Abundant Creature

Re-Blog

2009-08-20T00:46:00.002-04:00

I am going to shut this blog down within the next few days. Going to redesign and revamp and reblog for the first time in ages.

Princess Charming

2008-10-20T12:36:00.003-04:00

Princess Charming by The Abundant Creature

Waist down in leather is just this short of gna-gna, or fashion no-no to the unitiated. There's just something so right about it when you find a vintage Adam and the Ants tee-shirt, though. No need to do your hair, but a crimson and turqoise cocktail ring is de rigeur and screams fancy, so play down the lipstick with a nude glint of shine. Same for the nails. Pretend that your handsome with some metallic sea tones on the top lids and get ready to crank the stacks to eleven.
Princess Charming by The Abundant Creature

38 Special

2008-08-20T01:54:00.002-04:00

The longer I stay away from this blog the harder it is to write. Back in the early days I couldn't wait to get home to post something. And once I'd posted I couldn't wait to get up and out with my Fuji to document my life. Now it's hard for me to eek out an entertaining paragraph.

Will Day One Ever Come?

2008-05-12T00:09:00.002-04:00

The absolute worst thing about addiction is the stench of when that hovers over everything I do.

Intersection

2008-04-09T15:13:00.005-04:00

Back in DC's Golden Triangle, working another wildly exciting temp gig, deep into the matrix, thankful to have a weekly check. In the afternoon I make sure to leave this place of delight and stretch my cubicle cramped legs by walking the bustling city blocks. Today's sun shone brighter than it has in a couple of weeks which made for pleasant strolling. I stood across from Lafayette Park and noticed the doors of the White House were open, perhaps they are spring cleaning (there's a lot of trash in there that needs to be thrown out)?

The sun gently patted the top of my head as I strode down H St admiring the newly planted tulips, the Grecian inspired lampposts outside the Chamber of Commerce, the delicious scent of java emitting from in front of the Cosi. I was revelling in District Love, a rare spell cast in spring light, when I saw a tall gentlemen in a fancy black top hat walking across the street in front of my office building. "Poor bugger" I thought noticing as he sat down on the sidewalk that one of his eyes was sewn shut. I reached into my wallet to give him a dollar thinking, "well,we all gotta work"."

"Thanks Lady' he said, keeping strict panhandling etiquette and not touching the inside of my palms as he scooped the change. It was his voice I remembered.
"Raifert? Remember me, from Capital Park?"
He nodded mutely and then cleared his throat.
"Tiger gone."

That would be the woman who bum rushed his house with her three young sons and turned it into Crack Central.

"How are you Raifert? Do you still stay there?"
"Naw, this my home now."
"You make it to the park for dinner when the nuns come?"
" Nuns ain't been out there for a minute, but when they out I make sure to eat. You got a menthol cigarette for me?'
I could see rheumy liquid from the stitches in his eye.
"You know I always smoked Marlboros, Raifert."
He shook his head and nodded thanks to a man who had just given him a nickel.
"Fuck that shit. Rather quit. Gimme one."
So I did and we smoked and watched the traffic, the tourists coming up the street from the White House, my coworkers streaming back into the building.
"Well, I gotta go Raifert. Good seeing you."
"Yeah, nice to see you old neighbor."
"Yeah, stay outta trouble, y'heard?"
The little umber feather in his top hat waved at me as he laughed. "All I gots is trouble, baby girl. That's all I gots. You work up in here?"
My turn to nod.
Raifert laughed so hard more goop ran out of his eye.
"Looks like we is co-workers now girl!"

March Fourth, a day to go forward

2008-03-04T11:54:00.001-05:00

All of the stuff is packed and ready for the new space. Here I go again. I'm really excited to change my life completely from here on out. Otherwise I think the stress will kill me!

A Stitch in Time

2008-03-02T20:00:00.002-05:00

This photograph of my maternal grandmother Julia was taken in the late 1940's, probably in Louisville, KY. I will ask my mother if she knows the where and when.
My grandmother Julia was the first piano player in the family, as everybody reminded me when I was young and showing promise. Up until finding this picture I had forgotten she was a needle wielder, though I now remember her giving me a rose colored sweater --- perhaps crocheted? I don't remember, it was so long ago and obscured by the intricate intarsia and fair isle cardigans gifted to me by my paternal, Scottish, granny. But I was much closer to grandma. I remember her telling me "a pretty girl is a dime a dozen" and "I was country before country was cool". She would also laugh uproariously --- like I do --- when telling the story of The Afro That wouldn't Stand and how the train porters would warn her "Ma'am you're in the colored section". She was one of the most beautiful women I've ever known or seen, and I miss and love her love her love her.

Goodbye 613

2008-03-01T15:48:00.002-05:00

This is the end of the band. This is the end of the coupled hand. This is the end of the harvest land. This is my ego on remand. This is the lift off of new demand.

Bootie Fest Oh Eight

2008-02-28T23:10:00.002-05:00

delicate booties
My son turned 11 a couple of weeks ago and is in such a curious hurry to get grown. He has a special girl, tiny clusters of brand new pimples faintly dotting his chin, an obsession with his MP3 player and the telephone. There's no interest in being clutched and cuddled by his kissy-kissy momma.

My friends are taking their couplings to that biological next step, and it's making me broody. I can smell new baby at the top of my nostrils just thinking about them. A little girl would be so wonderful to....have? Now you know it's a whole lot more than that ....

What I do have is a burgeoning knitting stash that's beginning to get on my boyfriend's nerves. "Why don't you ever finish anything?" is a natural question when you see the proliferation of skeins and hanks spilling out of the small closet in our even smaller bedroom. Of course I get defensive. Most of my purchases these days have been of the cheap, craft store variety. Acrylic skeins at under $5 a hank. He should not complain. My local yarn store is four times more expensive, which is why I haven't been there in five months.

What happens when you mix equal portions of broodiness with unused stash? "Bootie Fest 2008".
I'm starting with a pattern from Precious Baby Booties by Carolyn Christmas. I've decided to crochet the first pair for a more structured shoe. Being the loosest needle wielder in the universe means I had to swatch carefully, and ended up going down two needle sizes (E) which is normal for my hands.

These boots knit up super quickly, about an hour per boot with snack breaks. The first boot ended up an un-photographable disaster. That's because I didn't count diligently when making the sole. I ended up with a turning hole and it wasn't big enough when I fastened off which I didn't check for. Seeming the sole to the body of the bootie is careful work as the pattern calls for you to sew through the back loops only, which I was able to do successfully only until hitting the first turn. I'm taking more careful now, which is one of the greatest joys of this hobby. It's so pointless and time consuming and fun. Which is kind of like procreating, raising kids and being alive!

Well hello there Blog....

2008-02-27T23:01:00.004-05:00

This blog has been neglected. This blog forgotten. This blog an idea that rarely visits anymore. There are no cookies in the larder, no welcoming red tapis for a blog as lonely as this one. This is the bog of all blogs.

Next Time

2008-01-26T04:08:00.000-05:00

Next time I won't hurry
Next time I won't fall
Next time I'll respect myself
Next time I'll stand tall

Last Minute Blog Entry: Jet

2007-12-30T15:29:00.000-05:00

Whilst cleaning out my computer today I found some old writing that never made it onto the blog site. Here are brief, unfinished glimpses of an abundant 2007:

OK. I can verify the alacricity and thoroughness of www.craigslist.org but if there was one thing the Abundant One would want her gentle readers to pack away in their little bloggy bags it is this: caution.

View Exhibit A: Flegette Munyon Rippey my current roommate thanks to Craig’s cornucopia. Shortly after my brief stay at Washington Hospital’s Psychiatric “visiting” ward I had to get out of Anacostia. There wasn’t any money in wallet and school and family pressures were building to a climax. M.A.B was walking around Southeast, making his presence felt. Joanne and I were embroiled in an angry standoff, which would end with the loss of my brilliant purple hooded parka and fab Kowloon Go-Go boots. Hopefully you’ve never “gotten” this picture. In September 2007, such was my life.

Anyhoo, it’s helpful to type 85WPM and “know my [sic] way around the Internet”. Chick. Tsack. 85 year old man needs tenant to wipe his ass. In exchange will provide furnished rooms and Ensure breakfasts… no, not really, instead I found Jet.

Our first conversation: spark off the motherfucking cosmic match head. That whole Gemini/Leo/Fire/Air thingy (read: my mother, Lu, various nightclub Queens well versed in the Bitchy Arts™ - good for a night of well mischief). She wanted Gay friendly? Hey! My son had served as a ring bearer in my friend Bryan’s union ceremony and my boyfriend was living with two gay men! She was “in sales”. I was “in school”. Somehow we managed to get from “that’s so cool we both smoke cigarettes” to a coy “ohmigod I also smoke pot from time to time!!”. Hey, tonight looks good, she invited us and after a Metro ride made wavy through the magic of Geodon Will and I were walking down the alley off of Kansas Avenue….for the first time.

It’s hard to wade through the mental thicket back to that place after ten months and – we’d have to confess it – numerous Def Leppard “F-F-F-Foolin’” sing-a-longs later. Hey, I’d be re-miss if I didn’t state before I dive into the familiar refrain of “Oh my room mate drives me craaaazy” that I like Jet.

When she’s not drunk, which happens on a daily or at least every other. She likes to pull the grey office chair a foot away from the Panasonic’s 50” screen and drain two Sam Adams with a fifth of Jim Beam. Please believe I wouldn’t spew vitriol about her addiction between my seven “Euro” joints every night spent when Jet’s in the same state. Wouldn’t have a single thing to write about if she wouldn’t make it intricate with her snide remarks which occur mid-way through the end of the Adams’ and the start of the Beam. Common themes include how snooty I am. How I don’t know anything. How she’s such an asshole, a loner and how she knew when I first called her that I would be like her little sister, but not one she would like in a sexual way even though her type was light skin, eyes, etc.,

This is heavy to write right now. She’s in front of that Panasonic watching a Heroes re-run and the soundtrack’s a symphony of sadness. While her back’s been turned I’ve been staring at her with my face contorted like a Balinese mask of anger: die bitch, die bitch…

Four days ago Jet woke up and decided she had had enough of me and Will and resolved to hate us to our graves. No lie. I can’t even believe it and I’m not being sentimental, I am the die bitch mask, remember ;) Listen, web trawlers, I am a whole lotta crazy but making up room mate drama isn’t my skein. And I’m woman enough too, yes I am! , to grant that it’s her right as an earthing, American, the gay black lesbian she always titles herself to be to decide who the hell she wants to fuck with on a regular or not. So she wakes up and doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, whatever.

We’ve had more fun than just the singing, many nights of great conversation and fun, laughs, and silly goings on. She’s even told me that she wanted to kill herself on many, many an occasion – over the senseless murder of the only man who she ever loved, the only friend she ever had whose name was, curiously, Sam. The thing about Jet is the same afternoon you think you’ve made a really good friend leads into an evening when you have to challenge her in front of your landlord because you overheard her telling him that she doesn’t have the rent because she’s been “supporting” you and your boyfriend.

And then she left her job, not even because it was paying only $165 or something per week. Quit….because. And you took her to that telemarketing farm job casting call, where she was booted because she wore jeans when you told her not to. You went into “mother mode” and marched her across the street to Target where she tried on a couple of pairs of polyester office pants, got a blouse and pair of shoes. She protested and promised to return, well dressed, in a few days, it’s true. But you knew she could get the job today, needed the job today to pay Jerry the landlord, and why not help a friend? Besides, you could return the clothes to Target and get your money back and if not, well, Merry X-mas if she gets the job we’ll work it out.

Three weeks into training she loses the job. It’s now June and she hasn’t worked except for three weeks at some scammy little so-called “re-mortgaging” telephone farm for ten hours a week, hating it from day one. Crying in the night, rocking back to forth in the grey chair while I sat next to her in the dog stained living room, howling over how Dawn left her, why can’t she get over her pain…

Cherry Onion Pie

2007-12-03T22:46:00.000-05:00

From the bakery window you're salivating, so sure that that slice is going to banish hunger forevermore. It's interesting the things you manifest without intending to. You think you're getting cherry pie...and then you find out they put onions in the crust. So then you don't want what you wanted any longer. "Wahahahaha....woe is me....this is too pungent!" Unbeknownst to you the allium in the crust that you swear is giving you gas is busy anti oxidizing a cold germ that was about to sprout on your top lip.

I'm moving into Facebook land....

2007-12-02T01:37:00.000-05:00

Many have accused me of living on Facebook --- they use the same tone of voice I do when I catch a fool watching The Apprentice. It's not like I can move into my profile page! But then I got to thinking and must agree it would be a pretty good idea. My page has delicious Asian food, a bar, a bakery and when I get bored just hop on the Travel map. I could sleep in the picture box, snoring away during the day, turning into a chump biting vampire every twenty-four hours. The only irritation might be the noise from all my favorite artists but I won't complain because Bob Marley lives five frames down!!!!. All my dearest friends from all over the world have moved into the same complex and have welcomed me with magical money plants and eggs that hatch Bichon Frisees that don't poop because Facebookland is so clean and well designed. Best of all, that luddite who ate my self confidence for kicks doesn't even know it exists!

Tape Loop

2007-11-30T12:40:00.000-05:00

Your words run a tape loop, ringing, modulating: "Loving you brought me down. All you ever do is beg and borrow. You've never done anything in the two years I've been wtih you. I was warned about you. Get out of my face." I try to shore up happier memories but your criticism and frowns are all I grasp. You fucked me and I've given birth to a broken heart.

Last Moment before Oz

2007-11-25T23:15:00.000-05:00

I've never believed in all of that "If you can only count five friends on one hand at the end of your life than you are fortunate" advice. If you can only count five people as friends after an average lifetime it is fact you were a meansumbitch and glad you're gone!

That isn't to say ALL of your friends will stay with you until that last, dieing moment. But when you're looking up at that Tin Woodsman turned your neighbor who's volunteered to change your colostomy bag or what have you, the memories of all the love and fun spent with funky friends along the way will help lift you into that cyclone headed for the way beyond.

Sleep Deep, Feel Light

2007-11-11T09:08:00.001-05:00

The beauty of getting to sleep every night at 11 is only surpassed by the gorgeousness that is the morning light hitting my eyes at 6:15 each A.M. The first week of sleep light therapy was exhausting, falling asleep - as is my habit of the past three years - at 2:40 in the morning only to be jolted into a difficult day by the blam blam of the alarm clock. And then my body and brain began to respond so that now, two weeks into the therapy, I find myself genuinely getting tired at ten o'clock, sleeping by eleven, even on a Saturday Night!

As boring as that sounds let the record show that I have lost four pounds in the past week without dieting. Plenty of rest and hitting the yoga mat first thing for a vigorous round of Surya Namaskars. As the finances are tight my nutrition hasn't been that great - though enjoyable considering one day my meals consisted of Galler chocolate hand delivered from Bruxelles. I'm still smoking like a whore in jail, but the local lock up -- not Rikers. Life is as stressful as ever -- housing issues, interpersonal relationships,money money money...still, I am not freaking out about anything and the worst of the anxiety like responses has stopped. Best of all I haven't cried in over ten days !

Sunday Sunday Sunday

2007-09-30T15:31:00.000-04:00

We spent this day doing fun things: petting the dogs and cats who came to greet us as we walked down to the corner store to buy brunch ingredients; playing with the blue ball that works for basketball and soccer; making fun of the way Mom runs when she's trying to play soccer; and tweaking old photographs of me when I was four at Slide.com. -JM

On Britney

2007-09-28T22:48:00.000-04:00

Even though I fancy myself an original, I fit the demographic of the late 30's, Gen Xer pretty well. And that includes a new Facebook addiction, as well as the requisite celeb-watch-and-talk. These "stars" are so hard to relate to. They never report any of the interesting or provocative they might say. The magazines that manufacture these living mannequins have given up disguising the fact that they're really copy-heavy catalogues where one can find the latest shoes or lipsticks and even beach front homes.

Watching Britney explode has been the most exciting celebrity development in recent memory. I find it fascinating that this little dynamo - who hoofed it through childhood Star Search humiliations and soundly learned the art of the jiggle as soon as her juggles came in - took the inevitable break down to such public extremes. Fascinating to see how the world can't get enough of it's own scorn for a woman no one took seriously in the first place. Aren't we just mad because she defiantly took up the Twinkies and rejected the role of Masturbation Fixation? We all love Keith Richards, some of us have even emulated his entire life (sans the legendary band; women 'n wine 'n wealth; and...hopefully if you're one of those people...the plaster peeled face).

C'mon, everyone who makes it big these days plays so fucking fucking safe. Yes, Britney could do this whole thing more artfully. Perhaps more like....old Keith? But as a girl who seems to have come by her ignorance the time honored way (handed down from the family) let's not try and turn a cow pie into a Cadillac*. She's like that monk immolating himself..I know it's a bit of a stretch but....you know?
*with apologies to Ronald...

?'s:

2007-09-27T19:14:00.000-04:00

clipped from www.facebook.com

My Question

Rekha asks...
What is one thing you just never would, never could wear?

Lisa Saxon:

a moo moo

Thomas Barkley:

anything from DIOR... I'm just not skinny enough!

Brian Van Tassel:

Hot Pink

Alex Langley:

Armor...too heavy.

Warren Woods:

A flaming Village people costume, assless chaps, a dress, leotards uhhhh anything remotely gay! silly question almost a no brainer! but i would wear a speedo and run through central park singing liza minelli songs, lol

Tanya Baumgartner:

Fur

Me = BP Squared pt.I

2007-09-26T23:02:00.001-04:00

The heavy blanket of depression was thrown over my life in the summer of 1986, shortly after I was kicked out of the United World College of South East Asia. It had been a six month British boarding school experience from the sanitized tropical hell known as Singapore and I was relieved to be expelled, even if the reasons were dubious ("partying with sailors"...but that's another days post).

My mother was furious and confused, and even then I understood why. Only a fortnight into my schooling there my name had been put on the "cannabis" list and I was part of a school wide pogrom that saw many of the coolest Top Form students - borders and day bugs alike - chucked out before the dreaded Singapore police could get their hands on us. Mom had fought the Headmaster during my two week house suspension on Yang Ming Shan - where she and dad were living, a hilly enclave above the smokey pollution of Taipei city. While she worked and dad sulked behind locked doors as usual, I scurried through the "home work" mom would give me (Write a report on the recent People Power movement in the Philippines before I come home from work) and then would hurry down the mountain, over to Shih Lin, to the noodle stands across the street from Taipei American School.

That's where I got to know Pat, to this day my dearest friend, who was often alone in a stairwell, toking Marlboro's or Long Life's and happy to share them with me. We were happy to bond over the forbidden cancer sticks, happier still to find out that in a few short months both of our families were being transferred to Hong Kong....we would have one another at the new school there.

But before that glorious chapter of my life unfolded, that embarrassing sliver of time between expulsion and relocation, Mom took another deep breath and packed our bags for our summer R&R; Oahu, Louisville, Washington, DC.

We arrived in Hawaii on a sunny July 4Th morning. Our time share apartment wasn't vacated yet, so the concierge put us in the model suite, where everything looked magazine cover worthy but beneath the plushy duvet there was only a stained mattress and in the bathroom the faucets didn't work. It was the longest of days, after an 18 hour flight, and on the television we were treated to hours of big three network coverage of the Statue of Liberty's Centennial Celebration. Bubble headed bleach blond announcers perkily proclaiming: "Happy Birthday Lady Liberty...." interspersed with Max Headroom for Pepsi commercials. It was all so bizarre, so stimulating, I stayed up the entire day, into the night, past Friday Night Videos and Night Flight....

Mom was up early that next morning, slathering on suntan lotion and packing Crystal Light into our picnic basket, ready to hit our favorite spot on Waikiki's flesh crammed shores. It was the first time I had ever felt apathetic about going to the beach. The sun hurt my eyes, my body hurt, I lay in the familiar sand and instead of exhaling into it's warmth like I always did I felt myself longing to be buried there.

Later that afternoon I was able to obtain a packet of Marlboro lights from the cigarette machine in the lobby while my mother rested. Fire was more difficult to procure, fortunately a group of kids joined me poolside and gave me a pack of matches they'd taken from the Jolly Rogers restaurant across the street. We talked until it was obvious only cigarettes could bond us, and then they left.

I must have smoked over half of that pack, sitting by that pool, watching my legs turn to dark molasses, wiping away tears and sweat. That was the first day of my life that childlike wonder did not rise up and sing it's swell song. Something in me was diminishing, I knew it that day I tell you, I felt it and sat there and cried for it to not come for me. Cried and smoked until I was hoarse and the sun began to wane. Then I hid the smokes and the matches behind the soda machine in the stairwell, walked back into the apartment and got into a world of trouble for smelling like cigarettes and you expect me to believe you were at the pool and your towel isn't wet?

RIP Marcel Marceau

2007-09-23T12:50:00.000-04:00

This man influenced me in ways I can't completely describe.

Kinder Surprise!

2007-09-23T02:30:00.001-04:00

Laurent brought me a bag of these chocolates once. A little green frog wearing a backpack became my totem object for a couple of years before I lost it along with the rest of the valuables along the way.

So broken

2007-09-21T12:50:00.000-04:00

Everything seems completely unhealable.

Laptop Lust

2007-08-24T18:42:00.000-04:00

I've spent the past six days with a brand new love. Oh, my man's been with me the entire time. He is still secure in our essential "us-ness" to get over his little fits of jealousy and bursts of "Are you listening? What did I say just now?" whenever he sees me lost in the illuminated gaze of my darling. Unfortunately for me, my li'l hottie belongs to another, our hostess, and such is the nature of my beloved you could never ask to borrow him for even a short while - so dear he is to many. He's a little guy, fits nicely on my laugh and warms up the longer I stroke him. He's an iBook G4 hooked up with Adobe CS2. And I am in deeply love.

Weird Vibes and How to Cure Them

2007-08-23T00:28:00.000-04:00

So what do you do when everyone around you is weirding out? Do you ignore people? Paste on a pretend smile? Or do you somehow try to not take it personally and figure out how to show your limits rules and boundaries without hurting other people and the vibe even further?

In Transit

2007-08-21T12:42:00.001-04:00

It's a cold and grey Tuesday afternoon and Will is lying on the couch asleep with his head on my thigh, puffing slightly on each exhale as he does when he's dreaming. His hair is getting longer, which pleases me, so he's taken to wearing a black Yankees cap to hide the poofiness, which does not please me. If only he could see how romantic he looks with his curls. But I'm patient and understanding as it took me twenty years to embrace my own head of crazy kinks and twisty tendrils.

I want to get up and get the day started, we went to bed so late it was early, but I'm scared to start this day even though I know I must. Scared because we're two days into homelessness and shacking up on my friend's living room couch. Scared because the place I've found may fall through and then what? Scared that this moment, with him lying peacefully on my lap, won't last if we can't find a space of our own.

Sunshine Daydream

2007-06-21T16:23:00.000-04:00

I am once again in the throes of nicotine withdrawal - for the second time this week. After a tobacco free weekend I was bumming Camels from my roommate a mere two hours after walking in the door. Rokit man called the other day to commiserate as he headed into Day 7 (where the bread is unleavened) and even though I had just finished printing a schmancy Things to do instead of Smoking Cigarettes diagram there were my feet walking into the convenience store, purchasing what I really hope was the last pack ever.

Well, I made it through yesterday. And naturally found myself with the knitting needles in hand. Two things have become abundantly clear: cleaning and knitting occur when I am not smoking cigarettes. Oh sure, I empty the odd ashtray out, especially when all the butts are "empty" from rolling my own late night emergencies. And I continue to browse through knitting and crocheting books, magazines and web sites without crafting a single stitch.

But when I'm tobacco free! Tobacco free and pulling out the Fantastik, scouring the fingerprints from the bathroom door to sit on a bleach encrusted toilet seat and admire my handiwork. Tobacco free and the kitchen sink winks at me - oh my that's not the sink, that's my reflection!Tobacco free and the smell of my man's Newport's mingled with my roomies Camels is enough to drive me behind the bedroom door to wallow in the rich scent of clean oxygfen.

Meanwhile in Arizona my beloved cousin Raymond is suffering. Suffering from second stage lung cancer that has metastasized to his liver. The chemotherapy has affected his brain. He has suffered from two brain aneurysms and surgeries in the past five days. He has recovered each time. The tube in his nose puts him at high risk for pneumonia. And still they must feed the tumors more chemo because it's all they can do. No surgery. No radiation.

Beloved Raymond --- who never smoked a cigarette in his 34 years.

Blog Revival

2007-06-14T15:50:00.000-04:00

I left the house an hour ago after suffering for the past three days with the worst case of green grey bronchitis. It was hard going, you know, the walking and breathing with your mouth open. Wanting to get back into the bed even though my calves were cramping from inactivity. Knowing that I had to do something, anything, or I'd feel worthless on top of sickly. Waiting at the stoplight at the intersection of Kansas and Georgia Avenue hoping for a sign.

Beaver, the lascivious librarian with the naughty name, kindly removed ten dollars from my overdue library bill. And then told me the good news: seven new computers installed. No longer do I have to wait to get online at my mother's house once a week. No more trips to MLK library. No more speed blogging. Life is beginning to course through the veins of this old dried up, much neglected blog. It's beginning to come....aaa.....liiiiiivvvvvveeeeeee.....

Thunderbirds are on their way to Wembly!!!

2007-06-10T17:49:00.000-04:00

Wow. I'm a soccer mom.

Holy Wow. I'm a soccer fan.

This is the beauty of parenting. Eight weeks ago I had spent thirty-six years contentedly afraid of the ball, even proud of my "crunch and cringe" response and even appreciative of the laughter it would generate (do it for the fans, some gave all, theatre as sport et al.,)

This Sunday I spent three hours screaming HUSTLE and GET OPEN and GOOD EFFORT to the members of Reston Youth Soccer Association. My beautiful son played his little legs off this afternoon, stuffy nose and all. The Thunderbirds leave the spring '07 season UNDEFEATED. Now if only I could get the other parents to indulge in some good old fashioned hooliganism with me sometime soon (strip a strip mall anyone?).

Speed Blog

2007-06-01T14:46:00.000-04:00

So the MLK branch of the DC Public Library has 15 minute computers and according to the little timer clock on the bottom of the screen I have less than 10 minutes. On my mark, get set, SPEED BLOG!!

It's hot, it's Friday, it feels like g.dam August out there in the Washington streets. I managed to spend less than ten dollars for a nutritious lunch at the Whole Foods Market. Hint: SKIP THE DELI. I tried some of the new Kashi frozen foods which tasted like frozen coconut with brown rice and chewy chicken. Nothing to surf or travel the world for, but at least the nutritional information assuaged my guilt at not having a fresh spinach salad like I craved. There's a new Kombucha tea out there that costs a dollar less than the Synergy brand I usually drink. This one tastes a lot less like stomach acid in a bottle (even though I rather like the other brand because it makes me feel so good). More like a gingery, sugary drink but better than cola anyday.

It's one of those empty agenda afternoons and I've turned the cell phone off to browse the library in solitude. There may even be a free movie on the 2nd floor later this afternoon. With any luck the Pimsleur Hindi course will have returned so I can get ready for my trip to India later this summer!

The Sweet Escape from Akon & Gwen Stefani

2007-05-20T16:25:00.001-04:00

The abundant one unabashedly endorses the power of a great pop song, so don't accuse me of harboring just run-of-the-mill hatred for what must surely be classified as a platinum scourge: GWEN STEFANI. And Akon's hook causes upchucking into every pore only to suffer the further indignation of reabsorbing the vomit to spew again as he wails:

AKON:

Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!
Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!

GWEN:
If you could escape
Would you find yourself another world?
Where you'll never hear this No Doubt girl
Who thinks she's clever
Dressing up in leather
Madonna she ain't missing no sleep
The Japanese
Aren't touchy 'bout those chicks I keep
Prancing 'round me, drag 'em on my leash
Ya like my sweater?
Fuchsia plaid with pleather
A steal at only $893.....

AKON:

Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!
Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!

GWEN:
Maybe
This crap I'm putting out sounds kind of
Crazy
To the elementary crowd who
Crave Me
Don't care just as long as they
Pay Me
Instead of savin' rock 'n roll sold out 'n got real
Lamey
My clothing line's named after animals that smell
Gamey

Flipperty Gibberty Superdee Dooperdee Plipperty Plopperty Plop!

AKON:

Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!
Pooh! Pooh!
Pee! Pee!

Late Night Calls

2007-05-19T13:13:00.000-04:00

I have an old friend who's famous for never calling or even picking up her telephone, but we go way back (twenty years now) so whatever. Except that lately she's taken to calling my boyfriend's cell phone when she's drunk in the middle of the night. To tell him things like "I'm going to walk my dog" or, "I was walking my dog [drunk] and some fool followed me home and he's in my living room and can you get rid of him?". Last night more of the same at 1:25 in the AM. I just handed him the telephone and sarcastically said "It's your girlfriend". I've checked his cell phone and he's not calling her that I can tell. And we're together all the time so if they did anything it was in a blink of the eye. Tori Amos sings The sexiest thing is trust which feels true compared to this springtime frost that courses through my veins when I think about how ridiculous he is for defending her calls ("she's drunk and we're friends"). Fuck the lot of 'em. Why am I continuing to surround myself with people who hate me? Oh yeah, I'm mentally ill.

Review: TIME LIFE Soft Rock Classics Infomercial

2007-05-16T17:50:00.000-04:00

Nothing beats a late night infomercial. Let me amend that. Nothing beats a late night infomercial when you're ten days cigarette free and have made a vow to not let alcohol pass your lips for at least the next month because you left some valuable shit on the subway platform last Sunday night after slurping down a bottle of cheap (but organic!) wine with an old friend. I actually LIKE infomercials and I don't watch (that much) TV. Something about the format turns a believer out of the abundant one quicker than you can say "Call Now".

Nothing beats a late night infomercial starring the 2 Russell's from Air Supply! We (moi; my roomie: Jet; my boyfriend: Will) thrilled to see the aging duo, cold chillin' on a set made to look like someones beach front villa, an acoustic guitar handily available for another chorus of Even the nights are be-he-ter. Even though his afro is flat and grey, Lead Singer Russell croaked out a heartfelt Since I Found Yewwwwww. Ahhh. That's money right there.

Nothing beats being able to sing along with said late night infomercial. My man surprised me with his uncanny renditions of those early '80's classics. He knows every tune from Year of the Cat to Blue Bayou to that Benny Mardones song that starts with the classic pedophile line She's Only Sixteen Years Old.... And all the residents of the funky basement at 602B had to get up on that dirty rug we call dance floor to move to I Wanna Kiss You All Over.

All I could think about while watching Air Supply was how weird it is that I know that the blonde-Andrew-Ridgley-back-up member of the group is last named Russell and the lead singer's first name is Russell, too. A girl in my high school slept with a bass player from the Air Supply band when they came to play Taipei back in the early '80's - or so the lore around school had it. I wanted to brag about this fact too, but that would be too much information, even for me.

What is "the other side of soft rock"? Someone got paid for that brilliant copy. Perhaps they were as perplexed as we were to find Bryan Adams' Please Forgive Me and that greasy, bearded dude singing Walking In Memphis in this collection. It didn't fit with all the stealing away and eclipsing of hearts. Which led to my boyfriend confessing a steamy affair with an old boss who looked like Bonnie Tyler back in the...(OK, this is not his blog after all....) Points off for leaving us without a much needed exploration of these so-called other facets of the soft rock zirconium. Five points added because I was making sure to brag over Will's singing: "My friend Pat works for TIME LIFE Europe and is responsible for selling this very collection....I can get it for free!!!!". So, Pat, if you're reading this....

Please don't innundate my blogspot with comments to this post requesting free copies of this collection. You're going to have to get up and get to working like all the rest of the non-connected world to afford your big ballad fix.

Sunder's Legacy

2007-05-15T17:49:00.000-04:00

Today all the fruit from the Kaula tree congealed into so much sweet jam I'm left licking my lips all happy in new contentment. My sister Charmaine drove down 95 on her way to Fort Bragg where Uncle Sam plans to put her on a plane to South Korea early tomorrow morning. We missed a 24 year reunion by a few miles thanks to those last minute orders. It looks like we'll have to plan a trip down there to see her, soon. She's so kind and warm over the phone, as nice as she ever was, my big half-sister. Alan sent me this photo of our father and it makes me smile to think that all the troubles at Sikandra road are finally finished and that all of his seed will be gathered at jolly old house late this summer to finish the saga. My cousin Goldie and Uncle Darshan are taking good care of all of our interests and I feel really lucky to have such a nice family, as distant as we all are.

Review: American Doll Posse & Volta

2007-05-12T12:54:00.000-04:00

May is turning out to be a truly abundant month! Tori Amos and Bjork released albums within the past two weeks. The last time I was this excited was when Madonna and Kate Bush released albums in the same year (and we all know whose was better, but all hail the Queen of Kabbalah anyhoo!).

American Doll Posse is another long ass CD from The Goddess Amos, and worth almost all the time it takes to listen to. Tori's stomping and rocking and bringing the house down with some of her heaviest outings to date (Big Wheel, Body & Soul, Teenage Hustling). The slower tempo ballads don't water down into AM rock land like they did back on Scarlet's Walk (2002). Vocally she's sounding strong and not playing the same phonetic games she did on The Beekeeper which will make this album a lot more accessible to new fans. Standout tracks: Roosterspur Bridge, Code Red, Dark Side of the Sun and Body & Soul. Don't let the "personalities" Tori puts on scare you away. This album kicks and stirs beyond anything Strange Little Girls had. It's Tori. It's original. And now I will not be able to write my own
songs for at least the next month because I'll be listening to this album over and over and over...

Volta has our Icelandic Priestess grooving in the digital realm once again. After the strange vocalization that made up Medulla it's good to have her back. Being Bjork, however, these are not your radio friendly boom baps. It's a riotous cacophony of sound. It's urgent. It's jarring. It's scary. And ultimately, rewarding after a few listens. Stand out track: Declare Independence. The lyrics to that song are so right on I may have to get them tattooed on myself!

GUN CONTROL

2007-05-04T11:57:00.000-04:00

Is it right
In this world
To expose
Boys and Girls
To the madness of people
Who would kill for their evil?
VA Tech
Columbine
In our streets
Sniper Fire
Though we know how it happens
We won't put down our weapons
Why?
How does a teenage boy procure the might?
Bring death with arms that could not win a fight
The power in that steel he held brought pain never imagined
His Right?
9 Millimeters trusted to that mind
A background check determined it was fine
Now we should mourn the fact that we don't question any laws
All we are asking for is GUN CONTROL
There is a way for us
We can decide
All we are asking for is GUN CONTROL
Let's make our country safe for human rights

I wrote this in response to the Virginia Tech shootings. The entire day was spent in anguish, worrying about the safety of Caitlin Crowley and her mother, Joan. Fortunately she is OK, but a girl she went to high school with in Springfield, Leslie, was murdered.

Stream of bloggishness

2007-02-05T08:19:00.001-05:00

. ; : - \ ! ?

feel free to sprinkle liberally throughout the paragraph

Long time no blog must get computer in house rug smells like old dog shit and crazy roomies won't do a thing to help clean tired of smoking still hooked line and sinker one day it'll be all over and I'll think "these really are the good old days" new baby brother 30 years old finally have a chance to make sense of all those disconnected father memories a place to share and something to give for all the hurting times son is ten years old can't believe a decade has passed but still not high and round enough will I get to moving one day?

Na New Na New

2006-12-25T23:48:00.000-05:00

Another Christmas has passed. The Nano was met with rapturous wonder and many cinnamon kisses bestowed upon this beleaguered Mom. The Nano has a name: Tony.

I am filled with roast, wine and Godiva and cheered by news from friends all over the globe:

* Lu & Anis blew off the holiday and spent their day in Qatar watching Al Jazeera.

*The Shippee's in LA sent another batch of ultra-gorge family photos. Has someone alerted Maddox Jolie that Zoe Shippee is THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED baby in the world? They are so lovely and it never makes me feel icky even though Alice could be the editor in chief of Redbook magazine!

*John kept calling from Brooklyn to greet his baby brother (who hung up on me twice today).

*Brian got his own MP3 player and will no doubt quicken the healing working in his brother's new Pro Tools LE studio.

*Packie Jerkins saved her man's new kicks for that magical day 34 months from now when he's released from prison.

*Jet bought Bella a sandwich and used up over twenty of her pre-paid minutes to commiserate with me.

*And then Berlin came a-calling, with XiaBau and Bambi Steele singing in Czech, drunk off of many bottles of red wine and readying the Baileys (there was a lot of blabbing about Saphic Love but who knows anymore).

I spent the day trying to figure out iTunes play lists, syncing and censoring rap lyrics for download. Then Claude wanted me to hook up the VCR (you read right). It was all so maddening I haven't had the time to dwell on how the rest of this week is going to turn out.

My mother's house is so clean, inviting, orderly, chic. I can't imagine how I am related to her at all.

Mommy, the procrastinator

2006-12-22T13:17:00.001-05:00

(sing to the tune of "Frosty the Snowman")
Mommy, the procrastinator
Needs a Nano right away
For her nine year old
Who's almost ten years...so
He thinks about music all day.

If Mommy, the procrastinator
Finds the Nano's all sold out
She will feel real bad
'Cos the year they've had...
(read her blog and you'll find out)

She mustered up the money
No cash or support from "Dad"
A Rio or a Zen won't do
iPod Nano's are the fad!

Mommy, the procrastinator
Realizes this song is a bore
Call the Best Buy, Now
Let's us hope (and how)
They have Nano's in their store.

Day 1: So Much Fun!

2006-12-18T10:55:00.000-05:00

CHOOSE

OK, tell me why it's more frightening for me to declare today DAY ONE SMOKE FREE than it is to blog about my mental health?

Because upstairs you know Claude has a crisp new packet of Marlboros and at any moment you could be on the back deck flicking ash into an old tomato sauce can.

Everyone is talking about this book by Alan Carr and how it may help me to quit. Frankly I was always partial to B. Jack Gephardts The Enlightened Smokers Guide To Quitting. At the end of the day it has seemed to make more sense to just stop outright, grit my teeth and hang on for dear life as the hell of withdrawal sets in. It's difficult living with two smokers - and one of them is your lover. He says he'll quit for Christmas. I wanna force him on this journey with me, but I know know know that's not even the point.

In a life full of mistakes I have but one regret: smoking cigarettes.

So today I will try and remember that it's no fun to walk around feeling half poisoned all the time. Worrying about diaper breath, acrid smelling clothes and furry, smoked out teeth, the sludge that is my blood. Not even one puff is my rallying cry. Fresh vocal chords await!

December Magic

2006-12-04T14:13:00.000-05:00

I have no business complaining about global warming and cold December afternoons. A move to a tropical clime is in order, but not for me, not yet at least. I have been pursuing my audio studies at Omega and recently passed into Advanced Recording and Studio Techniques. No time to applaud myself as we were given our new schedules through 'til the end of the course. It will be brutal. Fortunately I'm responding well to the depakote, even though a week of proper rest has still not been attainable since my hospitalization. I'm not too sure if me and Will have what it takes to go even further than we are now, but after this evening's "talk" I hope we are going to be able to work out step-parenting & communication issues, because I do believe we have what it takes to be an amazing team. We'll see. In the meantime, it's Pro Tools 101, MIDI and introduction the mighty Neve console for the abundant one!

New Clear Blogging Day

2006-09-18T09:35:00.000-04:00

I'm going to give myself permission to take baby steps. I'm going to give myself a big slice o' non-birthday cake and celebrate the fact that I'm a big girl. I'm going to snip away all these burned out, bedraggled dead ends I've carted around for far too many years.

Where I Am

2006-09-02T09:51:00.000-04:00

We are dogsitting two ancient Llasa Apso's, Rusty (19) and Lucy (18). As a part of the gig we get to stay in a beautiful Capitol Hill townhouse. Mingus declares it to be a heaven: "There's a TV in every room including the bathroom!!!" and ensconced himself in a Lazy Boy Massage chair paradise in front of the large Plasma in the basement after we arrived.

I have other worries.

The Geodon they had me on has finally washed out of my system, which has left me with a terrible case of anxiety. I'm in the middle of a move, and Ernesto has made it impossible for me to scour the neighborhood for boxes. This is an emergency because the movers arrive tomorrow morning and they will happily charge $3-$12 per box in the event I have none. Unfortunately ye olde "put it in a trash bag" mode of packing is unacceptable to ABS Moving and Storage Co.

Thankfully I've found a small room for $550 a month in the Georgia Avenue / Petworth section of Northwest DC. Finally in NW, though not exactly the North Whitey area (that's what Charles calls it). It's called ghetto because historically it was rough up there. Compared to Anacostia it's tame. Just ghetto because it's colored. I'll have no problems and it's a lot closer to downtown and friends who were too scared to cross the river to see me in SE.

It's so good to spend the weekend with Mingus. He's living with my mother in the suburbs for the next few months while I "get well". He's enjoying school in the suburbs very much. And when he's not in school he's on his bike, enjoying the bike trails and greenery. But it's difficult for us both. I want you to be "With Me Mommy" not "Away from Me Mommy".

No one in my immediate orbit is returning my calls. It was all "What can we do to help" when I got out of the hospital, but I was too messed up to talk at all. Now when I desperately feel the need to reach out everyone is busy. Or maybe they just don't want to deal with me anymore. Brian tells me that I should listen to this silence and appreciate it for what it is: a time to deal on my own. I know in my heart he is right. But I feel so weak and lonely, tired and sad.

The drugs have worn off and the inept staff at the hospital outpatient clinic have had a difficult time finding a few hours to schedule me in to see a shrink. You're not on Meds! You're Not on Meds! Well, yes, but your doctor didn't bother to prescribe me a drug that my insurance would cover, and it seems (from my EPS like symptoms) that he didn't bother to figure out if the dosage was right for my body.

The tears are returning at a furious rate and I'm terrified of my own joy.

2006-08-30T22:26:00.000-04:00

Sunder's Daughter

2006-07-25T10:52:00.000-04:00

I've been diagnosed Bi-Polar I. They also tell me I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. For all the world telling me that I'm a Xerox copy of my mother, my brain belongs to daddy.

Where I've Been

2006-07-24T01:03:00.000-04:00

Conceived at the Lodhi Hotel, New Delhi, India
Born at General Hospital, in Louisville, Kentucky, USA
My first sentence: "See The Water" (with a British accent thanks to my nanny, Sister Cathy) whilst viewing the Potomac River in Washington, DC
Ran through ancient castles as a toddler with my Uncle James in Wales, UK
Wrote my first song, I'm in Love With a Cock-a-Roach (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah) at Shepherds Square Projects, Louisville, KY
Moved to India when my mother received her first State Department posting in 1975
Started reading Archie and Amar Chitra Katha comics in 1977 at our apartment in Bombay
Learned to sing, act and dance Bharat Natyam at Kodaikanal School, in Tamil Nadu
Wore a 1940's woman's bathing suit, complete with pointy shelf bra, in Tricomalee, Sri Lanka, when I forgot mine at Stacey's house in Colombo.
Got drunk (on pink champagne) for the first time at age ten at my parents wedding in Dacca, Bangladesh
Fell in love for the first time with a gorgeous German senior as a freshman in Taipei, Taiwan
Got busted for smoking pot behind the science blocks at a British boarding school in Singapore. After a three week suspension they took me back. Four months later expelled for partying with some sailors from the USS San Cimarron at the Beer House in Far East Plaza. Thankfully they were gentlemen and I looked like I was ten instead of fifteen!
Conquered Nature, the Alto section, rock 'n roll, tram parties and Ricky & Pinky's tattoos during my last two years of high school in Hong Kong, back in the British days.
Discovered the pain and pleasures of early adulthood as well as how to hypermodulate to mixolydian without splitting the octave at Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts.
Discovered the joys of the coffee houses in Bergen Op Zoom, Rotterdam and Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Danced the De Dans with Doody in Libreville, Gabon. Strolled the Trechville Market in Abidjian. Contracted a dengue-like strain in Sao Tome y Principe.
Started my partnership with Fox, rocked it V-style with Lu and the crew, met my husband and conceived my baby in Brussels, Belgium.
Endured 22 hours of natural child birth, a month after my wedding, in Fort Worth, Texas.
Suffered through the Takin' It To The People Tour of 1998....where my fragile union broke up somewhere on the road between Arkansas and Montreal.
Started this blog in Anacostia, SE DC in 2005

(with adventures in other locales shaded on these two maps)

create your own visited countries map
create your own visited states map

Starring Mom

2006-07-23T23:33:00.000-04:00

Sitting on the deck outside my mother's house yesterday, taking in the splendor of the quiet suburban afternoon, sipping cold Corona and leisurely puffing Marlboros, remembering many other events in my life that had transpired on the same deck and deeply questioning the direction my life's events are taking was probably the closest to deep meditation I've experienced in many months.

Fighting the alcohol buzz, and the couches call, to summon my son from the televisionary forcefield, inviting him to help me with the cutting of vegetables, the setting of the table, the lighting of the votive candle held in the stained glass holder (a gift from my beloved Aunt Helene), turned into the best night I've enjoyed in many months.

My son is a person I've often avoided emotionally because I have been too obsessed with my own bullshit colored reasons to take the time to properly notice. All the kisses and bed tucks and All Mighty Cult of The Mighty Single Mother Veneration means very little nothing next to my undivided attention.

All my life I dreamed The Dream: that picture under the corporate success example, reserved for those with flamboyant, "Artsy", personalities. That silly dream of stardom and fame and adulation from a million faceless people who could like me, really really, like me.

God gave me one perfect little boy who watches me every minute, every hour, even when I'm not around. And more often than not I'm sitting behind the curtains, wishing the show could get cancelled because I am unsure about my lines, or continually playing the harried, tyrannical, love you but there's so much to do, do as I say not as I do, role over and over and over again.

I'm sorry for the times I've "known best" and not listened, son.
Your strength is ample applause and your actions my ultimate critique.

Letter to M.A.B

2006-07-19T01:20:00.000-04:00

There's a man thinking about me. Right now. This very minute.

How can I be so certain?

He told me so.

Many times. In many letters. Sent from different penitentiaries.

He was released a few weeks ago and since then I have been moving through with all the grace of a swimmer in quicksand. My neighbors saw him on Good Hope road two weeks ago. Hanging on the corner. Ten minutes from our building.

This is a man who raped a young woman in 1989 according to the MD sex offender registry (and the good folks at the DC District Attorney's office). A man whose rap sheet began in January of 1979, back when I was wearing doo-doo plaits and trying to figure out all the words to Boney M's Ra-Ra-Rasputin (I didn't always live in the USA).

I know this man, even though I would prefer not to. First we had a professional relationship; he was the maintenance man in my building until he violated his parole and was set back to prison for 9 months. He would take my repair requests good naturedly and seem so genuinely apologetic when the land lady would cheap out on the supplies he would need to get the jobs done.

The first letter arrived in early November of last year:

Please forgive me for invading your home and your privacy....

Since then he's written many letters, in a delusional attempt at courtship. Rambling on at length about his dead mother (who it turns out is a prominent - living - DC councilwoman). Why her abandonment has hurt him so and how our love has sustained and renewed his faith in the human race.

I've had the pleasure of learning about how great he is:

You will find, beneath my coarse exterior, a diamond unpolished beneath that rough. Please send me a photograph of yourself so you can see my Michelangelo-like talent!

He's tried to explain why a great guy like him is stuck in prison:

Always trying to do something for someone else. Oh well. We make our choices. I'm man enough to take responsibility for mine...

And when he found out, after 42 hand written pages and not a single reply from me, that I had gone to the authorities and complained to my landlady, he hissed:

In order to get out of jail I need housing and employment. [the landlady] was like a mother to me and I told you how much I miss my mother. Not that I'm even angry with you. Since you've added another ruinous episode to my existence
it is only fair that you become my lady.

And he's ended every letter with a cute postscript!

What are your Halloween plans?!!!!!!!! Stay Sweet!

Yours,
Mad Admiration Baby!

Cleverly hi-lighted to match his initials, and that is how he would sign each letter.

This man has come into my house, stolen my clothes, left his left palm print on my headboard, and played with my vibrator. Which now sits in a police ziploc up at Ward 6 station.

It is difficult for me to adequately describe how strangely tied to this creep I am without saying that which is most painful for me to say. He's my chance to slay the dragons of rapists past and I'll be damned if I go into a third decade violated, scared, and shocked into numbness.

There are three things you can count on: Death, Taxes, and My letters....

DEAR M.A.B:

I DECLINE

Not Yours,

"Abundant Creature"

PS: The long and winding story of my many visits to many offices to have to deny to too many disinterested law enforcement officials that we never were a couple is to frustrating and depressing to write about. This man wrote these letters knowing full well prison censors were/could be reading them. Yet they let him out of jail. They didn't cure him of his sexual depravity while they had him in the system. I have 42 pages and three greeting cards from a convicted rapist and the law is basically telling me to call when he's finished "really doing something". Once again, I decline.

Writers Block Party

2006-07-17T10:08:00.000-04:00

What can one little blogger do in the face of world destruction?

These little missives feel frivolous in the wake of recent headlines.

Rob Brezny has been my favorite astrologer for a long time now. Rob's weekly Leo predictions never fail to hit to the spot. He is the leader of the Pronoia movement. Pronoiacs believe the universe is conspiring to heap great blessings on each and every one of us. I choose Pronoia. So why do I feel "more real" clinging to fear? Is it what Kundera called The Unbearable Lightness of Being, or is it just a necessary pragmatism one must adopt living under the "Might is Right"banner of Empire?

Ever since I saw The War Tapes and An Inconvenient Truth last week my ideas have dried up.

Still More War

2006-07-13T13:25:00.000-04:00

The headlines boldly proclaim WAR. Today I will take my pampered behind to the E Street Cinema and see two movies: The War Tapes and An Inconvenient Truth.

South East Korean

2006-07-12T09:01:00.000-04:00

The first Korean shop owner I befriended was back in Georgetown Park Mall. Ms.Kim runs the coffee shop on the lower level, across from the book store I used to work at. She's a stylish, slim woman in her mid-forties. Constantly complaining about mall management, lack of customers and the bills, can't say I blame her, business was tough in those times. She doted on my son, plying him with free slurpies and oversized, rather old cookies. I remember her squawking like a goose in the middle of the mall atrium one morning. She later told me she was angry because Casa Nostra furniture store were paying less per square foot on their rent, so she was going "to bother them" by scaring their customers away with her yelling. Smart chick, Kim. And my first Korean teacher.

That came in handy when I moved down here and met the folks from Tony's Country Market, which sits on the corner of 16th and V. It's a bullet-proof operation dealing in 40 oz. malt liquor, Newports and various grocery items, blunts and candies. You can pick up a cup of soup for $1.35. Ramen.

Tony, the proprietor, is all boxer shorts, gold chains, thinning comb over, bedroom slippers and acrylic socks. He's jovial, happy to be in business, and very comfortable with his clients. His wife is a surly, angry woman who looks burnt out from the constant barrage of "Motherfuck You Chinese Bitch".

The game can go something like this. Buy a pack of cigarettes, go to the corner, smoke a few, have your friend go back into Tony's and force her into giving up another pack because they are "old" or "not the ones you meant to buy". She's fierce, Mrs. Country Market. She don't go for anything. Her English is better than she lets on, because she can quickly gain advantage using the wave of the hand and a "No...No...No Can..." and feigning igorance.

When I first would go in I didn't like her much. She wouldn't respond to my Korean and that pissed me off. Whereas Tony would respond, and began teaching me new phrases, she wasn't having it. Just like salesgirl at the Warehouse supermarket who gets cold with me. "Why do you speak Korean to me? I speak English, you know."

Slowly over the months Mrs. Country Market has warmed up to me. She has a very elegant smile and can express herself most clearly. She was very happy to hear my son was in camp in Virginia. "This place no good."

Sometimes I feel guilty agreeing. I would love to be able to walk into a store and see black hands returning my change. But I like seeing the Koreans do their thing. We could learn a lot from them. Like how an entire family comes together to make a legacy for themselves in a very hostile, rascist community.

The cashier at the 24 hour market on Good Hope road thinks he LL Cool Korean or sumpin'. He's all licking his lips and grabbing his crotch, giving the see through stare when I ask for cigarettes. Once, to be cute, I busted out with a Tang Sheem Uhm Mo Chim Ni Da which (I believe) is akin to You're very handsome and kind. Originally learned to use on the fine gallery rep in Georgetown...that was one muscled hunk of Han Guk Man I tell you. Now the cashier was a dog in any land, looking especially ridiculous rubbing his crotch and Baby Babying me down in the 'hood. Can I tell you how he stood up straighter, smiled like boy on a first date, and replied in perfect Peter Brady english with a "Where did you learn to speak Korean?"

It was my turn to lick my lips.

"In South East, Baby!"

Song

2006-07-09T23:05:00.000-04:00

I'm the winds daughter and the water's churn. Every fiber of my helix set to Go Go Go! Cat curled watching...waiting...there isn't a stop I won't be making.

Jet Setter

2006-07-09T12:51:00.000-04:00

It's a brilliant Sunday afternoon to go wait on the B2 dragging a suitcase full of laundry. We're on our way to Reston, where the air is thick with smog of a thousand Eddie Bauer Expeditions on their way to the Fresh Fields, the Target and the gourmet Safeway. I will install my son at my mother's house and spend a great afternoon with them, shopping for groceries and lazing by the pool followed by dinner and white wine. The ride back is lonely at night on the train to the bus to the quiet walk home through the dilapidated street's. Tonight the moon will be swollen and shining through the trees over Fort Stanton Park and I will begin my week fresh with mom energy and purpose.

Audio Blog #3

2006-07-09T00:41:00.000-04:00

*Twinkle Star

Wolfgang had no idea how far his little song would go....

Unbound

2006-07-08T08:59:00.000-04:00

It has to be stated: I have stayed silent long enough. I choose to transcend out out of the APATHETIC SEETH and use my intelligence towards the application of harmony.

Global Action and Giving is alien to my cushy Western Nature. Which is abominable for someone who spent childhood summers in Calcutta. I don't even need to go that far. Anacostia is Struggle's home.

Ok. Enough backstory. People need help.

How to start? I definitely don't need to give into the temptation to schedule in "research" time. Need is immediate.

Immediately Yours

2006-07-07T23:48:00.000-04:00

Have you watched The Show with Ze Frank yet?
Have you put down those funky cancer sticks that give you diaper breathe?
Are you sick and tired of the Bush Reign of Terror?

Bloggers Remorse

2006-07-07T09:20:00.000-04:00

In the past month this blog has become one of my top ten creativity priorities. As a result I have noticed a profound difference in how I view my life, self and others. With the I need to post directive at the forefront of my daily agenda it's become necessary for me to listen and look at everything with more concentration, so that I can translate all that grist through this writing mill.

Today a close friend called and asked me why I would blog my concerns without talking to him about them at first.

This is a valid question. When I watch The Jerry Springer Show I always wonder why a person would go on the most famous trash talk show to break it off with someone they profess to "love".
I am pretty sure there haven't been any fist fights on this blog site (at least none that I have had to referee). But this conversation was an opening bell.

There's an expression that writers need the luxury of dead parents. My father is already gone and the thought of losing Mom is devastating. And I love my friends so much I'm working on a special tribute to thank them for everything they've given. But I also love this blog. It's given me a reason to write on a regular. A reason to play in PhotoPaint instead of the old "It passes the time". And I would be untrue to my Leo Sun/Leo Rising roots if I didn't admit I do it all for the audience, baby - even if that audience is represented by a lonely clustr map dot.

Yet I can see my friend's concern and feel his anguish. It's not a juvenile Go Get Your Own Blog situation we're dealing with here. It's got me questioning my own motivations. As an artist where do I draw the line between personal blog journaling and the necessary limits, rules and boundaries of a given relationship?

Ladies & Gentlemen...MISS KENNY!

2006-07-06T15:46:00.000-04:00

We met Miss Kenny outside of Mama Coles. Miss Kenny is the Diva For Real For Real and one of the most world class characters ever.

Kenny has survived 27 years with HIV. He doesn't just carry it. He had full blown AIDS back in the late 1980's after his mother died. After he recovered he was homeless and tricking on the streets until Miss Lillian saved him. He moved into my old apartment building and started hustling and acting all kinds of crazy. Crack is probably going to kill him before the HIV does.

Nontheless Kenny is and has been a friend for the past three years. No one can tell a story or have you laughing on the floor like Kenny. He's got a rare wisdom when he isn't playing games or trying to con you into purchasing used Metro tickets from him. He's taught me a lot and I will always love him.

Kenny might put it like this...

"I've been nigga rich and street poor.
Been up 'n down the east coast with
Ebony Fashion Flair cosmetics
and lived in the most
bourgie condominiums
and neighborhoods
in the District.of.Colum.bia....dahling...
I've scrounged trash cans for breakfast
and sucked dick to get me some lunch.
Don't get it twisted,babies,
I AM THE DUCHESS FOR REAL FO' REAL..."

Hint of Dreams

2006-07-06T13:29:00.000-04:00

Going to sleep at 2:44 and waking up at 7:45 doesn't cut it for this bod so I had to catch a nap early this afternoon. Woke up to the cell phone ringing and had to blink hard because I was still coming out of a most elaborate dream. Here's an idea of what my day's been like, thus far. It may be time to go back to M.A....

Upload videos at Bolt.

Hood Smoke

2006-07-04T23:37:00.000-04:00

I have been a DC resident for five years now, and today was the first time I ventured into the four hundred thousand plus crush to celebrate the fourth on the steps of the Capitol. My mother insisted that we take our visiting relatives to see the show. I was not excited about it, to tell the truth. It was brutally hot and humid and just so "touristy" for a girl who lived five minutes away from the Mall for years before moving to South East DC.

The show itself was your standard TV cheese, hosted by Jason "SERENITY NOW!" Alexander - who's version of Freedom Now started off like Kung Fu Fighting. Vanessa Williams started the show off with a lame Disney song and the drek continued into a completely vomitrocious version of some Sinatra standard performed by Michael Bolton. Ole Blue Eyes should haunt the guy for ejaculating all over his repetoire with his complete disregard for phrasing and nuance.

Elmo was cute and tried to cop free kisses from Vanessa which was very har-dee-har. Unfortunately he didn't suggest she return to modeling. Joe Dee Messina sang an ass kicking version of God Bless America which had my inner Simon Cowell's eyebrows raised in admiration. And then --- YAY! --- Stevie Wonder performed a quick medley of hits that had us all jamming until the break of fireworks over the Washington Monument. To finally see Mr. Wonder -- an American Treasure -- perform live, as we boogied on the steps of the Capitol, will now go down as one of the moments I felt most proud to be a citizen of this nation.

I came home on a, thankfully, tourist free green line, direction Branch Avenue. Thought I'd catch my usual bus home, but when I exited Anacostia station there were no buses. Cars clogged MLK Ave on both sides, which made it feel safe at the late hour, so I walked the fifteen minutes to my house.

Never in my life have I seen so many fireworks. Everywhere I looked there were explosions. Above my head red, gold, silver, white and blue bombs bursting in the blunt scented air. On the sidewalks children were playing with sparklers and lighting cans that would zzzzzzeeeeeeeeeoooop unexpectedly. The sirens of fire trucks, ambulances and police cruisers provided a cacophonous counterpoint to the boom boom boom.

At the corner of 13th and Good Hope, waiting for a green light to cross over to purchase smokes at the 24 hour night shop, a group of teenagers stood. One threw a sizzling stick onto the ground next to my feet and they all laughed to see me jump a good three feet back as it discharged, rolling into the gutter below. I turned with a Hey, Ya'll need to watch it with those firecrackers! only to look into the faces of about eight angry youths. And then the firefight broke out.

They started hurling firecracker missiles across Good Hope road, taunting and laughing at a group of youths who were hurling missiles back from the other side. These were low flying shhhhhhhhheeeeeuuuuu sounding, white hot flaming spears. And where was the Abundant One? Caught in the crossfire.

You can ask my beloved BVT who was on the phone with me through it all. For about two minutes I was hopping around, trying to get out of the way, facing the hyped crowd of teenage firecracker fighters who didn't even notice how terrified I was. All I could do was a slo-mo-skip- step-jump-back-duck-hop-cringe. And while this weird tableux was playing out I kept my new cell phone firmly planted on left ear and screeched babble.

Po-Po* came 'round the corner with full authority. The boys ran off into the alley behind the supermarket, so I crossed Good Hope road,ended my conversation and ran into the store to get a much needed cigarette.

Finishing my walk home I felt so ALIVE. The rockets glared, the bombs burst and the air of the 'hood hung heavy with curtains of dust and ash.

*police

Smoker's Lament

2006-07-04T12:09:00.000-04:00

I have told myself that I don't want a really "public" blog. That I won't spend my words on the little things of my life. That I will create "important" and "creative" posts. But when I sit down to blog nothing feels "important" or "creative" enough, so I've decided that rule will no longer apply. If "God is in the details" than my life is plenty full.

One of the most glaring details of my life would have to be my twenty year addiction to Marijuana. Over the past two years I've ebbed and flowed from Marijuana Anonymous meetings, a year and a half out of Marlboro Country into to days and nights in a THC "Euro-Joint" torpor hating myself, my life and my habit. My deepest wish is to slay the twin dragons of Nicotine and Marijuana, though I would be the first to defend my right to (legally) indulge and even admit that there have been many wonderful and insightful experiences in the smoking world.

The older I get the more it all just wears me out. The party music will be on and the skunk perfuming the air. Used to be that was all I needed to go into my creative space and come out with some wacky yet workable idea. More and more these days I find I'm passed out and useless to any of those "gifts".

I want to be firm in my belief that I can choose perfect health and right action. Now if only the world would stop pissing me off and stop giving me a reason for using.

Oops. Monkey Mind strikes again!

Soul Food

2006-07-01T22:00:00.000-04:00

Finally managed to get a meal in at Mama Coles Kitchen. The BBQ chicken wasn't bad for the east coast. We're not talking TX here, but still delicious with flavorful meat so tender it melts off the bone. Tomorrow I'm going to have Big Macaroni hips. Unfortunately my lover blew his knee out tonight at work so there's no one to appreciate that fact tonight.

Audio Blog #2:

2006-07-01T11:31:00.000-04:00

*Say Something
*More Ranting
*Absolute = Secret to life?

It's embarrassing to listen to your own voice.

Audio Blog #1

2006-07-01T11:27:00.000-04:00

Welcome
A personal sort of Bri'ish invasion
Absolutely hungover
Ends like Voicemail

Blood Surf and Poisoned Arrows

2006-06-30T01:42:00.000-04:00

Read more about Blood Surf, learn the theme song
and discover screenplay writer Roni Rokit here at Sorens Leap
The burn of getting cancelled from Smellrose Place has eased considerably in the past few weeks. I'm not consumed with anger towards V & K as before. Not that I've grown a silky pelt. Trust that there are a more than a few poison tipped verbal arrows ready to fly. But I don't have them cocked at the ready. Have stopped setting my sight on their targets.

Good to be here

2006-06-28T22:06:00.000-04:00

"They're coming to cut our cable off, Mama" Mingus told me. It was a mercifully sunny Wednesday morning and I was waking up after an evening writing my first HTML/CSS codes which was very exciting (she's an uber geek! uber geek!). The knocking forced me to own the humiliation of the scene: I don't have the money to pay Comcast right now. Not at my current caloric intake.

I sat down at my desk and pretended not to watch the lime green lights of the cable modem. Mingus was bouncing around in the living room, watching outside of the far left window as the technician climbed the ladder to open the steel box that houses the building's fiber optics and began his search for our connection.

"It's going to be cut off right now." Mingus returned into my bedroom with a solemn realization that not only was the television gone, but now even his good luck forays into internet gaming were over until he moves to his Nani's next week.

Like that, the four lights blinked their last. We sighed. And sat. Five minutes later they returned, winking a furious "surf's up!" to computer addicted me!

We were overjoyed but quiet about it, scared that it was just a momentary cyber surge, about to end once the little man on the ladder discovered his error.

But, no. Walking into the living room, trying to be as nonchalant as we could, we saw his ladder still propped against the brick of our building. He was one of four men standing in a huddle in our front yard who soon carried the ladder back to a gray van, fixed it on the roof and drove off.

deep.dark.disco

2006-06-28T02:26:00.000-04:00

Today I listened to the rough mixes of this album I've been working on with Fox since 2002. Since 1992 I've been working with Fox and collectively we've been calling ourselves Foxline Productions since Live, Nude & Uncensored first started broadcasting on Radio Panik in Brussels. The record's called deep.dark.disco and it's going to get a lot of asses shaking if we ever release it.

We keep getting together for a few months of each year, writing music & lyrics and recording hot vocals and then saying goodbye to one another at Dulles Airport. Lucky Fox, he gets to stay in Europe with the rest of the gang while I deal with the condom slick streets of SE.

I'm the one who invested almost $10K in equipment, not to mention a $30K loan to attend audio engineering school (which I'm about to resume in two weeks!). But I'm not the one to get to work mixing my own shit. I'd rather blog, snap photos, photoshop, learn HTML and CSS - especially these days. Something about it just isn't the same without Fox by my side....

Jane Power!

2006-06-26T20:24:00.000-04:00

Jane arrived and it was pelting rain just like that morning last November when she left my house for Houston. She looks strong. Knowing. Filled out and up with some kind of new Jane power. She's found those bits of iron within that - I've heard told - put together form a strong spike. She's leaning on it though she continues to doubt herself - which I'ma help break her of !

Forecasht

2006-06-21T16:39:00.000-04:00

Today is the first day of the rest of my life as Codename: Money Magnet! I am forecashting rich precipitation for the next season. A deluge of opportunities that will fertilize long dormant financial fields. Substantial clearing of debt clouds giving way to near perfect money conditions!

Abra in Anacostia

2006-06-20T21:00:00.000-04:00

Behold Abra, 85lbs of sinewy Artic Wolf. Warren's 1982 RV pulled up exactly at his announced noon arrival. Abra bounded into our house full of wild, nobel confidence and instantly began an amusing game of intimidation with Badness and Mr. Blake, who had the verve to scratch him on the nose. Abra just growl-talked in a deep, lupine basso as if to say "you're less than rarebit on a ritz".

Around 5:30 we all decided to remedy the beverage situation by walking to Tony's Country Market on the corner of U & 16th. Everyone was out on the block this evening, soaking in the summer weather, detailing cars, hustling and gossiping. Abra's presence brought instant reactions from the people we passed. " 'zat a Wolf, Main?" and Warren would introduce them to Abra. Some children at the house where that young man was murdered in March were bold enough to pet him, though a young g let us know to hold the dog back.

Mixed Tears

2006-06-17T14:12:00.000-04:00

3AM and I'm compiling the official soundtrack to this emotional breakdown. Headphones strapped on my head, music blaring, singing at the top of my lungs with tears streaming down my face and it all feels terribly good.

Maybe I am -- as Alex suggests -- bipolar. My capacity for great joy and deep sorrow seems to be a whole lot more more more than most of the people I know. On the other hand, after much reflection I am realizing I don't know anyone in the immediate area very well, so maybe that's just not true.

I miss my old friends. In particular I wish The Ladies of The Home For Wayward Girls could convene round yon stained brown fold out table in NW once again. Maybe I should call G. Nah, it was as one way a street as my relationship with W in terms of being listened to. And I need to be heard. I long to be heard.

Song Instead of a Kiss
Allanah Myles
Be Without You
Mary J. Blige
So Broken
Bjork
The Chain
Fleetwood Mac
Bring Me Some Water
Melissa Etheridge
Night Moves
Bob Seger
Never There
Cake
Karma
Alicia Keys
Obsession
Army of Lovers
Kissed by a Rose
Seal
Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely
Backstreet Boys
We Belong Together
Mariah Carey
Time After Time
Tuck & Patti
Last Goodbye
Jeff Buckley
Weak
Skunk Anansie
Make Me Smile (come up and see me)
Duran Duran
Since U Been Gone
Kelly Clarkson
Seasons of Love
Rent (original Broadway soundtrack)
Moments of Pleasure
Kate Bush

A chicken pot pie to soothe a troubled soul.

Wabi Sabi

2006-06-16T20:00:00.000-04:00

When I was 19 I couldn't stop staring at myself in the mirror. It was like I had discovered another country and wanted to immerse myself in it's culture full time. One night, driving through Brussels in the passenger seat of my mother's Nissan, I was lovingly gazing at my reflection in the window and was embarrassed out of my reverie to see a man in the car next to ours mimicking me.

The Japanese have a concept called wabi sabi, the recognition that beauty is ever changing and incomplete. It's been a long time since I've adored my own reflection. There isn't even a full length mirror in my apartment. My hair is graying and there are more lines on my forehead when I laugh - which is a lot. And little tiny crows feet spreading from the sides of my usually squinting eyes.

But my son tells me everyone at school thinks I'm his older sister. Which puffs me up for the short minute it takes me to realize we live in a community where there are a lot of grandmothers the same age as me.

Pagan

2006-06-15T17:54:00.000-04:00

If I had to explain my "type" it would be this: good looking men who love to draw. I married one (not pictured)...Actually I'm still married to one (that's another blog or perhaps a visit to the court). And the Pagan pictured above grafiteed his name all over my heart. When we were good no one had ever made me laugh so much. He has this really banal, earthy humor that isn't my usual cuppa but he tickled my funny bone with it. His talent is languishing under his insecurity and neglect, but that's not something I can help him with which is a damn shame because - as the list of my talented men goes - this one has a very keen eye. Beyond the Brooklyn bravado lies a gentle soul. And, like every Pisces I've loved before, he stole my heart and left me broken.

Yucky Leaf

2006-06-15T17:22:00.000-04:00

My son found this leaf on the sidewalk at the corner of 18th and V. We were surprised to find that none of the trees on the street had similar leaves. Could this be a bad case of tree acne? Arbo-leprosy? We both agreed, it was yuck. Mingus couldn't help but squish the poor thing underfoot when I had finished taking the photos. No juicy squirts, just green paste. Blech. If anyone knows what kind of leaf this is, please email me.

First Day of Summer

2006-06-14T17:29:00.000-04:00

My son has graduated from the 3rd grade which means today -- rainy, grey and chilly --- is the first day of summer.

I picked him up from school a little earlier than he expected me to because I wanted to see his class together for the last time, thank his teacher, etc., We ended up walking back home --- takes about an hour -- and he asked me to tell him stories about when I was in elementary school.

It was a nice way to start off the vacation. Naturally, when we arrived home and he realized the television was still on the fritz he complained of being "bored".

If you want to check out another interesting blogger, who happens to have been my best friend in the fifth grade (American International School, Dacca, Bangladesh), check out chartreuse velour's Lengths of Comfy Verdure in the side bar. She inspired me to get into this bloggin' game.

2006-06-13T05:35:00.000-04:00

His Secret Charms

2006-06-13T05:11:00.000-04:00

Kisses Xmas Star Wars Special Telephone
Ecstasy Late Nights Brand New Tricks &
Midnight Songs Cookie Pie Love Shower

Hedgehog

2006-06-13T05:06:00.000-04:00

I was a ferocious little hedgehog. Always trying to get near to him only to have to resort to needle bristling tactics. Took every phone call. Schemed every scheme.

The Goddess of Love

2006-06-13T00:24:00.000-04:00

The Goddess of Love = I came to chip away your heart of stone / I rang your doorbell but you weren't home / So If you're waiting for my next attack / you best surrender there's no holdin' back / No...Whoa....The Goddess of Love / I've waited patiently and taught you well / But still you choose to live in Hell / Don't break your head / The answers free / I'll help you navigate this mystery / Just take my hand / No....Whoa...The Goddess of Love / The demon's a whisper / And dragons are harmless / Your chariot's waiting / To take you to places / Imagined in your dreams / So Breathe...Harder / Just forget about all the times you cried / It's no use / Your future looks bright / Compassion Smashin' up against your walls / And you must heed the loving call / Bow Down Before The Goddess of Love! / Don't break your head / The answers are free, so free / A stone heart / Can be released / Just Bow Down to Me / Cos I can chip away your stone / Love Takes You To Places Imagined In Your Dreams..... (c 2006)

Yes, Iron Maiden fans, this is a club, dance version of Maiden's The Trouper. I've changed most of the verses and added my own melody to the bridges, but the "Whoa" and the first two lines are my bow to Bruce Dickinson's vocal magnitude! I haven't recorded the vocals yet, but I'll add a link to my website once I do.

The Seer

2006-06-10T23:30:00.000-04:00

The child saw everything. W used to tell me
all the time that he was "concerned about the boy". That
boy whose name he always seemed to forget.

Are you picking up your son? Is your kid with you this
weekend?

At the beginning he was playful and interested in my son's
games and questions. Hindsight kicks abundant ass.
I'll now face it: once W had Ma spread like sweet creamery butter
he didn't need to do the I'm practically a kid myself!
routine anymore.

Moral of this blog?
If I have to separate my family life from the man I share
my body and soul with I AM WITH THE WRONG MAN.

Just A Girl In A Haunted House

2006-06-10T09:36:00.000-04:00

She entered the house of love so naively...

I walked into his haunted house knowing damn well there were demons in residence. They had pretty recognizable names, too. Coe Kaine; Lyor; N. Fidel; Byce Exuel. Foolish foolish creature didn't realize the flowers were covering up the rotten stench.

Next Time I'll Wear A Mylar Sleeve

2006-06-10T08:32:00.000-04:00

Paris called at 12:14AM.

I'ma have to show you how hide that shit, girl. Don't you know most muthafuckahs couldn't draw a heart even if you gave 'em a piece of paper, a pen and a $50 check? Keep your head up and I'll holla at you tomorrow.

They say fools rush in. What I want to know is how they knew me in the first place. Why didn't they pay me a visit, sit me down, offer me a cuppa tea and then proceed to hammer it into my tender skull with blunt force? They seem to have an aerial view of the love terrain. Couldn't they throw down a phamplet or two to help this straggler out of the wilderness?

Murder on V Street

2006-03-29T16:46:00.000-05:00

Death arrived at 4:45 this AM.

Last night I put myself to bed early and slept deeply, too deep to hear the pop-pop-pop of the shots that killed the 25 year old man as he ran in terror onto the stoop of his Baby Momma's house, at the intersection of V & 18th street SE.

His blood is still caked thick on the three cement steps outside of the house where he was murdered. About an hour ago the lady at the laundramat told me "they tore the meat out his head with the first two shots, and prolly a good thing he didn't make it in that building 'cos his girlfriend and his son would've been kill't too."

The front door is covered in ragged police tape and some sort of black powder next to the large brown stains of blood....meat?

It is the closest we've had to a real spring day in the District. Blue skies with just a mild chill of winter left in the breeze. He had just been released from jail last Wednesday, she told me. Had just called his brother and asked for "an application". Apparantly he wasn't any kind of major hustla, just as wrapped up in The Game as any young brotha in these parts may be. Just got out of jail a little while ago. "I don't judge these kids", she said, folding towels for drop service customers. He had no car. "Still on the bus", was how she put it "Nice boy. A little fat. No trouble at all..."

She warned me to keep my mouth shut and keep walking. "Tinted windows? Bad news. And when I sees 'em, I get the fuck away."

On the corner of 16th and V, (see pic of abandoned house below), near the sign where the B2 stops to take passengers up to Minnesota Ave and beyond, folks were huddling and pointing up the street. The set that works the corner right near my house were in a deep cipher, none of the usual "How ya doin' green eyes?" today. They were smoking blunts in front of a black sedan, pumping Tupac's "It Ain't Easy", keeping vigil across the street from the killing spot. CRIME SCENE tape flapped limply from an overstuffed trash can that will not be picked up any time soon.

Three cars with tinted windows did a slow roll by the house. I kept my head down and walked up the hill dragging my suitcase of fresh laundry. Got home, unpacked my sons grey uniform pants and began to cry.

Anacostia - or - Paradise?

2005-08-22T08:37:00.000-04:00

It is ridiculous to take the time to set up a blog and then leave it for almost two months. I had even forgotten where this spot was! My friend sent me a link to her blog spot (which you must check out as soon as I learn how to link and all of that good stuff) and it got me inspired to try this again. Better than running around suffering from mental constipation...going to sleep with the "why didn't I create something today" voices on top. We've recently returned from the beautiful Bahamas, so it's hard for me to get excited about my evolution in this emerging shit hole called South East DC. That was bitter and rude and my mother will definitely be telling me to be careful what I write because a blog is public record and language like that is never acceptable...but she lives in Reston, VA...home of the scented toilet paper and drug store clerks with Botox smiles. It's summertime in the 'hood and the trash is stank. So there.

Bon Jour Blog Babies!

2005-06-29T08:21:00.000-04:00

You've just stepped into Anacostia, so be thanking goodness that it's virtual and you don't find yourself alone on Good Hope road without a clue.

That's where I come in, at the ready to assist you as you assist me in unravelling this complex mystery of how and why it all came to be. You and me here, that is.

They tell me Anacostia's an emerging neighborhood. That there are "police on the streets night and day". And that the addicts at Buckmon House (next door) are harmless. Sounds good to me. See, I'm emerging, too. And now that my divorce from the Marlboro Man is finalized -- it's been one year -- and I finally got rid of Mickey Joe (well I couldn't rightly say I'd "broken up with Mary Jane" could I?) -- I wouldn't feel comfortable judging. Or am I being careful? A little too eager to fit in?

I don't know what they mean by emerging. From the looks of things the buildings are almost all Post War structures. We are currently shacking up in a brick house, with white shutters, on the edge of Fort Stanton Park. The little row of houses on the adjoining street are all two story wood affairs. So aged the peeling paint is drips pure lead.

I want to know how a neighborhood that's over one hundred years old is all of a sudden emerging. More than that, I need to share how I came to this place, at a time in my life when the fires out, the emergencies are over, the troops have gone home and there ain't nothing left but ants on the picnic carrion of my life.

Like I said before, gentle reader, you're assisting me as I assist you in the unravelling and...fuck the five dollar words. And the euphemisms. And the careful tip-toe of racially hyper aware Ameri-speak. I moved to Anacostia because the rent was cheaper than any other in the entire DC area. And now it's "emerging"....into what? I am part of that "emergence". Wow. Lucky for me. Or, lucky for me?

Closer, please. Use that cy-birds eye view....

An Abundant Creature but you wouldn't know it by the balance on my ACE check cashing card. That is to say, there aren't any savings, and pay day is always a brief, flush moment followed by a full belly and a "now what?". I am raising a boy child alone. Been around the world and I-I-I...well, I GOT a baby. Hmmm...not so different from the other peely paint places, is it?

Abundant. The landlady hasn't wired this new building for land line phone service, but the comcast cable is working swell enough to start a blog and there's always Voice IP telephony to investigate. Been around the world and I-I-I...well, I may not be similar to the neighbors in that respect. But trust, when the comcast bill arrives, I will be sweating!

Here I am, on the tip of the "emerging" spear, like a rat tempted by the cheese of free rent, unaware that the cobra's frozen, open mouthed before her. "Test it out, and maybe we'll buy once the carpetbaggers have sold their properties to the conglomerates". Or maybe, "thanks for that, sucker, but we'll pass".

How will history emerge for Anacostia and her Abundant Creature?


	Thomas Barkley: anything from DIOR... I'm just not skinny enough!


	Warren Woods: A flaming Village people costume, assless chaps, a dress, leotards uhhhh anything remotely gay! silly question almost a no brainer! but i would wear a speedo and run through central park singing liza minelli songs, lol