summer lovin 2010

its been a while since i've written here. i haven't forgotten about you, dear blog. i think i will force myself to write creatively every day, in order to prepare myself for writing a play. so...

my grandmother's hands are rough and leathery, from years of hard labor. she keeps her broad nails short, and cut straight across, rather than an effeminate arch. there are two heavy rings, one on each forefinger. the ring on her right hand is a silver and gold lion with diamond eyes. she took it off her son's limp hand herself, before they buried his body in the cold, hard ground. these are not a typical woman's hands. i study all of the details of my grandmother's right hand, suspended in the air, seconds away from crashing down on my ten year old head. i look from my grandmother's hand, to her small, slanted eyes, to the eager eyes of my older cousins across the room. the two of them are trying hard not to laugh. i turn back to my grandmother, who by now has left the room, as quickly and silently as she came. i sit up from the couch, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, and ask no one in particular: why? because, my cousins answer. it's not proper for little girls to sleep in the same room with boys. go to bed. but instead, i defiantly keep myself awake, trying my hardest to be a part of their conversation. the oldest one talks about the women he's fucked. the oldest one was almost twice my age, he brags. no way! the younger cousin is impressed, but tries not to show it. you liar. it's true, he continues to brag. but what would you know of women, he chides the younger one. i bet the only pussy you've seen has been on a television screen. they soon get into a heated discussion about why women watch porn. maybe, the younger one suggests, just seeing a penis excites them. i try to chime in too. or maybe- they remember that i'm in the room and quickly change the subject. lauryn hill is crazy, huh? what's up with her new cd? i like her, i say quickly. her new cd is good. of course you would, the older one drawls. you are a woman. you all love that emotional bullshit. the younger one snickers. she is just trying to find herself, i say. as an artist. my cousin looks me straight in the eye for the first time tonight. how can she find something that is not lost? look at me, he says. if you ever think you have lost yourself, come talk to me. you are damali ayida jackson, my cousin. and you always will be. don't you ever forget it.

first night back on campus was spent nursing 40s and talking loudly about popcorn and other non-important things that i can't quite remember.

first morning was spent productively. got an appt for therapy, talked to linda abt moving off campus (although that's still in the air. if she says no then i have to leave hampshire. im still praying on it). TAed a TO class, and am very tired. worked on the script (or at least thought abt working on it). soon am going to dinner with an old high school friend who i haven't seen in years. i am very nervous. i'm definitely not the same person that i was 4 yrs ago, and i doubt he is either.

here's a monologue i'm working on. i still need to create mammy's monologue, but this is the main character, Adanne (meaning resembling the mother- playing around with the names :-/) talking to the human-sized mammy statue abt relationship type stuff. also sort of talking abt issues with expressing femininity. obviously semi-autobiographical.

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when i was in high school, i was in love with my best friend. it's not a very original story, but it's true. i feel like every lesbian is in love with her best friend at one time- it's a rite of passage. anyway, she was beautiful. blue eyes, thick brown hair. big boobs. she taught me how to roll a joint, and how to apply eyeliner without looking like a hooker. she also taught me that itwas okay to be myself. that liking girls was okay, and that it drove boys crazy. one day afterschool, we sat in her attic listening to the dead kennedys on cassette tape. she turned the volume real high and asked me if i had ever kissed a girl before. she told me that she had- lots of times, and that it felt good because it was softer, and sweeter. the night she told me she thought she might be a lesbian, i wanted to tell her that i was in love with her. but i didn't. she also gave me my first nick name. Mama Danne. she said that i was always looking out for everyone, that i made her feel safe. like a mother. like a "mama". that nickname followed me through highschool. when i got to college, i felt good, like i might have a fresh start. i met my first girlfriend, sarah, in my american lit class first semester. the first thing that comes to mind when i think of sarah is that she was really nice. the second thing is that she was hairy. it was like her body was covered in a soft, mousy-brown fur- her arms, her legs, her upper lip, the space in-between her eyebrows. even her stomach had a trail of brown fuzz that i liked to sniff at and follow with my nose, mouth, lips. we didn't last long. sarah said i was too caring, too protective, too safe. she said that being with me wasn't adventurous enough. that it was like being at home. no one wants to date their mother. so after that, i cut my hair real short. i wore cut off jeans andbound my chest. i took up smoking and af am history classes. i got angry. and white girls flocked to me. i went from mammy to mandingo. and they loved it.

writing prompts #2 & #3

#2- thunderstorms

there's a thunderstorm going on outside. this type of weather always frightened me as a child, the heavy rain, the unexpected boom. if i ever got caught in a thunderstorm, i would walk around with my hands covering my head, as if i could shield myself from the weather by holding up my hands to the sky, and saying, "no!"

i once saw a flash of lightning hit my father's car. it lay next to my aunt's house, dormant, as we sat on the patio and enjoyed the coolness of the summer rain. suddenly, there was a crash, and the automobile sprang to life, lights flashing, alarms blaring.

i always felt like that car. still, dead, waiting for someone to spontaneously come into my life and wake me up with a jolt.

in eight grade, our science teacher taught us that thunder is composed of energy, and that everything gave off an energy that thunder was attracted to. even humans had a stream of positive light beaming from the top of their head. thunder did not strike you- there is a compromise that happens, a joining of positive and negative energy in the sky.


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#3- sad attempt @ erotica

there is a spot on the railing where the enamel has worn off from too much rubbing.

i have heard them call her lazy, even slow, but i know that she would rather watch, enjoy time instead of letting life pass her by. i used to be the same way, before the dullness of the dark house began to rob me of the joys in life. i used to marvel at every detail of life, the way that music can

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now i just sit and watch her. marvel at how beautiful and expressive her face is when doing her chores, watch sweat drip from her brow as she twists her face in concentration, making sure every spot of dirt is off of the floor. she spends a lot of time on the stairwell, lightly running her fingers down the rail, searching for a spot of dirt she missed. and lately, i have noticed her watching me.

so i perform for her. i dance around the living room in exaggerated movements, trying to make her smile. i whirl my dress around me, and sometimes drag my hem up my calf slowly, waiting to hear a scandalized gasp. i can never fully shock her, though, instead she stares at me in amusement from her post at the bottom of the railing.

today i held out a brush to her, daring her to take it.

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sometimes she whispers secrets to me. not in words, but through her fingers on my scalp, making the hairs on my nape stand with the stories that she tells me.

notes on kissing, part 2

VI.

sometimes in your sleep things that you don't even realize you were thinking of come back to haunt you. in the past week i have kissed at least three people in my dreams, and every night i wake up feeling guilty.

the first person was on a bus. they were introduced to me once, as a crush of a friend. i kept telling them no, what would our friend think, and not to stand up when a bus is in motion. they told me they didnt care and pulled at my bottom lip with their teeth. i woke up licking my lips.

i kissed the second one, a personal friend, in a dark room. it looked a lot like my grandmother's bedroom, except it didn't reek of mothballs and dying. i told them happy birthday. they told me everyone else forgot except for me. as i walked out of the room, they pulled me close to them and kissed me one, two, three times. i woke up satisfied.

i went to bed the third time dreaming of that second kiss and hoping for a repeat. instead, i kissed a grrl i barely know. her best friend was in the room- i think we were all in a museum. definitely the most disappointing. i woke up laughing.

i guess its pretty obvious what my body is telling me. always stay seated in a moving vehicle, don't ever forget your friend's birthdays, and avoid museums at all costs.