Friday, September 26, 2014

the blues, somewhat...

sometimes i feel like i doh write enough here again, just archive, but is partly that all my writing energy is elsewhere, which is good for the script so cyah be bad, and then tings changing so radically so much lately i always feel like i coming off the back foot, playing catch-up but never quite getting there. but archiving in the interim keeps me coming back so i doh forget this space and it here+alive when i have more headspace to explore...which sooncome, and this time for real because, among other tings, i eh making that movie again. other changes i eh know how to talk about yet, so later for that. writing or no writing, archiving always on.
this might be the mishiest mash i make thus far. my mind is far from itself and too buried in turning in on itself at the same time, thoughts very disparate. or maybe no more so than usual but i just feel that way...either way, tabs must close...starting with something visual, beautifully creepy post-it art.
these "moroccan hipsters" have something of carnival in them, for me, which i very enjoy.
this was an unexpectedly great read, and i eh want to say anyting else about it so you can fully enjoy this guy walks into a bar...
oh! visual again. knowing little to nothing of the fashion world, i had no idea gareth pugh existed until hackett[sidebar] posted images of august2014 collection; go look.
this video i been unsure about posting because i doh actually like the song. the video imagery+concept and treatment of concept, addressing the male gaze, are what i cyah stop looking at, but i am also aware that what i dislike[un-enjoy] about the song itself is part of her point, like her repeating the n-word [felt very prudish typing "the n-word", way more than my regular non-usage of the word feels] to the extent and in the way that she does; all that posturing is part of the shade she throwing, no? so i hadda respect it, and thus, in what feels like a weird 1st, i give you a nicki minaj video...

and i have the absolute perfect palate cleanser; marvin gaye's vocal is gorgeous a capella and the charming performance was bonus after going in expecting just audio...

and this. ooohhh yesss...petite mort indeed...

walk good.

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Wednesday, August 20, 2014

remotivating

is a good ting i finally decide to personal-archive here; still-open tabs force me to find words to string them together so i can close+declutter which jumpstarts the brain and allows me room to recapture maximum productivity...or something like that...point is, i here, with ting to share, and thus a few steps closer to finished proposal elsewhere...
figure i should start with this for posterity, press on the flick i playing lead in; me looking like a real girl...
and in much bigger film news, in the wake of one of my favourites, because it's lovely even if it sad and because robin williams himself woulda appreciate that...
and speaking of appreciating, sometimes it too easy to take the gorgeousness of places like maracas for granted here in sweet trini, but just look...
and in other amazingness not to be taken for granted, the speed of darkness, faster than the speed of light...
and more on the scientific tip: gardener's cheat-sheet! yay!
eh sure how "scientific" this one is, but it sound good enough to look into it later; wha's not to like about marijuana, lubrication and 15minute climaxes, ent? especially when it all seem to be geared towards primarily pleasuring somebody besides dudes 18-35, for a change...
and speaking of advertising's favourite demographic, as somebody opposed to censorship on principle but acutely aware of the reality of today's global society and how it treats women, this 5minutes is one of the best breakdowns i found of much-muddled+misused arguments:

asap science; charmingly tackling the mysteries of the universe while breaking gender- and family-orientation stereotypes, promoting inclusion+accessibility, battling sexism+homophobia and providing alternative role models and visions of a more equal future, 2gay science-nerds point out that being compared to women is a completely ineffectual dis because "women are fucking amazing and they are changing the world around us":

and definitely not least (i just like to try to end fun) this too well-done to not share:

walk good.

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Saturday, August 02, 2014

archive-heavy

this machine giving trouble since it reach. it was a welcome and much-needed stopgap when it happen but it was clearly never up to the task. so this post purely making up for time lost to the ghost in my machine, in no particular order but might as well start with words that made me remember how+why i loved someone, once...
Persephone Writes to Her Mother:
Mother, he is a gentleman.
He is a builder with bricks of moonlight.
He knows the secret places of the earth.
He washes the sleep from the eyes of the souls.
He lets them look on beauty.
He lets them tell him they hate him.
In the mornings, I gather berries and apples.
I scrub his back with rind.
I weave spider-spit, eyelash.
He talks in his sleep 'pudding', 'fire', 'discus',
the things he misses.
He breathes, 'Your body is my orchard.'
I am undulating grass.
I am a field of wheat he parts with his fingers.
Poppies bloom in my veins.
When he kisses me, he tastes pomegranate.
The night crawls nearer.
The moans of the dead roll and swell.

Mother, we are well.
Tara Mae Mulroy.
another something i love, baseball is most decidedly not, so i eh even know this dude existed before now, but i hadda love prince fielder (and what a name for a baseball player!) and his naked espn cover, sexy no matter how the haters doh/rate his body type.
of everyting i read about how modern technology has changed human behaviour/interactions, this restaurant surveillance investigation is one of the most clear+concrete illustrations of increasing obnoxiousness...
and speaking of eating, major excitement; linkage for future reference: the rotimatic!
and even more food-wonder, gorgeous gothic cakes, and because, things of beauty, right; doors to corners of my soul needs must open into rooms made of art, no?
and in another special corner of my soul, the alot. and this next i was debating, but as we talking language, a buncha knowledge about english could pass in the rush...
a few loosely related pieces, each of the 1st 2 written by the kind of sex-positive parent that gives me hope, then a grim reminder of the rape[culture] victims we doh hear about, plus hate-that-it-necessary-but-guess-i-glad-it-exists, both anti-rape jeans and a gentleman's guide to rape culture now on offer...
and in other scary news, this abu bakr interview:

but because i cyah go out on a negative, this tree bears 40types of fruit and the 1st man-made leaf turns light+water into oxygen and ugly fruits+vegetables win! plus, m.anifest:

walk good.

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Monday, June 16, 2014

keeping quiet. ish.

this is more about clearing tabs+space than being ready to write for real; i never can, when i still in it, only after i survive it, and i sure i say that here before too because i know it long time and it hadda come up before now, life happening the way it does. otherwise, i in 3sets of rehearsals plus lilliput and psychotherapy gigs still happening weekly and cumuto monthly, and all the work i putting in there i know is strong and everybody i wukkin with/for happy with what i doing. [oh, 3setta rehearsals, big tings a gwan: lead in a movie shooting in july, this love; a trinbagonian love story, performing with sonja/continuum monthend, and learning masses of choreo with rep (astor johnson repertory dance theatre)] but cyah seem to write, or do any of the other work on my plate though, even though everytime i find myself immovable, head swirling with too much tings, i also thinking about the work i not doing, constantly, i just cyah seem to make my body make the motions of doing it...anyway, done tha' talk.
this rolling impossibility pleases me too much to not archive.
and this recommendation from a favourite writer, teju cole [sidebar]: "few write about writing as joyously as kathryn schulz does. you want to read what she reads and like what she likes." compelled me to read this long, gorgeous review of geoff dyer (which you must read all the way to the end to fully appreciate her masterfulness) which totally did make me want to read him, and more of her, plus gave me hope for my own wordswork actually having+finding an audience. glorious. read all.
and as we reading, cool little study on hiphoppers' vocabularies...
and further proof that the human body is an extraordinary machine.
and proof that you only need a sentence or 2 for a good scary story, although i'd edit that particular one to: "there's nothing like the laughter of a baby, especially if it's 1am and you're home alone..."
rodell warner [sidebar] introduced me to francoise gammas'work and you just hadda experience this piece of art...
plus these other intriguing developments: a possible hidden ocean in the earth's core, and the world's largest solar plant starting operations in major renewable energy and unexpected beautifulness...
more serious note, this piece on the complexities of attention through the lens of bringbackourgirls worth a read+think.
still serious but a lighter approach; louis ck making me love his feminist self even more:

ending on a positive[?] note to self: see this.

walk good.

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Tuesday, April 29, 2014

come down in time

watching weather change over diego martin hills, gorgeous view traded for the one i left behind in st.james. on the bench, gentle, tiny raindrops in eyelashes, wetting cheeks+forehead, heralding what the sky promises will be epic. clouds gathered for their regular afternoon meeting, early stages of the rainyseason, soon this will be a daily deluge.
rain outs my smoke, is time. lingering glances back as i make my way inside. some days i stay, sit in the downpour, let it wash over me, wash away the thoughts i cannot control as well as i'd like, wash away regret, doubt, anxious insecurity, wash me clean, at least for a little while...
and in the interest of clearing space (how does a person so averse to clutter constantly amass so much of it, mental and otherwise?) lemme unload my brain...
if/when i finally get my shit together enough to think about my future, i think i need an earthship-home. valhalla movement still new to me, but i cyah argue with beautiful+sustainable living...
along related lines, i saying since my 1st mobile phone that we need to be able to build custom phones and only pay for the features we actually want, and it looking like we might be getting there; meanwhile, this dude shows how easily it can be done already, building his own smartphone using only off-the-shelf components.
and now for something completely different, complete switch, music+video because i finally check out stromae and he too good; take in some amazingness: papaoutai

and tous les memes.
and bonus, another someting cool, but totally different again; alt-j's fitzpleasure.

walk good.
ps: ooohhh and this gorgeousness; neil patrick harris as hedwig, officially the only other time i wanted to be back in the usa (the 1st time being fela on broadway)...

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Friday, April 18, 2014

quickie; 3fer

big tings a gwan: in this universe, nasa find the 1st earth-size planet in the "habitable zone" of another star; in our neighbourhood, haitians locally manufacturing their own low-cost tablets, each one handmade by the same woman start to finish; and sweetness from home, a kinna 2fer inside the 3fer, 1st link primarily for audio but with its video of band playing it live@panorama, and if that eh visuals enough, 2nd link is audioless footage of port of spain, trinidad 1970-79, shorter than the 1st so you can watch both while the steelband play...
love this pan tune, posted a medium band beating it the other day, plus i's a [amoco!]renegades fan through the parents and uncle desi since childhood; check them playing de fosto's in de minor:  
port of spain, 1970-79, no audio, real vibes but didn' see my parents though, rats...  
walk good.

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Tuesday, April 15, 2014

words+meanings

tonight she awaits the moon. lighting one smoke after the next while a single block of ice melts slowly into the rum. staring up+out at the night, into her darkest corners, under her blanket of quiet shrouding the world. only cocquis+crickets, not a car, not a footstep, and the streetlight out weeks now. she sits on the gallery step because it keeps her low enough to be out of sight if anybody should happen down the lane, but she expects no one. not coming this way, this lane, this hour. she is, as ever, alone with her voices, her demons, awaiting the pale gleam that is her only company anymore. sunlight feels like acid on papery skin after too many years hiding.
tonight she awaits the moon. watching smoke curl up and dissipate slowly, one small cloud at a time taken by the breeze she wished for earlier the day, she wonders if this is why the universe must keep expanding, to accommodate spirits like hers that never leave. she wonders if the added weight of them all (because in a world of 6billion she cannot possibly be alone, no matter how it feels) will grow too heavy, overtax the expanding universe and cause the whole of time+space to collapse...the soul that break the continuum's back?
tonight she awaits the moon, craving the caress of soft light on her face, the closest thing to touch in her life anymore. she tries to recall a lover, any lover, before the night became her only friend but they all seem too far away now, too far gone, too far in the past, too far...
tonight she awaits the moon because only the company of timelessness makes her feel less alone...

tha's where my head at; these links went into those [excerpted]words and the script they part of, so, archive-time:
it was only on reading this that i realise i grow up and come through primary school instinctively assuming a multiverse, tha's just what made sense in my mind, and only in reading fiction i came to understand it wasn't (then) popular theory (not that that stopped me believing)...next realisation was that for such a realist and one so very real i engage a lot of un-real/theory because for me real still mean anyting possible...ent? implications of the "many worlds interpretation"; keep it real.
and words, gorgeous words, a hunger like none since from teju cole's every day is for the thief is beautiful reading and a good jumpstart on slow writing days; he's make me wanna do it jes so...
plus i randomly find this sweet infographic for all shakespeare's deaths, love eeet, only to discover is my gyul cam magee ting; bes'!
and while film might not be my primary medium this particular one (and its amazing andre tanker soundtrack) always had+have something for me so i revisit often; recently find this piece of context for 1974's bim.
and as we reach film territory, this skrillex video gimme plenty to watch; mash up the dance: and the shortest film ever nominated for an oscar just remind me to take nothing for granted...

and bonus, because i love the idea, and the visuals pretty fucking cool, nigeria's floating school...
walk good.

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Friday, April 04, 2014

bubble gyal a bubble...

so is not even that i love this track so hard, and i definitely wish the dancers were more representative of we who make this kinna music+movement, but i like that all the steps named in realtime, so dancehall archive win...  
walk good.

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Monday, March 31, 2014

longing for a life of more acting less drama

i wait...
wait.
wait.
i wait minutes, hours, days, a week passes, and i wait.
i wait, calmly at first, anxiety increasing with each day gone, then each hour, then every minute. i wait anxiously, breathlessly, hopefully, hopelessly, tearfully, lifelessly, energy drained by emptiness+loss, rekindled momentarily each time the phone rings, dashed when it isn't the call i await. when will it come?
he must come, promised to come...my lifeline, mental connection that feels arterial, plugging me into the matrix, opening the whole world to my touch...pick up the phone for the millionth time, fully knowing the ringer on but checking because i must pass the interminable wait, scrolling through items i haven't responded to because i too distracted by waiting, watching, listening, perking, boiling over in waves of rage, where is he?! calm after the storm, realisation of reality and the futility of frustration, acceptance of inevitability, he coming when he come no matter what i want or how i wait...then slowly anxiety builds and the cycle begins again...the wait wears on, wears me down, depression threatens, i begin to despair, and then finally, the call...
never so elated to hear from a stranger as when the tstt internet technician ring to say he need directions...
technician reach and i make it clear we have no internet access a week+ now and tstt play the arse about fixing it so we vex for days, then me+ma ole talk like our usual selves. as he leaving he say he find i familiar so i say i sometimes perform and was onstage a lot this carnival and maybe tha's why; he bawl "...performer, an actor, tha's why! the whole time there with allyuh i feel like i was in a play, for real..."
he leave and 10minutes later phone ring; after a whole week+ of them not organising a bloody technician, me near tearing out locks on the phone with them daily, learning their blasted hold-music by heart, now all of a sudden a 2nd technician wanna come fix our box today too!
seriously though, the lack of internet was killing me, right at the time i was intending to bury myself in work+script, much of which requires access; of course i thought of multiple posts that i already overs and cyah be bothered writing again but was totally frustrated at my inability to at the time...at least i get some "real writing" done; a little script progress for the 1st time since fred dead, thanking the universe for that small mercy...no-internet also right as i was about to link up so i could close tabs, because the canalshow+jouvay were amazing and consuming my entire being and my postcarnival equally so, so now the inevitable backlog+clutter must go, so look ting:
love these creatures of adland...
and this letter from giles coren to the times sub-editors not just a brilliant+hilarious read, but sweet peek at the level of detail the writer's mind works at, knowing many will miss most of it...
and super-cool photoset of the motorbike girl gangs of morocco.
and images of the sexiest works of art...
and you need to listen to this piece of genius@work; beat it demo with michael using his voice for all the instrumental work.
this track i loving to tears right now, and very like the video too; get free by major lazer featuring amber of the dirty projectors: 
and these excerpts of wayne mcgregor's chroma choreo are lovely, and gorgeously executed (as always) by ailey dancers:
Wayne McGregor's CHROMA from Alvin Ailey on Vimeo.
and yuh best had mark this work... 
walk good.
ps: almost forget, thought this article a worthwhile contribution to the dialogue on hashtag activism...

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Tuesday, February 25, 2014

tabs like peas...sociopolitics+art.

when i 1st saw this i liked it, but is eat plenty vertical space and i had no valid reason to repost, other than my liking it. since these days i accept my inner archivist and choose to make it work for me by sometimes posting random things for my reference, i reposting "two cows", plus some other tabs been sitting, waiting...
TWO COWS ~{Matthias Varga}
SOCIALISM You have 2 cows. You give one to your neighbour.
COMMUNISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both and gives you some milk.
FASCISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both and sells you some milk.
NAZISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both and shoots you.
BUREAUCRATISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both, shoots one, milks the other, and then throws the milk away.
TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.
ROYAL BANK OF SCOTLAND (VENTURE) CAPITALISM You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island Company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. You sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States , leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release. The public then buys your bull.
SURREALISM You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.
AMERICAN CORPORATION You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. Later, you hire a consultant to analyse why the cow has dropped dead.
GREEK CORPORATION You have two cows. You borrow lots of euros to build barns, milking sheds, hay stores, feed sheds, dairies, cold stores, abattoir, cheese unit and packing sheds. You still only have two cows.
FRENCH CORPORATION You have two cows. You go on strike, organise a riot, and block the roads, because you want three cows.
JAPANESE CORPORATION You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. You then create a clever cow cartoon image called a Cowkimona and market it worldwide.
ITALIAN CORPORATION You have two cows, but you don't know where they are. You decide to have lunch.
SWISS CORPORATION You have 5000 cows. None of them belong to you. You charge the owners for storing them.
CHINESE CORPORATION You have two cows. You have 300 people milking them. You claim that you have full employment, and high bovine productivity. You arrest the newsman who reported the real situation.
INDIAN CORPORATION You have two cows. You worship them.
BRITISH CORPORATION You have two cows. Both are mad.
IRAQI CORPORATION Everyone thinks you have lots of cows. You tell them that you have none. No-one believes you, so they bomb the ** out of you and invade your country. You still have no cows, but at least you are now a Democracy.
AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION You have two cows. Business seems pretty good. You close the office and go for a few beers to celebrate.
NEW ZEALAND CORPORATION You have two cows. The one on the left looks very attractive...
talking 'bout politics+corporations, sunity, as always, have bes' words about the situation in sweet t+t. and before we abandon politics, i fully admit i eh know anyting else about the dude, but i cyah help but like this apparently smart+funny canadian politician after reading his tweets...
no connection other than my interest, so no segue: this article delivered more real truth than expected (although i eh sure about use of the word "trained" in title) and i appreciated the honesty, especially as he had to know many would take it as making excuses, rather than an attempt to explain so we can move to suit...5ways modern men are trained to hate women.
i keep art linkage for last so i doh end on a downer: because wasa always digging up the road, potholes, reenvisioned; and because apparently german groceries mash up the dance and we all clearly need to shop there...
and who else mash up the dance? them dancer boys in mayaro the band's short-dhoti song video (which, if you know anyting about life in trini, also provides serious social commentary)

this is just audio and i eh no expert to critique how they beat, but i enjoy the music/arrangement enough to wanna be able to find it again: st.margaret's superstars, panorama2014 semis, medium band playing de fosto's in de minor, arranged by shenelle abraham 
and as that had no visual, and is carnival, take a lagniappe: me eh know if it real or set up and me eh care; enough of them look jokey enough to make me laugh, so right now these haunted house photos could share...
real words sooncome...walk good.

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Sunday, February 16, 2014

life go in every direction except rewind

hear nah, mos def yasin bey so good i cyah delete the doubling and sometimes tripling of his albums in my player because when i search him and just play all, i fucking love when just as i get sad, like the final sentences of an amazing read, because a bes' track finish, the fucking track come again!
noted [only] those words days ago because the thought came when that was all i could spare time for. i return now, days later remembering gist only, start reading+remembering+enjoying, then sight of the last (forgotten) words unexpectedly snaps my brain to: i wish fred could come again...
and the black hole threatens to swallow me, engulf my need to write, to speak in the moment, instead of so long after that i struggle to remember and anxiously doubt my accuracy, veracity; i want to at least know+intend when fictionalising...

walk good.

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Sunday, February 09, 2014

word/love

sometimes i read others' words that make me want to use them, appropriate them, because they fit me so right...recent spoils include someting to the effect of "...i’ll fuck you with questions until you cum with answers..." and wherever i read the original wordage, it was all i read on the page so i cyah say no more about it, except that line jump out at my eye+mind and make me feel to wash foot and jump in 1time; had to run with it for a minute, trying to express someting i try telling before, seemingly in vain; hopefully this help me say it so the harden understand...
i's a truthsayer. lie slayer. the 1ting i demand, non-negotiable, is complete honesty. i’ll fuck you with questions until you cum with answers you eh know you have. and if i choose you, make the most of your good fortune; let me consume you, swallow you, whole, cock+mind. doh 'fraid. a muse this powerful, worth losing yourself to, for what she make you make better...
with that off my chest, related news: for 3canal carnival show2014 grimeee not only will i get my own bamsee-spotlight to perform to my absolute favourite canals-tune, ah love it (ah love it, ah love it), i also get to perform roger bonair-agard's chantuel hymns from his tarnish and masquerade, and lemme tell you, is panties, 1time; this fucking poem so good it make me wanna write a poem about how fucking good this poem is; even delivering at a whisper bring me to tears+winery; still jealous i eh write these words meself. i admit this may not be full[y]/accurate txt because i sadly doh own a copy of this collection, just read it years ago and right now working from a show script, but it too brilliant to not share whaever i have of it...enjoy.

i lost my virginity   to calypso
to the songs of slaves
the ghost of souls
that disappear with language lost
my grandfather's french-african patois
never sang to me

except through these songs - l'overture's dream
rhyming its way hard through steelband
and the repartee of african ballad
griot story made freedom song
my waist learned to move
with the whip   with the song   with the prayer
with the silent acquiescence of my grandfather's tongue
phasing out his own creole
for the victorian flourish of his father's hand
through the ghost of a language lost
i learned the stroke of a sweet fuck
a soul taking up residence in music
surviving life as a squatter in redeemed people's songs

i lost my virginity
to the echo and the crackle of the cane brulee
first declaration of emancipation
bacchanalian festival
turned revolt turned african turned lost tongue
turned the still raging fire
hollowing out the soul of the oil drum
to revive africa as a stubborn tenant
in a european mask

we learned how to fuck like this
this 'sweet wine'
like surreptitious like uprising
like make more africans while massa sleep
make more drums to replace the ones banned
more tongues to sing the ones cut out
and made to drop useless
on the cocoa floor - the tongue
my grandfather replaced with the black foot dance
of the coffee bean
and the bois of the gayelle
and the future for his children
and the land that he left

this is how we learn to move
slow figure eight from waist down
put the heartbeat into the grind
and jouvert and dimanche gras
we learn to move like sand
shift like the chatter of forbidden tongues

or the movement of waistlines through impossible emotions
and remember these tongues

through steelpan and calypso
we learned to live
under the shadows
of our grandfather's tongues
in the middle of the night
in the stomp of the shango ritual
in the silence of ash wednesday
in the chaos of the savannah dust
in love and lust
and the eternal stroking of the hips
we learned to move
we learned to move
we learned to move
and still have the language to prove it.

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

incredible poetry. move(d) indeed. and yuh pretty fine with yuh words as well 'truthsayer'... thanks for sharing.

6:40 pm  
Blogger m.jamesphotography said...

I'm in awe..I always enjoy reading your blogs..thanks for sharing..it is always a treat

11:17 pm  

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Friday, February 07, 2014

end of an era

moving done. the st.james flat no longer mine, its murals sit unwatched or already painted over, i doh even know...nor do i particularly care, i find, surprised...been saying since they reach i cyah imagine giving them up, and when rent$ was nowhere in sight and i deeply reconsidered the financial counterintelligence i was engaging in to maintain that space i loved so, they were what stopped me from giving up, giving in. yet now i moving away, leaving them behind, and finding myself relatively unmoved.
the end of an era; slightly sad to see, but with no regret or longing or desire to hold onto it, in full agreement that now is the time the time is now.
from a distance that felt infinite i watched my plants on the gallery die with fred. never been able to be that callous about plants before, always had to save even what i knew i had no use or space for, try to find homes for what i couldn't keep...this time i let them go, not realising until retrospect we were on fred's timing...before i actually knew i was moving back to diego i was already conserving energy, only watering those that would want to come here...
meanwhile, an 18year-old tracking me since just before fred dead. i done say i am literally twice his age and could be his mother and never turned on by extreme youth neither but he persistent in the face of my honesty about the fact that he extremely unlikely to get anywhere. the inevitable lock-off became necessary the other night when he try to buss the most insensitive track ever via whatsapp: he open with a line about how i been so scarce [yes, he know my father just dead, not that he study that when he wash foot and jump in, clearly, foolish] and when is he going to see me, because, and now i must quote: "...i'm dying here"...i tried not be harsh, but couldn't not hit him, "actually, no, you're not, dying is what my father did boxing day"...and even then he so young i had to explain to him how he just proved my point that i doh deal up with youths because they eh ready for life+death where+how i living it, or as real as mine...
or maybe i just feeling bite up because my father gone...
walk good.

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Friday, January 24, 2014

lagniappe

meant to include this last rounds, but was holding it awhile and forget. it too good to stay forgotten+unshared. bes' 2minutes, promise...jus' watch...
walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger m.jamesphotography said...

BESS!! Thanks for sharing..I LOVED IT!

1:50 pm  

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Sunday, January 19, 2014

aftermath; closures

i eh listen to any of my music since fred dead; can't, because most of "my" music, is his music and it breaks my heart...i wandering through the world, mostly alive, but with no idea how i feel about anyting, least of all life; just dealing; dealing with funeral arrangements, dealing with family staying by us so we temporarily become 8 in 1house, dealing with his "estate", trying not to fight with ma (and failing), trying not to fight with the gremlin (and failing), dealing with moving and the massive downsizing of my life it bring this time, dealing with being broke when i need so badly not to be, dealing with the difficulty of doing what i do for $ at a time when i need wuk+$ but feel nothing and thus cyah do nutting...
so i figure, lemme at least try and clear some space, especially as rehearsals starting for 3canal carnival show grimeee and i going straight from closing that into rehearsing for rep (which includes learning a solo after catching up on group piece) and continuum, plus still eh finish my script because clearly december didn' go how i intended...i need headspace. so lemme divest myself of the bits+pieces my mind trying to distract itself with, see where that gets me...
dunno if i say it directly here before, but big-up the bechdel test for simple brilliance in forming a clear picture of where women stand in the world of fiction and fictionalised true-stories, especially onstage+screen; all it asks is: 1, does it have at least two [named] women in it; 2, who talk to each other; 3, about something besides a man? and it sad how many works fail the test. but apparently geena davis (never thought i'd be talking 'bout her here, but pleasant surprise eh a bad ting) has an equally simple+functional way to address the underrepresentation of women in hollywood, both in general and the specific [re:bechdel] and it worth a moment because even bechdel doh directly point out the mere 17% female onscreen representation that men apparently believe is 50% (how ridiculous is that shit?! and they say we bad@maths)!
related topic, brought up by the work of another person i never thought i'd be talking about here; i doh give a shit about him or his music, but because the article illustrates a larger issue, lewwe talk about r.kelly's nastiness for a minute...
and an excellent piece of satire to underline the point:
and in the switch from the likes of r.kelly to people making worthwhile work, lemme continue with a tackback that provides a more pleasing iteration of woman, plus, because, salvador dali!!! voluptuous death images...looove me some dali...
and more pleasing imagery (starting with dali+cats+water, of course) philippe halsman photographs fancypants jumping.
more cool imagery, and ting to make you question the mother: these people aren't twins, not even related, but damn! they sure do look like they are...
and going out in style, we (especially we here in sweet trini) know long time that guinness is good for you, plus this is just gorgeousness, as stylin' black men are wont to be, so, enjoy:

walk good.
oh! ps: [just because i'm a word-nerd and lurve this] Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo!

1 Comments:

Blogger m.jamesphotography said...

I throughly enjoyed this blog. Quiet informative and educational. Thanks for making me that more aware of things happening around the globe.

9:24 pm  

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Friday, January 03, 2014

fred

i want to write about my father, talk about him, talk to him, say all the things i wish i said before, take back half of what i did say+do...but i can't. cyah take back, cyah go forward, and when i try to write, words fail. my whole brain fail. whole self fail.
i knew my father was an alcoholic before i hit double-digits. i was the one present for the majority of his hallucinations, was with him and my mother for most of his hospital stays. we barely spoke 10sentences in the last 18months, until a week before he died when he was diagnosed with stage4 cancer and i decided not to let his alcohol problem steal our last few months together. within days of us reconciling he was dead. no months. not even weeks; just 5days. and on day5 he could barely speak because the struggle to breathe was too much; it took him 8hours to drink 6ounces of water, one tiny sip at a time dribbled into his mouth from a plastic juice bottle like the ones he tried to hide alcohol in, by my terrified hand...
my father lied. my father chose his vices over me. but my father ironed my diapers. my father taught me to speak, to read+write, to love music+literature; he gave me myself. he talked to me like a real person from jump, so much so that friends passing him on the road were convinced he was mad, conversing with himself nonstop while driving, unable to see baby-me taking in every single word. my father taught me logic, to prize intelligence, to always make informed decisions and to never sign anything without reading+understanding it completely. my father is brilliant. was brilliant.
was brilliant.
my father taught me so well he knew he could let me read any+everything from his personal library and beyond by the time i was 10 because i could handle it, because he taught me more(+better) than any school ever did or could. and i am my father's child. when i got in trouble in primary school it was for reading jeffrey archer, robert ludlum, james clavell, stephen king, under my desk because i was already miles ahead of the rest of my class and would rather read than make mischief...so many books confiscated until the end of term; but his library was bottomless, and they couldn't stop me. my father taught me that too.
my father's music collection was so good i didn't really acquire my own until i left home and missed stevie wonder and hugh masakela and andre tanker and michaels- both george+jackson- so severely i had to binge-shop to replace a.s.a.p. what i had left behind, feeling lost and empty without fred's fela kuti and stalin and shadow and rudder. i didn't know how much i loved my father's music until i couldn't just go downstairs and put needle to vinyl and hear tiny dancer and madman across the water at will anymore.
i am my father's daughter. even now. my father is dead and i am lost and all i can think of is another of our shared loves, curtis mayfield, who automatically became the mental soundtrack for this larger-than-life moment because of a song among my favourites, a song i funking along to for most of my life without realising the irony of me singing those lyrics, now a loop playing over+over in my head...freddy's dead...and now nobody will ever say my name right again.

walk good.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Joshua Gray said...

A beautiful tribute. May he Rest In Peace.

12:54 pm  
Blogger m.jamesphotography said...

Wow! I never meet your father, but truly wish I had the chance to converse with him..even if it was for a minute. Like Joshua said, this is a beautiful tribute to your father. Sending my love to you and your family.

4:07 pm  
Blogger crazyfool said...

thank you for the glimpse...

10:31 am  
Blogger Nigel Campbell said...

This is a moving obituary. Honest and clear. As you say, walk good.

10:07 am  

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Wednesday, December 04, 2013

true talk, tabs-of-interest, trini reggae vibes

long time. life happens.
tings to link, ting to talk, time short; wash foot and jump in, no?
the biggest problem with my being a "writer" is that these words i writing doh pay. writing plays doh pay unless commissioned; we write plays to have them produced, to see them live onstage, in my case, so i have ting i want to direct and/or perform, and we the theatre community have more options. yes, i want to write books too, collections of fiction, maybe a novel, then i'd really feel like a proper writer, but in the most immediate sense, i want to create theatre that speaks to me, and hopefully us, now, so: plays. and meanwhile all other words+ideas sit, noted but unreviewed, waiting. waiting while i write a play that takes bread out my mouth every moment i spend on it, trying to spend as little time as i can afford selling my time to others so i have it for this play.
i am broke. i am way more broke than you think. way more broke than you think i'd let myself get. way less safety net. way more broke than is believable for the person i appear to be.
but then we never are quite who we appear to others, are we?
that said, try to understand why poor people make poor decisions.
and while we on understanding others, i thought this was a brilliant way to make the point about "choosing" sexual preference. and how not to be an asshole.
and now speaking of fabulous, these looks are stunning and make me wanna get funked up and party hard, as do these costumes, hilariously contextualised. and speaking of creatures of beauty, love me some fine black men...and more on beauty, artwork created to look like another medium...
and in closing, 2totally different+unconnected videos; 1clever+fun+welldesigned promo (worth watching all the way for 2nd half lifevest+evacuation choreo, plus outtro so fun:  
and one bes' vibes, bes' tune by people i pleased to know; buzzrock's dubwise riddim:  
and a piece on pointe shoes just for me...
walk good. dance hard.

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Sunday, September 29, 2013

tab closures:

is that time again, but 1st, a quick rant about someting and old friend remind me of the other day- i live in d.c. for 10years, and whole time wonder why door/window-screens eh catch on here. we consume enough american media i know trinis must know they exist, longstanding use of mosquito-nets mean we grasp the principle, and they simple enough that somebody must be able to make them to fit local fixtures, so is wha'? why the arse after all this time, we still fighting up with them mosquitoes/flies/tropical-wildlife/last-millennium-problems?
which, admittedly, unplanned by me, neatly brings me to #1, which i holding onto entirely too long because i keep forgetting, but love for this woman's excellent response to a man jumping out heself with the kinna fuckery i wouldn' handle nearly so politely, nah...from the time he start telling me how to service my man i was going for the jugular...
this fabulous gallery of dancers dancing in random offstage situations, i cyah let pass.
what i been letting pass until now is recent months' talk about intro-vs-extroverts, mostly because me eh care; i good with me no matter where i fall on the spectrum and who vex, loss; but this articulates what i hadn't yet and for me is the most accurate of the descriptions making the rounds...
this, i eh even trying to explain, because sometimes people defy explanation; just go+see ask a slave...
and speaking of what defies explanation, read+watch, because turning a regular cardboard box into a functional drinks-cooler is amazing, and because the whole time i watch this product i feel like i watching someting that shouldn' exist...
this, simply because i never see anyting like it, and guessing i cyah be alone  
and ending strong, big-up keif for bringing me hysterical literature, combining a few of my favourite things...  
walk good.

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Thursday, September 26, 2013

the cat mudda

people say they hear my voice in their heads telling the story when they read what i write. i try to have an anonymous column and they guess who authoring because they make out the sound of my words. they done say i talk weird, i talk like a book, i talk funny...but for somebody who's talk like a book, when i write how i speak, how words come+play inside my head and on my page doh sound like anybody else. my words insist on writing themselves their way even when, even though, that flies in the face of the accepted/accessible way, even when, even though i know my primary job, as creative, is communication, or the work cyah bring no thought-provocation...a standout voice supposed to be good, but not if it mean you have to know me to read me...right?
ownwayish, to the point of self-detriment; a writer limiting my audience.
sigh.
walk good.

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Saturday, August 10, 2013

making the im/possible

my life would be considerably easier if i could not be myself in non-performance situations, if i could successfully react to my circumstances like a different person, because myself has a tendency to make risky choices for myself and difficult-to-fulfill demands of life in the endeavour to live by my principles and the universe's alone- one of mine is persisting with the idea that i can survive (i.e. rent+utilities so i can live alone as i need) freelancing in the arts in trinidad+tobago, when i doh write advertising copy, work for the newsmedia or government, teach at an academic institution, or make soca or farce- making my life more difficult seem to be my fulltime job.
problem is, my dreams tied to making them come true here, in this place, in this space, home. my future success cannot be success if i have to go outside to find it. is not enough to make/art/wuk; i must make/art/wuk here.
so i wear my warriorwoman face while i select projects not recklessly but regardless of endangering pocket and sometimes survival, let myself do as i am compelled, conquer them fears, because the $ will come...and i owe, and i stress, and i write+delete+write some more, agonise over my mother's growing concerns and my growing debt, agonise over my dialogue, my prose, find a few more grey hairs, wonder if i should be agonising over those, wonder if my state is acceptable at this stage+age...then remember who i am and what strength runs in me...
i will make these impossible dreams real.
walk good.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

BOOM !!! you make my early cold morning right & bright. nobody can test your strength. biggest love, signed, no name or alias ( trying to help with the anonymity issue of your blog)

2:51 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

hahahahhahaaa...i accept the not-quite-anonymity of this blog long time; it was my newspaper column people make out; but thanks for trying...heehee...walk good.

11:00 am  

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Friday, August 02, 2013

because i'm weird, i guess...

i explain the other day how items finally make it here for personal archiving/sharing; this collection odder than most because it includes tabs sitting open for weeks, months, without my being completely sure i need to be able to find them again, enough to post them. but i must admit, if so many weeks pass and in all the rewatching-repercolating-rewatching these tabs never get closed, that seem to answer my questions, so...
1st item sitting here long because it doh quite meet my requirement for how much amusement/reaction it provokes to repost; i usually need to strongly like at least 75% content of anything i want repeat access to, or to share, and these 15 things that escalated way too quickly not meeting that, but the handful of laughworthy moments laughworthy enough to keep the tab open, so worth the minute it takes to click+see...
this i have no doubt shareworthy: me'shell ndegeocello talks about the nina simone songs that inspire her most, links to all, go read+listen.
again, no doubts about this one; this deeply intimate, not-safe-for-work size-positive letter from her boyfriend must make this big girl feel like queen of the world.
related, but another of the tabs-that-uncertain-but-cyah-close, for some reason i been semi-fascinated by this video. i think is because of how real everybody looks, like they wearing their own clothes and behaving how they actually behave, instead of trying to be video vixens+hearthrobs. me eh know if this is macka diamond's usual style because i never like a song of hers enough to watch a video before, but it have someting 'bout this one, yes...

this is just brilliant+creative+fun: tom thum tedx beatbox...  
big-up a favourite of mine, kim johnson, not a dancer but my favourite dance-film selector, for introducing me to this director's work. 1st, a man move his shoulder about a minute+half in, and i cry down the place; absolutely gorgeous. then this go just make you wanna get up+dance yuh damn self.
and closing with the most delightfully informative 2minutes all day...walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

when you blog these link heavy posts that shoot me around the internet universe like traveling via wormhole from amazing galaxy to hilarious galaxy to brilliant galaxy (cutting out all the empty space) i hope you know that you turn my browser into a mirror of what yours must had been prior to posting. i open each window to each galaxy you so sweetly searched+shared revealing tab by tab by tab, star by star by star to experience+enjoy. it's like sweet trini's guide to the internet and it's not weird... it's wonderful.

11:57 am  

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Monday, July 29, 2013

stripping bare and baring all

[read part1, on being naked]

i always been good at saying a lot while not necessarily sharing myself or letting others in; i tell stories without telling how much of me they steal, how much of myself was lost in instances gaining existence, for individuals to find themselves living legends through my words that create worlds for receptive eyes+ears. and though some say talk is cheap, we storytellers know well-sharpened wit trades in hundreds-per-hour and well-wielded words can draw blood, because storytelling is an art honed on life lessons, on experience hard won through heartache+mistakes.
i write about being human but not about being myself because myself is messy, far too sprawling+untidy for me to neatly tie up and present for consumption, thoughts+ideas too obzocky for packaging into cleanly distilled overstandings i want to share.
i can only ever write my life in hindsight, never in the heated moments when i wish i could write my way to clarity and catharsis as others do. and perhaps this is why i don't write directly of the biggest things, why i gloss over and speak least of the situations+circumstances that affect me most, because by the time i can truly tell those stories i am already beyond them, having managed somehow to survive them, trying to be an eye in the storm of life...and while we speak of the eye as moment of beauty+stillness, the storm is what we story about, because destruction is how we learn what we made of...
walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

wonderfully said.

4:04 pm  

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Thursday, July 11, 2013

dissemination

when i find something that make my mind twist+turn i leave the tab open. percolate, reread/watch/listen, percolate some more...distract mind with other thoughts+ideas, come back+reread/watch/listen...if it still speaking to me and saying share, i do. lately, plenty tabs open, piling up and creating clutter beyond the usual, and even the sillier, more trivial pieces, when i go back still too good to close. so this post courtesy my mind; what delights, tickles, provokes, enrages, entices, enraptures...enjoy...
1st a quick, easy, hilarious read, knock-knock-joke strikes back.
and more hilarity, if you like me and like intellectual jokes.
i adore the impossible+absurd, so klein bottles always amazed me; apparently, if somebody wants to indulge me enough i could own this scientific oddity to keep my mind forever entertained...you know you wanna hook me up, ent...
and speaking of things i want, this useless box has an attitude problem and would be brilliant for venting mine...
from "okay, party people in the house" to "and we go a little something like this...hit it!" to "why does it have to be so damn tough?!" to "children growing, women producing, men go working, some go stealing, everyone’s got to make a living", hiphop-heads, hear where the most-used samples in music originally come from.
and a different kinna cool, 27sciencefictions that recently became fact...
and more cool, science fighting fire with fire, doctors inject a dying girl with hiv to save her life...
this one tough to watch but absolutely worthwhile; i think anybody who teaches youths should take it in and wish every bigot somehow would too...this, i was worried would be hard to watch, thought it might find its way to inappropriate right quick, but dancergyul hitting this choreo so hard it never even goes there; she kill it dead.and to make sure we clear any lingering bad vibes from the tough-to-watch parts, some nutting-but-feelgood; beautifully executed and very thoughtful+fun choreography...walk good.







1 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

this last piece in the revolving room is absolutely stunning. dunno how i missed it 'til just now. thanks.

10:31 am  

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Sunday, June 30, 2013

being naked

recent weeks involve more public nudity than usual for me and in very varied circumstances. i grew up in a naked house; it still a naked house to this day and when i go there we all still as naked in it as in my youth. and my house, every home i ever had since leaving my parents' naked house, has become a naked house by default of my living there. friends know if you liming by me, you hadda be cool with me in my panty, because real friends doh ask you to put on pants in your own house. and bona fides know when they come by me, is to take off their clothes and lime in their drawers too.
but public nudity different. baring oneself onstage, or for nude drawing sessions, inviting the open scrutiny of strangers/acquaintances/friends/family you doh necessarily have naked-level relations with...that kinna nudity different. and i doh 'fraid it, but is something i choose to subject myself to in controlled situations not for thrills, but because i think what i learn is invaluable.
i am forcing myself to let myself be vulnerable, to allow myself to be not just nude, but naked, bare, wide open and unworried about whether my belly looks unflattering in this light, or my thighs in this position; i am telling myself to be unconcerned with others' perceptions of beauty and whether i fit them, to leggo all society have to tell me about black and women and black women, because i know, the dancer and science-nerd in me unite in the knowledge that at very least, by my very existence, i am an extraordinary machine; my skin and all it holds together is an amazement of beauty+function and there should never be shame in using it for enlightenment, in any of the many ways enlightenment can come through artistic endeavour.
i make myself take in the truth of seeing self through the eye of the beholder...drawing+painting sessions come with layered anxieties, 1st the obvious, of one's nakedness before others intending to scrutinise+reproduce (and the natural fear is, magnify) every perceived flaw and blemish, but then comes seeing what they show you you are. mirrors, photographs+film are nothing like seeing every part of oneself rendered by an artist's hand right there, live, in the moment, seeing your soft, previously-hidden places captured boldly in a 3minute sketch, a 15minute sketch, half-hour, half a day...the immediacy of their seeing and rendering exactly what in front of them strips away my ability to be precious about any of me. i allow myself to be drawn in "unattractive" positions, crouched, squatting, hunched over in contraction, to rid myself of any lingering whispers of being less than what somebody else call perfect somehow mattering...
i don't doubt it easier for me, knowing dance keeps this body i working with at least reasonably fit, but don't think any of us exempt from insecurities, and exposing them all in close quarters affects even the most confident. but this is what performers+artists do; we bare our souls so others may connect with theirs. this is my responsibility, for the choices i make to do what i do. this is part of how i keep it real, keep the journey to self moving forward; this is part of how i make/art/wuk.
keep it fresh.
walk good.

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Friday, June 21, 2013

i finally get the stones to talk 'bout the mangoseed

lemme start with full disclosure: nicholai la barrie, frontman of the mangoseed is my bestest friend in the whole wide world since we meet@age10; he's the one whose wuk it is to buy a house so he could have a yard to put my dead body in and plant a tree on me. but since my ticket have an airfare component, seeing mangoseed live eh happen yet, and i know enough to know live is the real way to experience this band so i admit, i eh take in much of what my nico doing this whole 6years, except to know mangoseed building a following, doing ting like opening for manu chao, and mashing up the dance fine fine like chilli bibi.
but as they recording lately, every now+then a track will turn up in my inbox, and these boys making me sit up and pay attention. listening to their new release careful, the combination of drive+groove take me right back to the moment of clarity the 1st time i hear jointpop's urgent- not that they sound anything alike, is about how they make me feel...
careful set itself up in a mellow zone, slightly ethereal, the lyric come in somehow plaintive+powerful at the same time, a cybernetic chant, but just as you get comfortable in this kinna ambient space they invoke the clash of iron+steel and cut through the quiet; sharp, hard, and sweet. eventually the pacing metronome gives way to an easy but persistent drop, and mangoseed is in the pocket, and we wine for just a minute, before guitars come crashing and we get tough again. i very like this track. i even like nico's vocal, which might be the scariest part of listening to my bestest friend's music; what if i doh like it? because i hadda tell him the truth no matter what (and good ting i like it, eh nico, since you get no preview of this before i run tell the world)...but this morning when i hit play en route to water the plants on the gallery, not quite awake enough to remember wha' i was ponging when i bathe late las' night, the track come in and before it all click in my semi-sleepy mind i thought, "mmm, kinna sexy...who's that, boy?"...and then i knew, i finally ready to say something 'bout mangoseed.
and when i look good, i see they have mangoseed tv with live performance footage and videos and behind-the-scenes (nico+richard+karlos are silly, and not too hard on the eyes neither) and all kinna ting, so not only am i ready to say this band deserves a listen, i can link it up!
this (month-ago; scroll down, you'll see may24 2013) interview worthwhile because they perform a few songs acoustic, including 2 of my 3favourites, thief head and army of 1 (the 1st song i ever loved by nico) then they play careful, my other clear favourite.
and look mangoseed live+plugged-in thief head excerpt, and if you let it run, it should immediately follow with something else from mangoseed tv, which is how i find that shit...like yuhself!
big-up mangoseed for a happy friday!
walk good.

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