i love:
cardigans. long ones, short ones, shawl cardigans, boyfriend cardigans . . . it matters not. i love them. nothing says “funky librarian” the way a cardigan does! especially in colors i love.
i need: tights!
i want: a badass, too big, super sparkly necklace. something w/ too many fucking sequins, and maybe some rhinestones. like either of these from anthropologie.
(i linked them because — surprise — wordpress is not allowing me to be great. whatever.)
so, i love mos def’s “casa bey” to pieces. in this clip below, mos breaks down the meaning of the song to him:
& here’s the song itself, probably one of my top 5 mos songs ever.
(i was gonna write a letter to tyler perry, but i’ve decided against it. for now, anyway.)
so i’ve been thinking about tyler perry being at the helm of this major motion picture adaptation of for colored girls. and i’ve been reading the choreopoem itself over and over again. and something i’ve come to realize as a result of this development is that when there’s an adaptation of an original work, lots of things get changed and moved around. i think the “pass” he gets is that he’s going to adapt the choreopoem. which means to me that we’re likely to get the storylines of the women, but with some serious redux. since TP’s subject matter almost exclusively involves heavily dysfunctional black women & men, we’re gonna get the essence of crystal and beau willie brown. we’re going to get the concept of the latent rapist bravado piece, but maybe never the idea that it is never the victim’s fault.
it would pain me incessantly to see this choreopoem turned into an episode of jerry springer with a dash of church music thrown in at the end. it seems that lots of women i know feel the same way — it would be so tragic to see something we love so deeply turned into yet another reason to hear oleta adams’ “many rivers to cross” or mariah carey’s “fly like a bird” in the context of something that really reduces the black woman’s experience to its lowest common denominator.
so i’ve been thinking about that, too. what is this film adaptation going to look like? is it going to follow the same basic archetype as his other films/ plays (emotionally damaged black woman/ women finding redemption after much pain and strife… with a heavy dose of jesus h. christ for upliftment)? according to the ‘dream cast’ article from broadway.com (linked above), the narratives of the ladies will be incorporated into perry’s own script that leads them to ‘the colored girls center’. i, personally, see lots of his tried-and-true storytelling methods. i feel like that’s a really bad idea, given that most of the impact that for colored girls has (in my experience) comes from the very fact that it is a CHOREOPOEM. not a scripted play with a set and huge cast. not a scripted film with a plot. because linear storytelling, though it can be impactful, is not in tune with how most of us reach our epiphanized selves. at the end of the piece, is there not the mantra of “i found god in myself/ and i loved her/ i loved her fiercely”? what about that? knowing that most of tyler perry’s viewership identifies as christian, are we going to discuss the divine feminine in this movie? i doubt it. so, i’m pissed. i think it’s apparent from this piece written by stacia on postbourgie that the concern of colored girls fans is very real, and definitely not imagined or overblown.
an idea i’ve wanted to do ever since playing “lady in green” back in my freshman year of college is to do a series of colored girls readings. it could be really simple. dinner, cocktails, the reading, then a discussion with notes and feedback forms and stuff.
i will do this. in philly, in nyc, in dc . . . where ever.
interested? email me. sechitatgmaildotcom with colored girls dinner party in the subject header.
thanks.
peace.
it’s kind of been forever since my last post like this. so, here i am. something i love, something i need, something i want. heeere we go:
love:
like, yum. seriously.
indian food. channa, dal, basmati rice (with cumin!), chicken tikka masala, tandoori naan, roti, pakoras, samosas . . . dude. dude. DUDE. chicken vindaloo? biryani? i can’t live without the stuff. it’s going to be my undoing someday. especially with two indian restaurants within a 5 minute walk of my place.
need:
(there is no photograph to illustrate what i need.)
a particular itch scratched. i need some really good, gold foil, can’t speak in coherent sentences afterwards, sweating like a preacher during tent revival, let me make you meals between sessions sex. the kind that makes my neighbors think something real crazy is going on in my apartment, cuz all they hear is grownup noises & all they smell is bacon & waffles & shit being made. it’s so crucial. my toys cannot keep up. sending telepathic beams to the object of my desire right now. i need you to work me out again, sweets. like, over the course of 24 hours. please?
want:
(it seems that wordpress is being a ho about photo links right now. maybe i just need to go the fuck to sleep?)
a custom made dress from fly tie. somewhere between this maxi dress & this hooded dress. really. her blog is ill (see the first link), but her shop will take your breath away!
she’s a real sweet gal. you should check her out.
new beginnings
silence
willful isolation
sundresses
florida water
abundant change
random phonecalls
cumin
onion powder
babies
chosen family
pink dresses
libraries
vinegar
bloggity goodness
raspberry sorbet
cheap wine
pink eye shadow
continually, i sit at the seat of bliss.
this is all nezua’s fault. there. i said it. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, MAN! i’d shake an angry fist at you but i’m too.busy.dancing.must.stop.dancing.CANNOT.STOP.DANCING.
shit.
i can’t get this song out of my head. i will be dancing to this whenever i get married to whomever is perfect enough to want to wake up to this very song at least once a week (and me, but the song is just as important) . . . holy shit.
i love it.
turn it up LOUD if you’re not at work. or if you have headphones. hell, just turn it up anyway. chair dance, cubicle refugees!
prepare yourself to fall fully in love with the synth of it all.
*ahem*
the knife, “you take my breath away”
(and homegirl on the right? her makeup is killing it. don’t think i won’t do some shit like that. cuz i will.)
mi cara.
my face.
the mug.
i finally learned to love this face of mine
after 27.9 years of wondering why i didn’t have a “more black” nose or fuller lips like my mom
after learning late in the game that there’s nothing better than fly spectacles
i look like the moon, lol
and that’s kinda dope.
introducing the ornate pubic hair fashion show:
i can’t say shit, cuz i have a vch, pierced nipple, tattoos, & will probably further explore both forms of adornment as i grow older.
the peacock thing was kinda dope, too. gives me ideas for halloween… but with a lot more clothing. lol.
dope girl fresh has been featured on the ultraviolet underground blog.
altered thought’s silly ass is back at it. this time, he wants you to learn the basics of having relations.
laetiçia has learned the glory of bragging, a valuable lesson learned from mama gena.
falsabaiana’s kids won the GOLD in their ballroom competition. (girl, gimme a link to read if there is one) she’s also a recent birthday girl! yaaaaaaaaay!
this is my time to celebrate ppl i know/ love (especially myself! lol) & the wonderful things they do/ create, no matter how big or small.
(swiped from olaomi’s blog on myspace)
She’s come undone
A exhortation of sorts that is cried out when a woman gets too loud
or hysterical -which of course has the same root as hysterectomy
or bursts out of her corset
or allows the bun at the nape of her neck to come aloose
or takes up too much space
or speaks her truth loudly
or kicks and screams
or does all of the above at once which means she is having “a nervous breakdown”
or is generally not tippy toeing around in a tight ill fitting pinching quiet small shell
she has come undone
when she
when we
are not controlled
I can be the Empress of Control
soft, dulcet voice, smooth touch, not rattled by anything or anyone
one spiritual group refers to it as being “eternally at peace in any situation”
to make is sound like something good, something laudable, something one should seek out and cleave unto themselves
I can
do that
well
But I Feel so much better
when I am undone
there is not a tight knot in my throat
my chest doesn’t hurt
and my back and neck don’t ache
I am not as my sister said nauseous from swallowing so much shit
Amy Tan wrote that in her culture women are taught to swallow pain and that that is thought to be one of the duties of womanhood
I had a lover from Gambia once who told me the same thing, that women are created to take pain
conversely
we are not expected to experience pleasure frequently…but to give it endlessly
I am in the midst of an internal battle to stay
undone
an every day war against
the conventions, and mindsets, and upbringing and ways and mores
that poke and prod and suggest and insinuate and demand that I
remain
done
controlled
not doing so is a daily battle
it is a fight for my life
for my breath
for my sanity
for my health
yeah you are interpreting this correctly
what I am saying is that I am consciously working on
being the crazy bitch
the fatal attraction whore
the baby mama with drama
the insatiable freak
that woman who is not above speaking her mind or getting what is rightfully hers
the shrew
that little part that everybody’s momma has that we fear
cause
it is a lie not to be this part of ourselves sometimes
to lose it all in the pursuit of staying
done
and it is suicidal
she’s come undone
indeed
completely
totally
forever
Un
Done
she refuses to breathe life into lies anymore
she does not sit idly by and take shit anymore
she is not assisting you in abusing her anymore
she is not a cog in the wheel of oppression
nor brick builder for the patriarchal white supremacist pyramid
she expects more
and more
and more
she has the gall to not accept anything less than what she gives!
she is shocking
she is wild
she is off
she got funny ways
she sum timey
she moody
thoroughly
UN
DONE
so
mote
it
be
in the name of all that is round
and juicy
and life giving in the Universe
you know i’ve been crafting.
some of the fruits of my labor are for sale on etsy.com. i present to you dope girl fresh.
i’ll be adding more items as soon as i make more items. 
like i have to shake my ass a lil harder for those tips
smile bigger when they ask how i’m doing, so massa & them don’t know i’m planning to leave
i’m growing impatient &
full of myself, certain that i’ll strike when the iron is hot
my hands itch to pull at that other shoe, instead of letting it drop on its own
trying to slow this mess down just enough to savor the last days
i’m more aware now than ever of how this is gonna go down,
where my support comes from
what i need to leave alone
& ultimately, i’m fully able to see where i ought to be
what steps to take, where to plant my feet.
i just have to breathe & take care of this stuff first.
the babies will come
the money will come
the new home will come.
i just have to make it so.
i am happiest when crafting with abandon. when i can just do whatever i want with whichever medium, i feel most peaceful. i feel alive.
reason #275 why i’m leaving that job.
