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...