Solitude

“In my solitude… you haunt me…. ”
– Billie Holiday

This past sunday was a factionista brunch to bid adieu to our sweet Tinsel Top. She’s moving to ATL to start a brand new life for herself there. I get all full when I think about it… about where in life she was when I met her… how EXTREMELY FAR she’s come… I’m just… so proud and so happy for her and so sad that she’ll be so far… But more excited for all that’s waiting for her there.

So as we were sitting there catching up on our lives and tv shows and celebrities and pleasantries, we happened upon the story of how I discovered that I now am allergic to Alka Seltzer – how i seized up from an anaphylactic reaction one night choking on my couch, worried that I’d die all alone (Earl had chapter meeting that night). And Icy says “Well… who are you talking to these days? Because I certainly didn’t know about any of this.” The rest of them nodded in agreement. The conversation moved away from there quickly enough for me not to have to actually provide an answer. But I’ve been asking myself ever since. Used to be that I’d consistently be posting my thoughts here at least. But as I was making the transition in jobs, I didn’t want to divulge too much. So I internalized a lot. For months. And I am trying like hell to break out of not blogging anyways… but in terms of talking to any given human beings on a regular basis… the one person who heard from me every single day whether it was by phone call or visit was mommy. There was never any “bringing her up to speed”. She had the CNN hotwire on my life. Always. And as I look around – I don’t really know who in my life has that, aside from E… and truly, that’s by virtue of the fact that he has to see me every damned day. Poor kid. I always remember wanting someone in my life who got the every day phone call to shoot the shit with for hours, text nonstop through out the day… read each other’s blogs…. share similar philosophies on life and if not we helped each other get there (where ever THERE is – mentally, emotionally, spiritually), first person I think of when I get some free shit to share with… the one that’s always down to hang because we were both home and bored…. down to roaddog on ridiculously long trips… But I think that I fail myself for wanting ONE person that wants to do all of that. I have someone for all of those scenarios. I’m lucky enough to have several individuals that can all step in and individually fill those voids. And I should be and AM happy for that. It just makes for recapping the same stories…. A LOT. LOL! Maybe… in this 140 – 160 character, best friend eliminating society… this isn’t the time or the place to look for or want that or need it. Brief touch ins should be enough. But I feel that my life is lacking in that way.

I’m re-evaluating so much lately. One often meets their destiny on the path they took to avoid it… I looked a how lonely mommy was all the time. How down on her self and situations she stayed and never highlighted the amazing accomplishments she made in life. How ultimately sad she was, no matter what. And I don’t go so radically as to do the opposite of everything she did in order to avoid the consequences… Though…. I find myself being just as quiet as she was lately. When amongst groups… I spend more time listening than talking. I’m becoming increasingly more private with my thoughts and actions (outside of having a blog the whole world can read). I’m internalizing a lot more emotions and sensations. This can’t really be good. I’m not sure what to do.

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My eyes are Green… ’cause I eats a lot of vegetables…

It’s really good to recognize something for what it is. Even if it may be shrouded as something else.

Last night wasn’t actually a bad night. Just some not-great things happened in it. I got home after an extremely productive day at work and the Hubby was cooking dinner for me. Sweet and thoughtful and wonderful. He made chicken patties so we could have a little picnic dinner. I ate them… They were delicious. But something didn’t sit right with me ultimately. I got a horrid tummy ache and felt out of sorts. I wasn’t my self. At 9:00PM I was contemplating turning in for good for the night. Which I did, but I didn’t stay down. The tummy got worse and so did my demeanor. I was just miserable. Eventually the hubby made me some hot tea which I drank quickly and I sniffed some Peppermint oil and was able to stay down for a while. Part II of the torture came in. Remember that Drake obsession? Well, I’m now convinced that there is something subliminal in the music. Because it’s haunting me. No matter what I do – it’s the only music I hear in my head. I listened to nothing but Gospel yesterday (Help – everyone who knows ME? knows it was for work — it’s just not my cup of tea). And somehow the long tones held for the Lord couldn’t scrub my brain clean of Drake’s music all night… it was juggling between verses with Nicki Minaj or duets with The Dream. It was actually KEEPING me awake. Which is a sure sign it’s time to put that album AWAY. But… the night doesn’t stop there.

Part III of the torturesome night comes in the form of a dream. When I finally did close my eyes long enough, I found me and my hunny strolling through the streets of some town. Just chatting. At one point, we sat down on the steps of a town house. Pretty house but was old school… needed some repair. Outside, there was a great big Yellow valance hanging down from the outside of the topmost window down around the entrance. The house felt familiar and comfortable so we sat on the steps talking. In the middle of our discussion some people come out of the house — looks like they’re going for a night on the town. They look familiar… but I think it’s my mind playing tricks on me. The lady passes by and I smile at her and she smiles back. The gentleman passes and gives me a huge hug and continues on his way. I don’t find it to be strange at all. Just some friendly people in this dream realm. We decided to walk into the house and make ourselves at home (I know right?) but they left the doors open. We sat in the parlour room and watched tv and chatted over beverages. Suddenly I hear the chatter of children and I look up. There’s a man standing there in an orange sweater and blue jeans and another man in a white v neck long sleeve and jeans. They are assessing the house. I look down next to my hubby and there’s a woman sitting next to her with the eldest of what looks like 2 baby girls. The youngest one is cradled in the orange sweater man’s arm. He finally turns around and it’s JC. I gave him a most evil stare and said, “what are you doing here?” and he flippantly responded “I’m in the market for a house.” “Not this one,” I returned, “It’s not for sale.” And he frowned up his lips in assessment and mumbled “they need to….” I glanced at the babies… I couldn’t see their faces… But they looked happy and sunkissed and perfect. I glanced at the hubby and he was gone… I stood up and walked out of the house and asked them all to please follow me out – the house was now closed. JC shrugged and gathered his family and friend and left. Almost sucking his teeth at me on his way out. The bile bubbled up in my stomach and woke me.

I know I’m only footsteps away from the things I want in life. The things I’ve been chasing. But I’m only human. I guess deep down inside… I’m envious of people who seem to have things … I must think they don’t deserve. It’s not my place to decide those things. But… I’d be denying a very real and essential part of me if I tried to pretend that all of me is okay with it all of the time. I am slowly realizing my dreams. It’s happening. But every now and again, when I look into my dream mirror… I allow myself to feel what I suppress in my waking life.

It’ll be funny to reach back and read this post when all my dreams are fulfilled. I’ll think… “How silly was I to ever doubt….”

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Nightmares, much?

Horrid…. terrible imagery last night.

As I slept, I dreamt about an island in the night. A small island, covered in palm and plants and the camera of my mind circled over the island. There was activity in the center the land… firelight… drums… an ancestral ritual and dance. Getting in closer, we find those natives dancing about the fire in ceremonial dress chanting and pounding the earth with their feet causing a unified noise through out the island. And the closer I got the more intense it became until one of the natives let out a blood curdling cry that announced the event’s commencement. I suddenly found myself in the center of this event in a bamboo contraption that perched me so that i was 4 feed off the ground, but it had no SEAT per se. My belly was HUGE with child and I had on a white linen garment with shells and beads – although dusty from the moving terra and dancers. In front of me…. my mother on my left side. my grand mother at my right. my right foot planted on my grandmothers left shoulder and she held me tight by my knee and my left leg on my mother’s right shoulder while she did the same. They both moved towards me which placed me in a squat position and told me to push. And although I was scared to push, their presence assured me that I didn’t have anything to fear. I pushed… but didn’t give it my all. I didn’t really feel anything. The drums beat louder and my heart was pounding in tandem. “POUSSER!!” my mother implored (which means push in french) and I felt her grip on my knee tighten and her move closer and this time i PUSHED and something came out… a red bloody mass attached to me with a long bloody cord… not like what I’ve seen on the stories or in books… My mother took the main mass (which normally would have been a baby) and carried it away which only gave my grandmother mere seconds to cut the bloody cord, which she did swiftly. No sooner did she cut the cord than was my mouth FILLED with blood… Cheeks puffed out trying to hold all the blood that was suddenly in my mouth. Not spitting it out because I sense that it was important to keep it there until the proper vessel was presented, I wanted to ask my grandmother who was still there – “where is my baby?” and she looked at me almost sympathetically, but didn’t respond. I looked at the bloody trail that was left behind by my mother carting away the bloody mass but couldn’t see any trace of my mother. I started to break down. The blood leaked out of my mouth onto my white, dusted garment and I fell to the floor where more blood began to pour out of me from all orifices. And the dancing became more intense with the chanting and the final scream of my grandmother with white shaman face makeup…..

And i woke up.

I’m shaken because my GRANDMOTHER normally comes to give me good news….

I have NO idea what this is supposed to mean…….

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On the Culture of Taking a Life

I’ve been preoccupied with this story….

http://www.nj.com/hudson/index.ssf/2010/04/3_charged_in_murder_of_jersey.html

At the time that I’m posting this… it’s the most recent and updated story about the killings and the captures.

My heart breaks every time I think about Michael and Nia. Even though I did not know them personally… I know people who knew them. I know people who were at the engagement party the night that they were murdered. I feel their pain. And I feel the NATURAL HUMAN EMPATHY. How can you think of the story and not??? 25 and 27. Just starting out their lives. Deciding they wanted to spend that life together. Meet with all their closest friends to celebrate that event. Just to be offed by some MINDLESS FUCKING KIDS.

*taking a deep breath*

That same human empathy leads me to think of those kids. I finally saw their pictures today. Something about looking in the face of a criminal accused of doing something heinous… I need to see if there is any connection between their countenance and their thought process. I’m usually let down. I looked into the faces of these kids… because… they’re kids. 19 years old. When I was 19… I was just getting settled into year 2 of college. Deciding my major. Actively pursuing pleding AKA. Beginning a brand new love relationship that looked promising. THE FURTHEST THING from my mind? Was stealing / killing / carjacking. But then I had parents at home who had migrated here away from their homeland… just to TRY to give me a better chance. And I had to do something with that. Even if it was only up to a point (and that point was my Bachelor’s… after that, I told Mom & Dad that I would do my own thing). I had to do something positive with that…. make that… MEAN something to them… if not me.

So I thought about the support system for those kids. When Darmelia’s mom gave birth to her… when she named her and looked into her face… did she wish greatness upon her? “I hold in my arms the next great Speaker of the House…” or “I’ve just given birth to a future President of the Unites States.” Hell… was her mom even AROUND??? Or was she too busy chasing behind her youth that Darmelia and her brother might have robbed of her to actually RAISE her? I’d have to say no as her brother Ronald “Diddy” Lawrence was also in the family business of taking lives as he did for 2 people in February in Jersey City. I did a search for Latonia Bellamy on Facebook… just to see. But my co-worker told me something about how as soon as your arrested it seems that they take down all your social networking pages. Doubtful? Because I can’t see the government working that fast to do ANYTHING sometimes. A Latonia Bellamy did come up. But it wasn’t one of the assailants. It was a woman my age… who’s Wall was replete with status messages of upliftment and encouragement for the next person. Under her description where folks would normally put their little life’s mission statement, she proudly exclaims that she is all about “helping people in the community facing hardships with Rent, Security, furniture, Food, Clothing, Employment, Resume, Etc.” Maybe the 19-year old Latonia’s alternate reality doppelganger… Who she could have been if steered in the right direction. Maybe? But no. And then there was Shiquan. The boy in the crew. Shares the same last name as Latonia… but they’re both 19… so unless their twins… or Irish twins… maybe different families. They don’t seem to live in the same place according to the reports so I have to imagine they got to know each other the few days they were in school together because they sat one behind the other. I told my coworker that if you put a suit on the boy, gave him a fresh cut and imagined him in an auditorium full of young, eager minds talking about the future and higher education…. IT’S NOT THAT FAR from the imagination. It’s not even far to imagine him having made SOME mistakes in life… maybe having a misdemeanor but wanting to do right… maybe a baby to take care of… and interning somewhere to get his foot in the door to make a better future. Look at his face. Can’t you see that too???

But, no. They’re all just criminals. MURDERERS. THIEVES. The LOWEST of the low.

There HAS to be something said for environment in this. About their upbringing and discipline. The institution of structure where there no longer exists a standard one in society. Parenting isn’t something you can do for a few years and then hope it rides out into the child’s future. My parents were PARENTING ME up until their very last. I was still getting invaluable advice AND structure. (aside… I really? had amazing parents… i am truly blessed and i miss them terribly). It’s also not something that you can slack on for x amount of years and then miraculously show up when the kid is 17 and expect for it to take effect. I’m assuming the worst about their environment. It was the environment of the unreal. Where taking a life is just as significant as it is on the tv shows they watch. It’s easy… look… just pull the trigger. *cut scene* And that stuff they own? They’re too good for that stuff… so take it too. *roll the credits* And if we get caught… “SO. WHAT.” Jail is jail is jail. They’ve likely been in a cell in their minds all their lives. So this is a manifestation of their thoughts. And they’re ready for them.

Look at their picture again. Don’t you SEE the lack of connection between what they’ve done and how they feel?

That’s not Human.

My deepest sympathies go out to the families of Michael Muchioki and Nia Haqq. I have no words to offer that would ever comfort and as far as I am from the situation, I’m hurting deeply.

I hope these people are brought to justice. I hope that maybe one day… perhaps the light of TRUE realization will go off in their minds about what they’ve done… Because it’s probably as surreal to them as it is to the families that have to reconcile the light of bright stars in their lives being mindlessly dimmed.

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What’s Real

What is real? Realness? Reality? Real Talk? Really Real? I’m for Real? Real Love? Reality Shows?

How do you know that what you’ve experienced is real? Versus another dream in your head that is so… “real”istic? I read past memories through this blog and some of the actual memories feel like a distant dream. What makes those real? How do I know for certain I went through them? Unless I have someone who can verify… and then… could it be the stuff of mass delusion? Occasionally I struggle… with this question. I suppose it’s an offshoot of the more common “What is the Meaning of Life” question that folks like to ask. My mission is to discern what is real from what is feigned and the line blurs way more often than I care to imagine. I touch my hunny’s skin and it feel real to me… soft and chocolatey and wonderful. And he reacts to my touch… with a smile or some goosebumps. And in that instant I think he’s real. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a cast member placed here to help play out the whims of my life story. Some one truly real in my life and here. But that fleeting assuredness is chased away by the thought – “one day he won’t be real anymore…” Just like Grandma and mom and dad aren’t anymore. They were a bastion in reality for me. And now all I have is the concept of them. The remembrance of how real they WERE. But are no longer. Then I try to soak up all the “realness” of each moment. So I don’t forget. Collect all my “pretty pictures” so I have them to go with me when all is said and done.

I watched “A Beautiful Mind” last night. I’d seen it before and was always intrigued that someone with something as severe as Paranoid Schizophrenia could overcome it or at least cord it off so he could live somewhat of a normal existence and still benefit from his genius. What I noted last night is that the schitzophrenia had him in such a way that those characters that followed him around were all as real to him as the regular people roaming the earth (according to the movie). He would engage in conversation with them. He could interact with them. Touch them. Feel them. They never actually “went away” he just stopped interacting with them because it would lend to too much of a fantasy world that was not actually a part of our reality. But for all intents and purposes, until someone told him “no – these are not real people – we don’t see them. This is all in your head,” they were a very real and regular part of his life. The mind is Beautiful in its constructs. What it makes you know to be true versus anyone else’s interpretation.

I thought about it a lot last night. And this morning. I thought I’d write it down. Maybe that makes it real.

On another note, I got my hands on the new Erykah Badu album. It’s called “The New Amerykah Part II – Return of the Ankh”. I’ll say honestly that I’d not loved “Worldwide Underground” or “The New Amerykah Part I – 4th World War” with the passion that I loved Baduism, the Live Album or Mama’s Gun (the latter being my absolute FAVORITE Erykah album). But I DO love this new album. It immediately surpassed the last two in my mind to take up position as the 4th Erykah Album that I truly enjoyed. With that, I’ve already identified a song that I can relate to in a very surreal way. Although it’s done in the same three movement style as “Green Eyes” (for which I adored ALL THREE movements), “Out My Mind Just in Time’s” first movement hits me right *here* (pointing to my head and my heart). Music. Sentiment. Emotion and execution all join forces for it to sound like Erykah has watched my past relationships and took a little while to quantify what she read. But finally found the very simplest words to express my addiction. My compulsion. I expressed to MJ yesterday that the main issue with me is that I remember vividly and sometimes still feel in my heart how very deeply I loved… EVERYONE. It’s still incredibly real to me. But as a side effect… I also remember how hurt I felt.

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… I’d cry for you
‘n pop for you and break for you
And hate for you and hate you too
If you want me to… ahhh ooooh
I’d pray for you… Crochet for you
Make it from scratch for you
Leave off the latch for you
Go to the Store for you
Do it some more for you
Do what you want me to
Guess I’m a fool for you

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over oooh I
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… and cry for you
‘n pop for you… break for you
‘n hate for you and I’ll hate you too
If you want me to… I gotta do
My Love for you
Chop and Screw for you
Paint it Red for you
It’s true it’s true
Poor Badu…
Ooooh oooh ooh
Thought I was through with you
Guess I’m a fool for you….

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Fight Alone

They’re all going to frown at you… they’re all going to frown at you…
Brows furrowed and arms crossed.
Fuming at you for wrongs not personally done to them
But it’s their job.

I’m standing very alone in a situation that calls for backup. But I don’t have much anymore these days. Just my own heart and mind telling me I can stand strong and be strong. And may be that’s all I need. I need to assert myself against a claim formerly made by Cary that I was not the stuff of marriage material. I AM… I can be. I’m always ascending. And I can prove it. Now if others besides me could just believe it for a moment. I could change the world.

I hope who I speak to on Monday has a heart. And if not … I am ready to appeal to the bottom lines.

Please God. Be on my side for this.

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Homegoing

I haven’t posted in a little while – there’s been so much going on.

I started today’s post with the intention of documenting this CRAZY dream I had last night. The longer I’m awake though – the less of it I remember – but it was along the lines of this. I was supposed to drive somewhere. But I really was in NO condition to drive. I was either DUMB tired or really drunk. I obviously fell asleep at some point but had the wherewithall to pull the car over to sleep. It took me a second to regain focus in the dream upon waking up but when I did, the light inside the car was on and the dashboard was on but the lights outside my car were off. I tried to start the engine and got nothing. I must’ve drained the battery – but how long could I have been asleep. I finally tried looking around to see where I was and it look like the more suburban parts of Queens — over by Springfield Gardens / Rosedale and the like. But I wasn’t familiar with the particular block I was on. While looking around, I saw that I left my passenger side door open all night. At this point it was dawn so I could see a little better and there were all sorts of suburban bugs just … lined up on my car door. I realize now that my younger brother is in the car with me, but he’s a cross between David and my cousin-in-law, Sammy. So he’s actually YOUNG – like sitting in a booster seat style young. He helps me beat the bugs off the door and I pull the door shut – of course, even in my dream, casting a watchful eye over the door in case we missed any. Now… I think to myself… about this battery… I’d turned off everything in the hopes of allowing the battery some time to relax and “recharge” and I put the key in the ignition and it revved. Awesome – let’s get the eff outta here. I was about to put my car in drive when this motorcycle / smartcar thing rolls up next to my driverside and their passenger gets out slamming her door into mine and denting it. She emerged from the car – white woman, older, about 45 or so. trying to be in shape but there are some pockets that aren’t getting attention and decidedly Goth. She has piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip. I open my door and shout “are you serious???” and she shoves my car door closed and tells me to deal with it. So in my mind I say, I’m about to. I get out of the car and catch up to her as she’s quickly walking to her house and shove her on the ground. She lands on her lawn and starts to whine, “why’d you push me???” And I told her, “Cause I don’t fux with disrespectful bitches.” She looked like she was gonna stay down (so much for the people in her ride having her back) – so I walked back over to my car and got in. Put the ignition key in and…… Nothing. At that point, I began the waking up process, in real life.

Today’s going to be a tough one. We’re all descending upon 4111 Elbertson St. perhaps for the last time. Get the last few things out now while we can and hopefully get Dominic out before the legal proceedings begin again. 40 years we’d been in that apartment building. A solid 30 in that particular apartment. It’s a lot of history. And every time Earl mentions “throwing”_______”away” I think about all the history _______ had. History I’d forgotten. But it has to be let go. My parent’s couldn’t take it with them. They both had NO plan to speak of regarding what was to be done with their worldly possessions. So… No need for me to add to my children’s burden. When mommy was alive, I used to beg with her to PLEASE not let me have to go through her papers AND Grandma’s papers… she couldn’t bring herself to go through her mother’s papers. 5 years had passed and still nothing. Today is it – go through the dregs of grandma, mommy and daddy’s final “remains” decide what stays and what goes and discard the rest. Never to return to it again. Never see the inside of the place where I grew up again. Although the memories are bittersweet, I hang on to the really good times tighter than I do the traumatic, bad times. I guess now? I can never go home. Not to THAT one. And it’s time for me to forge forward and make a new one – for myself and my progeny. One that they’ll potentially be able to pass down. Not rent or borrow from anyone else. Now there’s a dream

Wish me luck

*

Lying and Tiger’s Affairs… oh my…

So… I’m kind of on the outskirts of all of this getting random reports every now and again about the latest. Here’s what I know in short:

There was a *makes fingers do the quotations move* “Car Crash” involving Tiger Woods a week ago where he hit a tree head on, air bags didn’t deploy and there didn’t seem to be any damage to his door. In a valiant attempt to *quotes move, again* “save him”, his wife Elin busted both back windows *cue up Jazmine Sullivan quietly in the background* to his Cadillac Escalade (quick RCA dog head tilt here on why a billionaire is driving an Escalade…) to *quotes move a third time* “pull him to safety” then a day or two later it starts to come out that there were “transgressions” with someone who he left a voicemail for asking her for things she’d have to do for him Huge. Quickly. Bye. Because his wife had been going through his phone (right before the “crash”?) A day later there was another name… cause the first girl we heard about had a J – Jenna or Joanna or something… now there was this Uchitel chick and today a third… a Kalika someone (who I SWORE would be a sistah with a name like that – and maybe would have actually made this whole thing jucier – but Tiger gets points for being consistent with his Jungle Fever or… um… Cablinasian Fever… because Kalika was just another skinny white girl – but brunette this time). And over all of this fuckery he laid the sauce of “I’m only human, stop pestering me and my family – by the way my wife is so gracious and wonderful, stop accusing her of being violent and barbaric – but wait – NOT gracious and wonderful enough for me to try and keep my 9 iron in the bag” right along the top with a flourish.

In. A. Nutshell.

What’s my take?

This was a public service reminder to all and everyone who is in a committed relationship or married to go through their phones and delete questionable shit. And questionable means just that. If it can be construed a million ways. Or if your mama read it and you think she’d raise an eyebrow… If it’s a photo you have to turn on an angle and preface with “wait… you gotta know the story behind it…” DE? Lete. And then make a little resolution to try not to anymore with the creating of new messages like that, mmmkay? Especially if you KNOW someone’s going to be looking at your phone when you aren’t.

Do I think he’s wrong? Sure. I also think that society has inflated our expectations of what we should and should not be doing. But that’s a blog for another time… or maybe – I wrote it last blog, actually LOL. I think I might have been able to forgive him on one… but three? I mean… damn, Tiger… How many women are you “wearing out?” Fer shizzle.

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