fuckin' credit cards

so i get an email from netflix this morning....

i forgot that my account is linked to a now-maxed-out credit card. :-
said card is most likely overlimit due to finance charges; i haven't actually used it since i got a notice that i was approaching the limit. i didn't even know the damn thing was over the top til i looked at my most recent statement.

*sigh*

this clinches the fact that i need to do something about my money situation. fast. i suppose the best route would be to switch the balance over and then have just one bill...

well, two with the other maxed out card.

that's another story altogether.

let's just say that two years of underemployment can really screw you over.

the craziest thing is that, overwhelmingly, the only things i've put on my credit cards lately have been food, gas, and groceries. and even then, it was only between paychecks when things got tight. but i always manage to spend just a bit more than i pay. bad news.

well. i'm gonna have to just give that a rest for now, tighten the purse strings, and press ahead.

i made it thru college with decent credit. i really don't need it all fucked up now. and all this really has to be over & done by the time i move next year.

at least my rent's never been late...

too bad it just went up.

had another rape dream last night

i was in a house....it looked like my mother's, but larger.

there was this man trying to get in, and i held the door long enough that he gave up...but as i went back upstairs to call the police, he started trying to knock it down again.

i knew he was going to get in if i wasn't at the door, but i had to call for help. so i'm screaming into the phone, begging someone to get there...

just as i hang up, he makes it in and up the stairs.

he knocked me down, but his face was kindly--sometimes when i have these dreams the man looks distorted or angry....sometimes a sort of kabuki-mask looking thing (see pic)



anyway, his face wasn't distorted or angry...i could sense that he was trying to get to me, but (as usual), i didn't feel anything...just that he was aroused and trying to get inside me.

i think i woke up soon after. and i had a couple of other dreams....

in women who run with wolves, dr. estes points out that these "predator" dreams can have a lot to do with a woman trying to break free of something or make a new way while a part of her attempts to still her progress or bind her to old, outdated ideas.

given how restless i've been feeling lately, that could be part of it.

the benevolence of the face got to me, though....perhaps it was symbolic of the possibility of this raise? i.e., getting more money = trap.

i'm focused, though. i refuse to deviate from my plan. a little more loot will just make it a little easier to get my goals met while i bide my time, that's all.

i pay a lot more attention to my dreams in my premenstrual cycle 'cause that's when they tend to inform my life and my decisions most.

i just wish i didn't feel like i'm walking thru mud and trying to think thru a fog all the time....

short on patience

why do people want to monopolize my time?

i do one massage for someone, and now it's back to taking up whole weekends. i'm really not in the mood.

homegirl just doesn't understand that (1) i don't need/want a client base 30-45min away from me and (2) i'm glad she's doing her thing with her new business opportunity, but i really am not in a place where that's a factor or a goal for me.

one thing at a time.

i'm just trying to keep it together right now, and i don't need anything else on my plate that's not directly benefiting me & mine. maybe i'm nuts, but right now? making a few extra dollars here & there just isn't worth the time sacrifice for me.

the urge to say "no" to just about everyone becomes stronger by the day.

i can't tell if that's good or bad.

between the inconveniences of this car situation and problems w/ honey, i would really rather just get the hell out of dodge for awhile so i can simply think for a moment or three.

brightspot: despite everything that's happened between us lately, honey offered to give me the money for my massage exam....i was going to just bite the bullet and sign up at the end of the month, but now--as always--there are some bills i can't put off, and i need the money for those. so he stepped up.

that really opened a door. maybe, finally, we can begin to talk about these things and meet each other halfway. i think he's finally beginning to understand what i need from him.

i know he can't always give me this kind of money--and i wouldn't ask. but the fact that he can do this means that maybe he can hand out emotional "cash" as well.

things are still going to be fragile for awhile, but i'm grateful that he would be so generous.

with the financial worry out of the way, that still means i'm going to need a lot of my free time to get this studying done. and it's not going to be easy. essentially, i'll be giving myself a crash course of 13 months worth of material in about 3 months' time.

not my idea of fun. but i need this to be a one-shot deal.

brightspot #2: i may be getting a raise. i could definitely use it...especially since i'll need to start saving for next year's move.

so if i can stay sane long enough to reap all the benefits, the next few months might actually turn out ok.

but right now i'm just feeling short-tempered, frustrated, and muddied. i just want some time to myself to work it all out.

new challenge: getting a new computer so i can write/work at home again. fleshing out ideas at work really cannot be done much anymore, and i need space to create. but i don't need another monthly bill right now, either.

decisions, decisions.

guess i'm an official baltimorean.

i was present for an armed robbery in high school....

last night, my car was broken into.

ignition torn out.

apparently no one told dude you can't hotwire cars in 2005. but at least he knew enough of what he was doing not to have to break my window.

took all the cds out of my car door pockets--most of them were empty, but he damn sure got me for my esthero. ugh.

didn't get the case of cds under my driver's seat. ashe!

there also wasn't much change in the car. didn't go in the trunk. registration & tags still intact. not a scratch on it except for the fucked up ignition/steering column and the mess he made of my glove compartment. ashe-o.

and if any of you reading remember, i just got this car in april.

yeah.

did i mention the rental looks almost exactly like my old car?

i feel like i'm in groundhog day....

there is so much i wish i could get off my chest right now, it's ridiculous.

i've been in the middle of a lot of conflict, a lot of emotions, and a lot of upheaval. and i'm still waiting to see where the chips will fall.

relationship...
i'm back to that donnie hathaway entry...i don't want to walk away. but i don't know how to work things out, either. i think we should just chill out for a minute, come back with a fresh perspective. but as usual, i can't get any flexibility or understanding.

sometimes i think he may feel the same way about me.

the difference is that when i bend over backwards, it's seen/felt/heard.
when he does it, he winds up a legend in his own mind. and i'm none the wiser.

i'm tired of repeating myself, beating dead horses, spinning my wheels.

something's gotta give.
is it us?
something else?

why do we keep hitting this wall?
is this really meant to be?
what's the lesson we're missing?

we can't even come to an agreement on the best route to take to resolve this thing. seems like he's got something to prove--possibly to himself--but i don't. i just want my needs met, or to be left alone if that can't happen.

i need some "me" time. breathing room.

lately it seems the only thing we have in common is the fact that we love one another. but that--in the long run--is never enough. not by itself.

job...
just found out that i might be up for a raise. so send some positive energy on that one. i sure could use it.

...but i'm still on that good 2 yr plan.


i'm overwhelmed.

goodbye, summer

the impending equinox is really messing with me. ugh.

either way, i get the feeling i need to be really careful what i say/do over the next couple of days, 'cause i could get myself into trouble if i'm not.

i can see that the next year or so is going to be one filled with decisions, crossroads, and choices....

well. might as well bring it on.

nothing to it but to do it, right?

the 9-5 blues (revisited. again.)

i went to anoint my 3rd eye this morning...

ok. before i sound like a total dweeb...whenever i put fragrance oil, i touch a bit to my 3rd eye area. i've found that it lessens the likelihood of tension headaches and other mostly-energetic physical problems.

anyway, when i touched the oil there, there was an intense burning sensation....like someone set my forehead on fire.

that's never happened before. i'm thinking that maybe it has something to do with the yoga practice freeing up some energy and/or moving it to the appropriate places. i feel straighter, lighter, more energetic...and a full moon's due on sunday.

part of this, too, is the sensitivity that comes with a change in seasons. i always feel much more in tune with the rhythms of the planet in those times.

at least i feel comfortable in my clothes today. i wish i could have kept my hair covered. i wore a tam on the way in, and i'll be wearing it when i leave. i feel the need to construct a layer around me....not that i feel threatened; just something about the energy around me today. i feel the need to contain or use it somehow.

i even put my cowries on around my ankle.
i wish i could have meditated this morning.

at least i got up early enough--thanks to the damn cat--to make a decent breakfast. scrambled tofu, toast w/ grape jam, and veggie sausage.

(maybe later i'll get into how he's tearing up the carpet outside my bedroom door trying to get in every morning...sigh)

i want to write
dance
sing
even bodywork.
something free or representative of freedom.

but i'm stuck here for quite awhile.

on another note: i snatched my brother's gamecube and now am totally engrossed in resident evil 4. this is why i refuse to buy a gaming system of my own...

i love this man

dearest tim,

thank you.

signed,

omi

sex & spirit

i got thru about 1/2 of this book last night.

it's a sin & a shame that women in this country--especially those who are not descended from western traditions--have been relegated to silence & pity when it comes to their bodies and their sexuality.

if you're anything like i've been my entire life, you probably hear Goddess calling to you.

She has many faces and many forms. only you can know which one is speaking to and through you. the imbalance has been accepted for too long, and She's making Herself known. ashe!

answer Her, despite what you've been told. fuck all the dogma. throw out your preconceived notions.

She is real, and She has a rightful place among the Original spirits of the earth. hell, She IS the Earth.

She has wonderful things to teach you. let Her in.

other books i've found helpful when in need of some spiritual reclamation:

women who run with the wolves by clarissa pinkola estes

sacred woman by queen afua...you can buy it thru her website

opening to spirit by caroline shola arewa

daughters of africa anthology

peace & Goddess' blessings

:-)

katrina has me reeling

when the shocking and awing started on my 25th birthday, i laid in bed next to my love and cried.

i don't have cnn. i hadn't watched the news coverage, but something in my soul shifted. the air changed. and i could feel myself becoming one of those iraqis...i could hear/see/feel the world fall apart underneath them.

i knew then that every test we'd been given since 9/11, we'd failed.

and we're still failing.

we don't have time for the bullshit. we've got to get it together. hold our politicians accountable. be real with ourselves.

the ancestors are screaming for understanding and god is not pleased.

this country's got some fucked up karma to deal with, and what's happening in new orleans is just the beginning.

you can relate it to biblical prophecy (i don't, per se) or anything else you want. i don't believe we're in the "last days" as human beings, but america's place in the world is most certainly destined to erode. like rome, great britain, japan....all the great imperialists humbled either by nature or their "subjects".

rome wasn't built in a day, but what they don't remember (or like) to tell you is that it didn't fall in a day, either.

if you do believe in the biblical progression of things, well, there are many historical events/eras that also fit the bill. pick one. there were many who felt they lived in the "last days", yet, here we are.

we should know by now that if the future's laid out for us, it can be changed. look deeper. read between the lines.

let's get on determining our destiny instead of humming our action away in the pews on sunday morning.

gotta figure out where you stand.

when the ship starts to sink, are you going to be with your people (the women, the poor, the children, the non-white, the non-straight, the powerless, the meek), or with "your" country?

there are many questioning their security tonight.

may those we've lost rest in peace.
may those who remain be unashamed to tell the story.
modupe ogun...the warrior lives in ray nagin.
and may we all learn our lessons and keep them close. especially at election time.

ashe
ashe
ashe-o

peace.

couldn't say it any better than donnie....

Giving up is hard to do
When you really love someone
Giving up .... so hard to do
When you still depend upon
Her warm and tender touch
Her kiss and her hug..........her caress
Oooooh that used to mean so much
And bring you happiness
Woooo ooooooooh

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

I'm talking 'bout when you really love someone

Whether
Whether she knows or not
She really needs me too
The little girl is all I got
Yes she is
And giving, giving up is hard to do
Giving up
So hard to do
Heey...giving up
So very hard to do
I said I've tried
Hey, but I just can't get loose
Giving up
So hard for me to do
I don't want to lose you
Cause you mean so much to me

i haven't given up the fight yet.

but damned if i ain't tired.

if you don't quite "get it" at work

this guy might have the answer.

i was so moved, i cut out this part and put it in my wallet/calendar where i stow away inspirational tidbits from time to time:

In the end, it’s a question of how you accommodate to the horror that is office life. The communists and leftists can’t save you. You’re stuck with this system, its grinding gears inescapable.

If, like me, you go to work each morning and sit in front of a desk, you belong in the professional lineage of Sisyphus, the mythical figure damned to roll a massive boulder up a mountain, only to do it all over again when the rock rolls back down. After all, do you really make any substantial difference from your cubicle? Even if you carry a lot of weight in your office, does it matter, in the big picture, if you move 10 percent more units this quarter than the last? For anyone living a conscious life, office culture inevitably brings the onset of a mild sort of existential despair. Call it the blahs if you’d like: What am I doing? Am I just flushing 40 hours a week down the toilet? And unless you’re a heart surgeon or something, the answer is generally a resounding “yes.”

But you need that paycheck. You need those benefits. Your only hope, then, is to live in the moment, keep at it as an animal might, with consciousness tethered securely to the present. Don’t think about pushing that rock back up the mountain, about the brown-nosing yes-men eclipsing you, about the dehumanizing nonsense that presses in on every side, the petty tyrants in upper management using you as a salve for their shabby, wounded egos. Shut all that out. Just keep at it, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, moving cell by cell across that endless spreadsheet.

while i'm not nearly as resigned as the author is by the end of the article (i'd be more likely to tell the reader, "bide your time. save your money. then get out (c) the amityville horror") i totally see where he's coming from.

not all of us are made for this. and that's ok.

but i think we should cause a rebellion vs. lying down and taking it.

see srini for a more serious take on the issue (...and buy some stickers!!! or make your own!!!).

...oh and, um

somebody needs to slap the taste out of pat robertson's mouth.

he is the worst possible face of christianity. too bad his comments are worthy of news articles and not just the ramblings of a backwoods county preacher.

talkin' loud...

i have to get focused. now's the time to really start thinking about what i'm going to be doing for the next 5 years or so. i have to get some shit together. organize my thoughts. regroup.

i've been saying this for the past, oh, 2 years or so. blah.

i have some kind of creative stall going...things will start, sputter out, then stop...engine won't start like it should...it's just a mess. examples:

7.27.05
citywatch...
who's watching the city?*

want to prevent crime?
try raising children in something
other than a system...

blue lights
mask starlight
make ppl already in cages
see their fate more clearly

tangible evidence
they're out to get
you/us/we

responsibility
is a two way street.

(*someone came up with the bright idea to install "smart" cameras on various corners in the city. you know, instead of re-opening the rec centers or getting rid of abandoned houses. more lockdown. let's not talk about the multi-million dollar hotel going up on the taxpayer dime...)


8.17.05
alice walker wrote of
africans with waist-length hair...

today a blog revealed
only crazy alcoholic africans
carry locs now

what a brilliant job colonialism has done
to make ppl despise
their very skin
the hair that grows from their heads...

even without the rape of resources
the battle is won;
too many minds taken
after the bodies fell.


...yeah. stuff like that. i scribbled out another fragment in my dream journal last night. it was the only paper around. i didn't want to go out and grab my usual notebook 'cause i was afraid the cat would creep back in. he's still a little too energetic to sleep in the room with me, and i didn't wanna have to fight him to get him back out.

to his credit, he will let me sleep for a few hours at a time. but that's about all.

well. i suppose i should do something resembling work. although that will be difficult when i can't seem to clear my mind....

dreamers dreaming

of course it was difficult getting up this morning....cloudy and peaceful. the rain hit the tree outside my window just right--gently enough to fade into dreams, but loud enough to have a soothing, spiritually fulfilling rhythm.

but i was also in the midst of a dream...someone was speaking to me, giving me information. i didn't want to pull myself away, but i had to get up. after hitting the snooze button a few times, i had to "politely" (although it never stops feeling like i'm committing some horrid sin of rudeness) excuse myself.

these dreams are both fascinating and frustrating. i wake up very disoriented--i'm always listening intently--and it's very difficult to remember what was said and, often, who was saying it.

the exceptions to this rule are the shaman and the council dreams.

in the council dreams, i'm floating around these "conference rooms", looking thru what appears to be frosted glass. there are figures in a room, and i'm eavesdropping on their gathering. the participants don't seem human, and i can never quite make out what they're saying or doing. it's the energy that attracts me; there's not a feeling that i'm violating anyone's space. it's more like i'm invited there somehow.

at some point, i'm whisked off to another "meeting" and look down on that for awhile. i have them every now and then...i haven't figured out the trigger for those as i have w/ the shaman. any of you experienced dreamers/interpreters out there who wanna help out, i'm all ears.

in other news, i'll be looking thru old(er) poetry and posting as necessary. so all that stuff you see in the "archives" is really new....i just catalog them by the date they were written, not the date i post them on.

peace & light, y'all.

enjoy the weekend :-)

to miss you

You don't know how lips hurt
Until you've kissed and had to pay the cost
Until you've flipped your heart and you have lost
You don't know what love is...

You don't know how hearts burn
For love that cannot live yet never dies
Until you've faced each dawn with sleepless eyes
You don't know what love is
~~jazz standard made popular by billie holiday

(penned on 12.7.2004)

your absence
is conspicuous
an uneven thread
running thru my nights

belly stays
tied up in
twisted thoughts

anticipating

maybe
he’ll call
today/tonight/this afternoon

it will be different
then...
he’ll be there
he’ll claim me
prove me wrong

i can only exhale
when you finally arrive
and
in a moment of honesty
reveal how much
you’ve missed me:
kiss me lightly or
stroke my face

and
as soon
as you creep away
the knots
return

i am paranoid
your early morning bathroom trips
often misconstrued
as abbreviated farewells

i never know
your schedule
because you never know
where you’re going or
who you might meet
in the mirror

i am
tired
of your glossy surface sanity
and your lone wolf dance

i can keep busy
and tell myself
i’m not waiting
for your call
but the pain
keeps coming
radiating thru my center
pulsing with each
passing hour
i wait
for you.

you are
sorely missed
but won’t allow yourself
to be needed.

my attempts to love you
feel in vain
hopelessly romantic
or just plain foolish

this used to feel like home
now it’s more of an empty nest

our relationship
has not produced
children

the foundation i thought
would give rise to
great things
simply is
no more and
no less than

i don’t
hate you
but
i can’t love you this way.

(c) 2005 l.a.m.

had to share this

taken from the goddess room

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I
wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn’t have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

Please repost this if you believe homophobia is wrong.

making "the switch"

i've decided to bounce over here from diaryland, so i'm picking & choosing some of my favorites to come over here with me....i think i want to make this space more poetry/creativity oriented...i can always ramble on myspace.

we are surrounded by anonymity

(posted over here yesterday...
apparently i started it 6 months ago to the day. just found it & added on...not really a poem, but...something to consider.)

woman on the train today
brown skin
matted hair in back
some braids in front
one or two locs sticking out
black tam
bracelet on wrist w/ barcode
pink plastic bracelets…for decoration
sleeping
clean
folded in on herself
bag under her elbow

where’s she going?
where’d she come from?

i’ve seen her again since
…feel compelled to write her story
but where would i begin?

does it begin as a baby
not loved/wanted on some level

it could have been a grown-up heartbreak
rather than misplaced younggirl dreams
stepped on by well-intentioned shoes

could have been anything.

she could be anyone.

a glimpse of me

(penned 7.23.04, but no less true today)

i am still that little girl who cried for 6 years over her dead doggie/ who couldn’t bring herself to fight her tormentors ‘cause she could feel their pain// learned to cover with black girl bravado and sly smiles...// most days i’m still crying ‘cause i know how sick the homeless guy on the corner is or the loneliness of the lady next to me on the subway without wanting or trying to


that girl fought demons by night / saw ghosts walk sidewalks by day / read myths and encyclopedias trying to find herself ‘cause no one in her world matched up// went to bed with fingers cramped from writing instead of atari ‘cause her fingers couldn’t keep up with the universe spinning in her mind


i’m still her// but i learned she’s not normal / so i hid her / cut her up / stuffed her in hefty bags and left her for dead// yet...her bones stir and grate against the ones i’ve grown// i’m a false idol built over a true god

how am i supposed to make a living out of that?

wow...this is still here.

hmmm....

maybe i should do something with it? the big switch?

i dunno.

i'm still thinking about it.

untitled (issues)

i want to say
something like
"i don't use
band-aids!
...i bleed thru penstrokes and
make pages drip lifewater!"

but
it sounds far too cliche
... and these days?
i fear those
more than anything.

the world is in serious need
of innovation
there are already
too many cycles
too much history
too many people
repeating...

i always wonder
if i'm part of the solution
or perpetuating the problem.

i mean,
def poetry jam
makes everyone old enough to
stay up past midnight
wannabe a poet

every hussla's the next jay-z

get shot and you're an instant ja rule
maybe even a pac or biggie-style martyr

i write 'cause i have to.
there's no goal or destination,
no record deal or cd comp--
i just do this.
automatically.
...universal ticker tape machine
running off emotional dividends
and updates on the worth of the ancestors
(refreshed daily for someone's conveinence)

so i won't really start in on
the beauty of my nubian people
the merits and/or bullshit of pussy poems or
late night thoughts of wrist-slitting and angst.

i just want to know
if any of these words have a purpose
and constantly consider
the validity
of the messenger.

(c) 2005 l.a.m.

feline adventures

ok. so i got a kitten monday. after years of petlessness, he's a joy. and i've never raised one on my own, so that's fun, too.

his name is oludare (o-loo-dar-ray). it means "god has judged me right/innocent". he was part of an unwanted litter, so i figure his life could have been much worse.

he is cute, affectionate, playful, and fully housetrained (without much help from me, thank u very much...i just showed him where to go, and he went. i was skeptical about that cat-claim, but it's true, ladies & gents).

he is my first cat.

he also wakes me up at 2am.

if you've never had the distinct pleasure of being awakened by something non-human tugging at your hair, you should try it sometime.

it was also fun having him think that there was some toy under the covers when i rolled over. he pounced on my backside a few times.

the little nose between my shoulderblades was kinda cute, tho.

i sprayed him with water, picked him up and put him in his bed (which he hasn't touched...probably due to the heat), all to no avail. he just kept coming back for more.

he didn't even realize he could reach the bed until yesterday.

in an effort to keep him off at least most of the time, i close my bedroom door when i leave for work in the mornings.

see, my dog used to rotate. one night in my parents' room, one night in mine, another in my brother's, and so on.

i am the lone provider for this little sweetheart.

it'd be fine if he just slept...

but i'm happy he's there.

when i got this email about a 10-yr old kenyan girl and her baby the other day, i thought it was a joke. but after a quick google, i've found that it's not.

i understand that motherhood in africa is and has always been revered and held in the highest esteem, as it should be in all places.

however, as the blogger said:

...Gladys is still a primary school girl who must stay in school. That means that she will be a better mother for her young infant if Gladys herself is allowed to GROW UP FIRST to be a WOMAN who has an education that can enable her to live an independent and dignified life.

i am not one to inflict my mores on the cultures of others. but 10 years old, menstruation or not, is a BABY.

from another angle...14-16 year olds are still quite young, but i would think it's more likely that they some say in who they chose as a partner. not to mention being more physically ready for childbirth.

those 4-6 years make a big difference.

may the ancestors protect and shield these children from any more pain.

a sort of solidarity

you know, folks wanna talk shit about women like her, but no one is born doing what she did to get by.

honestly? i could have wound up where she is. after reading a little about her background, there wasn't much need to go farther. or pass judgement. i could see what was coming.

many women have been bumped and bruised far too early in life. we carry scars we can't show and don't know how to talk about. result: a need for love, acceptance and validation, often expressed by usin what you've got to get what you want.

i often say that, had i not had the parents, family, and friends i did, my life could have taken a far different route. fortunately i was able to find myself in a overwhelmingly healthy, productive way.

but a lot of us are only one relationship or left turn away...

i don't envy her struggles or the karma she's built up over the years. but i understand her--at least to a point.

will i be buying her book? no.

but i support her struggle to redeem her womanhood.

sapphire does an excellent job of describing the fallout without the name dropping glitz.

karrine & sapphire are rather extreme sides of the same coin...but there are plenty of us who fall somewhere in the middle.

a little something from last year

it's been twilight all day.
shades of gray and shadowy breezes
threaten what little sunlight
dares to show

i feel
liquid cement walls closing in
if i try to swim out
i’ll stick
suffocate slowly
become a permanent part
of the landscape

this isn’t
of my making

scribbling rushed poems
out of an overworked hand
slivers of pain
racing down my arm
warning against my attempt
to stifle sacred transmission

phone calls and bills
forced to wait
while i institutionalize myself
with linguistic nurses and
verbal doctors
lingering in the base of my spine
making knots for my lover
to untie
but he can’t get here often enough

i fall back into myself
my dreams the staircase
i tumble down

times are hard
creativity is harder

master who
won’t stay out of my quarters
mistress who
never spares the whip

nothing i do pleases
sates
contents
i never even get a smile
just more work
more messages
more words

(c) 2005 l.a.m.

spirit notes

you know, since i've put up my altar, interesting things have been happening.

for one, an outlet in my mother's house that has NEVER worked started working a little while after i restructured my altar space.

i've also been running into people i never see and really don't have much to say to...one is my father's sister. i'm sure i've mentioned before that i don't deal with my dad's side of the family much, although i look a lot like them. running into my aunt has been....surreal at best. i pass her house daily going to work, and i live maybe 10 minutes from her. but i've never run into her until very recently.

the other is a girl i was close with years ago, but who i lost touch with almost immediately after we left high school. she hasn't been well ever since a breakdown she had around sophomore year of college. she's a distant relative through my mother's stepfather...no blood at all, although she used to harp on the fact that we were "cousins".

i have no idea why i would be seeing them. do they need to see me for some reason? what could i possibly have to offer them at this stage? it doesn't seem to make sense.

another thing: my grandmother was fond of scotch, so i wanted some to put on her side of the table. i had asked my mother to find out what brand she drank.

strangely enough, my mother told me on saturday. why weird? because (a) during my closing prayer/thank you at the end of the fast, i asked my egungun to let me know if they needed anything and (b) mom told me she'd found out what brand she drank a few weeks ago, but just thought to tell me saturday, the day after i mentioned it.

i'm keeping my eyes open...i just don't know if i'm seeing from the right angle.

while we're bringin up old stuff

..and by old stuff i mean emmett till and edgar ray...

i'm reminded of how my grandmother--courtesy of her not-even-cafeaulait complexion--was one of the first black people to work in one of the big department stores downtown.

my grandfather being relegated to waiting out world war 2 in guam. not to mention his less than dignified experiences working summers in ocean city.

the buried children in my great grandmother's basement.

my mother's memories of going to visit her grandfather in new jersey and taking enough to eat for the entire journey. 'cause, well, you know. nowhere to stop on the way.

apparently, it ain't over yet.

billy graham as bill cosby

now y'all know i'm not one for christian platitudes, but this excerpt from the current issue of black commentator is on point. johnathan scott, decided to, in his words, preach "...the sermon that Reverend Billy Graham would have delivered on to the heads of white America had he forgotten, for just a day or two, his own whiteness – if he had been a white Bill Cosby.":

Ford Field, Detroit, Michigan

70,000 people in attendance, June 5, 2005

Reverend Billy Graham , Preaching a Sermon titled “Now Explain That to Jesus”

Brothers and sisters, today we are living through the worst moral crisis that’s ever threatened our Christian nation. Tonight I want to be like Jesus and get right to the heart of the matter. We need to stop blaming the victims. That’s right. We need to look at ourselves first, at where we’re at today morally.

I know many of you are unaccustomed to hearing such language from your leaders, and in particular from me. Yes, Brothers and sisters, I come to you tonight as a sinner. I have been silent about the sin of racism. I have supported immoral wars; these wars I supported were wars of aggression against innocent people, against poor people fighting for independence and a way out of poverty. I supported the war in Vietnam and I was wrong. I supported the war against Nicaragua and I was wrong. I supported South Africa when they practiced apartheid and I was wrong. I supported the first Gulf War and I was wrong. I supported the current war in Iraq and I was wrong (stunned silence).

I have given my consent to an endless war on terror that is a sham and a waste of lives, that is weakening every day the foundation of our Christian democracy and is embarrassing us around the world as a Christian nation. Urinating on a Holy Book! We have become a nation of heathens and the whole world is watching! And God is watching the whole world! Tonight, brothers and sisters, I want to talk in plain terms about our democracy and who is threatening our democracy.

Brothers and sisters, WE are threatening our democracy! It’s just us! Nobody else. The black comedian Richard Pryor used to have a joke about the American criminal justice system (a few gasps from the audience). He said, “I went to the courthouse to get some justice and all I saw there was just us” (confusion is breaking out). Brothers and sisters, do you understand? Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, “Woe unto you that are rich! Ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that laugh now! For ye shall mourn and weep.” This was Jesus Christ’s most important sermon and I have ignored it for forty years. But this morning I came out of the wilderness and into the light! Praise God! Jesus was never wrong and if he was then I don’t want to be right! (a few amens, the crowd is beginning to warm up).

I have been preaching Born Again Christianity for fifty years now and you know what? I was not the first. I have been reading the sermons of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King and he was calling on the people to be born again before I knew what it really meant. What did Dr. King mean? (murmurs from the audience: he called him Dr. King?) He meant a moral transformation, brothers and sisters, from a state of sinfulness to a state of grace. And how did that happen? By being right by God. By being right by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. What would Jesus think of you if he came back tonight? That’s the question Dr. King was always asking his congregations and they responded to it. Yes, brothers and sisters, they responded by taking to the streets, by marching for their God-given rights to live as decent human beings on this earth, protected by the Christian laws of the land, to love your neighbor as you love yourself. But first they chastised their own sinners and made them get right by God.

Brothers and sisters, I’ve been studying closely the situation of our Christian nation. Every day I read the news on the Internet and every day I become more revolted by what I see. Tonight we’re going to talk about ourselves. Tonight we’re not going to talk about Muslims, teenage mothers, atheistic liberals, environmentalists, abortion doctors, gays, or the feminists. Tonight we’re going to talk about our own sin (you could hear a pin drop). Tonight we’re going to come out into the light of self-criticism. Tonight we’re going to name names and come clean with ourselves. Tonight we’re going to question ourselves, as Jesus did himself on the Cross of Calvary.

I read yesterday in the Detroit Free Press that the white people of a suburb called Grosse Pointe are expelling the black students from their school district because they say black parents are falsely claiming residence there. Brothers and sisters, I ask you: is this what Jesus would do? These parents are trying to get their children the best possible education and the white people there are opposing the education of children. That’s immoral and we need to call out those white people for being un-Christian and anti-American (a heavy silence).

Have you seen the facts, brothers and sisters? Our schools are being resegregated. Today 80 percent of white students go to all-white schools. Wealthy white schools get the most money and they hire the best teachers and have the best facilities, computers for every student, send them to the best colleges so they get the best jobs. Yet in black and Hispanic schools, the average career-span of a teacher is less than three years. Brothers and sisters, why is that? Is it because the children don’t want to learn? Is that how you would answer Jesus? Or is it because the pay is so low, the funds have been cut off, and the facilities are built like prisons not educational institutions? What would you tell Jesus?

Let’s talk about prisons, brothers and sisters. We need to speak honestly now about one the greatest dangers facing our Christian nation – crime. In states like Illinois, Michigan, New York, and California, nearly 90 percent of the inmates are black and Hispanic. Is it because blacks and Hispanics commit more crimes than whites? Is that how you would answer Jesus? Would you lie to your own Maker and the Savior of your own filthy soul?

I was studying the state of Illinois. Last year, the state of Illinois graduated less than 900 African American students from its public colleges and universities yet released from prison 8,000 on drug-selling offenses. Are African Americans the only people who sell drugs? Not according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. They calculate drug use trends from data gathered through the federal National Household Survey on Drug Abuse (NHSDA).

Stay with me now, people, I know you’re not used to facts, listening to Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter all the time. But listen to the facts. In a report based on NHSDA data, SAMHSA estimates 3,727,680 whites use cocaine compared to 720,130 blacks.

Why, then, are the prisons filled with black people instead of white people? If Jesus asked you, what would you tell him?

Let me tell you how I would answer Jesus. I would site for him a vital statistic. Thirty-seven percent of all people arrested on drug charges are black yet black people use drugs five times less than whites do. I would tell Jesus, it’s an example of white skin privilege – of “black robes and white justice,” as the honorable African American judge Bruce Wright has said (whispering is heard).

No, we cannot lie to our Maker and the Savior of our filthy souls, especially here tonight where we have gathered together to come clean in His presence. You see, brothers and sisters, we have been protecting drug addicts and drug sellers in our own communities merely because they’re white. We have allowed our Christian communities to become dens of sin, where people traffic in drugs and prostitution openly and freely because they have white skin. Our obsession with skin is the sin! We must drive out these white criminals! How can you allow this to happen in your own neighborhoods? Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

In my reading over the past year, I have made other discoveries that revolt me. Unemployment among blacks is more than double that for whites, 10.8 percent versus 5.2 percent in 2003 – a wider gap than in 1972. Black infant mortality is also greater today than in 1970. In 2001, the black infant mortality rate was 14 deaths per 1,000 live births, 146 percent higher than the white rate. The gap in infant mortality rates was 37 percent less in 1970. Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

I would tell Jesus that it’s because for every dollar of white income, African Americans have 57 cents. At the rate we’re going, it’ll take 581 years to achieve income equality between God’s people here in America. Do you think Jesus is going to wait 581 more years for you all to stop this immorality?

I would tell Jesus that the average black college graduate will earn $500,000 less in his or her lifetime than an average white college graduate, for doing the same work. Is this how YOU would explain to Jesus that his black babies die 146 percent times more often than his white babies die? You better be right by Him when he asks you these questions on Judgment Day. You have to be right by God! What did you do to stop this genocide? You better have a good answer, brothers and sisters.

Now we need to talk about sex. Yes, brothers and sisters, we have to speak openly about sex, as Jesus did himself. We cast stones at others for sexual immorality but how would you explain to Jesus the fact that pornography is a multi-billion dollar industry? Ninety-five percent of Americans call themselves Christian and pornography expands every day. Who here does not look at pornography (a flurry of hands are raised in the air)? Who here has never purchased pornography (the same hands in the air)? Then how would you explain to Jesus the thousands of Internet porno sites that exploit young women? Have you ever imagined your own daughters in those same positions?

These are crimes against God, and so we need to return to our discussion of crime. Ken Lay says that by stealing hundreds of millions of dollars from working people’s pension funds he was doing the work of God. That’s right, he said that. How would you explain to Jesus that this criminal has been allowed to go unpunished for blaspheming the name of the Lord? Why haven’t you organized a citizens council to judge him and sentence him to Christian justice the same way you’ve always carried out vigilante justice against innocent blacks? How would you explain to Jesus that, instead of sentencing Lay, you elected a close friend of his to the presidency of the United States of America?!

Yes, brothers and sisters, now we need to talk about our Christian president George W. Bush, one of Ken Lay’s best friends. He calls him Kenny Boy. Thou shalt not lie. It’s time we admit publicly, together tonight, that George W. Bush lied again and again to the Christian people of our nation. He lied by saying Saddam Hussein was behind 9/11. Then he lied even worse by saying Saddam Hussein was plotting to destroy America with weapons of mass destruction. But these were weapons of mass deception! And you re-elected him! Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

These are President Bush’s worst lies but there are many others, saying that Social Security is bankrupt. Why, the U.S. government’s own Congressional Budget Office says that Social Security has the funds to pay every benefit owed through 2048. Why is he lying like this, brothers and sisters? What is his purpose? Could it be to enrich the tiny minority of multi-millionaires who got him into office?

I’ve been reading the facts, brothers and sisters. I’ve come out of the wilderness and into the light, the light of self-criticism. I told you I was wrong. Now here tonight I want you to confess your own wrongs. How many of you have witnessed racism and did nothing about it? How many of you ignore your children and watch television instead of helping them with their homework? How many of you worship sports stars? How many of you spend money on a new car instead of books for you and your children? When was the last time you took your grandmother out to lunch and talked with her? How many of you know a language other than English? Jesus loved all the children of the world and you don’t even love your own children! You send them to daycare and hire nannies to raise them so you can play golf and drink martinis!

How would you explain to Jesus that you allow a ruling class to govern you that spends more money on weapons than it does to fight poverty? Now how would you explain to Jesus, right here tonight, that you do nothing about the fact that 3,000 African children died today of hunger? How would you explain to Jesus that you have allowed the rich, who according to Jesus will have a very hard time entering the gates of heaven, a harder time than a camel has passing through the eye of a needle, to enrich themselves even more than they already are? You have the power! You are the majority! Everything you do affects the whole nation and the world! You could end all this disgusting immorality tomorrow!

Brothers and sisters, you need to march! What do you think Jesus would tell you to do? Did he not march against the Romans? Are you Romans pretending to be Christians or are you Christians trying to be like the Romans?

I fear, brothers and sisters, I fear every day, that if Jesus came back tonight he’d strike us all down. He’d destroy me and you gathered here together tonight. His wrath would be furious. All this slovenliness, this obesity, this collaboration with oppression and narrow-minded racism, this over-consumption, this gluttony, this lazy lethargy, this willful ignorance, this smug self-satisfaction.

Do you think Jesus doesn’t know we consume 25 percent of all the earth’s resources yet we are only 5 percent of the world’s population? Jesus is watching you, brothers and sisters. The whole world is watching and God is watching the whole world. Now is the time to come clean before the Lord!

herbal haze

the shaman was in my dreams again...

i have no name for him. it's an elder, and he's native american. he's shown up in my dreams before. and, if i'm not mistaken, at least one other time it's been when i smoked a particular herbal blend (crystal ball). it mellows you out generally, but if you smoke it just before a nap/bedtime, it puts you into a rather deep sleep.

and i dream about him. and various other strange things.

he was reading my tarot...showing me how to lay it out. how to read it. i haven't read tarot cards since college, and then only once in the midst of some sort of spike in my psychic energy.

i have some cards i bought for their aesthetic value, but i have no connection to them whatsoever. they have remained in the bottom of various dresser drawers since i bought them in, say, 1999.

there was other information i can't remember. i should have written it down this morning, but i didn't think about it until i emailed a friend.

he's always teaching me. telling me how to see patterns in my life.

his dress isn't stereotypical...i think last night he was in jeans and a button-down shirt. he has long, steel-gray, braided hair. and he's obviously of some kind of native/indigenous descent.

sometimes i think he's an ancestor. other times i think he might be the spirit guide i've taken to calling "adam", who i've never intuited any visual for.

in the next room, the new pope (god only knows why...i'm nowhere near catholic) who looks much younger than he should was waiting for me to finish with the shaman so he could do some kind of mediation between myself, my best friend, and another friend of ours.

...ok. that doesn't really make sense w/out the background.

the three of us were the three musketeers. except we were black & female. then life--not to mention marriages, babies, and some more shit--got in the way, and three went down to two.

so here's the pope and the three of us in a room, sitting on the floor going over our friendship and what went wrong...

i guess i need to make some phone calls.

defies description

sometimes a small family is a blessing.

the service yesterday was beyond tacky. generic preaching, a blank program. not even any music piping in as you were settling.

i've been to memorials at funeral homes that were more personalized.

let's be real: any time the pastor starts in on scripture even i know?? all those kids/grown grandchildren, and no one bothered to sit down with him and tell him at least something about the woman? a few anecdotes? (bless his heart...he did the best he could with a (literally) blank program).

the damn funeral home people didn't even know what to do.

don't even get me started in my aunt in the prom dress from 1980something.

and i've seen it before.

if anyone put me away like that? i'd haunt them for the next 20 years.

granted, she passed suddenly, but they had a whole weekend to get things together. it was a memorial service, essentially. there was a brief viewing (who knew?), but no body there. she was cremated. i'm sure the church knew someone who could have donated some time to play the piano/organ. if they'd been given notice.

they had 2 people there who could sing...they seemed to get up when the pastor asked for various things...so i'm assuming they knew they were expected to get up and when.

i am so thankful i said my goodbyes in the hospital and saw her spirit smile. that satisfied me.

bless her life, and may her walk among the ancestors be a peaceful one.

ashe.

first love

it was 1992...

he was tall with deep brown skin and high cheekbones. goofy, almost-handsome. sweet. with the highest hightop fade i'd ever seen.


at 14, i was just as goofy.
but he thought i was beautiful.


we met thru a mutual friend and spent the next four years growing up together. planning weddings, naming children. valentine's cards and birthday hugs.


he got me through some of the worst times in my life. there were times when i treated him like shit, but, through it all, he stayed. and loved.


if it weren't for him, i don't even know if i'd be here today.


i outgrew him first. he ran to my friends for advice. i ran to another man a hundred miles away. i thought he was prince charming for real.


he wasn't.


but after he got over his broken heart, we got back in touch and managed to remain friends.


he can (still) pluck my last good nerve on occasion, but i'll always love him.


happy birthday, j.

land of liberty

america is
the little sister
who bakes you a cake
"all by herself"
with
not enough sugar
and
too many eggs
that you must
choke down,
smiling,
and call
delicious.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

cam(oflage)-pain

the ending still hasn't come together...it feels about as frustrated as i do lately, so i suppose that's saying something.

i am starting a crusade against
black-is-beautiful poems

i am tired of
having to restate the obvious
and
take brown skin lady breaks at work
to remind myself that
somewhere
there is a beholder
who deems me
perfection

no more
nubian queens & kingmen
...and not just 'cause
we can't all be royalty
but 'cause trayvon can't read
and keisha's pregnant
by mama's new man

that ain't
nowhere near hotep

read me
agricultural poetry
i wanna learn
how to grow food that
won't kill my babies

i wanna write sonnets
on basket weaving and
garment sewing
sing the songs i should have tried
to learn
when mommy sang them to me

'cause if we can ever put down
the xbox long enough and
tune out the false prophets and
corrupted griots and
get brave
start the revolution

(of picking up a book
of raising--not just loving-- our children
of loving ourselves
of fighting our enemies
of redefining our miseducation)

all them pretty words
won't fill our bellies

uncompromising self-love
ain't always profitable
nor does it keep up appearances
when company comes

we got to be ready
we got to be strong
we got to be useful
like the ancestors' art

make beauty
serve us
...slaves to vanity
are so 1984

we are
already
beautiful


(c) 2005 l.a.m.

nekhena evans vs. madame cj walker

just when i'm feeling like shit, enter my mother with the job/hair connection.

(every now and then she'll sneak that into conversation)

well you know what? fuck 'em. i'm tired of the lie. our hair isn't straight. get over it. it doesn't always lie down, it doesn't flip whimsically off our shoulders.

and if more of "them" knew what we went thru to make that seem natural, they'd probably deem us insane.

...well, maybe not. considering the popularity of taking botulism shots to the face.

still, if they think shit about me because i refuse to allow their standards to dominate me, fuck 'em.

most folks don't even spend time thinking about this on any conscious level. and they wouldn't really get it if the topic arose. so i really don't think it's that serious.

of course, mom's set in her ways and was raised in a house that didn't allow afros. so if an intelligent, young black woman like myself can't seem to get a job, it must be because my hair isn't bone straight.

forget the current economy, last hired first fired, overqualification for the bullshit that passes as gainful employment these days, the intimidation factor of an intelligent blk female, etc., etc.

but i digress.

the more of us there are, the more they will be forced to accept our true form when it appears. or they will show their true colors and turn up their noses at it. in which case we will just have to make our own way, something we should have made a priority years ago anyway. self-determination.

why should we buy into the bullshit anymore? it's been too long. and you can only lead by example.

all i have is my self-expression. if i lose that, if i give that up, i give up my soul. i won't compromise my soul. it's bad enough i have to fit myself in all these boxes to begin with.

i suppose God'll just have to make a way. i have so little in the way of freedom sometimes...i have to take what i can get. how else am i supposed to stay sane?

no matter how you look at it, it's an element of struggle.

i can accept that.

voices

birthed 2 different days under 2 different circumstances...still trying to figure out a place for them.

(one)
poetry calls
at the strangest times

like
after midnight
with work in the morning

after too much smoke
and not enough love

creeping under doors
repeatedly smudged against
intruders and unpleasantness

for instance,
when all i want
is for the ache in my side
to go away
i find myself
forced to pick up
paper and pens
sketch out thoughts
until watercolors
drip
drop
from white blue and black
alone

i've been trying
to write all weekend
but i mistook
brown skin for metaphor and
warm hands for synonyms

sometimes
takes me a moment to realize
what all that energy
is for

searching for inspiration in
mere acquaintances
is never enough
a muse
must love you exclusively
and
my lovers
are far too conflicted

i'm considering
remodeling
breaking myself down
to have something to do
a project
a worthy hobby

building a black girl
inch by inch
a reality show
few would watch

...shutting us down is the main attraction.


(two)
halting steps taken
in the
lost-found rhythm
of a groove i last heard
when someone mistook me
for a 1/2 white girl

my heart bleeds black
roots of hair
reddened by
nevershouldhavebeen nights
nights my memory
forces into herbal hazes

i am an addict
with no drug

exile
with no homeland

simply
out of place

a lit cigarette
becomes a microcosm
of the earth's core
in my hands
yet
i am nothing more
than a lost note or two
wafting in the breeze

my presence makes for
pleasant nostalgia
but my place in the present
is more than uncertain.


(c) 2009 l.a.m.

pressure cooker

my mother has always been fond of saying, "those babies didn't ask to come here". meaning, parents should never expect their children to save them. their responsibility is to raise them to the best of their ability, then allow the child his or her own life.

it is one of the most important lessons she has taught me.

children should not be used to correct your frustrations, only the last generation's mistakes. they are not (always) you incarnate. and if they appear to be, it is to teach you a lesson. i don't believe it is necessary to force their roundness into the square peg you should have fit.

our babies can only save us if we allow them the freedom to become their own unique selves.

the man of the house is never your 10 year old.

we have to find a better way to handle the fracturing of our families.

how many times have you witnessed a situation where everything's all good until a child begins to assert herself...and if she's not precisely what we groomed her to be, we reject her. no one bothered to take the time to see who she was, what she wanted. and, sometimes, she hasn't allowed herself to know, for fear of that rejection. only to have it happen anyway.

one glimmer of promise, and common sense goes out the window.

expect the best, yes. discipline, certainly. but do not forget balance.

you did not give birth to a protegee. a protegee comes to you of her own free will once she has decided what it is she wants to be in life.

you gave birth to a human being who has her own role and purpose to fulfill in this life, a role that one day will take her beyond being your baby.

nurture her in the world you make for her, but learn to let her go. be there when she falls, but don't cover her in padding so she's numb to the pain.

yeah...i can hear you now. "you don't have any babies...what do you know?"

ok.

but if/when i do, i can only teach them what i've been taught.

and this is one lesson i plan on passing on.

thoughts on (various different kinds of) hunger

(penned 8/14/04)

stuck on broke
drivin on E
tryin to make it thru
just one more trip
to the market
'cause a sista's gotta eat

maybe i need some kinda
shaolin monk martial arts diet
make a meal outta air & sunlight
like an indian guru

but i ain't that slick

tired of righteous living
lockeed martin's hirin'
why not kill a few babies
to get some healthcare
job security
and a close to living wage?

too bad
i'm allergic to babylon

scribblin in this notebook
isn't gonna make me dinner

bout to take my last $20 and
go to the farmer's market
with a prayer
go raw foodist overnight
pretend i'm performing a cleansing
pull a scarlett
and refuse to go hungry
ever again

is it mandatory
that poets experience
instability and pain and
pay twice the dues?

but my day's on its way...
(c) 2004 l.a.m.

pseudonym

my silence will not save me.

stuck between
rocky shores and
ancestral hard places
i'm standing
waiting for someone
to give me a voice

waiting for someone
to shout for me
because i'm a lady
and cannot raise my voice
with dignity

if i forego obsolete conclusions
and shout
i lose 98%
of my femininity

someone should have told me that
before i learned to
praise my
own name

like he does

(and not only in bed)

(c) 2004 l.a.m.

love's shadow

Declaration:
I trust You.
I trust my path.
I trust myself.
I trust Universal Law.
I trust Nature.
I trust in Love, Peace, & Joy. I trust in my ability to manifest these things in my life.
I trust that I am Blessed.
I trust that everything I need will be provided for me.
I trust the Divinity within and the abundance of the Universe.
I trust that my prayers are heard and that the Creator knows my heart.
I trust my gifts.
I trust in the power of my Being.

As it is
So shall it be done.

Ashe
Ashe
Ashe

i wrote that somewhere inbetween all the other thoughts i was trying to get down and work out. things i've been trying to work out for months now.

i had a lot to think about last night...i still have a lot to think about today.

i'm hoping that maybe if i let go and truly allow myself to trust in these things, everything else will fall into place.

i read the song of songs before i went to sleep last night. i was trying to keep in mind the beauty of love, not all the dark things it can bring out of people.

i've always liked that book of the bible, 'cause it seemed like it shouldn't have been there. my jaw dropped the first time i read it...

i don't dig how people are always trying to make it into a god/israel thing. why not take this as literally as everything else?

the sensuality of it alone--the myrrh, honey, flowers--is wonderful.

verse 5, chapter 6 made me think:

I opened for my lover,
but my lover had left; he was gone.
My heart sank at his departure.
I looked for him but did not find him.
I called him but he did not answer.

been feeling like that a lot lately.

you know, i started this entry in the spirit of negativity...and in a assbackwards way at that.

i'm glad i turned it into this instead.

renewal

every seven years you get a new body.

birthdays divisible by seven, they say, are usually important in some way. generally it's expected that you will experiencing some sort of major transition or change.

i'm still 2 years away from my next "seven birthday", but i feel like it could be tomorrow.

i'm hoping that means things will be smoother and less chaotic by that time. but who knows.

one can only hope, right?

this sign gives me hope for the world. :)

d.c. eats her young

.
the flutter of a desert fly's wings
reverberates
on the concrete
of my front stairs

the capital building
is ground zero

sins committed there
echo in the ears of children
with griot blood
who have not yet learned
how to ignore
their birthright

grandchildren of priestesses
in a godless land
reaping the harvest
sown by
demoralized parents
crooked systems
and apathetic idolatry

if we continue
to allow madness
in our house
it is our children
who will embrace it
desperate for
love and lessons
we've become too complacent to teach

like any gift,
they can be
stolen
returned
exchanged

we are
failing the test
god is not
on our side
and the sooner we realize it
the sooner we can heal.

II.
the prayers and curses
of a thousand lips
are blowing typhoon winds
into the center of chocolate city
escorting misery
to your doorstep
but your babies are the only ones
conscious enough
to hear her knocking

rage flows like water
rocking their souls to sleep
like you refused to do
for fear of spoiling them

we will lose
the war
at home or abroad
as long as we ignore the obvious
allow our youth
to play with razor blades
and walk barefoot
on broken glass

we kill them with our lies
confuse with our hypocrisy

suffer the little children

the leaders of the 60s
are returning as brilliant hoodlums
draped in white tees
they're trying to shape into priestly robes

suffer the little children

open your eyes
to the play on the asphalt stage

the ancestors will keep sending warriors
until we remember how to teach them to fight

but all we can think to do
is build more battlefields
for them to die defenseless on.

III.
blood spilled there
will fall on our heads here

the world
is not flat
and we are not
an island

the golden rule
doesn't stop applying
just 'cause you cross the border

fool me once
(vietnam)
shame on you

fool me twice
(iraq)
shame on me.

IV.
the flutter
of a desert fly's wings
is sending ripples
thru the streets
of concrete jungles
light years away.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

universal

i need God.

my neglect of my spiritual self is catching up to me. i'm realizing that i need to allow my spirit space to grow, breathe, and live. this is a major part of getting where i need to be in the other areas of my life.

of course, there are some conditions.

i will not be reverting to my judeo-christian beginnings.

i do want to continue my reading/study of the bible. same thing with the koran. i enjoy reading both--the koran especially--but the faiths themselves aren't for me.

long ago, i rejected the idea of a solely male, patriarchial godhead. everything in the Universe is dualistic. my disdain at the Holy Spirit being denied Her place as Goddess disqualifies me for blind faith in the christian trinity. the Divine Feminine must be recognized, revered, and considered just as important as the Male. it is my firm belief that the removal of this dimension in the lives & faiths of so many has contributed to the chaotic state of the world today.

(i also place some stock in the idea that people are becoming more drawn to these issues/ideas because the Goddess is restless in Her neglect. everything moves in cycles...the spiritual consciousness of humanity is no different.)

some historical origins and african prophets notwithstanding, christianity/islam/judaism are not the faiths of my ancestors. more and more, i'm seeing how these traditions have been/are being used & abused in the repression, oppression, and murder of my people around the world.

my ancestors revered nature, life, earth and sky. they understood and embraced the concept of masculine and feminine energy combining to form the complexities and balance of the Universe. every being on the planet does this--even hermaphroditic species need 2 sets of parts/cells to multiply. so why has it become so difficult to accept this premise in our spiritual lives? simply because a few thousand years ago (people wanna act like the world started with jesus. God lived long before yeshua) some dudes sat down and wrote a book and asked themselves, "why should women have all the fun?"

nope. don't buy it.

i am drawn to the more shamanistic/mystic ways of worship and belief. ifa, buddhism, rastafari, sufism, hinduism, and other similar traditions are far more attractive than traditional churches and mosques.

i know that i need a faith that will carry me thru every day, not just a few days a week. i require a sacred space in my home, not just a book or two.

either way, God & i have been playing phone tag for way too long. i will not allow myself to fear this aspect of my life any longer.

anamnesis

it must be in our nature to forget

the immensity of the planet

since we are taught

to stuff ourselves

in an assortment of boxes

that in no way fit

who we're meant to be

suddenly

we are individuals in every way

except our dreaming

what do you expect

when imagination is crushed

between the gears of the machine

we can't even sing anymore

melodies are regurgitated

instead of inspired

apathy set to sound

we are dying

and celebrate it

accept the worst kinds of nihilism

draped in hope's clothing

of course

the blind are the only ones

who see

depressed knowitalls

who love to wreck the party

everyone else

is having.

(c) 2008 l.a.m.

legacy

i do not like the energy of this place.

it has the feeling of a skin graft...naturally artificial. this place, much of it, has been transplanted here, imported. it does not belong.

the walls are invisible, but clearly marked. an abundance of urban blight surrounding the fortress/oasis...pleasant place to be as long as you don't go too far out of the box. when the lines have to be crossed, the fear is palpable.

there is something restless here. history razed to make way for housing, parking lots, new research labs and other assorted knickknacks.

but this place lies over years of memories, blood, sweat, tears. it is not just the antiseptic feel of a hospital that lingers. it is the image of the plantation. the memories of the homeless people who disappeared. the children and the lead.

it is the way black folks are kept in the basements.

the back entrances and lonely service ramps haunting the undersides of the sparkling new buildings.

hierarchy is in the bricks here. bureaucracy in the air. it is difficult to breathe.

consciousness stream 3

my empathy is god's way/ of allowing my great (times 10) grandmother/ to shed her tears//


my lifestyle/ allows space for emotion she may never have fully explored/ or understood//


sometimes i wonder/ how many of her men were chased away/ maybe that's why mine don't stick around//


massa's warped sensibilities exchanged for/ the attentions of absentee fathers and overworked mothers/slavery is/ still fucking my shit up/ only in a different timeplacespaceway//


but/ details aside/ dysfunction is still dysfunction...


i only want to make the weeping stop/ replay the joyful ceremonies/ spread balm over the wounds/ make a way outta no way/ love against the odds that/he'll know how to love me back...


the ancestors desired a time traveler/ so here i am/ stuck in a distant present/ remembering a dimly lit past/ jet lag is a constant/ my growth an attempt to get my bearings//


seamlessly shape shifting to find my level/ water personified/ my patience sculpts stone/ my vitality introduces the possibility/ of life//


i am no accident.


even if my parents had claimed i was/ i'd know better/ i was awaited in this world/ just as i was released from the other/ some grand anticipation/seems to color my forward movement//


the sun illuminates my moisture, and rainbows follow...


this is how i know i will grow into myself.

40 percent

my dad finally got his disability from the VA for vietnam. he will now recieve 40% of the benefits owed to him.

this after 20+ years of struggle.

i've lived my entire life with the ghost of that war. many of us have...whether it was a dad, a favorite uncle, maybe a brother or sister.

for us 20-somethings, our movies started to reflect it--dead presidents, jason's lyric, ...more than a few of the movies in the 90s dealt with the consequences 'nam had on the children of vets.

i had an acquaintance in college whose father went thru some of the same things mine did....while we got along generally, that was the topic we first bonded over. it was the first time i'd met someone who understood.

daddy talks about the lighter side of things...the bbq featuring their pet pig, the 40 days and 40 nights of rain, that kind of thing. i used to love going thru the old photo albums and seeing the golden buddhas in the temples and the weird, sepia landscapes. and, of course, daddy sitting around with a cigar in his mouth, looking impossibly young.

but i know there are many other things he doesn't talk about...the things that took the light out of his eyes.

my mother always told me he came back a shell of himself, nothing like the guy who'd left home.

and even tho i didn't see the early effects, i still knew not to wake him up too fast...not to sneak up on him, ever...not to sneak into the house too quietly. i watched a lot of movies and skimmed more than a few books trying to fill in the blanks.

i've always counted myself fortunate that he came back in much better shape than most, but that's still little consolation to loved ones and children who grow up with ghosts.

there is no way a check's gonna make up for that. i don't care if it was 100%. but he fought long & hard for every single dime, and i'm proud of him for it.

at every anti-war rally i've been to, i've sought out the veterans (especially the vietnam ones) and shaken a hand or just simply said, "my father is one of you, and that's why i'm here today."

when people ask why i'm against war, i'll go thru some facts, but i make it a point to tell them, "i would never want anyone's daddy to go thru what mine did."

i'll never be able to support this country going into even a justified conflict while knowing they're just going to use soldiers as guinea pigs then give 'em the shaft once they get home.

but i'll take this small victory. 'cause every little bit helps.

earth & water

yesterday i found out my mother had a picture of me and a good friend of mine...

we're sitting on a couch...in some dorm somewhere. i can't remember what year it was taken or for what, but it's an 8x10 glossy, so it must have had some purpose. his hair was relatively short...my nails look like acrylics. it was probably around sophomore year...97 or 98.

my eyes are closed. i'm leaning against his chest. he has his arms around me....a very couple-esque pose. he's looking out towards something...maybe a television. maybe he's just deep in thought. he seems kind of tired. i look like i might be about to say something. or about to smile.

the last time i saw him was in 2001. it was early winter, and he came to spend a weekend with me...wanted to see the city & get out of boston for a second or three. he was ecstatic that i had (finally) decided to loc my hair--he was always asking me why i never wore my hair in braids or why i wouldn't just let it go natural...rock a 'fro or something. and his eyes would shine when he talked about it.

unfortunately, we lost touch pretty soon after that weekend.

strangely enough, i had a completely unprovoked dream about him the night before this picture resurfaced. i'm hoping this is a sign.

he nursed me thru a broken heart...introduced me to jerk chicken and the warm, brown-sugar sweetness of first generation west indian guys... took me to my first live reggae show... was always willing to act like my man to keep the undesirables away.

he let me twist his locs when the closest i'd ever gotten to a head full of hair like that was in my dreams... let me cook for him and fuss over him, and i was never anything close to being his girl.

we had some moments.

and a marriage pact ("if neither of us is married by the time we're 40...").

he made me feel beautiful in a place where i simply wasn't seen and at a time when i'd never been so unsure of myself.

you might know who you are by now...so, if by some strange turn of fate, you've come across this page, i hope you're well. something tells me you're probably all tied up w/ some wonderful woman & maybe even a kid or two (congrats), but you can call a sista, dammit.

i miss you.

primordial mama

the woman

i write for

is dark and deep

water-logged//

even her joy

is indigo//

she seems loose to you

but she is only

adept at providing comfort//

her womb's doorway can

house an army

as her rivers wash her clean//

she is

immaculately promiscuous

choosing

sacred prostitution

over

chaste bondage//

...it is a shame that

this language only understands

such rites thru a

bastardized expression

composed of two loaded,

opposing concepts

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

i want to shout my existence

from the tallest mountain

scream my being

into the ears of strangers

maybe thru some

freak of nature

or physics

it will stimulate

someone's optic nerve

and

i

will

be

seen

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

oz

you have to take my hand

follow me down the road//

it doesn’t have to be made of yellow bricks if you don’t want it to be

‘cause we’re not chasing the wizard,

he’s chasing us//

trying to bottle our kisses and

ground the harmonies we sing

into powders for his garden

(…'cause everyone knows

love makes flowers grow)//

we don’t need emerald cities

we’d rather slide into the ocean

on ghanian gold

spell our names in

semi-precious stonedust

on the sides of volcanoes

to make the Goddess giggle

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

anonymity

there's a woman i see outside my window at work.

she's out there around the same time every day.

she walks around a lot...i can't tell whether she's talking to herself or not. she has different clothes on every day, so i don't think she's homeless.

she seems to be waiting for a bus, but it must be one that doesn't come very often, 'cause i also see several pass her by.

sometimes she'll walk away and come back. today she seems to have some focus. other days she seems very lost...as if someone disappeared near that bus stop & she comes back every day to search for them.

i never consciously look for her, but find myself looking down and there she is...i've trained myself without realizing it.

strangely, i can't really tell how long she stays out there. i'll look & she's there, i'll look some time later, she's gone. the next day, she's back again.

watching her reminds me of the day an old man walked past me...he seemed so alone i almost ran up to him and hugged him. i knew i couldn't do that, so then i felt like crying...

sometimes it's difficult not being able to express to someone that you understand, that you feel their pain. especially when, from all appearances, you don't seem like you would at all.

perception

think about this:

let's say everything you touched became something other than what it was. metaphors for everything: hair turns to cotton, skin is silk, rain is air, smiles become sunrays studded with jewels.

you get the picture.

the beauty in everything becomes painfully obvious...it has a presence, an aura, that you can't shake. lifeforce becomes something you can touch, manipulate, ease yourself into. almost anything is open for understanding.

senses are dulled & heightened at the same time...you can see and hear far better than you did yesterday, but you may not want to eat.

and in the midst of all this you feel like you're been rocking in a universal cradle; the world around you is kind of dim...like looking thru a frosted glass. you're safe in your nursery. something in the rhythm of the earth soothes you.

that's pretty much where i've been for the past week or so.

i know this is the place where the poetry comes from...among other things. but i never--well, in the last few years anyway--stay in this state for more than a day or two.

i refuse to do anything to snap myself out of it...i suppose out of some protest against the banality of having to see the world "normally" 95% of the time.

i know a way out. and sometimes you don't want--or need--to go back in.

consciousness stream 2

(birthed in the early a.m. of 10-25-04 & edited for something resembling clarity. there's a lot to work with, and there are probably more than 2 segments to it...who knows. it'll probably morph several times before i'm content with it)


(1)
scream break things/ scream break things

if i scream long enough/ and break enough things/ will you let me out?/ free me?/ numb me so i can forget or/

dumb me down so i don't notice?

can you stop me/ from dreaming?

the daily grind/ took its toll/ and it's more than i can afford

tax man's comin/ but you don't get no breaks/ this is the soul tax/ the one everyone pays/ it's the only thing/ everyone has/ and your lawyer can't find/ universal loopholes

maybe if i check myself/ into the local loony bin/ i can shake him/ i'm sure he looks there last/ there where the souls/ got twisted on the way in/ or out

snatches of reality/ caught between glimpses of other dimensions

mental illness/ has a thousand more manifestations/ than any therapist theorist quack or scientist/ could ever name

but names have power

it's not that/ we need a cop out/ road rages are/ no less insane than
schizophrenic fantasy worlds

it's that/ there's money to be made/ pills to sell/ books to pen/ seminars to lead

the roots get lost/ in the study of the magnificence/ of the foliage and/ the sweetness of the fruit/ but the roots/ are rotten


(2)
scream break things

i need help but/ don't have enough lines left/ to tell you why/ i wear invisible shackles in/ an open air prison/ and folks too blind to see the chains ask/ why can't you walk straight?

why can't you move right?

tell them to/ enhance their vision/ adjust their mental contacts/ get spiritual bifocals/ and they turn away

scream break things

what if i/ broke myself/ would you piece me together?
that's love for real.

would you know/ where my shards fit together?

that's understanding.

scream....



(c) 2004 l.a.m.

consciousness stream 1

(concieved 12.27.03)


3rd eye
dream visions
reality on sound systems
and digital screens//


forced into
tapping
potential potential
i'd rather leave alone//

there's a finger on my life
don't know whose
...or who'd care enough
to pay that much attention//

books full of letters
letters make words
words make thoughts
paper universe
falliable malleable
capable of decay//

organically grown
streams of consciousness
running out of pens
leaking ingenuity

or maybe just
the narcissitic musings
of a wannabe nubian//

i think
my locs need a few inches
before i'm truly authentic//

or was i real
before all that//

sometimes i can't remember
...there's a lot i can't remember
the pages do that for me
making the price of paper
more than fair//

i need more music
i keep finding my way
out of the forest
the sounds should
hide me longer//

and i should open these books more often//

if i'm not going to meditate
communion of penstrokes
and keyboard clacks
are my only hope//

--if salvation even matters anymore.

(c) 2004 l.a.m.

trippin...

my blood's been acting up again.

don't worry. i'm gonna explain that.

i'm a big believer in symbols (that's all dreams are...and i don't mean in a freudian sense, either. that's why they're important. pay attention to them.), reoccuring themes and things like that. just one of god's ways of trying to tell you something.

recently the issue of understanding the depth and breadth of my native american ancestry has resurfaced.

i know there's some in there. but the strange things are the way i tend to gravitate towards the culture in direct and indirect ways; the way people randomly see it in my face; the sudden desire to see the desert that crept up on me about a year and a half ago.

last night in class we had to meditate, go to a "place" of calm and all that. i decided to go to an island and sit underneath the warm, clear, saltwater. totally immersed in it, smiling at the fish. i've always been connected to water....

but the native flute music they had playing snatched me out & put me in the desert.

hence i'm thinking about this today.

knowing my fear of anything with more than four legs, the desert is probably the last place i need to be. not to mention i'm not big on sand. but i'm being pulled towards it. it was ridiculously strong last year...i shoved it into the back of my mind. but whenever winter comes again....

thing is, your ancestors are like magnets. all of them will pull on you, but some have a stronger hold than others. even in the same family one group of ancestors will speak more clearly to one family member than another.

so while i feel like my resilience, strength, and things like that come from my african ancestors, my spirit, connection to god, nature, and life feels more native (the two cultures, in many ways, aren't too far from each other in those respects. but there does seem to be a sort of intuitive demarcation). i've always felt that in a past life i was some sort of priestess or shaman....i've known for some time that a vision quest of some sort would be a good thing for me.

but my one foot in the "rationality" of western society (no matter how hard i try to analyze and escape it whenever it rears its head) keeps fighting to keep me grounded.

but the more i think about it, the less it feels like "grounding" and more like captivity.

...and that's why the first part of my affirmation is summarized as, "get out, get free".

(see where those damn affirmations will get you?)

unfinished alliteration

bootleg/ boho baby/ buyin borrowed bounties/ blessing beautiful books with/ scribbles and chants/ unknown to anyone/ but herself

spends days singing/ in closed off cars/ adjoining cracked windows/ make her ashamed/ of her not-quite-a-voice

all kinds of freedom are/ just out of her price range/ but things are slowly/ moving her way

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

dichotomy

this may

come as

a shock

but

not everything

i do

is holistic

or even

whole

(you can

close your mouth

now)

sometimes my soul is more

steel-colored glass

than

stony marbled pillars

that delude untrained eyes

into perceptions of

infallibility

however

i am not

always

anything

i can

pollute and cleanse

equally well...

earth mother

one day

hard living whore

the next

...my dreams

speak to me

in both voices.

i know

many faces.

consistently

two steps from divinity

and carnality

i play

with poison

to test my limits

acquainted with healing wounds

and the wounded route

to healing

i know

the two sides

of every story

including

my own

and

occasionally

(to avoid eardrum hemorrages

from hearing god too clearly)

i self medicate

this

is my night off

from purpose

and reason

slave labor

already got my

back achin

so damn

workin for the universe

it can have me back

when i dream.

di·chot·o·my

n. pl. di·chot·o·mies

1. Division into two usually contradictory parts or opinions: “the dichotomy of the one and the many” (Louis Auchincloss).

2. Astronomy. The phase of the moon, Mercury, or Venus when half of the disk is illuminated.

3. Botany. Branching characterized by successive forking into two approximately equal divisions.

(c)2009 l.a.m.