type, type, type . . . delete.

every time i get ready to start writing, i get bashful and quit. i’ll erase it all or save it as a draft . . . all because i’m not even sure i’ll like or be comfortable with what’s gonna come out. maybe i remembered that people read this blog, and i considered folks’ feelings before my own. not gonna work. whatever’s swirling around in my head has to get out. somewhere. somehow.
i need to put pen to paper.

i’ll be back, probably within the week. got some shit to let out first.

friday links:

youtube is gonna be the death of me.

feist on sesame street (feist + puppets = awesome):

stevie wonder on sesame street (even MORE awesome):

1

2

jill scott, “gimme”

the enbedding was disabled, so go here. LOVE this song.

now i’m off to prepare for a debate drinking game thought of by mos def’s other other wife, lauren.

otherness.

i was talking to a friend this evening about otherness, even within groups oft-marginalized people. that is, if you’re black and bisexual (or latino and homosexual, or of caribbean blood and heterosexual, or asian and gender-neutral or whatever), it’s almost a given that you’re going to be exotified as the other other by someone you deal with. it’s wack. cuz you’re being made into the other other, possibly by someone readily identifed as the other. it got deep. it did.

i had a point. i did.

too much wine. not enough time to formulate thoughts.

i’m frustrated, though. it doesn’t even have to be a sexual or romantic interaction. it’s as simple as folks laying their shit at your feet and deciding that you’ve got to fit into that. it’s a long drawn out mess

but yeah
when i sober up… maybe i’ll take another crack at this.

i suppose that this constitutes a countdown.

october 7.
you have been warned.

and now, onto my wishlist:

a 120 gig ipod classic. black. with dope girl fresh engraved on it.

a day of total leisure, doing what i feel like doing

a new tattoo*

perfectly arched eyebrows

pocket money

lingerie

the perfect pair of jeans

a delicious plate of awesome food (paging tia clara! i’d like some mole, pleeeaaaaaase)

birthday serenades

birthday cards hand-made with glitter and tempura and other preschool sort of things

a chocolate cupcake with hazelnut-praline icing from flying monkey patisserie

a day free of unnecessary fuckery

a great big old bottle of malbec

a manicure and pedicure

a great big old sloppy wet kiss from my favorite baby

an ear cuff made of copper and peacock feathers

a happy birthday for each person under my sun sign (insert libra dance here), especially my cousin crystal, dia, malaika, mel, jess, amal, lauren and that dj guy

a few spectacular orgasms

bliss, bliss, bliss

a really lovely dinner date

and for the crush i dreamt of the other night to, like, make a move

* a fly henna tattoo will be an acceptable substitute for a new permanent tat.

self love blog #1

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.

i don’t even know dude like that

to be dreaming about him.
shit.
barely three conversations, and he’s traipsing through my REM?
we’re in this dream, talking about learning portuguese and what we felt was the presence of yemaya in favela rising
and i’m all kinds of twisted about this
maybe it means something
maybe i should just get some fucking sleep
i don’t know.

but what i do know is that the feeling has been with me all day long.
*sigh*

on: standing in the gap

when a friend falls down
falls apart
falls out w/ someone they love
needs to scream
needs to cry
needs to use expletives excessively, in succession, making little to no sense
that’s when you know you trust them
that’s when you know they trust you
that’s when you honor that space & that event
i give thanks for the opportunity to do that and be on both ends
and if i count you in that number
please know that you’re more than welcome, as long as i have the ability to provide for you the arms to hold you up or the hands to piece you back together
the back to carry you
the courage to see that you are not a burden, but a reflection
i will love you
i will support you
i will honor and respect you
let this be my pact
from now until the last blink.

ashé + amen

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