Sensuality, Eroticism, Vulgarity, Pornography and Poetry REVISED

I was listening to one of my favorite poets. She has a beautiful poem, entitled "Untitled". It is a haunting poem discussing the lack of positivity and romantic archetypes for black women. Particularity little black girls who seemingly obtain their ideas related to femininity, sexism, sensuality and the definition of being a woman from music videos. Videos which stereotype women. Women, who seemingly make choices to pursue the career as what has been dubbed "video ho". Music videos have become modern day soft porn, with some videos with content so explicit that they must be shown after hours. No, I am not preaching. No, I am not prudish. No, I am not hating. Just bringing up a point. I have beautiful little nieces. My friends have equally as beautiful little girls. And I fear that the subconscious messages that are being sent thru print and media are destructive to a little girl's dreams and goals. I believe that the message regarding a little girl's self esteem and sexuality needs to be addressed.
Many things happened over the last couple of weeks. I've been listening to the cd since I coped it from Funky Mike. 1) I have become a bit more conscious of erotic poetry because of our venue. Restaurant. 2) Erotic vs Sensuality, few are able to discern the difference. 3) Why it seems to be becoming popular at our venue. Aside from the two poets known for erotic poetry, I believe the others are doing it to elicit a reaction from the audience, i.e . popularity. 4) When is it disrespectful? And does the poet know that fine line? 5) I sat and observed a couple of people who ogled and literally stripped every woman with a glance who passed. Even more disturbing.. they were woman. 6) I watched the little girl "crunk" dancing in the Rize video.
Untitled particularity struck a cord last Thursday afternoon. I was riding around doing errands listening to the cd. And almost, for the very first time, since Nationals, almost out of no where, I heard "...spread your legs monkey bitch, you know you want this.... that ni%%a wench you pulled a train on.... the main attraction on a cruise line of christians." And I was spelled bound. And in that moment it all made sense. I was thinking of the previous night of poetry. It took a turn and I for the life of me could not understand how or why. I remember being angered, incensed on various levels. Don't get me wrong it was a hot night of poetry. It's just, on some levels as I watched the audience reaction to what was being said on stage
Sexuality aside. I am not a fan of erotic poetry. Mostly because the AVERAGE POET does it with LITTLE if ANY TASTE. Leaving nothing to the imagination and often comes across more vulgar than erotic. Secondly, I believe the poet mistakes a reaction for a response. Thirdly, which brings me to my point. The audience is predominately black women. Like most black women, women in general, I've had my share of unwanted advances, perverse, inappropriate behaviors, vulgar gestures, as well as overall disrespect and disregard for my boundaries and space. I don't know if I can attribute having a father, a grandmother who made sure I was aware of the birds and the bees, or having a village of independent, strong women that allows me to have a quiet strength and dignity about my role as a woman, confidence regarding my power as a woman, and complete control and feelings of security regarding my sexuality and sensuality. In other words I know who I am and what I am about. Today, I don't question it. And it pains me to observe on some levels that we as a collective don't have that same level of consciousness. That we continue to allow ourselves to be subjected and ridiculed, almost as if we are nothing more than sheer entertainment, or worse, our presence seen as simple foreplay.
It angers me to here young women reduce themselves to Lil' Kim and Trina poetry, using descriptives such as "rub your d--- in my t---- and cum in my face" or "my lesbian experience has made me more than a freak". Worse, the word clit being used more that ten times in what would be describe as poetry. Also, are you willing to spit this "erotic" poetry at every venue? I mean is it really you? Are you mimicing someone else's style because you see the repsonse they recieve. Shocking people into a REACTION does not mean you are getting a FAVORABLE RESPONSE. I know, people will read this and read far more into it than what's written on the page. The truth of the matter is when i go to a poetry venue, I don't want to hear the intimate details of your sexual exploits. I don't want to know what type of freak you are. I don't want to know the many ways you know how to make someone "cum." I don't want to see how desperate you are. What I'd like to hear is a poetic description of your fantasies. I'd like to be given a glimpse of your sexual powers and prowess. I'd like for you to make me want you because of your words..... I remember the first time I heard Taalam do Aura Number One or watched Marc Marcel place his chain on the mic and spit his piece... Twain, my gosh the flow and aliteration alone is enough to buy velcro panties as Cousin would say. My brother Langston do one of his many pieces.. I said to myself they know what's up. Not one of these people used vulgarity to make a point. They utilized their vocabulary and their imagination, to entice and enthrall me. And believe me... they make many points while on stage. Now, like (W)RAP we get anyone and everyone spitting pieces for shock value. So, anyone reading help these people out, here are a few definitions:
erotic - 1 : of, devoted to, or tending to arouse sexual love or desire 2 : strongly marked or affected by sexual desire

sensual - 1 : relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of appetite : FLESHLY2 : SENSORY

vulgar(ity) - a : lacking in cultivation, perception, or taste : COARSE b : morally crude, undeveloped, or unregenerate : GROSS c : ostentatious or excessive in expenditure or display : PRETENTIOUS5 a : offensive in language : EARTHY b : lewdly or profanely indecent

pornography - 1 : the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement2 : material (as books or a photograph) that depicts erotic behavior and is intended to cause sexual excitement3 : the depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick intense emotional reaction

I recieved a comment from another poet who does a great piece which is just damn funny. Immediately I was reminded of not only her, but Da'Shade's piece regarding STDs which is also humorous. I wanted to include them because I wanted to make sure that the readers knew where I am coming from.

A Million Reasons Not To Book Your Own Gig...

Remember Holy Man with Eddie Murphy? Think Coming to America. Remember Eddie Murphy's character? Akeem? Okay, take it a step further, imagine that he's gay.... Okay, I know some of you believe Eddie is gay, but I'm talking about the movie character. Below, a story. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.
On Saturday, after the youth slam, Nancy and I headed over to the Doubletree Hotel. I promised a co-worker that I would perform a piece at his friend Eddie's party. The party it turns out, is a cd release/going away party. Upon arrival, we meet my co-worker Kerry in the parking lot. He informs us that the party is in a room separate from the main building and it would be better to park out back. Nancy and I return to the car and drive toward the back of the hotel. As we park, a car rushes past us and escorts "some one" into a back door into the party room. We're not easily impressed, but become somewhat concerned as we are dressed casually. Me in my poet uniform of blue jeans, t-shirt and running jacket. She, totally out of uniform, with jeans, blouse and heels.
We walk around to the other side of the building. Mostly a mixed ethnic, gender, and sexuality crowd. We enter the party room. There are quite a few people sitting at tables, mingling, talking. I had only spoken to Eddie on the phone, so I had no idea what he looked like. In addition, Kerry was no where to be found. So I walked over to a young woman, let's call her Miss and asked her if she knew Eddie and where I could find him. She stated yes, that he was preparing to go on stage. She then pointed to another door. I said, "thanks Miss."Upon first glance, I saw a man about 5'7 feet tall, dressed in a white linen pant suit (it's still winter) getting make up and hair prepared by a stylist. Still not easily impressed, I walked over to another man introduced myself and asked if I could go in. Now, at this time, I am a little taken a back, as I am questioned in rapid succession. "Who are you? What are you going to do? Oh you're the poet? What do you have? Do you have anything on friendship, love, going away? How much time do you need? Not more than five minutes I hope? Are you a professional?" By this time I am frustrated, but managed to smile weakly as I look toward Nancy for guidance. Then out of no where, Eddie walks up, with the thickest Nigerian American homosexual slur have ever heard in my entire life. One you could have bought my ass for free, and you guys know how much I love my ass. Two no one could have ever told me that I'd met a Nigerian effeminate homosexual. (No I am not being bigoted!). Three he sounded and looked like fcking Eddie Murphy from Coming To America except he was wearing the damn Holy Man outfit, with that jacked up fro/dread lock thing he tried to do for a minute. You know the one where they tease little horns/tips all over the place. Now, Nancy has begun the glaze over... This is a look that I have become familiar with. While she has a poker face, the glaze over often means we are going to laugh our asses off thru tears once we get back to the car. "Hell O Keem. Itz ah pley zhur to meat choo. Ker E haz tool me so mouch a botchoo. So glad datchoo maid it." He says. I am starting to feel a bit more at ease, despite the tears that are starting to collect in the corner of my eyes. Eddie at least calms Arsenio down for a moment. Because I felt like he was interrogating me for all the wrong reasons. Hell, I was doing them a favor. By now, I know I cannot look over at Nancy, because I wear most emotions on my face. Can't whisper worth a damn. And can't fight. So, I am straining not to burst out in uncontrollable laughter and answer the questions. "Nice to meet you, Eddie. Thanks for having me." Turning to Arsenio, I ask, "Nancy , what do you suggest?. "You could do one of the Harlem pieces they always work." "Okay. I will do one of those. Arsenio, do you need to hear it for content or appropriateness." "No, I can see you're a professional."
Okay.. Finally. Kerry shows up, introduces us to his ex, and his new boyfriend, another couple seated at the table and his room mate Miss. We exchange introductions. Nancy and I have a seat at a table. Showtime. I spit my piece. Get my mad respect from the crowd. Walk back to my table to watch the remainder of the show. Pretty average. Local artists. One sings. The other WRAPS. Then the grand show.... Eddie walks on stage, every one in the room is smiling, clapping, this fool opens his mouth and .........
Well, to be nice... it sounded like a warped version of the Lion King meets The Chorus Line soundtrack. American Idol worst takes out of Africa. To say it was HORRIBLE is an understatement. Kerry walks over to me and whispers, "I told you he wasn't the greatest singer." Again an understatement. Did I mention this was his CD RELEASE PARTY? To make matters worse... Remember the young lady? Kerry states, "My room-mate, he wants to take a picture with you. Oh, I'm sorry, I can't get used to saying her. She's very happy now though. Since she had the surgery. She says she want to come on Wednesday nights." What da fck? I know it was a little dark in there. I also know sometimes I don't pay attention once I've assessed I'm not in immediate danger. But hell, I just thought... The one I kept call Miss, was not a very attractive woman. And in that moment it.... the one who had been staring at me all night long. I mean, IT turned it's chair around to face me, looking at me, dreamy like, smiling, little touches, brushes across my leg, not paying attention to the show, rolling it's eyes at Nancy... I mean I noticed it, but I thought maybe she was looking at Nancy or mayber the dudes at the other table. (Nancy and Kerry both later confirmed that it was me Miss was looking at. Kerry taking it further stating Miss thought I was in the venacular "fine". Miss came over to take a picture. Nancy's smart ass moves away, as if she's not going to join in. I grab her arm, and she whispers, "you know that's not a woman don't you." In this moment I am literally fcked up. Miss lays over on my leg grinning like a ______ (anything I say will not be appropriate so you fill in the blank). Anyway, we take the picture. I pray it doesn't find it's way to the internet.... Now I know my gender bending androgynous ass attracts almost anything and everything... If there's a bi-curious male or female in the room they will try to talk to me, but a post op transgendered homosexual male or is it a transgendered lesbian who was trapped in a man's body? That shyt is BRAND NEW... even to me... By now.. those that know me know I AM LOOKING AT MY WATCH AND THE DOOR.... LOOKING FOR A QUICK OUT.... Nancy is glazed over twenty times over, so I know we are in for a few hours of laughs... And as I am trying to recuperated, fcking Eddie walks over.. "u knot E ting? cum on tri af ree kan fud. itz gud. u eet sum ding. you wur gr8. we muss werk tu geth r." I'm thinking you gotta be kidding me... long short.... we finally leave. Not without Miss, pressing up on me a few more times, then HUGS me as we leave.... Ahhhh.. no more favors. no more free ninety nine performances. no more booking my own shows.....

Some of my best friends are black....

remember back in the day
when everyone was conscious
and down for the struggle
love brought us together
just sitting back and talking
cultivating a positive vibe
blue lights in the basement
freedom was at hand
you could just taste it,
it was so cool..
I'm Digging You (Like An Old Soul Record)
Meshell Ndegeocello 1993

My mother and step father were members of the Nation of Islam during the early seventies. As a pre-teen I read the Autobiography of Angela Davis, The Autobiography of Malcom X, Soul on Ice, the poems of Sonya Sanchez, June Jordan, Etheridge Knight, and Nikki Giovanni. Most of course were accompanied by the dictionary. I was to look up every word I didn't know the meaning of, in order to expand my vocabulary and obtain "the true meaning" of the text. The "required" reading continued well thru High School, when eventually, my participation in athletics and other after-school activities kept me occupied. It was thru the required reading that I seemingly developed a "pride" in my heritage, my people. I knew the difference between being proud to be black, the need to associate myself as such and the "color". That identifying myself as anything else would be to turn my back on the people who struggled for "rights" which were not afforded to "niggas". To identify myself as "African American" was to claim, maybe, one aspect of myself and my ethnicity. (Since the cradle of civilization is Africa, then all people, black and white can claim to be african american. and a white south african can check the african american box if they so desired.) Besides if and when the war comes to American soil, I don't believe they are going to bomb African Americans, Native Americans, Irish Americans, ect. I believe they are going to bomb Americans.
I must admit. I have always believed I had an infinity for my people. That, while at times a few bring an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, due to their self imposed inappropriateness, I have always been able to recover. To contribute their lack of appropriateness to lower socio-economic conditions and deprivation. Never, had I believed that I had "bought" into "racism", black on black racism that is.
On Friday, I attended my best-male friend's feature. It was held in a little "nite club". Upon entering, I realized the crowd had "changed" considerably from the previous month. There was a "hip hop" act showcasing before the poetry reading. The club, a very small one, with one way in and one way out was filled with.. Soldiers posing as wannabe gangsta rappers, and thugs posing as soldiers. There were the few locals who just wanted to.. Well, wanted to fit into the stereotypical mold that MTV, BET and the local news have created for them. Reeked of kryptonite (new slang for THC) drank Patron tequlila and Hypnotic, because MTV, BET, Rappers, the American media (print, visual and hearing) and peer pressure dictated they do such. Most wore the gangsta rapper uniform, baseball cap, gaudy jewelry, large belt buckles, XXXL t-shirts, blue jeans much too big for them with their boxer shorts exposed. Along with the modern day brand, black tattoos which represented things that are "important" in their lives. They threw up gang signs, snarled and grimaced, spoke loudly and harshly as a means of showing their toughness and expressing their manhood. And I became, as the night wore on, extremely uncomfortable. The people in my group would often express their dismay with the noise level coming from their corner. Each time some one in my group commented toward them, I moved, believing that a fight or altercation would erupt any second. I was teased, my girl stated I was from the "scaryho" tribe. And in that moment, I was. Except I was afraid for all the wrong reasons. This was not a healthy fear. There was no immediate danger. Only the "idea" of danger, because some one said I should be afraid under these circumstances. I was afraid in the way that most would describe as "white" fear. The truth of the matter was that these young men represented nothing more than a statistic or local news story. All relating to crime, substance abuse, victimization, ect. And I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed for having the thoughts. Ashamed for not believing that, they, like me, were there for simple artistic expression. Nothing more. The uniform they wore, the feelings they masked, their overt behaviors, were simply nothing more than who they were in that moment. But I couldn't. I couldn't get past the statistics and news stories. All I could think was: Security is not checking any one for weapons. How am I going to get out of here when they shyt hits the fan? I found myself watching. Watching closely because every one was suspect. And I was ashamed. And I was angry. And I was besides myself. And I fought myself. But I lost. I lost because I could not see those men for who they truly were... or at least acknowledge the possibly of who they could be.... And that night, as everyone discussed the night, including my standing in a booth reciting my piece, stomping on a table, spilling a drink on Cousin, forgeting my poem. All I could think was how I exposed my personal bigotry, and was left naked, wearing a thinly veiled sheet. Ashamed that perhaps, like so many, I have forgotten who I was, bought into black on black racism, and had become a member of the modern day Klan....

Harlem's Transgression

My deepest wish is to turn my back on self and time to give you what you truly desire. Me. I would give back my fear and insecurity. Forget every time my heart was shattered with a simple kiss or broken promise. Learn to forgive myself for letting myself down. Remember that sometimes the best lessons are those which come from experience, but not allow those experiences, no matter how disappointing, to define me or my life. To learn to really give what I want in order to receive it in return. Learn that unconditional is just that unconditional. Not keep score. Every opportunity to forgive is an opportunity to expand our possibilities. Learn that while I speak well, and make good arguments that I am not always right. To walk away, because there are things that should never be said. Hold hands longer. Kiss even longer. Say I love you often.

Motherless hugs have left my arms heavy, my heart weary, my mind weighed, body paralyzed from anxiety, apprehension and fear. Love and life lessons which, while I try diligently to learn, leave me frustrated and wrought with failure. It is in those times, as confusing as it seems, I want you to hold me as a mother would. Comforting me, loving me, unconditionally. Yet, today, I remembered, that no matter what, you have never let go. You've not let go since that fateful rainy day when you coyly smiled at me and said, "I'm not flirting with you. People often think I'm flirting with them. They get the wrong impression." And you laughed. Thru your laughter I saw the brown of your eyes, and longed to be lost in them. One day. And by no act of my own, I am afforded the opportunity to not only get lost in your eyes, but to seek shelter in your arms...

I am learning to let go of fear and my past. And while I don't need most. I do need you. My insolence will not always allow me to let go of my foolish pride and admit it. I love you. I need you. I want you. I wish you knew how much.....

The Mic was Nice...

What do we do for the next poet? Show 'em some love. What do we do for the next poet? Show 'em some love. Neo-Soul show your love for...................................
Okay. Am not sure where to start. But last night was off the friggin chain. Mostly hot from beginning to end. (There were a few glitches in the matrix) Yes, we did miss a few folk hint hint wink wink. I drank myself past my nervousness... Way to go James!!!!!! 'Cuz, uhh, well, see the little girl up there? That's how I feel the moment I step on the mic til the end of the night. Dep did the damn thang with his cute self. Big ups to 'Chelle who rocked a new piece. East Texas rocked the night with a new piece, kind of gansta with an English accent. I'm going to start calling her Ms. Dynamite or what's the name of the rapper out of England that rocked it with Latifiah on Ladies' First. Angel, our little blogger spy did that damn thang keeping the night erotic like. Yup, if you heard it you would ALWAYS USE FALLEN before you said Angel... Hustle dj's and it felt like Neo of old.... It was off the chain.. Damn Relentle and Cousin, we might have to start limiting the number of slots. It's blowing up in there.... Brian finally did "Whatever Turns You On" ending the night with a bang.. And yes. I am VERY HUNG OVER TODAY.... Cannot wait for next week.... the ever amazing, bringing the house down...Kevin Sandbloom!!!! then ohhhhhh my goshhhhhh the 15th. Hint ".... if too much sugar makes you sick, spoils your appetite for just the smell of dinner there a certain flavors of women you should not consume..." the too much

Coretta Scott King

An American Hero.... RIP.

"Many despair at all the evil and unrest and disorder in the world today but I see a new social order and I see the dawn of a new day." Coretta Scott King

This morning, thru sleep, I ironed a pair of pants in an effort to dash out of the door to get to work as the news anchor announced "Mrs. Coretta Scott King died in her sleep while recieivng alternative treatment at a clinic in Mexico." Immediately, I was hurt. One, because the news media has been broadcasting the "rift" between her children regarding the control and oversight of Dr. King's Memorial and two, some how I believed Reverend Brother"man" Al Sharpton will somehow utilize her death as a means of promoting his own manipulative agenda. While, I have my own ideas regarding the Civil Rights Movement and those persons who recieved credit for various activities.... Her quiet dignity and perserverance cannot be ignored.

(S)he

She's never been told that she was ugly. It has always been the look. The twice over glance, the once over the shoulder. She catches them off guard. She is an arrival at the exact moment. A departure moments too soon. She's beautiful and doesn't know it. Her insecurities mask the pain that she endures daily. Often hoping to catch a glimpse of her self passing by.... Her silent confidence betrays her.. Causes others to whisper. Her quiet arrogance, oft not believing she's better than others, just all knowing... Selflessly aware of her presence and the consequences of such.. Her frailties, her inadequacies glaring and blinding her, leading her toward the path of abandoned destruction. As they see, only what they want to see . Like the others, they never truly see her. They see the reflection of their judgment mirrored in the coffee brown of her eyes... A bottlomless view toward self assessed discovery. She's beautiful and doesn't know it. Whispers and jeers from others hurt, scathe. The androgynous mystic of her core, is what attracts them to her... Charming, chivalrous, mannerable flirtatious, unattainable, unapproachable to both sexes, yet they are truly baffled by her magnetism. They are drawn to her, like the illusive riches that lie just past the rainbow. Life riches, or so it seems.... Only to find she is emotionally bankrupt and morally discharged. Desperation of her voice wanting only, that which she craves... An equal.... She's beautiful and doesn't know it. She doesn't know why they fear their curiosity and place the blame upon her. Her sexuality and intimacy are just that, hers... There are no overt or covert gestures to suggest otherwise, yet they balk at her incessant pleas to be left alone or feign hurt when passively ignored..She... Prefers the companionship of solitude and aloneness... Never being faithful to either lover, but loving them just the same, as they satisfy her cardinal natures and desires. She will never understand the pointless need for them to speak in shadows that seemingly scream. She's beautiful but doesn't know it. Scrapped knees, crooked teeth, skin and bones. Dresses fall off corners of frail shoulders. Slight tears and small rips from playing too hard. She plays hard to forget. Pulls hair in tight pony tail, no bangs, no big fru-fru curls. Her father is her hero. She emulates him, not because she's tomboyish, but because he's her only parent. Girly things need mothers, there are no mothers, only great-grand and grand.. She remembers in 3rd grade boy yells, "Your mother is old." She cries. She cries. She cries. She's beautiful but doesn't know it... They have always liked her. Wanted to be her friend. They have always loved her. Wanted to be near her. Felt the need to fill her voids. They love her hair. Her coy smile. The insecure gap in her walk. They say, "she looks like she needs to be taken care of..." And they try. They leave hurt. She doesn't understand. Nor do they. She will never recognize her beauty, nor will she understand their need to blame her for it....

Hosting, Balancing and Feedback.....

I have been hosting now for nearly a month, having two open mics under my belt and one slam. What I've learned so far:
1 - i really should have thought about it before i took the job on.
2 - no matter how much you run, there will always be that one person who feels the need to constantly remind you that they are in the room and have not read, or must read next, etc.
3 - you cannot enjoy a meal, even if you arrive 1 hour prior to the show start.. see number 2.
4 - you cannot make a person hot no matter who you sandwich them between.
5 - someone always wants to read twice, even when you say there is no more room or not enough time.
6 - it's better not to carry the list with you so that people don't constantly look over your shoulder. see number 2.
7 - do something nice weekly for element 615 'cuz he will save your ass each and every time.
8 - i really should have thought about it before i took the job on.
9 - no matter what you do, how you do it, someone is going to think that you did something wrong.

Ainsley was an incredible feature. Twain was hot as always. I absolutely love both men's poetry and style. And Twain is absolutely adorable. I miss Jai Byrd already and it hasn't been a month. Mike Guinn was OH MY GOSH.. his new piece is unbelievable.. so glad he stopped thru. see everyone on wednesday... i am working on making the show better, stronger, faster,... (borrowed from the six million dllar man).. holla...

a joyride on a tight rope

Am sitting here, listening to Joyride (Mariah Carey)... Feeling anxious, feeling lonely, feeling loved, feeling unloved, under appreciated, taken for granted... Well, just feeling. Am not sure where to start. The music... Excellent.. Not sure what she's saying, the blend of her voice, the music, mesmerizing, putting me in a zone. A place. I am excited about the new year, the possibilities, however, I am so fearful. I have an opportunity to start over. I mean REALLY START FRESH... And it is so freaking difficult, because I KNOW I am going to have to leave somethings, some people, behind. It hurts tremendously. In this moment I am reminded of a tight rope... One that is stretched past it's strength, it is at a breaking point, others, for selfish reasons are unable to see the weakened spot in the rope .. Or worse, they don't care.. People are selfish and self-seeking. Rule number one. Why do I continue to allow anyone to get close to me and forget that rule is unbeknownst to me. Perhaps in my incessant need to feel slightly uncomfortable in all situations, I continue to operate as if this is not true. That often it is those "who love me so much" that contribute to the highest level of pain and discomfort I could feel at any given moment. Yet, I work daily at waking up and being available to them, because everything in me wants to run. I am totally uncomfortable in others comfort, somehow I always seem to be making the adjustment, with few meeting me where I am. Some one told me I wasn't really a loner. That I wanted to believe I was. My response was "I can show you better than I can tell you." The truth of the matter is no one really knows me. They'd like to think they do. They'd like to think that they could predict how I will respond to a situation. What I like. What I dislike. However EVERYONE continues to ignore this one simple statement "I talk out of discomfort." Which means I may say ANYTHING, unless you ask me a direct question. Even then you may or may not get a direct answer.
What are you to do when the things that you love, that you believe are good to you and for you are those things that are the most destructive? That everything you believed you wanted is about to become or now is a reality and you realize that perhaps it's in fact, another thing you fooled yourself into believing you actually wanted it? I hate doing anything I'm not good at. And when it's pointed out to me, I have only one response: QUIT. Especially when there is no solution offered, or I am given promises on how it can be better one day. Some future moment.
So today, I am a tightly wound rope, living on the edge of my breaking point. And I cannot take another thing. Cannot put another item on my plate. I crave SIMPLICITY and for whatever reason... Perhaps the sun, the phase of the moon, placement of some planet, it is not what I am getting. Instead I get this practical joke daily.... It's called my life on life's terms and the direct consequences of my poor choices. And while I am eternally grateful that I was given the breath of life, that I was allowed another day... I pray for the strength and fortitude to walk away from those things that are no longer healthy and have no added value in my life. In all I do, all I encounter, all I interact with, I will ask one simple question, "How is this/are you adding value to me and my life?" Because if I don't take control of my life, I am destined to make the same mistakes..... Something I can no longer afford.

Letters to Daddy

I, like most independent woman who live alone, check my mail infrequently. I do so mostly because I spend and live well beyond my means and do not like to meet or greet my day or evening with bills. It's too damn depressing... This morning I went to the mail box, sorted thru the bills, to find three netflix dvds and my birthday present from my dad. My dad has a birthday tradition. I receive annually a birthday card with a twenty dollar postal money order, in addition to an item I discussed in passing or what every daughter loves, cold hard cash. This year I was greeted with gifts that momentarily left me speechless with tears of joy.. Gifts that as I write this blog, I become misty.... He sent me two letters, letters that I'd written him when I was nine and ten. The delicately faded and worn envelopes and paper shook with the trembling of my hands as I fought back emotions to open and read each. One was a letter thanking him for a radio I received as a Christmas gift. The other discussing my family's move to a new house. I was not only precocious, but a little adult. The language I used for my age was, well, considering the time, well beyond my years.... I cried as I called him on the phone to thank him. He, smiled thru the phone and I could hear his personal acknowledgement that he'd gotten the response he was looking for.. Yet a bit surprised by his own emotion.. "Yes, KD, I've thrown away letters from old girl friends, ex-wives, army buddies, but I always kept yours. They have meant a lot to me. Believe or not I have more. I just don't want to give them all to you right now. I kind of knew you'd appreciate this." "Dad.. I do. Thanks. Now I know how you got all those women to fall for you and forgive you when you were messing up. You are considerably smooth." We both laugh.... "I love you Dad." "I love you, too KD."
I remember how I used to wait for my dad after every holiday. My great-grand demanded that he and my pops allowed us to have holidays together with her before we went our separate ways. I remember how I use to wait for him each summer, after the required month my sister and I spent together before embarking on our vacations with our dad and extended family. My dad would often cry when it was time to take me back home. I was the only connection he had to a woman who, to this day, causes his eyes to swell with tears, before he says, "...Well, uh, your momma had a way about her."
Daddy... I love you.. Thanks for making me feel like that little girl who knows that you will always be her hero..

Well Alrighty Thennnn

Way to Go...... thir13teen

Happy WAY TO FCKING GO MAN DAY!
It is an official paid day off. Your check is in the mail.... I created this holiday on my calendar. Somebody has to tell some damn body they are doing a good job. Including the little BLOG SKIN BUILDER WHO HAS MY BLOG JACKED THE FCK UP... Way to go!!!! On another positive note. But if I meet you little MR. or MS. Mamafai oh do we have a lot to discuss. While I know nothing is truly free, don't you get the jest of it...
Now. What did I accomplish? Well we all know it's not letting go for damn sure...Absolutely nothing, at least in this moment. But if I don't give myself a shot out, a pat on the back, who else will? So way to way to go thir13teen! Naw. I will launch a new blog later today thanks to Aelee. Way to fcking go day mannnn...... I read her poetry this am.. When I was suppose to be doing something, like, uh working... And I loved it. Reminded me of undergrad.... I do have a double major, English being one of them.... I know.. I know.. Who's English right? Anyway... I want to post nothing but poetry on another one... On another note.. Welcome aboard Jai Byrd.. The sister finally got a blog site.. Way to fcking go mannnn.... I linked her, so the rest of you better or ELSE.. bRandi will kick your ass. I am selling the tickets.. HA! I thought this little girl was sooooo cute. She will be my virtual baby. Her name is _____________. Send me your suggestions. I will be scheduling a Baby Shower real soon. I, I mean she wants ADULT ELECTRONIC GIFTS.

Off to work I go....

Ever met one of those people. You know the ones.. Come on look at the picture. The mudafcker that got on.... Come on.... You know what the hell I'm talking about. The woman who gossips. That dude that chews with his mouth open. The one if they say another fcking word you'd be all over them like a ... well right now all of my descriptives would be offensive and politically incorrect... someone who you wished you could snatch breaths from... The one who got on your last nerve. Well these are my last nerves... Well, not actually mine, but someone's.. And a hell of a lot of people and things are getting on them right about now. INCLUDING THE BLOG SKIN CREATOR THAT HAS MY BLOG LOOKING LIKE SOMETHING OUT AND OFF OF WALMART'S CLEARANCE SECTION!!! But my ass will keep laughing until I cry. Or until I can hire someone to kick some asses for me. Any applications? NEO Soul tomorrow. thank g.o.d.

NOTE: I AM NOT IN A BAD MOOD... AND NO MO.. YOU DON'T HAVE TO COME DOWN HERE AND KICK SOMEONE'S ASS!!! DANG!

Ria wrote a poem about it.... FCK YOU!

Noticed the big X at the top of my blog? I have. Just hadn't had the time to vent about it. The baby picture is for the creator of the blogskin itself. When something says free and it's not copywritten how can you become angry if someone uses it. Hell, I only made it look better. "Wake up and smell the coffee" what kind of blog title is that? Do you think a person with any creativity would use that stupid bullshyt? As my gurl whitney says, "Hell to da naw!" I made the suggested changes placed in your comment section. I revised a blog skin which was nearly two friggin years old. You ungrateful blog builder you... So coffee lovers, I am awaiting my man Art to finish my personalized blog skin. For now, we will look at the X at the top of the page and imagine it to be something beautiful, like a field of flowers.. Ohh and I almost forgot this one.... Is it my fault that I am not so good with these things that i erased your name. Look Mamafai who ever the hell you are. Look I gave you YOUR CREDIT... Got directions from someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Next time give better fcking directions. Your stoopid ass had both of us lost. Hell if we'd been in school we both would've gotten an F... You for not knowing any better and me for copying.... Thanks you and good fcking night.......

still clebrating...

The itis.... I had, what was suppose to be... Again my last piece of meat. Pork Loin to be exact. I cannot help it. Ever meet one of those "cats" that can just cook? Every since I was embraced by the Mason Clan (The Pecans and Elm) I have been slowly gaining weight. I mean, not too noticeable, but my stomach no longer has that elasticity it once had.. kind of hangs over on my once baggy jeans. And the baby doll tees i once sported last summer, early fall, look like doll's clothing on my tail... I'm not saying I'm fat.. Just fatish.. I'm just saying I could keep someone warm... Could be on my way to chubby, or thick. One biscuit away to be exact. ... Well, my celluloid is giving a shot out to Robert. That man can cook. He made me one hellova birthday dinner. I could not have asked for more... And yes, I wanted to sleep immediately after the meal, but I managed to stay awake and watch Anger Management. The laughter kept me slightly awake. Only to go home and watch, yes, you guessed it the Boondocks. Who had, you watched it.. The Itis episode.. Man did I feel guilty watching something that some hilariously true....... Special shot out to the birthday planner.. It got better and better and better........

My Ass Is Old... Or A Year Younger

Yesterday was my birthday. On most levels it was cool. I was awaken with one of the best surprises in the world. I did poetry for little kids which was, pretty fcking amazing. I would love to do it again. Pretty intimate evening.. Though my childishness would not allow me to appreciate and enjoy it.
In undergrad I used to go to every bar and restaurant I could find in an effort to get free drinks and food. By the early afternoon I was drunk off my ass.. But I continued to drink... I never got alcohol poisoning, nor did I throw up or pass out. It was mostly fun.. Or so I thought.
So today I was thinking (and it did make my head hurt), that I was getting a bit older and while I do appreciate that GOD blessed me with "good" skin and features (black never cracks BABEE)... I became afraid as I looked at the wrinkles in my hand. How my eyes are getting a little lighter. I don't always heal as quickly. How despite the fact that I am in touch with today's music, it often makes my head hurt. I talk about the old days. I want to settle. Make a home with someone special, who loves me good, bad or indifferent. Doesn't care that the gray hairs are sprouting thru my locks, and well, a few other places, like my legs, and those darn old lady chin whiskers... I think about my mom, who didn't want to continue to read her book nor pen her story and gave up much too soon. My great-grand who told and lived her story thru dips of levi garrett snuff. A great-aunt who did nothing more than drink orange crush and smoke viceroys, her story ended a few chapters too soon. My favorite aunt who lived her life thru prose... It was an adventure til the very end. And of course... My grand.. Who told a profound story of love and lost. A damn fine read 'til the very end... And I, I am the voice of the village. Happy Birthday to US.. as you continue to live thru me.....

they asked me for my autograph..

i have the shape of my mother's eyes, height, sharp tongue and insatiable thirst for love..
she would say I wore his swagger like a tight sweater, had the tendency to be voiceless braggart..
his simple air of arrogance hidden behind feigned innocence.
he, both dads would look at me, and see
the only woman who loved them completely, they would never see me..
yet she would say I had the need to cling, and love as hard as he,
and in relationships..
she'd say, baby-girl, take it so, don't fall in love so quickly,
but he both dads would look and me,
the love of their lives, they would never see me...
but none of that matters, and i'll tell you why.
excerpt from inheritance. kdtaylor 2006 all rights reserved
section 8 coffee publications...

Today, I went to Winn Elementary School and did a show with a few poets and a poet/martial artist. It was a very humbling, yet truly gratifying experience. It was also somewhat painful as I caught a glimpse of myself in the audience. A knowledge starved, yet bored nine year old, waiting to be freed from... well, just freed from these things that haunted me. Things that continue to haunt. When I was in the fourth grade, ms. fleming handed me a pencil and a notebook, and asked me to write about the things, the stories I was so willing to share with others. in my discomfort, i talked. a habit that exists to this day. (i really don't like to talk, i just don't want to think or remember) and i talked about everything, often entertaining my friends, but mostly myself in an effort to escape. she believed i had a gift to share with the world. well, i am unsure of the world, but i am willing ot share it with a small portion of it. and today i did that. i got to entertain kindergarten thru the fifth grade. it was absofckingmazing... it really was. and i gave a shot out to the kids who got U's. unsatisfactory for talking too much, for dreaming, for being themselves... and uh. no it did not go over well with some teachers, but the better ones knew, like i told the kids you have to get your story out. and you know what? it brought a smile not just to my heart, but upon their faces.... especially as they asked me for my autograph, and what i wished i had done, was ask them for theirs.....

Holidays.. and my gosh February at Neo Soul

HAPPY CONFEDERATES SOLDIERS DAY!

IT'S A STATE HOLIDAY. I HAVE THE DAY OFF..

Well. Not really. I opted to work, like I do on Juneteenth. There is some historical significance in both. I just chose not to recognize either. I have some work to do, and I can get some writing out of the way......

Yes, I have been writing. I am in the process of memorization and recitation. In other words I have been practicing for my features. So far four offers for February, one was conflict, so I had to turn it down. This month has been a blur with many blessings.. Almost as if I am looking thru the rear view mirror of a luxury car. A luxury car, because the ride is so much better than the hooptie I rode in a few weeks ago. I am in a better place. I am a lot more comfortable with myself and surroundings. I have been writing new shyt. Cousin and I are working on a collaboration for the February shows. Jai Byrd and I are working on a little sumpin' sumpin'. I am getting my material together finally for a cd and maybe a chap book. My arrogance wants a barcode... Some how I keep missing the message that you have to crawl before you can run. February is going to be a hot ass month at Neo-Soul, and thank the GODS and the Heavens, all creatures that flow and grow... Last night Funky Mike hand delivered my birthday, christmas, kwanza, valentine's day, labor day, confederate soldiers day, st patrick's day, columbus day, (you get the jest right?) present. WORD MEDICINE, a live EP. To add icing on the cake, The Queen of King County http://www.christabellonline.com/ will be featuring at our spot in February. I have been, well, I am, well, speechless. As I have been waiting and anticipating the moment to catch her, uninterrupted, with no score cards, no three minute and five second performances, no time penalties, just her performance and words back to back to back. In addition, Kevin Sandbloom http://kevinsandbloom.com/ will also be returning in February. Click on the Hustle and Neo Soul link to get additional information.

Here are a few verses from my current piece.. hope you like it.. It's entitled:

Not Another

.......the hollowed noise of
betrayed desire
resounding in the darkened
shadows of her existence.
buried beneath
pained recollections
jagged memories,
and criss crossed vows
that intersect
somewhere between
parallel tomorrows
and future moments
that would never come to pass.
words which took her no place,
like endless winding roads
lined with dead oak trees
with desperate souls hanging
by yellow ribbons
swinging in the empty space.
strange passion the wild fruit
that grows in meadows of forget me nots,
and fields of four o'clocks,
opening only when scheduled
like the legs of the whore
she once believed she was.
kdtaylor 2006

section 8 coffee publications

all rights reserved

To Boon or not to Dock.. That is the ?

To Boon or not to Dock.. That is the ?

I guess there is a reason I don't have children. As a child I was precocious, curious, seemingly intelligent, deliberate in speech and behavior, as well as outspoken. Am unsure if this was a result of DNA or environment. I believe these characteristics are for the most part healthy. Sure, there were some subjects I was not to broach, and when I did, I knew when to whisper or be boisterous.

I had the opportunity to watch "The Return of the King" this past Sunday's episode of The Boondocks. I don't have to be convinced that Aaron McGruder, the creator of this EDITORIAL, let's not be insulting and call it by any other name, is arguably one of the most intelligent Black Men in America, it not one of the most intelligent MEN in the World. The method in which he brings the black community's state and concerns to the forefront are uncanny and unparalleled. Which brings me to my next point. Let's bridge..

I have friends who, by all accounts, will not allow their teenagers to watch the show, but will allow them to listen to Wrap music. Yes, I spelled it with a w on purpose. Wrapped, as the most popular songs wrap us in ignorance. And I am guilty of it as well, as I love that damn Whistle Song. When asked, each responded with, "Well, the content is too strong. N%gga this, n%gga that. It's an adult cartoon, that's why it's on adult swim." My thought is this, they put parental warnings and suggestions on cds and dvds, and parents allow them to watch and listen to that crap. And the video games, don't get me started. With one child I had a special interest. I have been guilty of allowing him to watch the show. We enjoyed it, had an opportunity to discuss the subject matter, while cracking adolescent jokes. However, he, being the type of child described earlier, got the message.

Last night, while I watched the final three minutes or so of The Boondocks. I thought of him, and was again reminded of how important the message was. When the cartoon character deplicting MLK Jr described and defined "Nigga." I wanted to stand up, clap, run naked around the room, screaming at the top of my lungs, echoing the sentiment.... Well, a few drinks will also prompt this behavior.. I digress... It was profound. The images of the MLK Jr. character attending the MTV Awards Show presenting with Puffy, was, I hate to say it, all too true if the man were alive today. And ohh, don't get me started on the Grandpa Freeman and Rosa Parks scene... I applaud anyone who is willing to say there were MANY MEN AND WOMEN who contributed to that moment in history... Including a teenage girl, who by all accounts was not given credit for her contribution because she was an unwed mother who did not fit the profile... Again I digress.

While I respect my friends opinions and requests, it is difficult for me not to view them differently. I question why would you allow your_____________ (fill in the blank) to prevent you from allowing your children to truly see the world. The Boondocks are just another way of viewing our world, and while it is not rose colored, I truly appreciate it's ability to challenge my view. It's the mind that often prevents us from seeing clearly. Sometimes, as a people, we allow our own biases, fears, and desire to assimulate define us. We often take it a step further by wanting to shield our children from things they are probably already aware of. And could probably give you more information than you would want from various subjects. I recall a conversation a male friend had with his daughter about sex. He was too thru... Weekly I truly thank the commentary of the characters, gives me something to talk about the next day at work, gives me something to think about. So this week I say thanks Huey...

Onto a more unintelligent note.... Priceless moments from American Idol: "The proof's in the paper!" "I want to talk to you about your tan." "Are we going to have a bigger stage." "I'll let him go on to Hollywood, because when you get there he's going to cut you." "You should shave your facial hair and put on a dress." And the Patti sequel was, well, let's say it had me running....

you can't miss what you don't use

Sign Inside Women's Restroom Reads:

Due to maintenence, hot water will not be available in Building 4 for the remainder of the day.

me: like they would know.. they'd never miss it... they never wash their damn hands anyway.

the ink is black. the page is white. together we learn to...

Overheard on News 8 Austin:

Anchor woman: A recent poll reports that Blacks are most likely to celebrate the Martin Luther King Jr. Holiday.....

In celebration of Martin Luther King Jr. Day....

We've come a long way baby. Or have we?

thanks funky mike for the cartoon...

My Life..... My Poem...... (Inspired by an advertisement)

My Name: Kimberley Dianne.... Thir13Teen.... live miK

Childhood Ambitions: To become an attorney

First Job: Life Guard - WaterPark USA.

Last Purchase: Bosc Pears, Oranges and California/Hawaiian Trailmix

Indulgence: Blue Bell Ice Cream: Dos Amigos. Cookies!Cookies! Cookies! Brownie Nut Fudge. All at one time.

Fondest Memory: De'anaya and I (both) breaking the 100 meter hurdle record at Northeast Stadium with me finishing second by an inth of a second 'cuz her breasts were larger. The record still stands.

Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder

Retreat: Neo-Soul

Wildest Dream: Becoming a reality daily...

Proudest Moment: Too many to name..

Biggest Challenge: Refraining from expressing my opinion...

Alarm Clock: God

Perfect Day: Filled with good friends, good food, good liquor, good conversation and good poetry.

Favorite Movie: If I had to pick one... The Way We Were

Inspiration: God's presence thru her love

My Poem: The Idea of Ancestry.. Etheridge Knight

tag..
mo
cousin
copa
brandy
relentle
'chelle

From Bklyn to the ATX... yes, women can be friends...

I received a call yesterday afternoon... It was in a hustle, hurried, attempting to get across town during the busiest hours of the day. Austin, the city I currently call home was built on a north-south grid. There is, for the most part, one way in and one way out of the city. IH-35. You can only go North and South. For the most part, practically every highway, byway, city street, farmer to market road, etc. could possibly begin, east to west, but will eventually end up, North or South. Really... To top it off, rush hour, as a direct result of the North American Free Trade Agreement, again IH 35, is the most direct route from North Texas to South Texas onto our neighbors along the southern Border, Mexico. This creates a south bound rush hour that lasts from 3:00 pm - 7:00 pm. Please don't let there be an accident. And let's not talk about the "upper and lower" decks. Navigating the streets south can make you want to slit your wrists, especially if you don't know where you are going. Love can be a bitch, I swore I would never date, talk to, or enter an agreement with ANYONE who lived south of 183. Now, not only am I deeply involved with someone who works and lives a GAZILLION MILES (actually less than 15 miles) from 183, I also work past 183. Huhhh...
My ring tones are set for different folk. I hear my phone calling out Brooklyn. And that could only be ONE PERSON. Meliaceae. MO BROWNE. My sister-mentor-friend. It's refreshing. My goofy ass starts gushing immediately cause I had been waiting to tell her all about the previous night. She has been pushing me for a minute on anything and everything poetry. Now what makes Mo so damn special? Is it her winning personality? Is it her ability to use terms like "kicking rocks, being janky, or I can't stand yo azz?" Her ability to make and brake a negro at the drop of a hat? Maybe.. cuz all of that is funny and on point each and every time I hear and see it for myself. But what is truly magnificent about this woman, who, by years is bit younger than me, is the gifts she has given me. First she schools me about the "crouching tiger-hidden dragon" thang as it relates to female poets. Not has she done that, but has shown and taught me valuable lessons on being a woman, a female (and there is a difference) a poet, a writer, and now host. She has taught me that women who have similar interests can take an interest in other women without feeling threatened. I have passed what she has taught me in action and theory with "cousin"... who is now, doing the same damn thang with another female poet/friend. So when her call came thru yesterday, it felt good to talk to her, and to hear and see her baby-gaped beautifully contagious smile thru our Nextel/Sprint cellular towers.... And the warmth in knowing that she, as with Langston and ELM, knew just how much their opinions, suggestions and feedback mattered to me. There have been some remarkable gifts granted to me during 2005. She was only one, but she was the one who set the stage and made it possible for me to truly have faith in other women and sisterhood. To know that we can network, negotiate, hustle, stay on the grind, truly be friends and never have to use a fingernail or unkind word against another woman to get what we want. And what we need. At some point today she will read this, smile and say under her breath "word. now dat's what's up." yea.. Mo.. my sister-mentor-friend... "dat's dope, and dat's what's up." P.S. Please tell your Yemeyah that we are countin' dem days down. gotta kick some rocks.. holla.......

It's a good day...

it's friday the 13th for thir13teen....

ohh.. and for good measures.. me and the woman... the myth... the legend...

mobrowne and live miK

look at that tan!!

Girl.. Why R U SO GREASY?

Moms and my village.... Trees.... Window panes.... Last night I think I did it. I think I made us proud. The show seemed, appeared, I pray, hope was a success. I pray that all who graced the mic felt the warmth in my heart, the energy that came from those from whence I obtain strength, wisdom and courage. Ainsley was magnificent. The crowd.. receptive. Damn, I have never felt so good. Well, I have, but you get the jest.. right? I am praying alot right now.... Thanks guys for your support. I could have never done any of this without you... I am learning this thru love, patience, god and my elm... Wow... I am speechless. Excited. Looking forward to the future. Now don't get me wrong a few got on my last nerve.. wanting to go up twice, wanting to go up early.. but Mom.. Village.. Trees.. Windows... I believed I handled it the way you would have wanted... graciously.... And Relentle... I threw up the tri-angle for you my brother.... u were missed.....

THE MOMENT HAS ARRIVED....

11 January 2006.....Neo Soul Lounge..... Hosted by Thir13teen

First of all I'd like to say good evening and we're so pleased that so many of you could come out and share in all the love and all the happiness we have in store for you. We want you to have a real good time 'cause that's just what we have in mind. Is that alright with you? ... Tonight is the night. That you make me a woman, mmm... You said you'll be gentle with me. And I-I hope you will, mmm.... I'm nervous and I'm tremblin' waitin' or you..... I'm tryin' hard to relax. But I just can't keep still....

Tonight Is The Night....as borrowed by Ms. Betty Wright.

The Flava of Love

last night....

seven year old niece: aunt kimmie, i want to eat Chinese food. can we go to a buffet?
me: okay. where do you want to go?
seven year old niece: remember when we went to sally's that day? the last time you were here and you were making fun of the people. remember when you asked my mommy why did that lady let the wind style her hair?
me: (the things they remember) yes.
seven year old niece: well, it's over there.
me: okay.

after a ten minute drive we arrive at the restaurant. we are seated, order drinks and as i glance thru the menu I realize...

me: nique, i thought you said this was a buffet?
seven year old niece: well, i thought it was. that's what the sign says. (Pointing at the Chinese writing on the wall.)
me: oh, you read Chinese?
seven year old niece: no, but i know how to say hello in Japanese....
me: have you been here before?
seven year old niece: no, aunt kimmie.
me: you want to try it out?
seven year old niece: no, aunt kimmie.
me: well, do you know where the buffet is?
seven year old niece: no aunt kimmie.

needless to say, i call my sister who laughs, then explains how I shouldn't listen to a seven year old child. what would happen if she were to.. blah blah blah blah blah... we eventually find the other restaurant and have a good meal.

later, after a serious conversation, my sister and i do what we often did as children... sit down and watch a absolutely goofy television show only we understand and laugh our butts off... it even included toasted peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips.

the flava of love... now why did they do a ghetto version of the bachelor, i have the slightest idea. but i'll watch it like anything else that freakishly grotesque, but seemingly appealing... that girl new york is a trip. red oyster is a bigger trip. the only person on the show i believe is genuine is georgia 'cuz her country ass don't know better. hoopz is cute and i have no earthly idea why she's on the show other than trying to jump start another career of sorts... but this has to be my third favorite show of the season.... da boondocks topping it off. the new season of the l-word, and yes, it starts off hellabetter than last fcking season which almost caused me to loose all hope...

oh yea... i go back to the atx tomorrow...

January's September

We sat in warmth, under the fluorescent lights in the breakfast nook of her surburban home. Somehow, it felt unseasonably cold, and dim. Her emotions clouded and weighed the openness in our immediate area. She spoke, and as my eyes moved from her eyes, to cheeks, to mouth, and back toward her eyes, I could clearly see how age and despair would diminish the youth of her skin. She, two years my junior, had allowed the years of her troubled relationship to contribute to wrinkles here and there which caused her to appear older than me. Out of co-dependency, and that sibling connection we shared, the saline in her tears created a thirst I could not seem to quench in that moment. Despite the fact that I had finished my third glass of water, I found myself making my way back to the fridge to perhaps find that final glass which would bring me a glimpse of relief. I knew it was futile, as the relief would only come from an answer which had eluded us since that fateful day in September. The very first time I heard, ".... your sister is all you have. Take care of her. Your mother would want you to take care of each other." September would be the month of significant losses. Four of our five village matrons were lost and buried. September has never really been a good year.

She believed this was to be the prime of her life. Had that home. Had that job. Had those children. Instead, she grappled with the mundanely tragic reality she'd created, all in the name of family. She believed that she had done the "right thing" and that somehow he would see that. That they were made for each other. Everything was so complimentary, even their occupations. That if she lived the right way. Said the right things. Exhibited the right behaviors. That somehow the veil of hypocrisy would dissipate, and that he would see her in a new light. That he would see her growth. I, on the other hand, saw that desperate little girl. The one whom I protected because she would cry if the wind blowed too strongly. The one who's voice was often heard thru mine. The one who's popularity and identity came from being my younger sister. She was all I had. Or so my great grand instilled in us. So I did what I could do until she was strong enough... But this evening as I sit at her table, I realized that she would never be strong enough, and neither would I. We would never be strong enough to face the irony in our reality.

She had children, lived that life, in an effort to ward off the demons, and I, well I rebelled in an effort to forget. And as she spoke, with each word, the bite of her realization stung my core. I had faced my issues, and was okay with the ineffectually, effective manner in which I lived. She, on the other hand, was now reaching her bottom. And no matter how much I wanted to protect her. How much I wanted to hold her hand thru this. No matter how difficult it was for me to swallow the rancidity of her now realized truth, I had to swallow, move forward and wait. Patiently. Having faith that when she was ready, and truly needed my help, she would ask. She was not all I had, anymore than I was all she had. Yet there was truth in my great grand's words. We are the blood, the flesh, the essence of my mother. Like her, we have our demons. Unlike her, we do not have to succumb to them. Yet we continue to follow her path as it relates to love. We love much too hard, much to tightly, with too much passion. Sometimes unable to define ourselves and often losing ourselves in the process.

As she cried, I could see attempts to garner strength to move forward. There were occasional sparks in the brown of her eyes that gave me hope that perhaps she was ready to embark upon her journey. And while, I recognize that my true journey does not have a destination, I pray that her's will lead her to a place where she can find peace and begin a new. And that perhaps as we enter this year's September, there will be a cause to celebrate...

TWO's 'cuz Mo said so....

Names You Go By
- thir13teen
- kim

Two Parts of Your Heritage
- slave and his/her master; or so their history books would want me to believe.


Two Things That Scare You
- dying alone
-living an unfulfilled life.

Two of Your Everyday Essentials
- starbuck's
- cell phone (it's attached to my right hand and ear)


Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now
- flip flops
- her memory


Two of Your Favorite Bands or Musical Artists (at the moment)
- anthony hamilton
- angie stone


Two of Your Favorite Songs (at the moment)
- that fcking whistle song by that suntana chile
- ... we've been too strong for too long, and i can't live without you babe, and i'll be.... oh sorry.


Two Things You Want in a Relationship (other than Real Love)
- mutual trust
- mutual respect

Two Truths
- everyone is selfish and self-seeking and does what is in their best interest EVERY FUCKING TIME... no matter what they say...
- man is born, at his core, evil, and he spends the remainder of his life fighting his true intent.


Two Physical Things that Appeal to You
- smile
- a nice buttocks...


Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
- reality t.v.
- writing


Two Things You Want Really Badly
- re-fiance my house
- lexus 400 SUV, yup they have another one....


Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
- mykonos, greece
- the kimberley-, australia


Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
- become fearless
- publish a hardback.....


Two Ways that you are stereotypically a Dude/Chick
- change my mind frequently
- totally unfocused


Two Ways you act like the opposite sex
- walk
- think (when i am actually focused)

Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
- i am uncomfortable in crowds, so i talk to feel normal...
- i don't know everything.


Two Things You Are Thinking About Now
- did she write that she farted in her sleep?
- my foot is going numb....


Two Stores You Shop At
- is starbuck's a store?
- target

call out
cousin
b-wine
shelle

Turning the page...... N'troducing....

I read a poem by Alice Walker... relentle
naw...

He is my jazzman, and I, I am his.. butterfly
naw....

Take back time baby, and make it slow... lalove
naw...

Crossed the border and get jailed for dope... b-fran
naw...

They attract to her like tourists, wanting a ride... cousin
naw...

I often go outside and stand in the rain in hopes of disguising my tears... korim
naw...

And I say, fuck your revolution... da'shade
naw...

she is my favorite piece of eye candy... element
naw...

it's poetry time, it's poetry time y'all... the incomprable ms. jai malono
naw

jacarda.... funky mike whalen

mahoganybrownejivepoetictalaamaceyannismarcmarcel
theoriginalwomankevinsandbloomdamississippisoulman
scef2die4interiajusticebabee'janeanelivingston
ajhoustonandyfuckingbuckmikeguinn.........
.......
....................................
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turn the page

neo - soul lounge 01.11.06 thir13teen can't hardly wait

From Austin to Houston to Brooklyn, For Relentless Poet

John 11.35 as recited on 45 South
for Relentle.

I struggled with my cowardice as I stood along the rail.
he said that would make a great line in a poem.
what he didn't know was that daily my conscience fought lifelong battles
that left me battered and bruised.
I am a lonely warrior slaying private dragons
that represent my truths.
nightly I die to shed fears that cannot be conquered.
some say why fight, why resist the inevitable?
they say every ending has a beginning,
so why does my beginning represent my end?
they say Jesus wept
but did he weep for me?
cuz I drowning in pools of lifelong tears
my sunny days give way to rain.
they say Jesus wept,
but did he weep for me
cuz I am choking on the bland existence
of karma or manifest destiny.
but my destiny is hidden behind smoke and mirrors,
carried in the pockets of thieves...
I am the inception of the forgotten,
the lost, the bewildered.
they say Jesus wept,
I wonder if he's weeping for me?
I struggled with my cowardice as I stood along that rail...
he said that would make a great line in a poem.
and I wondered, I wondered if he knew, that despite my pace
I was losing my life's race.
a race against self a race against time.
my time is running backwards
running back toward memories shattered.
like the glass scattered on the highway
that lies ahead of me,
I cannot travel it unscathed.
and I can't get my way,
cuz of the short cuts and byways,
looking for the easier softer way.
I'm like one thought running thru a thousand minds
I am all over the place,
yet I no where
I'm like liquor, I am often on the lips of others
for all the wrong reasons.
that's what he didn't know.
what he didn't know
was I didn't have another poem in me
I didn't have the words to describe the fear
I felt in the moment
the love lost in the past
the faith that I could make another day
and like the cigarette he lit,
I, too, felt packed under pressure
I, too, felt the heat
I, too, felt used
to be discarded, tossed aside
when others were thru…
I was burned ash to disappear in the air...
lost and soon forgotten.
what he didn't know was that I didn't have another poem in me,
I didn't have a song to sing,
couldn't quite find the beat
and my feet were often too damn heavy
to feel the lift in the music to dance
I heard a different rhythm
I had grown deaf searching for the harmony
in it all
when he heard lyrics,
I heard screams
they say Jesus wept,
but did he weep for me
cuz I taste the bitterness of blood,
not the sweet nectar of life
and I spit words of fire
with lackluster desire
'cuz I was a coward
paralyzed by my indignities and frailties
that's what I thought as I stood along that rail,
he thought it would be a great line in a poem
look's like rain
I wonder if God is finally weeping for me?


Baby Boy..... This was the result of a conversation we had that faithful night. How you inspired me... I always believed that I would have the opportunity to clean it up and recite it one night at the spot. Matter of fact, prior to finding out that you were leaving, I pulled it out to work on and memorize for January or February.... You know, I will probably never be able to fully express the depth of emotions and sense of loss I am feeling right now. You know, I... well, you probably know better than anyone.... So glad we made it to the other side. I will see you again.....

Giving Up. Is so hard to do.......

As we stood there. The three of us. The entire time I felt as if it were a scene from a scene I didn't create, nor did I want to star in. I, too had been hurt. And as I looked toward the eyes that met mine, I saw fear, shame, pain, confusion. That crazed desire to return to a time that we knew would never come to pass. The line had been crossed. Some one has to win. Nothing could be done to recover. I'm sorry could never bring back the dignity that was sweep away in one broad stroke. A stroke which was not well thought out, ill planned and timed. Now, some one was going to be hurt. There was no going back. There would be no make up sex which lasts well into the night, leaving each covered in tears and sweat. Now the only tears are those, falling silently between the chasm of emotion which seemingly divided their once perfect union. I could only stare, as it was not my battle. But I knew, there would not be another chance. There would be no more possibilities in tomorrow. I recognized the moment. I onced lived it. Each knew it had finally arrived. No one truly wants to hurt another. Hurt people hurt people. But what do you do when the person you wish to hurt most is one you love and can no longer have. What do you do with that pain? What do you do with that emotion? What do you do with the anger swelling inside you causing involuntary spasms and irregular, erratic behavior? I turned as this was a defining moment for each. The one that would negate all the love they ever shared. As I turned to walk away, I remembered an old Donny Hathaway tune....

Giving up, so hard to do
I've tried
But it just ain't no use
Giving up, so hard to do
I said I've tried
But it just ain't no use
But my light of hope is burning dim
But in my heart I pray
That my love and faith in the girl
My love...will bring her back someday...

but what do you do when the sun is setting on someday?

mindnight - 01.01.06

Ten
Village
Dad and Pops
ELM
Oak
Meliacae
Nine
How'd they talk him into UT instead of Duke?
Pecans
Maple
Fir
Eight
My three paned window.
A certain, youngstar Cutie Pie
Harlem
Camp Wisdom. Yea. I really liked that.
ALL YOURS and ALL U NEED.
Seven
Taalam
Twain
Fcking Alburquerque
Six
Christa Bell
Annis M.
Kevin Sandbloom
Anthony Hamilton
Five
Raheem Devaughn
Good-Bye Relentle...
Jill Scott Concert
Four
Neo-Soul
AIPF
Poets for Relief - katrina and rita
HIP HOP (RIP)
Leela James
Three
Kisses
Hugs
Grand are you still here?
Prayers
Tears
Two
Macaroni and Cheese.
I got to get a new job.
It looks like I am going to make it
I have to go home more.
Deep breath......
One
thank God..... Happy New Year.

I Feel Like Going Home......

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

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

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

Mirrors and Reflections in Three Pains.

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

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

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