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.

Dear M.Night Shyamalan:

You failed me...you failed me!

~Vincent Grey, "Sixth Sense"

What....Happened?


Yes, M. Night. You failed me. I'm taking Vincent's side on this one. Gee , and I thought we were pals? (I gave you a pass on Signs. And the lady who's still in the water.)

Then you go ahead and do this. Traumatize people much?

Thanks for setting me back approximately two months worth of therapy and Pinot Grigio. I am currently in de-stress mode by watching cartoons, stroking bunnies, and thinking only good thoughts.


But I won't forget about you. Movie review to come....

Gemini Wishes....

Much love and light to you, Blogger Fam. Supa is doing better and feeling better. Endless thanks to all of you, for the emails, thoughts, and words of encouragement.


Meanwhile: Start Snitching.

The (Hella Late) Oh?Eight! ('08) Update

Nombre: SupA SiSter

Age: 266 (dog years)

Current Moniker: The Brown Recluse

Alter Egos:Black Mamba, Jen Yu, Wonder Woman, Marla Singer, Celie,

Self Description: Impatient. Moody. Compassionate. Uselessly psychic. Skittish. Fickle. Sensitive. Smart Assy. Random. Selfish. Giving. Unpredictable. Charming. Anti-social. Vengeful. Sarcastic. Neat. Sappy. Loner. Sick, dark, dry sense of humor. High sass factor. Possessing varying degrees of psychological and emotional issues. Kinda cute. Intolerable.

Current Occupation: Woman Of Leisure.
(translation: Unemployed. Disabled. Retired. Whatever the check says.)

Current Relationship Status: Voluntarily celibate. Blooming infatuation with low doses of Xanax. Unethical crush on son’s therapist. Increased obsession with Clive Owen since watching “Shoot ‘Em Up.”

Current Addictions: Television. Nag champa incense. Yellow Tail Pinot Grigio. Having full fledged conversations with pet. Laziness. Writing Hate Mail. Pellegrino. Knock-knock jokes. Turkey Pepperoni. Frightening self-analysis. Legal Pills. Texting.

Current Repulsions: Sex. George Bush. Nervous breakdowns. Working. Weddings. Lengthy phone conversations. The grocery store. The criminal justice system. Email. War. Hannah Montana. Funerals. Drama. Blood pressure pills.

Current Skills: Power lounging. Excellent TiVo organization and show conflict resolution. Remembering to feed my children. Reading obsessively. Naps. Flawless Borat impersonations. My famous turkey lasagna. Never checking the mail.

Current Hobbies: Ordering take-out. Spying on neighbors. Wondering when hip-hop will just die. Painting. Writing movie quotes on walls and mirrors. Window shopping at Big Lots. Pretending not to speak English when bothered in public.Re-watching favorite movies obsessively: (Collateral, Heat, The Hours, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Memento, Good Will Hunting, Brown Sugar; Breakfast at Tiffany's, Ghost Dog, Little Miss Sunshine, the usual shit...)

Current Bad Habits: Cursing. Mumbling. Vodka. Rambling. Always misplacing the remote. Obsessive movie watching. (see above) Looking up everything imaginable on Wikipedia. Not playing well with others. Perfectionism. Repeating myself. Talking to Myself. Repeating myself. OCD.

Favorite Words: Tomfoolery. Fisticuffs. Quagmire. Gruesome. Malfeasance. Hooliganism. Audacity. Fuck.

Favorite Random Responses:1) Escobar season has returned. 2) It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again. 3) Bitch. ..you don't have a future. 4) Gosh.

Last Year’s Highlights: Starting own business. Meeting some interesting folks. Slapping a guy in a bar who deserved it after a round of tequila shots. Birthday in Jamaica. That’s….about it.

Last Year’s Lowlights: The last guy I had sex with. My broken Ipod. Appropriate accusations of becoming a recluse. Lil' sister's murder trial. Then...Justin. Falling off my blog game.

2008 Goals: Write more letters. Stop trying to figure it all out, man. (in this lifetime). Apologize more. Put up with bull-shit less. Check my email. Start dating..and not just the brothas. Attempt to answer phone and keep disappearing acts to a reasonable minimum. Learn Portuguese. Write something that's important to me. Take up photography. Appreciate even the tiniest things. Pay my taxes.

Things Fall Apart

"Life is always on the edge of falling down again."
~The Noonday Demon*

the tipping point: [definition] The tipping point is the critical point in an evolving situation that leads to a new and irreversible development. By analogy, when a small amount of weight is added to a balanced object, it can cause it to suddenly and completely topple....

Wow. If anyone still reads this blog, please know that I'm here and have not fallen off the face of the earth. Not literally anyway, but I'll explain more later. I have 3,729 unread messages in my inbox. Have not checked, read, nor sent an email or read a blog in a little under four months. The reasons are complex and varied, but suffice it to say that I was already barely hanging on after lil' sis' murder trial. Had a lot to process. Then, some other stuff happened, then some other stuff. Then some more stuff...

And then came a day, a few months later, (August 2nd to be exact), when I got the news that my baby cousin, our Justin, our 25 year old Justin, handsome, compassionate, intelligent and about to obtain his mechanical engineering degree Justin - had been senselessly murdered in Atlanta (same place as lil' sis), and that I had another good-bye to attempt, another funeral to attend, another fresh deep jagged wound for my family to try to stumble through, and another new set of motives and circumstances and crime scene reconstructions, hitting walls over this backwards ass "NO SNITCHING" ghetto mentality. New detectives, preliminary reports, felony murder charges, trial dates, all the familiar horror...and something inside my core snapped. It was all just too much. Half a decade of continual loss and death and grief. All these attempts to hang on to this slipping down life, to collapse, to get up, only to be knocked down again. Again. And again and again. Yes, the world breaks everyone. And it finally broke me.

On that day I made two announcements. The first one, to be expected. The latter, scared the shit outta everyone. Including me.

Number #1: Fuck Atlanta. Fuck Georgia. Fuck the whole goddamn state and every other state that touches it's borders. Fuck anything associated with Georgia. I'm done. That place has snatched too much of my precious blood. I don't give a fuck how irrational it sounds. So just fuck it.

and,

Number #2: I give up.

Not even feeling as if I had anything left to prove, the kids and I flew back East to grief and family and funeral - then I simply came home, got in bed, and didn't get up for a month. A relative came to take care of me and the kids. I slept, drank Vodka, sobbed until I threw up, drank some more, refused to eat, and took too many but not enough pills. I just wanted to sleep. I sat up one hazy afternoon, amazed I was still alive. By then it was September.

Things had fallen apart; again. Gradually, then suddenly. And this year, even a trip to Jamaica hadn't saved me.

Hence, the disappearance.

Though I won't even say I'm back - just checking in. The lady who lets me be lost on her sofa every week (my therapist) suggests that I try to start writing again. This is the soft encouragement she gives after reminding me all of this is normal after suffering a "major grief-triggered depressive breakdown," with a fair amount of "post-traumatic stress" to go along with it. (All these fancy words and phrases for going crazy, nowadays.)

So I have graduated from just trying to get out of bed and brush my teeth, to taking regular showers, to coming out of my room, to speaking without crying or shouting uncontrollably. Not without the help of a whole lotta love, and whole lotta doctor's prescriptions. (the legal dope- pills.) All of it has been a humbling, frightening experience, my closest slip into pure madness. Because of it, I've alienated a bunch of folks this go around; I became impossible and simply dropped off the map with no indication of a return. A few great friendships have been tested and deeply frayed. Normal conversations still remain amazingly tedious. When I'm able, I'll communicate what I can to them..and just hope.

But you are never the same once you have acquired the knowledge that there is no part of your life that cannot crumble..you must let go and understand that the world will be re-created and may never again resemble what you knew previously...*

So, a painful progress had been sort of achieved now, I guess. Phone calls and voice and e-mails still give me an unnerving amount of anxiety. I can text, though. And eat salad. Get up. Walk the dog. That I can do.

Re: writing again: I tell my therapist: I'm sick of writing about pain. I don't wanna be that tragedy chick. You know, that person who seems to go through it..again..and again, and again and again; that person(s) you lightweight stay away from just in case their shit is contagious.

What do you want, then? she keeps asking me.

I don't know, I keep telling her. I liked it better when I didn't have to think or want. But I suppose now, since I'm up and wandering around - maybe it means I'm trying to find out. Maybe.

Until again,

Be well, Blogger Fam.

~Supa

Vacation Auto-Response...

Supa is back stateside...but her mind and spirit are still loungin' in Jamaica, mon.
(Sipping rum punches!!)

Me and My Partner in Crime (Sigz)
PS: I WON THE TAN CONTEST!

Resort Life!

P.S. - Soprano's finale hate? Anyone? Anyone?

Checklist....and Countdown!

Let's see....Been neglecting blog lately? Check. Miss cyber-hangin' with all my blogger friends and fam? Check. Cut self a lil' slack, 'cause life happens. Check!
Make amends upon return...check. Ready to relax and get rowdy on Carribean isle to celebrate upcoming earthday? CHECK. (don't ask how old I'll be - I'm a '69er so do the math!) Passport, laptop, bikini gear, Ipod, tanning oil, good book (& overstuffed suitcase)....check check check!!!

What's. up. Blogger. Fam! Life's been a movin' and ya girl has been busy trying to flow right along with it! And in less than 10 hours, Supa will render herself dumb, refuse to obsess on whether she tured off the iron or not, and gratefully plop her azz in that airline coach seat headed non-stop to Montego Bay. Yeah mon. I'll throw back a couple of Rum Punches for ya, while hoping all is beautiful in your lovely worlds!

So if I didn't get in all my last minute phone calls, I'll holla when I return. Mwabi, can't wait to see you when you hit the west side! Tia, don't get married while I'm gone...Cinq & Caprice, check your voicemails. Tammy Tam, relax and do you! Bloggin Hotties ~ we gotta hook up! Writing Crew ~ we need to, too. Skinnyman, I love a story full of advantages...And S.Simone - I'm gonna win the tanning competition. I still love you, though! Ha!

Wish me happy birthday come Thursday (Gemini's rule!) Soprano's finale tonight!! What's it gonna be?? Oh,the drama!

Peace, ya'll!

P.S.- Saw Ocean's 13 with the RR's Friday nite, thought it was complete garbage.

Thought Bombs...

So glad the sun finally came out today. These gloomy gray LA days suck big time. I need the sun. Need the warmth and inspiration of that bright glowing star. Otherwise I'm just a moody chick. I think that seasonal affective stuff is real. I'll use that the excuse for why I haven't called you back, Cinq. Caprice. Yvonne. Jude.....etc....

We're so full of shit. As a human race. As Americans. As Americans of African descent. What are we doing? What am I doing? How am I contributing to the world, to the global community? Cuz we're all the same. All of us. We all want the same things. A good life. Security, love, family, safety, health, access, opportunity. People in Iraq want the same thing. People in the Sudan want the same thing. People in Haiti, Mexico..hell, New Orleans..want the same things. To be happy and free. To be healthy. To have equal access and opportunity and the freedom to live your fucking life. To have the neccesities covered so you can dream a little. If you think what's happening on the other side of the world doesn't affect you, you're insane. If we think being an American doesn't hold us responsible for some truly heinous shit, then we're blind. I should be doing more.

Rap music is bullshit. Poison. Buffunory. I'm done. Again. Hip-hop is like a high-school love who had my heart at fifteen but can't do shit for me as a grown ass woman. We'll always have love and memories, but I accept that we've grown apart. So fuck it. Drum and bass and that abstract shit is really fueling my mind right now....Maybe I just need to go watch Brown Sugar..

I want to travel. Expand. My soul is itching to reach farther, a constant nudging I embrace but can't explain. I need new earth beneath my feet. Always wanted to walk the red carpet in Cannes. Maybe I'll get there, but if not it's still cool. I enjoy what I'm doing now. Feels like freedom. Running my own shit, working with people, doing bodywork. It's like being a composer. I hear tones and feel textures and see colors and it feels like jazz....

Why in the hell did I start watching the news again. Paris Hilton needs to get off my tv screen. Why does this silly girl's antics piss me off? Maybe beause on this particular news segment it was reported that she was too distraught to make an appearance in court... and I'm wondering what kind of excuses do normal non-heiress people have when they're too distraught to do whatever. Fuck that bitch. I'm trying to live a real-life life so forget I even mentioned it.

Talked about death the other day. Am still challenged with having unbiased coversation with folks who haven't experienced loss on the same scale, yet who through honest conversation give their insights and opinions with absolutely no malice intended, yet i still want to wrap my fingers around necks and declare softly you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. But I can't judge anyone else's experience. Nor can they mine. And I'm still working through some shit. And I gotta remember that sometimes even I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. And so the gap remains...

I keep so much inside. I have a story to tell so why aren't I telling it? Recording it. Writing it, like I said I would. Why doesn't anyone? We're all full of these stories waiting to get out. Can I write it as I'm living it, or do I need some distance and perspective in order to put it all together? How cool is it to be able to write your own endings. And beginnings. I will do it. You should do it. Everybody should. We can. I wonder if Rainier Marie Rilke knew his shit was prolific. Or did he feel just as lonely and hopeful and confused as the rest of us. What does any of it mean? Christ, I sound like AJ from The Sopranos.

Been reminiscing lately. Thinking of certain men in my life who were beautiful romantic disasters. Who would stay up all nite building/sparring with me about art and philosophy and the Harlem Renaissance and the existential crisis Peter's character went through in Office Space, or dissecting themes and symbolism and archetypes in whatever movies we'd both seen in our Netflix queues, eating day old take-out sipping chilled vodka while attempting to figure out our mutual and individual existences, or whispering into the clouds while chillin in a hammock, or sharing this overheard conversation or that obscure quote or whatever wacky historical fact...or smiling over frozen mojitos in bryant park...just be reminiscing on all the mental fucking sessions that replay in my head... it's a lovely hodgepodge...and quite refreshing when despite whatever happened you can still remember the good things..

Life is magic and I wanna learn some new tricks