r.i.p. childhood friend (2/13/11)

i remember us when we were young.
we two little girls,
not yet three,
sitting on my front steps, you
spitting sunflower seeds at my feet
and me sucking on the salt and
saving the insides for later.
we, inseparable at four,
singing and dancing at your bday party
(only two days before mine),
smothering cake all over our faces,
shoving icing covered fingers into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life.
your head was always trying to
catch up with your body,
that expansive geography of
mountains and valleys and extensive plateaus.
even when we were kids, you
would pass your rolls of fat off for titties
(except for that summer, when
i came back and you moved away.
i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and
instead of boys flocking to me like they did you,
girls came running, wanting to see
what was hiding under my shirt.
that was the summer i started my first love affair
with my new neighbor. the one i said had
the ghetto name? we would meet
in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or
me on the couch and she on top of me and
she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra
and cradle my budding breasts like newborns.
i never told you about that, but i wanted to,
and i'm sure that's the summer where you came back to visit
and tried to get me to come out in your sly way.
you told me, "mali,
what's the point of boys? they're all trouble
anyways." and i mmed,
and you waited
and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed
for the first time? and little Rich from up the block
tried to sell us bud, but we told him
we had our own? so to look cool, we stole
your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but
you told me it was okay because she bought it
from my dad anyway. i remember
we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger
and we smoked the whole thing.
i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us
about it, the only answer i could muster was,
"bud?
what's that?"
i dont think she believed me, but she let me off the hook
and i wasn't allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights
and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or
catching lightning bugs in jars across the street
in front of the church because there adults couldnt hear
our whispers about naughty things like
the cute teen boys who just moved in
down the block and what sex must feel like.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could
walk around the corner, past the crumbling apartment where
crackheads would stumble out during midday-
all the way to the gas station
to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but
who knew what exciting adventures you might have had,
what interesting people you might have met?
my dad rarely let me go up and down the street.
i remember being so mad about that that. my big brother said
it was because me and him, we were
different. now i realize he meant that we were better.
back then, i didn't want to be
better. i wanted to be like you.
free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy
asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle,
my little body shook with disappointment, because i knew
i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and
waited forever until you came back, half hoping that
you had toppled off, or one of the other
dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true.
instead,
you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks
burning with the excitement of your trip, your
half-permed hair a messy halo around your head.
---


i remember us when we were young.

us two little girls, not yet three, sitting on my front steps, you spitting sunflower seeds at me (before i realized i was allergic) and me sucking on the salt and saving the insides for later. us, inseparable at four, singing and dancing at your birthday party (only two days before mine), smothering cake and icing all over our faces, and shoving it into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life. your head was always trying to catch up with your body, that expansive geography of mountains and valleys and expansive plateaus. even when we were kids, you could pass your rolls of fat off for titties.
hmm. except that summer i came back when you had moved away. i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and instead of boys flocking to me like they did to you, girls came running, wanting to see under my shirt. that was the summer i started my first affair with my new neighbor. the one i said had the ghetto name? we would meet in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or me on the couch and she on top of me and she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra, and cradle my budding breasts like newborns. i never told you about that but i wanted to, and i'm sure thats the summer where you came back to visit and tried to get me to come out in your sly way. you told me, "mali, what's the point of boys? they're all trouble anyways." and i mmed, and you waited and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed for the first time, and little Rich from up the block tried to sell us bud, but we told him we had our own? so to look cool, we stole your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but you said it was okay because she bought it from my dad anyway. i remember we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger and we smoked the whole thing and i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us about it, the only answer i could muster is "bud? whats that?" i dont think she believed me but she left me off the hook, and i wasnt allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or catching lightning bugs in jars across the street in front of the church because there the adults couldnt hear us whisper about naughty things like teen boys and what sex is and wearing makeup.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could walk around the corner, down two blocks past the crumbling apartment where crackheads would stumble out during midday...all the way to the gas station to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but who knew what exciting adventures you had, what new people you would meet? my dad rarely let me go up and down the street. i remember being so mad about that. my big brother said it was because me and him, we were different. now i realize he meant that we were better. i dont know if i agree with that... back then, i didnt want to be better.. i wanted to be like you. free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle, my little body shook with disappointment because i knew i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and waited forever until you came back, half hoping that you had toppled off, or one of the other dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true. instead, you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks burning with the excitement of your trip, your half-permed hair like a messy halo around your head.

inspiration

"for i will be called
QUEEN. &
walk/move in
black/queenly/ways
and the world
shaken by
my Blackness
will channnNNGGEE
colors. & be
reborn.
BLACK. Again."

- Sonia Sanchez

last night

in my dream i watched a man in a tank get devoured by a shark. First the water in the tank was pink, then red, then burgundy. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn't for the tragedy.

"To see a shark in your dream, indicates feelings of anger, hostility, and fierceness. You are undergoing a long and difficult emotional period and may be an emotional threat to yourself or to others. Perhaps, you are struggling with your individuality and independence, especially in some aspect of your relationship. Alternatively, a shark represents a person in your life who is greedy and unscrupulous. This person goes after what he or she wants with no regards to the well-being and sensitivity of others. The shark may also be an aspect of your own personality with these qualities."

The shark was hungry, but it was the man's fault for being in the tank in the first place. No one told him to trust a shark. Instead, everyone blamed his partner for not feeding the shark. They called her a bad woman.

"To dream that others are bleeding, signifies an emotional cry for help."

It is easier than you think to turn your head, and walk away.

bahhhh

my gpa passed away yesterday. it seems so funny to say passed away... so gentle. he died. my pop pop is dead.

it hasn't sunk in... when we saw his body laying in the hospital bed, it looked like he was sleeping. like he was breathing slowly. his eyes were still open... they looked watery and sad. he looked so sad. his hands were white and swollen.

he was an engineer, a northeastern grad, a sax player, a mason, a dad, an uncle, a pop pop.. he rarely ever had a complaint, and would always tell you that he was super, never better.

after watching his hands turn whiter and more rigid, i started to hate the feeling of my own hands. they felt heavy and temporary. they felt like flesh.

i want to come back to this. i want to give myself the space and time to cry for my grandfather and then come back to this.

notes from class

hey all.

here are some one-liners that i really liked and wrote down from my class. prob won't make a lot of sense to anyone else, which is fine by me:

"she invites people to deconstruct her"

"commodification of history"

"a weeping audience that doesn't agree"

"we only have language for what we are comfortable with- but what about the moments when we lose language?"

"to define Self, you need an Other."

"Dont be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood" (lol)

"all of our American narratives are formed through the lens of minstrelsy"

d'awww.

"you gotta remember that not a lot of people do div 3s that involve working with other people and i think its awesome that you are doing that. but it means that you gotta count on people you dont even know to show up to an audition. its like youre building a house or something, you gotta lay the foundation then put down the floor then put up the frame and add the roof and at first you look at the ground and youre like theres no way in hell theres gonna be a house here but eventually you look up and theres a fucking house that you built with other people."

- Sarah R.

this made me feel so much better abt div, you have no idea.

tired & uninspired

its been really hard to do much of anything lately. i feel so emotionally drained, even though i barely go to class, i barely do my work or even go to work... i sleep a lot. but even sleeping doesn't feel the same. not as good. more and more, i find myself not wanting to be here. i feel so much happier when i'm writing, but i haven't been able to get it together enough to write about anything. this is affecting my div 3 in huge ways.. the main one being that it's unfinished, and there's nothing that is inspiring me to write. when i get into these moods, it feels like i'll never write anything ever again. or.. i feel like i cant even remember what inspiration feels like. i read over my old work and it feels so weak. and feeling uninspired just heightens my feelings of lonelinesss... :/

right now i'm at home for break, hoping that i might be able to seek some inspiration... somewhere. maybe. i'm going to see if i can find my mammy statue tomorrow. i'm just hoping that a break from hampshire will be good for me, especially since my family drama has calmed down a lot (although, we'll see what happens during the rest of the week.)

damn, i wish someone would just send me a book of writing prompts or something. this is fucking ridiculous. it took me way too long to even feel up to writing (and finishing) this blog post! :(