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.
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...
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.
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.
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...
[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.
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.
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.
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.
reeling in confusion is how i wanna say i feeling but it sound so cliche in the voice in my head as i type...but seriously, i real confuse...or something wrong with me, because i cyah understand why people deal with me so. the unfriending seem neverending. sigh. right. enough wallowing in this week's relationship crash+burn. wha' i really come here for is, sadly, what becoming more+more the usual...need to clear some tab-clutter. i eh go bother apologise for not actually being sorry, just share the wealth, quick+dirty: gaslighting, in this context, i fighting to explain too often to too-dismissive ears even among people i usually consider relatively enlightened, like the other day's pps bonus share, good to see it well-expressed, bittersweet pleasure at the fact that it will have more weight coming from a man... something silly now, because, balance; teachers doing what they can to preserve sanity... and on the topic of youths and smart starts, never thought i'd speak of finnish babies sleeping in cardboard boxes as a positive, but sometimes reality brings lovely surprises... until our government (as told by a journalist who has long frustrated me, which make the lash sting that much more) remind me that finnish babies-in-boxes not helping we in sweet trini as they sign we arse over to the usa but forget to send the memo to lewwe know. to soften that blow, a wonderfully-written piece of flash fiction by a good friend. and an article about onstage nudity that nailed something i wish more practitioners realised and reminded me how much i love the theatre, and why. and because i want to close nowhere near where i open, some absolute feelgood; 1st video (local; big-up richard voisin), 4+ intense minutes of a sweet spot walking distance from my parents' house since i was 2 that inspired 1 of my favourite pieces of my own short fiction, written while i was in foreign desperately hoping my memory wasn' lying to me; so good to come home and find it hadn't...love me some blue basin, and they capture it gorgeously; 2nd video covers a foreigner's 1week trip here in 7minutes, she had a time and her vlog make me real smile... i promise more actual writing next time... walk good.
i feel a little like a bad writer for this but i trying to edit and these tabs cluttering my situation. plus this blog for me 1st, ent? so i can find them again when i need, plus your enjoyment+information: plenty similar/related articles/lists around, but this 38 wonderful foreign words we could use in english is my favourite collection. one of my loves' most enjoyable essay on the evolution of the bat[man]. i may not consider it the root of the culture wars but this contextualisation of masturbation is worth a read, even though masturbation month done. and i wasn't going to even bother putting my mouth on the ridiculous objection to the biracial cheerios family, but this too well-said to not share... as is this, my favourite response to this kinna bullshit...
oh! ps: just 'cause is my 1st sweet sentence of the day: kisskidee on my gallery peeping me jealously while i, in quiet morning light, devour my juicy julie...that badmind bird could eat all the worms he want; no amount of early-rising getting him a peck of this mango! walk good.
i know i lean toward darkness, twisted is often how i like my stories; doh need happy endings. i love weird, revel in strange, appreciate the odd...i think is why i get so attached to the bat everybody say not good to encourage in my livingspace. that+batman, of course. the bat gone from hosting bat-brams in my flat when i out and leaving all manner of leftovers, piss+shit in my corridor, to doing the latter right in front the toilet and the former right next to the garbage, like he trying to convince me he could obey house rules and ready to move in; see, we 1st meet a night in the doorway of this flat, me stumbling in, he fluttering out, so he doh know about the ex-husband the subsequent no-cohabitation rule...giggling over my housebroken bat, with yard+road-fowl and dog alike all unusually quiet this morning i notice how many cars whooshing through the early morning wetness and how early the jamming really start...so easy to forget the main road just outside the louvres sometimes, with all the life living closer to my senses...birds calling by the time i recognise morning rush, followed by the downstairs neighbour's always-alluring breakfast, a few cocks eventually remember theyself and rouse the dogs, the pan-tuner then the neighbourhood wakes, the day gets loud, i add my music to the melee...it always cracks me up when i (seemingly)arbtrarily associate something with a specific experience or instance of it, like how de la soul's egotrip always takes me back to standing in the room@patrick's taking in the video and follows with laughter at my still(15years-later) dancing in chris' sweats from the day he gave me them+jersey to jump out the window of that selfsame house... anyway, darkness, right: the other day i came across a thread i was compelled to read in entirety: confessions/outing of dumb shit believed until far too late in life, in some cases until an embarrassingly late age; sometimes i could see how even an intelligent sort could be misled, mostly it was funny and sad (how stupid they are; like the effect of reading txtsfrmlstnght but with less vulgarity) but this thread about the creepiest things said by children was waaayyy funnier to my dark self, made me literally laugh out loud, nearly fall out the chaise, all kinna ting. and because this was indeed a long time coming, i have ting i wanted to share-with-you-slash-archive-for-me over the last month: the dangerous myth of female purity; not just bullshit, but also irrelevant to actual human value while sadly believes otherwise... very interesting read from lauryn hill about the music industry and its effect on her choices, including 'tax evasion'. 14 words that are their own opposites. me eh know how i, of all people, coulda miss the existence of this wondrousness, but please treat your ears+mind+body to fela soul. for some good, old-fashioned, communist entertainment, cosmarxpolitan. learn to read chinese in 8minutes. a very cool piece about art and people who live for it. might be more, but back with a bang plus off to a good start for now...heehee... walk good. ps: and big up my gremlins who did a lilliput proud with their brilliant animal farm weekend gone! pps: bonus share, because of how much time+energy expended trying too-often-fruitlessly to explain to the privileged that their real privilege is in not having to admit it exists...
stepping out the gate, dancing on my mind, past the wonder-of-the-world grown from solitary small bush to bushes and tree+branches winding horizontally through other foliage to colonise every corner of the yard, sneaking though the ixora, creeping between citrus, passing by the pawpaw to fight up with thyme harbouring similar imperial designs, crisscrossing the steps in a trail of leaves sure to sprout all the way to the gutter with its mix of old+new inventory glinting in waning sunlight at the side of the road...1 empty plastic sweetdrink bottle, cut open to serve new purpose in its 2nd life as a piper's gear, 1watch-face, no back, hanging on to half of 1strap of what had been its band, 1 small tv, smashed, 3wonder-of-the-world leaves topped by a dinnermint wrapper, 1wheel, bent, missing spokes, and 2 bicycle-chain segments, dark with grease but dry in this season where gutters see more rubbish than rainwater, 1 hi-lo bag ripped open by dog or fowl to spill the neighbour's old kfc boxes, used pampers and other garbage into our consciousness, and i recall the de la soul lyric "...neighbourhoods is just 'hoods 'cause nobody ain't neighbours no more...", greet everybody i pass en route to the maxi, noticing how many don't respond... so sometimes i worry i do too much linking and not enough writing, but i just now scroll all the way down the mainpage and am pleased to find it seeming not so. good. so i can link up. it have plenty tings of interest that i wanna be able to find again and anybody actually reading here might too: especially this piece, full of photos of frida kahlo and her amazing work+wardrobe; major inspiration... speaking of work i admire, this take on the function of the actor in the performance of shakespeare as the completer of the piece, the solution to the puzzle, articulates so well something my instincts have always told me, something frustratingly missing from the production of midsummer i saw the other night... and about work i doh admire, i eh planning to see the tyler perry flick, but the perspective of this piece worth the read whether you see it or not. sunity maharaj mighta say this weeks ago, but what she say about what constitutes politics and trini non/engagment with it is worth a reread and something i need to be able to find again when i writing mlf ting; and in the wake of recent events, read it again even if you already did. this, i admit i eh fact-check, but it was such promising news about sustainable energy potentials, i had to share...big-up portugal! and more good news before i wrap, somebody else articulating ideas i pushing long time- i relatively lucky to be the kinna woman i am, and always feel bad for the less sexually-fortunate, so for the benefit of the whole world, lewwe spread the word so everybody finally gets the memo that the orgasm gap is fixable and doh hadda exist- lewwe all feel good... and on that note, look dessert for anybody who appreciates men-in-underwear as much as i do, 5photos too hot for fasbook [so they say]...enjoy... walk good.
fitting that my easter sunday self-sacrifice is abeer. this year, family traditions i value trump my deep desire to be @holi festivities, and instead i lime@mayaro with ma, clements, da costas, and the usual suspects. the extended family camping on the beach whole easter weekend happening every year without fail over 30years, children born+grow big enough to bring their own, (ex)husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, pardners of teenagers+parents alike pass through, and since i old enough to have a choice, once i in the country i go for whichever portion ma going, no matter what, which this year, conflict with phagwa. but lewwe be real, easter@beach with the family, i eh exactly complaining; abeer redemption next year...plus, after all these years camp get fancy enough to have phone+internet+ting, so in the nationwide blackout good friday, camp had current when nobody else did. strange to drive the entire manzanilla stretch and see no buffalypso, no cows, not even a horse, just 1 rambunctious (they have any other kind?) roadside goat and a brief smell that suggested 4legged+tasty but never visually materialise, so i cyah say for sure.strange too, unbeaten bobolees in grande easter sunday; 1 for real, still tied to the wooden t+tec post almost looking pleased with his expressionless self; the other, when we get close, turn out to be a girl in white pants standing so still+purposeless on the pavement she seem more lifeless than the bobolee. in other strange developments, when we pass 1st time, alla we comment on the graduation to fiesta-party-rental-size tents by indian bay, until we pass back and realise is a party in truth, because they now joined by a big-arse bouncy-castle-style waterslide, set up right there where the river meet the sea- madness. and because every action have equal+opposite reaction, later i spot a freshly-painted government-issue fire hydrant lying in somebody yard in cumuto, nowhere near anything looking like the pipe with extreme water pressure i want to assume blow the hydrant off its installed spot...somebody please tell me they eh t'iefing fire hydrants for sport now... in other news, man like mark lyndersay real know how to intrigue me; he's 1 of very few who can find the random angle on situations i not particularly interested in, that will make me want to click the link, read, and be glad i did, and love him a little more every time for giving me what i glad to learn but wouldn't find without him...and speaking of mark lyndersay, i starting to feel i hadda put him on my shortlist of big-brains-crushes, with the sexy neil degrasse tyson, who i totally doh need 14 more reasons to love, but he's just that fabulous...and speaking of physics-coolness, check out this scale of the universe infographic(?) [even if they eh calling it that, it real informative+graphic, in all the helpful ways]. in less-happy-but-tings-i-wish-people-realise news, why feminism isn't sexist by definition, and other clarity...which i think is a good intro to what below (better as it develops, promise; watch all) and this last is about pure joy; this youth a delight to watch, reminds me why i love ballet even if it might not be the dance-language i communicate best in...
he turns to sit. you realise the last time another person shared your space was the last time he poured his 6feet of cool+deadly into the embrace of the selfsame chair now a week later still holding his imprint+scent just as he leave it, patiently awaiting the return of his weight, his lean, his rock back, his dreadlocks slung over its arched back... you only now notice how antisocial you let yourself become; he is 1 of only 2visitors encouraged, for months now, him weekly, your girl for a few hours every so often; you enjoy every moment with each of them but harbour no desire for others, no need for company, no intruders allowed. consider your time, days, nights, seconds, hours...if not for regular classes they would be the only 2 you ever see; 15-20people a few times a week allows you to feel like you socialise, but as the facade slip you see clearly how you isolate yourself. and that you don't care. wonder if is a bad thing. wonder why you doh feel ahow. wonder if you should... try to distract yourself from difficult questions by wondering instead if your consistently letting him in more than you expect means anything, if his years of unfailing reappearances do, reconsider briefly the reasons for taking things no further until you realise your thoughts tending toward the complicated again and stop yourself. you rock back and take him in, remembering to enjoy him now... walk good.
there seems to be a tv ad for a product called trojan bare skin condoms that kinna freaking me out...and i say "seem to be" because part of the problem is that i somehow always hear but never see it, so when the tv-voice say "trojan bareskin condoms" (he doh pause between "bare"+"skin"; another part of the problem) my mind thinks "bearskin" like a bearskin rug, a condom industry alternative to "lambskin", and as you now realise, having been forced to think about it, bearskin-rug-wrapped penises: not cool! walk good.
since i reach home april2008 ("time fly" is understatement!) sweet trini seeing real rainy dry seasons (not evidenced by us sweltering in ridiculous temperatures year-round, regardless) but i notice the other day that we having a proper dry season this rounds; this time las' year, pouis get heated and start to bloom then get drenched+confuse by big rains beating flowers from branches before winds could loosen+pelt us with lavender, pink+yellow eddies; before they could layer the ground with their coloured carpets, pouis try to mash brakes to bloom again when dry season proper reach...poor pouis half-bloom 2, 3times...this week i notice the ones by me bravely flowering and whisper to them, proudly pink as i pass, i feel allyuh safe this rounds, come home from dance class that night, gone+bathe and worrying what the arse making that strange crackling in my livingroom rush my wet, naked self back out to burning...the empty corner-lot opposite...i had just been saying earlier how that land looking different, surmising the bush was cut back more+lower than usual leaving the hillside oddly bare; apparently it was extra-dry, and is now a wave of red+orange destruction so big i cyah hear my thoughts over its snap-crackle-popping and am standing transfixed, gazing, staring dreamily into flames close enough to dry my skin through the louvres, not noticing humans with garden-hoses in the road barely separating me from the heat until the alarm in my head finally drowns out the fire, and i finally wonder if anybody call the firestation, feel shame at how long i spectated before thinking of it, realise the police vehicles outside must mean relevant authorities know, even in trinidad, right? thankfully the firetruck comes, saving my sanity and my neighbourhood; the sound of burning dies and i wish for the incessant cock-crowing and pan-tuning competing with the tassa of hosay-preparations that have become the soundtrack to my understanding of my space instead of this quiet that remains in the wake of fire, because this stillness makes me realise the only ting potentially as sad as my jouvay tabanca, is a sweet trini tabanca...walk good.
back to life, back to reality...audiences seem to love planass, jouvay was sweet, as always; plenty thoughts on the season but still sifting through it all...here's what i caught and don't want to forget/lose: everybody should read mark lyndersay's writings on carnival (read him in general, but especially over carnival season2013); lyndersay digital on my sidebar has his writing linked @bitdepth.
because it felt revelatory, watching somebody in politics fight on behalf of the people and pushing others to do theirs; big-up elizabeth warren. the balancing act of being female; quick+pointed read plus i very like the artwork. not sure how compelling i find the writing yet, but i like what they trying to do and like some of the graphics; terror of the midnight robber linkage so i can find new issues... not putting him on the sidebar yet because me eh know if he'll actually keep writing, but also keeping an eye on mice for more of this; plus patois blog actually did go on sidebar. and finally, the words here+now as well as linked@owner because they are not to be lapsed on... first thought after seeing you smile.
- ‘come with every wound and every woman you’ve ever loved every lie you’ve ever told and whatever it is that keeps you up at night every mouth you’ve punched in all the blood you’ve ever tasted come with every enemy you’ve ever made and all the family you’ve ever buried and every dirty thing you’ve ever done every drink thats burnt your throat and every morning you’ve woken with nothing and no one come with all your loss your regrets, sins memories black outs secrets come with all the rot in your mouth and that voice like needle hitting record come with your kind eyes and weeping knuckles come with all your shame come with your swollen heart i’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you’. warsan shire walk good.
be warned, beware, take heed, prepare...who doh hear mus' feel!
planass for the con artistes artistes of cons chasing power+money +money+power without a care what get mash up or devour stop the lies and the damn mamaguys the conspicuous consumption devices and vices distraction cyah save yuh we singing yuh song we claiming we space we bringing it down planass for the venomous vampires nefarious necromancers attacking we rights stop the abuse of power the misuse of might the cheating the stealing stop watching we slight we waking we movin' we coming we claiming we raising we hands for we rights! walk good.
now is the time, now is that time, that time when so much a gwan i eh have time to write it, barely enough time to feel+experience it all before jouvay happens gloriously, finish, tragically, and i must resign myself to the drudgery of waiting a whole 'nother year for what sustains me...so much already happen, happening, and plenty plenty sooncome, so lemme take pause to mark a few thoughts before they lose in the delirium that is the build to self-explosion...
so i stagemanaging 3canal carnival show (planass) again this year...remembering the crazy of las' year, i ask warrenman, going into auditions, babes, how many we looking for? and he say, about 9-12; knowing the beast, my favourite beast, i take that to mean 15 and hope we doh cross 18...during auditions now, i watching and his whole demeanour shift and realise 1time (again, i know the beast) he changing his concept as he watching how tings developing...by the end of auditions i knew capping the cast@18 would be damn near impossible. now we have more than twice that. including canals+cut+clear band we make 50+counting, because that doh include preshow artistes...i just keeping my eye on meh jouvay prize and wukkin to survive... nex' ting; $1billion of 1.6billion-taxpayer-dollar-project traced to offshore bank accounts, according to our director of public prosecution; only 1 in every 3 taxpayer dollars used to produce goods or services for our country; every trinbagonian, every citizen, need to watch: afra raymond speaks on corruption@tedx port of spain 2012.
plus still more reason for "planass" [be warned, beware, take heed, prepare...] paolo kernahan vs. "deliriously dotish...sub-educated troglodytes dragged in from a dirty sidewalk"... and, on the audacity of forcing others to view a natural female form, because even though i never watch the show or see the partially/naked girl or even know who she is, the piece speaks to that undeniable part of me, that girl who still burns at the mere idea of any authority outside of self encroaching on any choice i may make [fyi, i am apparently "made of lime, woman, and science. with a dash of tv tropes"]... and last-but-not-least, big-up the protester i seeing photos of out there, boobs bare, chest marked: "still not asking for it"...ent! walk good.
my 1st+only email account, with me since my teens when in the wake of the commodore64 uncle tommy showed me how to build my own computer, got hacked the other night. i knew as soon as my phone receive spam from myself that i know i eh send, about me+family being mugged of everything in madrid and desperately needing $, moments before my addressbook started responding (informing me i was hacked, a couple to ensure i was safe+sound, 1 friend lambaste the spammer, who apparently replied, to his own detriment, not knowing i only friend smart people). i had what just became my primary email account a few years now because i thought i was about to switch providers, then didn't, and even started backing up my original to the new 1. besides spamming both itself and the "new" account, the hacked account also wiped all its contents, which i wondered about in the wee hours when every single email of that account's 200+ in my phone inbox disappear all at once, and confirmed when back@machine i put aside being scared of opening the hacked account to pull addresses for the new one,and see all contacts missing too. i trying to do shit by memory and frustrated, but at the same time, the complete wiping of that email account means i no longer have access to vitriolic content from former loves, or even contact information for those who hurt me most, and that feels like if not quite a clean slate, a slate much clearer for the lack of recent heartbreak. and speaking of heartbreak, big up one of my favourites, kim johnson, for linking the story of my life (ba dum dum chhh): the drum, the why factor, how it speaks to us and moves us. and the story of the photographer who accidentally captured the unimaginable moved me enough to repost even though i said nothing of the tragic incident itself. walk good.
not/having a computer at my disposal have me remembering how much we take for granted. a starving freelance artist in a 3rd world country with no respect for such as myself, i studying "1st world problems". the capabilities of the new machine point out what amazing invention+function we consider ordinary, and even not good enough; a pardner comment on not-lightning-fast processor, and we laugh at considering 3seconds too long to wait for delivery of what internet access provides; when granny passed the other day, gifted to the world the same year as einstein's theory of relativity, it was from a world unimaginable to the one that received her in 1916. so, while i wuk furiously, reborrowing time lost to no-machine, i also availing myself and whosoever brave/bored enough to cast eyes here of the information age... i always appreciate raymond ramcharitar's willingness to say the unpopular thing and play the necessary provocateur, and for me, he gets much of this right, and much applies to me, as aforementioned starving artist in this place... this is shameless pandering to my loves of both the dark knight and parody, seasoned with nostalgia of seeing heath ledger looking so young+alive...
and a great illustration of something we know but eh know how much, from bob marley to gaga to the beatles to u2 to britney to nirvana...
and this last is mostly for me, local immigration law issues finally raised elsewhere besides 1 of my favourites i had the honour to perform, sonja dumas' strange tale of an island shade... walk good.
3days after my last post my computer crashed. everything seem to be finally back in order and i can write what's been occupying my mind. excitement. when the machine went down i was drafting a post that included this then-already-old sunity piece that, upon rereading, i still wanted to repost. then as if she knew exactly when i'd be reenabled, the perfect repost-follow this week. also wanted to repost this dude's brilliant social experiment; sometimes somebody restores my faith in people a little... walk good.
lately i want to write. i want to write sooo baaaddd. but as much as i want to write, have ting i need to write, supposed to write, dying to write,somehow, all the ting i want to write have me too caught up thinking about all the glorious options to put fingers on keys or pens...i mean, i knew i wouldn't have a full day to nothing-but-write for weeks+weeks but that shouldn't stop me putting down words; doh usually stall me...but i seem so in love with these ideas i percolating, i want to turn them over awhile longer even though i know i set myself deadlines for a reason. glad my 1st nothing-but-write day sooncome, if for no other reason than ensuring this post is a start, not a mark-time... walk good.