an aside

dear life,

you are throwin a sista a SERIOUS curveball right now.

i don't think i like it.

i'm trying to accept it. you know i have a bit of a control thing going.

i suppose...i'm just trying to understand. full circle i get. this? this is...beyond that.

gimme a clue?

thanks,

o.

what am i doing?

so i took another look at "the project" last night, and read a little more Fruitflesh this morning.

all that brought me to this: what am i trying to write, really?

am i capable of writing a novel right now?  should i stick to short stories? i think any ambitious works of fiction would take some real workshopping to come to fruition.

am i fighting a proclivity towards memoir, diarist prose, and/or some kind of instructive / inspirational work? 

maybe i'd be better off kicking out a screenplay?

do i need to mix all of the above into some new stew?  

i'm thinking, not repressing.  still, i wonder what i might be doing since this thing isn't taking any discernible shape or form beyond characters introducing themselves at length.

i've also become aware that i haven't truly tapped into the essence of my writing or my identity as a writer since adolescence.  mainly because i spent so much time trying not to write.  there's some juicy issues in there...  

whatever. 

back to scribbling...
  

beginnings

i started writing...pretty suddenly, in fact.

the hardest part is that i have no idea where the story is going, or if it's even a story. i could be scribbling some elaborate back story that doesn't even make it to the finished product.  whatever that is.  

i truly don't know.

and that's scary.

i used to stifle myself because i had to have a direction. after a certain age, i did not--for whatever reason--believe in trusting the process or the journey.  no clearly defined "project" meant no writing.

now i'm more willing to let that line that pops up at 3am guide me wherever it's trying to go.  i listen to the characters and transcribe their words; i don't immediately dismiss them because their story doesn't fit into whatever mold i thought i was dealing with.

the beginning is about loss of control.  pure flow...water from a faucet.

micromanagement is for editing.  

so, i've returned to youthful creative habits.  taking breaths and tuning in.  more deep listening than i thought possible...or maybe than i forgot was possible.

let's see where it takes me...

elemental

i have a watery, sweet soul:
calm, cool, collected,
plenty of patience.

most are content to simply swim in the ocean...

but there's fire here, too.

an underwater volcano: quiet, but still active
contained only by the element surrounding me.

my worlds are created deeply, sometimes violently;
built from tsunamis, earthquakes, and lava spouts
seen only by the most skilled and adventurous divers.

naming

{a follow up to this}

almost a year ago, i found out that i was born on st. joseph's day. thus, one of my names could very well have been josephine...well, if we were catholic and all.

i've always liked that name. especially its french pronunciation.

i also dig some of the variations: jayzl and zefina stand out.

today i sought out the meaning: god will increase.

might have to find a way to incorporate that somewhere...

please hold a moment...

started to post something last night/this morning, but it was too raw. didn't wanna expose y'all to all that blood and sinew so early.

i'm living in it, but you don't have to.

yeah, sometimes i toss up my ripped-open heart for your eyes and ears. but those things often get posted weeks, months, or years after i've written them.

being ready to share is a funny thing; it happens when it happens. it can be in the moment, or when i dig up an old journal during a cleaning jag.

today, i'm not ready. but i'll write it down somewhere.

i'll holla.

spin cycle {napowrimo '11, #7}

once again i find myself
scattered to the 50-11 winds
wanting to be 5 places and
do 10 things
at once...

but, for now,
i have hours when i'm relegated to work
and hours that i'm not.
keeping them straight
is a(n) (arbitrary) priority.

i struggle to keep up with calendars
and other piscean torture devices
smushing food and (real) life
somewhere in the middle.

wild ideas
crash into walls
and deadlines...
even my dreams are rambling.

the being overwhelmed
leads to blame and shame:
"you know this is what happens
when you let yourself out to play!
it's altogether too confusing, too consuming!
grow up. focus.
get yourself together, girl.
stop dreaming all the time!
where's it gonna get you?"

that nasty voice
the constant fight
between soul-work
and what needs to happen
to put food on the table.

then, oblivious to my confusion and dissonance,
a cycle shifts
and sense is made.
pieces fall into place
with a word
an image
or flash of inspiration.

and so, i begin again,
laser-focused,
until the next time...

reason #455 i don't read/perform/slam

in responding to a friend's comment on facebook, i wound up articulating precisely why i gave up on the notion of performing pieces--and it felt far more concise than my explanations here and here. so here's my third angle:

typically, poetry comes to me because there's something i need to speak, then let go.  i would not want folks asking me to perform or repeatedly recite the majority of my poetry. even some love poem inspirations have faded into a sort of blurry collective memory. i don't want or need them lingering in my mind--that's why i write them down.

put another way: my poetry is usually an intense emotional experience manifested in words. once the moment's over, i'm done with it. there are times when i feel compelled to share those moments, so i do.  but tomorrow i'll be somewhere else...and trying to hold on to these lines or being tied to a "signature piece" would prevent the level of progression and evolution i enjoy.


afterword: i adore performance poetry, and the people who do it. this is in no way meant as a statement on the progression of those artists--personally or collectively--or the art form itself. this is just me talkin. as usual.  and something i can point folks to when they ask me questions & shit.

moonshine

mama moon is workin' me somethin fierce...

she forces my tears, pushes me to feel the pain inflicted by the ignorance and insensitivity of the world, while illuminating who we truly are...

who we could still be
if we would only open our eyes. wide.

i almost threw myself back under the covers today.

but...no.

not even amid whispers and shouts of...

you brown, so you down, but hide your love from me. i don't wanna see its face.

you betta learn to slap that girl to make her mind.

yeah. i'm fked up. but that's just me, tho. i'll deal with it. whatchu mean i gotta think about how my pain affects the planet's energy? fk outta here. i'm aight. i'm aight.

mama africa is the source of EVERYTHING! ...except that.

stop bein so grown. who you think you is? hmph. you ain't special.

if you gotta drop of tha blood, you gotta be all black everything. all day. all the time. everywhere in the world. but you gotta be black like THIS, tho.  that other shit don't count.

always actin like yo daddy.

why can't you/they/he/she just deal with it?

i'll take rest,
but silence is too much.

we're still caught in this matrix of face saving and half truth telling.

of intellectualizing with no heart or spirit.

of keeping women locked in prisons of queendom and false righteousness.

of keeping men frozen in their own despair.

of keeping everyone between the binary invisible. 

of obsessing over lack and sex acts, blocking visions of abundance and variety.

we are microcosms
of the universe
if we are not healed
our mother will remain angry
and broken.

there is beauty in the struggle
in the ugly
in the figuring out
in the inbetween
...but only if we live unadulterated truth.

shackles do not only surround the feet and mind
they can lock down the heart and spirit.
or have you forgotten?

are you stuck somewhere,
heart still in chains,
afraid to grow, 
afraid to see?

why?
why?
why?

consciousness stream

me.
now:

enamored
glamoured
warm/warming to touch
in progress/evolving
blessed with a song
affected, deeply.

infinite possibilities

{title track}

dipped in ancient well water, my senses flooded with goddess energy...

i have no idea how to finish that. but it's how i feel.

lately, many thoughts come in those sorts of bursts--incomplete but potent flares of feeling.

over the last few days, i have relived many moments. some joyous, some traumatic, all illuminating.  i have come a long way, and i see a long road in front of me.  i am not daunted by it.  rather, i am encouraged and inspired by the possibilities that await me. 

i hope to travel that road under a sky as beautiful as the one i saw this evening: wisps of peach-yellow clouds floating above a strip of blue sky, giving off just enough light to outline an impossibly thick bottom layer of mountainous, steel gray clouds.

you must be able to walk across clouds like that. you simply must.

in this moment

i am...

open
soft
trusting
full
learning
empty
loving
firm
knowing
healing/healed

accepting
growing
expanding
evolving

moving beyond...

dilemma

you have returned,
bearing joy
lust
shame
and freedom

in equal measure.

workshop

playing with some words...

while checking in on tumblr...
and deleting all gchats consisting of 10 lines or less...
and singing luther vandross songs...
and thinking about life...
and feeling like i need to pray...
and reviewing last night's dreams...

this is how my mind works.

writers always have 99 problems

some time ago, i decided to write in real journals instead of plain spiral notebooks, as a way of respecting what i was doing and honoring my commitment to never deliberately stop writing again.*

problem is, i can't afford one of my nice, pretty journals right now.  it'll probably be another week or so before i can.  

yet, i'm running out of space in my current one.

being low on blank pages is quite aggravating.  trying to scribble freely while fearing that you'll run outta room simply doesn't work.  screws with the flow.

so the bottom line is that i haven't been writing much, and my brain's starting to feel clogged up.

still, if i start in one of the plain spiral notebooks, i'm gonna have to ride it out until it's full. i could paste the used pages in the new, pretty journal once i get it, but...eh.

decisions, decisions.


*long story

body art

i kinda wanna write about my tattoos.

i know. how played out/cliche is that?

but i do. kinda.

i'll think about it.

pondering

dark night.
new moon.

thinking of what i've gained so far,
and what's been lost.

wondering what the future holds...
what new things will fill currently empty spaces.

lots of changes on the horizon.

i hope i can keep up.

what i want {need?} - silly and not so silly

{dynamic post. new wants will be posted @ the top.}

i want somebody to scratch some poems outta my head.

i want enough money so that money's not an issue, but not enough to make people want to kiss my ass.

~

i want freedom.
i want katie holmes to run away from tom cruise.
i want the 'hood to have fresh fruits & veggies.

i want people to love themselves. not out of selfishness, but as a microcosmic love for everything and everyone else.

i want indigenous people to thrive. they are the earth's voice.

i want memorization of "umi says" to be a mandatory part of the curriculum in urban schools.

i want cassie to know she'd be fine without diddy.
i want a new lauryn hill album.
i want rich people wars to end. corporate personhood can bite it, too.

i want non-holistically minded scientists to stop fooling with things they don't fully understand.

i want women to regain their rightful standing in the world.
i want poor people to thrive - with or without money.
i want more people to know about heifer.org.
i want conspiracy theorists to take a breath & have a little faith.
i want folks to remember what hip hop sounds like.

i want farmers to be able to do their jobs. i.e., grow real food. all kinds of food. eff a mono/cash crop.

i want to know why the honeybees are dying.

i want haiti to thrive, not just survive. that goes for the rest of the so-called 3rd world.

i want peace. and happy, healthy babies everywhere.

going in circles...

same old questions
that still don't have answers...

feeling frustrated
dissatisfied
under-accomplished
bored

is there a cure for this?

today's observation

with pigeon shit
splattered on concrete subway walls
posing as modern outsider art
who wouldn't miss
new york graffiti?