sucked away

air india sux

friday flight was too full to get me on

saturday will have to do...

i miss home

i miss my maniac

my mother has tired of brooklyn,

its what happens to people from the west

the busy busy busy movement that never alllows

you a moments rest...

we are made of sunshine and racism

great weather and racism

comparable wages, time off, and racism

no wonder i am who i am today

hypocritical sympathizer...

i fear the things that taught me how to hate the best

and wish them an untimely death

or a winter in london wasting away with the fish n chips

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

manchester, blackburn, london and back to manchester

i have not had a moments rest.
atleast not until last night
that was after 3 workshops and 2
performance, that i finally fell into
a mediocre chinese buffet and then my bed
at the hotel to watch american tv and fall
asleep thinking of soprano bad guys, and
mafia hits.

my time thus far, has been tumtulous
the emotions that rise and fall with the
weather, has left me in a bit of a numb state.

which may be why i havent eaten often...
prawn and mayonnaise sandwhich before the
train ride to manchester from london. and
then again the next day from manchester to
blackburn.

i have been facilitating workshops for adult men
in rehab centers and literary aficionados - both
separate classes, i assure you. and its torn at me
a bit. both workshops touched a part of me that i have
been hiding for awhile. the rehab center talked to the
shadows still hiding my pain from my estranged relationship
with my mother. and the womenswriting group has attached
itself to my inner demons, allowing me to be honest
about my hang ups with self and those women like me...
all groundbreaking stuff - and tough to look at if you
dont know what you are looking for, ya know?

i miss home though. french toast and lil' girl smiles.
his music blasting and my bed. big and comfy. but i know
this is happening for many reasons. there is a part of me
that needed reawakening. it wasnt being stimulated. and now
with these adult workshops - i have found a bit of self in
each person i talk to... and it's not that i am better or
even more experienced than the people i have come into contact
with -- but i am alive.

i am breathing. and being. and hopeful. i am present.
it is a wonderful feeling.

and scary. but only if you arent ready for whats next in
the unknown. and that's only fearful to me -- sometimes.

manchester times

i got here without too much of an issue.
though it was a long, uncomfortable trip, damn middle seat,
and i had to make it from an overnight flight straight to
manchester, another 5 hours of pure ugh, before i checked into
my hotel, walking distance from the station, and fell into a bath.

yesssssssssssssssssssssssssss

that little excursion there left me with exactly 1 hour to get ready
and mentally prepared for a hard night. last nite was the dedication
performance to a good fried, dike omeje. he passed about a month or so
a go - and man... he was fly.

he was the first poet i met in manchester, and the one that i kept contact
with while traveling back and forth. he also toured with jive and myself
to poland one year, as his stage presence is incomparable! he passed away
in his home and blindsighted a large amount of the poetry community, that
had no idea he was fighting for his life - in remission.

im running outta minutes and have exceeded my pound per day on the internet limit.
so i will finish this tomorrow.

besides. i have a train to catch into london.

red buses, tea and crumpets

mo (missing bklyn)

as things stand

life is pretty cool.
that was scary. to write it down and feel it at once.
it makes me think there is a shoe about drop, somewhere

hanging with moms is wierd. still.
but good nonetheless. good food. scary stories.
so many things i chose not to remember.

so many things i am reminded of, before the blackout.
before the knife and gun and panic attacks. i should
be dead.

i know that now. i had an incredible angel on my side.
i have one or two of them looking out for me right, now
i can say that without worry.

i only hope they see me thru this lifetime. i have so much
to accomplish, and i've never been worried of failure. but
i recognize the significance of it.

no one knows better than i... or maybe they do -- and i just
havent met them. if that's the case - this is my note to you.
i believe in you. even when the world tells me not to.

i dunno what next

im breathing. still. its cool. i guess. i have a show, tonite. i want to rest. bad. its cold outside. and inside. my daughter and mother are sitting on couch. everyone is full offa ackee and mac n cheese and my chili. i froze it for this moment. and she liked it. i feel kinda cool about that. i think...

days spent doing a gang of ish!

dang. its been that long

so much has happened. the festival jumped ten feet than stumbled 20 feet down. my car kept me going, then the plates were reported stolen and i stared in the face of an evening in NYC finest, central booking of Brooklyn... my daughter starred as DOROTHY in the school play of THE WIZ of prospect heights and my mom came into town. i almost pulled out my hair with tears and doubled over laughing after our date to the katt williams concert.



i know in between the lines there is something brilliant to be said, and written, but i can't find it yet. im too busy getting the copies of my cave canem application out of my way and my mother's interest in focus. im trying not to worry about the double booking in england, or the overwhelming 4 classes a day with brilliant children residing in bklyn's cradle.



this time will be spent remembering the MOBEEZY, a drink i named while waiting for my turkey burger to be cooked at the brooklyn spot food for thought. or the brush with death moment the nuyo qualifier team had, after a team member was so late we were almost disqualified and before we came back from a .2 loss to win over urbana and louderarts.. yea, it was by .1 but its official. we are in. and the reunion felt really good. this is the time. that i will think of cocoa butter. and baby's scar. and his smile. and coffee. and laughter between a mother and daughter and granddaughter. and peace.

i want it. and for a second, it seems actually plausible

dry snitching

standing inside starbucks

bklyn, atlantic center

ground floor

and a man walks in talking gibberish

and carrying a big blue plastic bag

he throws the bag down in front of the sandwhich display

and begins throwing in boxes of pre-made digs

i pull amari closer to me - sure he wont be stealing a 9 year old

but she's a snitch...

my beautiful 9 year old with a penchant for singing musical tunes

does not like people doing illegal activities...

and i try to preserve that part of her. that good, still can tell if she's lying

deer in the headlight look. she is my maniac

and i know a day will come when she will learn to lie to me

with eyes dry and unblinking

with the swerve of her neck - inviting my hands to choke them with each swivel

i want to preserve the innocence that walks hand in hand with telling it

just like it is

besides, she's got the rest of her adult life to learn how to lie and not

care of the cracks she stepped on, attempting to break her mama's

back