Exhale

Justice.

And, so we begin..

Justice for Justin.

Hopes

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

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.

3/31/2009

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,

~Supa.

SUPA M.I.A.

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....

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,

Supa!

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

(What ya'll up to??)

Set it off, Oakland.

Disorderly Conduct : Update Supa ‘08

“I’m right on the edge…I don’t know what comes next.”
~ Steve, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

So, since the whole global financial market collapsed and we have a black President-Elect and OJ got sent upstate and Bush had a pair of Iraqi Buster Browns thrown at him, Supa decided to take a pause from this free-fall outta civilization and reflect on some of her personal shit. Yes!

Okay. So, according to her latest attempt at some form of fleeting dysfunctional female-to-male human bonding (a summer romance), Supa has now been dubiously labeled as a (wait for it) Disaster on Heels. Knowing full well that she falls neatly into the Beautiful Mess category, but whatever - he does acknowledge my stiletto game proper. And fuck him. Supa does not take personality flaw advice from a man with four children and an ex-wife and a sorta kinda current live-in girlfriend from Belarus. (all that spillage of seed and spawn is just disgusting.) And the whole thing only started because Supa hemmed him up in an elevator during lunch time and dared him to show her his thing. Because she’d done a whole year of the healthy, self-imposed celibacy thing and figured the jig might as well be up. Right then.

And molestation of a grown male, is like, a victimless crime.

Yes. Real sloppy start; granted. Even for me.

But it was radiant and ninety-eight degrees in LaLa land, the earth moved and birds sang and I began reading Anais Nin; he was exotic and new and forbidden and there, and I was freshly bikini waxed in a slinky summer dress, slingbacks and a thong, flossing a new Arabic tattoo; and forgive me for feeling ultimately fucking sexy. And thus he growled the words which propelled our short lived, shifty romance into full throttle: (He: “Damn, I must be some kind of lucky bastard,” when Supa accidently spilled the secrets in her bra). And off we went, sprinting toward the No, I’m Way More Fucked Up Than YOU finish line. Good times.

What can I say? It was summertime. My hormones were later proven to be unbalanced. He was cute. I was bored, on the prowl, inspired, determined to solidify my MILF status, who knows. I let him read (gasp!) some fresh writing material. He sat me down and tried to convince me why I was brilliant. (beware, the treachery of vanity.) We philosophized about everything from nihilism to Nietzsche. We each felt up the other in inappropriate, public places. Like the Mickey to my Mallory, we were wild and unstoppable. We were vibing so hard and yet he was so curiously/deliciously hesitant to join me in this sink-or-swim, emotional equivalent to chicken - which got Supa really excited. Or real determined.

Push/pull/back/forth/yin/yang/estrogen/testosterone. When the raw biological intensity reached its fever pitch, Supa allegedly trumped him by declaring, “Why can’t you just be my willing lover until I find out who I really want to be with, I mean, is that so WRONG?” (Supa, while violently reaching for his crotch) He then literally, how we say in this crumbling contemporary society - punked out.

Falling on his knees (as if I priestess and he confessor), he then tragically explained how he was a just momma’s boy (he’s 41 years old), and no good at these games with Alpha Females, he always loses (what the hell), how he had apparently bitten off more than he could now chew, and that my presence was pressing so hard (pun intended) against his existence that he didn’t like the constant horny disorganized state in which it left him.

The Got Me on My Knees Layla shtick. How original.

So since Supa was all good and heated and had the female equivalent of, how you say, Blue Balls..she stared blankly at fool, then immediately poked out her bottom lip, gathered her toys, and told him to not call her when he was ready to come outside and play.

What mutherfucka, what.

And here’s the kicker. We never actually consummated. Just engaged in a bunch of impulsive, drawn out, erotic and entirely senseless suckling and fondling, necking and petting. Which turns out to be the converse polar opposite of getting laid; when you’re coming off some kind of healthy, self-imposed year of celibacy type thing.

And don’t worry, we agreed his punishment was that I was allowed to blog about it all, as long as I didn’t reveal a solid timeline or drop hints about our haunts. Or call him a dramatic cunt. He goes by codename: The Culprit.

I left him with a bit of sage advice: Dude. Don’t ever finger fuck a poet’s feelings. Stroke them well, or you become fodder.

I told you I was trouble/you know, I'm no good.... Amy Wino

So now.

I scribble and lounge in my loft after-hours; the constant companions at my side (incense, books, quotes, pooch, wine) and the incessant pondering begins. #1: Fuck him. Right? Besides, I think I kinda might be in love with somebody else, anyway. Maybe. #2. I’ve gotta get a treadmill. #3. Shall I read the Bible or watch the rest of Bad Girls Club? #4. What am I gonna wear to work tomorrow? #5. What is an Alpha Female, exactly? #6. And shouldn’t that make one more eligible for successful pairing with an Alpha Male? #7. What is an Alpha Male, exactly? #8. How the fuck can 1,000 new life forms just miraculously appear off the Mekong Delta? A hot-pink cyanide-producing millipede? Shit don’t even sound right. #9. Ralph Waldo Emerson was a helluva quote-ist. A quoteartistan. New word. #10. How does Tyler Durden make Number One on the 100 Greatest Movie Characters of All Time list? Ahead of Hannibal Lector and The Heath Joker? Get the fuck outta here. I do not accept. #11. Fire off series of furious text messages to Writing Crew degenerates, in sudden desperate need to accurately re-work list. #11. Did I feed my kids? #12. Am I an uptight bohemian? #13. Hippie? #14. I need to call Tia. #15. I think I was born in the wrong century, geographical area, and/or solar system. #16. Is there a way to stop myself from having impure thoughts about Obama? #17. Is Sarah Silverman actually Supa’s alter-ego’s alter-ego? #18. Dear Lauyrn Hill: Are you ever coming back? Please let me know. #19. Is this one of those nights when my therapist means “don’t ever hesitate to call, no matter what time?” #20. I’m a grown woman, and I should be able to control the thoughts going on inside my own head….(repeat Cage’s obsessive-compulsive rant from Matchstick Men)

#21…

Okay. I will release you from the insanity which goes on inside my brain now….

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…” ~RWE

Sigh. Well, at the very least, one could say at the moment:

Looks like Supa’s got her swagga back.

(Karen: Chile, look at me. Actin' UP)

…to be continued….

New World Order!

America 2.0!!

Have been raising a holy proud productive hell ever since THE DAY! (lost my voice and everything)

THIS is the era we've fought for - (after the three hundred some odd years when we were dragged then dehumanized on this native soil)

And today, the black President Elect (and the undeniably bona fide First Lady) walked into the WHITE HOUSE. Thought I'd never see the day.

Hee!

I'll be back after my American-East African butt learns the Kenyan celebration dance!

"I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head."
~Shawshank Redemption (you said it, Red!)

Don't Sleep...

"People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."
~ V for Vendetta

(also, V for VOTE)

Music, Politics? Music, Politics....

Since I refuse to talk politics (am actively packing my bag to Canada), I pick music.

Supa's spawn advised that she was totally late on this one, but now she can't stop wishing this fly-ass-Sri-Lankan-gully-girl was her new best friend. Bona fide hustlas making our names. Enjoy!



Some some some I some I murder
Some I some I let go

Some some some I some I murder
Some I some I let go.....

Quotables: Anais Nin

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."

"..it suddenly seems monstrous to me, to expose the feelings one has, even those in the past, even the dead ones."

"...for no one has ever loved an adventurous woman as they have loved adventurous men."

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."

~Anais Nin

author, woman, free-thinker

Sidenote: Dude. She's fucking awesome.

Carry on.

~Supa

(what are you reading?)

Nine One One

"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life."

A moment of silence.

For loss.

Life.

Hope.

And Love.

question everything/wake up

20 (something) Questions...

1. How's this big, beautiful, zany world treating you, Blogger Fam??!?

2. Who else still wonders if Tony Soprano actually got whacked, or is off somewhere living his ficticious, sociopathic life?

3. Sarah Palin? Really?

4. Why can I text all day everyday and night, yet get severely annoyed when someone attempts to reach me by making an actual voice-on-voice cell phone call?

5. What, is God mad at Haiti?

6. Where the fuck's Osama?

7. Do we change, or just become more fully who we really are?

8. What's up with this fetish I have: the male species and sexy accents? Whether it be Portuguese, British, Punjabi, Inglewood, Welsh, Australian, Compton-ian, Italian, Russian, East Los Angelese, Brooklyn, et al? (Not German. Or Dutch.)

9. Who else believes aggravated battery is the appropriate punishment for lazy ass folk who get on an elevator to ride one floor up or down, in like a 20 story highrise? Just me?

10. How come alcoholic beverages taste so good?

11. When September rolls around, who else starts wondering what the world would be like if Pac was still in it?

12. Will I ever get over my irrational Clive Owen crush? Considering I’m newly (and obsessively) infatuated with Bruce Wayne/Bat Man/The Dark Knight/Christian Bale? (He had me at The Machinist)

13. Why is it nowadays when I’m enjoying some bass-banging, inane, totally ignorant rap music in the whip, I turn the volume waaay down at red lights & stop signs - so no one else can hear what I’m listening to?

14. Does Supa still love hip-hop?

15. Should I be concerned that my dog appears to be lesbian?

16. And that while playing on the sofa, she attempts to include me(more specifically: my arm or leg) in three-way humping sessions between her girl stuffed rabbit animal, herself, and me?

17. What happened to the days when having a mediocre case of obsessive-compulsive disorder was explained away with cute little savory quips such as: “creative,” “special,” “organized,” "different," “quirky,” “eccentric,” “given to harmless fits of agitation,” “anal retentive,” or simply “control freak?”

18. What happened to the “Love Jones” movie sequel?

19. And where the hell is Larenz’ fine ass?

20. Is it evolved, pimpalicious (thanks D), or disturbing to have a get-together at a posh bar and invite three of your ex-boyfriends to come hang? And they all show up?

21. And they chat and drink together, while you’re wilding out on the dance floor sandwiched between two random dudes; and you wink at said ex's while throwing up the peace sign?

22. Who else is considering a move to Canada if this November shit doesn’t work out right?

23. Can you say “American Psycho?”

24. Who else cringed while watching (and reading) this fool’s amazing, disgusting, sadistic fall from grace?

25. And who else now thinks four, five times before sending those raunchy text messages to the co-worker you’re (halfway thinking about) fucking?

26. How grateful would you be if today, you lost everything – and then tomorrow, got it all back?

~ Supa, out.

PS- Sorry for the junky formatting, either blogger or my new laptop is triipppin'

The Day After

"this right here is some bullshit...."

~muttered by Supa, 7/29/08, 11:43 a.m.

So, yeah, Supa really was going to blog before all this went down. On account of she was truly giddy; straight slap happy after peeping a real movie last week - The Dark Knight. (Shamalayan, you're dead to me)

But now - no.

Now I am forced to dissect, ruminate, and blog about the absurd observations of human behavior during, before, and after a little act of nature called an earthquake.

Couldn't do it yesterday, nerves were shot to hell.

So anyway, here I am, back at the scene of the crime (5th floor of a highrise), wearing flats (suddenly my 4 inch stillettos aren't close enough to the ground) , attempting to shoo away the post traumatic memories of it all. Shoo. Shoo shoo shoo.

Here's a simple re-enactment:

8am - 9:30am: Arrive at work on time, shuffle some papers, make a few calls, pick up breakfast from cafeteria, close office door, commence to read at desk while eating breakfast.

9:30 - 11:40am: Still half eating and reading while working. Yuccking it up with various co-workers. It's almost noon, so the topic is LUNCH.

11:41am: Swapping menus and fussing with co-workers over Jerry's Deli vs. Gushi's.....wait...who the hell is playing under my desk?

11:42am: Oh. shit. Floor is vibrating beneath feet. Walls are moving...and creaking. Hold UP. Something is going very wrong with this building. Everyone freezes, like the goddamn fools we are.

11:42am - 6pm: (ok, it was only until 11:44am, but it felt like f o r e v e r)

Supa: Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit. It's an earthquake. Don't move. It'll stop. It always stops.....

Frozen Co-worker outside Supa's office: Oh wow. Whoa. Hey man, whoa. It's still shaking. It's still going....

Supa (as rumbling, noises, squeaks, movement continues): Okay, there it is. Shit. It's stopping...it's stop-- oh shit. Shit fuck shit! Okay, ok. This right here is some bullshit. Fucking shit damn fuck. This is it. Dude, it's not stopping. IT'S NOT STOPPING

FC: NO! No! It's stopping. Listen. See. (he has been in surfer-like stance since all this began) There...oh. Wait...Whoa. (rumbling, movement, dies down.....then comes back even stronger)

Supa: Oh shit shit shit shit shit shit!

FC: Shit! Oh Shit! Shit, man. Shit!

11:44:30: Quiet pandemonium. Then - it all stops. Just like that. Everyone wanders out of their previous positions, dazed, asking: (no lie) was that....an earthquake?

Yes, boys and girls, we Angelenos are spoiled, clueless wimps. Living fat off the land and sun, in the earthquake capital, ignoring the fact that we're all just sliding around on tectonic plates, and can merely do nothing more but freeze (some people ran - into the streets - because..why?) when the event that we know is eventually going to happen, happens.

So yeah, it's been about 15 years since Northridge, and our punk asses had gotten real comfortable. All this updated technology, retro-fitting of buildings, la la la, we're safe, right? So now, instead of a highrise or building simply collapsing, it does something even more sinister - it sways. Rocks. Back and forth, to and fro, swinging swaying, like the structure is taking a nice easy ride. Like on a collosal, crack-cocaine rollercoaster. Nice.

Technology is just wonderful. A few things flew off a few shelves, some bricks fell, no biggie. The only injuries were fools pushing and trampling each other to get out of their respective buildings.

And oh, oh, we can now prevent keep a city from collapsing - but the phone systems can't handle the load when everyone and their momma starts rushing to their cellies and land lines to check on loved ones to ask - did you feel it? It was two hours before I could make or receive a call.

So there we were, dumbstuck fools, all gathered around the lunchroom television, gaping at CNN. Goons, all of us.

Soon after, most folks decided on vodka for lunch. I waived my right, and instead chose just to step outside and inhale some of that good, toxic Los Angeles air.

Which is when I heard a random white guy, all suit and tied, answer his cellphone and say:

"Hey! Bob. What's crakalackin'?"

I walked slowly back into the building, knowing this day was truly the beginning of the end of the world. Nice.

That is all.