About Sarah Palin from a Wasilla Resident

I am a resident of Wasilla, Alaska. I have known Sarah since 1992. Everyone here knows Sarah, so it is nothing special to say we are on a first-name basis. Our children have attended the same schools. Her father was my child's favorite substitute teacher. I also am on a first name basis with her parents and mother-in-law. I attended more City Council meetings during her administration than about 99% of the residents of the city.

She is enormously popular; in every way she’s like the most popular girl in middle school. Even men who think she is a poor choice and won't vote for her can't quit smiling when talking about her because she is a "babe".

It is astonishing and almost scary how well she can keep a secret. She kept her most recent pregnancy a secret from her children and parents for seven months. She is "pro-life". She recently gave birth to a Down's syndrome baby. There is no cover-up involved, here; Trig is her baby.

She is energetic and hardworking. She regularly worked out at the gym. She is savvy. She doesn't take positions; she just "puts things out there" and if they prove to be popular, then she takes credit.

Her husband works a union job on the North Slope for BP and is a champion snowmobile racer. Todd Palin’s kind of job is highly sought-after because of the schedule and high pay. He arranges his work schedule so he can fish for salmon in Bristol Bay for a month or so in summer, but by no stretch of the imagination is fishing their major source of income. Nor has her life-style ever been anything like that of native Alaskans.

Sarah and her whole family are avid hunters.

She's smart. Her experience is as mayor of a city with a population of about 5,000 (at the time), and less than 2 years as governor of a state with about 670,000 residents.

During her mayoral administration most of the actual work of running this small city was turned over to an administrator. She had been pushed to hire this administrator by party power-brokers after she had gotten herself into some trouble over precipitous firings which had given rise to a recall campaign.

Sarah campaigned in Wasilla as a “fiscal conservative”. During her 6 years as Mayor, she increased general government expenditures by over 3%. During those same 6 years the amount of taxes collected by the City increased by 38%. This was during a period of low inflation (1996-2002). She reduced progressive property taxes and increased a regressive sales tax which taxed even food. The tax cuts that she promoted benefited large corporate property owners way more than they
benefited residents.

The huge increases in tax revenues during her mayoral administration weren’t enough to fund everything on her wish list though, borrowed money was needed, too. She inherited a city with zero debt, but left it with indebtedness of over $22 million. What did Mayor Palin encourage the voters to borrow money for? Was it the infrastructure that she said she supported? The sewage treatment plant that the city lacked? or a new library? No. $1m for a park. $15m-plus for construction of a multi-use sports complex which she rushed through to build on a piece of property that the City didn’t even have clear title to, that was still in litigation 7 yrs later--to the delight of the lawyers involved! The sports complex itself is a nice addition to the community but a huge money pit, not the profit-generator she claimed it would be. She also supported bonds for $5.5m for road projects that could have been done in 5-7 yrs without any borrowing.

While Mayor, City Hall was extensively remodeled and her office redecorated more than once. These are small numbers, but Wasilla is a very small city.

As an oil producer, the high price of oil has created a budget surplus in Alaska. Rather than invest this surplus in technology that will make us energy independent and increase efficiency, as Governor she proposed distribution of this surplus to every individual in the state.

In this time of record state revenues and budget surpluses, she
recommended that the state borrow/bond for road projects, even while she proposed distribution of surplus state revenues: spend today's surplus, borrow for needs.

She’s not very tolerant of divergent opinions or open to outside ideas or compromise. As Mayor, she fought ideas that weren’t generated by her or her staff. Ideas weren’t evaluated on their merits, but on the basis of who proposed them.

While Sarah was Mayor of Wasilla she tried to fire our highly respected City Librarian because the Librarian refused to consider removing from the library some books that Sarah wanted removed. City residents rallied to the defense of the City Librarian and against Palin's attempt at out-and-out censorship, so Palin backed down and withdrew her termination letter. People who fought her attempt to oust the Librarian are on her enemies list to this day.

Sarah complained about the “old boy’s club” when she first ran for Mayor, so what did she bring Wasilla? A new set of "old boys". Palin fired most of the experienced staff she inherited. At the City and as Governor she hired or elevated new, inexperienced, obscure people, creating a staff totally dependent on her for their jobs and eternally grateful and fiercely loyal--loyal to the point of abusing their power to further her personal agenda, as she has acknowledged happened in the
case of pressuring the State’s top cop (see below).

As Mayor, Sarah fired Wasilla’s Police Chief because he “intimidated” her, she told the press. As Governor, her recent firing of Alaska's top cop has the ring of familiarity about it. He served at her pleasure and she had every legal right to fire him, but it's pretty clear that an important factor in her decision to fire him was because he wouldn't fire her sister's ex-husband, a State Trooper. Under investigation for abuse of power, she has had to admit that more than 2 dozen contacts were made between her staff and family to the person that she later fired, pressuring him to fire her ex-brother-in-law. She tried to
replace the man she fired with a man who she knew had been reprimanded for sexual harassment; when this caused a public furor, she withdrew her support.


She has bitten the hand of every person who extended theirs to her in help. The City Council person who personally escorted her around town introducing her to voters when she first ran for Wasilla City Council became one of her first targets when she was later elected Mayor. She abruptly fired her loyal City Administrator; even people who didn’t like the guy were stunned by this ruthlessness.

Fear of retribution has kept all of these people from saying anything publicly about her.

When then-Governor Murkowski was handing out political plums, Sarah got the best, Chair of the Alaska Oil and Gas Conservation Commission: one of the few jobs not in Juneau and one of the best paid. She had no background in oil & gas issues. Within months of scoring this great job which paid $122,400/yr, she was complaining in the press about the
high salary. I was told that she hated that job: the commute, the
structured hours, the work. Sarah became aware that a member of this Commission (who was also the State Chair of the Republican Party) engaged in unethical behavior on the job. In a gutsy move which some undoubtedly cautioned her could be political suicide, Sarah solved all her problems in one fell swoop: got out of the job she hated and garnered gobs of media attention as the patron saint of ethics and as a gutsy fighter against the “old boys’ club” when she dramatically quit,
exposing this man’s ethics violations (for which he was fined).

As Mayor, she had her hand stuck out as far as anyone for pork from Senator Ted Stevens. Lately, she has castigated his pork-barrel politics and publicly humiliated him. She only opposed the “bridge to nowhere” after it became clear that it would be unwise not to.

As Governor, she gave the Legislature no direction and budget
guidelines, then made a big grandstand display of line-item vetoing projects, calling them pork. Public outcry and further legislative action restored most of these projects--which had been vetoed simply because she was not aware of their importance--but with the unobservant she had gained a reputation as “anti-pork”.

She is solidly Republican: no political maverick. The State party
leaders hate her because she has bit them in the back and humiliated them. Other members of the party object to her self-description as a fiscal conservative.

Around Wasilla there are people who went to high school with Sarah. They call her “Sarah Barracuda” because of her unbridled ambition and predatory ruthlessness. Before she became so powerful, very ugly stories circulated around town about shenanigans she pulled to be made point guard on the high school basketball team. When Sarah's mother-in-law, a highly respected member of the community and experienced manager, ran for Mayor, Sarah refused to endorse her.

As Governor, she stepped outside of the box and put together of package of legislation known as “AGIA” that forced the oil companies to march to the beat of her drum.

Like most Alaskans, she favors drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. She has questioned if the loss of sea ice is linked to global warming. She campaigned “as a private citizen” against a state initiaitive that would have either a) protected salmon streams from pollution from mines, or b) tied up in the courts all mining in the state (depending on who you listen to). She has pushed the State’s lawsuit against the Dept. of the Interior’s decision to list polar bears as threatened species.

McCain is the oldest person to ever run for President; Sarah will be a heartbeat away from being President. There has to be literally millions of Americans who are more knowledgeable and experienced than she. However, there’s a lot of people who have underestimated her and are regretting it.

CLAIM VS FACT
•“Hockey mom”: true for a few years
•“PTA mom”: true years ago when her first-born was in elementary school, not since
•“NRA supporter”: absolutely true
•social conservative: mixed. Opposes gay marriage, BUT vetoed a bill that would have denied benefits to employees in same-sex relationships (said she did this because it was unconsitutional).
•pro-creationism: mixed. Supports it, BUT did nothing as Governor to promote it.
•“Pro-life”: mixed. Knowingly gave birth to a Down’s syndrome baby BUT declined to call a special legislative session on some pro-life legislation
•“Experienced”: Some high schools have more students than Wasilla has residents. Many cities have more residents than the state of Alaska. No legislative experience other than City Council. Little hands-on supervisory or managerial experience; needed help of a city administrator to run town of about 5,000.
•political maverick: not at all
•gutsy: absolutely!
•open & transparent: ??? Good at keeping secrets. Not good at
explaining actions.
•has a developed philosophy of public policy: no
•”a Greenie”: no. Turned Wasilla into a wasteland of big box stores and disconnected parking lots. Is pro-drilling off-shore and in ANWR.
•fiscal conservative: not by my definition!
•pro-infrastructure: No. Promoted a sports complex and park in a city without a sewage treatment plant or storm drainage system. Built streets to early 20th century standards.
•pro-tax relief: Lowered taxes for businesses, increased tax burden on residents
•pro-small government: No. Oversaw greatest expansion of city
government in Wasilla’s history.
•pro-labor/pro-union. No. Just because her husband works union doesn’t make her pro-labor. I have seen nothing to support any claim that she is pro-labor/pro-union.


WHY AM I WRITING THIS?

First, I have long believed in the importance of being an informed voter. I am a voter registrar. For 10 years I put on student voting programs in the schools. If you google my name (Anne Kilkenny + Alaska), you will find references to my participation in local government, education, and PTA/parent organizations.

Secondly, I've always operated in the belief that "Bad things happen when good people stay silent". Few people know as much as I do because few have gone to as many City Council meetings.

Third, I am just a housewife. I don't have a job she can bump me out of. I don't belong to any organization that she can hurt. But, I am no fool; she is immensely popular here, and it is likely that this will cost me somehow in the future: that’s life.

Fourth, she has hated me since back in 1996, when I was one of the 100 or so people who rallied to support the City Librarian against Sarah's attempt at censorship.

Fifth, I looked around and realized that everybody else was afraid to say anything because they were somehow vulnerable.

CAVEATS
I am not a statistician. I developed the numbers for the increase in spending & taxation 2 years ago (when Palin was running for Governor) from information supplied to me by the Finance Director of the City of Wasilla, and I can't recall exactly what I adjusted for: did I adjust for inflation? for population increases? Right now, it is impossible for a private person to get any info out of City Hall--they are swamped. So I can't verify my numbers.

You may have noticed that there are various numbers circulating for the population of Wasilla, ranging from my "about 5,000", up to 9,000. The day Palin’s selection was announced a city official told me that the current population is about 7,000. The official 2000 census count was 5,460. I have used about 5,000 because Palin was Mayor from 1996 to 2002, and the city was growing rapidly in the mid-90’s.

Anne Kilkenny
annekilkenny@hotmail.com
August 31, 2008

naughty haiku

bite me on my back
let me feel your teeth sink in
best feeling ever

my girl honey, we think alike - except she's waaay better @ singing!

what are you waiting for?

SOUNDBITES POETRY FESTIVAL, October 25- 26, 2008, NYC

Last year the New York City festival, SoundBites, made history hosting the likes of Rives, Jaha Zainabu,Taylor Mali, Nii Parkes, Roger Bonair Agard and Dasha Kelly. Poets traveled from Texas, North Carolina and California for a weekend of creative writing, performance and workshopping with the closing event at the broadway theatre, New World Stages This year will be slightly different with the Festival separted into two installments. The first installment on October 25th & 26th, 2008 will consist of The SHHH...250 BUK SECRET YOUTH SLAM (open to poets age14 -19) and The SHHH 500 BUK SECRET ADULT SLAM (open to ages 20 and up) Slots are limited! The closing event Return of the Jam Showcase will feature Big Poppa E (HBO Def Poet), Eboni (Team Nuyorican 2007 & Urbana Grand Slam Champion), Jamaal St. John (SoundBites 2007 Slam Champ & Nuyorican Grand Slam Champion) & several surprise performances! *******************************

It's Here!!

Rest In Peace: Shannon Leigh

an amazing poet. i met her first when she was 14 years old. she made me uncomfortable with how brilliant she was. when i featured her 6 years later
at the nuyorican -- just a couple of months ago -- i saw her a woman. full
circle. her honest slogan "fuck me human" leaves me suffering goosebumps...even now

A Declaration of Obama

After reading his book, Dreams from My Father. I realize, Obama is what every man should be. Beautiful with language, honest in his flaws, unwavering with his loyalty and passionate about life. It is after swimming in his memoir that I feel I can really stand behind this man. Really donate money that I don't have to a hope for our future, I can volunteer for a cause that will benefit more bodies than my own and bask in the glow of his brilliant leadership. Because like Michelle, Obama's wife, I too have found myself torn as an American adult.

The moment I learned of the Tuskeegee experiment; the hours I relive the Sean Bell verdict; the minutes I replay after learning I no longer had insurance coverage for a surgery that would fix my limp and allow me a life again; I felt misunderstood and expendable. I cringe at the idea of vaccines for my daughter, I am fearful of her becoming another sterility case, like the women of Puerto Rico. And when I begged the opinions of three different doctors only to feel the backhand of the "no malpractice please" club, I never felt so alone.

The idea of Barack Obama, leaves me to wonder what beauty can come for my family. For my friends. For my coworkers. I believe again, in our government. Since the scandal of Bush's "re-election", I haven't had the heart to look Lady Liberty in the eye. I considered her a traitor to us all. And by no means do I believe, Obama is the saviour. He is still human and capable of failing. But it is the humanity in him, that I see a possibility of something different. You know it when you see it, when you hear him speak, when you watch him laugh - like he doesn't care about the people planning for his demise. Like his figure alone isn't a threat to continuation of the all American racism that's been planted under our skin, all along.

it looks as good as it sounds!!

or


to make a donation today:

Poetry, Rants, Woman & Power: MAHOGANY NEEDS HELP FOR FOOT SURGERY

if this surgery goes wrong...

i leave you my tongue
the weapon i wielded most
it will protect you from the
night, the shadows and like

i leave you my forearm
the branch that protected
our friends. our family perched
underneath, they will always
smell like this. rub cocoa butter
on the stretchmarks. they tend
to itch when anxious. don't blame
them for their ugly. it isn't their
fault.

i leave you my eyes. so much
has been viewed with them. keep
them close to your heart. they'll
never lie, even when they should.

i leave you my right hand. she's a
beautiful creature. she's my greatest
gift, next to you. joy released from
her fingertips like yellow tulips. she is
spring time, like your smile. she will
never fail you.

MAHOGANY NEEDS HELP FOR FOOT SURGERY

Mahogany needs money for foot surgery on May 30th!!
That's less than 2 weeks.

She is a full time artist and doesn't have health insurance.
So if you would like to donate to the cause and can afford as little
as $5 click here! please

barely here

give me 10 days.
i promise, i'll tell no lies

cooke said

sang of a change coming. and you never really feel the current of this change
until something big and bloody happens.

so much has happened. i wrote 30 poems in 30 days. i had a birthday celebration in miami.
i am preparing for my daughter to graduate primary school. i am preparing for my sister
to marry. sean bell's killers were acquitted. my foot is back in a soft cast. there are no surprises like these left in the world for me. until the cyclone of burma. then the finishing of the men's anthology "barbershop chronicles." and now. this. i was accepted into the cave canem summer retreat. it is a week-long workshop for african-american poets and has been led by the likes of patricia smith, rita dove, kwame dawes, lucille clifton, nztoke shange and sooooooo many more greats.

it feels that current is moving a different direction. one that allows me to walk about with
more hope into my step. a smile on my face at times. when i trick myself into thinking of life
without all the pain and disappointment attached. breath me in. tell me if you can feel it too.

ugh

bored.
anthology to finish editing
culminating event to finish planning
clothes to be washed
and i can't get into geared.
i think i want to eat.
i know i shouldnt.
damn this boredom.
maybe i'll make coffee and really suffer
through those two classes in Queens?
stillboredafterallofthis...

i cant wait for miami my birthday weekend.
i need a change of pace.

limping lefty,
mo

a moment...

there are dreams women share
without speaking, a simple hug
a glance behind shoulders
an email filled with kind words -a knife
still hidden in her rib cage

they teach girls to keep quiet
hide the truth in their panty drawer,
don't bleed an honesty if it will cramp
your lifestyle - girl.

you were always running for a finish line that wasn't there.

your arms must be tired
all the fighting for what is right
wrestling with shadows as if the sun will
ever shine away your worry

lay with the whispers that
sing you aren't good enough.
scream back that you are truly better
than it all.

i ain't

writing cause im working...

go check it out

www.honeybrowne.blogspot.com

SPINDLEZINE: OAKLAND

There are only so many cups of coffee you can consume. I say this with the same sentiment I feel towards men and the art of consuming them. Before my present relationship, I had attempted to find myself in the arms and beds of other men. In the wake of these suicide missions, I believe I am the lucky one: the one who walked away with third degree burns and a fear of fire; the prey turned predator turned benevolent assassin.

click here to read the rest!!! comment there and let me know your thoughts: http://spindlezine.com/index.php/coffee-and-brooklyn/oakland.html

so sad insomnia

i cant sleep
dont know how explain this feeling of hopelessness

its funny when you see the monsters behind the shadows come to life.
not "ha ha" funny. but funny like, aww damn. not you too silhoutte of a protective shield. i thought you were different.

and then you remember the old school saying: BIRDS OF A FEATHER...

right. so i guess we keep it moving. pretend like nothing happened.

and syllable crazy has moved dates. thursday is the new date. but i can't lie
like i ain't disappointed in cats. all that community shyt we pop -- then how
many of us show up to a free event...? exactly.

so it's back to the capitalist in all of us. support your bank account. stop pretending this art is fed on human contact alone. biters. go away. my back is missing pieces of flesh.

but the amazing thing is: i'm preparing for my 1 year anniversary at the nuyorican next friday.
its a beautiful and scary thing, ya know??

most of my favorite poets will be in the house spitting something insane to remind me that there is something to doing this poetry thing. hope to see your smile there (feb 29, 2008 @ 10pm). the line is unfortunate. so don't be stuck outside listening to how much fun we're having inside...

on a real painful note. i gotta say this.
ma: my heart breaks for so many people these days.
just splits in half heaving in puddles
you are worth everything that matters.
i dont think i can say that enough.

adventures in brooklyn

this is the net. these pieces of string hold my fate





this is howe or hal...? either way. he was the shyt. word he was our instructor and i actually watched him freefall into the net -- on purpose!





this is jason and i. our first interaction of many. which all included me not listening to him. atleast, not at first.







this is the harness/belt thingie. basically a white girdle. im just saying! it was TIGHT on my abs, kid.





and the journey begins. it was a long climb up and in the middle - i considered coming back down, taking my child and the camera and crossing the bklyn bridge back home.





all im thinking is "HOLY HELL! MY HANDS ARE ON FIRE!!"





all that fun and you knew my camera girl had to join in!







overall: would we do it again??




most definitely!

brink of

i forgot what day it was.
i actually jumped up and thought
v-day was already over!

im doing too much.

tell me how to slow down.

$330

in parking tickets.
that is 3 tickets, that i lost
in the hustle and bustle of life. they
were once $45 and became 100 each... plus
change.
i've been fighting parking tickets all morning


oh yea, and i got another ticket.

gab don't fail me now.

yea, you.

it is the silence of your tongue
that keep them heaving,
half-heartedly they'll extend a hand
to throw you off the scent. they may
offer morsels for your obiedence, stay
hungry. it will keep you focused.
shield your heart, ribcage behind the bend
of your fist and let the vultures feed on
your words, alone.

honestly

i want to finish writing like i know how. deadlines always remind you that you are dope - but you are still a vessel. i love how i don't make sense to many, only sometimes him. and he still thinks im funny. so thats enough. i have friends too. the ones that would cut for me from tx or pop trunks for me in brooklyn. they write poems like they mama gave them a pen in the womb - so i feel safe. i have a maniac. shes turned ten and is growing into this body of a young lady. i dont like that part much. actually, i'm quite scared. but she's pretty damn brilliant when i'm not around - so i think we'll be ok.

i still have a deadline. looking forward to my freedom of sorts in 10 weeks. i worry about my kin. i worry about myself. how will i ever fix this broken heart if i'm always on myspace. ok, that was a metaphor gone awry, but it sounded so good in my head. i miss the bass. still fight for her when she isn't looking. still wave to those with judging eyes and scuffed up shoes. they might drown with their noses that high in the air, i think.

i still have a deadline. amari is singing loudly and on beat. she has always been better than this drama that is the poetry world. where poets life and fuk and wait for a chance to be the popular kids, so they can in turn be mean to the other kids and make up for being unpopular in the first place. i get it. you rock. now how do i find your soul strings? right - you sold them for a threesome in the bathroom while your baby at home waited for you to return with diapers. ok. so that was totally drastic - but that's only how people listen.

no one cares about the everyday people. the woman crying at the airport when i was leaving for kansas city. the man checking the newspaper for want ads two months in a row. the college kid that fell in love who only feared he would turn out to be like his father. the other college kid that got his heart broke after giving his heart to a girl that said please, before she crushed it with fingernails and a grin. the mother who aborted her baby because she didn't know she could do it alone. the baby born thrown against a wall by its 14-year-old mother. the poets that pander to the audience in hopes of feeling better about themselves. and all of us that watch the fire burn. extinguisher within arms reach.

a job description

it is my job
to write about the hurt
the raw bruises still beet burgundy
concrete cascades and tumbles from their lips
this is how i pick up the pieces. this is how
i clean the highway of the rubble, this. is. the.
first. line. of. defense.

my daughter was called a bitch today. and everything
in me screamed murder. not another brown
girl will learn or adapt or accept that name.

in vain, i'll call God a mecernary. if it'll save this
babygirl. this child of breath, eyelashes and every
phrase that told me to rid of her before she formed fingers.
the echoes of a village still dillusional fills my skull
and tickles the memory with a feeling of despair.

light bulb blown, shoeshine, rockstar
too cool to see the sun gave out years ago,
you've been living off a woman's pulse since then,
but this is not about you anymore.

i met three young men and their eyes checked me with
an honesty that says they don't know how to stow their
baggage, so i will write them this poem. prove them i
believe their gender is not the cause of all evil and
anger can't stop the beauty that dissipates from their fingertips.
they are of the moon, these men, with young boy features
stubble still not setting in on jagged eyes of confusion.

they bob their head to the beat, because the rhythm is fat
and the daddy's aren't always wack - sometimes its just easier
to fish without nettings when claws grow inevitably, who will
tell them the truth. that they are love personified and
everyone deserves a love poem atleast once in their life. i
cannot beat them into submission, because it will take their knowing
to fix all the shyt the blowout kids have broken.

i'll ask them "help me place this little girl into
the crook of the truth. show me how to rig the alarm" because
not everyone is like the man that watched us walk away with a
future tied into her bloodstream. as if the phone number to heaven
were hidden on her tongue, it has always been here on earth. in the arms
of a newborn, in the smile of a toddler. in the hug of a 6 year old. in
the palm of a 10 year old. it will always be about the babies. no one
is above the questioning eyes of the young.

so i offer those young men my heart. let this be their love poem.
because sunsets are necessary, and in them i see the sunrise.

my daughter will learn to fight with her name stitched on
the soles of her feet. her fist will toss thunder and she will
always walk like a lady. we are blessed beings. protected by a
man that gives freely like God and you can see the swagger when he speaks,
it is mesmirizing. i will always thank his mother for teaching her son
how to hold a family to his chest, without having to be asked.

the she's that inspire me (eb)

they will always blame the mother
point finger, encourage the devil
truth so heavy it coats a tongue with blisters
as you kiss her like i never lived there,

beneath your shoulder blade.
my place in bed between your arms
you laid with me counting stars
chose the name of our children as they
slept in heaven

fallen angel, you called me.
before the pregnancy test. and the dream
became too expensive for your fairytale life - i
know. this is how it always happens before
shit gets complicated and you whimper
several states away blaming my womb for
a manhood that never existed.

find me a river to drown our chance. i
rather keep my eye on this kin of circumstance,
with your name, your eyes and your smile.
and when they are old enough to carry your shame,
with the same blistered apprehension of your tongue

i will hug them daily -- so they never
forget, God don't make mistakes.

when the sigh breaks

missing you is a
lymph node closing
hard
gripping fear and oxygen
fist frenzy for your love
i am
in harm's way
will allow you to
run my veins for anything
they got to give
you hold me hostage
heartstrings near scissors

promise it'll happen quickly
in my sleep
or between a blink, these
damn stars
swimming endless in your eyes
paralyze my religious tongue
it will surrender

it will falter any truths with pain
in tow
lose faith in me and then worry
if i'll make it
let there be light
before the death taunters on stilts
blocking the sun and the moon
outstretched smile, gathering my whole
for this chance

to say
i love you, more than i've ever loved myself.
damn you.
damn me.
it is this type of honesty
green and red lights dancing
across the face of a razor blade

faithless lover, you can find me in the
porcelin tub
eyelids blinking from the brightness
of this ready skin

PHAT

ive been trying to lose weight for my sis' wedding.
this is not hard. it just takes willpower...which i
have none. but, i've been on a walking work out and
weight watcher's kick for the past 3 weeks.

i have lost 5 pounds. this is not the hard part. i
can lose 5 here but gaining the 5 back has always
been in the near future. but not now. and that feels
good.

to walk by a mirror and pray that its a dillusion!
holy hell, who let her out? and the taut stomachs
that have bombarded the airwaves all of a sudden,
when i'm hanging out with my beau, well - that's just
unfair. i wonder if he knows im watching him watch
the tv. i mean, sure he replies to my to my baited
question, "YOU LIKE HER? IS SHE HOT?" but does he really
know that i watch his breathing before and after the
commercial, all the while sucking my stomach in, until
i pass out from exhaustion.

hence, the reason this new eating trend (counting
points, alot of water, no soda AT ALL) is not as difficult
as i initially thought.

i will talk to you again. but right now, my stomach is beginning
to feast on itself. and the grumblings will wake him if
im not careful.

release

it is always

a great idea

to get it off

your chest

before the

implosion,

insecurity,

hair loss,

& loneliness

surpass the

greatness

that lie in

your wake.

you are

all things

fresh

and flyy

and your

smile sings

with the

reason

fearlessness

is sexy.

because you

are sexy.

especially

when you

fall. so sexy

after you get

up.

dust off.

and look to

the sucka

that tripped

you. the

cornball

that hated

on you

so much

your teeth

hurt from

sucking wind.

this is for

those cowards

that wait for

your shadows

to hate on

your DIVAness!

don't be...

afraid to say

"fuk you"!



now. don't

you feel

better?

more funny

your life should be more funny than mine
the broken floor in my bedroom -- totally hilarious

the bugs that my cat will snack on if we leave the
windows open overnight, even more funny, yo

the building's security door -- the one that was suppossed
to be secure, before they monkey wrenched that joint open -
split my friggin insides at the seams

the landlord that refuses to fix the bathtub leak, broken floor
or supply the supper with a clean mop, is satan's lovechild.

he prefers our entryway to smell like musty pubes
and the front steps to overflow with garbage. an offense that has
cost him several violations *unpaid* for lowering the quality of life.


brooklyn, why do you make it so hard for me to love you?

ramblings 120am

i should be sleeping

but how do you sleep when you are fixated with rape

i am reading alice sebold's lucky

it makes me feel as reflective as the title

sorta

i could have so many more bad experiences than remembered

but i have a growing daughter

love for writing

and the ability to make a GREAT living at doing what i love

i work with kids, actually taking all those poems on stage into

the fire.

fuk the choir

i misspell curse words because my kids will google me soon

and i want to be as responsible as possible when saying, yes,

i cursed. but i am grown. what's your excuse?

and they will ignore me. but will still find other words

to use when writing their poems.

and i won't feel as bad when my daughter rushes home to tell

me she showed her teacher my website today, again...

i am on a diet. more watching the weight than dieting.

i walk in mornings if i can sleep enough during the night

and my intake of sweets and snacks have lessened by 90%

i am proud of my luck

it affords me the write to talk to you like this...

Father Figure

falling in love with you was
as painful as the first hit from
my father

open palmed instructions
"don't talk while grown folks is speaking"

today, i speed through syllables
thrashing his remains away from my center:
the stolen earrings he gave me for Christmas,
the first time i met his only wife,
the lone letter that my step-sister still carries
like lead poisoning beneath her skin
sit like arsenic lined chocolates on my pillow

i know
this is what makes it hard for you to love me
how my fist carry the weight of yesterday
the jealous streak that plays dodge ball with common sense
still

you lean in,
close my mouth with your hand;
a friendly pressure with salt felt fingertips
whispering an offering for my tongue to flicker against,
as i wither and fold myself into an orgasm

no one told me it would hurt like hell
this daughter of a man whose blood burns
for women outside of steel cages
my knuckle heavy grin grows for a man with
your sorrow
when infidelity smells like home
like peaches and other women’s panties
like abduction and shot gun shells
like broken baseball bats and a woman harboring a broken heart
and a stolen child for a man that will never love her back

don’t be surprised when I ask you to repeat yourself
I prefer to wander the perimeters with cheeks shielded by tears

I no longer talk to my father
Avoid any man with his dimensions

Even though,
I can’t help the indignant pause
That rip through my teeth when someone speaks
out of turn.

Young, Gifted & Black

i am reading an informal autobiography of loraaine hansberry.

she is really and truly amazing and makes me want to start smoking cigarettes, hosting speakeasies @ my brooklyn flat, arguing about the plight of our culture and society as a people and sit on fire escapes until the sun comes up...

walk like love

walking
like my life was constructed
between two feet pacing forward
breath, heavy

stretch the walls
of my heart everytime
i bend knee,
extend right arm
ground heel then toe into soil,

gravel

this earth

is giving me back something
filling up my lungs, candy painted air
colored in the scarf of smog
and so heavy

i practice pull ups with my thighs
reach high with my eyes
ask heaven or helicopters for the strength
encourage my lungs for one more breathe
exhaust my arms in doubledutch motion
twist my torso for effect

i love like this, too
trudging ahead
looking for higher ground
a place to plant my love
away from hearts unready to lie in the
furrowed soil

far from the reach of sullied
minds that deface footprints
in the concrete for fun

coffee & brooklyn: Amsterdam

Don't let anyone ever tell you Amsterdam's greatest assets are the Red Light District and the weed cafes. Sure, potheads and sex-a-holics are thrilled at the idea of this police-lite disneyland, but as a womanist, mother and advocate of empowerment, I am unsure if I embody the sexual maturity necessary for such an appreciation. Also living as a grown woman in a monogamous relationship, this might not have been the best summary for me to have when touring the land of frites and fresh cappuccinos. Still, you only live once. And after booking a gig at the Paradiso (the largest concert hall in Holland, hosting the likes of Fiddy & Rolling Stones), I planned on walking the brick laid roads as if my life depended on it.

The first morning I arrived by boat. This is funny if you believe that slavery can be viewed as black humor. Click the link to read the rest!

Coffee & Brooklyn: Amsterdam
Spindle Magazine - Tuesday, 15 January 2008

© Spindle Magazine

2008 already

jill scott and chris rock. bittersweet beauty

honey larochelle project. something big in the near future. with pics and sounds and an awesome experience attached.

workshop renewal. great ideas go along way and then, you get paid for it.

business dealings dissolved. great things come out of the ashes. like a phoenix. or a mobrowne. both are fire.

suheir hammad @ brooklyn museum. needed when i least expected it. seriously.

on broadway. every sunday. why not?
New World Stages (Time Out NY Lounge)
340 West 50th Street (& 9th Ave)
any train to 42nd Street
C train to 50th street
N,R train to 49th street

check my dates. check me out. 08 is all about us. let's go :)

1.06.08 Syllable Crazy! Haiku Slam & Open Mic -1st of 2008!!
1.12.08 African American Museum
1.13.08 Syllable Crazy! Open Mic & Special Feature
1.19.08 Last Poet Standing
1.20.08 Syllable Crazy! Open Mic & Special Feature
1.23.08 SUNY - Oneanto
1.27.08 Syllable Crazy! Open Mic & Special Feature
2.17.08 Jazz Poetry Live - VA
2.29.08 1 Year & 1 Mo Anniversary @ The Nuyorican Poets Cafe (feature performance!)
3.04.08 Wordplay Live @ Ladera Cafe
3.05.08 Cal Poly San Luis Obispo - Women Showcase
3.06.08 Int’l Women’s Month Presentation -- Santiago Canyon College

i doubt it...

you thought the shine would stop glowing
the world would stop turning
and you could slip into the sunset like
a cowboy

self reflection

every now and
again you should say
it out loud.
like this:





hands on hips
shoulders high
and eyes ablaze
mouth aligned with the
circular vowel, spit
gathering on your tongue
and resting in your cheeks
right foot slightly askew,
placed in front
and the world watches

I AM DOPE

now tell them, they should've known
better. swing those hips in all their
fullness and sway away proudly.

missing my sista's

tee and tam and cbell and live mik and april and dash and jaha and fa

thas all...

snow

your mother never loved you enough
always told you how pretty your
older sister was
in
comparison to you, her sunshine
was always warmer

and we wonder why you are maladjusted

unable to have friends, besides the
sludge and slippery dirt beneath our
feet
they'll be the only ones to miss you
after your sister returns
as we gaze in amazement -- how beautiful
she is

we knew this would burn you cold
leave u to catch our spines in your grip
with frosted teeth
still an ugly child
lashing out for attention

counterclock-un-wise

1.
it was like someone picked up
the phone
and played dial my heart with
your strings
as i watched
baffled,
wondering, how she learned
a melody so secret as your
own


2.
i should have ignored you
again
let you think i died
rolled over
until your incessant sniffing
grow bored of my stench
but no
i took this opportunity
to stretch my limbs and gather
my fur around me
strutting like you werent ready
to feast on my carcass
just like a
woman writer
always in need
of more drama
a year long game of possum
lost in the wind

3.
there were never books
or a manual to tell us
girls how to behave
and the women who reared
us -- need it just as
badly

the many things of my days

i am tired
and bones are weary.
i have a lot to do.
i have more to do than i
anticipated this morning
i didnt want to wake
couldnt feel my feet
their numbness brought me
to a higher plane -- i thought
i was still dreaming, until
i heard the door knocks
and then i remembered there
is little time for sleeping.
who knew that even our dreams
were expensive...

classy pants

i booked Tao Ling for a feature @ the Nuyorican, because i dig his work. he makes me laugh (see his SEX story on Nerve) and his response was "that'd be great! i get paid?!" even better.

then, he mailed me this, when i was searching for savings on half.com and amazon marketplace. he mailed me this because he's way more cooler than some of you SLACKERS out there!

classy act to follow.

Honestly,

Im really in love with www.BOOKMOOCH.com

fa real

mixed nuts

all of it is a gun shot
roulette
spin the bottle chance
of unhappiness/nappiness
who knew
life could be
so unreliable and unfair

nothing really...

today i had to come home early cause amari was sick. she has a big day on saturday with the entrance exams into a performance/gifted school. pray for us. this is the school that will be our second option, but its all about having options, right?

i have a row of things to tackle, but i cant wrap my head around it.

our new party starts this friday and my nerves (pms'n) are thru the roof. im moody, unsure, dissatisfied and ready to flip at all moments. that doesn't change the fact that i'll be hosting an event featuring saul williams this saturday! that makes me happy -- but then, i hope i have enough motrin to hold me down.

my sister has appointed me as the host of her bridal shower. and you're probably thinking, huh? well yea. she has not 1 and not 4 matron's of honors - but 3. and in all seriousness, those are the persons that were suppossed to be in charge of these things. but two of them moved to this side of the world and i guess my matching dna makes me the next best candidate. i still have to lose 15 more pounds. the holiday season didnt help my efforts, though i am fitting an entire jean size smaller.

huff. this is me when i dont know what the hell to do with myself. i still have a column to finish, some editing to dive into and im trying to ignore the sweet potato pie's whispers. oh yea, im ignoring the yellow cake with chocolate frosting too.

yea. ignoring it all - like a champ...

This Friday, Afterhours SPOT!

DVDs just $5

DVDs For SALE - everything: $5
im doing inventory on my life and my dvd collection. i dont have friends to buy - but i do have dvds :)

just $5 a piece:



The Punisher

Crank

Melinda & Melinda

The Rules of Attraction

Me and You and Everyone We Know

The Gift

Wisegirls

Walk The Line

Failure to Launch

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Hit Me

13 Conversations About One Thing

Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban

Number 23

The Chronicles of Narnia

D.E.B.S

Domino

Carlitos Angels

Nine Lives

11:14

Kids In America

Pan's Labyrinth

Lucky Slevin

Clerks II

Wassup Rockers

No Vacancy

brooklyn burn out

when we wakes to find our stomach lining
churning with all the indecisions of an
american,

burning our throats with pumpkin stained
acid,

how important will your swagger really be,

after you perch your lightbulb busted dreams
against the backdrop of brooklyn

climb from behind all their expectations
and leave babylon with your empty words?

fracture (WIP)

the night i stopped loving you
was quiet
like most nights are
i was alone wrestling with these
feelings again -- and you were
where the night always finds you
with another nameless her

i have never been able to catch up with ghosts
the shadow of a woman's shape

the night i stopped dreaming of you, was
still
full of empty imprints of where you once slept
or sat
or sang me a tune
resounded carelessly before crashing against the
bare walls

where was your mother to read me your instructions
how to fix your smile
which screw to tighten
how to fine tune your thoughts with this love

no one would give me a hint
left no clues to find the empty treasure of a heart
still filled with shadows and all rotting carnage that
came before me,

simple liar.

you looked to the heavens and asked God for another
chance

and there i stood
grin and bloody pen in hand
waiting to write us the happy ending
instead, i could only find the words for the
poem i wrote, the night i stopped loving you

(reading a lot of books @ once. writing from the perspective of the she's, as usual. its so easy to write what you know, i guess. still figuring out how to end this without it being wacky or trite).

freezer burn

there are moments in your life when you forget about being adult enough. when you would rather the recourse of lashing out in attempt to salvage your name and your respect. insulating yourself is something you learned in grade school, but as an adult, have only practiced when walking alone at night from the red trains in brooklyn. this is when you remember those that held you like a crystal, smoothing over your edges and gasping "you are still beautiful" no matter the jagged edges you've tossed to those that wish you harm. and if the dried blood every put them at unease -- they never let on. so i guess this is where i should show my gratitude for those someones that have looked in my eyes and said "I know" and "How can I help", even where there was nothing to do but sit there, and shield me for a minute.

this act of pure maternal wisdom is always hard to find. it will indelibly separate the meaningful people in your life. because most of the time, the things that cause them to say those same words, are rarely worth the breath they are made of. the instances that quicken your breath and fight your lungs for space will rarely become a blip on the map that will later become your life. this -- won't even make the autobiography. not even a chapter explaining the reason you will have since stopped hugging in public. nor will a paragraph outline the difficult time during your career, the moment you knew you were going to be big because "who really has time for this high school shyt anyway?" not a sentence. a meaningful utterance. nothing. but this. a warning.

a warning to yourself that your mother taught you better. there had to be a day, so many years ago you forgot it, like the name of the boy you danced with at the homecoming dance. maybe brief and meaningful - in its moment, but forgetable and hardly worth the image you would unsuccesfully masturbate to. the words your mother must have told you when complaining about the girls that pretended to be your friends until they decided they'd rather fight the well liked and popular girl for a chance to gain a newfound and fearful type of popularity. and how you cried, for being misled, before of course you pick up a garbage can and tossed it at the biggest one. even then. your mother will ask you - "who was there to help you?"

because no one gets jumped and walks away friends with those that watched.

this is when you defend your friends "she was so big," and "they were probably scared" fall, flutter than collide on the doorstep of her ears. deaf. i would like to presume this is the moment where my mother was so eloquent in relaying the message that would later resonante so loudly in my bones, that i reverberated its honesty when teaching my own children. and it would become the family joke when making cups of Swiss Miss hot chocolate, this timeless antecodote, that i would later share with my daughter, so that she too could learn to protect herself from moments like this.
my mother said: "Anyone that will watch someone do you wrong, is not your friend."

and later. in my 3rd decade, in a kitchen in brooklyn. those same words will bounce off the walls as i try to scour some honesty out of it all. but there is no way to pretty up the ugly. and there are no room in this chapter for fence stragglers. without remorse i can recognize the beauty of a horizon from afar, through pictures, and memories of how i once captured that moment. but i will always know this is how the view looked before i turned my back, because the silent shadows will always fade into the landscape. and the insulation that i've been blessed with will settle into its beautiful permanance. and my circle will become a little bit smaller -- to keep out the cold.

Soulja Kiddies: Because everyone needs to smile sometimes, thx court!

wishful thinking

he will never know how it felt;

you waiting

wingless wonder of a wishful night



or the tips of your eyelids

wet, from knowing.



he cares more about the gloom

the curve of a dissenting incubus



than the lips that you will always

offer

without regret



he will never loves you beyond the burden

the cold shoulders

the double guessing



the things that throw your axis

into the abyss.



if it is silence he seeks,

he will find you,
star struck
and windpipe torn,

by your own bloody self-less hands



while you search the distant and absent eyes

for a man that works well with his hands

takes pleasure in holding the small of a woman's back

in his embrace

before cradling her face

and smothering her breath

with his own.

Delusional Feminism

New acornym I found while surfing... And it gets worse people, I promise. My vagina is going on protest from being a vagina. She wants to be called something else. Maybe: gevilta or pusanique? Hell I don't know... but when women boasts about being a bitch. I laugh. And when they start using acronyms (I think Eve set it off with the Being In Total Control of Herself) I wonder... When did you bump your head?

So yea, the newest acronym promoting an idiotic style of feminism:



Beautiful

Individual

That

Causes

Hard-ons...



Now, would you please -please - please help me out. I need to believe we have a better day ahead of us. Cause moments, and the broadcasting of I LOVE NY2, Deelish on the cover of any magazine (as up) Pepa (of Salt n Pepa's) new nose and Lil Kim's newfound face like this look like the beginning of the end for women.

FREE SAUL WILLIAMS MUSIC - NEW ALBUM

Day 4: Sheffield (Memories)

Sheffield...

While this college town had incredible hosts, and a light audience, I was prepared to eat anything but prawn mayo sandwiches. After running across tracks to catch a tram going in the right direction, I wasn't too concerned with anything else than the neon sign welcoming people into the restaurant. That's I knew I was passing a chinese buffet spot that I would deal with later, but I kept feeling like the night was going to be wierd. I asked some students upon exiting the train where the student center is, and I swear its a set-up. The alleys are dark and narrow and the lights seem to reach over the shadows into the next street, not really paying the alley in mind, as if it were an uncool kid in high school. I make it to where I need to be and soon the show begins. It is the last show, but not the best. The screen work is off, but we make the best of it and depart immediately after the show, because I can't stop thinking of that buffet spot. We make it to the restuarant 20 minutes before they close and eat like it's a contest. It is a great closing to a great trip with the fellas. I still have 4 days and two shows in London before I go home. But I can't help but think that I'll miss my Bristol homies. Older, White, English clumps of Artist-Men. They make me laugh as if I were watching a Benny Hill episode. Unsure, tickled and in awe. Tomorrow I board a train to London. Sammy, my homegirl has promised hang time: shopping, eating and movies, of course. This is what excites me. This is what makes the bag seem lighter than the 40 pounds filled with clothes, new shoes *from penzance* dvds and books from logan, and smiles tucked deep into my belly.

missing flights: oakland apology

american airlines is the epitomy of our country. it is too busy, too maniacal, overwhelming and it is here, at jfk terminal, that i missed my flight. i ran for over an hour and a half. just to be told id be on a standby flight, which wouldn't get me into Cali until 2 hours AFTER my workshop! good effort though ...

this is the part of the life that i dont miss.

i was extremely excited about my misogyny and women in the arts workshop. the resources, the discussion, the research prepared -- was the most excitement i've had, since college. i am sorrowful and feel as if im at the wake of my own family.
im watching jaws right now. i presume the fish is the metaphorical airline company chomping away at my livelihood, feasting on the flesh of my missed opportunity...

Coffee & Brooklyn: London

The hardest part about trying to become a famous writer is the trying part. Honestly, if I hid an addiction to cocaine or heroin, I'm sure my work would be more profound and visceral, but I only have the experiences lined in the streets of California's Bay Area and have an allergic reaction to needles and anything (outside of my finger) that needs to go up my nostrils. I'm a horrible candidate for an addict. Outside of my need for caffeine and shoes (both easily cured by a trip to DSW that allows me to walk in with my Starbucks Skim Grande White Mocha), I may be one of the most boring persons walking this side of the Brooklyn bridge.

This my reason for touring life. As an artist, one must find life to write about, that is - if it doesn't find you. And this is how I landed in Heathrow Airport back in 2002. And the food poisoning followed me for the two weeks that followed but I was certain that I would find a nook or cranny worth living and then writing about. It would take me a couple of years, minus a run in with promoters and fans before I realized, I don't need the experiences as much as I thought. I just need the coffee. And more importantly, the shoes. It is at Cafe Nero that I am reminded of Heights Coffee shop in Brooklyn. A sleek representation of life, and the reason I've allowed myself a rest from the 11 Starbucks in the central London area - this is my attempt to find some morsel or unique idea through osmosis of coffee beans as I walk down the cobble stone street a mile below the Angel tube station. Like Brooklyn, London has such quaint tree lined streets, one would never guess it existed in the memory of Jack The Ripper, or more recently Love Actually and Spice Girls.

Brooklyn has always been a hidden jewel.

Hidden in its bosom: the Brooklyn Museum, Botanical Garden and Main Library. You can lose yourself for hours in the borough of Babylon listening to music, sitting in the park or drinking at one of the many cafes without ever receiving physical assault or losing your wallet to the wiles of its sexy older sibling, Manhattan. This is where the resemblance between London and Brooklyn end. London is expensive, fast and dirty. The bus rides are cramped and cost 2 pounds each ride, no matter the fact that it’s a two part bus ride to one location. That’s right – Big Ben’s home does not offer transfers people. And don't think of asking for any special accommodations on your sandwich, there are no cheese substitutions. Very un-American, I will have you know.

Still, it is in the café Nero or Itazza lining the streets of London like the heavenly arches that anything and everything is at your command. Double shot with hazelnut syrup and light foam cappuccino!? Enjoy, not too hot, plus whipped, with demerara on the side…Done! It is an amazing moment in the coffee lover’s life. And once your piping hot cup of fortune rests on your tray, next to your muffin of choice, and you search the café for a spot to write and dream and produce, you whimper in defeat.

The space is filled with people on cell phones, a TV blaring and a baby feeding on organic apple juice. This is when you remember your laptop carriers holds the key to silence: headphones. And so the dream can be fulfilled. Heights Coffee, resting outside of the 7th Avenue subway station, swarms with people and laptops and coffee tinted air. The leather chairs steal and hold tight your body heat and the establishment offers free wi-fi as well as, electrical plug ins for the battery drained laptop holders, like myself. I will write about London, I decide, sipping the mocha like a secret, still hot to my tongue. I will write about the Cafe that took my coffee order and perfected it for the sake of my smile. I will write about the difference between Flatbush Avenue and London cobblestone. I will be cunning and liken the cream to the wrap over my shoulders and the smell of Guatamelan beans. I won't fear the workers weren't paid fair wages, that is another writing altogether. And honestly, I need another cup of coffee before I take on that project.

London day 3 (memories)

penzance, huh?never heard of it. so i strap my freshly showered body into the bed and try to catch 2 hours of sleep before we leave, when i realize -- damn, its up already. so i wrap my red peacoat around me and wait for the snoring to really start. don't know if i did or didnt disturb my car mates with the nasal symphony, but my back feels like someone threw brooklyn brown stones at me while i was sleep. my neck is stiff and my knee, the right one - the one that still swells after that good fall down the stairs of union square subway station, needs stretching so the cartilage can ease up and that shimmer, that feels like a really bad orgasm can go away. thankfully, the brits i roll wit have a schedule. every two to two 1/2 hours we pull over for stretching and cappuccinos. with a shot of hazelnut and a prawn mayo sandwhich, im cool. quick bathroom break, where i compromise my body parts for a touch-free toilet experience. and back in the car. my mates: peter, david and sound man jason are funny dudes. david and i are the smoke-free pair while peter and jason need to light up every free of the car moment. its hilarious. seriously. its almost like me with shoes, but less sexy heels and more lighters.in penzance: i am astounded. its a beautifully lined town directly on the sea and i am in love. luckily we are staying two nights, so i promise myself a long walk with lots of pictures. checking into the B&B (bed and breakfast) we meet Pam. she's a cute older british (obviously) woman, with peppered hair and kind eyes. she leads me to my bedroom with personal bathroom and i almost forget that we're to meet downstairs for theatre check in and dinner. the bed is so soft, i'd give up a kidney to bring it back to the states. i laid down and an imprint of my backside sunk into the mattress. minutes later im downstairs and we're walking to the theatre which is just up the hill. the hill is unforgiven. my thighs are burning and my lungs are hurting and jason and peter puff their ciggies along as if this shyt is easy. i know i need to get in shape with the smokers are walking up the hill with such ease. the theatre's festival is in the process of poetry dating servicing... umm, yea. so im taking pictures - cause no way in hell could this go down in the states, when in my peripheral i notice a young man with a mohawk. it is indeed: logan, from mexico city. (american poet that just left nyc after featuring at the bowery poetry club and hanging at the nuyo) we are both excited to see a familiar face and catch up downstairs before his gig begins. i promise to listen a bit before dinner, as we havent eaten a meal all day. i find my roadbuddies and they are snacking happily on cranberry and brie sandwiches and some other thangs that look fancy including potato cake (mile high pieces of potato smashed together and sliced to look like a piece of cake). wow i offer. because if you know me, you know i dont stray too far from the food i know. so the cranberry and briepep sandwhich will be a NO. but thank you for thinking of us artists. and thats real. however, all the fellas fill up on the morsels and i rub my growling abdomen and make my way upstairs, daydreaming about the thai restaurant down the street. logan performs a couple of pieces. this is when my growling begans to effect my hearing. i can no longer hear the poems he's reading, but recipes for french toast, turkey burgers with cheese topped with turkey bacon and gumbo. after the 5th poem, i run to the exit and let jason and peter know thai food for me. immediately. its less than a 2 minute walk. and when we walk in, i dont even shudder at the loud ass kids with their pussywillow parents. im trynna talk myself into not getting 3 sides and an entree and settle on sweet n sour type dish of chicken and vegetables with egg fried rice. its a beautiful thing. the fellas get a bbq dish and crispy duck. i try the duck. its ok. kind of dry, but they say that's what its like. i also taste the bbq, thinking its also duck, and smile "its just like beef!" uh no. "sorry mahogany. that's the pork!" oooh. the glazed meat and bone lay on my plate stalking me for the rest of the night. laughing at my foolishness and taunting me with a possible date with pepto.next morning, i check out logan's workshop on performance than head to the theatre for one of the best performances in england! ever. its energy matches the 300 plus theatre @ deptford back in 2004 and i sell out of everything before remembering 5 books i left in the room and running to get those at the break, just to sell outta those too. nice. this makes me feel good, especially since i bought some shoes after the workshop. later that nite. logan and i will become repeat offenders at the thai restaurant, talk about poetry slam and the ups anddowns before making our way to the mixer. this is where i will hold my first cuban cigar, take pics and celebrate the event with the champagne and crumpets crew before retiring around 10pm to my room for my first dose of dubplate drama (love it!!!) and a bowl of instant oatmeal (yes i brings my food from the states!!). tomorrow, we have a drive ahead of us back to bristol. but it is free of performance and i only have one meeting with a manchurian poet re: publishing. free days rock!

london 2 (memories)

this is when i run to the coach station, courtesy of david, just in time to make it to the london gig @ holloway, the women's prison. nii set this joint up and sprahla and el crisis are the fellow performers. i wait in the train terminal at kings cross. i missed this place. this served as the meetup location for jive and i, who at that moment, i was missing something terrible. 20 minutes later, i am asked to give up my seat to a woman that tumbled down the stairs and i'm still mad about that shyt. but her skinned knee and dishelved hair is a dead giveaway so i stand with as much grace as the knee high suede boots will allow me. i walk out the door 15 minutes later, thinking maybe, just maybe -- im at the wrong kings cross! as im headed past the mcdonalds, i see nii waiting outside and my heart calms a bit. the show is insane. the women inmates range from young teenage looking youth with pull back, braids and lip gloss to grandmother's a woman in a wheelchair and high heels. im thinking what the hell did i get myself into! the show was phenomenal. the inmates were receptive, though a bit restless towards the end, but flyy nonetheless. we leave there, with my prawn and mayo sandwhich firmly digested and i realize i wont be able to record with KEMO, as i have to get to farrago poetry in less than 3 hours.

fast foward:

farrago poetry. i have been sitting in the rada bar, which i walked to from kings cross - thank you very much - reading my book, i think it was babyville by jane green (strictly chick lit) when i am surprised by rachel blyte, yes, new york's rachel. she was on the team with jive in 06 and on urban words team 05, so that was a suprise. then lux arrived as promised and i got to meet her sister. also a young man from nebraska revealed himself before admitting: "i didn't know if it was you or not cause when i saw you at nationals you dressed so smart." ahem. damn. i guess my newsboy hat and puma sweatshirt wasnt killing it! lol the evening was fun, as i shared the bill again with sparhla and sold a great number of books and cds. i closed my set with my new favorite "pied piper" and found my way to sammy's for the evening as i had a coach to catch back to bristol @ 9am, which means i had to leave the crib @ 730am just so i can catch the caravan departing for penzance, a quaint town by the sea for the poetry festival.

london day 7

i have missed a lot of days, but not due to inactivity,
more like i'm trying to catch up with myself, nahmean?

i will come back to the rada experience, the penzance
and sheffield experience and then of course - the bus
ride of lost-dum...

for now. my fingers are cold as are my toes and i am excited
for friday to come. i want to sleep in my new bed. and walk
my kidd to school, then stop for some coffee at tom's... friendly
faces have been such a treat - but homesick is a mutha

london part i

its been awhile since i've blogged my beginnings of london trekking. but i have 38 minutes @ the internet cafe, so why not?

first, don't fuk with delta airlines. they have nasty food (how does one mess up cheese ravioli?) and the brick wind flying thru the window shade, as if i was just swimming on the clouds towards the Great Britian, has a portion of my left breast and the entire left nipple on frostbite. and the continous intercom calls for a physician on board, during my long overdue nap, was just rude. i'm saying. i know there are a gang of old folks in this joint, but a sis need her beauty sleep! however, the orange juice was hella good.

second, being nice never pays off. once off the train and thru customs, i have a question about a ticket i bought online. not only am i early, but my ticket's departure isnt scheduled for another 3 hours. yikes! so i get in line to ask for an exchange and this older biddy (you know what im saying) with horribly gunked fake eyelashes, tiger print ballerina shoes and two different tones of black on two separate shirts cuts me. when i say nicely "im sorry, i was already in line," she dismissed me. said that she was in line too and moved her bitch ass cart quite close to my good foot. mind you, still sleep. i let her go. and offer her a farewell " i hope you miss your flight skank." damn, where would i have learned this beautiful human interaction if not in brooklyn.

third, people that sit next to you on trains, subways and buses should be mindful of how they smell and how much room their asses really require.

fourth, i have realized that i could be considered insane. now dont get it twisted, i dont mean insane insane. just slightly off.

lastly, im headed to the euston train station as i need to get there by1pm and its only 11am, however, i gotta find a restroom that will allow me a regular seat cover, rather than my left leg extended against the door, my left hand on my luggage, and my butt cheeks quivering in fear of the suspect toiletbowl!

rocking today in birmingham. sleeping tonite, hopefully. back on friday. thursday is extremely busy.

battlescars

i looked at my reflection this morning. and it looked back at me. this is the moment when i remind myself that i am doing it right. this life. these choices. all a part of a bigger picture, a bigger plan. i remind myself to love myself irregardless to the pain that comes with the crucification of being too honest, to truthful, unwielding. if it is worth it, there will always be pain. i recognize the alcohol-sting and burn of my actions. hold them like scars of war. the keloid that will tell the story of how i went to battle and walked away with my integrity, pride and soul, intact. it will be a beautiful bedtime story for my daughter's children. and she will give the greatest pauses for effect as she remembers the nights her mother braved the storm and returned home to brooklyn. limping with a face still dry - eyes threatnening a pour of all the day's letdowns. before she laid in bed next to her only child, and smiled at the beautiful complexity of a 10 year-old's unwavering love. and hugged her tight, as if her ribcage didn't hurt and her heart wasn't broken

bklyn yuppies

brooklyn yuppies swim thru the streets of park slope
sweating beer and tequila as liquid as their parent's finances.

screaming loudly of their views on race, over the hip hop soul mixtape;
no blush rushing to his cheeks as he speaks as if slang bore him into an opinion.

his eyes catch mine.
and squints, adjusting to my black woman stare.

a glance that searches for a reason why black women like me
wait, with purses clenched, for this mood
to pass like an express train.

i shouldn't want to cut into his flesh with a purse
hidden knife, instead, i'll settle on my eyes as weaponry.

he shivers; this is no accident, and lowers his voice to
inaudbile level, where only his drink can hear.

What I've Been Doing the Past 10 Days

1 inch and a 1/2

my sister's wedding is in 10 months. and i just learned
i need to lose 1 inch and 1/2 until then.
it is my great idea that i should lose double that.
great thing is -- my porptions (how ever big) allows me
little to no alterations...
thats just great.

here's to the diet that starts monday, sept 17th, 2008.
you heard it here first

cracked teeth

she smiled like you this morning
beautiful brown-eyed wonder child
of a one-sided love


and the creasing of her cheeks,
bright eyes turned whatever color yours were,
re-opened the knife wound


like masking tape
like Velcro
like its never really healed
in the first place

and, so
this scab seeps memories of a decade before
i thought i buried the soot with your old valentine's day card
next to the rotting chocolates and flesh punctured latex
never to return and pick over their remains

but here they are

raggedy toy of emotions sprawled every shade of pink
and black
reminding me there was joy and then death

so I left
them like soldiers lost at war

With all the stories and bruises and nightmares to hide

in the sand of the desert
in the swamp of the forest
in the valley of the mountain

it is days like this
that haunt me with that scary flick
...inevitability
she smiles like you,

and the pain of a broken vessel
is renewed
the steel walls are more steel gray than the tumtulous
...eye
look at her
and
wish
you nightmares

it is your absentee handiwork that forms tears upon silent phone rings
and messages never received
it is the emails unanswered and birthday wishes
of daddy's angel, blown out like
candles

I left a dollar under her pillow, the other day
Almost forgetting the fairy tale ritual, for my arms
Were tired of fighting a mere memory
This is when I pretend not to pick up the armor around
This stone heart,

when she throws her voice to your picture; waiting
for your approval to catch her
you lie, still
faded & torn, with open palms
Polaroid shell of a ghost father
Smiling an uneven grin
Shooting her dreams like a hunter
with perfect aim and
cracked teeth

this is when her last baby tooth falls;
unhinged,
mimicing the depth of your hollow,
I will pray it is the last time she
reminds me
of you

my favorite!! seriously

and of course the original!!

last nite 9.4.7

it was when the ceiling shattered

splintered by this flesh and noise; vibrations,

i cried

because your fingers

stitched together a prayer in the folds of this heaven

lurched spine, heavy hands, numb filanges

wet silent streams fall every which way

possibly

you, will be the death of me

and i will wait in the wake of you

index and thumb pressed between a velvet curtain,

musk of grown woman want,

lust swims amongst the wind, fleeing the window

of a first floor apartment

shaking the earth; a jealous twitch,

around your name, this thick tongue

touring the city of angels

monday - la green. this venue has one of the coolest host ever, rat pack slim. it was lackluster in attendance and though i gave it a great heave ho (insert: greetings to the home base) i couldn't help but feel like i was in the way! no matter. cbonejones, judy holiday, tam bam and sonya renee came to hang out with the kidd! we laughed, laughed harder and took pics to prove it! afterwards dj jedi hooked me up with the ill cd, rat pack was a great host hooking me up with some edibles and cop'n the his rib on the strength! and we headed to sonya's for a nightcap of poetry, chicken dumplings and some greasy drive thru mexican food named lucy's... don't worry - i just watched the great holiday eat it.

tues - da poetry lounge: you gotta love the west coast version of the nuyorican. unforutnately, shihan wasnt in the building to host with his sarcastic ass remarks and cut throat punchlines, my favorite, actually. but poetri did his thing. until of course he decided to give away tickets to the macy gray concert - and ME, yes I messed it up for the brother. i gave away an answer and his chance to win the tix were GONE! the whole crowd looked like they were gonna throw daggers at my ass. thank goodness i was able to rock the show right. i had to apologize and give homeboy a cd for the mishap. honestly, I DIDNT HEAR THE INSTRUCTIONS! some short dude with a mohawk was in the way! ooops, no diss javon. im just saying! lol good to get up with old friends: thea, crystal irby and jaha surprised me by showing up with her new book (published by ME! HA) whilst sekou, in-q and tshaka cracked me up all the while.




tues afterhours!: cbonejones spot. im dead tired by the time i get here. but cbones is the patna (very old school oakland for ya) so i make it a point to head to his spot. this is about when i find out the event is an erotica showcase. aww damn! not only did i NOT get that info (mr plan b) but i certainly wasn't feelin sexy! thankfully, mr jones allowed me to rock whatever i liked and let me do my thang for 20 minutes. it was mad fun, with jaha, tam bam and judy in the building. but this is where i realize i still have yet to hear the lady holilday spit a poem... not cool!



wed - i drive my neice's 4 runner back to san diego as i have a flight to oakland to tend to! i am way late leaving tamara's house in pasadena and find myself still an hour outside of san diego almost an hour and a half before my flight is to leave. thank goodness southwest has no change fee. and i make it to oakland before noon. chilling with family before my set at chaz elik's spot is always a plus. but this time it is sombering with the death of my uncle. though, my pride and babysitting spell makes it beautifully different. fast forward: the set in berkeley is located next to la pena. this is the bay area's nuyorican. i remember it well, as i heard sonya sanchez read on that stage during my first poetry reading EVER. the berzerkely slam was cool. good to see issac rock again. my aunt went with me. and afterwards we scattered before the pumkin turned into my life.

thursday - flight back to lax, and i find myself strapped with a beautiful 6 month old for a two week impromptu excursion. i am babysitting kevin amir. he is a heartbreaker and all he has managed to do is throw up, shyt and smile. more than enough. he escorts me to my feature in pomona. but not before we eat freshly made salmon salads with judah 1 and judy holiday. they are roomates, and very 90210 - ish. mic and dim lights is the closing set for my LA trip. unfortunately. it is wasted on a man with a harmonica and racist viewpoints. i rock my set. the energy is low - but hell, it could be me. kevin is sitting in the lap of tamara and i am thinking if i made enough bottles for him to feed before the night is up. i drop the line of singlemothersong. WHAT?! whatever. pick it back up after a pause, an un-apology and a farewell. i am certain my set will be welcomed regardless of the last mishap. unfortunately. my co-feature does not like white people (editor's note: 80% of the crowd is white) and decides to say it in his segway before starting poems about love, unity and such. the people walk out in droves (yes, like cattle) and the 100+ room is left with less than 30 by closing. this fuks with the pass the hat rule for features (fuk) and people actually walk out in such disgust that i thought i was the offender (a systa came back: im sorry. you were really good! i wanted to put money in the hat, but that dude was so offensive! i had to get out of there!) damn. what a way to end the tour. no matter. we laugh about home skillet all the way back to pasadena and kevin and i prepare for the flight to brooklyn



minneapolis and vegas highlights to come!

cutting teeth

if there was ever a moment you wanted to block your blessings, you wanted to spit at the heavens and forsake his holy name, you decided that there was nothing better than down - cause up was only heartache on pause -- it was this. packaged in the body of a 6 month old boy. sickle cell anemia stricken, teething baby boy. he lets me twists his curly afro. he sweats so hard in his sleep you'd think his diaper wasn't working. he's a quiet spirit but has learned to yell for reasons of the unknown. i dont know how i will say goodbye to him in 3 days and counting. it started as a babysitting situation for my young cousin. she is almost 17. this young man is her second son. i don't know how hard it will be to say goodbye for now to the baby i brought back on a plane in brooklyn, just to return him to oakland in time for our elder's wake and funeral. i don't know how i will stop smelling his feet and the crook of his neck for genuine laughter. he giggles like it costs him nothing. gums and all shining with anticipation of something sweet, rough, more. baby teeth are like that. tearing at the protective gums for their chance to cut and chew and much later, fall aside for the new and improved teeth. i feel as replacable as those baby teeth. wishing orajel came in life size quantity and allowed me more than the memories of his grin...

slippin'

i have these brown eyes that stare into me. they are beautiful. and still innocent. they are pained. and relative. i know that pain. the uncertainty of caring too much or not enough. the stalker stroll. we all do it: myspace glance. than glance over again. then picture scroll. then sadness. the friends, the phone calls, the emails, the surprise connections. how could you change somebody's life when you're still trying to save your own...? artist depression has been a suprising bath of ice. i've never understood what it meant to be affected. how it felt to be moved to tears upon mention of your father. the man that knows a prison cell better than he'll ever know you. maybe that is why myspace is so easily addictive? there are people i've met thru myspace comments and pics that make me feel just as displaced as a hug to someone, that told someone they hate you. like high school wasn't enough. and its probably just as dysfunctional as you playing the game - because fighting the tides only makes it easier for the real sharks to feed off you. the jellyfish are just a distraction. so you hold it in. call it playing dirty, fair or just playing. three decades of a game that no one ever wins has always tired your breathing. left you unable to recognize yourself, unless you have myspace. this is where you will have remnants of when you were once cute and popular and seemingly without that pain. that sits on your face like a smile.

because asses have ego's attached and smell just as bad!

yea. so im over it.

had a couple of weeks to reconfigure my artist world. visit family. fall in love again. and when i get back to bklyn, 6 month old beauty smiling a new world into me... i am greeted with the same slam shyt. if i could be over you right now, i swear -- i'd give a kidney.

so lets set the record straight. better yet. let's keep it gutter. if you see me - holla. i promise, i have nothing to hide. nothing in the shadows. my honesty is flawed by the fact that its too honest. but that's it.

ive got life to get to sucka.

speaking of which: SOUNDBiTES Poetry Festival!! www.soundbitesnyc.com the first performance poetry festival in NYC! what? we give money, we give workshops from taalam acey, taylor mali, rives and sooo many more! you wanted it and we brought it to ya! only a couple of slots left for that $500 Slam and $100 Haiku Slam! Confirmed so far... Let's just say they're coming from Columbus, Ohio; Charlotte, North Carolina;

friends: you know who you are. if i haven't reached out or touched back. blame the hatchet in my heart, i was bleeding for you all this time. we will talk this week. i've nothing better to do than drink coffee and find out about your life.

amari. is. home. in. 6 days. and i am still watching making the band. the marathon was necessary. as was the microwave cookie mix. it was splendid. that is all...

when packing goes bad...

i am headed to cali for the week. i am excited and then not.

just found out my uncle passed, and im preparing for a weekend

with my sister for her bridal shower. she is bridezilla. and still the loss of breath, hopeful wedding vows and growing daughter doesnt stop the car brakes from going out. 600 clams that say do it now or rest in heaven too... if i could be more unfunny, i couldnt.

nationals is finally over and most of the city is calm. there are egos waiting

to be stroked - and if i have to be the stroker, they will continue to wait. cause

i aint playing that game again. its too tiring. i am good at what i do. give me

a chance to show u -- or not.

either way, i will find a way to do something else. with just as much impact and even more accolades.

and who waits for the world to clap for them anywayz?

i dont have the patience. cali girl on a eastern time is a bad mix for impatience. and i wear it well. like WHAT?

my team continues to make me proud. i guess i cant call them my kids anymore, huh? they all grown n ish. but they were grown when they got there - in their own way. poetry slam just has a way of mutilating our young - so i try to be the keeper of all things innocent, beautiful and wholly...

i love u gang. ya make me proud upon uttering your name. and no one wanted it like u did.

i miss amari. she calls me everyday and acts as if my randomness is cute. she comforts me when telling me she misses me more than i could ever miss her. and for an instant, i am happy. that i could impact that little girl's life even from afar. she is brilliant. and omniprescent and better than any poem i could ever write.

Soundbites NYC Sept 21 - 23, 2007! NYC

This is what New York City is made of: Dirty Beauty, Sleepless Bodegas & Damn Good Poetry!

Come join Jive Poetic and Mahogany L. Browne for the first annual SOUNDBiTES Poetry Festival, a 3 day event filled with writing workshops, solo artists shows and $500 Poetry Slam! The featured artists confirmed, so far: Taylor Mali, Taalam Acey, Roger Bonair Agard, Rives, Jaha Zainabu, Christa Bell, Jamaal St. John, Big Mike, Buttafly Soul, Michael Cirelli and so much more!

SOUNDBiTES is for everyone! This festival is for the students of life, ready to learn new writing techniques, tips on self-publishing and
those who may just want to witness the hottest performance poets in the country!

This is just the beginning and NYC is the only place that could light up the streets bright enough, for the talents of a Poet!

You can register today by paypal www.soundbitesnyc.com


Brief Itinerary:
Friday, Sept 21, 2007 - Registration
Saturday, Sept 22, 2007 - Workshops, $500 Slam
Sunday, Sept 23, 2007 - Workshops, Community/Poetry Forum, $100 Haiku Deathmatch & SOUNDBiTES Broadway Theatre Production (@ New World Stages 340 WEst 50th & Broadway)

sponsored by: Poets & Writers, PoetCD.com & Urban Word NYC

www.soundbitesnyc.com

the power of silence

when all else fails. listen.
i have tried this and i can not
tell you how incredibly hard it is to do.
not just listen to people talk. but listen
to what they don't say. listen to what they
might want to say. listen to your heart.
this is the hardest.