Water.
Gasoline and Matches.
Janet Jackson and Jermaine Dupree (thank god it's over!).
Bushes and White Houses.
yaknowwhatimean?
a few days ago i'm listening to reality television while heating a boca burger for a quick meal, and I hear old school blaring from the television... you know barry white? and I'm cool, getting all warm and fuzzy, thinking maybe it's a commercial for some soulfest love jams cd... i glance over at the tv and see the Pillsbury fcking dough man, dancing with a crescent roll or something similar (okay, not really, or at least i hope not). barry white and a biscuit commercial? that's blasphemous! and at the end of the commercial these jokers had the unmitigated gall to say some shyt like the other "mr. white". my first thought is barry white must be rolling in biscuits and gravy in some soul food HELL right about now. then, it dawns on me that his fcking kids have no respect for the man or his legacy. so the next generation will equate one of r and b's most legendary voices with some damn biscuits, crescent and dinner rolls. what next? trojan using luther's "creepin" to sell condoms. linens and things using the isley brother's "between the sheets"? welch's grape jam using teddy riley's "jam" or worse using an improvisation one of black television most tragic moments... "jam! jam! jam!"
damnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

8 hours til BURN.....

I'm in a fcked up place. Pretty sure why. I know what to do, it's just I have a methodical manner of procrastinating that must be followed before I can get out of this place. The last few weeks I have fought reacting, yet, I have come particularly close. This is common. I will also find one or two people who I remove permanently from my life, which is also common. The second step is the most precarious. Few times, but significant, nonetheless, I have chosen the wrong people. It hurts for a moment, but I consider it a casualty of war. For whatever reason, I attract people who are much too heavy for me, or I much too heavy for them. If it weren't for the weight that we, somehow place upon each other, it would be a wonderful, life altering friendship. I can be viewed as a coward in MOST instances that require fighting, I would rather flee. It will never be because I didn't believe the person was worth fighting for. Everyone that has touched my life, no matter how I may act, or what they believe, has been impacting. In 98.8% cases positive. I just can't deal with the outcome, the end results, the ongoing bullshyt, especially when it gets thick. I had an oil and water relationship with an individual. We were mad cool. I have had some of my most memorable experiences in the ATX with her, she helped me with my artistic growth, overall a damn good person, and I miss talking to her (a lot).... Ya know? (you probably don't) But we just viewed life differently, argued, people chose sides (often her's), and shit. Contrary to popular opinion, I don't like to fucking argue, nor do I like conflict. I like a lively debate. I try to live a life where I understand and want to be understood. In that situation, I could never be understood. "People" always thought I was fcked up. Or actually it was a time for a few, whom I never really fcked with, to have an opinion about me. So did a motherfckr talk or what? Still probably flapping her gums..... I digress. Also the duplicity in the circle of acquaintances, allowed both of us to believe we were right. And I know I am not always right, Ya know? (you probably don't.) Again I digress. The situation and the "friendship" in the end was hurtful, not because of her, just that people can't mind their fucking business. People feel like they have to chose sides. Kiss ass. Can't let people work out their PERSONAL differences, they never realized it didn't involve them, and most times it was nothing serious. Or so I naively believed. So, in the end, I just stopped talking, "cuz it was easier". And the weight of it was bringing me down. And I do have bouts of depression...
People believe that shit on stage. I wear a hint of arrogance on my sleeve, but it's only a protective shield. I hate the image that people have built of me. No I'm not on some, I'm soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo misssssssssssssssssunderstooooooooood bullshyt. I'm just a tired mofo, and I can only keep shit up for soooooooo long. Anyway, I am at that place again. Where I want to be left alone. Where I ONLY want to be with someone who wants to be with me. Where I am not this "POET" person. I want to be me again..... And I want someone, any fcking one, to hang out with where I can be me, and....... UHHHHH! Now, I have to remove people because it is easier. 'Cuz I'm tired of trying. 'Cuz it hurts more than it heals.... I don't fight, I'm tired of arguing, I'm tired of, well, like I said earlier, I am a very tired mofo.........

disclaimer: Burn is like Choke it's not about ANYFUCKING ONE, JUST WHERE I'M AT IN MY LIFE..... So when I read it, if I read it tonight, don't start tripping, just listen if you want.... or don't...

evil miK

Wanted....

FADE2BLACK
"13, I want a relationship." his words bounced off the wall to the beat of techno pop muzic, whirring in the buzz from several vodka tonics, while grinning every so slightly at secrets that skipped along the air. Smoke cloaked the brown of his eyes and as it dissipated, I felt the moisture of his sadness along the mahogany counter that held our happiness. Leaning toward me, he asked, almost pleadingly, "Why can't I have a relationship?".
My tongue heavy from the bitterness of cheap vodka, the cynicism of my current plight, and a tad of intuitive sarcasm, replied, "People like us will never be successful in relationships."
Again the plead, "What? Why?"
"Baby, we wear aloofness like cheap perfume and the poor taste of a badly dressed Queen. They look at people like us and assume we are don't want a commitment. We appear too detached. Look at you. Dancing in this corner, laughter around you, beautiful as you are, they will look and believe that you don't have a care in the world. They will look at you with lust, and want you for that moment. Me, it's the thrill of the chase. And you know what happens when you stop running, or they realize that you were never in it for the chase? They don't want you anymore. A fucking game. People want what they can't have."
"Umm. You need another drink. That shit is insightful. Do I really look detached? I mean I smile, I'm cordial. I talk."
"The life of the party. The center of attention," I add.
"That's the hook. They want that. They want a part of that."
"They don't want the insecure you, the one who wonders if you will ever be enough."
"What about you?" He looks thru me, and embraces an untapped emotion.
"Painful. Pained. I know there is no permanency in another, so I just wait, sometimes impatiently, to be abandoned. It starts with a single behavior, then the game begins. They slowly let go. No one ever really breaks up with me, nor I them. We just wake up one day and realize that maybe we should have never got involved."
"I feel you. That always happens to me. All I have to say is, 'Whatz up? I want more than this." And they're like 'what da fck', you know. But you and ____________ have never left me."
"It's because we know the game. It's also because we don't want a relationship with you. Just want to have your babies. Ha. Ha. Ha."
He smiles at the lie, knowing neither of us want children, but understand the loneliness and desire that prompts many to do so. We, often unspoken, believed that we were those children born from that unsaitiable need. "I like the idea of aloofness. And you're right, when I meet someone, they always think I just want to have a good time. Want to fck. I need a husband. But you. You're on your way."
"Am I? What I want is probably much too much for anyone. I want to love unconditionally and get that same love in return. Some days I have a lot to offer and I just want someone to build a home with. No one truly understands that. They get caught up in what they see, what they believe. None of it's me. It takes everything in me to get up on that stage. I'm nervous every frickin time. I'm not that confident, but I'm not a needy mofo either. On the rare occasion I meet someone who thinks they want what I want, they find it's too fucking challenging. They want what I give, but couldn't possibly give what I give in return."
"Yea. And that shyt hurts like a muthafckr. Ain't nothing more lonelier than that. Fuck sometimes I see people, like today, all coupled up with families and shit, and I feel like I'm the only person in the world that doesn't have somebody. I know I got friends, but someone to share my life with. Now that would be the shit. But the way people want me sometimes, it makes me feel all used up."
"I hear you. I always feel like a dumbass. Stupid." We both laugh attempting to shield the other from the certainty of the sentiment. He turns, takes in the remainder of his drink in a final gulp, walks toward the pool table, and places a quarter in the wedged slot atop the table. He'd rather play the game to ease his heart's mind. The insecure gap in his walk gives him away. I'm glued to my chair, sobered by the arrythemic beats echoing inside. I am familiar with the hollowed thumps, and am immediately aware that I will become angry before nightfall. Anger will be much easier than dealing with the emptiness that has overcome me. I swallow back the absurdity of the moment, thirsty for answers (there will be none), I swing from the stool and move toward the main bar. I know that I am moving past my limit, but I don't care. "Two vodka sours, two vodka tonics."
I buy each of us two drinks. One for the moment. The other for the longing silhouettes that sit across from us engaged in muted, personal conversations. They are ever present, and this afternoon they to have thirsts that must be quenched.
"You know 13?"
"No, what?"
"It was a good day wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was a good day."
FADE2BLACK

"Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are." Kurt Cobain....

Stop wasting your life. You will never be her. Yet you believe it is better to be in the subplot, if you cannot be a leading character. There are a million people in the universe, yet you latch yourself to the few that are significant and have true meaning in her life. There is definite wisdom in age, and behaviorally, you exhibit, that of an adolescent, unwilling to accept no for an answer, balking at the truth that has boxed you into your current existence. I encourage you to shadow box and strengthen yourself, so that in the future you are better able and equipped to accept another's boundaries, space, and decision. A decision that does not, did not, will not, can never, will never, include you. Yet, you continue to appear, skulking in the twilight of the life that was meant to thrive outside your covetous eyes. Her life belongs to and with another. Is was a personal choice, and disappointing as it is, people will make choices that don't always include you. It is how you handle it that creates and fosters growth. Unfortunately you are unable to discern the difference and continue to cross lines that have been clearly marked. And often the person whom you meant to win over with your insidious courtesies, will begin to despise your presence, as much as your name.

You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting.
Sir William Thatcher/Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein of Gelderland, A Knight's Tale

ELMS and OAKs....

FADE2BLACK

"What's up 13?"
"Nuthinmuch.. What's up wit you? I came by yesterday afternoon. I wanted to be nosy. See what was up, ya know?"
"What time?"
"About 6:55 or so.. that's the reason I missed "Everybody Hates Chris."
"Okay, you caught us at that window. Stepped out for a minute. But it looks good. You'll see it Saturday or Sunday."
"What you doing later? I want to go see Domino."
"Yea, I heard about that. The bounty hunter. Didn't she die or something?"
"I don't know. I'm looking it up on the net now. Uh, yea, an overdose. Just recently."
"An overdose? Well, that kind of changes my mind. Oh, I can't watch movies when I know people died like that. I thought she died while capturing somebody or something...."
"So what does that mean?"
"You know. Just...."
I cut him off, cuz I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with him.
"What time do you want to go?" I ask.
"Well what time do you think. I'm going to fold clothes until 11:00 am, then I'm going to dust, then....."
"That's scary."
"Why? I know, if it sounds like I have more than 24 minutes of clothes to fold, I do."
FADE2BLACK

I never fade to black our conversations because the detail, length, subject matter, whatever, expands years, minds, universes even. Sometimes I feel like I am in a graduate course, absorbing everything he has to say, then others, we are sitting aside one another, he eating clay, me glue in some kindergarten class somewhere. It feels as if I have known him all my life. One of the few people that keep me grounded... Sometimes we joke, knowing that we must've been married or at least close in another life, because somethings just click so naturally.... And it's been that way from day one.

He feels like an extension, my left arm... something I take for granted will always be there and work when I need it, I can always count on him. Sometimes I am jealous of our significant other relationships, because it keeps both of us pretty busy. But I'm happy that he's happy and vice versa. Each time we get to hang out or, like today, have simple, meaningless, and at times poignant conversation, I soak it in, knowing like a desert rain it may not come again in a while.... But I realize that with kindred spirits, as he and I are, sometimes it only takes a tone in a voice, a look in an eye, and immediately we connect. Able to sense where the other is at.

He will be my lifelong friend. And sometimes my stubbornness, or my desire to be detached keeps me from saying how much he and his friendship mean to me... I have an ELM and he is my Oak..... and to my Meliaceae, Mahogany... miss you get home safe.

I thank God for the forest that grows outside my village.....

High School and Being Me

Recently my High School had a decade long reunion (included the entire graduation class of the decade, not just the year I graduated). For about two weeks I REALLY thought I wanted to go. I thought how much fun it would be to hook up with old friends from back in the day. I romanticized my high school years: the athletic endeavors, the writing exercises, talking in N's (a secret language me and Monique) created in journalism, and hanging out with Jeffrey (my High School version of Langston). I even thought about how I managed to stay thin having eaten one honey bun, one package of vanilla cup cakes and three glasses of fruit punch for lunch daily my entire senior year. I even went thru my memory book, and pondered how much fun it could, or would be. At the end of the two weeks, I decided I didn't want to go. The biggest reason was I really didn't like HS when I was there, or BETTER YET I realized it after I graduated. It's not like it was horrible, I had a lot of fun, just undergrad, which was VASTLY different, I would also go back over and over and over again.
High School was JUST so awkward. While I was popular, I never felt quite comfortable in the public eye. I was very skinny, politically incorrectly speaking, Third World Hunger sans the bloated stomach skinny, with a very nice butt. Yes, as a friend says I come from a very nice ass family or I'm a distant relative of the Francis's.... I was good in sports. I was developing my current "winning" personality (that simple air of arrogance, hidden behind feigned innocence) quick sarcastic wit, and an overall, lifelong relationship with insecurity. Had a lot of friends, and I still talk to or email about eight of them. Two of them are life long friends who I call for advice and direction.... Three of us actually went from elementary school thru undergrad graduation ceremonies together. LaBaron, my neighbor thru the third grade, got the "biggest embarrassment" in undergrad during Freshman comp. We were to describe a childhood memory, and I wrote about how he and the "bad ass kids across the street" as oft described by my family, stomped and trampled my Weebles (wobble but they don't fall down) Doll House while my sister and I looked on out of our bedroom window.
But as I thought about the reunion, I remembered the mean things didn't like. One I call the cafeteria games. The cliques. I was a floater, I hung around the stoners, the kids who were "too old to be in HS", cheerleaders, nerds, the poor kids, the rich kids (which always amazes me, as no one was either rich or poor in our community). I know if it weren't for sports or the fact that 50% of us went from elementary to high school together, no one would probably ever talked to me or gotten to know me. It still holds the same now, most days, particularity during my lunch break with co-workers, my name is "I know you, you're that poet". It's cool, but at the same time, it feels high schoolishly awkward, and I immediately want to "shrink into the reddish mocha hues in my skin". I guess I get embarrassed from the attention/recognition. I watch people on the poetry scene and at my place of employment continue to play those same games (or assume roles). In the venue or during work meetings, all these fools need are: team-mates, equipment and the appropriate playing field. it's humorously painful to watch. I remember hating that game. Who's popular. Who's the smartest. Who's the cutest. Who's most athletic. Who's _________ (fill in the blank). Who's got the best goal for the quarter. Who spit fire that night.. BLAH BLAH BLAH.... And what's funnier is some try to re-create the "glory" days by poorly assuming a role that was never Theresa in the first place. Or they return with a vengeance, ala the nerd returning as the stud no one believed could look so good. But if you listen close, you can hear the nerd clawing thru his uncomfortably thin skin, dying to be revealed... (A manager in my building... You can see nerd from the implants in his hair to the overpriced metro-sexual ala Express for MEN dress shirts) I mean, why? Why is it necessary to recreate yourself for others? In that I am reminded that people are as neurotically insecure as I am. Just unable, unwilling, or maybe dying inside to admit it. I want to be revealed. It is how I keep myself grounded. "Monthly I wonder if I am being a fraud, but I know some are more fraudulent than me" a paraphrase from THE WAY WE WERE.
I think about this mostly because last night during poetry I watched a poet whom I respect, struggle with himself and his self image..... and I know he could really care less about what I think...... REALLY... He went thru the discomfort of little if any energy from the crowd, his perception of what the audience wanted, his own drunkenness ;0) his desire to perform new pieces, and being his OWN MAN, as he always is.... I mean he rambled incoherently at times, pushed past levels of inebriation I've known in any spoken word performance, cursed patrons (he didn't but it would appear that way) and after the 50th nigga, or 34th motherfckr, (I lost count after that) I thought he is always himself.... or is he. I know this man he is probably one of the most prolific characters in my lifetime, and a better writer... yet, even he gets lost at times.... and that hurts....
And in the midst of everything and everyone, fakeness, realness, all to realness, keeping it realness, I remember you can never keep it too real, unless you are being yourself...
thanks, fluke flawless for reminding me that it's okay to be me....

Sister, You Can Handle It........ If no one else can...

She's faced the hardest times
you could imagine
and many times her eyes fought back the tears
and when her youthful world
was about to fall in
each time her slender shoulders
bore the weight of all her fears
and a sorrow no one hears
still rings in midnight silence,
in her ears

Wildflower..... The New Birth

Call me Barcardi

"Sometimes I feel like cheap liquor, I'm on the lips of people for all the wrong reasons."
evil miK

Poetry, Groupies, Crushes & Stalkers......

Okay.... I have a friend. She's about 5'9/5"10 ish, a deep mocha with red undertones, brown eyes, clear complexion with the exception of an extreme battle with eczema along her chinline... She hates taking pictures, because no matter the angle, the condition, she believes, is similar to a five o'clock shadow. At times she's confusing, 'cuz she has some distinct feminine ways, with tomboyish qualities, devilish grin, and can carry a good conversation, when she wants to. On the poetry scene she dresses like a frat boy or a trendy metrosexual, for the most part, being fond of Abercrombie and Fitch jeans, expensive, trendy t-shirts, Banana Republic linen, men's Tommy Hilfiger dress shirts, and flip flops... She's abandoning the idea of bandanas, having only worn them because her dark brown locks with cinnamon ends were in that 'tween stage, not quite shoulder length, not short enough. She's digging on one person... Really digging on that person. And she's getting volatilely tired of the crushing.. If you're still crushing, and not getting ANYTHING IN RETURN, it's not a game.
I'm not hating on her. The sister's got a cute thing going, but she's not that fcking cute. And while she's peculiar, or as a friend labels her, quirky, she is not that fcking interesting, either...
I know, because she's me....
My life has changed dramatically since the inception of this spoken word "thing." But after, having spent a week in Baltimore, having contact with only my family, and a handful of others, I realized something very important.. I didn't miss _________, well, a lot of things.
Poetry has been a blessing, I have established at least two lifelong friendships based on mutual honesty, trust and respect (Langston and SISTERMENTORFRIEND), as well as the building of solid relationships with others. I have also lost people and at times myself, along the way. I am reminded why I stopped writing in undergrad. Everyone has their own agenda. I am not that competitive, nor is my ego tied into this shit. Yet, to paraphrase a sister from another web-blog, a dirty book bag, a notebook full of words, the ability to rhyme, and the esteem to get upon a stage and spit your thoughts to an audience, does not make you a poet. Everyone is not and cannot be a "successful poet". I like to write, and have been told I'm good at it. I think it's easy for me to do to some degree, but not just creatively. Yet, I majored in English, in addition to graduate courses. That could make a difference.
To quote one of my favorite movies, don't laugh, The Way We Were.
"In a way (s)he was like the country (s)he lived in. Everything came too easily to (her) him...but at least (s)he knew it. About once a month, (s)he worried that (s)he was a fraud. But almost everyone (s)he knew was more fraudulent."
Hubbel Gardiner, The All American Smile
See, it's all a game. No matter what they say, it's a game from the slam to the open mic. Most are prostituting for points, if not tricking for sex, money, fame, adoration, self-esteem, acceptance... It's an ugly realization. Think about it. There are some huge casualties as well. One is this "creation" of YOU, which is not even a decent body double. People, and sometimes you, begin to believe your own press. Bad choice. I refuse to subscribe to the paper and work diligently on not reading it, see I miss my privacy. And I want it back. I miss being able to walk into a poetry venue and listen to poetry without someone reading into it. An example, "she didn't speak to me, _________." Well if my mouth appears broken, what the fck is wrong with yours? Speak and then find out if I'm not speaking or not. It would never cross your mind that I never walked thru the audience talking to people, even at the old spot. Remember how I used to wave and hang around the rail? Of course not, that would be too simple, or just, the truth.
I am not interested in "fcking" nor have I "fcked" anyone on the poetry scene. If another bi curious female/lesbian or poet comes onto me or asks another question about me I am going to fcking scream. Even if I were available, I would not be interested in anyone on the POETRY SCENE (NO POETS, NO AUDIENCE MEMBERS). You don't know me. What you see on stage is NOT A GOOD REPRESENTATION OF WHO I AM. I am neurotically insecure, introverted, and I want what you want, someone to like and maybe even, love me for who I am. In spite of and despite my best efforts, I can be crazy. A side note: I have seen a few work, but they keep their socialization out of the watchful eye of the public....
There is a fine line between a crush and stalking (I feel you Mo). There is a fine line between curiosity and being nosy. There is an even finer line between what you think, what I think and the reality of a situation. Or better yet my life. I am older than most on the scene. I have a career, not a gig to hold me until this poetry thing kicks off (I have no intention on the poetry thing kicking off, I want retirement. I will support your cause.) I have a mortgage with no room-mates, and have a life that is far more important than the 3-4 hours I spend on the "scene". And lately, the viciousness of the 3-4 hours is far greater than the rewards.
While in B-More I learned or remembered.
Lesson 1: It's better to be seen than heard. No, I'm not going to come in at 10:00 pm while people are on the mic, walk thru a crowd to speak to you. If you are on the side, at the DJ table, or in the back, I can always talk to you.
Lesson 2: I have someone and somethings in my life outside of those 3-4 hours a week. I picked up habits called a job, a life, and an involvement. It occupies my time and my mind. I go to poetry to relax, not date, gossip or pick up anyone or thing (and believe me sometimes there is no difference).
Lesson 3: (the most important one) I got this from my Grand when I was a child... "If you spent more thinking about/working on _____________, than on ____________, you would be successful and could get anything you want out of life.
When I was a CHILD a person would fill the second blank.... People, I am no longer a CHILD.
Lesson 4: If you have to ask me about this, than we probably were never cool in the first place. I don't want to hear anything about anybody unless it's something good. And I don't want you to tell me anything anybody said about me... 'cuz I don't care.
Lesson 5: I want to live happy, die happy and I want to become a better person in between.
Lesson 6: When I told an associate about the poetry scene when I first came on she believed instantly that I had made a lot of friends. I told her then, as I continue to believe. A common interest and a common meeting place does not make us friends.

4afraid/fear/afriend

i turn my back from my hurts,
to look directly into the eyes of your pain...
i ignore the smell of discontent,
to inhale the distance
that falls between what is real
and make believe..
me to you...
it is pungent...
sometimes i suffer from
delusions of adequacy..
snub, accepting things that are normal..
like, you not being here when i need you,
or me, wanting more than you can give,
as it has been with them all..
i guess that makes me foolish....
but, what does it make you?

Back 2 Life Back 2 Reality....

I am stuffed... Yes, I have had yet another Lump crab cake. This time with fried shrimp and sourdough rolls. I washed it down with a Heinekin, a sweet mango drink and a power-ade. I have a slight buzz, my back's hurting and my feet are throbbing!!!!
I have never walked this much in my entire life. I spent the day in DC. No I did not visit most "historic" monuments and other geography/history answers to middle school quizzes. After arriving at the Federal Triangle station, we walked a few blocks to M and something or other Grill. I pigged out on tilapia with chile lime sauce, grilled asparagus and carrots, which was off the chain, though a bit overpriced. After the meal, my co-workers and I went our separate ways. Them for history, me for Our-history and future....there wasn't much time for a formal tour so I caught the train to the Shaw/Howard station and went straight to Howard University. Every city I visit, I look for and try to visit one or both of the following areas, depending on the time I have available: 1) an Historically Black College/University or 2) a black community. I want to see where we live and/or how we are educated.... In addition to touring Howard University, I went to the African American Civil War Museum. Now, I did walk past and catcha glimpse of the White House, Lincoln Memorial, Pentagon, Courts, etc... a walking mini tour so to speak....
Last night was a POETRY WASH..... Marc hooked me up with a dude, Dry Fish, but he was busy doing something or other. He called pretty late and well, I was doing my own thing. All in all, I had lost faith in the Balitimore Poetry scene sans Talaam or Marc. Dry Fish stated the joint was kind of rowdy, or at least that's what I heard him say.
Tomorrow, I am suppose to return to the great State of Texas. Still not sure, as I have friends in DC who will be free for the weekend, and New York is only a train ride away...
All in all, I like it here, it's what I imagined, except the poverty and loitering is unimaginable... There are some places in this city that look EXACTLY like The Wire and The Corner. I know it's was filmed here, but DAMN! Not outside New York or maybe (old) New Orleans, have I seen people nodding out on the fcking streets. Not just one, I mean a LOT... I saw this lady carrying a trash bag of personal items and she was like a nod walking. Every few steps she would stop dead in her tracks and lean..... Tonight near the Harbor, a dude was dressed in plastic bags sleeping on a park bench. Yesterday during lunch, on the way to the Market, I walked past a man sleeping on the sidewalk, he was SNORING. It's pretty depressing, and am not sure how it would impact me in the long run, cuz my heart goes out to the mentally ill and chemically dependent. I have worked with the population most of my adult life. It's very sobering, and different than the homelessness, mental health issues, and chemical dependency that impact my community and state. It, like my throbbing feet, are reminders that it would be too painful for me to bear, I do not belong here, and I am only a visitor...
Baltimore is a beautiful city, full of people who look just like me... I mean there are strong black bodies, pretty and handsome black faces, grand proud black smiles, and black laughter despite the oppressive situations. It has a strong Black/African American History. I checked out the African American Muesum yesterday. It was a gorgeous building/facility. I believe it was Fredrick Douglas who said, to paraphrase, "I am purchasing property, where I was once considered property."
So maybe I didn't need to go to a poetry spot to get what I needed, perhaps the spoken words I needed were those inaudible sounds and movements from the belly of the city, the faces of the people, the history of it's streets, and the blood in it's voice, that also glistens it's lips....it has truly been an inspiration, indeed....
I pray that we are watching the same stars and that our worlds are not as far away as we believe, and not much different than what it seems.... so, dream.. dream with me...

Bald eh more?

Okay, so I'm standing on the corner of St. Charles and Baltimore. I had just eaten crab cakes and grilled mahi mahi, so my belly's tight and full... and I am buzzing, slightly, from the Heineken, the bustle around me, and the fact that every corner I turn, there is someone who looks exactly like me.... It is BEAUTIFUL....
Shit eating grin, looking like a country assed second cousin twice removed. ( I really don't look country, just i know i look like a tourist cuz everything is so new to me..) I flag a cab, "8 E. Preston, please." I am hyped, as I am going to get a fix of some poetry, a little jazz, and some slow grain (alcohol). The cab driver gives me the run around to earn an extra buck or two, I'm cool. I know the route and I know what he's doing so I just talk to him a bit, letting him know that I know he took the wrong turn.
I get to the spot.. The cabbie and I, he slightly annoyed as he has another call, look for the Cafe.... There is no Yours, Mine, Ours Cafe anyfrickinwhere in sight. He let's me off, insisting, operatative word, insisting, that this is the place. After surveying the area, scanning for bus stops and foot traffic, I reluctantly pay the $9.00, get out of the cab and enter what's suppose to be the Cafe. Instead, I find a smoky local bar, the patrons look cool, but it's not the poetry spot I was feigning for. I ask the waitress if this was the place, she stated....
"This bar has changed names a few times. There hasn't been any poetry here for at least a year. I've been here that long. Funny, there was another woman here earlier looking for poetry. She said she got if off the internet. She had the same look on her face as you have. She wasn't too happy either."
What the hell?
I walk out onto Preston and think to myself, "where do I go from here?" I walk back to St. Charles, which is now a one way street, going the opposite direction of my hotel, and I notice a bus coming in my direction. I decide to walk two or three blocks to another street, and guess what comes my way? The number 11 (my favorite number) and it appears to be heading in the direction I need to go. I flag it and hop on. It drops me off one block from my hotel. $1.60. Now, I'm not cheap, but it has cost me $10.60 to go I know only about 2 miles in 20 minutes. (Who's the cheap whore, I ask? Then laugh, cuz I know it's me, I got fucked for $10.60.) So, aside from not getting any poetry tonight. I'm starting to feel pretty bummed 'cuz Talaam and Marc are not in town and I'm on my own, except of course the, now known, unreliable information contained in an unmentioned website...
HOWEVER, my village did raise a child who can look on the bright side.... the chance that there is poetry tomorrow will keep me alive. Wednesday is anything can happen day!
Aside from the adventure. I am having a good time. I have wandered around the city doing, for the most part, what I want. I am eating lots of REAL seafood! Almost as good as the Cape. I have been able to successfully dodge my coworkers, and have some alone time. Occasionally, there was an experience or two that I would want to share with that special someone. Hopefully we will make it back on vacation....The harbor is beautiful at night and I am thinking about you.....
Tonight, I looked into the depth of night and caught a glimpse of your smile... the cool of darkness pulled my jacket closer, pulling me close, the way your arms do during the silence of our dreams.... in that moment I missed you, needed you, and wanted you, more than you would ever know....

rainbowed rollercoasters

your dreams wrestled my rainbows leaving a pot of golden tears.....
she loved you, still does, despite the rainbowed rollercoaster she rides almost daily to be presently available in your shadow.... somehow believing if she stood patiently strong, one day the rain that drowns your dreams would dissipate, and allow the vibrant colors of her love, to still you... to allow you to rest peacefully, if only for a moment.
she pays to wait in line. she pays with time and tears that seem to race backward... time slows and allows her to swallow her pain.. walk head high for the both of you, even when yours is too heavy to cast a reflection. cuz someone has to be strong. someone has to be there in case, you allow yourself to show up for you.... and she, well, she just wants to bear witness to your successes. even if it's only once in her lovetime.
she cries silently, sharing your pain. on some days she believes it is the only thing you share. her words whisper prayers to breezes, believing those northerly winds, would somehow, one day, wisp the heaviness from your core and allow you to soar. she wants to blow the dust from your wings with cotton candy flavored kisses, even if you are unable to taste the sweetness in their intent.
she re-reads the notes from your good days, when life is light, and love colours the skies... she prays that autumn will bring promises and hope.. promises that will not be kept... hope that falls short of wanning desires.... the description of cinnamon, peony, freshia, and citrus fruits creating a life together, just shy of reality....
she knows, she knows that she is a leaf hanging desperately, fighting her nature to hold on... fight against herself, as it is in the complexity of her temper to let go.... to blow aimlessly, touching everything momentarily, to her there is
no permanence in another...
no permanence in this lifetime...
no permanence in living in memories of love long lost....
and the only thing that waits at the end of the rainbowed rollercoaster is a pot of golden tears....

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......