Tuesday, September 27, 2005

One more thing: my roommate said one way I can tell if I like somebody is if I can think back to doing something with the person, and knowing that if I were doing it with anyone else, it just wouldn't be the same. I think this is a good measure, but I don't know if it necessarily measures likeability. I feel like her example may be a bit deeper than liking.
Because I can only really think of one or two people I've dated like that--that our experiences were specific to that one person and I couldn't have possibly imagined being with that person in that experience.

. . .It's this whole "fall"/"autumn" thing: the leaves are falling and now we think we've (or at least I've) got to change stuff about my life.


Don't we
All get a little more full of ourselves in the spring?
We grow the will to do and say things we dared never to say before
"I really like you" falls from the lips of late autumn bloomers
Dead leaves of love relapse and fall into the laps of assuming passersby
Heavy hearts lose weight just in time to dance in the warm sunlight
Cowards become heros
And every word shaped by lips becomes a pregnant love song
***
Besides
us single gals are all a joke
our confidence is all we have
we're sure true love will never come our way
to us belong our days and our hearts and secrets and emotions too
who else could ever gain their due?
not even the noblest of any army
no boy become a man
no, no one will ever stand a chance to a single girl's idea of romance
I've been thinking a lot lately, and I'm a bit worried that I may not really like all the guys I've said I liked in the past. I fear that in seeing them all as the wonderful people they are I find myself feeling like I should like them because they're like-worthy. But when it came down to it, my so called feelings don't hold water. That, in addition to my supposed commitment issues doesn't (I don't think) make for such a good combination. Just some thoughts/fears I've been having lately.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

OK, so in talking to my neighbor tonight, and admitting that yes, I too have loved and lost (she thought I wasn't into using the L-word) I remembered the person who still holds pieces of me, and I don't even know when I gave them to him
"like a kleptomaniac workin hard & forgettin while stealin" (ntozake shange)
but he does
have me
...don't worry, I'll get myself back one day
but in the meantime between time, this is what I wrote about him just now, for your viewing pleasure (or otherwise)--share thoughts if you will. . . peace


We
Go thru these things
Tunnels of dark vision during the daytime
Sun shines outside but inside we
Are pensive
And consumed by the absence of something
Someone
We think we need
Or someone we want

We
Go thru these things
Days full of clouds
Rain dampened clothes hang on our limp bodies
Rags cling to our memories as we
Try to wring ourselves free from the grasp of his hands, his voice, his breath
So soft but
So gone

We
Go thru these things
Dull hallways of monotonous silence
Beating us senseless with what we don’t want to know
Knowledge is only welcome when arms have opened
But ours
Are crossed
Against our chests
Full of emptiness
Air trapped
Cramped breathing room
No chairs for choice or chance

We go thru life
Wanting it to be more than it is
But all the time shutting out the “yes” that awaits the opening of our front door
We hope the music will eventually come back but
The ear plugs we inserted keep all sound out and only our cavernous craziness in
We push away the bodies that come close to holding us
We put on clothes when the sun is shining bright
We bathe ourselves in filthy water, hoping to be cleansed

And as time watches over us
Her head hangs in tearful despair
Back and forth we go
Battling our most desperate desires while daring pain to pierce us once again

We forget
That the battle has already been fought
And won

Monday, September 19, 2005

Okay, I admit it. I'm looking back to bring me up to present speed on me and where I stand in this life thing.
And I found this in email archives just now.
Another Lewin piece, written not too far from our ending, dated 7/14/05:

in these days where time approaches new beginnings, fear is hiding behind the oxygen that keeps me alive
and just like oxygen inhaled incorrectly, fear threatens to choke me dead if i allow her entrance to this temple
just as appealing and nearby, you stand
tall and sturdy, unyielding to light and dark, as they are of no consequence to serious-minds
you
stand by and watch the thing inside my head sway from left field to right
braining this whole decision out do i
choose the easier and more common defense to shield me with its hatred of the unknown or do i
close my eyes and tilt my head to the leftlean on your shoulder and let love rule, i want to be enveloped in your warmth
as smooth as the day we met and as cool
as a green jacket over a red shirt, easy like your hand rubbing my back
and me breathing easy, fearless
and free
This morning I was late for work, but while I was sitting waiting for the train, trying to read a book, thoughts of Lewin interrupted my concentration and I wrote this. Enjoy.

Commute
Our lips clung together
Inseparable
Not even moses could have parted us.
No trains passed, just time and touch.
You holding me and I you.
Right palm left shoulder blade.
Pressed into thickness of heat and lust we stood tall and proud and unashamed.
Lust driven though tamed, our bodies claimed each other
Holding on for dear life
or breath.
My eyes were closed
sealed shut by spirits and sleep long time come.
I remember the thump of this heart in me beating deep
Full
heavy even, but light with brilliance and bounce
My hands danced over your wide spanse of back
body cries out for your memory to relive
to revive you, me
Not knowing anymore who we are, I am glad
to hold you in high esteem
or heat
on this morning train of text.
Ride on memory
ride on.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

"I'm a cold cold person."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I am. I can like a guy a lot and talk about him everyday, but the minute he does something I think is remotely wrong, I'll just let go."
"Why is that?"
"Well I think it has a lot to do with my constantly being alone. I'm so used to being responsible for me and only me, I'm not used to having to care about someone else or their feelings. . . . Also, I think in what few relationships I have had, I'm used to being disappointed by the other person's lack of care for me. It always seems that the guys I deal with are not able or willing to deal with my responses to their actions, whether or wrong or just opposite what I would have liked. And I'm not even always trying to be right, but I do want to feel like my words don't fall on deaf ears, and that I'm being understood. And I think I'm so used to not getting that response (a receptive one) from guys, that I expect them to fail me. And I think that attitude I have comes out sooner than I intend for it to (though I don't even think I intend the person to ever know...the truth has a funny way of revealing itself) and the guys end up feeling defeated before even fully stepping up to the plate."

"Wow."
"What?"
"You seem to really know yourself."
"Yeah, well I've been single for a long time--not much else to do but get to know and love yourself, though I know I'm not right all the time. The question I'm constantly wondering is when am I going to change? and what am I going to change?. . .I really don't know the answer."
Saturday night--or Sunday morning, depending on your perspective--and I'm laying in my bed (alone). Nothing wrong with that, right?
Nope, not at all.
I was talking to my friend earlier tonight. It's funny the friendships that can come from relationships that never realized in the way we expected them to.
Anyway, my friend and I were discussing a common topic for me: men. And I had brought up the last guy I dated. I can't tell you his name, but we'll call him Lewin. Yep, that's right. A black, afro-centric, pan-african minded, very politically and spiritually conscious man. Tall, handsome, a bit lanky, but very confident overall, and so intelligent. We had brain sex often. Only thing was I think I got too much of a good thing and I think he still wanted to keep it coming.
Now I'm a bit of a serious person to begin with. Not always (heads up to my roomie for lightening my load) but I have my "deep" moments that make people older than me say, "you're an old soul."
So an old soul I am. I enjoy long conversations, like six hours long. It makes me feel like there will never be an end to conversational possibility for the person with whom I'm speaking. And I will admit, I give a WHOLE lotta points to guys in whom I see lots of possibility/potential.
Anyway, this certain guy, Lewin, often made it so that I felt it was hard to conduct a conversation I felt was regular because he would constantly bring up points I felt were irrelevant to our current topic.
For instance:
After one of our dates to Coney Island (not my choice, but cute nevertheless) Lewin and I were on the train heading "home" when (my memory is cloudy) he said something. Perhaps the conversation went like this:
"I ain't even tryna be on this train when dem young boys roll through this piece," Lewin commented. (By the way, this is a GROSS exaggeration on what he actually said. He would NEVER say anything like this, but whatever he said did make me smile and respond with...)
"Are you ghetto?" beaming the whole while I spoke the words. I just thought seeing this tiny part of him that seemed to escape out of one of the small cracks in his oh-so-large brain was charming and I liked that his less militant self was showing itself to me--his true, natural, un-thought-out self was revealing itself to me, and I thought it a beautiful thing.
But, lo and behold, my response was brutally rebuffed by his less than approving look, followed by, "I don't like the use of the word ghetto," he said with a serious look on his face. He continues, "I feel like people often restrict its use to one of the many global communities in which there are ghettos, and I feel like the use of the word is perpetuated to be a symbol specifically for the black community, so I don't like it or use it."
My response (and you know 60% of communication is body language, right?) was a body slump, along with the so indicative, "Oh."

I didn't at the time understand what the big deal was. It wasn't like he and I were in some huge debate. And I certainly hadn't called Lewin's mother ghetto. (I never met her though, so. . .) J/K
Anyway, I felt like his reaction was a bit over-extended and unnecessary. If I had wanted a critical overview of my choice language and the words that I use, as compared to my self-impression, I would have asked. I hadn't asked.
His response, suffice it to say, threw me just a bit. But there was more to my reaction. The night hadn't been great. It hadn't been horrible by any means. No date with Lewin was ever horrible.
As I look back at "us" or what there was of us at any point, we actually worked pretty well together. But he seemed to have some control issues that I took as male dominant attributes coming out. I wasn't comfortable with these things I saw. And so we ended up not being as great as we were at our beginnings. But our beginnings were so full of stories that will be great to tell on nights not tonight. :)

Friday, September 09, 2005

I got home tonight around eleven, I wanna say, and almost as soon as I walked in the door, I called my father, who most recently referred to himself as "estranged" from me. This characterization he chose for himself really bothered me, as I felt that in calling himself estranged, he was pointing a finger at me, as if I had estranged him. This is of course with my little (very very little) knowledge of the dictionary. Yes, I majored in English, but dayum! that doesn't mean I ever touched the dictionary except to find one word at a time. I do not self-proclaim to be any such Malcolm X who so diligently studied words so eloquate himself for future audiences. I haven't yet forseen that goal in my life. (and i know you all like my new word=eloquate...yeah)

Anyway, not too long after my father's choice of words came to my knowledge, via my eyes, I was in conversation with a close friend of mine, who suggested (him being a man) a few things to me. And as I have always highly revered this man, I took some notice to what he was saying and decided to apply it. In so doing, I called my father soon afterwards. (I know I'm being vague, but in the interest of respect, I'll continue to do so.) I called my father and received no response, but you must understand that he and I had had little to no contact over the past several months, if not year. So I called, saying something like "Hi, I love you, call me."

I later found out that this call left him quite the confused one, but after a few friendly phone calls, made recently (on and around both of our birthdays, within 4 days of each other) we seem to have bridged some of the mis/ill communications that have occured over the past very long time, and I just had to share my feelings of overwhelmingness with someone. I chose you.

I realized that the man who is my daddy can now, after my 23 years on this earth, him not only having been present at my birth, but also the hands into which i was born--at home--can now better serve me as a friend than the superhuman being I had made him out to be. (anybody know what that's like?)

I first decided to call to make amends on my birthday, September 4th. I had been in a bit of a funk, though I was in Seattle with some of my best friends from Howard. And when me and my friend finally made it to a CD store favorite of hers, I felt a peace come over me. And as the minutes turned into hours as we milled around in the store, I started hearing and remembering the music my father would have playing on Sunday mornings when me, my sister and mother would return from church and he would be home having what my mom called a "virgo attack," mopping the floor or cleaning/organizing another part of the house, or even cooking breakfast. And when I heard this music, I was again reminded that my father was no longer the man I could call whenever I wanted to. He hadn't been that in a long time, and I honestly can't think back, even now, to when we last had that type of relationship.
All the same, I was in the place of memories and I decided, since I hadn't yet heard from him and it was getting late (especially on the west coast) that I should call him--so I did. And we talked briefly, me coaching him through the process of telling me happy birthday, him kind of consenting, but obviously uncomfortable.

I had come to the decision, or the conclusion, that today (that day being the 4th and my 23rd birthday) would be the day I took my life in my hands, and approached it with the seriousness and maturity I would need to go on. And in realizing or claiming that destiny for myself, I saw my strong and urgent need for my father to be back in my life on a constant level. It all of a sudden became a life/stifling kind of situation and I knew what the right decision would be, no matter how humbling.

So I called him, and then we talked, and then I called another time and I asked a question I wanted to ask and I got an answer. And then I called when I got back to New York from Seattle to let him know I got home safe and I think he appreciated that. And then we may have even talked yesterday, I don't remember. But I do know we talked today, a few times. It was his __ birthday and I'm glad to still be able to reach out and touch my daddy. And even though our two-hour conversation was definitely very humbling and at times he said things I didn't want to hear, I know I said some things he didn't want to hear either, both tonight on the phone and previously via email and through my actions.

We've both done some inconsiderate things to each other and though no specific words of apology were spoken tonight, I know the intentions, or else I'm at least making them up as I go along.

All I know is I'm feeling a whole lot more complete now--like some things have come together that needed to be together. And for that, I am so thankful.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Okay, so with all the seriousness of the world, I haven't yet been able to get to the fun part of this blog thing for myself, which is baring myself for the whole world to see. Even though you can't really see me--my words will tell you enough.

...sooo why is it that meeting eligible men is SO HARD?!?!?!!!
I mean I'm not saying I'm the most eligible bachelorette out there, but dayum! I went to Howard University, graduated with honors, have a job, and I look pretty good. So what's the problem?

Lots of my guys friends say that men are intimidated by me, but I'm not buying that excuse anymore. If you're scared of me, then I guess the best policy is to stay away from me; I wouldn't want to bite you or anything. And I certainly don't need a silent partner. And so I will be alone (or at least I am now) and there really isn't anything wrong with that for now, but as my years keep coming, I know I'll want and need some company on this road called life. So I think I'm asking the question: what is the disconnect between guys and girls?
Or is it just me?

Stay tuned for my next episode/s wherein I will begin to disrobe myself and start telling about my exciting, if not disturbing, dating life.

Blessings
It's as if there is no rest for black people. If we're not worried about having enogh money, we're wondering why we don't have enough money and whose fault it is, and what's going to happen as a result of us not having money. Or better, we end up in a situation in which we don't have enough money(hurricane katrina) and then wonder how we got there. In finally reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X, I'd say that if he were around, he would say--at least in his younger years--what many of us are saying (Kanye): Bush doesn't care about black people; most white people don't care about black people; we should go and start our own nation and build ourselves a functional society. But here we are...and most of us don't know what to do but pray and give and wait. What else can we do?

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Home is gone.
Where are these people going to go?
What are they going to do?
What is going to happen to America?

These are only a few of the vaguest questions we're asking ourselves as the flooding takes over in New Orleans. And I have to be honest: my last blog touched (vaguely) on the racism in the media, but I didn't say anything about the families that are torn apart right now and how my heart goes out to the thousands of people who are crying right now from loss and washed away memories.

I just wondered to myself whether the race question should override the care issue.
Yes, the media is wrong for perpetuating harmful images of any people at any time. People should have the freedom to choose their own way of thinking--they should be given information that provides them the opportunity to form their own opinions, as opposed to being fed some faulty or twisted version of the truth. Today's media sources does not provide this. And that sucks, but in this situation what is more important?

My mother once told me as I was stressing about loads of homework I had to complete before the next morning that I had to take it one thing at a time. And I think she was right. I graduated with honors twice--thanks mom.

So if we have two major issues to conquer right now, one of which has been present for too many years (--yes, of course), and one of which needs immediate attention (lives are being lost, people are in danger and without the people alive to struggle, the first issue will have no benefit), what is our purpose and goal?

I think what we ALL need to focus on is that there needs to be relief for those going through the tragedy of the past few and still going days. And that when we get people at a place where they have some level of comfort and peace again, then we can attend to some of the already present issues and try to tackle the way race finds itself in the darndest places.

Comments?
"We are drowning in ignorance..."
This is one of the statements I spouted tonight in conversation with my friend Marcus, who had called me to discuss the slant in the media around the floodings in Louisiana and other areas of the south. There seems to be coverage that encourages racial stereotypes of the ignorant kind I'm sure we've all seen before. That is, if you're telling yourself the truth. Below are the excerpts. You make your own calls as to what is being said, but please be sure that the words chosen are definitely no coincidence.
http://flickr.com/photos/firewall/38725768/

If the link doesn't work, the two quotes are below:
"A young man walks through chest deep flood water after looting a grocery
store in New Orleans on Tuesday, Aug. 30, 2005. Flood waters continue to
rise in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina did extensive damage when it
made landfall on Monday. (AP Photo/Dave Martin)"

http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/480/ladm10908301723
(picture of black man)

"A looter carries a bucket of beer out of a grocery store in New Orleans on
Tuesday, Aug. 30, 2005, as floodwaters continue to rise in New Orleans after
Hurricane Katrina made landfall on Monday. (AP Photo/Dave Martin)"

http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/photos_ts_afp/050830071810_shxwaoma_photo

(picture of white couple)

Two residents wade through chest-deep water after finding bread and soda
from a local grocery store after Hurricane Katrina came through the area in
New Orleans, Louisiana.(AFP/Getty Images/Chris Graythen)"


My opinion, as I discussed with Marcus, is that the media (biased owners and all) needs to take more care with its words, but even more, with their actions. Because at the end of the day, it is an issue of race. And the constant images of whites doing things well and right, and others (be they black, hispanic, indian, native american, or any other colored family) will never know righteousness is slapped on us over and over again. And we are unconscious because our brains have melted into place onto the crowbar that originally forced us to the groud on which we lie while white (or dominant) America walks quite contently over our scars and beat-down misery. Our misery, by the way, is a product of the history they created for all peoples from whom they stole memory.

Just something to think about...