Monday, August 17, 2009

I Did It My Way

"Great things are going to grow out of all this"
~ Anais Nin

I've spent senseless weeks figuring how to construct this entry in a fashion which matched my hesitant heart. I now realize it's been the severest form of emotional procrastination. I wanted to give some form of sweeping "poetic justice" to the finale, a summary of all that has been recorded, confessed, charted, and revealed in this blog. 'Tis useless. It would be an attempt to abbreviate a beautiful jagged journey in one sentence or less.

Pure childish, futility at its best.

Truth: It simply feels right for me to release TWOSS, now, let it stand on it's own - as a brief photograph into the world of one woman - the losses, discoveries, love, let downs, observations, rants, ponderings, and as always - the fragile hopes for a better future. My first blog entry was about the murder of a loved one, and there have been many like entries since. Life and loss have been too thick a thread woven into these words of dreams and wishes, and in them now are my desire to move forward. I must let it go; in order to catapult my words, my identity, and my future in to something bigger; something more.

No, I will never forget. It is unreasonable and impossible. This blog and its contents will be imprinted on my soul forever. I have celebrated, succeeded, shared, reveled, raged, given up, broken down, questioned, cursed, and fought my way back into the light - over and over again. And more than that, I have learned that compassion is present in this world; that there are good people existing within these tangled bandwiths who can support, relate, agree, and disagree with you - all through the written word, and out of love and respect.

I promise, I'm won't get mushy. This is not good-bye, just a bookmark of where the last seven years of The World of Supa Sister is parked. For posterity. This is merely a transition to the next chapter(s). You'll see me again soon, somewhere - and that's a promise. Partially, (oh did I forget) because I'm working on a new manuscript. (yay!) AND, in the meantime, a brand new blog to come.

Until then - stay blessed, stay supa.

"I've loved, I've laughed and cried.
I've had my fill; my share of losing.
And now , as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that;
and may I say, not in a shy way,
No, oh no, not me.
"Supa did it her way."

~Frank Sinatra, "I Did It My Way"

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Lost Words

Today my baby cousin would’ve been 27 years old if some guys who looked just like him hadn’t killed him. (see pic, Justin is in the middle) Two years later it’s a miracle I can even write that sentence. I really don’t believe it, even though I write it and type it and think about it over and over again it still doesn’t seem real or make any kind of sense. Justin is dead. A prince, slaughtered. People whose lives will never ever resemble anything normal again. Ever. Who makes these decisions. That is my question. Who gets to decide who lives or dies and why or why not. These are the conversations you have with yourself while you are smiling with other people over lunch. Always brutally aware that you are dead inside in a way they aren’t. Unless they knew Justin or had a Justin equivalent in their lives; at least then you can not talk about it and still feel understood.My uncle, Justin’s father, one of the strongest most compassionate man I’ve even known, is shattered. My aunt, Joyce, Justin’s mommy, will never fully absorb it, I think, I hope, because that kind of thing will kill you. And it’s hard being dead inside and trying to live. I tell myself Justin is free. He’s a spirit watching and protecting and urging all of us forward and onward. The dead part inside of me screams bullshit. He was just 25. He was loved tremendously, thousands of times over by beautiful people. He was our hope. He was our example of what happens when you are a pure loving being. And he was shot in the chest while helping a friend (typical Justin) and his life spilled out of him and he died without us being able to see him, speak to him again. What could he have been thinking, those last moments. Questions that will haunt forever. Humans collide into others and change people’s worlds forever. Justin when you were born I pretended you were mine. I sat in the backseat and sang to you in your car seat. You had no idea what I was doing, this skinny little 13 year old girl, all cooky and in your face, looking into your bright fantastic eyes. And I knew you loved it because you smiled, and you were my baby cousin and if I knew something bad would ever happen to you, I would’ve run off with you and plotted against destiny. Any, all of us would have. Now we sit and try to live without really knowing how to. Life, derailed. We were supposed to see you graduate with that engineering degree. See the girl who was lucky enough to fall in love with you. We were supposed to smile coo and sing to your babies in the back seat. The numb feeling is almost as bad as the pain. Being numb is a free ride you have to pay back late at night, or when the phone rings and we know it’s not you, or when some latent memory rips the peeling off your heart that makes it impossible to breathe. I know you’re okay Justin, you’re taking care of us all from the best possible place. Pilar needs you, your mom, dad, sister, brother, nephew and nieces, grandmama, your uncles. Your older, proud, sad cousin. Something was snatched from and out of us that August day. Your mom said, we will all see you again, and our job is to try to love every day until we get there. We will be together again. But not yet. Not yet. This is all I have right now. It’s such a beautiful day to be sad. Such a sad day for it to be so beautiful.


Thursday, February 12, 2009

Oh, Commodus!

"It's hard not to get offended when you sit there with your little smile when you say, "We think this is a hoax." Because you're talking about my life. As if my life is a fucking joke to you! You can do the "some may say," and put it on them. But it's your question. It's hard not to take it personally and feel like you're saying my life is a fucking joke."
~ Joaquin Pheonix, 2009

Oh, Joaq. How many of us have been sitting at a press junket while supposedly promoting our new movie, and have wanted to utter the same exact thing! How I feel you. Those evil journalists!

Seriously, though. I understand it is no longer your passion to act in silly movies, even in relatively good ones like Gladiator and To Die For. Of course we should not judge your wants and wishes, like dropping a rap album and walking around looking like some upscale, whacked out version of Fidel Castro. It's all the pressure, dude. *sniff* I've been there.

It's classic; the tragedy of the talented. As one of your true fans, I say fuck them and do YOU.

But get back on your psych meds. You're scaring people.

Do your thing dude,


Monday, February 02, 2009


Boys and Girls, Supa has been hanging out in the internet crack alley. She hopes to shake the habit soon and get back to blogging and such. Until then....

Thursday, January 08, 2009

New Year, New Days, New Ways, Purple Haze....

"This is our last dance,
this is ourselves..under pressure."
~David Bowie and Queen, circa 1981

I gotta say, with the whole world just fucking falling apart, it's just a great big fat sigh of relief. Whew. Gives Supa a reason to relax, and maybe whip up a new batch of mischief. New days, new ways!

Supa 2009 Objectives

# 1. No more itemized lists. #2. Live, love, laugh, fuck up, and forgive myself. Encourage others to do same. #3. Take a new experimental approach toward writing, being, drinking, men, drugs, organic food, love, and stiletto height. #4. In short, nudge the supa swagga to new levels.. (pack and deliver like UPS trucks/already going to Hell, just pumpin' that gas..)

Be right back,


#5. Oh, and no more chilli-cheese fry binges.

(What ya'll up to??)

Set it off, Oakland.