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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