because, at one point in my life, nobody ever loved me enough to say things like this
if it's safe for us to talk. i still love you.
i wanna tell you how to get free as quietly as you please
how am i gonna be loved and sustained when everyone's either trying to fuck me because it's cute, or make me their healer?
i am fetishized
i am othered
i am dismissed
i am misunderstood
i am desired, yes
i am sexy, absolutely
but what of it when you're trying to get me to explain to you what sex with a woman feels/ looks/ smells/ tastes/ sounds like when it's not about that to begin with?
what of it when you're whispering behind my back to other women that i "just don't know what [i] want," that i'm greedy or confused?
that's the same thing as telling me i'm being picky while i'm in the middle of an allergic reaction to fish.
fuck.
how do i deal with the isolation that seems to come from being dedicated to being myself?
what do i do when all i want is to be held, and to trust, to kiss & touch & build without being put on stage (or on blast)?
didn't have any mind blowing sex in 2008. that trend will not follow me into 2009.
made some power moves to reclaim my body. gonna keep at it.
got a nose piercing & love it. one time for body adornment!
remembering that sometimes you have to let ppl think they're the bigger btwn you two, just to save your sanity.
realizing (again) that silence is no safer than speaking up in most situations.
lost a wallet (don't i do that every year?)
got a new apartment
almost cursed my mom out for being ignorant, which felt great (i turned it into a no-cuss-word explanation in a calm tone)
made some wonderful new friends
got hooked on twitter
fell all the way in love w/ peach bacardi
stopped believing in the myth of "he'll catch up to me"
learned that womanism can involve heterosexual men of color
realized that i'm a damn good dancer
took some artfully smutty pics of myself & loved them
took some regularly smutty pics of myself & loved (and shared!) them
accumulated some crushes
had a dream interaction w/ someone very special & gave thanks for it
came to the conclusion that the holiday season is, for me, better suited for reflection & remembrance
vowed to put the activity back into my activism
& most importantly
made a lot of good sangria.
here's to next year.
i know that i am in a position of privilege. i have a job that i can choose to quit in order to pursue my dreams; i have the time to dedicate my energy to those dreams & map out a way to make them happen. i am privileged, even by comparison to my mother and many of my peers. even when i'm so flat broke that all i can do is pray that i can stay afloat until payday, i am still privileged & living a blessed life. because people sacrificed, people died, people worked so that i wouldn't have to put myself through more shit to earn less.
i am thankful. i can't articulate it all. i don't even have full knowledge of all of the things that add up to my being here, afloat, & capable. there are ancestors, there are strangers, there are secret acts of support by people who know me . . . in short, my life is a blessing. i'm grateful. i know for a fact that i could be a lot worse off (that's all relative to my own life experiences), but i'm not! i'm here. i'm blessed.
i give thanks for so much, so often. anyone who reads this blog or talks to me with any regularity knows that giving thanks is just the norm for me. even in my blind rage or worry, i seem to find at least one thing (big or small) to be thankful for. so, every thanksgiving when people give their lists of what they are thankful for, i have to ask: what is it about all this food & family drama that pushes you to a point where you feel comfortable giving thanks? is there not something to be thankful for every day? or, are you so caught up in the day-to-day bullshit that is your life that a pause is necessary in order for you to examine gratitude?
whatever it is, i want folks to remember that each day we are here we can give thanks, and should give thanks. venerate your ancestors, if you'd like. hug your mom every chance you get. reminisce with siblings, cousins, aunts & uncles. call your best friend & say "you're an asshole sometimes, but i'm SO glad you're my friend." do something. be thankful, don't just say you are.
the celebration of thanksgiving is actually based on a celebration by early colonizers who celebrated the slaughter of pequot men, women & children in what's now called new england. all this talk of popcorn and cranberries and fun and love is a crock of bullshit. that doesn't mean that we can't be thankful. that means that we need to share truth with one another and inform honestly what the roots of thanksgiving are. we need to move past the lies & bullshit, the misinformation & passing on of untruths. (i strongly recommend that, if you don't already know, you click the links i just put up.) who wants to live a lie? haven't you, if you had the santa thing, ever wished that your folks had just told the truth from the beginning? lying to kids because they're kids isn't any different than lying to adults. it's still stupid and a waste of time. yes, it's a good idea to find a way to express truth in ways that meet someone on their comprehension level. but, be for real: simplifying the truth and flat out lying with glittery distractions are not the same thing.
so, be thankful. say yes to gratitude. appreciate the beauty & purity of the good things bestowed upon you, the things you've drawn to yourself. growing toward all of that beauty & wonder does open you up to the polar opposite. no, baby, you cannot escape the potential of hurt, pain, anguish and ugliness. it's the balance of the universe.
i choose it willingly, thankfully, becoming more grateful with each step.
all over the world, people are saying prayers, lighting candles, speaking up & speaking out to remember the lives lost. i'm really not sure how to put the words together for my rage. every day, someone is victimized because of the fear, ignorance, and hatred faced by our transgendered brothers & sisters. every day, there are snickers & stares, snide remarks & downright hateful words that pepper the experiences of people like my transgendered friends. it's not fair. because someone dares to be him or herself fully & unabashedly, some other folks feel its their right (?) to chip away at that person's dignity? no. not buying it. if you're afraid, continue to stay in your scared corner. if you're confused, untangle your misunderstandings. anything else is a threat to the safety & sanity of transgendered people in our communities. at the end of the day, what did duanna, teish, sanesha, angie, or anyone else do to you except live their fucking lives?
there is no answer, because there is no excuse. there is no excuse, because there is no justification. there is no justification, because it's not right. period.
respect the lives of others.
respect yourself enough not to be that person who is complicit in the hateful speech and actions.
respect yourself enough to be brave enough to defend and create safe spaces for transgendered people.
in the names of those lost, those who struggle, those who stand to fight: i remind you all that safety is not a privilege but a right.
TDOR links:
remembrance and action (angrybrownbutch)
a heart unites. a fear divides. (the unapologetic mexican)
ten years - 400 dead . . . and counting (transgriot)
the quick and the dead & shall not perish (taking steps)
for teish cannon (cripchick's weblog)
(before we begin: a cuddlejawn is just what it sounds like. a jawn with whom you cuddle. i'm from philly. sue me.)
1) cuddling is good for the environment!
if you're cuddling (fully clothed, nude, partially clothed, socks only) with another grown person, chances are that a considerable amount of body heat will be generated. you and your cuddlejawn will save money on energy bills! radiator on the fritz? call your cuddlejawn. afraid of your gas bill? holla at your girl/ boy. don't feel like playing with that space heater? pick up the phone! get a blanket, and you just might set the night on fire! rawr.
2) cuddling is good for your self-esteem.
because, you see, that 10 lbs you're still tryna shake won't have to come off. that extra body on your body needs cushioning! knowing that you're divine just the way you are will do wonders for you, dear heart. it gives your cuddlejawn an even stronger reason to keep coming back for more of your good old boolovin!
3) you get to show off your extensive knowledge of foods/ beverages.
everyone knows that there's nothing better than a good plate of tasty morsels or a glass of something fly AND arms that warmly await you. and if the mutually agreed-upon cuddlejawn arrangement is going well i believe that food items will keep things going along swimmingly. besides, who the hell wants to be the trifling motherfucker who invites people over and never feeds or attempts to hydrate them? especially a cuddlejawn? show your gratitude by making sure there are yummy and new snacks.
4) this arrangement may be one of the healthiest relationships you ever have.
so many of us go into situations with others hoping against hope that s/he doesn't turn out to be crazy/ clingy/ unreasonable/ looking for a husband/ looking for a wife/ looking for a parental figure . . . without making sure that everyone's pretty much on the same page from the onset. so, with your cuddle jawn arrangement being essentially about cuddling and not sexual intercourse (not at first. where it goes next is your business.), i daresay it's impossible to get caught up in a snare of emotional bullshit. sex might complicate things for some of us, while for others it brings clarity. your job as a cuddlejawn is to be precisely what your cuddlejawn needs. that means everyone gets their needs met within the parameters of the arrangement. no hurt feelings. who doesn't want to be held without the pressure of a bunch of shit that has little to nothing to do with them? think on it.
5) boolovin might save us from ourselves.
you ever encounter a motherfucker who quite clearly needs a hug and/ or some kind words? don't you ever think that they should get that hug? those kind words? something to help them feel less miserable and stabby? i bet if they had a cuddlejawn they'd be at least tolerable. yupper. watch, y'all, and see! the boolovin might make you think twice about slappin the fuck out of your coworker. it may make you more alert during the work day. i mean, there are studies done on infants who are touched lovingly/ receive infant massage that suggest that these kids grow up smarter than those who are touched only when it's necessary (or whatever the control is). i say go for it. who doesn't wanna be loved upon more often?
and, i'd also like to suggest that cuddling may lead to some very rewarding, fulfilling adult interactions. this is the foreplay of life.
go find you a cuddlejawn!
this post has been brought to you by buckwild apiaries, inc., purveyors of honey love and boolovin.
when a friend falls down
falls apart
falls out w/ someone they love
needs to scream
needs to cry
needs to use expletives excessively, in succession, making little to no sense
that's when you know you trust them
that's when you know they trust you
that's when you honor that space & that event
i give thanks for the opportunity to do that and be on both ends
and if i count you in that number
please know that you're more than welcome, as long as i have the ability to provide for you the arms to hold you up or the hands to piece you back together
the back to carry you
the courage to see that you are not a burden, but a reflection
i will love you
i will support you
i will honor and respect you
let this be my pact
from now until the last blink.
ashé + amen
i was reading the healing black womanhood blog (which has some dope stuff, y'all should check it out) and something kinda bothered me.
the blog owner writes about black men in two out of the (as of this date) seven posts on the blog, and though i think understand her efforts as to not only heal black women but the community as a whole, i take something of an issue with this. not because black men don't matter. it's the posts themselves. if we're healing black womanhood, wouldn't honoring black manhood and discussing why we love black men come towards the end of the steps towards healing?
i cringed while perusing the blog. i am all for healing. i genuinely believe that healing work has to be done in the lives of a lot of women (not black women exclusively). but what some of us have come through and have yet to work through, though it may be or is tied directly to dealings with men, needs to first be discussed in depth and candidly before we jump on the celebration bandwagon. yes, positivity is necessary -- but before we give thanks don't we sometimes have to look at all the fucked up stuff that has gone/ is going on? where's that part? where's the part where we say "i don't like when brothas do this" to ourselves so that we are perfectly clear about what we do not want and are more capable of seeking/ naming what we DO want?
it's about process for me, not so much content.
i understand that negativity can kill and destroy us. but there's a difference between expressing genuine facts about the experiences some of us have had so that we can fully release those things to our pasts, so that we aren't carrying that crap around inside of us. so that we aren't apologizing needlessly for others.
why is it that so many sistas who want to help us womenfolk in virtually the same breath express adoration of black men like it's a fucking disclaimer?
i love my sistas, BUT BROTHAS I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU, I PROMISE
no.
stop.
please.
it's a lot more complex than that, and no disclaimer makes it any easier to swallow: we have all hurt each other and are hurting now
there is no magical salve to lay on all of us at once, cuz we all need different things to different degrees
and most importantly
if we ladies are continually trying to rebuild ourselves, how healthy can it possibly be to stop every few minutes and speak on the men, who should be fixing their own shit?
maybe i look too deeply into these things, but analysis has to be the name of the game when you're talking about fixing broken folks.
she calls it the m&m conversation. it's what happens when you don't let go of old shit. i'm totally paraphrasing, but when/ if she posts up a specific example in her own words i'll be sure to post & share it here.
the beginning:
you have a particularly wounding conversation with your mom. she says some terrible things to you that pretty much make you feel like the lowest being on earth, like you aren't important to anyone, not even god. you remember everything about the conversation. you remember the look on her face, and you remember most of all what that day looked like. you were 10, so you weren't @ eye level with her. it was april, 1988 and that day was unseasonably warm. you were in the parlor and wishing like hell that picture of your dead great-aunt wasn't so spooky looking. you had on your favorite pair of la gears. your mom had on a yellow dress.
the middle:
you never say to your mom that what she said hurt you. you never tell anyone that she wounded you with her words/ actions. you carry that shit with you for years & years. you develop stomach problems. you become crippled when you end up in a confrontational situation.
the end:
one day, years later, you're hugged up w/ your boocakes on your sofa and he is fucking up a bag of peanut m& ms. you say to him, "boocakes, may i have some of your m&ms please?" your boocakes, being the kind of generous soul he is, shares the peanut m&ms with you. you look into your palm, and you see that most of the candies are yellow.
you throw the candy to the floor & begin to spaz the fuck out: "motherfucker, what the FUCK is wrong witchu?!?!?? yellow m&ms? i ask you for candy and you give me some terrible ass yellow m&ms? I HATE YELLOW M&MS AND I HATE YOU, TOO! rat bastard!" and so on and so forth.
because you never released that old hurt about the day your mom made you feel terrible, whether you told her later about that shit or not. whether you talked to a therapist or trusted friend or not, your lack of release put you in a position where the most random thing triggered you.
the moral of the story: let that shit out. before you end up doing something preposterous with the leftover negativity.
every man i've ever known took a class with ted bunch? what if every woman i've ever known went to the house of womyn's power? what if every black reproductive health specialist started sharing opinions like this one?
it doesn't matter why i'm asking.
i'm just envisioning the world i want to live in, even if i'm there by myself or with a very select few.
you see, lovely blog readers, your protagonist has a bit of an issue.
i haven't had sex in a while, and really good sex (also known as having my back blown out) is such a distant memory that i've got a better chance of recalling my life in utero than recounting any details of sexual exploits. so, in what i'll call my months of solitude, i've had the opportunity to think really hard about what i want when i get back out there. i've pined away over my usual celebrity eye candy (mos def, chiwetel ejiofor, christian bale, don cheadle, q-tip, et al) and had a few moments to reminisce on past crushes/ eye candy (one time for marvin from trader joe's and that fine-as-all-fucking-getout dude who used to ride the same train i did a few yrs back). but what i haven't actively had was some kind of glimmer of hope. anyone who's really legitimately a potential boo for me. crushes and eye candy won't do. going back to former paramours won't work -- if they were what i wanted, they would not be formers! instead, i need something new, something fresh . . .
enter operation: benetton ad.
it all started w/ the idea i've been kicking around for quite some time: the concept that i should possess a stable of he-bitches of all colors, shapes, and sizes. i mean, why not? i can't seem to get precisely what i want in one place, so why not split it up? go on foreign film dates w/ my art nerd, hit happy hour with the lush, cuddle up next to the around-the corner boo, have the sponsor get me that dress i want, and quite possibly have one strong backed strapping individual to have me grinning consistently whilst walking crookedly.
well, lo and behold, the warm winds of late spring and summer have blown a lot of newness my way. first, there was that lovely piece of curly haired extra gorgeous southerner, in town for a conference. swarthy, as white folk tend to say. mmm, mmm, mmm. he has a girlfriend and lives far away from philly, so i'll leave him where he is. until/ unless there's a reason not to.
second, there was the lite brite (translation: he looks like christopher williams might could be his daddy) from the starbucks near my job. i think he might be slow. but he's nice to look at. eye candy is important. there's a young asian man whose family owns the nail salon i go to. he is SO PRETTY. and a youngin. he's legal, though. seems to be unreasonably interested in the things i use to adorn myself (earrings, bangles, sneakers, nail polish colors). i like him, though, and wouldn't mind sitting on my sofa w/ him while he paints my toenails. there's a chicano in the mix, too. he seems to be focused on marrying me and figuring out how on earth my spanish is as good as it is. he makes me laugh. sometimes. the language barrier is interesting.
and then.
lawdy JEEZUS.
today, i met a fine ass barber who gave me his card and said he'd cut my hair tomorrow . . . LORDY BE, I CAN'T TAKE IT.
he's covered in tattoos. amateurish ones that scream "i've been into some bad shit in my life," and he has the unmitigated gall to smell good. lord help me!
he is, in the words of my beloved uncle, "niggafied." that's what he calls any non-black person w/ the most black american swagger ever.
i mean, i prefer to just say he's very much an around the way asian dude
but the swagger
he got that big dick swagger i tend to only see in black men and others who've been victimized by the prison industrial complex.
WOOT
*fannin myself*
but yeah.
i'm building myself a stable so i can get what i want until i've had my fill. currently, i'm not even close to being done!
U-N-I-T-Y, that's a unity . . .
addendum: in my infinite wisdom and continual quest for creative ways to express myself, i have decided to regard to the stable of he-bitches as he-bees. that is, i am a he-bee keeper, and i'm going to be maintaining an apiary of dick. buckwild apiary's mission statement soon come.
myopia is a disease. it can be a blessing and simultaneously a curse, if you will. i don't mean what my eyes can do (i'm a prime candidate for corrective eye surgery, actually). i'm talking about worldview perspective, or the lack thereof. i'm still here with mine. i'm not sure there are too many other ways to say it. i believe that love must fuel change. when i change myself, it is out of love -- i cast away old things. i cast away negativity. i cast away damaging things to improve myself. to me, change outside of ourselves should be fueled by the same feelings of love. there is no other way. what could be greater than love?
ran into a former paramour. the dope boy. he's quite obviously on that shit. it hurts my heart. i never thought we were gonna be some great power couple, nor did i ever think i'd lay eyes on him again. but damn. did he really have to go and do the very same shit he pushed on the block? i pray that whatever happens, his suffering be minimal & that he achieve his highest destiny. we were never close or anything but all i really ever want for anyone is that they find peace inside so they don't have to be the junkie everyone's afraid of/ looking down upon. i'm really at a loss for him.
it's about that time of year again. monae's been gone nearly a year. she was the child of my mother's first cousin. they were part of the only branch of my grandmother's family who lived even remotely close to us in mt. airy. and i rarely saw her as we got older. school, work, social lives . . . all those things kept us from being close. youth. lack of foresight. of course, i'd have been in that girl's back pocket if i knew she was gonna leave here before she could even see her 22nd birthday. i think it might have been mutual for her, too. but, at the same time, i'm okay w/ how things were. there's nothing that can be done about what's already gone on. i can't forget the last time i saw her. i'll make sure i put something out for her & my grandmother on their birthday. iba ara t'orun monae. iba ara t'orun momzie.
there's transitioning going on all over my life. work, home, all sides of me. i need to keep both feet on the ground, so as not to be swept away by these gradual and/ or sweeping changes.
there's much to be done...
i'm not gonna go in order, or even name (government) names. i was reading omi's post of a similar ilk & i was struck by how easily i've been imprinted by the relationships i've had. i suppose that's because i was open, to begin with. there was never a moment when i regretted any of it. . . but i have definitely found myself questioning whether i'd ever find myself undone by the same conditions, if i would be stubborn enough to ignore lessons and major indicators that the shit just might not be a good idea. after all that, i'm glad i can say no. i've learned a lot in those relationships and in between them. enough to know that i don't care to be bothered with the bullshit, enough to know that reciprocity isn't a dream . . . enough to know that i'm never gonna be that woman again.
so, bit by bit i'm gonna be writing my memories. i don't know if i'll be able to find songs to adequately describe the walking disaster that was the rapper, or the overwhelming love i felt when dealing with the runner. i just know that the sooner i put it all out, the better equipped i am to take the hand of the next one and lead him into my apartment . . . to sit on my sofa . . . and watch the 2nd season of america's best dance crew while we eat coconut rice and compare tattoos.
busy.
not spending nearly as much time writing as i'd like to, but sometimes you have to read some good shit in order to write some good shit.
i discovered a new band & pineapple upside down bread pudding.
now?
watching real sex, reading some good shit courtesy of mama gena & oyin
giving myself permission to open myself up to what has the potential to be a really fantastic time.
as the sun warms this portion of the world & as a result my cold bones, i see what's on the horizon. it makes me smile.
& maybe i'll learn to wine properly this summer.
from the butch caucus
(it wouldn't let me customize the title i wanted, so i chose ninja instead of typing in "boocakes," "jawn," or "jumpoff")
and you know i'm dead ass serious, right?
the other night, i had something resembling a panic attack. i saw someone who reminded me of some things that i'd spent the better part of a year trying to shake loose/ bury/ empty my mind of. i felt like i was losing my grip on the little shell i'd built for myself to live inside of. sure, i'm social & sweet & all that other shit . . . but can we be for real? i was so shook that i was trying to avoid talking to a woman whom i know from the neighborhood . . . & all she wanted to do was say hello. it was really crazy. i felt like she didn't deserve to be treated like that. of course, i threw on the warrior face & put those feelings aside long enough to carry on a little bit of walking-up-the-block chitchat. i felt a little normalized, but mostly still fucked up. i was definitely in the beginning of a disconnect from my immediate surroundings. interacting with her was actually a really good thing. i was gaining some perspective on my situation. that's totally invaluable. i was beginning to feel a bit better.
i decided that i had to feel all of it, though. trying to avoid those feelings had me jacked up to begin with, you know? emotional presence is one of those things that can be nearly impossible to practice if you've never known you were conditioned to keep your feelings to yourself. the more i remind myself of the conditioning that has essentially made me feel like i was wrong for even having feelings, the more i'm able to see where it's stopped me. of course, there's such thing as balance. i don't necessarily need to tell the lady in whole foods that i feel victimized by those damn dialoguedirect employees down the block, but i also needn't bite holes in my tongue when i'm at a family dinner & someone's praying against gay marriage. (they did it at my cousin's wedding, so why not over turkey, collards & cranberry-orange relish?)
i'm being tangential again. i had to work these feelings out on my own, like a grownup. so, i did what any wise conjure woman does: i took a nice, relaxing bath & prayed/ meditated myself into a better mindset. i couldn't possibly waste my time crying or fretting, wondering what to do next. i knew what to do.
i did it.
sometimes, exhaling is all you need to do.
jill, jill, jill. i feel this song fully.
i've been there. with more than one paramour, quite honestly. it seems like they all end up the same way, too.
we split up for whatever reason(s), you get somebody new, i get somebody new . . . we both live our lives, & may even still be really good friends. but i know deep down inside that i feel like i'm not finished, that you're not finished. not so much a regret that we split -- when something isn't working, it's just plain not working -- but something like a deep want to try again. i'll ignore it, because you've got someone else you're kicking it with (you're not wasting any kind of time, since you don't want the chance to miss me) & i'm doing whatever i'm doing . . . i won't let myself regret you. i won't convince myself that i should apologize profusely & call you up trying to see if there might be a way back in. this is primarily because i can't handle the idea of being rebuffed when i want to be desired & refuse to try too hard at anything i'm prone to suck at. i'm prideful that way. i'm trouble that way. & she isn't. that's why you like her so much -- she doesn't challenge you to be a better person, quite honestly. she'd never encourage you to reach for everything you've ever wanted -- because you're all she's ever wanted. a daddy, financier & lover all in one. you have the bankroll for her to hit target without flinching -- note, i said her, because she's never considerate of your money situation. it only matters when she has to pay. you don't think i know she sees you as an open wallet/ bank account/ whatever, even though you essentially make the same amount of money she does? you don't think i've noticed all these things when you talk about her to me the way you would one of your homeboys?
but you'll allow it, because it's easier than being alone. because it's easier than trying to get back to what you know was harder to keep, but more worth your time.
& maybe that's why i let go, too. because i'm too comfortable running shit & it's not even about control issues -- the only issue i have is that i wanna be in control. period. when i'm not at the helm, it's only because i let you be. i think that you enjoyed that as much as i am accustomed to it.
so now here i am, after the fact, wondering why the fuck i even care.
because i love you. & in the back of my head, i imagine where we'd be had we stuck it out or reloaded the whole thing. if we'd said "let's try one more time," & said yes to a do-over. i wonder if you would have taken my hand, had i extended it.
i don't live w/ regrets or guilt, but the what-ifs surely can be a beast.
