The Deafening Sound of Muted Silence...

Nothing scares the shit out of me more than serenity. In fact, those who wonder why my best friend and I share such an unshakable bond don't realize that this was the very first item we bonded over. The deconstructors, we called ourselves. We are the stompers of sandcastles, the nail polish pickers. Up until my 22th birthday, my go-to excuse was age. I was young. I was inexperienced. I was searching. Of course I realize I'm still young. But I've definitely passed the point where decisions made no longer have the power to curtly nullify your progress in life. I've made decisions over the past 3 years that caused permanent scars. I've made them in slow motion. I've processed thinkable thoughts while purposely not thinking about it. While closing my eyes to the light and choosing to float above myself. I am the preferer of out-of-body experiences.

So, you can imagine my surprise as of late, while I begin to realize that all of my decisions, or at least 90% of them are made to ensure permanence. Stability, even. My mother and I chatted the other day, and as usual she spoke the words that had barely yet caused my mouth to part. "I don't know," I said, "I just feel like for the last few years, I've been....like doing things for the wrong reason...like so much change...because...I mean...I..." Calmly she interrupts, "You feel like all you do is react." She said. ((Exactly))

No matter what, the places I end up will always be a product of how I feel. I found much needed silence in New York (ironically) and then silence became too loud here with D. So again I'm changing and again I welcome it. Saturday, after all the boxes are moved and I'm in my own place again, I'll breathe. After room mates and D and being who he needed and who I thought I should have been...looking into an empty room will feel like bathing. I haven't lived on my own since I was 21 years old. Even longer if you count the ghosts.

**Note to Reader: I am aware that I have "manufactured" a few words and phrases within this post, and I appreciate your assumed acceptance of said terms in advance.

My Brain Has More Than Farted....

There are times in (my) life when one has to allow themselves the luxury of letting all of the millions of thoughts stream through their mind like one of those endless streams of spit that fall out of babies mouths. That thing never breaks or wavers, it goes on forever...and like so many babies spit strings, so are my thoughts today. Here...I'll share them, in random order.

Truck. Highlighter.Mom. Plane ticket.Checking Account. WaMu is Chase. CH-ase. Shase. Cheese. Lunch. Hungry....shit I'm hungry. Fat. Gym. Did I pay them? Hair.Cut. Chop. Sad. Shave? Dare I? Ugh...phone, who is it? T-Mobile. Did I pay them?? Uhaul...rip-off. Carroll street. AJ. Clean up. Plane ticket. Damn...that was a lot of money to spend on a few days. Apartment. Furniture. Car. I need a fucking car. I hate cars. I hate car notes. I want a Beetle. Ugh...bugs. Stick. I should really learn to drive a stick. Cheaper car. Ugh...cars. Ugh..gas. Gas. Damn....set up utilities. Electric. Why are there so many electric companies. Lol...The Electric Company. TV. Cable. Hell no, no cable. TV sucks. Movies don't. I need a TV for movies. Damn. Another thing to buy. Damn, another thing to move. Move. School. Ugh. Junior. Ugh transfer. Applications. California? Grandma. Comedian. My grandmother wants to be a comedian. She is pretty funny. I should write about her. Writing. Ugh...writers block. 2735 words. Painful. 15 more pages. Please complete "About". About to pass out from all the words. The Right Word. The Written Word. How many dictionaries does one writer need? Need. Shit. I need groceries. And plates. And forks. I have forks. Forks are in Brooklyn. Can you take forks on a plane? Plane...shit. I need a ride to the airport. D? Maybe not. Work. Too much work. Oz works so much. I could never be that way. Must breathe. Must be able to smell the roses. Must have time to write. Time to pray. Time to cook exploratory dishes. Dishes...ugh.

On Selling My Soul...

I sat nervously in the salon chair waiting to be helped. I seemed to be reading every other word of my book, looking away every few seconds to check and see nothing in particular. I could still back out...nothing had been done yet. But I rationalized that after combing through my thick mess of kinky curls that morning in the shower, seeing the hair appointment through was the least I could do. Besides..I was bored. Bored with my hair and ready for a change. Yes, natural hair is the best hair-choice, yes it looks hot (on me at least), yes I received hoards of compliments from women who said they didn't have the ovaries to do the big chop and go nappy...but I had seen and sufficiently conquered. I missed headbands. I missed fedoras. I missed having fingers run through my hair and wind for that matter. So when Deborah, the stylist walked over and stuck her thick fingers into my jungle coif and asked me if I was sure I wanted to relax it...I said yes with all the fake determination I could muster. Like so many good decisions I've made in my life...this one was made with shaky hands.



There is something about hair that holds so much power over your spirit. A new hair cut to me is as transforming as moving a few pieces of furniture around or trying a new concealer. The smallest detail and suddenly your a whole new you. We humans are simple, I suppose. Although the power of change is within us whenever we choose to summon it, we seem to prefer visual starting points and ending points. We have a thousand first days of the rest of our lives.



In that sense, the "press n curl" came at just the right moment. I had (once again) made a decision no one expected. I decided to stay in Houston...at least for a little while longer. Long enough to get enough air in my lungs to breathe and enough space around my head to let my congested thoughts spread out a bit. Space was the common theme. After it was all over, I looked in the mirror so closely, it was as if I was trying to look directly into my own head. I just wanted to see my roots again, now smooth and shiny. I ran my fingers through my hair and let it fall back around my face. My hair breathed, then I breathed and I felt justified in my little crime.

HAWTNESS: Lil Kim & Cyndi Lauper Duet

Lil Kim and Cyndi Lauper performed live together a combo of Lil Kim's Put Ya Lighters Up and Cyndi's Time After Time... Lil Kim is actually singing and personally I think the whole thing is pretty awesome...

CLICK HERE to check it out...

Untitled

Was thinking about the concept of time. Specifically about how 15-minutes is such a powerful section of it. In 15 minutes so much can happen. If you only have 15 minutes you tend to react to the task at hand with so much motivation and vigor. A 10-minute break is pointless, and waiting 20-minutes for rice is like listening to someone sing the theme song from Lamb Chop.

But 15 minutes...

...15 minutes makes all the difference in the world.

The Verbal Contract...

You've said it. It's out there like a venomous cough lurking in the air ready to spring onto it's next victim and slowly take them down into the hells of the common cold. Once you've said, "I love you" there are expectations that immediately follow. Now your expected to do the things you once simply felt comfortable dancing around. Normally, initiating this potent phrase renders you to the next step...whatever that may be. Sharing straws or introducing each other to intimate members of respective inner circles. A guaranteed date on Saturday night...



What else, besides this assumed progression would saying, "I Love You" usher in? If you remain stagnant or intentionally fall apart...will the feeling of love be less impressed in your mind simply because you never spoke those specific syllables? Will saying them make a difference? As if each word ejects some microscopic love-rope that grips the heart of your Love's target and forever binds you together? Hardly.



Love is just a word. Having and holding love is just a waiting room. Love is just a beginning. A promise that can remain empty or be fulfilled. Like the temptation of an orgasm so humans are mindlessly drawn to procreate. Love is just the initial stir of emotions, the realization that someone fits so well into your hands (figuratively of course) that it feels "right". And feeling that way is what helps a relationship grow and blossom into the stuff happiness and families are made of. So that we don't walk through life alone because we can't get over the impeccable pattern of idiosyncrasies everyone has and how much they annoy us. Love itself is really just a day. One day, or even a moment in that day when you look up and realize that this amazing person in front of you now has the power to hurt you or help you heal. Saying those silly three words in any form or language won't change the ability they now hold. Not speaking those words won't un-do this realization. Silence would be nothing but a nervous joke to pass the time.

30 Day Notice

Every time I talk to Phil, my future room mate in Brooklyn, I start to get excited all over again. Re-discovering the city through someone else's eyes, since he has never been to New York, is something I really look forward to. More than that, however, it's that sigh of relief I plan to have when everything is really said and done.

When I was a kid and we had to move again; another temporary place until...or somewhere to be "for now", my mother would always describe this perfect moment as motivation. When everything is unpacked and we'd all be sitting down to dinner in a new place. Fresh paint, clean slates, a new neighborhood with sparkling possibilities. That was the moment I'd picture in my mind as I packed up the stupid things kids pack when they can't see past the end of the week and insignificant things hold the greatest value.

I may have grown up quite a bit since then, but I still imagine that moment in my mind to keep me from going insane right now. Just looking forward doesn't' cut it. I have to look far enough not to see the dust storm I've kicked up around myself for the moment. Juuuust far enough to see the other side of it all, between the end of the last chapter and the middle of the next.

I Just Have to State...

I know there is a lot of media speculation about Michael's kid's and why they are so light and how they don't look a thing like him. Ok, so maybe little Paris Michael doesn't look much like him at all, but the oldest Prince Michael looks like him....and if that doesn't convince you, take a look at little Blanket.....

That little boy looks like a light-bright version of his father if I ever saw one...!!

Anyway, that's all I had to say on that matter...

Michael Jackson's Funeral...

So of course I watched the final goodbye to the King of Pop today at work...as I imagine many people did. I turned the volume up as I went about my tasks and stopped occasionally to see some of the footage that was live streamed thanks to ABC News.

Now, usually I would say a funeral should not be televised or made for the public. For anyone else a memorial of this magnitude would be totally uncalled for and unnecessary. But Michael Jackson touched so many people so deeply, and he was an entertainer who genuinely entertained for his fans, not just himself. I'm sure he would have wanted the world to be part and be able to view his final "performance".

I was touched by the eulogies given. Sharpton's ass came up, and spoke kindly of the Jackson family and of Michael's innocence through his many trials. He honored him as an American hero, which he was; paving the way for celebrity influence in world affairs and donating so much of his time and effort to the HIV/AIDS cause and so many other causes.

Among the many people who spoke about Michael; Brooke Shields, Jermaine Jackson, Berry Gordy, Magic Johnson, Queen Latifa...the one person's comments who actually brought a tear to my eye was Paris Michael, his only daughter. She noted him as a good father and said she loves him before breaking down into tears and grabbing Janet. Among all of Michael's achievements, I think his love of children was probably his most controversial and most amazing ability.

Hopefully now the news will give him and his family a rest. Everyone had a chance to say their farewell and send him off to the next world, whatever that may be. I'm not one to get sappy and sad over a celebrity icon, but for Michael Jackson it seems fitting.

Paris Michael's eulogy

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain...

"The One"....

I always felt that the concept of "the man behind the curtain" resonates through my life with such consistency that it's hard not to feel like Dorothy sometimes. Fabulous shoes?...check. Home left behind?....check. The vision of some "wizard" holding everything I lack in a velvet bag, which is ultimately squashed as I realize I had it all along?...check.

So perhaps all women do this. We imagine this man...somewhere in time, possessing so many wonderful qualities that when we meet him, it will be as if there is a big Vegas-style sign hanging over his head with the words, "This Be Him" all lit up in neon wonderfulness. Our eyes will meet, and suddenly...we'll KNOW. This is the one we imagined inside of every nut job we dated before....the one we'd never leave and who would never leave us. My friends and I referred to this Wonder Man as "The Ultimate". The ultimate friend, the ultimate lover, the ultimate father, the ultimate son. Nothing specifically perfect about him in the general sense...just perfect for me in a round about way. I imagined the two of us having the kind of life most people are too afraid to have. Seeing the world together, making art together, living for the pure rush of learning something new (insert image of Aladdin and Jasmin singing "A Whole New World").

I don't actually look for the Ultimate or anything close to a Wonder Man. I'd be blissfully happy with someone who simply prefers to live for the seconds his life is made up of. Who is perfectly willing to fight sleep to get through a good book or a deep conversation and doesn't find a thing about me weird or uninteresting. And so what if I am weird, because he likes weird...and we'll go hand in hand being weird together sipping coffee and observing life and all the silly people in it. I'd rather know exactly what I need and where I'm going, and for that to just so happen to be the same direction as the person who makes my legs shake and my heart beat faster. Anything short of that is just smoke and mirrors....

Still Amazing; Last Footage of Michael