http://futureme.org/

Dear Future Self:

How are you? I don't want to call you be a name because i have no idea what you would prefer to be called by. yr still deciding between jd stokely and mali hopper and damali jackson now.. who knows what else youve come up with? today is yr 20th bday. when you wrote this letter, you were still a young, bright-eyed 19 yr old, reminiscing on yrs past, and anticipating what the future will hold for you.

did you have a good 2nd semester? i hope so. you deserve it. hopefully you are living in some faraway city with friends, not at home in boston. if you are lucky then you are preparing yrself for a summer of fun in europe somewhere. if you do go to london, make sure to go see the noisettes. if you go to france, then try to get involved in some sort of theater of the oppressed group over there.

how is yr family? try to find a way to see yr father and yr gramma b. i know how much y ou care abt them- you think abt them often. do you have a passport yet? i hope so. how abt a driver's license? you can even start slow- get a permit first!

enough chit chat though. you and i both know the real reason i wrote you this letter. for me, it is new yrs eve. soon it will be 2009; a new yr means a fresh start. this yr i didnt want to make resolutions or goals. it makes me feel kind of anxious and frustrated when i dont get them accomplished (how long has "lost 20 lbs" been a resolution? come on!) instead, i decided to try something new. i decided to try affirmations. below is a list of some of the affirmations you came up with, and hopefully this will serve you as a reminder of the good intentions you put out into the world on dec 31, 2008.

- you are a pretty awesome individual. this sounds weird but it is always nice to hear it sometimes. don't be so nervous all the time! you are throwing yrself into new environments which can make you critical of yrself.. how do ppl see me ? but just remember that yr a total cool kid.

- when you are passionate abt something, you set out goals and then accomplish them. do you remember the black history month show? what abt action awareness week? or the summer internship, or even struggling to get through the 1st semester of yr 2nd yr... that was hard but you did them all. now think of all the things that you can still accomplish, and probably have already in 2009! the possibilities are endless.

- it is never too late to be the person you always wanted to be. i know youve definitely felt stifled this yr. you came to hampshire with plans. and sure, you obvs wont be the same grrl you were in hs- thats definitely for the better. but maybe youll get a couple steps closer to being the type of person you want to grow up to be. yr always gonna be growing up, yr never fully grown! there's always time for change.

- do what makes you happy. these are so totally cliche. but its true!!! dont forget, you love collaging and dancing in yr underwear and putting on crazy makeup and writing letters playing dress up and reading and going on bike rides and taking pictures and singing in the shower. that stuff can always take yr mind off of things when yr feeling stressed out.

- yr body is healthy and beautiful!!

- i appreciate that you don't feel the need to have material goods. you have what you need- everything else weighs you down!

- you are intelligent and constantly growing intellectually. keep it up. pick up a book on a new subject once in a while! keep striving to learn and grow.

- you are genuine. that is one of my fav things abt you- yr openness to making real connections with ppl. dont let the fakeness of hampshire get you down, and dont get caught in any webs of drama and lies. you dont need that, esp romantically. yr honesty is yr charm! dont let go of it.

well, that's all i can think of for now. have an amazingly wonderful birthday, my darling dear! do what makes you happy today, and suround yrself with ppl you love.

best,
jd stokes.
(damali ayida)
[m. hopper]

awkward family outings: meeting the daughters- malden, ma 12/28/08

"my cousin- she lives in NY too, and she's also a filmmaker? she's a dyke. she's biracial and she has these pretty green eyes and light skin, and long curly hair... you would have never guessed when she was younger. you sure you've never heard of her? i mean, she looks like a man now."

"well, i'm sure she looks like a very pretty man."

"haha, you're right!"

" i have a friend who lives around that part of NY.. prospect heights? she doesn't do film but she's a dyke too, and.. its not that big of a place!" laughs "i'm sure they know each other."

"mmm. she's great tho- my cousin? rly sweet."

"oh, i'm sure."

---

"the great thing abt this new house is all the wonderful storage space. we can just stuff everything in the basement.."

"oh gee, rub it in..." laughs

"i didn't mean it like that!" laughs " i mean, there are perks to living in ny. like... i can't walk downstairs from my apartment at 4 in the morning and get ethnic foods."

---

"i can't believe you didn't vote for obama!"

happy bday to you

i want to write this before the day is over.

today was my little brother's bday. he is 9- wow. it blows my mind, thinking abt how he is now 9 yrs old and im 19 and i was only one yr older than him when i first held him in my arms and now.... now i cant even pick him up. he's almost up to my shoulders, which is pretty tall for an elementary school student. there is so much i want to tell him. like to make sure he puts down the seat when he pees and to listen and not talk back when mom is scolding him.

but more importantly how to spit rly far without it dribbling down yr chin or how to convince mom to let you extend yr bad time or how to sneak icecream out of the freezer in the middle of the night.. and how to grow up to be this "big strong man" everyone keeps telling him to be (already) without being a big ole jerk. that his masculinity doesnt have to equal total machismo and that a little femininity never hurt anyone. that his ability to cry when he feels sad is something that i rly envy and admire abt him.

and im thinking abt when he was younger and he wouldnt let me hold him without struggling because he'd kick and scream and boy was he the most obnoxious baby ever. and i call him bighead because that's one of the first things that the doctor mentioned when he was born and back then we called him mister man because he looked old and sour in the face. that one of the reasons i get excited to come home from school is so i can hit him upside the head cuz he knows im way too self conscious to accept all that love in public but i kiss his forehead and tuck him in at night when he's asleep.

and, oh man, when you were little i would have to duck when i changed yr diaper cuz otherwise you'd try to pee on me but once you peed on the curtain and laughed abt it and it was gross but kind of cute in a baby boy kind of way. ,

yr one of my best friends but you know that even though ill never say that and instead.. i guess we can just sing some stevie and jam out to some michael and dance the robot to blame it on the boogie and i hope today was a good day and that yr life is long and filled with happiness and fun and family and love and sunshine and basketballs.

"happy birthday to ya,
happy birthday to ya,
happy birthday."

home so far

being home is strange.

it reminds me why i dont come home- why this is no longer my home. there is no hostility or hatred waiting for me here, just unfamiliarity.

this summer i had a lot of recurring dreams. men would come in a huge van with guns and force their way into our house. after the second or third time dreaming of this, it seemed like it was their personal game- all of a sudden i would feel anxious and run to close the door, and here they would come, laughing. theyd force the door open, steal our sense of security. then two weeks before i came to school someone broke into our house.

the house got cold then. i didnt want any part of it. it wasn't my house anymore. hampshire became my home, a place where i could relax after a long day. cook a quick meal, drink a cold beer, complain about my day or rant about a crush to someone who would at least listen.

about a month ago, while at hampshire, i dreamt abt my boston house again. i had the same anxious feeling in this dream, except i wasn't in the house- i was down the street. and when i ran towards the house, i realiized that there were two gates coming down on the house, keeping those men out. i felt relieved- i no longer had to protect the house, but at the same time i was being locked out of the house as well. it was no longer my problem though- i could move on, go somewhere else. and so i did.

i find it funny that after having that dream, i still feel trapped in this house, thanks to the snow and an obligation to my mother.

this is my third day being home, and i have probably talked to my mama for a total of 10 minutes. we have nothing to talk abt. i know that she feels lonely and trapped because of the surg. maybe a bit restless as well. i dont know what to say or do, though. its the whole unfamiliarity thing that i mentioned. whenever my little brother talks abt ma, he says "my mother" and i do believe that he is right. for example:

we are sitting in my mother's room. she painted it pale blue this summer, to remind her of the sea. there were bowls full of sand-colored seashells, but by now they are all broken and scattered around the room. my mother is lying on the bed, her hand on her forehead. just looking at her makes me tired. so i dont. instead i sit at the foot of her bed and look at my computer screen. my brother is sprawled on the ground, looking mischievous. he looks up at me and smiles.

notice something?

no, i reply, without taking my eyes off of the screen. it has been black for quite some time now.

i lost a tooth, he replies. he grins again, and i look up quickly, nod.

i'm going to get five bucks from the tooth fairy. he looks up at mama slyly. she doesn't move. damali, do you think the tooth fairy is gonna give me five bucks for this tooth?

i look up and laugh. let me tell you a story:

when i was ten, i came home from school. my tooth came out and i decided that i wanted money. all of my other friends parents gave them money when their teeth came loose.

she looks up finally.

so i told mama abt my tooth. i showed it to her and i talked all night abt the money that the tooth fairy was going to give me for my loose tooth. how much- a dollar? two dollars? twenty maybe?

she loses interest and places her hand back on her head. my brother is hanging on to my every word.

so how much did you get?

finally, it was night time. i put my tooth under my pillow, just as my friend from school instructed me to do. that night i had dreams of what i would buy with my money. candy, toys, jewelry- who knew what i could get? when i woke up, i looked under my pillow, reached around. the tooth was gone, and in its place, there was an envelope.

and?

and written on the back side of the envelope was a note. it read: darling daughter- if you would like to believe in the tooth fairy, that is fine with me. but i am not giving you any money. love, mom.

what a horrible woman, she says abruptly. her hand is still perched on her head, covering her face. such a bad mother, traumatizing her child like that.

i laugh and laugh, and my brother stares at me like im possessed.

new inspiration.

and so it begins.. again. more research.







* for the show: love song/ end of the show?

cowrie shells

stop making bad decisions!

i havent updated this ting in a while so i figured i might as well.

i have spent my weekend getting drunk and going to awkward parties rather than doing what i need to be doing- my finals. ive still got to finish my paper/portfolio for framing blackness, as well as my digital story/e-portfolio for critical pedagogy. and on top of that, i need to be home. my mom is having surgery tomorrow and i still dont have a ride home. i feel nervous.. i know everything is going to go fine for her but i still wish that i could be there with her. but at the same time... i wish i didnt have to go home. i feel like...

i dont know.

i feel like i need to be doing things that make me happy. i say this a lot but i rly would like to be doing theater. for the last day of my ind study class, we all walked around in commedia masks and did improv. and it felt sooo goood to just be silly and play and move around and i loved it. i am going to asst direct a friend's show, but i am thinking abt directing something for the black history month show again.. something like what i did last yr. i think that will be rly good for me.

oh! also, im the new SGC! yay!!

what else? hmm.. i dont rly know. im broke, but that's nothing new. my room's still dirty even though i just spent the last hour and a half "cleaning" it (aka playing dinorun and youtube-ing daria episodes. )

i will do a better update soon.

<3.

black imagination meets blaxploitation...

so i kind of wrote this in a rush today.. instead of doing my finals- ha!

there's a poster from the blaxploitation era that i love (see above) ... for a movie called "Black Girl". ive never seen the movie but the poster and quote are dope... so I wrote a little monologue-y thing. i was thinking abt using it for something.. but for right now, its just another little thing i wrote. so enjoy. :)

(pst- actual blog post to come)

---



She's got to cut it... or cut out.

Shes a Black Girl
... your girl.
(poster for the movie "Black Girl" (1974)

you know, i got dreams of kickin white ass the way they do in those movies from the 70's. stickin it to the man- yea! in my mind, i am foxy cleopatra jones brown sugar honey iced tea. and boy do i look goooood. i got on these tight white shorts, the sailor waisted kind? and ive got these crazy boots that come all the way up mid thigh and a little leather jacket with not much underneath? yeah, and ive got this huge ass afro, cuz you know i gotta stay true to my roots.

worrd.

i can imagine some white fool of a motherfucker comin up to me and comin out at the mouth:

well actually, my family went to africa once and built a few huts. then we took pictures of ourselves surrounded by brown babies and i put them all up on facebook. man that was a great 48 hours. africa really is a great country.

now, what usually happens in a situation like this is that i do one of two things:

1) i can close my eyes, count to ten and brush it off

or...

2) i can take the time to explain what was wrong with that statement.

but man, i dont got the energy or patience to deal with that shit anymore....
shoooot, in my dreamworld as foxy cleopatra jones brown ... you get it... i would knock that cracker out in a matter of seconds- pow, POW- give a sassy shake of the head, and keep it movin.

or now suppose im in a classroom, and somebody mentions slavery...

come on, i know some of you get what im talkin about! you're one of two black kids in a classroom, but the other kid's in the back of the room snorin or on his computer youtubin shit and the topic of slavery, or the civil rights movement, or Oprah or how Beyonce keeps gettin blonder and whiter or anything that mentions any black person in the history of the world EVER- what happens? there you were, countin down the minutes until class is over, drawin pictures of flowers and hearts and shit in yr notebook and all of a sudden you get this eery feeling that you're bein watched. you slowly look up from yr notebook and you realize that there are about 30 pairs of eyes lookin at you to say somethin. and the teacher aint sayin a damn thing cuz they're starin you down too!! What the fuck are you supposed to do with that? I mean, what's that shit supposed to be- flattery? And do you think I know more about the Black Power movement than you? I'm sittin right next to you in the same damn intro class! Fuck you! Just do the damn readings! I aint come to college to fuckin teach a class of 31 white people!

its times like these i just ask myself, what would foxy do? she'd probably roll her eyes and walk the fuck out. she probably wouldnt even be sittin in that damn classroom- what she need to know abt black power anyways? she got all the black power she needs- in that fist and that fro, baby.

it dont help that these dumb ass white folx got me feelin like more of a mammy than a foxy. some skinny white grrl stood next to me in the bathroom today and started complainin bout how big her ass was, how big her thighs were, how she didnt know what the hell to do with her hair anymore. now, first of all, im thinkin, whothafuckareyou?? second im thinkin, what are you talkin about? yr ass is flat, yr thighs dont even touch, yr blonde hair is long and wavy... and since when is big a bad thing? and what are you thinkin abt me? here i was, feelin good abt that cutie in the mirror, and yr comin over here makin me rethink how i feel abt my curvy thighs, my big ass, my short nappy crown. and now that i think abt it... foxy wasnt all that big, now was she? i mean, she was thick, but... she didnt look too much like me. she didnt have my size or my chocolate complexion... hell, she could probably squeeze into some of those american apparel skinny jeans that are so popular here.

man... every day i get reminded that i dont live in my fantasy world. i probably couldnt fit into those tiny little white shorts... my hair is way too short for a fro. and how the hell am i supposed to kick ass in 4 inch heels when i can barely walk straight with my two feet as is?

instead, i get to listen to white people drone on and on and on ... sayin a whole lot of... nothin.

friends, i want to tell yall a secret. i am tired of this world. i am tired of making the effort. i am tired of not bein seen or heard. i am tired of havin to fight twice as hard to get half as far. i am tired of this knife still stuck 4 excruciatin inches in my back, with no way to reach around and pull it out. man, i am tired of bein tired, yall.

and so... im leavin this world. dont waste yr time tryna to find me, cuz you wont. i found a way out, and im gonna create my own world, full of black grrls like me lookin for a place to call home. a whole queer black grrl nation! now, dont you worry about me, ill be fine. if i was you, id worry abt my own damn self, and how yr gonna manage in this old, jank ass world without me.

whatchu mean, im crazy? youre the crazy one! taking this shit with a smile on yr face every day. im fed up to HERE and im done with acceptin less than what i deserve. im ready to kick some ass, make love to some fine ass sisters, have myself a grand ole time, and just be happy and nappy.

oh so now yr calling me a romantic, huh? no place for queer black grrls like me? hmmph. i know im not some crazy romantic. i dreamt abt a place like this once. you know what, im not even gonna waste words on you anymore. i thought you were down. guess not.

well friends, i guess this is goodbye. i am on to bigger and badder things. ya dig?

...oh, and you can tell that finnnee lookin sister in the back? how you doin, boo? yeah, she can come too.

oh so cold

its that time of year where people bundle up for warmth, but im still trying to cling onto the thread of hope that maybe it will get warmer. i see other people who, like me, are stuck in denial abt the weather, and walk around freezing in their hoodies and short sleeves. my friends , i think its time we face reality.

this weather is the type of weather that makes you sick, and in such a small environment, the flu bounces back and forth between people like a ball in a game of catch. as soon as youve gotten rid of it, there it is again, flying towards yr head in a blur of red plastic, and yr only option is to catch it. again.

ive noticed that everyone is constantly coughing. im not usually a cougher during the day, but my body feels like its possessed. im sure this is what the holy spirit feels like. cyree mentioned the other day that she coughs so much it feels like shes doing crunches daily- who needs the gym ever again? ive been communicating with people through coughs. in fact, i had a conversation with a fellow modmate today, and it went a little something like this:

me: hey can i borrow that *coughcoughcough*
them: yeah, its by the *coughcoughcough*
me: wait *cough* where? *cough* i dont see the *coughcoughcough*
them: did you look by the *coughcoughcough*
me:*coughcoughcoughcough*
them:*coughcoughcoughcough*

.... and this continued for abt five minutes until one of us just left the room.

the winter is especially hard for me because i am realizing more and more every dayt hat i am not equipped for the winter. even though i am (for the most part) a new englander, i dont rly have enough sweaters or hoodies, most of my shoes are flats or sandals, i own MAYBE two pairs of socks, three out of the four pair of tights i own are ripped and two out of the three pairs of jeans that i own are ripped. and on top of that, i lost my only flannel! i absolutely loved that flannel! my mother told me via email that she was going to send me up some boots and some money and i almost cried tears of joy. i responded to her email by saying

OMG MOM YES THANKS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!

im hoping that i played it smooth and didnt seem too desperate.

i went to the justice for jason rally today in chuckswithnosocks, and after abt 2 hrs of standing outside in the bitter cold, i felt like my legs were attached to rocks. i couldn't feel my feet at all. by the time that i got home, i tore off my shoes and saw that parts of my feet had turned blue. i didnt think that it could really happen to me- im black! i didnt think i could see blue through the melanin! but there it was... my feet still feel rly cold and i put socks on and changed my shoes!

these are hard times. everyone i know keeps stealing gloves and hats and scarves. im just waiting to go home so my mommy can buy me some- im broke and rly bad at stealing, so ill just wait. it sure is cold though.

Enfield quad, Nov 18th 2008, 5:07PM

Heard through my window:


"whoever took my laundry detergent should bring it back, that's rly rude!"

...

"whoever took my laundry detergent should bring it back right now, before i start to wash my clothes, you fucking assholes!"

...

"HEY! ENFIELD, FUCK YOU!"

bang!

"GIMME BACK MY FUCKING LAUNDRY DETERGENT!"

slam!

...

.....

"Hey, could someone let me use some laundry detergent? I just rly need to wash my clothes."

20 great ways to procrastinate when doing hw in the library

1. tetris

2. google yr name

3. google somebody else's name

4. youtube

5. ichat

6. cook a meal

7. watch shitty tv and then deconstruct it

8. look up poetry- i recommend langston hughes

9. clip yr toenails

10. check yr email

11. check yr facebook

12. daydream abt a current crush

13. doodle

14. start a staring contest with a random stranger

15. write a poem

16. arrange an a capella version of an r. kelly song

17. pick a scab

18. people-watch from one of the windows

19. play dino run

20. post on yr blog.

triggered? content? i dunno.

the past couple of days have been... well.. for the lack of a word... traumatic. no.

they have been.. empowering?

no.

ive been doing things for myself- for my health- emotional, mental, physical. and they've been good for me. rly good. but its been rly hard for me. ive been facing a lot of fears. im proud of myself.

but sometimes it can be very lonely here at hampshire.

it doesnt help that the weirdest songs have been stuck in my head... like seal's kiss from a rose...? haha, im playing it right now, thinking abt my life.

its so corny. its a bit shameful.

its not my fault crappy love songs keep playing on my itunes.. hahaha.

actually, now that im thinking abt it, im rly happy.

no.

satisfied.

i feel satisfied for the first time in a while. and i am making a vow to take care of myself and stay happy- for now, at least.

i wish i had a camera. i keep walking around and seeing things that make me happy, at least for a second, and i want to take snapshots of them. instead i kind of hold my fingers up in front of my face and go "click". rly stupid, but it makes me smile, just knowing that ive captured this rly nice image in a rly silly way.

ahh fuck work. instead of doing what i should be doing, i think im gonna go play with barbies at mod 80..!

see what i mean? silly, but it makes me feel good. im all abt the "id" today, i guess. :)

chair massages

yesterday, i came home generally disappointed by the chair massage i received. and ive noticed something. there has only been one masseuist (however the fuck you spell it) that has given me the massage of my life. i came out of my first massage with her, and felt so good that i started up conversation with annoying hipster boys.

Me: Hey, annoying hipster boy! how's it goin?
AHB: Im ok. Listen to me talk abt this rly pretentious thing...
Me: Wow. I am genuinely interested and intrigued!
AHB: (still talking abt pretentious things)
Me: Hahaha, how interesting! No PoMo!

AHB and I give each other high fives as I skip off into the sunset.

now, i wish that all of my massages could go like that. instead, its more of a struggle to get to touch me. i mean, they're touching you, but they don't get into it- they don't dig deep. and i would say that maybe its a size thing:



but i dont think thats it, because the person to give me the best massage of my life was small and skinny.

but my interaction with the other chair massage guy was more like this:

CMG: let me know if this is enough pressure
Me: i will when you start
CMG: ive been going for abt 5 min now.
Me:...oh.

damn, i feel like i came out of that chair massage more tense than i originally went in there feeling. whenever he would get to a place on my back that hurt, i would push back onto hand just to feel any sort of pressure! i came out with bigger knots than originally, and a headache.

although, that wasn't my worst chair massage experience.

some bad past experiences:

* i had a massager who smelled like boiled onions who decided to give me the longest massage ever
* i had a massager who took themselves way too seriously, played weird music and wouldnt let me talk during my massage
* i had an ok massage one day, but when i put my glasses back on, i couldnt see straight for hours! everything was blurry...
* i waited in a long ass line for a 5 minute massage.. that sucked
* i fell asleep during my massage once and didnt remember it. i still think she just let me sleep and didnt gimme a massage

ok, the list goes on, and im sure you get the point.

i guess my words of wisdom to leave yall with is... not to NOT go to the chair massage. free massages, from 3-8, five days a week? thats friggin sweet!!! take advantage of that shit!! i would just say that its all abt finding the right massager for you. i need someone who will dig deep. and will give pleasant conversation. others need someone who will be a little gentler, and grunt in weird sexual ways in their ear... thats another thing.. it feels like yr barely putting effort on my back, why are you breathing so heavily on my neck...? this is just weird!... but i digress.

so yes. the right massager for you. take advantage.... and if you RLY love me, then youll give me a quick lil backrub next time you see me... i promise you, i need it.

Obama just won

.. and motherfuckers are ALREADY trying to argue that racism is over in this country. DAMN.

the STRUGGLE IS NOT OVER.

Obama winning is NOT THE ANSWER for black ppl in America.

This is great, yes. Much better HIM than effing McCain.

OMG I'm watching NBC right now and they didn't wait even FIVE MINUTES till they quoted the "I Have a Dream" speech, with in an old black man talking about how he loves America.

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT

I can't believe no one sees this coming.

Welcome to a new, colorblind America. A new era, where we are all just one UNITED country.

gah, such bullshit.

Ok, a black man won. Let's make sure that he lives long enough to get sworn in, first off.

Secondly, let's make sure we remember that RACISM HAS NOT ENDED, PEOPLE.

Ugh, I dont even wanna talk about this anymore.

i just voted for the first time

wow...

no words.


wait0 there are words-

OMG- i am TERRIFIED and the tv at home is STUCK on the news... gah.

i h8 africa, but american apparel is o.k.

and i wonder why it is that you hate nigeria
ive never been but i hear that its not that bad of a country
in fact, my mother knew a nigerian man once
he was the one that told her that my name was beautiful
she would fight with my father, try to entice his mouth
to pronounce it the way it was supposed to be
Dah. Muh. Li.
like the Nigerian man coached it to her,
same syllables as the English meaning:
beau.ti.ful.
but daddy always shrugged off that African shit
and just drawled it out the way he saw fit.
DaMawwLi, thats what the yankees will say,
and that was the end of that conversation.

and im sure you've got more money
on yr dashboard than ive got in my bank account
but dont you think thats flaunting it a bit
i googled Nigeria today and
my computer screen was flooded with
beautiful brown faces smiling at me-
i was expecting flames or little devils
or something to indicate the hellhole you had mentioned,
not black faces that look like mine.
what are you saying about me?
do you think i am a black devil?
because when i imagine hell i think of pale face closer to yours.

and now im a bit confused.
i have no idea how to end this poem.
i know ive got a couple options-
call you a deuche,
flip you off,
tell you to suck it
while you enjoy yr miserable life in hell
but rly, i just wish you'd read up a little on nigeria.
it doesn't seem like too bad of a place, really.

eating the other

im here, trapped
down
in the
belly of the white beast-
like jonah, but with no reason to repent.
how'd i end up down here?

i never gave you permission to consume me whole
taking my soul and wrapping it around a pale finger
like a spaghetti strand
i was minding my own business, doing my thing
and before i know it yr sopping me up with sauce and
now... im stuck.

im not giving up without a fight
still kicking around, screaming yelling
but you swallowed me in one gulp
opened yr mouth wide and let me slide down yr throat
while i tried to claw my way out

im not worried, and im not scared either-
ive got some of the greats to keep me comapny

ella, bessie, luis and langston
to name a few
other jazz heads and poets and artists
dancers and dreamers, too.

hoping to blow our way out,
gurgling notes from our very bowels
tryna fly out on high sweet tones or
dance on dissonant chords
come out with heads held high-

ready to reclaim our thrones as
reigning monarchs of birdland.

i can't get hamlet out of my head

"what do the voices sound like?"

we could tell she was gone the second she walked into the classroom. mentally not there. something about the irregularity of her stride, and the way her eyes were so intently focused on her feet. like she was counting her steps. she sat down, introduced herself, and told us she was schizophrenic.

"any questions?"

no one spoke, of course. we all just... sat there.

she looked at each and every one of us, pierced us with her blue eyes and crooked smile. "boo."

we all laughed nervously, and she went straight into the story of when she was diagnosed. told us that she was popular in college, very social. except one day that all stopped and she started locking herself in her room. ignoring people's knocks and phone calls. it got harder to get out of bed each day. no particular reason... "just because... i didn't want to face anyone. or anything. i started blowing off classes. friends. and then... the voices came."

men and women. mostly men. deep, scary voices, telling her negative things. like she was ugly and useless. driving her crazy.

i raised my hand and asked in my timid voice. out of curiosity.

"...but are they always mean? are there any nice voices?"

she looked at me like i was insane.

"what do you think?"

my presidential candidate!

http://www.tsgnet.com/pres.php?id=370743&altf=KE&altl=Tuplfmz

word.

oh no he didnt???

damn.

i feel sad and hurt and confused and disappointed and mad. mostly mad though.

im grateful for wonderful ppl in my life (see below) and also for yogurt covered pretzels. and old xangas/livejournals/diaries that keep me laughing. and good reggae- the stuff that isnt offensive.

and erykah badu.

and james baldwin.... oh!
look at this great quote:

"Artists are here to disturb the peace."
- James Baldwin

YES.

friendz

i am so blessed to know these folk.

they rly make me want to smile and laugh and love so hard it makes my heart&head burst, but...

i dunno.

i watched her as i held her hand and
i wanted to run away, too.
let's go to new york or san fran or
france or england or kenya or
let's go make our own country
filled with beautiful queer brown girls
searching for a home.

feels like we're gonna be running a long, long time.
you ready?

scotch bonnet

they call him pipin, short for pipin hot, but i just call him dad. even his own mother calls him pipin although when she's really mad, she uses the name she gave him, and the shrill cry of "Willy" comes crashing down on his head. i asked him once where he got his nickname and he shrugged his shoulders in the impatient way that he usually does, and told me not to ask such stupid questions. i asked my mom where he got that nickname and she laughed and said it was because he had a piping hot temper, one that burned long and hard (but i guess that's the scorpio in him.) i asked my grandma where he got his nickname and she told me that my father had a love affair with peppers. he would devour even the spiciest ones whole and not bat an eyelash, shed a tear. i wonder if those peppers worked their way into his blood, into his skin, into his words. my dad's cheeks are always burning, his blood always boiling, his words always gave me heartburn.

ive been cooking with a scotch bonnet pepper that we found at the farm. it was one small fat yellow pepper amongst lots of red skinny ones. the outside of the pepper is smooth and curvy, overzealous and a bit seductive. but when you cut into the pepper, you have to keep a distance. just a slice is enough to spice up a whole meal, and definitely enough to burn your skin if you touch it. i grew up being afraid of this pepper in the same way that i was afraid of my father's temper. but i've missed it lately, and so i put scotch bonnet in everything. i welcome the throbbing burning in my throat without batting an eyelash, shedding a tear.

don't make me laugh

who ever heard of a 90's party that doesn't play 90's music?

fah.

whoa whoa whoa

now, i remember
these lil kiddies i used ta know.
they were cute and small and
followed me around sometimes, but
now these lil kids aren't so small anymore.

what do they feed these kids in hs nowadays?
-----

in other news

what does the word mother mean to you?

the word mother fills me both with joy and pain.

mother is so close to mammy, and although i want one, i feel the need to rebuke the other. it's a hard struggle, wanting to be maternal and supportive and loving one day, but wanting the freedom to choose that, rather than being forced into that mold.

i think abt how in hs, kids would call me mama, or compare me to a mother. and i think abt how my black women friends greet each other, "hey, mama!" and it's funny how the same word can seem so difference.

maybe its because they don't grab at my breasts when they say it, or their sincerity. i dunno.

maybe they see themselves in me, that mother thats in all of us. or...

maybe they recognize that mama as an actual being, with flaws and needs and young and alive.

or...

maybe it's that as black women we are forced to be our own mothers. we're so used to being alone, uncared for- we're survivors, we don't need no one nothing. you know, the myth of superwoman, the strong black woman that we're always getting accused of being (esp if you replace the word strong with angry.)

my mother still tells me that all i have is her. that she raised me with her bare hands- she was mother, father, brother, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles- she was my everything. because no one else cared, no one else helped. from the beginning it was me and her.

and now its her and my lil brother...

and me... well, ive got the skin on my back, the thoughts in my head, the words on my tongue, a prayer in my heart...

but thats a lonely life, and its hard to be me myself and i all the time.

sometimes when i call out to my friends, "mama!" i feel like a child again. i feel so vulnerable, because there is so much need and so much emotion in that cry. its just a greeting, and afterwards we laugh it off, but hidden in that greeting is the want to nurture and support and love each other, and be nurtured and supported and loved in return.

blahblahblah- an update on stokely's life

guys, i'm sad.

im not sad like boohoo sad or sad with any real reason for being sad.

the sadness is just there right now. im holding it at bay but..

i know im sad because usuallyw hen im sad i cant write and when i cant write my whole life gets out of sync and then i get all confused as to what to do with myself and i get sadder.

le sigh.

lol.

other news.. happier news.

hampshire! good. very good. its been two weeks and i feel like i've been here forever. everything fell right back into place. its weird, kind of... but a huge relief that i dont have to start at square one like the first yrs do. speaking of first yrs, they're mad chill. i love the ones that i know already. so much love to those kids... i can't wait for the students who are gone to meet em (britbrit, brecklyn, alumns!!!) and can i say, the black ppl @ hampshire are ROLLIN DEEP this yr.. NOW if we could all roll deep to a friggin UMOJA meeting we'd be set, yo.

i got some crazy ideas for qipoc and umoja.. y'alls just gotta stay tuned and watch what i can do.

speakin of black ppl, chris tinson has a class called Framing Blackness.. im like.. 3rd on the waitlist but im tryna get in that shit HARDCORE.

umm, what else?

thats it rly.. ill try to update when i have something real to update abt...

yup yup

hey guys-

i know i promised to write abt my trip to the dentist but the more that i think abt it, it wasn't that interesting. i'll give y'all the low-down, though.

* 2 fillings
* 1 extraction
* 3 stitches
* a whole bottle of perks.

yuppp.
lol.

in OTHER news, i'm back @ camp hamp. it's kind of nice. i was a jb orientation leader, and i got here sunday. the regular admittance kids got here today.

so. white.

i told the new jbs to do a poc-count for me. lol.

the new jbs are pretty chill. i hope they do well here. they seem like they don't like it, and don't want to socialize. maybeits culture shock? i dunno. i mean, i understand how it is when yr new to a space. you gotta feel it out. and i know i wasn't that friendly my first couple of weeks here. ah, well. only time will tell.

what else, what else...

oh! one of em told me i talk white. i wanted to slap him. first off, ive given up on the myth of talking//acting black way back in high school. besides,

MUTHAFUCKA HOW DARE YOU COMPARE ME TO WHITEY OH HELLLL NAAW........!!!

but he's still a good kid. its wuteva.

the only bad thing abt being back @ hamp is that my house is dead right now. for reals, tho. im on the tippy top floor all the way down the hall. it sucks, yo. my room is a mess, too. i need to stop playin and take care of that shit! and i will. soon. but for the past coupla days, my ass has been sleepin in p.scott. anything other than being alone..!

i miss the wife. gah. she knows how much i love and miss her stank ass.

oh! also-

i made an appt for my tattoo(s), guys!!!

the dudes said its gonna be only abt $80 for the three i want. ima be real, im a wimp. i jut want some small shit. two things on my wrists, and one thing on the back of my neck.

this is what i want (i might've wrote abt this awwready so bear wit me)

left wrist (gye nyame):

http://www.marshall.edu/akanart/images/EXCGOD.GIF

right wrist (ankh):

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b7/Ankh.png/341px-Ankh.png

neck (raised fist):

http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/img/people/hands/raised-fist.gif


guys, i would post the pics on my blog but my computer's being a stank ass bitch so its not lettin mee.

i'll update tomorrow, with pics of mee and my tattoo(s)

"where's yr horse?"

yr obviously talking about my boots
but yr looking at my chest-
you might as well have said
where's yr boyfriend.

what, you wanna be my horse, old man?

fuck off, i smile, and keep on strutting
i dont need a horse or a hat or
a pathetic ole man's approval.

---

in other news, the grass is lookin pretty green for me right now.

real post soon- my adventures at the dentist.

noise(ttes) !!!

oh em gee.

i love this band. sometimes i forget how much i love then and then they come on my itunes (thanks to that shuffle, ya know) and then i turn up the volume, and rawk out. that is, before i melt at the hottness that is shingai shoniwa, the lead singer and frontman of the band.

um... shes a black rocker who sings AND plays bass. (you know bassists are good with our fingers ;P )

nuff said? lol.

i'd totally swing for her- oh wait. lol.

i figured i should upload a coupla pics of the rocker beauty so here ya go:






love me some b l a c k rockers!

pst go listen and love:http://www.myspace.com/noisettesuk

website: http://thenoisettes.com/

interracial dating, then and now.

oh dear.

interracial dating? no comment.

however i thought this pic was pretty interesting and decided to put it up here...



whaddya think??

stereotypes.

kara walker, oooh kara walker. oh how i hate thee.

the image above with the little black girl engaging in sexual activity with the horse/donkey/whatever the hell thats supposed to be... that was the first image of kara walker's that i was introduced to. as far as i can tell, she seems like a self-loathing black woman who makes money by selling her horrific ideas/images of her race to white folk, who eat. it. up.

this is the woman who said that all black ppl secretly wish to be slaves. do you know, that quote haunted me since the time i first heard about it? that all black ppl still want to be slaves to white folx. damn.

however, i was perusing her website and i was a little torn. because we all know i love to hate these images of black people, and tearing them to pieces. and i thought to myself... what is the difference between her work and my work? seriously though.. the image above with the tree.. "so i ask what is positive black image (other than a contradiction)" damn, kara. the sexual liberation of mammy is similar. there are no positive images in it. when the black characters break their caricature, their "role, they just jump into another one. why the hell is that???

and i basically have been saying its because i don't know the whole piece yes.. its still mostly an idea in my head... and it can change. but i also have been thinking that its because right now, its because there is no way out... but we have to create one together (or some cheesy shit like that).

but, as a good friend of mine said once, artists are exploiters.

i wrote a poem abt it once:

The artist’s job is to exploit

We are the traitors of our races,
Uncle Toms- we let white folks into our cabins
We bleed our family’s secrets onto the page
Onto the screen,
Onto society

We make our fathers face their demons
While the white world watches
Amazed, transfixed- frozen.

The artist’s job is to exotify

I have othered my body.
My hands, my breasts,
My hair, my skin-
White men have looked upon me
Like a poisonous flower ready to pluck
And to stuff in a book, to wither, to dry out.

They touch me
And tell me I am beautiful. I am exotic.
I am their Nubian Queen. I am savage.

I walk away from these men, confused
Only to walk into the arms of a white woman
Who will do the same.
You are so different. So urban. So black.

The artist’s job is to intellectualize.

T here is a reason for our anger.
No, it has nothing to do with human emotions-
Webster has a different word for every feeling, every action.
Hegemony, beurocracy, democracy
Racism, sexism, masochism,
And eventually we lose touch with our emotions
And spew out our intellectual rhetoric
Bourgeoisie bullshit back
In the faces of our own communities.
[...]
You can use the dictionary to define anything
Absolutely everything is a social construct
But that doesn't make it any less real,
Less legitimate.

I do not call myself an artist.
To do so is to not belong.
The title of “artist” causes pain.
“Your work is too cultural,” he said.
“Think of your audience. White people cannot
Relate to this.”

So sell out, artist.
Exploit your people,
Exotify your body,
Intellectualize your history,
Assimilate to the whims of your
White Audience
And don’t think a damn thing about it.

Do it with a kool-aid smile
While they clap for you
Say something sweet,
“Oh you speak so well,”
Do a little shuck and jive,
And make them eat it up,
Shove that silver spoon down their throats
And find a way to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning.

where the dots are, [...] is where i got stuck. never finished.

but yeah... kara walker, you are a traitor. and i really dont want to be one myself, although i feel mysel falling in love with these stereotypes. not as a way to look at myelf, or a history to be cherished, but more like obsession.. like i said earlier, something that i love to hate. and im afraid they're gonna seep into my skin and find their way into my conscience.


however, to end on a funny note.. i <3 dave chappelle. lol!

so fucking mad.

if you try to mess with my family, bio or not...
especially the wife or brothers...

yr dead to me.

the end.

not because he's black, but because he's brilliant...

i am so mad.

we got into a discussion abt the obamas today in the car..

me, my mom, my "aunt" (and my lil bro and "cousin") were driving back home from the mall and my aunt showed us the copy of essence with the obama family. this stared a conversation abt how great obama is. how strong his family is. why obama would be a great president. why everyone in the world should support obama.

i chimed in here and there, yes, they look great, yes they are a wonderful family, yes i really do respect the obamas.

and then my aunt mentions that i am old enough to vote.

and i agree, yes, this is true i am old enough to vote.

and she goes well thats great because yr vote will really count. we need all the votes we can get for obama. and i planned on just going "mm" or smiling or something, but that really irked me, the way that she assumed that i was automatically voting for obama. so i told her the truth, that i am not sure who i am going to vote for yet.

and that got my aunt and mom all upset, about how we need all the votes we can get, who else was there to vote for, don't i want my vote to count.

and i tried in my most respectful way to say that yes, i want my vote to count, and that my first time voting is important to me. and i want to vote smart, not just support someone because i feel like i should have to, but really look into the people's politics. that i wanted my vote to count for something.

and they couldn't wrap their minds around why i wouldnt be voting for obama. and the way that they made me feel was so infuriating.. it was as if i was just a child and i would learn better. in fact, my mother said that i was being silly, i just wanted to pull a lever, that i wanted to make a political stance.

YES. YES I DO WANT TO MAKE A POLITICAL STANCE. POLITICS ARE FUCKING POLITICAL.

then my mom went into a rant abt white fucking liberals and how they don't do anything for black ppl and how they stab you in the back, etc, etc... first off. i never said i was voting for a white liberal. and i agree. i have little to no respect for white liberals because i have learned that white liberal = colorblind racist, NOT progressive anti racist. the white liberals that i have met don't want to talk abt race, dont want to acknowledge its existence, and the effect it still has on our society. i never said i was liberal. and thirdly, didnt i say i wasnt sure who i was voting for? didnt i say that? i didnt jump up out of my seat and go, LET'S GO GREEN PARTY, WHITE LIBERALISM ALL THE WAY.

my mom also says that not all political candidates are perfect. that she doesnt agree with a good amt of things that obama believes, but supoprts him anyway. and that a lot of black people are really conservative. well mom, i'm not conservative. why would i vote for someone with conservative views... and why would i vote for someone that i don't agree with... is it because my loyalty to my blackness? because if thats the case, wouldnt that give me more of a reasont o vote green, in allegiance with my blackness AND my womon-ness?

then my aunt tries to reason with me and says that she hopes that i get the chance to educate myself and find that obama truly is the right candidate. and offers me his book on CD. i was pissy so i declined. not because i dont want to read the book (because as i said earlier i want to educate myself) but because of the tone in which she offered it. the fact that i will educate myself and find that he is the right candidate for me.. wtf.

they continue their obama discussion, ignoring me, but still talking for my "benefit"- you know, the way that parents do.. and my aunt says something that sticks with me. apparently, when oprah was helping campaign for obama, she told america, don't vote for obama because he's black, but because he's brilliant.

beautifully said...

but the biggest load of horse shit ive ever heard. and how dare you mention that when you just cracked a joke that obama should get a mexican VP, because thats the only way he wont get shot in office...

of course people are voting for him because he's black! of course! especially those damned white "liberals" that my mother mentioned earlier (kind of like the one she's dating)... oh, how "progressive" to support this black man... i feel that there is no way that we can ignore the fact that obama is black. DUH. just look at the guy. just hear how ppl talk abt him, positive or negative. we always mention the fact that he could have a black president, that he is a black man with a black man and a black family and black obama black black black.

i dont think this is a negative thing.

in fact, i am glad that we can admire this strong black man... that we can acknowledge his blackness.. hopefully that will encourage race dialogue.

and if you want to vote for him because he's black ad you feel a sense of loyalty to him because yr also black, hell.. thats fine too! i feel an allegiance to a lotta folk because we're black.. we gotta look out for each other, support each other. i support the obama family, i admire them. i just dont want to vote for him without knowing his politics.. and also, i dont want to be questioned as to why im not voting for my fellow black countryman. cuz if thats the case, the green party has two black folk running for the candidacy (thats twice the allegiance) AND they're womyn! (thats another point there, too). i want to take oprah's advice, and vote for someone because they're brilliant, not because they're black (because if i voted on who's blacker- not "attitude" wise, but whose actually blacker- obama would lose.)

but i dont know.. i just want the opportunity to educate myself on these guys, and really take this srsly. i want to be able to say, i voted for ___ because i agree with their politics on _______, _______, and _____ and honestly think that they would be great at running our country. i dont want to walk out saying, i voted for obama because hes black. come on, now! maybe obama will be the one to fill in those blanks, maybe mckinney (hellthe fuck naw it wont be mccain's dumb ass) but i want the freedom to figure that out. is that too much to ask?? should i be ridiculed and treated as if i am silly and young and trying to make a statement with my white liberals?? NO.

and ill buy obamas book with my own damned money, thankyouverymuch.


...and lastly, i would like to say that the family looks FIERCE on that magazine cover.

open the door, lay on the floor, you been robbed.

Biggie's "Playa Hata" has been running through my head all night, especially since we just got robbed. I partially don't believe it. But today, my mom and I came home (around 3:30 ish) and found that someone had broken into our home.

What the fucking fuck?

It's kinda funny (not really) cuz we were home watching Tyra, we cleaned our rooms... all without realizing that we had gotten robbed. The motherfuckers took my brother's PS2, my jewelry box (filled with all junk, except for the gold chain and cross that my dad gave me for christmas when i was 12), the printer and my mom's bike. They left three other bikes, the huge Mac computer above the printer, our passports and ss cards, my violin (that they took out) the surround sound stereo system, my mom's REAL jewelry just CHILLIN on the floor, in the living room etc, our huge ass tv, yo.. the list goes on. Dumb. Ass. Robbers.

It wasn't the fact that someone stole our shit. I mean, yeah, that pissed me off. But it was the fact that someone had actually forced their way into our home, our space. I know that the robber isn't necessarily male, but the idea of a male intruding into a space that is woman-run hurts me. I keep thinking that someone is still here- and it's hard enough, me being as paranoid as I am all the time. And mannn am I paranoid. Thanks to my moms connections we had detectives and cops all over our house, searching every nook and cranny. But still.. there's always that worry that they missed a spot.

And I'm afraid that my little brother is going to be scarred by this. He is already terrified of entering the house, and I can't be as strong for him as I would like to be. I'm a wimp, what can I say. My mother is really strong, but she is just as scared as we are, I can tell. And it annoys me that she can't show that she is frightened too. But I appreciated it for Ja Ja's sake.

Man, am I mad. I am so fucking angry.

Safe spaces have become so important to me. And what space is supposed to be safer than yo mama's house?? I have a feeling that I won't be able to sleep tonight.

I really wish I had someone that could call to come over and keep me safe.
... I guess I can cuddle up with pillow tonight and make due, lol.

Keep me and my family in your prayers, please!

can the black men please stop dying now?

RIP Bernie Mac 8.09.2008

RIP Isaac Hayes 8.10.2008

You will both be sorely missed.

How is it that two black men, both famous, both fairly young (too young to die anyways) died one day after the other? That's fucked up, man. I smell a conspiracy theory.

hampshire haikus

"haiku to 52/enfield fam"

cut-off jeans and tanks
we found in the "free stuff" box
toes lost in the grass

smoking on the porch
sipping kool-aid from a jar,
eating dried mango.

we talk about life:
oppression, revolution
how to make a home

build community
in this small town, no name school
this is what i miss.

kanye is queer

no disrespect to ye.

i love me some yeezy.

but am i the only one who thinks hes queer? just a tad bit queer, maybe? c'monn y'all.. i took this shit as a confession- and to be real, if he WAS queer, i'd appreciate him that much more:

http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

shoes, shoes, shoes

or more accurately- sneakers, sneakers, sneakers.


i still haven't gotten the shoes that i want. obvs. im broke as fuckkk.

but these are the shoes that i want and they are sooo expensive. (they were a limited edition, and the cheapest pair i saw were going for $300 on ebay.)
my dream shoes:



i was showing these to my friend and i got so mad. she was like, those are nice shoes but i dunno if i could rock anything other than nikes. i hate that shit. nikes are nice, yes, but they are not the only brand out there. take a risk, ppl! then she saw a pick of lil wayne rockin em and of course she was all over supra skytops then. ha! they are some fly ass shoes, tho:









im probably gonna get one of these instead:



OR



i have really been into the look of nike blazers this summer. they feel like a very summer-y sneaker to me. i saw a girl rockin these today and they actually looked really good on her. i saw em online before and was not impressed, but just goes to show you that shit looks a lot different on yr body than they do online:

i stand corrected

in an older post, i mentioned that gender doesn't exist, and that i couldn't understand it.

i feel ashamed of what i said. and i take it back.

it reminded me too much of ppl who say that they racism no longer exists and that they can't see color. so although i dont completely understand how gender (specifically MY gender) works, it doesnt make it any of a less valid thing because i have gender issues.

yep.

when i grow up...

one day i'll learn how to write like a "writer" and i'll make everyone proud. i'll write something that makes everyone go, "oh!" and they'll want to laugh and cry at the same time. ill write something that makes people want to create something beautiful for themselves. one day i'll learn how to become an inspiration...


it's very strange, realizing the influence i have on my lil brother. to be honest, it kind of bothers me. sometime he looks at me with those big brown eyes and i know that he sees something brilliant. but there's not much there. i don't think i could bear to see the change in his eyes when he realizes that i'm just as human as everybody else. that's exactly why i gave up having heroes when i was younger, especially in my parents- i couldn't bear to be disappointed.

i realized the other day that i really admired my mother when i was younger. i still do, very much, but... it's not the same. but it's not supposed to be, right? she can't treat me like i'm 5 forever. i just kind of wish that she "got it". i know i don't really make an effort when it comes to letting her into my life so that we can strengthen our relationship, but it's only because that doesn't seem like the proper thing to do. the job of a child is to been seen and not heard, to listen and obey, to be respectful and polite and answer a parent's every beck and call. a parent-child relationship should be one of servitude, not one of friendship.

my parents did not raise me like this. so where did i learn that from, i wonder?

sometimes i get so angry that i want to burst. there is so much i want to tell my mother, especially when i am angry. i want to tell her off a lot, and it is so frustrating, not being able to do so. but it's not that she doesn't want to listen, it's that i'm not willing to talk. i tend to silence myself a lot. when it comes to me and my mother, my silence is my weapon. but it's a double-edged sword. because i have forgotten how to speak, and it effects my relationships with people, too.

i told someone that they reminded me of my mother once, and for that i am very sorry. she was a great person, but i didn't know how to verbalize my feelings towards her, or about her, or anything, really. i regret that.

i am so grateful for my friends, the true friends that listen to me. when i talk, i am always doubting myself, even talking online. i would very much like to erase the words "i don't know" from my vocabulary, but it's a habit that won't go away. it's funny- i am a very emotional person, but i can't express my emotions at all. it makes me very uncomfortable when people really want to know how i feel, what i think, want me to express my opinion. all that attention makes me feel like i'm under some sort of microscope, like i'm being examined and i'm afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing.

i'd rather not burden people by verbalizing my emotions. there is nothing i hate more than being a bother. i just want to make sure that i am helpful and that other people are happy and satisfied. it is very strange for me to want to be this selfless, but i have always been like this. i am a very selfish person, though. i am very absorbed in myself, which i guess we all are as humans. we are put here for such a short amount of time and we want to figure our purpose in this world before we go. i feel that my selflessness has a lot to do with my selfishness. i guess taking care of people is my way of showing that i want to be cared for myself, and that i want to be acknowledged- by standing in the shadows. i can also claim that person for mine when i care for them. i put so much emotion into the people that i care for that it is unhealthy for me, mentally and physically, i know, but it's just the way i am. i know that this is dangerous, because i can be forgotten and taken advantage of in this way, and i usually am.

this all also has to do with why i can't be with anyone seriously, ever. that is too scary for me. i would hate to be the most important thing to someone, because it would mean that they are always focusing their attention on me, and that would bother me. but i am also very needy, and would feel the need to focus all of my mental and emotional attention on them all the time. i always say that i love hard. this person and i would become hermits, and i hate people who do that. and if we were ever to break up, i don't know what i would do. so i don't take relationships seriously, or people who are interested in me seriously. i have come to terms that my life is one destined to be lonely. regardless of how many people i am with, i will never let anyone romantically get close to me. i would only end up suffocating them to death. it is healthier for both of us that way.

so i live vicariously through my writing.

writing is like breathing for me. my breathing may not always be steady. sometimes it feels like the world is weighing down on my lungs and it gets harder to breathe, but in order to live, i need to breathe, and as long as i am alive, i will be breathing. that is how writing is for me. i will do it until i die. i may not be very good, but it is necessary for me. it is the one thing that i can truly count on.

phew.

musings in cambridge

not done, but here you go

...

today i tried to lose myself in the city.

it was hard, seeing as how cambridge
is really just one large suburb, so
i lost myself in a cloud of smoke instead.

i walked real fast, like my legs could outrun my brain, cuz
i got that feeling i sometimes do, you know
where my heart feels like its going to burst
out of my chest, and i get all excited and anxious.

i suck down smoke to make my heart stop beating.

some old woman approached me today.
she saw me smoking so she stopped me.

hey, you!

it was an abrupt call, and when i turned around,
there she was, hands shaking, like a junkie.

i'm sorry, but can i..?

her eyes darted towards my pack and she licked her lips.
i could relate to that feeling of helplessness
so out of pity, i gave her a cigarette
and then, as an afterthought, my lucky too,
and she blessed me and we each kept on moving
down our separate paths.

sometimes i feel lonely.

when i'm sad i run towards running water.
i guess its the cancer in me.
when i see moving water, i feel at home,
and besides, langston once told me that
my soul runs deep like the rivers.

over the charles there is a walking bridge
where i had my first date.
i sat down in the exact spot
where he and i talked about
the importance of kool-aid and
traded bad love songs while the sun set.
i wanted to kiss him then, but i didn't
and instead we pondered together why it is that
beautiful things always seem to be the most terrifying.

i am scared all of the time.

why is that?
i passed two construction workers today
standing on the roof of a three story house
and i was scared, and hurried past them
with my eyes glued to the sidewalk.
their bravery upset me.
they walked around freely
like gravity was an imaginary concept
and i was terrified that my eyes would betray them
and bring them crashing down back to earth.

i saw a little black boy running happily

past two cops, who were busy harassing a homeless man
in central square.
my breath caught in my throat
and i thought about the time that i had to teach my younger brother
that when he sees a blue uniform
it is best to walk, hands in pockets, eyes averted
because there is no difference to a bullet
between a guilty man running away from the scene
and an 8 yr old.

i passed a building that was stenciled with
happy black bodies in motion.

this was the same building that i passed with my mother
when she told me, smiling
about her nights out with my father.
they would come here to go dancing,
once upon a time,
when she still saw herself as
young and strong and beautiful
and he still loved her.

i was tempted to walk in
so that i look inside and see them dancing
but i kept on walking, because
i don't know what i would do
if those doors would not open for me.
so instead i sat and watched the waves
rolling in the charles river
and pretended they were my parents.
my mother was young and strong and beautiful
and my father was tall and dark and handsome
and they fell in love all over again
to the sound of the rolling river.

stuckstuckstuck

i've got nothin.

niggas and flies

so a poem was born after all! knew that was all good for somethin...

"n-bomb"

the word nigger seeped into my life,
unnoticed, until one day i looked down and
wham- there was nigger, encroaching on my space,
leaving a stain on my childhood-
you know, one a them stains that dont come off
ever
no matter how much soap and bleach you use,
no matter how long you let it soak.
it just gets bigger and uglier and
maybe a little faded but its still there.

so ever since i can remember,
its been me and nigger,
all big and brown and blatant
hanging on my sleeve for everyone to see.
it was one of those clingy friends
you know, the kind that no one likes,
but everyone's nice to anyway?
not me. i hated nigger-
this stain spreading from my sleeve to my shoulders,
dripping down my back, burning my skin.

in my bitterness, my young tongue began to curse nigger,
my throat gargling out the word to the world
like spit, like mucus, like vomit:
fuck you, nig-guh.
who's a nig-guh.
that dumb nig-guh.
each syllable like a punch in the stomach,
bringing me down, lower and lower
until one day a boy came up to me
and christened me a nigga.
what up, my nigga!

just like that, a friendly curse.

by then the stain had spread to my face
and made its way to my lips
and into my mouth,
and when i tried to respond
i choked on nigger, which was busy sliding down my throat
into the pit of my stomach.
i tried to breathe in and nigger filled up my lungs
and made them black and blue.
nigger was a parasite, and it had found a way to
work itself into my melanin.

my body don't like nigger very much.

it tried to kick nigger out way back when,
cough it back up
piss it back out,
get rid of it somehow.
but now its stuck with me for good.
we're together till i die, which shouldn't be too long.
nigger is killing me, choking the life out of this body,
squeezing the blood out of this pumping heart.

the people formerly known as "niggers"

niggas and flies...

so i got this word and this work all stuck in my head and something wants to come out... it started with the clip from Bamboozled with the guy at audition. you know, the "niggas is a beautiful thang" dude. i wanna write something... something about that line, something about that word.

i really wish i had a copy of "the nice colored man" by ted joans, too.... ah. inspiration for this blog, for my blog name. when i find it i will post it.

so this is some... let's call it, research, for a piece. something to give you guys to think about...

much love, stokes.

---

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wD-UpHlB9no )

---

NIGGER

I AM the nigger.
Singer of songs,
Dancer. . .
Softer than fluff of cotton. . .
Harder than dark earth
Roads beaten in the sun
By the bare feet of slaves. . .
Foam of teeth. . . breaking crash of laughter. . .
Red love of the blood of woman,
White love of the tumbling pickaninnies. . .
Lazy love of the banjo thrum. . .
Sweated and driven for the harvest-wage,
Loud laughter with hands like hams,
Fists toughened on the handles,
Smiling the slumber dreams of old jungles,
Crazy as the sun and dew and dripping, heaving life
of the jungle,
Brooding and muttering with memories of shackles:
I am the nigger.
Look at me.
I am the nigger.
- Carl Sandburg

----

Ten little nigger boys went out to dine;

One choked his little self and then there were Nine.

Nine little nigger boys sat up very late;

One overslept himself and then there were Eight.

Eight little nigger boys travelling in Devon;

One said he'd stay there and then there were Seven.

Seven little nigger boys chopping up sticks;

One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.

Six little nigger boys playing with a hive;

A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.

Five little nigger boys going in for law;

One got into Chancery and then there were Four.

Four little nigger boys going out to sea;

A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.

Three little nigger boys walking in the Zoo;

A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.

Two little nigger boys sitting in the sun;

One got frizzled up and then there was One.

One little nigger boy left all alone;

He went out and hanged himself and then there were None.

-Agatha Christie
---


Nigger, v. To wear out, spoil or destroy.
Niggerish, adj. Acting in an indolent and irresponsible manner.
Niggerlipping, v. Wetting the end of a cigarette while smoking it.
Niggerlover, n. Derogatory term aimed at whites lacking in the necessary loathing of blacks.
Nigger luck, n. Exceptionally good luck, emphasis on undeserved.
Nigger-flicker, n. A small knife or razor with one side heavily taped to preserve the user's fingers.
Nigger heaven, n. a designated place, usually the balcony, where blacks were forced to sit, for example, in an integrated movie theater or church.
Nigger knocker, n. axe handle or weapon made from an axe handle.
Nigger rich, adj, Deeply in debt but ostentatious.
Nigger shooter, n. A slingshot.
Nigger steak, n. a slice of liver or a cheap piece of meat.
Nigger stick, n. police officer's baton.
Nigger tip, n. leaving a small tip or no tip in a restaurant.
Nigger in the woodpile, n. a concealed motive or unknown factor affecting a situation in an adverse way.
Nigger work, n. Demeaning, menial tasks.5

( http://www.ferris.edu/jimcrow/caricature/ )

---

" I was working on this piece,
'cause I was sitting there...
I realize that
when I was looking at it...
Niggas is a beautiful thing.
You know?

And so it came to me.
It just came to me, you know?

Waste away your life and linger
Sittin' at home
watchin' Jerry Springer
You do blackface
and a monkeyshine
And cut a "G" at the same time
'Cause niggas
is a beautiful thang
Niggas is a beautiful thang,
hit me
Niggas is a beautiful thang

Then the audience would be
gettin' in with that.

Then it get into a gospel thing.

Stand up
If you a nigga

'Cause, you know,
it's about keeping it real.

- from Spike Lee's "Bamboozled"

( http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/b/bamboozled-script-transcript-spike-lee.html )
---

Nas- Be a Nigga Too

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hhp3KWMEhJU&feature=related )

Nas- N.I.G.G.E.R. (The Slave & the Master)

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnhIUdEqvu4&feature=related )

---

if this blog wasn't actin STANK, i would post the links... so you're gonna have to do some ole-fashioned c & p.

enjoy.

...

niggas is a beautiful thing.

the (weekly) haiku challenge

my mom's boyfriend posted this challenge to me and some other people he knows:

write a haiku every week for a year.

i figured, why the hell not. it'll help me at least write SOMETHING every week. so here was this week's submission:

"today was sunny
it was real hot so i wore
a sundress to work."

i was feeling uninspired today, lol.

...besides. it's almost 10PM. I've been at work since 9:30AM. I have at least another hour to go. What. The. Fuck.

im tired. when im not so tired i;ll write an actual entry- like a poem or a short story or something. im gonna start doing another weekly thing called "that aint cure" where i get to rant about things that arent cute. fun times. will come soon. sooo tiiireed.

peace.

who the hell was i kidding??

of course im gonna put the poem i wrote on here... err... its really cute-sy but i like it. it sounds better read aloud, i think.

about no one in particular. here goes nothing....

"horoscopes n signs n whatnot"

on one hand this might be a bad idea.

you're spewin words about suns and stars and signs
venus and mars and moons and
compatibility.

but to be honest, i'm not really hearin your words cuz
im too busy thinkin about cheesy shit, like
the stars in your eyes
or
how all the signs point to me and you and us-
and well, im not one to be swayed so easily
over words, cuz im listenin to the words
yr not sayin, you know, those soft, sweet words
that don't need to be spoken.
wow.

so this is it, huh?

that feelin i was tryin so hard to avoid, you know-
not love, cuz i dont know you that well, but
maybe, somethin else, somethin sticky and sweet,
like an overripe banana, maybe
bruised a bit, brown spots on the outside from
where you dropped it, but
mama always said that those bruised spots
are where the fruit is its sweetest.

this feels like
somethin that makes your teeth rot, but
who needs teeth when you got lips and tongues and
those unspoken words, cuz you
are enough for me, for right now, and

you got me tryin to figure out how to rearrange the stars and
moon and sky cuz
mama also told me that
love can make you do crazy things, and
heck, this aint love, but i still feel like i can do
somethin crazy.

venus and mars were lovers too, now weren't they?
he was strong
and she was sweet
and their love makin was enough to make
the moon blush and
the stars go blind with jealousy.



annnnnddd here's something that im working on but ill post it anyways. its a late bday present to myself, i guess.

i asked my mother to tell me the story of my birth and she didn't remember. i was born in philadelphia, with a midwife, she said.

i asked my father to tell me the story of my birth and he didn't remember. i was born in the cool of a july morning, but the rest of the day was hot, he said.

i asked my grandmother to ask me the story of my birth and she leaned back and i leaned forward and she whispered to me the secrets of my birth. when you were born, she said.

when you were born the ground did not shake, the sky did not shatter. the birds did not cry, the world did not stay still. people kept moving, kept living. but, oh- when you were born my heart stopped short and my ears began to ring and my eyes flooded with water, and with you. i was the first thing you saw and you were the only thing i could see because when i looked at you i was looking at myself.

and i smiled with delight and asked her to tell me more.

when you were born both of your feet curled in on themselves, like two coiled leaves. and your mother cried that you would never walk and your father cried that you would never dance and i laughed at them both because i knew that, like a flower, your body would unfurl itself and you would be tall and strong, not like a flower, but like a beautiful weed. you would grow strong and choke out anything that got in your way.

annnnnd thats all i got. im realllly stuck on this one, i might scrap it but i dunno.

i wrote a poem today and it was good.

it came out of nowhere- i was looking at a blank screen, and then went, oh! and a poem was born. i don't wanna put it on in fear that someone might read it. so i wont.

maybe one day i will.

i decided that upper caps letters are too harsh and mean.
its true, its true. they hurt. so for now i wont use them.

i wonder if the poem means anything. i wonder why i can't write what i want- just what comes to me. does that make any sense? someone reminded me of selena the singer today and i remembered how good she was. so good. its a shame. the good ones die so young.

whaddya want?

oh, god.

get outta my head.
which one to choose? i should choose myself.
get out, get out.

you were good for a poem, so thanks for that.


i am the lion and the lamb.

gender. wtf.

i don' know if this will make sense at all but i will write it anyway.

i can't wrap my mind around this whole gender thing.

i can't.

i try very hard to be proper, i don't want to offend anyone or fuck up anyone's pronouns, because to me there is nothing more embarrassing. it is not that i don't understand someone's decisions about their gender. i just don't understand gender as a thing- what is it?

is this making any sense?

when i was in senior soc, my teacher told us that we do not actually have any recollection of our memories from when we were younger- that they are probably actually a creation of our imagination pieced from stories we have been told. i wanted to tell her that she was full of shit because no one ever told me about the first time i realized i was female and i am sure ive never told anyone about the time that i realized for sure that i wasnt female.

---

i was young and wild and in jamaica. a lot of my stories start off like that, me being young and wild and in jamaica. but this story was different. i was very young, maybe three, maybe four. my cousin shelly anne and i were swinging on the gate in the entrance of the house. i dont think i can describe this gate lookswise, because to be honest, i dont remember. now, it would probably be a little higher than my navel and it was a beautiful gate, all made of iron. back then, the gate had to be my height, most likely taller, and my cousin shelly anne and i would take turns swinging back and forth on the gate, in front of the entrance to the house. no one would pay us any mind, because what could they say to us? we were young and wild and we had to learn our lessons on our own. they could only pray that we didnt have to crack our heads open to learn our lesson.

so shelly anne and i were swinging away, like usual. we would stand on the bottom of the gate, and clutch our hands around the wrought iron designs in the gate as we swung. but stupidly, we decided to ride the gate. we wanted to ride it because we were wild and crazy and stupid, so we did. i wanted to go first and have stacy push me. she wanted to go first and so she obliged and pushed me. she pushed me right off that gate and on the way down i hurt that soft spot between my legs and the pain hurt so bad that i wanted to cry. but i didnt- not then. instead, i went to the bathroom and squatted down on the toilet and i peed and it hurt. as i inspected the damage i noticed a hole that was never there before- the hole that the pee was coming out of! so i began to cry because i was broken now, because there was a hole in me and it was shelly anne's fault. and i told my aunt and anyone else that would listen and they just laughed at me and called me a silly little girl and hoped that id learn my lesson, to not play on the gate. but no one ever told me what that hole was and how to fix it so ive been broken ever since because now theres a hole where there shouldnt be one.

---

i dont remember how old i was when i jacked off for the first time. i had masturbated before but this was different, jacking off was different. i would close my eyes and i would touch my thighs and run my fingers through my pubic hair, and grab my penis with one hand, sometimes two, depending. and i would pump up and down and if you saw me doing this you would think that i was crazy, pumping the air in front of me. but it worked- it was doing something for me, because i would arch my back and sigh, and i would close my eyes real tight and i could feel it. i cold feel myself getting hard, getting real hard from all the pumping. my breath would get all quick, and my back would be so far up off my mattress, i would begin pumping into my hand like i don't know what, like i couldn't get enough of this feeling. it was like this invisible limb. i couldn't see it but it was there because i could feel it in my hand. and right before i could climax it would go away like there was this barrier between me and the pleasure that i wanted.

i dont think there is anything more frustrating than not being able to jack off properly.

i think maybe it was the shame of what i was doing. i never thought of this as a fantasy, because it wasnt- to me it was real. i was really pumping something and getting a reaction. but i got earlier and realized that this is kind o silly because i am a girl and girls dont have invisible penises that they can jerk off whenever they want. thats not normal at all.

i would assume that this is because i was a man in a past life, that it was like body memory. or that being she meant being s/he, that you are both. because you are not human when you are woman, you are goddess. and god is both male and female because s/he is whole, s/he is both, just like i am or i was or i might be. but thats very cocky of me (no pun intended) because how dare i compare myself to god, that is silly, that is blasphemous, that is such a human thing to do.
---

i am neither butch nor femme. i am neither man nor woman. then what the hell am i? i remember i cried one night when i tried to think about it. and the night after that. and by the third night i was done crying because i was all dried out and confused. what the hell am i.

i remember when i was 14 my mother was very frightened because i had not bled yet for the first time. i could care less because it seemed like such hard work, being a woman, but i wanted to experience it at least. my mom complained to my family about it, why wasnt i bleeding? what was wrong with me?

that very night i bled for the first time and i had this feeling of satisfaction but i was so humiliated that i didnt say anything because i didnt want my mother to see how womanly and vulnerable i had just become. i took some tissue and stuck it in between my legs and i went to bed although i didnt sleep at all because i was so uncomfortable. and i woke up to a wet pool of red and shame because now i had to tell my mother- there was no way getting around it now. so i did, and she smiled in her awkward mother way and said congratulations and called my father all the way in philadelphia and told him that i was a woman now. and she handed me the phone and all he said was now you can get pregnant. i told him i wont and changed the subject. no one ever mentioned my bleeding again. thank god. i only bleed once a year, if even that. i dont think i can actually get pregnant.

---

sometimes i wonder what i would look like if i didnt have big breasts. if i had no breasts. i wonder if i would look better. my mother told me today that my breasts looked smaller and i felt uncomfortable. what was i supposed to say? should i be happy or sad? i envy girls with small breasts. they can hide them if they want. they can show them off if they want. my breasts are like a neon sign. they mark me so blatantly as something woman.

a man asked me for directions one day from his car and i leaned down by his passenger window and said that i couldnt help him because i did not know. and he said in response, damn, you got some big ass titties. yeah, i guess i do. i wonder if that should make me smile or make me cry. it depends on the day. i wonder if my breasts determine my gender. am i female because of them? does that mean i should wear makeup and skirts because i have big breasts? what if they were gone- would it be okay to wear baggy jeans and polos then? can i be a woman with pearls and polos and no breasts? can i be a man in a dress and sneakers and large breasts? i don't know.

i envy people who know. people who don't question that they are male or female. who have a clear(er) idea of what that means. i don't know. i'm so confused. but i'm trying to understand- i want to understand myself, my own gender, and the gender of those that i love and know. is there an inbetween place? not a confused place, just a... grey area. and if so, do some of those inbetween people look like me?are there breasts large or small? do they call themselves male or female? do they tell people how they feel or do they keep it to themselves? are they s/hes too, like god? are they complete? or are they empty vessels- neither he nor she, with nothingness trapped between their legs?