FOOL THAT I AM

train-ed assassins & other even-year stories

2008-04-22T18:04:00.000-07:00

3/26/2008--subway train
they know the rules of
engagement; schooled in
the war of words
hoping for
hand-to-hand
on this moving metal
car full of commuters

they've come from another car
voices raised; she, in-between
them and trying to prevent the
escalation of blood spilling and
bones cracking

but this is no place or time
for mediators; her calmness and
reason have no place here

the rules are clear:
get them before they get you
and no one of us: the commuters
know the problem
what happened in the other train car?

but here,
they get ready to let it out in an
urban remake of show-me-yours...

none of us intervene
instead, we move one
or two seats away as
if the potential blood
shed won't stain our
sheets red with
knowing...remembering

3/27/2006--home
the dream:

/make room amongst your things/you'll never know i'm here he said/

i didn't have too much to move around
cleared out one drawer
removed hats/sweaters
from the top shelf in the closet
plus,
he didn't have much anyway
so it wasn't like i had to rearrange
my whole life...

/don't feel obligated to come here i said
this is a big step neither of us should
take lightly.../

but he was was on his way
up the stairs
opening the door with the keys
we'd made extras of the night before

3/28/2004--elevated train
can one wish list this kiss
to your liking the way you like
to write. can one list wish the
stitches away. can one be whole

can one be me who lists you as
the feeling one gets from feeling
fine where your kisses wish
wholeness for one another

can one be whole when at this
writing wishing kisses listening
intently. feeling fine is the other
wish

3/29/2002--subway train
...from conversations coasting by imagined
lights...if this train moves fast enough, we
will only see streams of light

appearing unbroken on how the spaces
between light one, two, three...cease to
exist...

effectually, the serenade of gum-popping
and sunflower seeds cracking, their shells
hitting the floor as small explosions

i wish that glances didn't turn people away
why wouldn't i be staring at you

considering you haven't stopped since i got
on several stops ago

there is no sanitorium on this route

he may imagine
there is a spot on the sun

where the questions rest on tips
of tongues; fringes of conversations,
absorbing silence

underneath all of this
there is another side
where spots become myth...legend...muse

just us talking--mingus & me

2008-04-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

table 13

mingus:
does she know her husband is gay?

me:
now you know you shouldn't be asking that at a wedding?

mingus:
i ain't saying nothing that all of at this table don't know or haven't thought about since we got the invitations...

me:
still...

mingus:
whatever...

me:
let's just be happy for our friend.

mingus:
i am...i just hope she is.

me:
she does look beautiful though.

mingus:
yeah, she truly does.

me:
i agree...but do you think her husband is really gay?

mingus:
have you ever heard marvin gaye's here my dear album?

me:
yeah, why?

mingus:
...in the end, he's going to make an album for her and it's gonna fuck our whole understanding up...

me:
wow! but which song particularly?

mingus:
pick any of'em...particularly you can leave but it's gonna cost you...

me:
i'm not laughing at that one.

mingus:
maybe not on the outside, but inside, you're falling out...i hear it...believe me.

me:
um...okay...

...see, there it is...

2008-01-15T14:02:00.001-08:00

where yo' black ass been?
she asked me. i chose to ignore her. i ride the elevator with her everyday. she sees me everyday. doesn't speak. neither do i.

did you hear me?
she asks. irritated. confused. totally not feeling my silence. i don't care.

well, i guess you're not up for conversation today...
she says. to no one in particular. to me. to the elevator.

actually, i've been around.
i answer. she looks happy. glad that someone finally speaks to her. glad that i have spoke to here. ecstatic because being the portrait hanging on the elevator wall. relieved that someone finally notices that the picture does talk.

the question is how and why are you hanging around on this elevator?
i ask her. people are getting on. she's quiet. i don't look at her while others are present. she doesn't look at me while others are present. we are at the sixth floor. everyone exits except me.

i'm here to bring a certain class to this small space. see, these flowers behind me, don't they make you think of the conservatory in april?
she asks me. i ponder the question. don't get it. get it. smile. it doesn't remind me of the conservatory in april at all.

i'm assuming you disagree...you're scowling.
she says. i almost forgot i was on the elevator. she doesn't speak to me. i realize that she talks. the picture talks.

you're funny...i make it a point not to talk to you, but when i finally decide to, you got nothing to say. oh, well...
she says. like that, she's looking away from me. not looking at me anymore. i hear her breathing. want to say so much more. want to say nothing at all. want to get off this elevator.

i take the sharpie from my backpack and decide to draw a mustache on her face. she has no arms. she's a bust in a photo with flowers behind her. she shouldn't have spoke to me in the first place. pictures don't talk. pictures don't talk in elevators.

at the first floor, i exit. step out of the elevator car. turn to look at her one last time. she isn't in the picture anymore. she's standing right there. in the elevator. one hand on her hip. the other raised giving me the finger. i'm speechless. i'm laughing inside. i'm glued to my spot just outside the only elevator in this building. i don't blink.

you're an asshole!
she says out loud. people walk around me. rush around me. nudge me slightly to get to the empty elevator. she moves over to let them on. finally full. the door closes. she steps through the closed doors. stands directly in front of me. smiles wide enough to scare the shit out of me. her mustache rises at the corners of her mouth.

yeah, i guess i am...but pictures don't come to life in elevators and talk shit and attempt to scare folks, do they?
i ask her. she thinks for a moment. then another moment. i wait. wait. decide she has nothing to say. so i turn to leave the spot i'd been stuck in. i walk to the exit. turn around and still see myself standing there. why? i have no idea. why i'm standing here and there? i have no idea.

you coming back soon?
she asks. forgetting what i'd just asked her. forgetting that there are now two of me: one in front of her and one at the exit.

sure...you want something while i'm out?
i ask her. biting my fingernails. wondering if the store up the street still has today's paper.

yeah, your soul. how about it?
she asks. looking directly at me. straight through me.

hell naw...are you out of your dead ass mind?
i answer. i walk through the door without pushing. i walk out into the hustle and bustle of the day. alive. i look back at the lady from the painting. standing outside my building. defeated.

this is why i hate elevators
i say to myself and she disappears and the other me disappears and it's only me there. looking back at nothing. looking into myself knowing that from this day on i'll take the stairs.

H.
1-15-2008

...i can see again...

2006-09-14T18:06:00.000-07:00

...the next time you decide to wait
so long to call me or stop by, i'm
going to throw a brick right thru
your living room window, got that?
now give your mother a hug so i can
go home now...
--mica raye godbold (micarayesboy's mama)

the cliche is that i've been busy as hell
but the reality is that life has only allowed me
to do the things i really need to do...writing is one

mostly, the writings don't get written
only scribblings in this piece of mine
that i call my mind. somehow
i finished a book & invited all my best friends;

many didn't
make it, but there they were, in the
thank-you's...i stopped eating chicken
again now that my winter thickness
pushing my weight to 197 is coming,
something no one seems to notice either
(i think i'm swoll, but my friends disagree).

my guy says he's going to stand me
next to his sister & call us "11"...i got it
the second time he said it...

i have cried a few times, missing jabari,
LeRoy, marvin, lewis, auntie gladys,
& now jason parker...laughter ensued
afterwards as i remember how much
love they had for everyone & how much
they loved to laugh. i wasn't working but
now i am...& still looking for a job that'll pay
me some mind & not fill my outlook calendar
with mindless objectives & goals of the insane...

i have fallen in love again
& won't be telling him anytime soon
(trying to save something for me);
...but i sho' do luv'em...

i've had a summer like no other;
grandma got a new hip & answers
"i'm tolerable" when i ask her
how she's doing;
i met lalah hathaway & gave her the
1st bootleg copy of "conjurin': donny hathaway & cairo"

been to
orlando, florida
atlanta, georgia
& plum branch, south carolina
with my frat brothers...

even attended a nice amount of
open bars & gallery openings & spent
mass amounts of time with friends in
from here & there & still feel like they
never left

& shots later/drinks later/drunken good times later
at
cookies tavern
bar louie
south loop club
the negro league cafe
or mostly with my favorite sister shannon as we poke fun at our other siblings

i'm uncle to sixteen nieces/nephews
(who are mostly crazier than cat-piss)
& a grand-uncle to ten grand-nieces/nephews

one of my nephew says his children (1- & 2-months respectively;
by 2 different women...DAY-UMN) need shoes...

where the hell are the infants walking?
do they know the way to spring already?

...so now i can see again...

see:

the heroin addicts & whores who frequent the greystone next door

the liquor store stopped selling my kind of camels (only unfiltered, youngblood!)

my children are growing up

my rent might go up

my thoughts, this moment, are going up

&

i am still growing up...loving the shit out of all it's showing me, too...

H.
9-14-2006

the equalizer

2006-04-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

for jabari r. rhodes-williams
1976-2006

my firstborn of baby blue & gold
has gone now, but the song is still
out there

you, me & carmen mcrae wailing
the final groaning-moan before the
the last piano key stroke

just a week to the day before the
lowering, i got the call when just
three days
before that, we were running
down dearborn

you: had azure in the headlock

promising to smack his face for
every puff i took of the camel light

he broke away & you chased us both
vowing in your black & white film
voice

give me the respect that i deserve!

just like you...

that was & is & five months
after you helped me to get through losing
the love of my life,

i have now lost the part
of you:

that answers your work phone

whose shoes go "tap-tap-tap-tap-tap"
up & down my hallway to music only
you hear

who would sing & dance with me in
checkout lines from borders to target

...wouldn't u like 2 fly...

we belted out while others behind us
wondered just how old we were as
the 5th dimension came roaring out
our mouths...

the equalizer, i named you
cuz after all the years prior
to us becoming bros,
you always had the power to
make everything with everyone
alright

alright...i will be

me: u know, i would love to see madame x have a reunion
him: they already did...didn't you hear they were at the house of blues.

me: get outta here!
him: for real...they opened for shirley bassey...

me: see, that's why i can't listen to you...how you gon' say that?
him: shirley bassey? god bless her!

i'm going to watch jackie's back a million times
& remember how funny it is to hear the uptown
divas given a roll call...which includes shirley bassey!

god bless her!?!

& bea arthur [insert laugh here]...

have you ever had a friend whom
no matter how soon you see them come
or go, you always know you are loved,
liked, thought about, cared for, listened to,
remembered

at all times?

you were the harmony when donny & roberta crooned:

you know the sun has surely made
it's final dawning...

& ruth, june, anita & bonnie wailed:
don't u know i get down on my knees...won'tchu pass the sugar please!

i cried, have cried and will probably cry again,
but not out of sadness...it's always going
to be you & me...

loving, tender
sweet as i remember
feeling fire in your heart
said we'd last forever
won-
der-
ful together...

in your heart....

there is no other
no loving sweeter
honey our love's growing deeper
& dee-
per
high as the rainbow
there's only u & me
& the way we feel

just us
just us

just us...just us

"just us"
sang by martha wash & izora armstead

takeout: 43rd & indiana avenue

2006-02-01T22:51:00.000-08:00

"can a memory make a kiss out of an illusion
is love confusion that we must all go through
is that true..."
--"was that you"
adam guettel/lindy robbins, 1992

i think i'm overcoming my fear of dogs, as my friend's dog gizmo doesn't make me want to run away screaming

like i want to run when i see the teenagers waiting inside the j&j fish restaurant; girls wearing jackets that barely cover their asses, rising to reveal bare midriffs & skin as they sit on the laps of these young men with their phones charging from the wall outlet where the atm machine is plugged

no one is legal, save for one guy who might've graduated from high school when i did 15 years ago.

everyone else was probably no older than 17...

patiently, orders 69, 70 & 71 were called

my friend is 76

patiently, we waited while the teenagers hyped one of the young ladies up to dance while he taped her with his video-phone contraption & she moved this & that way, cussing at no one in particular. her girlfriend too busy on the lap of another gentleman who had returned from selling a sack to number 70 in the parking lot

72, 73 & 74 came up next

my friend is 76

& we move closer to the bullet-proof glass where the revolving door that turns your food over to you is so that we can just get our food & go. it is five minutes to eight & we both wonder if any of their parents have had any idea of where they've probably been for the past five hours--the infamous 3pm-8pm mark where researchers have found that most 12-17 year olds do most of their "dirt"

75 finally comes out & for the past six minutes that we have waited on a catfish dinner for my friend & nothing for myself, the young ladies have sat on the laps of many of the older boys as well as one being called out & claimed when a more quiet young lady came in & unknowing caught the attention of one of them.

watching all this, 76 is called & before i know it, my friend has signaled me to roll out with her & without looking back, she is at the door before i am. i try to keep my eyes on the door, but i caught the eye with the woman who sat just to the right of the exit. she: maybe a few years older than myself, watching, too.

it was report card day today

i heard them talk about how much fun they had fighting, smoking weed & fucking

while merely hanging out in the restaurant that serves food behind bulletproof glass; where unless you don't want lemon pepper seasoning on your food, you'd better tell them not to...this place that i sneak off to for my bi-monthly guilty pleasure of fried mushrooms, fried okra & cheese sticks.

not one of them had anything to say about grades...

at three minutes past 8pm, they were still there when my friend & i left.

them: waiting outside to sell their last sacks

her: not minding the grown-ass man inconspicuously touching the space between her two-back pockets while she sits on his lap

her: doing the same as her friend

him: campainging for customers to buy his wares

her: leaning on the shoulder of the guy with the camera

him: videotaping the whole event saying, "everything y'all just did, i got on camera...what'chu thought?"

bronzeville 2006 a.d.

2006-01-21T21:52:00.000-08:00

the police don't allow just any neighborhood folks
to stand in front of the liquor store now
all them older guys who fought in wars
& walked to different states to live with relatives
& most of them that have lived over here all these years

they can't stand to lose those few minutes of signifying
before traipsing back to subsidy-heated flats
on gentryifying blocks & watching the court shows
noon hours reserved for sitting back & not answering
calls with 800-number prefixes on the caller id

"all due respect, officer, but you know who the dopefiends are; arrest the young punks pushin' that sucker-ass shit & they'll go away,"

i heard one say

& they did,
but that was before they found the dead prostitute
just at the end of my block. turn the corner & you run
right into the liquor store; can't miss the spot

where men respond to calls of pop, uncle, ol' man, young man
as they have for over two generations, drinking from styrofoam
cups of laced black coffee while recounting tales between the hours
of 3-5pm under the train tracks

three years running & each of them never fails
to speak to everyone within earshot
& sometimes from almost a block away
as mr. powell would do me a few times

three years running & my eyes have seen
them each morning as the days end & the
evenings begin

drinks of coffee & brown paper bags
weave reminiscences of days laboring
in slaughterhouses & steel plants
driving buses & garbage trucks

have left under the train tracks
& become hushed whispers
as condominiums sprout up
on vacant lots & the neighborhood
daycare centers close

but the liquor store stays open
until 8pm during the week
& the police only bother the boys
barely men who know to move

& coffee cups & paperbags
laugh aloud at what they know

been knowing all these years
because they never left home
even underneath the train tracks

H.
1-22-2006

insomnia musings

2005-12-11T02:09:00.001-08:00

my father left long enough ago that i can still feel the sting of his leaving though his presence isn't one i miss much. at this hour, i sit awake at a computer that can do more tasks before 8am than i will do all week. there's a lot on my mind but not enough for me to give extra attention to the things i cannot change.

i am thinking of movement, how i want to move at this exact moment put one foot in front of the other & make my way back to my home, but the buses have stopped running & i would be hard pressed to get a cab at this hour from this place i am. the city has stopped moving

in it's charged frenzy. i exist sometimes just a cog in the wheel, other times, at the wheel, loving it, turning it. see, i don't like spending the night out very often & seeing as though i don't sleep at home, i am hardly finding it easy to rest here. i stay up, just as active at 4am as i am at 4pm, it is

the stillness of my own home that i am imagining. the hum of my refrigerator as the automatic icemaker drops frozen slices of ice into the tray below that i hear just as if i was in my own bed. how the furnace automatically goes on & off, pushing hot air through the rooms that are silent & quiet, save for my bedroom where

i watch television until the darkness outside has become light & it is time to start today as i did yesterday. as the sun finally fills the sky & my room & my vision, i sit still long enough to remember yesterday, not knowing when the previous day ended or began, because the city only grows still

for so long while i am still in a mood to keep my eyes opened watching classic movies & old television reruns as if they were brand new. they are my constants these days, reliable only as long as the cable bill gets paid; like knowing the last northbound green line train will leave 43rd street at 1:37am; or that the liquor store underneath the train closes at 8pm. in the stillness of those endings & beginnings, i am still moving; wondering

why?

H.
12-11-2005

i hope this isn't what i think it is

2005-12-05T22:42:00.000-08:00

that moment where the splatter of my face hitting the fan because of how things turn out even though i try to take the high road

between those places in between love & like, why can't we see friendships as the beneficial option instead of looking for all the right reasons to take another off the market; get "him" before anyone else does

making sense of those moments after my face splatters into madness all over the place just so i can be saved in three month increments; guaranteed a gift or well-wish on holidays. those things don't matter to me/never have, but

love...

someday, i may want it more than i want it now, but right now, i just want to love myself for a change; not feel obligated to let the visits increase to the point of someone else in my space. i do not seek a space for my heart to lie alongside potential; won't! but

love...

it is what it is; will be whatever it will be

i sleep in the middle of my bed as a choice; why fill it with a pulse who occupies the space in heartbeats that fade away once curtains are drawn & bathwater ran & wine glasses filled with the hope of toasts that become farewells all too soon? but

love...

i remember it; glad i had it when i had it; look forward to it again

but:

i like being accountable to/for me/myself/i &
i enjoy knowing that only my name is on the lease &
i now know that love isn't an obligation plus
i have been in adult relationships
(or some semblance of them)
enough to know that if i am not able to be with me
myself & i & love the fact that i am me & my
completion is not contingent upon being able to
claim another as the "reason i live"...then i will never matter

i just hope this isn't what i think it is

love...

you asked to; if i would, but i can't

because what i think it is can't be
until i am sure enough within myself,
finally,
to do just that: love

H.
12-6-2005

little boy blue

2005-11-19T07:38:00.000-08:00

he lives downstairs from me in another life. the one where we knew each other beyond greetings that bordered on a formality: i saw him naked. i didn't look on my own. at the sound of his movements, i turned towards the adult steps of a man trying not to be seen, though he watched me all along. he wanted to move quicker; fast enough so that i might not glimpse him in his barren state. he knew he would bear the mask of shame that i would not be cursed to turn into a pillar of salt or lose my sight.

but i saw him. excited. embarrassed. aware. in this life, we barely can get the words out before we are passing one another. glad that the moment we shared but wished we hadn't was halfway over & would be completely done once we were no longer occupied the same space. we used to talk at the mailbox. stand in doorways leaning, waiting for the next conversation to keep up us glued in place. in that life, we wanted some of the same things, longed for common dreams to become realities, & all the while, we never said what we wanted. the dancing around of black histories & sheltered heartbeats would never allow this.

each of the moments since then became lives of their own, & in those lives, memory forgot our names. never uttered. but i knew him & he knew me & there didn't need to be any words spoken. instead, tokens of stolen time coupled with movements across hardwood floors to answer doors to return mail or just check in after not seeing one another for weeks at a time became the silence that haunts both of us to this day.

years from now, you will say that was your intention: to make me yearn for you. foolishly, i will wave away this remark; pass it off as just your bravado. then, just as now & later, your words will be truthful. i believed you because i wanted to...not because you knew what you were doing.

silly how this one step beyond has made us something else to one another though it will take years before we go back to being what we started off as. we used to conjure beyond the part of life we take in our hands where fingers joined to greet & close out informal lapses of fellowship on hallway landings & greystone porches. that's what we had...

"don't you know him?"

"yeah...he lives in my building."

"don't you all speak?"

"naw, not really."

"that's messed up. he is your neighbor"

"maybe, but that's all he is."

" didn't say he was more. is he?"

"whatchu mean?"

...you knew already. ashamed. confused. embarassed. barren. naked. watching me watch you in a split second. knowing. in another life, you lived downstairs from me. watching yourself walk up one flight of stairs to knock on my door, there, you kissed me for first & last time. there was no need to speak anymore after that. i remember this; can't forget.

almost there

2005-11-14T00:31:00.000-08:00

the moment the words came out
i knew it was over. again.

technology is a calulated bitch
& if you use it too much for business
it becomes your business
& becomes more you than you

to program people
with the right information,
try person-to-person

text mails should never be your option

but it was

& the moment the words came out
i knew it was over. again.

i know things

for instance,
i know you did not call
because you didn't
& you couldn't talk to me
because you didn't

but why does not change what
& when the words came out
i knew it was over. again.

silence speaks volumes
words contain silent consonants & vowels
pronouced aloud, life is spelled with letters
that you could have spoken on your own

but didn't

i am not the district of columbia
& some taxes i will not pay
for where i am at in my life,
i cannot allow safe passage
of ambiguous barges of cargo
neither approved or recommended
by the heart of me

but thank you for saying what you did
& not saying what you should've because
now that the words & silences have come out,
i am almost there...

H.
12-14-2005

i am:

2005-11-07T19:59:00.000-08:00

tired as hell, but nowhere near home so sleeping isn't an option

trying to figure out just how much of my sanity i can hold on to in this neighborhood where the pimps & whores block my path into the liquor store

almost through with love...but not through enough to give up

a few years shy of my doctorate...but too scared to get up & leave chicago

really scared about leaving my family

not worried about what people say about me

constantly struggling to be the best man/father/brother/nephew/son i can be...it's hard as hell...really

in desperate need of an answer as to why labels really matter...for real

in agreement with brenda russell's claim of "in the thick of it...better get a grip & get it on!"

still tired after dancing all saturday night into sunday morning

hungry as hell

not that excited about the holidays...but i plan on being full

clearly in need of some intellectual stimulation outside of the hgtv network

still cleaning my house of my ex's remnants

still convinced i should live alone even if mr. right pops his invisible ass up

automatically turned off by people with color complexes

even more turned off by the "our kind of people" black folks

still trying to meet two of my father's children who live in the midwest

still working on my book

trying to cut back on smoking & drinking (mostly at the same time)

up late most nights reading & writing

a good man...though not always to myself

waiting on someone to teach me how to drive a stick-shift

excited about going to north carolina

nervous about going to north carolina

glad my plants are growing

trying to decide

happy about the birth of my grandnephew

cautious about being in love again

worried about my mother

constantly amazed, while not surprised, by what i see on the local news alone

going to go back to dance class

mostly in good spirits

not intrigued enough to answer "blocked," "unavailable," or "anonymous" phone calls

still moved by james baldwin's "just above my head"

going to go somewhere to eat...right now

leaving...

H.
11-7-2005

he's alright with me

2005-11-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

for leroy whitfield

remember when we used to have
those nostalgic moments
where we'd imitate our parents
& do their dances from back in the day?
we didn't need music as we'd be in your/my
living room doing the fool while
moving in between cool-ness & slick-hood
we'd do the "search", the "freak" & the "football"
while egging each other on with laughter

remember when
i lived in hyde park in the coach house
around the corner from your brother

& we'd get together & walk a few
blocks away to the health food store
& to hollywood video on 53rd street where
we were happy as hell cuz the soy milk was on sale
& those trips to the co-op grocery store for parmesean
to make the alfredo sauce...

at night, we'd read anne rice aloud to one another
or watch movies on your laptop until we both fell asleep

other moments found us
looking out over the city from your old apartment
on 21st and michigan avenue where we held on to one another
while watching the streetlights stretch out for miles.

funny moments, loving moments
(did i ever tell you i learned to love from you?)
that lasted even when you moved

& then you came & visited

that time my roommate caught us naked in the bed
(that was funny)
or
that time you did that sparkling rendition of ethel merman
singing prince's "kiss"
(that was funny & scary...but mostly funny)
or
the time we caught the greyhound to birmingham
& missed our bus during our layover in nashville
on the way back home
or
all those other times & spaces where you let me in

& let me love you while loving me all along/asking for nothing
giving everything

leroy,
i have stopped crying so much,
as your spiritual hand has wiped away
the path of tears down my face,
but i miss you something awful

& there's so much i want to say
& so much i should've done
& so much of you that is still here with me
that i don't know some moments...

but in all those moments both near & far,
you have been alright with me...
& i can never nor will i ever forget you
or your amazing spirit.

leroy,
i love you...still

H.
11-2-2005

grange copeland middle school

2005-09-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

for alice walker & mrs. dickeren's class

...not far from where he stood there existed still, it seemed to him, at least the shadows of his first life. he was on his third or fourth...final...gradually the lines had come, the perplexed lines between the eyes, placed as if against & in spite of the young, smooth & carefree brow...
--alice walker

somehow, i kept their 12 & 13 year old attention spans. sometimes they got it, or wanted to look like they did, but mostly there were several starts & stops

but i kept them focused, somehow. the laughs of 27 faces upon me, & for a few minutes we were all right there...

"writing = liberation"

i had written on the dry erase board, still hearing the screech of chalk across the old school slate wall as i then wrote

"silence = death"

they wanted to know, but more importantly, i needed to know what they knew. mostly to have something else, finally, to make the connection to.

they guessed my age in a contest that questioned their 6th & 7th grade perceptions of being pooor; their favorite places outside of chicago visited & imagined. just five questions total & i learned in 2, 40-minute class blocks that the youth are listening

...& they want to know that we're listening, too...

so they ask about hurricanes, express their desire to go to college, their fear of leaving their neighborhoods & they dance down hallways, run one another into lockers for laughs, still think wearing uniforms is "lame" & several are reading & writing at or below grade level(s)

today, i learned that we can all fly & out of the mouths & faces of 27 faces & 54-plus traces of kin

i yearned to be in their places
but i am so glad that i am where i am
today

simply because...

michael's cafe

2005-09-10T01:30:00.000-07:00

chicago, 2005

to throw this napkin at someone. land
somewhere so somebody knows i mean
business. i'll still pretend it wasn't me...

it was the waitress. she's worked here
less weeks than i have more. but i don't
work here, & still i'm not necessarily

aware of my hand moving this pen to the next
line. what genre was culture club? the
boy was a gender all his own. like

anthony huff shaving his eyebrows because of
"do you really want to hurt me?"

he was a tough kid in the projects. i damned
his soul because of his bravery. his foolishness,
too.

i love this line! it starts off sweet in
my mind & sounds good as i caress
this steak-sauce; stained remnant of

a napkin. knowingly only that
i'm moving my other hand:

a writing act to

the next

line

stopping/specifically

H.
9-10-2005

later the dawn comes earlier

2005-09-08T01:26:00.000-07:00

for michael williams, jr.

the sun is leaving earlier
i noticed today that it's
a trick on my eyes because
everybody's still moving around
as if the sky was lit

maybe early evening
when all my chores are done
& there's just enough time
to see a movie on cable
& maybe call a few people

the sun leaving earlier
evokes a response
that sometimes comes in
small gestures

light brushes of my eyes
against the pure air of movement
merely blinks
acknowledgements of the present
where
there are conversations i want to have
that i can't have with others
& because he doesn't know me
he might be the one to coax the talk
out of me

the number came from someone
who told someone else & they told me
so i used it because at church i'm just
there & even afterwards, daddy
just takes me to my grandmother's
where i can go outside, but inside,
there are still these conversations
i want to have

like how the sun is leaving earlier
& when i finally talked to him
i decided that i could talk to him
& wanted to talk to him
early enough in the evening
that my father would think i
had been in the house...

i hope he likes me...

we've talked so much
i feel like i know him...

i wonder what he looks like...

it's late...

...i have to go home!

H.
9-8-2005

today

2005-08-27T18:34:00.000-07:00

when your dreamboat
turns out to be a footnote
i'm a man with a mission
in two- or three editions
& i'm giving you a longing look...

elvis costello, "everyday i write the book"

i'm having a good time just doing nothing today. work has been an overkill due to all the filing i've had to do, but you work or you starve. i'm about to transition on to something better, as my job ends next wednesday, & i am not worried in the least. i've had to turn down two jobs teaching due to their not being close enough for me to get to. yes, i want to help the kids learn, but i can't spend my whole paycheck every month on metra and cta passes, so i have to pass. i do miss being in the classroom, though. in january, i begin teaching high school humanities at a charter school here, so that should be fine.

my sister & i have been discussing how we can start traveling with the kids, & that has me excited! we plan on going to birmingham & pine bluff before christmas, so that should be fun for all of us. me & my favorite ladies...we watched team america on thursday & laughed so much we all had sideaches. the music is the kicker, as whoever is singing any/all of those songs is a pure, unadulterated fool! before it was over, we were all singing, "america, FUCK YEAH!" not for patriotic reasons, but merely for comedy.

one of my best friends & i had the state-of-relationships talk a few days ago, & it was refreshing for me to discuss how life moves on & we move with it. he asked the question that i have unintentionally been trying to avoid which was, "are you alright?" now, i know that i can be alright, & for the most part, i have been alright, but something changed that minute & i let it ride out again. not in the "i hate his muh-fuckin' ass" type of way but more so in the "yeah, i've thought about it, & still my next steps have been" kinda way. i'd be a fool to say that the past doesn't flash across my mind every now & then, however, i have learned that how i react to it is key in me remaining alright. at present, we have seen one another four times & not so much as spoken a hello, which is okay with me. sure, you always wish it didn't have to be that way, but isn't it best to keep it moving when there isn't any reason to stop?

...my ph.d. plans just seem to get better each moment. i'm seriously hoping that new school university accepts my application. if they don't, i have the university of illinois at chicago, northwestern university in evanston, the university of maryland/college park & clark-atlanta. the last choice stumps my old professors, but they have to respect my choices. they see me as following their previously laid paths to schools that don't interest me, but this is my journey, so i have to go in the direction of my own heart. leaving here isn't as dire as it used to be for me, but it is something that i will be doing soon. in making that decision, the guy that twists my hair is like, "what are you running from?" to which i wonder has he fell on his head more times that i'd remembered.

i'm not running from anything, i just know that if i stay here for school when i don't have to then that'll be one more exception i've given the "okay" & so far, that has not been my m.o. so why revert? i stayed here after undergrad, passing up grad school in philadelphia for a whole lot of reasons, but mainly motivated by fear: fear of learning a new place, being accepted, being away from my family, etc. that was then; i'm no longer the scared 20-something i was then. i have braved more dangerous grounds just traveling across town on public transportation, so the navigator in me is ready for whatever change of scenery comes my way. by march of 2006, i'll know where i'm going & whether it's new york or evanston, i'll find my way.

in the meantime, md, somady & i have been talking over movie ideas, as somady is our resident filmmaker since our group of two filmmakers (pistachio joe is in nyc working on his m.a. degree) has lessened. it was fun talking about it. now i just want to do the damn thing because after watching the series finale of "6 feet under", i definitely fell for the "get your life together now cuz we all gon' die" message, therefore, i am going to continue to plan & work & live & write & laugh & cry & smell the damn grease cooking from miles away as i keep it moving today & tomorrows if the creator sees it as such.

this film idea is an outgrowth of work we all contributed to somady's filmmaking history. i got to be in it, & though there was no spoken script, i had a blast just being able to follow the directions only to see the history of what we'd all done together on celluloid. the bug has bit me, definitely, but i don't think i'll be doing community theater anytime soon (though it might be fun). this will be a welcome project as my summer comes to an end & it's going to provide me with the opportunity to stay motivated.

i realized today that this summer has been nonstop, busy, & fun...i asked for all of this & have no complaints. while i'm off work after next week, i plan to finally paint my apartment & purchase some items for my office/2nd bedroom. i also have a lot of writing i need to get caught up on & a host of people i'm going to spend some time with--mainly my grandma. she's always been my biggest supporter & talking to her is what gets me through the manic moments of life as of recently...like my mom & i not speaking again because i "can't seem to shut up". true, but i learned it from somewhere (her), & now that i have finally confronted those silencing moments head on (which i'll go into in a future blog...maybe), i will not be quiet anymore when my constitution (my own personal one) is threatened or made light of or ignored...

but i can talk about everything with my grandma: 83, drives a black cadillac seville, power walks every morning (and has been for over twenty years) & will crack you up laughing about the old times in pine bluff, arkansas & chicago's "black belt/bronzeville" early years. we have "power talks" where we go on of hours about black history/present/future which last for hours, literally, & she never gets tired of listening or talking to me. see, i'm the "inquisitively, curious" one who always wants to know, so i ask (prior to "just asking", i did have a history of checking pockets & voicemail messages...but i have changed...if i even think i have to do that with anyone i meet, i stop the association immediately)

...my employment prospects are looking good though, so that's part of the reason i am not worried. the other part is that i'm having a good time today & know that this only one of many i'll have in my lifetime. mortality--we all have to go at some point, but while i'm here, i'm going to have the life that makes me happy knowing where i've come from, where i've been, & where i'm going...

right now, i'm going to have a drink...maybe two...

cheers!

H.
8-27-2005

reunions, repeats & reading literacy

2005-08-24T02:41:00.000-07:00

14 years after
18 years prior
32 years later

there are gatherings held
attended by most of them
some since grammar school

some names remembered
others by facial features
sincere smiles & handshakes

they remember details
differently as simple as
hours in short or long days

14 years afterward
18 years prior
32 years later

grows years older
& still we plan to meet
just because we remember
&
all on the mailing list

it's good to see all of them
remembering yearbooks
walkouts & food fights
& happy because there was
one more black face in that class
one less reminder the 2nd floor
hallway at the northern end was
always patroled

the place
where all the black kids could
breathe before becoming lost
in a sea of foreign tongues &
hostile stares in 50-minute intervals,
but in those four minutes between
classes, i would run to that corner
of the world, & the neighborhood
& home greeted you somehow
so i mostly thought

30 black faces in a sea of 608
kids from across the continent
in october 1987
came together through
lotteries, early applications
& feeder schools to learn something
as freshmen
that only 197 of us barely knew
13 black faces seeing one another
for the first time remembering
what the first was before
i go to the reunions
sit with the ghosts
& premonitions
for a spell still
after high school, house music & tretorn gym shoes
after grammar school, box haircuts & trenchcoats
32 years later

looks like 15 years ago

just more computers...

H.
8-24-2005

times contain colors

2005-08-19T00:48:00.000-07:00

for jerrold, darnell, james, frank, robert lee,
terrance, anthony, steve, lamont, charles,
vernon, tyrone, mikey, hermie & everyone
else from the henry horner homes

situations of change, remembrances
of schemes & things
when we were once young
we cared only for what was
fed to us
taking by silver spoonfuls
life lessons only adhered to
when our spirits were crying out
"i-told-you-so's"

around
traces of lace borders
over metal caskets
& boys in blue
with white hoods

tragedy at red stop signs
& college degrees
only semesters away
fly on the breezes like confetti
as the coroner whizzes through

i am an adult in a time of
war on minds with an inner child
still growing amidst gunfire
& black & white waitlists;
a place where
spines are broken with empty promises
& deferred dreams mailed off in bulk
still go unanswered

times contain colors
hues & symetric patterns
where pretense & pride
hold backroom sessions
& the masses
trash all that is different
--until it becomes new again

times when we shot for marbles
& now shots take lives
eternal immunizations still kill...

happy times of playin'
hide-go-seek
kickin' on doors in the projects
running/holding our sides
cracking up laughing/carefree
but now the hustlers
are cracked up & on crack bad
running low on energy
from powering up on government subsidies
of scattered sites housing
& five dollar hits & now she's gone...

the times of sunshine
golds during summer holidays
& billfolds of foodstamps
are now y2k dreams
of barcoded gallons of drinking water
& the question asked
around the place
is why my eyes still choose to dream
in color

& the answer comes easy...

times contain colors
situations of change, remembrances
of when i was young
& i knew you

we wondered if we'd live
to see the day

do you see what i see?

H.
8-19-2005

no matter what sign you are

2005-08-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

my grandmother is a taurus & my grandfather was a scorpio (rest his soul). he died in 1977, a few days after i celebrated my fourth birthday. i can remember kissing his bearded cheek as a child. my sister & i used to slide down the stairs (i can show you better than i can tell you) & he would yell for us to stop it. we didn't care that those stairs used to kill our backsides, but it was fun all the same as we rushed to see who would get to the bottom first only to run back up & start the whole process over again.

i bring that up to talk about my taurus moment i had today. not many taurus' will admit they are stubborn, & neither am i admitting it to confirm that bit of information, but i will say that we have more problems not being able to give of ourselves in most situations than we receive. we can't help trying to be the nurturing soul all the time. however, there are a few of us who are crazier than cat-piss...

take those close to gemini...need i say more?

or those with that aries riding out on their horns...they scare the hell out of me!

in reality, it doesn't matter what sign you are (the supremes talked about this in the hit "no matter what sign you are"), as long as you know how to treat people like you want to be treated, then you should do alright. a brother told me, however, that no one really wants a nice guy to which i was like, "what?"

could this be true? does everyone aspire to call an abusive, nonfeeling, negative thinking man theirs? i have heard brothers wish aloud for the man who broke the mold (probably over their heads), but what mold are we talking about & why is it so important that he broke it in the first place?

i don't like mean folks in particular, but i have learned that a taurus can make an exception in a minute--something i'm religiously NOT doing anymore! i used to fall in love with "potential" until i really looked at the definition which, in essence, meant "ain't doing nothing yet!"

potential was:

hot but broke
articulate but condescending
loving but abusive
right-handed & could draw but a thief
left-handed & could sing but illiterate
choosey & particular but homeless & barely liked by his own friends & family

lawd, i used to like me some potential...& he was every sign in the zodiac...

my sister & i talk for hours about how there are no new people under the sun. our theory is that even newborn babies are someone else, which is why little so-&-so is such much like whatshisname. after hearing the comparisons all their lives, some grow up & meet their unofficial twin & say the same thing like, "damn, we do look alike" or "i sure do act like them!"

but no two people are alike & although what one's disposition might suggest, he/she is still only who they are, & the similarities to others should cease at some point, unless there's no mistaking who you're talking to. the trick is to know that if it's too much like something you don't want to be in, then you run, right? maybe not run, but walk away without looking back, lest you, too, become a pillar of salt whether you're male or female. i'd like to believe that no matter what space/place someone falls under in the "astrological wheel of identities" good people are good people.

i often hear, "you're a pretty cool taurus" from people on occasion, but what does that mean to a leo? i've also heard on occasion that, "i get along with all taurus' pretty well...that's why i knew i'd like you" but what does that mean to the countless other taurus folks that they or i have yet to meet? & did they know i was a taurus before they met me? & more importantly, what does that have to do with the cost of butter?

so, the moment came today when i had to realize that we all turn on the wheel...meaning? no matter what sign you are, u can only be who you are & the most you can ever do is the best you can...

nuff said...

H.
8-19-2005

i need a route canal, now!

2005-08-11T14:53:00.000-07:00

when i walk to the train station around the corner from my house, i usually speak to the neighborhood regulars--the retired men who wake up early to go get their coffee & daily news fix; the prostitutes just starting their day; the young brothers & sisters who gave up on school a long ago but they go back & forth around the block, stopping in 40- to 50-minute increments like they're going to class. these are just a few of the people in my neighborhood.

riding the train, however, is something altogether different, as those of us who share the same train car come from several other neighborhoods, sometimes carrying all of our neighborhood prejudices with us. i live in bronzeville, or as the map says "douglas". i do not live in the pseudo-pretentious-at-times hyde park nor do i live in the hidden gem of kenwood/oakenwald with it's mansions & well-manicured lawns amongst new construction & million dollar rehabs on former grounds occupied by squatters. i call bronzeville home, an area so close to changing but not soon enough to dispel the reputation of being home to one of the largest housing projects in the nation--the robert taylor homes, which, to date, has only two buildings remaining. don't get me wrong, it's not a bad place at all to live/want to live, however, the changing of the guard is slow moving.

there is no grocery store close by other than jewel food store which you damn near have to curse out the cashiers each rip cuz they want to eat skins with hot sauce while ringing up your groceries. & it's actually not that convenient to get to unless you have a car (cuz although the famed ida b. wells housing project is coming down in shifts, there are still enough folks who'd want to rob you that you don't want to walk past there to get to the store).

there are two sit-down restaurants not too far from one another that you can eat at, however, you might want to bring a book to read at one (which shall remain nameless), because they take a millenium to bring you your food--sometimes, it's someone else's food they bring you. the other one...well, let's just say that i'd rather go get takeout from the bulletproof counter joints which are all over the place. as distant as many of us would like to believe we are, during the work week, we all catch the same trains/buses & though we don't always speak, the truth is that this public transit gets us all to work in the morning, regardless if it's mandatory or optional.

but this entry is about train rides, more importantly the one i took this morning. unbeknownst to me, the car i chose to enter had just been privy to an attempted robbery by a group of youth walking through all the cars in search of something to take that had to be: easily pawn-able, easy to snatch without interference & tacky (a prerequisite, obviously). no sooner had i sat down near three of the several passengers in that particular car did i realize not only were they loud in their disbelief of what had just happened, but the whole train was in an uproar. so what do i do? i asked the person sitting nearest to me only to find out i had just missed the display by one train stop, but i couldn't tell that things had calmed down, as vigilante justice became more real the more i listened to the voices get louder & louder by the minute.

folks were cussing & saying things like, "i wish that was me, i'd beat the fuck out of them lil' young punks" & "it don't make no sense that you can't even wear the nice things you work for without someone trying to take shit from you" as well as "that's why i'm gon' get me a gun & put a cap in any mu'fucka who try to take anything from me!"

although i feel where everyone is coming from, i can't help but look beneath the surface at a few things. true, stealing is stealing, but it is partly the blame of society for the emphasis it continues to place on the importance of having all these material possessions that could further entice the with-out/have-not young man or woman to feel that stealing is what he/she has to do to be, visibly, worth something. that, by no means is an excuse, but it is what it is. & not all thieves/wanna-be thieves come from families of robbers/burglars, i'm sure. the part that wasn't so surprising, however, is that only one woman intervened when the shit went down.

she was older, had a cane & had a mouth that would make a sailor seem more like an altar-boy. it was her quick actions that caused the young men to run to the other car, according to the woman sitting across the aisle from me. but the way everyone was in an uproar, you'd have thought they had all decided to block all the exits on the car & push the emergency button on the train for the conductor so the police could be called. unfortunately, it took someone's mother to put a stop to the would be attempt in which a chain was still snatched, but only one of about five the victim had on. i don't know if it was a male or a female, but there were enough folks on that train who looked like they slapbox buildings for fun.

public transportation is how i get around & there is always something to see/hear on the train. the green line train is interesting itself whether you're headed through the loop to the west side or headed either to englewood or woodlawn which are southwest & southeast respectively, but for the most part, my commute isn't bad. but this whole robbery on the train is making me nervous, moreso because if it was me, would i have just been left to get robbed by a group of young bandits while everyone just sits in their own worlds reading their magazines or talking loud as hell on their cellphones? i am notorious for carrying several interesting items in my bag--box cutter, vice grips, bag of black pepper, alcohol & a box of matches, but that's just for art's sake (that's my story & i plan on sticking to it), but there is no art in victimizing folks over jewelry or cellphones or gym shoes...

i do wish that i could've seen the lady beat the would-be thief with her cane. that had to be a sight to see.

i'm getting a car soon...& when i do, these urban rides will be no more, as i will become the road raged driver who flips lazy pedestrians the bird when they take all year to cross or cuts off soccer mom's to get into those parking spaces that take hours to find. i can smell it now...the freedom!

H.
8-11-2005

musical moment

2005-08-09T00:56:00.000-07:00

is it alright if i cry
without no positive speeches
i don't need no lessons on god
he knows i'm human & i got weakness
don't tell me it's alright
my life fell into ten pieces
don't tell me it's fine
just let me have a cry

--kina cosper

i am fine
have held back as long as i could
& can't complain

oh, but i can & should

tears cleanse & now i am sparkling,
refreshed & new & feeling no pain
but, alas, i had a moment...

because i've ran from it
convinced that there is no reason
to dwell on what i cannot change
or wonder why me, why this
or the more famous line of "why now?"

the tears,
they did run down my face
& the smile hid behind a scowl
the contorted, twisted mouth
that wants to let out the scream

that final moan

of recognition
that i too, am fine, have been fine
& will continue to be fine.

but why?

because i said so
& did so: cry

now,
the healing begins
& the thin walls
finally talk back

because in this moment
i am fine, now...

H.
8-9-2005

c.w.d. (cooking while dancing)

2005-08-07T23:05:00.000-07:00

today i found out a new way to dance
with music blaring & black love running all
through my body while i made spaghetti
fried some fish & some chicken
& stirred up a pitcher of iced tea
dancing around my kitchen & me
not caring about the heat as
the sunday afternoon breezes
still found their way through the halls &
about the rooms

i danced around the kitchen island
1- & 2-stepping to jazz vocals & riffs
singing to no one in particular but me
marveling that the movements come
easy, though i haven't stepped foot in a class
in a long while

working at the sink was my warm-up:
knee bends to reach skillets & pots
arm stretches to grab spices & seasonings
contractions & releases to clean the glasses

everything in place
now the dance begins
the thawing of flesh leaves traces
& the chosen condiments
& selected mode of preparation

has provided directions to move

to
lift reach lift stretch reach lift
to
dip fall roll step step lift roll
then shake
shake
let go
push
open
close
increase heat & volume

while washing the skillets & pots already used
wiping oil from the stove in circular motions
starting the clockwise winds from the heels
to my crown & i cleaned & moved & let
the music take me away in my house

where today i found a new way to dance
while the music played on while black
love coursed through me, me loving
that it speaks to me in the way i walk the floors
content

my feet go where they please,
find spaces i haven't been before
barefooted & wanting to move
with & against rhythms imagined
or real

today i found a new way to dance:
like no one is watching.

H.
8-7-2005

the colored couch might get some slipcovers

2005-08-04T15:56:00.000-07:00

in a matter of weeks, my best friend will be moving & i am trying to find a way to deal with the soon-to-be distance that can no longer be avoided. it's funny how you get used to folks being in such close proximity & take for granted that it will always be there. i haven't said much about it, but i will definitely miss him.

life has been full of changes everyday. my coworkers & i are all about to go our seperate ways professionally, as our funding has ended, so we all work together to close out our respective roles and responsibilities. i've been offered a job to teach high school humanities which i have accepted & i am very hopeful about this upcoming transition. i do miss being in the classroom with students, as i used to teach 7th & 8th grade social studies & language arts for nearly five years. it will definitely be a welcome change, as managing adults has proved challenging & at times, very stressful. but those days are almost over & i must admit, it has been a wonderful ride.

my house still needs a thorough cleaning, which i plan to begin in less than an hour. floors will be mopped, furniture will be moved & dishes will finally be put away. a trick i've learned to getting through with the most taxing of clean-up tasks is to pretend that someone important is coming over, just don't have conversations out loud with yourself as you clean. it get's confusing & a little scary...

i have a 12-month plan in place that will more than likely lead me to either atlanta, maryland or new york to pursue my doctorate. the decision itself has been hard to make, as i am used to being near my family, but my time here is not well spent, as i have made too many exceptions along the way. i can't do it anymore, as it has finally dawned on me that i have not acted completely in my own best interest, so now, it is time to plan my graceful exit as only my long legs & arms can.

everyone's been supportive thus far, but even if they weren't, i realize that i cannot live for them nor can they live for me...

which brings me to the situation that has been bugging me for awhile now: how do you do all that you can when you've already given too much of yourself to causes not completely your own?

i've tried to be a good son to my parents--which works out on occasion, until i piss someone off because of something i've said.

i've tried to be a good father to my kids, though dna & apathy have removed me from the technical relationship itself.

i've tried to be a good brother to my siblings, but we can't all seem to get along at the same time.

i've tried to be the good partner/lover/boyfriend, but experience has shown me that you can give all of you & it still not be enough for those without true knowledge of what partnership means.

i've tried to be a good friend to my friends, but our differences of opinion & mindsets seem to build more walls than collaborations.

i've tried all these & more, & now i have tired of trying to make sense of a world gone crazy, though some may urge me to stay on in & continue giving it the "old college try". well, undergrad has been over for me nine years ago, so once again, i have to reenact my methods of dispelling people, places & things that don't enhance me, nor offer me the outlet or opportuniy to contribute to even the most mintue of causes/conversations.

i'm finally happy & am in control of my life, but in order to continue in that space, i can't be all things to everyone, & as of now, i cease operating as such.

it's like people want you to be mad, angry, hurt, negative, moody & a whole host of other ways of being because that's the dominant theme of their lives. not mine!

i can finally say i'm proud of myself and why, so why should i allow for one moment someting or someone else's "disposition" intrude on my newfound appreciation for my resilient, self-preservation?

whatever, my biggest dilemma right now is figuring out what to have for dinner...and that's fine with me.

so grilled soy cheese sandwiches it shall be!

H.
8-4-2005

dusty springfield used to live with me

2005-07-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

& she will stay put right where she is
& if she wants to walk these streets
at any hour among the pimps & ho's
then she will do just that

she has her own key, her own room
& knows how to get downtown, so she
was always alright with coming to the hood.

i can't let her go cuz she sings to me
let's me sing with her & she ain't hung up
cuz we both dated the son of a preacher man
mornings we have breakfast in bed
watching good morning america & oprah

my mom came over & met her,
telling her it's commedable that she
didn't sing to segregated audiences
in africa, but "you should've made
a song with george clinton to really
make the queen mad."

that was funny to dusty...

like when i make fun of her singing the
growing pains theme song. she stops then,
correcting me that were that song not there
for that series, it wouldn't have been a hit.

she's right there.

HER: kirk cameron is christian now?
ME: yeah. go figure.
HER: i know, right!

the neighbors don't know what to make
of us as we walk to the liquor store under
the elevated train to get unfiltered camels
& bottles of wine--we pick colors according
to our temperments.

me/crazy/red & white
she/crazy/red & white & what's on sale

we have no shame as we exit the one-story
structure strewn with youth talking their talk
& the elders talking their talk while the women
peddling their secret stashes go from crowd to crowd.

HER: this is all a song. can't you hear the music all around u?
ME: yeah, i hear it, but i wish somebody takes a little of that treble out.
HER: clearly! i hear that hideous infraction as well!

sometimes, we drink with them
entertaining them with standards
as dusty will not sing the preacherman song
for just anyone.

don't forget about me is the dope fiend's favorite.

she moved out awhile ago, but she calls every
now & then. we sing over the phone now
at the beginning & end of our storied conversations.
it wasn't that we didn't get along, it's the weather here
she prefers back overseas where her blue eyed soul
came from.

HER: god, i miss u. u were the only one who could wear out "i just can't make it alone"
ME: get out! i only follow that voice of yours. are you coming back soon?
HER: sure am, but just in case i don't make it soon, you can sing all the parts of all the songs.
ME: get out?
HER: i'm trying. the pet shop boys aren't as fun as you & i do love chicago's bronzeville.
ME: maybe we can make a song about that.
HER: that would be nice!

all the cd's i own of her singing are on
the top shelf of my cd rack & the talk
never ends & the singing soon begins
& the glass she always used
i fill up with wine, serendading all the
days i lived with dusty springfield
in notes & rhythms only she & i
could ride together

H.

one month later

2005-07-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

to say that life has not been interesting lately is an understatement. between work & finding time to just exist, my days have been seriously filled. this is what i asked for: those moments where i asked the creator to give some business. that, s/he did!

recently, i took a little fall down my sister's back stairs, & as funny as it turned out to be, i now have beautiful raspberry scars on my hand that make it look like i backslapped a stranger with a limestone face. it doesn't hurt, though.

niggeroki last night was amazing, as usual. i put enough drinks back last night to give a small village alcohol poisoning, but isn't that what you're supposed to do with your friends when having a [drunken] good time? i noticed yesterday how we are all slowly scattering in the wind, with one of my best friends moving to nyc soon & the hosts of our wednesday weekly sangin' fest moving to the burbs. that has been our uniting force for the past few months & it's going to be a little empty for awhile. maybe i can talk them into doing holiday niggeroki--where we get together for all the cme-esque (christmas, mother's day & easter) holidays. that would definitely be more than festive, as i'm sure the material that we all choose to cover will be excruciatingly insane.

i've been toying with the notion that i just might like to date again, & so far, that's been a good feeling. the brotha i've been seeing is pretty cool. like the beginnings of many romances & heart-wrenching beginnings, we talk a lot & i have found that i enjoy hearing from him often & like what i hear. we have a very long distance in between us, but as i said, i'm hopeful, as it is now my mantra: in order to get something you've never had, you have to do something you've never done. it's cool, like i said. what prompted me to step out of pseudo-jade mode is from a conversation with my best friend as we let it ride out on relationships. i realized that relationships are okay & i have control over what kind of relationship i want to be in (something that i have always known, however, putting it into practice has been something else altogether). i don't want to get married & start the whole fairy-tale-made-real experience, but i can open myself up more to what could be as opposed to falling out with myself over what was. that shit is over...so, i am officially dating again.

the good thing about this brotha is that we've no grandiose expectations over the future, but day-by-day, we find ways to communicate our dreams & wishes for our independent endeavors in a way that i haven't had before. i read my poems & short stories to him, burning up both of our cellphones into the early hours of the morning in two time zones & i am enjoying learning about him. however this turns out, i'm cool with just being able to open up a part of me to someone who wants to open up to me as well. i have come to a peaceful space within where i can enjoy moments more clearly & openly because, finally, a greater part of both my heart & mind have healed...now, it's time for the eye exam!

last month, i went to the windy city pride poetry slam & fell in love all over again with myself & a few others (i've decided to fall in love with everything about life, having relationships in my mind complete with beginnings, middles & ends). tim'm west was one of the judges & for me that was wonderful, as i have had a solid space for his work in my heart & mind for awhile now. both his book & cd are in heavy rotation in my house. & he's actually a nice guy--not that i expected anything less. tai freedom & her other thesis'...samaya in her raw acceptance of her extra pounds & her love for women like her...they bought me home, evoking a whole trough of familial moments i have been blessed enough to share with all the women among my family & friends. i hope to see & hear from them soon to receive more of their word-blessings.

it took this year's pride celebration--to which i only attended the slam--to move me to be more proactive in my present life endeavors. i accept the fact that i, too, am "strange & unusual" just as winona ryder proclaimed in beetlejuice, but i can now take it a little further in saying how proud i am that i can be both strange & unusual without feeling insane about that. folks have a way of trying your constitution at times. i have weathered 32 years solidly, & despite all the changes thus far, i feel very accomplished & hopeful about tomorrow. but i am in need of some consistent sleep in the near future.

i had a visit from my frats & sorors which proved to be a very fulfilling experience having them in chicago for four days. it's always good to see them & seeing how we're growing as an organization has been amazing. my younger cousin just completed intake which is equally fun & joyous cuz now i have someone in the family with me that when we wear our t-shirts, i won't be the only one explaining who we are, which is fine, but a little lonely since most of my frats & sorors live many states away from me.

if i watch robert townsend's "jackie's back" one more time, i am going to begin reciting the whole movie (i already have the singing parts down...a few others work out better when i'm reciting them alongside the movie)...so for nostalgia, i'm going to watch it one more time tonight.

i'm laughing more, smiling more...

H.

making my own kale greens

2005-06-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

to get over is to be over,
& there are certain elements
wrapped in truths & pounding hearts
when stirred lightly
land you on your feet
still moving

there have been recent moments
where memories & wishes almost
do something inside, but finally
the foundation is settled. the newness
doesn't creak underfoot

because today i walked
no different than days before
but something more settled
has done as much

i can & have walked for less

more movements
all my own

more moments
all my own

it is the possibility
that to get over is to be over
& walking today is a personal
feat

more for myself
& those certain elements
that unwrap & loosen up

now,
i know

now,
i am

h
6-26-05
chicago

what the fuck!

2005-06-22T17:51:00.000-07:00

there are prostitutes outside my window
who sell their wares in single denominations
praying between slightly-bent knees,
pants down around ankles in front seats
of vehicles with tinted windows

these exchanges happen frequently
enough that i don't have to turn on
the television. instead, like pearl
on 227, i watch outside my window
or from my backporch these dealings
that go down while they go down

i watch the women light glass pipes
while squatting low so as to not be
seen from the streets, but i am above
their heads; watching their minds soar
before making the score of a good john
good in that he pays exactly what they
ask

but what do you ask a prostitute on
her off-time? do you ask how tricks
are in all seriousness? do you ask
if today's economy has impacted their
going prices? do eight hours work
for you and your family?

& just how do you file this on your
taxes?

i ask nothing, just go by each day &
night speaking while moving. sometimes
i give them a cigarette as i consistently
decline their invitations for some "good head"

when i look into their eyes, i see someone
else in them, but that usually becomes
too much as they have to keep moving
if they are to sell their wares for any
denomination.

is it a proud moment in history to commend
these women for working without the famed
upper management: pimps?

"i'm not a whore, you see! i work for me & me only!"

is what she said to me, as if i'd asked, but in
my eyes she saw the question i couldn't.

"now, young man, give me a square so i can get
it crackin' on this avenue!"

i oblige

keep moving to my home
so that i can see the show
from my window.

part one: alice & curtis

2005-06-15T17:17:00.000-07:00

alice moved her family into a 2-bedroom unit that faced the then chicago stadium. her arrival to manicured lawns, ample green space and a laundry room where the catholic high school graduate with some college under her belt alongside her factory working husband were proud to carve out a corner apartment that was all their own, finally.

curtis: we won't stay too long, just long enough for the kids to get to middle school, then we're gone.

alice: curtis, that's too long! let's leave sooner if we can get ahead by some miracle, know?

curtis: ambitious! i like that a lot!

there, they stayed, and alice and curtis had another child: a baby boy wo died at birth. it broke alice enough to keep her locked in her apartment, leaving curtis to take brooke and michelle to school with just enough time to get to work. nights, he helped them with homework, prepared dinner and made elaborate attempts at explaining why mama stayed in the bed, it seemed, all the time. it was only there that the unexpected happened...i was born, three months too soon.

the collins homes ran from hermitage avenue on the east to oakley boulevard on the west. aolongside the development built in two phases--1957 and 1961, the elevated train lumbered past, it wheels making sparks fall onto the street below. most nights, we pretended it was the fouth of july, a display of fireworks to excite ourselves. lake street was the northern border, and above that steet, wheels of steel carried people over my head for the first fouteen years of my life.

underneath them, mothers caught the lake street bus either east to downtown or further west to see relatives that lived off of cicero or central; kedzie or laramie. there were fathers who once accompanied these mothers on excursions to the loop, but those numbers noticeably thinned out halfway into a generation. the most frequent trips for some turned into paper bag-switching and "doo-wop" notes never to be found on neither a bass or treble clefs. in the end, it was the wives and children who only lent to conversations when spoken in past tenses. in those days, many fathers left to pursue younger, prettier fares who lived in other buildings.

among the kids who traipsed long city blocks to school, i could be counted. though i wasn't one of those who would be cursed to run into their father who'd left to take up house in another part of the collin's homes , i did, however, grow up without him. i watched my friends on those moments, see how caught they were between love and hate. still, they'd go greet him, sometimes hug him. their eyes wide, i saw that relief that released itself into tears as they walked back home to their mother's who knew, but wouldn't let it show.

a short time after alice's miscarriage, she had another baby: another boy. this child lived. they named him lawrence, after alice's uncle. curtis finally had a son to take up the ball with at the park just east of their home. one to teach, finally, the boys-to-men lessons. at his first birthday, curtis spared no expense, and the whole sixth floor celebrated with alice, a seven-year-old brooke and a three-year-old michelle & a two-year old me. over twelve familes filed in and out at various intervals, all knowing alice's joys, remembering losing sons young and old to secret "passings" from abortions to miscarriages to overdoses.

in 1978, alice lost her father and a year after that, lawrence graduated from kindergarten. everyone in the family came: grandma mae, aunt cicely (daddy's sister) and uncle rich (mama's brother) along with brooke, michelle and me, who were already there. neither of daddy's parents came. that was the last year any of us saw him at the same time. phonecalls became almost nonexistent after that year as well.

one day, i just didn't see him for a long time--maybe some years, and when i did see him (the x-mas of, say 1980 when i was about 7, he came by, after all that time. that was also the year my little sister jean was born, celebrating her first xmas on the day my father came by for our mother to sign, unbeknownst to me, divorce papers.

i called him by his first name, intentionally; wanting him to know that i would only call him dad when i was over all those feelings that i told others i didn't feel, though i was going crazy with the charade. twenty-three years later, i'm over it, or so i thought until my youngest sister begin to ask all the questions that her four older siblings never wanted to.

i'm 32...whoa!

2005-05-16T15:50:00.000-07:00

what more can be said about this present fact? last wednesday, i celebrated my 32nd with all the folks that i love & it was a surprise, seeing as though i had nothing to put a party together. but, thanks to my generous older sister (thanks for the two jugs of wine!) and my frat brother "the equalizer" who bought me a cake & ice cream, a party it became.

between the laughter, the smoke & a whole bunch of signifying, i can honestly say that this was one of my better birthdays--stress & drama free.

old friends & new friends came out and made me laugh all night long, so to return the favor, when the smoke & spirits overtook me "real good", i put on nina simone's "sinnerman" and began to beat out my rhythmic birthday affirmation in time with the goddess of soul!

if i had a tambourine, i would've beat that all night long, but i didn't have one--so i attempted to make one by taking to styrofoam bowls and filling them with marbles then covering them with aluminum foil so that i could really shake things up, but, alas, that wasn't enough...

but there was my drum sitting underneath my living room window...so i took it and pounded out my own blues in honor of my making it another year.

i've been taking some "me time" and thinking about new ways to just be. i've come to so many conclusions and revelations that i can't begin to put them down here, but i have honestly been putting them into play for myself. so a man thinketh...

i'm going to learn to play the guitar
i'm going to paint my house
i'm going to build me a bookcase
i'm having my booksigning on june 25, 2005
i'm going to birmingham, little rock, new orleans, minneapolis, atlanta, d.c. & san francisco in july & august
i'm locking my hair again
&
i've only just begun evolving into the me i like when i look in the mirror

...not bad for a "mock" octogenarian (as md calls me)...

me & the fellas played soccer this past weekend and that was definitely fun...it's our new beginning in doing different things with our off time (cheers to soccer saturdays).

...but fuck that love shit...i ain't got none for nobody right now & don't see it in the near future...

i'm 32...whoa!

& i love it!

the happening

2005-05-03T01:41:00.000-07:00

1.
i've fallen in love several times before
but this time, it would be different

so we believed

probably still do,
but i just got over
the noises the house
makes all on it's own

it's much more louder now

2.
i get over the silence
& fill it with sights & sounds
i remember all my own

sometimes, i dance

3.
now, i ascend stairs &
deposit items & garments
& i sit & watch television
for a change.

4.
i write...write

this moment

2005-05-03T01:29:00.000-07:00

1.

theres a splendor in the presence of those that heal you
heal that place that itches down deep & only that
moment heals you. they have faces...

him
&
him & her, her & him

there have always been others
but you are all consistent.

at this moment, another of ours
has lost his moments with another

one of us is soon to be off in another
space not as close for us...

all of us dreamers, dreaming big
& breaking fly...that's all of us & we

do live

2.
i am thankful for the times you all have
given without asking; taking little
leaving much

we laugh so hard

the kind that bends you over because
it's funny as hell & from a pure moment

...at this moment,
we are all laughing
feeling life's embrace
like an old friend

this moment

i am happy...for real

& i have many to thank at this moment

that starts with you all

how good he is

2005-04-26T16:46:00.000-07:00

for wiley lott
3/13/73 to 4/26/05

typically, we grew apart as most youth do when adolescence rears its head, and the stench from lower regions (read: hair on your nuts) starts dictating what we did and how we did it. in our freshman year, he told me, "how come you never call me back when you say you will?" to which i still blew him off in that nonchalant kinda way. i never meant to remove myself from his life or have mine removed from him...but that's what happened.

after high school, he enlisted, and the rest is history...two histories never crossing paths except for attempts that ended with either me not being at home when he came around or him not being there when i just so happened to call him.

a few years ago, i don't know how it happened, but he supposedly took some pills in which he had some type of reaction to them...sleep turned into a coma that lasted for too many months for me to count. but one day, he came out of it, though changed. a former 20-something became a 9-year-old minded boy who only remembered his mother and his grandmother. still, i didn't go see him...so busy caught up in not wanting to feel what i was sure to feel at the sight of him; only having the memories of he and i making puppet shows with people made from cut-up slips of paper with their character names written across them where their feet should've been. he was a barney miller addict; me, the artist on the other end of the spectrum, loved "fame" so when we'd reenact these shows with our little puppets, my shows were always "to be continued" while his had endings. he even made his own tv guides, as his imagination wasn't limited to one or two play-shows. we had a great childhood just being little men who would create and crack jokes all day long.

wiley: why will millie jackson never fall in love?

me: wiley?

wiley: cuz for her, love is a dangerous game...you get it?

me: yeah

those were the kind of jokes we'd tell, and we'd laugh because the cornier the better. but we weren't even in the 2-digit ages yet, and by 14, we had split. we were lucky...most of our peers never completed their first year of high school, and in some cases, hadn't even graduated from 8th grade. wiley and i: both only sons to our mothers. we'd beat the odds and lost one another in the growing and showing that life hands everyone in some form or fashion.

we used to sneak and watch porno movies when his mom was gone. movies with such titles as "king dong", which made us crack up laughing all the time. we were barely eleven, hairy and full of what garp's mother called "lust". we learned what cock and cunt meant at the same age, totally disgusted yet fascinated by what they meant and how the actors/actresses in those movies called their members by these names. and wiley could reenact a story like no one else.

...obviously, the man was talking to much to the lady at the train station, so she started telling him about himself. the man wasn't helping the situation either, and i guess he couldn't stand it no more, so he says to the lady, "lady, you want your ass whipped?" to which she said all sassy, "hmmph, you mean get'cho ass whipped! baby, you don't want no parts of me!" it was the funniest thing, know.

that was just one of many stories i remember, but not even half of those could touch all those we will never get to share at this point in our lives. it hurts right now, because he was my last link with the place we both called home for years. we lived in the same housing project--his family lived in 502 and we lived upstairs in 602. on weekends, we'd talk on the phone while watching the twilight zone, tales from the dark side and the outer limits, both of us too scared to go to the bathroom. this was before cordless phones, so we would listen out for one another's footsteps, and if anything happened to one of us, the other one could call the police. sometimes, we used to tie a scarf or one of my sister's jump ropes to a bag and pass things back and forth from our bedroom windows. had our parents known this, we'd have gotten the taste slapped from our mouths for those stupid acts, too. but we never got caught, and the feeling of accomplishment at getting away with it just made us move on to newer, more dangerous acts--like throwing rocks at the public transportation buses, or attempts to throw rocks on top of the seven story building we lived in (until i broke out mrs. karen's bedroom window on the second floor).

in third grade, he stuck mrs. gordon in the ass with a safety pin...now that was classic! she shook the shit out of him for that, though.

it's funny that the last time we almost hung out was the day i came out to my mother--or rather she called me "out". after that, we really only kept in touch through my younger sister and my younger half-brother. after he came out of the coma changed, we all were affected, but we rarely talked about it. i now will have buried two relatives in less than three weeks time and i am truly fucked up right now. with all the shit going on daily, i'm barely breaking even, but i'm still here...so as cree summer says in that song "deliciously down": i'm not supposed to be for nothing.

wiley used to make these tapes of his singing and rapping back in the day. i wish i'd have kept them, because they were funny as hell. everything was about "i'll rock you, baby" and "watch out, now", but it was the way he said these things that i heard the man in him trying to get out: from under his mother's overprotectiveness, out of the shadow of his father's leaving, and out of the projects we both lived for a good part of our lives.

now he is out and free and just above my head...the place i will continue to look towards just to see his smile reflected in the moon's glow.

and he smiled at me
when he turned to me
& he said to me
how good it is...
Erykah Badu, "Orange Moon"

somebody somewhere

2005-04-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

"...at first i just stood there bewildered,
maybe i had gone through the wrong door..."
Carleen Anderson, "Ghost In My Bed"

were you ever that
"somebody somewhere"
you should've been
but weren't?

the one over there
where your friends
found crisp dollar bills
in the playground you
religiously went after
school

except that day
(cuz you were on punishment)

or can you recall how much
fun everyone had at school
on the last day, except you

(chicken pox kept you in)

...i still conjure them & him:
that "somebody somewhere"

in my mind, making
real all the times i knew
him & he knew me
& we just knew we

weren't just somebody
else's problem or someone
else's excuse or responsibility

jesse said we were somebody
but we already knew that,
though the cycle of silence
as known as age 12 through 29
is still keeping time with
proud mary on the dancefloor

& i'd ask him to dance
were i sure that it wouldn't
be an issue with getting him
to notice me amidst all the
other some-bodies somewhere
who are under 30
& have perfected poses
of youth i've long since outgrown

somebody somewhere might
long to be that someone brave
enough to go where
we've never been

somewhere else to be
somebody else while
all you have is you

leaving me remnants
of scents & nonsense
shouting from the indoor
corners of my house

catching posthumous feelings

2005-04-08T13:59:00.000-07:00

for kyle long (1960-2005)

genes & blood didn't completely
relate us, as you were the older
brother who looked at me six years
ago & said

"here's my number & address...
come see me or call me, lil' brother"

his brothers & sisters were
mine & so we played this
dance of sorts where no one
really called or wrote or
stepped outside of comfort
zones & homes

& as brothers & sisters of
parents who didn't push the
envelope to have children
know one another because
relationships ended & pride
built the greatest walls of all

it is now i cry because the thirteen
plus years that separate you & i
stops here...

45

& phone calls ago i have learned
that 46 will exisit only in my mind
as will the subsequent years
that pass until we all meet again

because as brothers & sisters of
parents who didn't make sure
that we knew one another i now
have to create a memory of you
all my own

one where you are getting ready
for 46, 47...

& there are no walls between
you, my brother,
& i

rest & finally live

no tears/hymn sangin'

road warrior--pt. II

2005-04-04T00:18:00.000-07:00

(for granddaddy)

daylight savings time has
pushed the day ahead one
hour later for mornings &
evenings &

i am still moving in my mind
contemplating how springs forward
& falls backward

i have moved enough to still be stuck in the
same place because mountain moving is only
in my mind & there where i am moving is
the moments in those hours of light i'll get
to finally live in just after the thaw

the past days haven't moved
much though time has moved
where the mountain moving
in those moments of light
is clearly there

trees old as
time next to gas stations
barely a month old

where open land & silos
& farms & concrete spew into
roadways across daylight savings
time & time zones where
the moments of light one hour later
for mornings & early evenings
are still the same: recorded purposes.

across miles & turns & songs & stops
at gas stations barely a month old

we saw that tree

different

but the same one
we might've hung from

we skip mississippi goddamn
on the cd player & collectively
drive the miles in our minds
to increase the distance
between ourselves & that tree

different

but the same one
we did hang from

road warrior--part I (3/18/2005 through 3/28/2005)

2005-03-28T12:40:00.000-08:00

atlanta, georgia
auburn, alabama
huntsville, alabama
nashville, tennessee
plum branch, south carolina
greenwood, south carolina
abbeville, south carolina
anderson, south carolina
greensboro, north carolina (or somewhere outside of there...kfc got a real nice performance from me and my bros)
washington, d.c.

(am i okay after traveling by bus, plane and car for the past ten days? maybe...)

stars over alabama

2005-03-23T00:45:00.000-08:00

ideas away, i'll still be
far away from thoughts
that i have finally walked

far enough to see the
stars over alabama

ideas away from seeing
indian trails and underground
railways become bus routes
& intercontinental railways

& miles more familiar than family...

i looked this time

[really looked]

they don't fall at all
over alabama

there, stars dance

...the falling is only in your mind

HOT CREAMY RAIN (?)

2005-03-15T16:26:00.000-08:00

C-Pusha got her condo (ALRIGHT!) & had a kick-ass, wine-drinkin' kickoff of the drunken times to come last Friday. Afterwards, I met up with a few other friends and somehow, porn got introduced into the evening. Porn is hilarious, yes. Others may not agree that some of the best comedy can be found in porn...but to those I say, "stop the stroking and get to laughing!"

Besides wanting to vomit at what I saw, for the most part, it was funny as hell as I watched a woman take three men at once...ending with money shots all over her face, which was well hid behind her cat woman-esque mask. As the explosions poured, you hear her say, "ooh, yeah...gimme that hot creamy rain!" Never heard skeet-ing referred to as such, but if she likes it, then she can have it!

Last week's "Niggeroki" was definitely one to remember. There were group songs, duets and some solos that put Kim Wayan's "When the Saints Go Marching In" rendition to shame. MD and I did a soulful rendition of "Don't Ask My Neighbors" which was full of falsettos from hell. It got so insane, the holding of notes not anywhere in the songs, that Pistachio Joe decided to put his bathroom break on hold just to witness our screeching first-hand. It was classic.

MD & the other half of the House of Love Bugz did "We Got Something In Common" and conjured up Whitney & Bobby (Bob-bay, Bob-bay!) and had us all on the floor, especially in the end when the word something was replaced with crack and then they started pushing and shoving one another.

Pistachio Joe took it there, for real, as he sang Jill Scott's ode to family...you have to hear him to believe it, because he finds notes and gets inside them (READ: massacres them in low to high pitch with unbelievable clarity). Erykah Badu's "Danger" had him walking around with the Love Bugz son on his hip as the intro clangs "...me and this baby gon' be here all night long..."

Good times, y'all!

But the funniest part of the evening wasn't the singing. One of our friends decided to bring his date with him--some guy who was definitely a character. This became clear when he asked one of my female friends, "You like hoodlums...them thugs?"

Then (yes, it got worse), as we all took a break in the back to smoke cigarettes, he decides to make a pass at another one of my friends. Like Flame in "Soul Plane" (did you just grind on me?), just takes it upon himself to make her love him or something like that, as pointed out in his continuous statements of "I like 'dem big girls...day-am!" and " Do you like them hoodlums...them thugs!" while giving her the R-Kelly treatment (yeah, that's right, I'm feeling on that ass, bitch).

Now, a little of that might've been exaggerated, but did I mention that the thug-for-hire-newly-released-from-sing-sing was there with one of my boys? I didn't? Well, here it is for everyone to see!

I'm mentally getting myself ready for Niggeroki Wednesday at the House of Love Bugz (and you know who you are)...I plan on being good and plastered then, and watch the music come rolling through the rushes like moses...plus, NYC Ray-Ray is home, so we're guaranteed to up the ante...maybe the Love Bugz will do another Tony, Toni, Tone' cover...cuz "Anniversary" will never ring the same in my ears after last week's production...

Did Mr. D. Call You On Your Birthday?

2005-03-07T00:50:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like sharing a good black history moment with one of your good friends, and you find out the craziest shit doesn't just happen to you. We all have them, that moment in life forever calalogued in your brain as your constant introduction to the strange and unusual comedies of just breathing. Sometimes it's the bloody nose you get from listening at the door on the side that swings outward. Other times, it's missing that last stair on your way down. No one is immune (and if they say they are, you already know they're liars).

Then there's Mr. D. This smooth, gifted man could put on a pair of wrinkled khakis one leg at a time that would be ironed flat no sooner than they'd cover his legs. So smooth, I'm told, that he was almost criminal. His hands healed and he, my good people, is legendary around some parts.

However, I speak only in hearsay, as I don't know Mr. D. and don't think I'll ever get the pleasure (lmbao), but I thought it would be okay to share a little tale about him as revealed in a few overheard conversations of these ladies I met at an imaginary bingo game after set:

Woman 1.
...Jessica had a birthday that year. We were all grown and enjoying being the women that we are. So instead of the old cake and ice cream routine, she decided to have a day for the ladies. I'm sorry I can't remember who was all there. I think I left early...yeah, that's it! I left early.

Woman 2.
...I met him a few years afterwards at a Farmer's Market. He was perusing green beans. Strange that I remember that now.

Woman 3.
...All I know is that I wanted to know what the hell was so good about this guy. I can kinda see why now, but looking back on it all, I'm a little freaked out.

Woman 4.
...I wonder if the others knew, too?

Woman 1.
...Excuse her, she's a few slices short of a loaf. Of course they knew!

Woman 4.
...Umm, could you not talk directly to me. You're breaking the flow.

Woman 1.
...Whatever!

Woman 2.
...Who said they left early? We all left at the same time, that I know for sure.

Woman 1.
...You would know, you almost left with HIM. And WE all know that for sure, too!

Woman 3.
...Ladies, ladies, let's play nice. You're both pretty...but seriously, it is funny when you think about it. In a very weird-science, crazier-than-cat-piss kinda way.

Woman 4.
...Maybe, but it wasn't that funny. I'm still a little out of sorts.

Woman 1.
...Please make her stop playing so much! Look, mama, he was supposed to be a no more than two time thing.

Woman 4.
...I know, but damn, he was pretty good.

Woman 2.
...He was a saint!

Woman 3.
...So what'd he say when you saw him at the farmers market?

Woman 2.
...He looked up, cause you all know how short he is...

Woman 1.
...Yeah...

Woman 3.
...Damn, he was short come to think of it...

Woman 4.
...I thought he was kinda tall?

Woman 2.
...Please make her stop playing with me! ANYWAY, he looks up just as I am about to walk past and he says, "how are you?" and I answer, "Fine!"

Woman 1.
...Did you feel all weird seeing him after all this time?"

Woman 2.
...Not really, it was just like seeing somebody you knew from a long time ago out of the blue.

Woman 4.
...But you remembered it all, didn't you?

Woman 2.
...You know I did!

Woman 3.
...You better had. I haven't forgot him at all. But you all know that freak called me on my birthday this past year.

Woman 1.
...For real? He called me, too.

Woman 4.
...Lord, did he call of us this past year?

Woman 2.
...Would you be surprised if he did? That man had us. Did we pay him?

Woman 1.
...I can't remember, but I probably would pay him now, but I don't want all those other acts. I just wish I could've opened my eyes. What the hell was that about?

Woman 3.
...You let him do that with your eyes closed? Lord no! I seen't it! I seen't it!

Woman 1.
...What the hell was it?

Woman 4.
...I don't want to know. Please don't tell me.

Woman 3.
...What you mean don't tell you? You told me, remember?

Woman 4.
...I did? Oh, yeah. I did tell you.

Woman 1.
...Well would somebody tell me something, cuz I was there and still don't know what that was.

Woman 2.
...Well, we didn't talk too much afterwards, he just had this look on his face like he knew something about me.

Woman 4.
...He did! He knows your secret, DUDE!

Woman 2.
...This from the understudy to DUDE from the Crying Game...anyway, he just had this look, that's all.

Woman 1.
...You know what, y'all, he does know something about me, though.

Woman 2.
...He knows, for real.

Woman 3.
...What does he know that you haven't told all of us? Are you holding out on your girls?

Woman 1.
...I don't want to say.

Woman 4.
...Great! A complete stranger knows, but we don't. How many birthdays has this guy wished you since then?

Woman 1.
...Honestly?

Woman 2.
...Yeah, honestly, and if you lie, I swear to God, you are excommunicated from our weekend drives to the wine shop. Now spill it!

Woman 3.
...Damn, don't be so harsh on her.

Woman 1.
...I know, right. He knows that I...I...I...

Woman 4.
...Would you sneeze and get it over with. You what? You were raised by gypsies? Worse, Quakers?

Woman 1.
...He knows that I came a few times after the...you know...the thing.

Woman 2.
...A few times? I thought you was about to tell me a whole lot of something else. We all probably came a few times after and during the thing.

Woman 4.
...But that still doesn't answer how many birthdays he's called you.

Woman 1.
...Well, since the last session of chicken wings and massage oil was five years ago, he called me three times on my birthday after that, and I think he called me last year, but tried to disguise his voice. The call was PRIVATE on my phone, so I couldn't look in my phone book to see.

Woman 4.
...He's called me about the same amount of times, too. As a matter-of-fact, last year, when I so graciously answered my cellphone as I walked into the "SURPRISE", that was him.

Woman 2.
...That was Mr. D.?

Woman 4.
...Yes! It was him, and that's why I was laughing my ass off after I hung up. I'm not rude, you know.

Woman 3.
...I thought you were laughing at how you were going to manage to blow out all those candles on that cake. Ha-ha-ha-ha!

Woman 4.
...You just mad cuz Mr. D. didn't call you that one year. Haters, I tell you...

Woman 2.
...Call it what you like, ladies. We all have a history with Mr. D. whether we like it or not.

Woman 4.
...Yeah.

Woman 1.
...Clearly!

Woman 3.
...Unfortunately...

Woman 2.
...You sound a little bitter, there. Did you secretly marry Mr. D. without telling us, and now it's eating you alive because he was secretly in love with all of us?

Woman 1.
...Now that's a funny, scary thought.

Woman 4.
...Yeah, that is. And considering that my birthday is in a week, I'm scared I'm going to get a call from him.

Woman 3.
...Tell him I said hey if he does.

Woman 2.
...Make her stop, someone, please...

the heart ain't so smart (all the time)

2005-02-25T23:18:00.000-08:00

a list compiled by pistachio joe & loose canon*

the heart ain't so smart
(all the time) like when:

i rented you that car
i answered that "blocked" call
i went through your coat pockets (something my mama told me never to do: look)
i met the boyfriend you had the same time while you were with me
i had to cover the rent for three months
i found out your real name
i had sex with you, and i shouldn't have AND it was bad (that's what i get, right)
i allowed your dusty, fat ass to wear my good clothes
i had to use "rid" after your confession
i heard you constantly mispronounce simple words (like "dog" & "cat")
i believed that was just your friend
i remembered why i took your card & never called
i pretended i was sleep when you called back in 1995 & it still didn't work
i decided to walk down your block from a different direction
i gave you a book for xmas & you gave it back to me for my birthday
i reminded you of my birthday & you forgot it (for 8 years straight)
i saw you at the club after you claimed, "i'm too sick to do anything!"
i saw you give that guy your number
i heard your early morning cell phone conversations (all of them)
i didn't realize that what a fool believes, he sees

(* note: these statements reflect those only of pistachio joe & loose canon. they are an actual pair of jokers who get together once every ten years to take snipes at those simple, though lost, moments of life when people knew they were on some dumb shit, but it just seemed more fun to do away with common sense. in 2015, they're scheduled to meet at a truck stop determined by readers of a yet-to-be-disclosed magazine from havana, illinois...stay tuned)

Can't Get Next To You

2005-02-14T23:49:00.000-08:00

I have held my breath
& turned every color I could
just for you to notice the
lessening in rises & falls
of my chest

leaning into solid hugs goodbye
& pecks hello, I called out to
you

between breaths
hoping for your breathing
to regulate with mine

keep time with the lessening
in rises & falls of my chest
where you lay before you
leave each time like the last

this time yesterday, today
& tomorrows when I have
held my breath still hoping

coping

with the things you say & do
done & did; could've & would've
excuse me, is there a space
left unfilled that shoots you
out into the ether

thoughts never actualized
dreams never realized
& between breaths I dream
hoping the lessening becomes more

& the color comes back & the
breaths come back & back
& the rises & falls of my chest
where your head rests
brings back hopeful resonance.

it is a dream deferred
a term referred
a love preferred
where I am not blue

the color of pain...

H., 2-14-2005
11:40pm, West Lafayette, IN

Ain't No Love (Sho' Ain't)

2005-02-14T07:18:00.000-08:00

Bah humbug!

My love has become two half gallons of Soy Delicious Ice Cream!

If I can get through today, I'll be alright...

Last night, I decided to try, once again, to locate my oldest brother. I didn't know he existed until I was about eleven or twelve. When asked of my father why he never told me, his response was, "well, um, Junior...I guess I'm in trouble, eh?" He wasn't shocked that I'd asked and he wasn't very forthcoming, either. But what he didn't do was tell me why he never let any of us know that there were other children out there sharing a few genes and the likes with me.

Being the only male child in a family of sisters, I have secretly imagined this brother, real as he is. My brother's uncle used to date my mother's sister (sounds confusing, but it's really not)...he's the reason I found out. One day, he came over to my grandmother's house and couldn't stop looking at me. Even then, if too many eyes were on me, I got a little nervous. I knew Ricky was an old friend of the family, but not much else, and at the time I saw him then, he was almost a stranger to me. After he left, I couldn't help but ask my aunt over and over why he kept looking at me all weird.

Me: Auntie, why'd your friend keep looking at me like that?
Auntie: Well, Hank, you just look really familiar to him. Plus, he hasn't seen you since you were little.

Me: I guess, but I still don't think he should've been staring at me like that. Is he homosexual?
Auntie: Oh, Lord! Hank, that's not why at all.

Me: Well, what is it then?
Auntie: Hank, you look like his nephew, that's all.

Me: Still, why stare so hard?
Auntie: Hank, you look JUST like his nephew...his nephew is your brother...

And just like that, there was another one of us--another one of my father's children I knew nothing of. See, I have other siblings in this city--an older brother whom I talk to from time to time (though I'm still waiting to go out to lunch with him) and two more sisters (one whom I don't know at all and the other I know who pretends my sisters and I don't exist--though she doesn't mean any harm), but at least I knew they existed long ago.

No one ever kept them a secret. But my oldest brother (my father's very first child) the one whom I have never met, I had to find out from my aunt's ex-boyfriend even existed. It was one of the hardest days of my life, too. I immediately called my mother and asked about this unknown sibling. "Call your father and find out. That was his first responsibility he let go a long time ago."

A few years ago, I did a random search and located a young lady with my brother's last name, and as luck would have it, she turned out to be his sister. For a short while, we talked, and according to her, she'd passed on my number to him, but he never called.

For twenty years, I have conjured up this older twin of mine: likes music, artist, comedian, good guy. This seeing, thinking and feeling human being I share features with; share a father who was just as absent in my life as he was in my brother's. Finally, I have found two numbers with his exact name--one was a wrong number, however; but the other one had a voicemail, and on it, I left as much information as I could and I hope he calls someday...

But if he doesn't...then that's it. How can you lose love you've never had, right? Right!

ToniPurple called and left me a singing message of "Hooked On Your Love"--the Sparkle Version...that was my pre-Valentine present to which I say "Tranx!"

What I Know

2005-02-11T13:33:00.000-08:00

All of you make my day
good, better & the best
building on yesterdays
able to pick up after long
todays

& we do kick it!

The singing, side nuances
laughter & high camp comedy
so unscripted & real & each
moment whether in pouring
rain or sun-burned mornings
we warm one another's lives
indefinitely; infinitely.

You--with your jokes (PB, NV, MD)
You--with your trash talk (MB I & II)
You--with your drink in hand (all of you)
You--with yet another one (NV)
You--smoky siren (SH)
You--humble ingenue (SH, PB-lmao)
You--mad but hopeful (MD-lol)
You--enjoying the ride (KD)
You--creating new speed limits (CH)
You--finder of bargains & greens (CH)
You--sharers of hearth & home (JT & CST)
You--remind me of me (PB, MD, SB)
You--let me have it & still love me (TJ)
You--can't be serious (you are?) (EMcD)
You--where the hell are you? (LP & MJ)
You--work hard for the money (all of us)

All of you--are my friends & you all know who you are!

Knowing Isn't Half the Battle--It Is the Battle!

2005-02-07T15:52:00.000-08:00

I'm reading to escape the grey of today
I'm writing to keep a place for myself
between lines that don't disappear between
breaths and echoes of words & feelings
(not my own)

I'm remembering my art & why
I'm feeling calm without question
I'm sure to bust at the seams silently
for just a glance of sunshine today
(though not in the forecast)

I remember love & the "it" it became
I remember love & the "what" that remained
I remember those with names & those without
I remember those that were never introduced
(reasons apparent even then)

I know now that I'm stronger than I've ever been
I know now that I can still cry if & when I see fit
I know now that I never was a mistake & that what
I have to give is mine to give & for no one to take
(clearly, though some will disagree)

What I seek, I'll find..

I'm going to be in & of it: life!

The Sisters and Me

2005-02-04T15:25:00.000-08:00

There are four of us--my three sisters then me. I'm somewhere between all of them, with two older sisters and one younger. The saying goes beware of those who walk in three's, and to that, I firmly agree. See, because I was the only male child, they spared no expense in making sure I knew that they didn't take shit off of anyone. Except for my younger sister, I tried the bullying thing for awhile, but she beat me at my own game, talking trash and getting me into trouble on a regular basis by letting the tears go once mama got home, knowing good and well there wasn't anything wrong with her. But now it's years later, and here we are, all grown and doing well for ourselves. It's no surprise that men learn how to be better men from women.

If it weren't for them, I wouldn't know the first thing about respect. They demanded it! None of that lazy business of thinking my life came before theirs. Talk about equality, everyone did everything, and I find myself even now happy for all of the influences that our mother directly and indirectly exposed us to. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, catching public transportation around Chicago...we all had to know the same things. Beyond that, she was a cool mom, too. How many other black kids in the projects could sing the whole "Aja" album by Steely Dan in the same breath as Rapper's Delight? We were no strangers to Maria Maldour, Marian Anderson or Nina Simone, either. She'd have disco parties for us where she would take a flashlight and shine it on us while shaking it to give the feel of a strobe light. It was my mom who taught me how to do the football, which I will break out with at any given moment.

It has always been music and laughter that have kept us close. I used to collect joke books with such titles as "101 Pickle Jokes" and "1001 of the Best Jokes This Side of the Mason Dixon Line" and then have the unmitigated gall to think that they would listen to me read each joke from each book OUT LOUD. They conspired together and rid me of that phase, but by then, I'd memorized most of them and realized that if nothing else, I was corny enough to be considered funny. My resolution for 2004 was to develop my sense of humor more--better delivery, better material (I actually put that in writing, too). Did it work? Let's see, I haven't been stabbed yet and I haven't gotten the "talk to the hand" movement from those that I lure into my world of jabs and jokes. So either I'm really good or not worth it. But my sisters and I laugh all the time. We usually start conversations off with strolls down memory lane--like "do you remember when mama gave us that curl right before we went to Arkansas that summer? What the hell was she thinking?"

They all have made me laugh entirely too much, though some of the ways in which they got a joke off were a little cruel. Like years ago, my sister whose closest to me told me to put my tongue on a 9-volt battery because it tickled. My uncle watched the whole thing go down, and after the shocking sensation he asked me just as plainly, "what kind of idiot are you to do that...that's a battery...it couldn't possibly tickle your tongue." We still laugh at that to this day, as now she tricks her own children into falling for that one. I call that motherly love to the fullest.

We weren't supposed to be this close, though. See, they're women, and their jobs at birth were to take care of their father, help mother with the younger one's and hope for husbands so that they could be second and third for the rest of their lives (second to their husbands and third to their children), but not these women in my family. They didn't accept any of that madness and when any man gave them too much, they were up and done. One of my sister's can love'em and leave'em and not feel anything about it, even when they're outside her building with gifts. My other sister is known for KANTFO (Knockin' A N**** The Fuck Out) for no reason at all. My youngest sister carries a can of beets inside a sweatsock in her purse, ready, willing and able to do damage on men, women and children. Together, these three women have raised me and their own children as well, and as hard as it is just to get around to all of them, I know because of who their mother's are, they'll always be alright.

So what's with all the sap, you wonder? Well, one of my nieces had a sleepover last Friday, so all the siblings got together at my sister's, and when I say that we partied, we did the fool! Breakdancing, routines, and pictures that prove how nuts we can be when we get together. It was great. We sang every song we could think of while the children laid out in the living room braiding hair and watching scary movies were subjected to our soulful renditions of "Baby Come To Me" by James and Patti, "Oh Sherri" by Steve Perry, "De Ja Vu" by Teena Marie, and other assorted tunes that we MURDERED! The kids in the living room laughed all night at us, and when the breakdancing competition started, it was on. I tried to spin on my knee like the chick in Breakin' but my legs are too long and I kept hitting the stove and shit, so I stopped. But my sister whose shorter than I am not only did the knee spin, but did the head spin, getting one turn around before falling over into laughing fits. I couldn't believe it, but that's what can happen after a child's party in my family. That's the way it was back in the day--your parents sent all of you away from the kitchen while they laughed, smoked and talked shit, but just like then, some of the children kept coming to the back to see what was going on. The riverdancing contest between my youngest sister and I, though, was the funniest. She watches public television a lot, so she's seen that riverdancing special way too many times, but she's got a routine from it, which she debuted last Friday night. The kicks on that child...amazing...

After singing all we could, we turned the radio on and danced to music off the spanish language radio station. By that time, the kids in the front sent word to us that we were crazy and that we needed to really stop it, but we didn't bother with them, we were having a good time. Besides, they're lucky we didn't go give all them the drunken-hines speech (those little talks that only seem to come about when there's liquor involved, and its usually some god-awful hour of morning, and you can't get out of listening unless you want a black eye).

I love them all...I wonder can we all make it to the summer without wanting to cut each other...we'll see...

As of three days ago, I now have four grandnieces, ten nieces, six nephews and sons & godchildren across the midwest (and Atlanta--HEY PURPLE!). Shantell Winter Echo, welcome to the world...all of your aunts and uncles are crazy and you have your grandmother and her three siblings to thank for that...good luck, baby girl!

...One Summer At Camp Whatchamacallit...

2005-01-27T14:59:00.000-08:00

even in a perfect world
where everyone was equal
I'd still own the film rights
& be working on the sequel...

--"Everyday I Write the Book"
Elvis Costello & The Attractions

Underneath the elevated train around the corner from my house, the strivers are usually out in full effect around 7am waiting for the liquor store to open. As I walk to the train station, I do my usual morning hello's and I proceed to the train. We're all familiar enough to one another that we stop a chat for awhile. This includes the "working girls" in my neighborhood. Sure, they're at work, but they always spare a moment to fancy me in a little exchange every now and then.

THEM: Good mornin' baby, how you doing?
ME: I'm alright, and you?
THEM: I can't call it, you got the best hand!

And like that we continue on with the task at hand: work. This morning, I decided to catch the bus, and after maneuvering through all the dirty snow piled up at the King Drive bus stop, I found just enough room on the barely snow-free space where someone else was waiting for the late (as usual) bus. Within fifteen minutes, I found out that she is the mother of three grown children--one son living in San Jose, another in Shreveport and a daughter who lives here in Chicago. I also found out that she is a former English teacher with the Chicago Public Schools who has come out of retirement to teach special needs students. There we stood and talked like old friends, and I must say that started my day just right. Now that's the kind of morning I like.

I wish it was warm, but this is Chicago. The city whose motto is "if you don't like the weather now, wait a few minutes until it changes". What it should be is "if you don't like the weather now, you're really going to hate it when you turn that corner." The hawk is a very attitudinal bitch whose business it is to cut you to the quick.

For some reason, I started thinking about summer camp once I got back to my office. Those summers spent away from parents at places named after the surrounding woods, usually names you don't remember (like now, but at about 3am, I'll remember). It was popsicle stick houses and macaroni necklaces that were to die for; the daily craftmaking days while happy campers consume mass amounts of sponge cake and bug juice. Truthfully, it had nothing to do with income--we were all poor, but my-oh-my, our mother's love never let us know that.

Summer camp wasn't that bad. It was where I made my debut as a performer with the other guys from my cabin as we sang that soulful hit called "The Mighty Pimp" at the camp talent show (this guy named Eric taught us that one; someone in his family was a pimp or something). I went to camp each summer and winter from the time I was eight through high school and had fun each time (but I feign ignorance when asked if I went).

One summer my sister and I were about to go to camp, after hardly getting any sleep, it was fianlly almost time to go meet the bus at the Henry Horner Boys and Girls Club where my mother worked as a secretary. We were packed and anxious as hell. I was ten and my sister was eleven, and both of our years combined made us ready to get the hell out of the house for a month becauase we had HAD IT with the whole cleaning up routine. Cleaning up in our house was not relegated to that one week per school year that the catholic archidiocese let us out of school. My mother, on several occasions back in the day would put the dishes you didn't wash or the trash you didn't take out in your bed!

In the summers, we welcomed the mosquitos and wooden trails; the fresh smell of manure in the mornings from the farm right next to the boys cabins, and most of all, we were ready to not clean up a damn thing for one whole month and live out of suitcases and sleeping bags on the bunks that had survived a foreign war before being donated to the camp we were at. However, before we went anywhere, my mom needed us to go to the store to get some snacks from the corner store.

She had already fried the chicken at about four that morning, seasoning it with the Chinese Five Spices she'd added to the batter (our favorite). There were bags of vegetables for us to share, but we didn't have those other two much needed staples: chips and pop.

"I need you two to go to the store and get you all something to drink along with some chips," she said, and after handing us what was, to my eye, a fist full of dollars, we were off.

Down the six flights of stairs, we exited out the back of our building to cross Lake Street where Lil' Joe's corner store was. Sandra Homan, this crazy lady who lived on the first floor of our building (in one of the 4- and 5-bedrooms that usually housed families of sixteen) was working that morning. We absolutely hated her! She and the majority of her sisters were crazier than cat shit, and were notorious for starting up a lot of mess because there were so many of them. But it wasn't like they could fight. Their whole family got beat up by the Adams clan (beautiful people with names like Mozella, Goldie & Baby Sister) who lived on the third floor. There were a lot of them in that three bedroom apartment, and they fought just for fun (sometimes one another)--and won!

So, we get our snacks and pay her. Sandra was what we called a "surp head": she got high off that toxic cough syrup (among other things). As usual, she was moving like someone had inconvenienced her. All the while she was getting our change together, my sister made that sucking noise with her mouth that everyone knows means "bitch, hurry up" and Sandra knew it, but we were the last two kids she wanted to bother, seeing as though our older sister had beat up four of hers on more than one occasion. After finally getting our change, we ran back home so we could finally get our camp experience underway.

My sister handed my mom the change and we both headed back to our room to get our suitcases, but not before putting the chips and juice (we liked pop, my mom required juice--and not those colored sugar water ones either). Before we got to our room good, we heard my mother call us to the kitchen.

"Where is the rest of my change?" she demanded.

"We gave it to you, mama. That was all of it." we both answered in unison.

"You both have got to be kidding me. Can you two count?" she asked to no one in particular as she snatched our purchases from our separate bags to do a count on her own.

"Look, where is my change you two. All of this didn't cost as much as I gave you. This is some dollars short." she calmly reasoned.

"Mama, that's all the change that Sandra gave us," my sister revealed.

Now, how do two children at the store together forget to count the change we'd been given? We had just paid for the same thing we bought any time we had change to burn, but it didn't occur to us to count our mother's change against what we knew the items were worth. I felt embarrassed immediately, and my sister was hurt, because she was older and hadn't thought to count the change either. Just as the tears were about to come down so we wouldn't be beat, her other personality came out, and this one we knew well, but thank god it wasn't for us.

"Get you all's shit together and come on! I'm about to beat this bitches ass 'cause this isn't the first time her dumb, dope-fiend ass has tried to cheat somebody. I'ma show that bitch she picked the right one today!"

And with that, we had to rush and grab our stuff and follow our mother back to Lil' Joe's where we knew Sandra was about to get it. It was like the scene out of that mini-series "Lace" when Phoebe Cates comes down those stairs and halfway to the bottom she says to the three women she has summoned to meet her, "Okay, which one of you bitches is my mother?"

It went down equally as stunning. She all but pushed the door off it's hinges as she walked right in to Sandra's counter where she was sitting behind the warped, linoleum-covered rectangle on two crates stacked atop one another, nodding. The exchange went exactly like this:

MAMA: Look, you ignorant junkie bitch, just give me my goddamn change or I'ma fuck you up in this goddamn store. I don't want to hear nothing you have to say except my change hitting this fucking counter!"

SANDRA: What the hell are you talking about, I ain't got your change. They must've dropped it going back to the building.

MAMA: Sandra, you not fucking with one of these ignorant ass project girls you eyeball on the side. I'm a grown woman, and if you don't hurry up and give me my change, I'm gon' beat your ass right here, right now.

SANDRA: You ain't gon' do nothing to me, 'cause I can make a phone call and settle this right now.

MAMA: Who you gon' call, that stud-broad ass sister of yours? Well tell that BITCH she can get fucked up, too! Give me my change or get fucked up, plain and simple!

My sister and I were used to this. My mom, an otherwise patient and reserved woman; a single parent who worked three jobs while going to college was doing a kick-ass job raising four children in Chicago's vertical experiments, did not play when it came to her kids. This mathematics/computer science major of a mother would get down and dirty with the best of them, and because she didn't like Sandra anyway, my mother was more than happy to give the dope fiend a beating to remember. I recall being extra happy about this (as I said, we absolutely hated Sandra Homan). Just as my mother was about to go OVER the counter to grab her, Sandra slammed the couple of dollars and some change down on the counter.

MAMA: Thanks, you young, ignorant ass bitch! Your luck runs out today, because when you get off work, I will be waiting on the other side of that door for you, and make sure you call whoever the fuck you need to. Like I said, you can all get fucked up!

My mother took the dollar bills and put them away, but I'm pretty sure if I'm remembering right, she took the remaining coins and threw them in Sandra's face.

We went straight to the boy's club, walking back across Lake Street behind 14o N. Woods where the club was. In silence we walked; my sister and I trying to hold in our laughter and fear while our mother led the way. After a barely inaudible series of curses and swears from my mother, we made it to the club and immediately found our friends in the lobby while our mother went to sign us in. When she came back, she was smiling again. We could hear her recounting the scenario to her co-workers, who also knew Sandra and all the other Homan females.

Camp was a success that year as usual. Me and my sisters would later find out that my mother, indeed, waited on Sandra Homan sitting at the Lake Street bus stop which was right across the steet on the northeast corner of Lake and Woods. She and my godmother Louise had a bottle of CAW (cheap ass wine) which they drank as they waited on Sandra to get off work. As my mother expected, Sandra called her sister (the "stud-broad"), but when she saw my mother, she politely turned and walked back into the building. Sandra spent the night in the store that summer day in June of 1983.

Years later, with families of our own and hosts of nieces and nephews to boot among us, my sisters and I have held on to three lasting lessons:

1. Count your change before leaving the counter.

2. Always pack vegetables in your children's lunches.

3. When people try to give you too much, call them a slew of stud-broads
and ignorant junkie bitches.

That year at summer at camp, I also learned a little something extra about why it's not a good idea to put a bunch of ten year old boys in one cabin and not expect the playful joking to turn into something else. But those memories of Camp Winona (finally I remember the damn name) can't be written about--too many people involved, and confidentiality agreements were signed (just joking...um...yeah, just joking).

Broke My Heart

2005-01-21T22:04:00.000-08:00

"...this is a show tune, but the show hasn't been written yet..."

--"Mississippi Goddamn" by Nina Simone

This is that defining moment which I have completely accepted that it is over. This should have been a love story, but even that is pending some sort of investigation or interrogation underneath bright lights.

in this union we have adamantly
worked to make one another
scream for dear life;
new lives without one another

becasue life together
with all its perks
is what we've hid
behind/had in mind

i could say i'm happy in love,
for that is the truth

yet, i am one and none
particular and insignificantly
numb

I could probably mail him letters, but I won't--he'll never read them. I have spelled it out in languages even unknown to me, and he lived only in his reality. So that is where I found a space for too many years now. No regrets, just questions about the questions. I'm no longer concerned about the why-not's and the repetitive notion of finding strange hands in his sweaters. Look at me! I have almost set you free in the purple rain, but this damn window is painted shut and no amount of tears are going to loosen it.

He built walls and I, whether concurrently, before or after him--I built them, too. It was an experiment, you see. I was assured that these situations were all smoke and mirrors; that my satisfaction was guaranteed/insured/nothing to fear. But pockets have always spoke to me, and I never wanted what was in anyone else's. Least of all, his. What could I do when he looked at me the way he did. He wouldn't hurt a fly, I thought. Did he just say he loved me, still?

But I have that...that fear because the truth is a mother-fo'-yo'-ass, and not ironic at all. It is not ironic that little black boys couldn't have these talks before the cycle of silence impacted our teens; who'd have thought it would last close to twenty odd years for both of us. And we both tried to love one another. I know that, but it means only so much when you think about it: what you did.

we suppose
where to go leads back to
the beginning

where once, two people lived
together in something
like a metaphor.

some defining part of speech
where silence gave or took
the last syllable of his name

I tried to hold it close to me, claimed it as my saving grace. "It" being the specific act of being commitedly together, taking on burdens still lingering; spirits loitering. He said he loved me and meant it, but the un-doing that let him know he could love & be loved was much more beneath the surface. Hands will never know you, and minds will stutter mid-thought at you. Everything I thought I knew, was sure of, went out the door when you came back around. But you referenced nonexistent beings and prefaced everything with the history of you, not knowing I wasn't some hard-to-reach island. If I am already here, how can you discover me?

not alone, i insisted on believing the
irony of sunshine in winter
breakfast cereal at night

love, nonetheless, i confess
that i, too, am strange & unusual

we suppose
does not become something else
eventually

It is snowing like mad here, and watching it all just fall and accumulate is making me feel a certain way. However, I'm going to watch the stillness of my neighborhood from my window on the third floor and imagine that all the cars leaving trails of tire treads and turned corners have safely made it to apartments and homes near and far. As Bronzeville is blanketed, I accept that I can no more change this fact--that it is over--than I can change the weather.

All I can do is let it cover the place; let it shower the sidewalks and walkways in front of all the rehabbed properties from Lake Michigan to the Dan Ryan Expressway. Maybe this time, our footprints will disappear beneath the mounting matter, finally severing any way back to one another.

liar, leaver
dancer, believer

This should have been a love story...really...

Because It's Cold As Hell!

2005-01-21T13:50:00.000-08:00

It's colder than a whore iin church outside! I should be used to this now, but I still can't get ready for the Chicago winters after all this time. Even colder are the people, who are cold all year around except for a few days in July in August. We do warm up, but because our seasons go from artic to hell then back again, everyone has an attitude.

Take for instance my commute this morning. Now I admit I should have a fare card, but that's beside the point. So my train is coming and after putting in all my coins to proceed through the turnstile, I rush through as soon as the last coin is dropped in. I immediately fly up the stairs screaming "hold the train!" because being the fool that I am, I thought my hollers of wait would register to the wonderfully accommodating driver. Instead, we lock eyes as I make it to the last step at the top of the platform and she looks like she can't possibly open the train doors for me. And seeing as though the train hadn't pulled out yet, I felt I had a shot, right? Wrong! Ole girl politely pulled out of the station not giving a fuck that I was standing right at the door about ten seconds before the train pulled out. Thank you CTA Green Line...I am blue still, hours later, from enduring the bonecrushing cold whipping my ass as I smoked a cigarette on the nonsmoking platform (yes, I didn't have my gloves on which is why my hands are now rebelling as I type). She was cold, indeed, as only a Chi-town woman can be.

The beauty of the moment happened after I finally boarded the next train (which was five minutes late) and got to the next stop remembering that I had my computer bag with me before I made it up the stairs in time to be snubbed America's Top Model-style by the train lady. Where the hell is my laptop? The one I don't own, the one from my job with the faulty zip drive...yes, people, I had left it at the turnstile downstairs because I had to free both my hands to meticulously drop each and every coin down that blood-sucking fare box! So, I had to get off the train and luckily, a train going back south was not far behind. Would you believe that because the ticket agents know me (I've given them Christmas cards and received a few allowances to go through the handicapped turnstile-which is always broken), one who had seen me earlier held it for me. "Baby, I was gon' pawn this, but you know I lovez me some u!"

Needless to say, as cold as this city is...there are still some warm folks out there.

...meetings all day...gotta get going, but I'll be back. I have a few theories on love, but I must consult with Donny Hathaway & Roberta Flack before I share them (this means that I have to get off work, go get a pint of Evan Williams and sing the hell out of "When Love Has Grown" a few times before I can muster up the right language...after all, I vowed no more cynicism in 2005).

I close this post this afternoon imploring everyone (or anyone...friends, family, didn't you get the email telling you all to read my shit?) to contemplate Donny and Roberta as they professed in "You Are My Heaven":

If someone tries to tell you
that I do not love you
tell them they must be out of their
minds...

Call Me Angry...You Might Be Right

2005-01-20T23:56:00.000-08:00

I've finally found out that truth in words...like those words my mother told me long before I wanted to believe them that reminded me of the cycle of life. "Your life changes just when you get comfortable, so don't ever get to comfortable with mediocrity!" These are words that have had a rippling effect, as just when I try to believe that people are people, somebody/something/some place comes along and adds their inactive shit to the mix.

Today, I say, "for real? Really?"

Really! I have had it, but in addition to that, I'm finding myself once again finding that safe space to retreat to, and this time, my exile will be self-imposed as opposed to me taking anyone else's drama. Here's to life--the comedy of errors & eras of decadent foolery!

In this here year of our Lawd & Saviour Hay-Seuss Crist, I will complete the following before 2006 comes around (and the killer bees get us all):

I will watch reality television shows and talk shit to the screen from beginning to end and do my dishes on commercials.
I will conduct a nationwide search for literate human beings who agree with me when I say a good book makes a good read AND a great tool to whack ig'nant folks in the puss.
I will pray consistently that I do not run into my students at the liquour store (however, if they're selling greens, I'm buying in large quantities).
I will be a better friend to my friends, and only laugh uncontrollably when those who aren't my friends anymore (probably never were, either) speak to me if we're, by some mean trick of life, forced to be around one another because of mutual friends.
I will work more diligently on my writing, saving the task of rewriting for those days I need to get out of doing things I don't want to do with folks who really aren't worth the time.
I will not feel guilty about #5
I will actually write on those occasions that #5 has to be enabled.
I will visit my dad more and quell my desire to address him with, "hey deadbeat, what's the bizness?"
I will get myself flowers once a week and tell the checkout ladies, "these are for my boyfriend...I know his allergies will love these puppies!"
I will take all this cynicism in me and bottle it up somewhere and only refer to it when it's time for the black gay boy pity party to start.
I'll honestly do better in my relationships with myself...which means no more cheating with my left hand.
I'll clean my mom's basement, for real this time (?).
I'll pay my bills on time.
I'll get my thesis done.
I'll get my thesis done on time.
I'll lower my intake of caffeine.
I'll smoke less cigarettes.
I won't tell people "I did this before I went to see Mandy Moore in concert" when they ask why I cut my locks off after 8 1/2 years.
I'll remember to tell people that I really didn't see Mandy Moore in concert (but the very first concert I went to was the Jets at the UIC Pavillion in Chicago back in 1985...whoa!).
I'll stop calling the cops on the prostitutes who parade in front of my building.
I'll stop giving the prostitutes in front of my building any ammunition to keep asking me "do you want some good head?"
I'll stop thinking that it's good to lead prostitutes on.
I'll keep the peace going from 9-to-5 (but before or after those hours, I can't be held responsible for my actions--there is a war going on).
Make this my last gripe with the world and beyond
End this now and go smoke a bit (not Whitney Houston smoke...but the blue light in the basement during rent parties on the West Side when Angelo & 'nem got that Cuban green from them cats in K-Town).

Anyone who reads this, know that I'm okay if you're okay, and if you're okay...well, good for you & so what (just joking)...keep that same old feeling and pass the love around before you're up at five minutes to midnight wishing you weren't so angry.

You might be right, call me angry today, cuz tomorrow I'll be someone else (but still me, all jokes/all the time!).