Mood:  a-ok

I am so emotionally engaged in the lead up to the upcoming presidential election that I've done something unprecedented: For the first time I went to the Democratic Party's website.  

I've been a registered democrat by default all of my voting years, but I've never really taken the in depth time to look to see what I had declared myself to be a part of.  Recently I've been hearing a lot about the lack of spine that democrats have, but when I actually read their platform, their charge, I agreed wholeheartedly.  Honest government.  Who doesn't want that?  Imagine a government that told you the truth even when it knew you'd be upset about it.  A government that sought to serve you, acknowledged that it worked for you, made itself transparent and accountable to you, took the time to ask you how you felt about issues, and informed you of all of the necessary information so you could make an educated decision on your own behalf, to which they would adhere and uphold... wow... that sounds like... I don't know... democracy.  A government that had no interests of it's own... perhaps that's the problem.  The government actually has no interests, it's the people that run the government that have interests.  A government of the people/rich special interest minority, by the people/rich special interest minority and for the people/rich special interest minority...perhaps it should be amended that way for accuracy's sake.  Independent Energy.  I am for my country getting away from oil, and out of other people's countries!  I'm for finding a way to treat the planet better.  I don't know why we just don't go ahead and transfer everything to solar and vegetable power.  We (excluding the fossil fuel industry) wouldn't have to loose anything.  We could keep all of our stuff (Americans love their stuff) and just use windmills to run them instead of fossil fuels.  I'm even willing to give up a few of those electrical amenities to know that the world is benefiting.  I'm for energy independence.  Just think, we'd have no one to fight.  We could be like Canada.  Or Switzerland.  Or Costa Rica, with no army.  Who am I foolin'...  Prosperity and Progress.  The Democrats are talking economic abundance in the form of opportunity and access, and the forward motion of those things not monetary that improve the lives of all.  We're talking universal health care, not capitalist health care.  I just got prescribed medication that was SOO wrong for me (i got so sick!), and I have the sneaky suspicion that the doctor was pushing it so hard because he gets a kick back.  Shady.  This is my health we're talking about here!  Overall, with the Democrats were talking about a government that supports your vision for yourself, provided that that vision doesn't hurt anyone else.  I'm for that.  And I'm for money.  Security.  C'mon.  What is security? That's another blog.  They were talkin' Real security that comes from telling the truth.... and honoring troops when they come home by taking care of them.  Election reform... did you know that Russia has more of a direct election than we do.  We don't need an electoral college to baby sit us... the electoral college made it possible for Bush to steal the election in 2000.  I'm down for a party that acknowledges and honors Martin Luther King, Jr. as a great individual worthy to be praised, not because he was a great Black man, but because he was GREAT.  I am down for a party that is not intimidated by otherness, but values otherness as the diversity that makes us all stronger.  So, I can say, I'm down for the Democrats...how could you not be for a party that gives both a woman and a Black man an open avenue to vie for the highest office of the land?  I am, however disappointed in their effectiveness especially in ending the war... I do wish they were more bold and courageous with their stances... I wish they were willing to let things be rocky in efforts to stand rooted in their charge...it's better to rock the boat and get to our destination than to be anchored on a cushy ship named The Titanic, ... 

To be fair, I had to visit the Republicans as well.  I have opposed them most of my voting life, but really had no specific reason to for myself.  I admit, I was a part of a certain banwagon-ism... the stuff that lynch mobs, and Vanilla Ice fans are made of.... folks caught up in a nasty storm.  As soon as I went to the Republican website, right on the home page it declared, "Barack Obama is the wrong kind of change".  Wow.  No cosy, "Welcome to the RNC, we're glad to have you."  Just hate from the beginning.  (Barack must really have them shook!)  There were no pictures that resembled any kind of happiness or diversity.  I'm surprised they hadn't devised a way to electronically identify my otherness and block my access.  I perused their site, and clicked on "Vote fraud updates".  A map of America appeared and I clicked on FL to read about what they would say about the voting discrepancies identified in the 2000 and 2004 elections.  After clicking, a page appeared and informed me that there was no record of voting fraud in the state of FL.

....... 

 Yep.  Just like there's no record that the government conspired to kill JFK or MLK.  Just like there's no record of the Chicago police MURDERING Fred Hampton or Philadelphia police dropping a bomb on MOVE residents in 1985 or the FBI savagely dismantling the Black Panther Party all, by the way, under the guidance of President Hoover - a Republican.  I would like to know who keeps their records... they're doing a terrible job... it's probably because they've outsourced the job to some poor person in another country for pennies to avoid paying social security and workers comp to an employee from, uh, let's say FL... anyway... one of their bloggers claimed pride at the 'progress' Iraq is making because they have record of a Chinese restaurant opening, and we all know that were there is a Chinese restaurant, there's progress... The blogger went on to say that the Chinese restaurant made Iraq look more like America, and that was the best sign of progress there could be.  So the goal of the republican party is to get every place to look like America, and play the marketplace game like America, so that America has the advantage, since it made the rules, and can control the board.  My older cousin used to do that to me all the time.  She'd learn some game she, no doubt, sucked at with her peers, but antagonistically forced me to play, without providing me the means to be on equal footing, just so she could beat me and oppress me and subject me to all of her dirty work.  That's what the republicans are after, someone to do their dirty work.  Ownership is a strong point on their agenda... why, because for them property rights serve as a proxy for human rights.  To republicans you actually have no rights unless you have some assets - some stocks and bonds, a couple of condos, a home, a business, a 401K and some oil.  They are also big on morals and values... like the autonomy and honorability of family, sex only in the context of marriage, God's presence in schools.  But it all seems to be for show.  They have the same family issues as everybody else, they just don't want to talk about it.  That's why it Reagan - a Republican - took so long to admit that HIV/AIDS was a national problem... all because he didn't wanna talk about sex and homosexuality and drug use... as if the act of not acknowledging it in conversation meant it would go away... how immature, short sighted and selfish.  They all have pre-marital sex, marital affairs, and post-marital sex as much as anyone else.  They want to acknowledge God in schools as much as anyone else.... they just want you to do it their way.  That should be their motto:  Republicans - Do it our way, or else.  So, all of this values and morals stuff is just for show... they have no desire to actually have the real conversations and make the real policy that will strengthen families, honor the blessing of a person's right to choose where, when and with whom to engage in sex and it's outcomes or allow the benevolent presence of God in all forms into the fabric of every American experience (wasn't this country founded by folks fleeing religious oppression?).  I realized that republicans have no appreciation for dissent or diversity.  And most importantly I realized that if they had no one to oppose, they would have no agenda.  That's why I can't support them, because they've based their ability to thrive as an organization on the concept of war... and when war is your agenda, there can be no peace.  And I want peace.  So I can't be a Republican.  I've accepted this.  Really, I'm okay with it.

 In actuality, I realize that neither of these groups really care whether I'm at 'the party' or not.  They care about the people/businesses who pay for them to get elected.  Black folks never pay for anyone to get elected (although we certainly have the purchasing power to).  And women sometimes do, but not enough to be relied on.  So, as a Black woman, I'd basically better hope my interests and concerns align with some white men who buy politicians 'cause that's the only way I will be addressed.  And then when you think that politicians don't serve the interests of the people, they protect the economic interests of those who paid for them to get elected, then you understand the flaws of capitalism.  There are many advantages, but even they, like everything in a capitalist society, have a price, and like humanity on an auction block, will be sold to the highest bidder.

Nevertheless, I refuse to be overwhelmed by the kind of petrified cynicism that lulls my tear-stained, blood-covered vote to sleep.  Right now, I unapologetically proclaim that I am a Democrat... and, as an artist,  I simultaneously pray that neither McCarthyism (he was a Republican, ya'll), or any of it's ugly cousins, will ever wag their pointer fingers my way.... 

Mood:  a-ok

How can I want to be famous without first wanting to know my neighbors.  How is it that I want to impact the world, but skip over the impact I can have right now in my community... in myself.  There is a divine order to the world, and there are steps in the process of evolution of anything.  A flower isn't sprouted in bloom.  A baby isn't born a woman.

I have no idea where those words just came from. LOL!  None, whatsoever.  I think I've been reading a lot of spiritual books in my life so I start to think in the tone of them.  Sometimes I think like this:

All that remains of my baby hair

Is right there on the side

All the rest is nappy.

It's not in the form of the Haiku, but that's what it is.  These little tidbits of poetry just come to my mind and I regret that I don't have my notebook and pen close by to capture them most times.  IT has always been a desire of mine to write a book of poetry.

 Yesterday (or so) I was on the NJ Path train and I saw an older Asian man enter the train all bundled up.  It was brick outside, so cold that you could not only see the mist of condensation coming from your mouth as you breathe, but even the thin streams of warm air escaping your nostrils had the same effect.  He stood in front of me in his down mermaid coat, tightly hugging his body down to his knees and did the most revolutionary thing.  He reached down and unzipped the coat from the bottom all the way to his waist and sat down in that typical male "my legs aren't really big but they need to spread way out anyway" pose.  I had never understood the purpose of the double zipper until that moment!  It made so much sense.  Sometimes it's better to unzip from the bottom.  Who knew?  

I can't believe it's already 2008.  My passport expires next year, as does my California Drivers License and I wonder if I'll make the effort to hold on to it any longer.  I've taken trips back to California just to go to the DMV and renew without suspicion (don't tell nobody!)  I've used up all my my time to renew via mail... and the last time I did that the office called me out by refusing to place my old L.A. address on the license!  So I have a California license with a New York address!  I get challenged for it all the time when I go to clubs, or need to pick up my packages at the post office.  I always find myself explaining the circumstance with that pseudo-laugh that tries to get the other person to find it amusing, but they don't.  It's quite evident that I'm not going back to live in Los Angeles any time in the foreseeable future, but, then again, the future wasn't designed for me to see, so who knows?  I thought about the possibility of transferring it over to a New Jersey license and this overwhelming feeling of demotion sat on my chest.  New Jersey!?!  From California to New Jersey!?!  I'm such a Cali snob! LOL.  It's true.  No state is as great as my home state in my mind.  I think California is so great, that it actually pains me to return because I know that there's a possibility that the actual life there won't live up to the 8mm memories I've archived in my mind.  In my mental California  the sky is crisp and clear and pure in it's blue.  There are dolphins playfully jumping and portentous whales spraying water with their blowholes.  There is warm sand, yellow sun, and a silght breeze from the north.  There are family reunions, and barb-b-ques  right next to taquito stands and mariachi music.  There are brothers on the porch lookin' so clean in their dickies and tank tops, and women so colorful in their sun dresses.  No one is working in my mental California.  There's no smog in my mental California.  There are no mudslides or forest fires.  There's no superficiality either... or any hardship for that matter.  

But from what I understand a lot is changing.  The area I most love - Leimert Park, Windsor Hills, Crenshaw district, View Park, Baldwin Hills - is being gentrified, ya'll.  White folks in my all-black utopia of home.  I don't hate white people, but the thought disturbs me greatly.  White folks at the Slauson and Crenshaw shopping center!?! That don't even sound right.  Why don't they just stay in Hollywood and the Valley.  White kids going to Crenshaw High!  My heart hurts to think about it.  I wonder if white people think the same thing about us?  Of course they do.  Everyone wants everyone else different to stay out of their home towns.  It's one thing to go visit "others", cuz then the "foreigner" is an interesting tourist attraction.  But at home?  You want your own.  Everyone does.  We're socialized to like it that way.  The Mexican's think?  The Asians... those Samoans or Koreans..  We're all trifflin' segregationalists when it comes to homebase.  According to Paulo Coelho a warrior of the light knows that everyone is afraid of everyone else, but she eases those fears by reminding herself that others have the same issues, problems and insecurities and fears.  Knowing that, why am I so hurt to the core about gentrification in Windsor Hills or in Bed Sty?  I'm more than resistant.  I hurt.  It pains me.  But I know that if the tables were turned I'd be appalled to see a person express discontent with my presence.  I'd be up in arms if I had been challenged at the laundry-mat about why I had moved into a neighborhood (as I have done out of curiosity and disdain).  I guess it's because I know the power dynamic at play.  White folks are not coming to join us in prosperous living.... their presence displaces us.  We are being collectively shuffled around and moved out when it is decided that what we have is valuable.  And that just doesn't happen the other way around.  Do the black people in Windsor Hills and Leimert Park and View Park and Baldwin Hills not appreciate what they have enough to politely, but definitively refuse?  Don't they know that it was extremely helpful for me to see successful, prosperous black people in my home life.  Don't they know how important it was for me to see them wrap their palm tree in tin foil and a Christmas wreath for the holiday season.  Don't they understand that it was important for me to knock on their doors and say, "trick or treat!" and peak beyond them into their living rooms to see their warmth and abundance?  I needed to see them mow the lawn and leave for work in the morning and come back every couple of years with a new car.  I needed to see them running the library and the fire department and the deaf school.  I needed to be invited over for cookies and prayer.  It would hurt my heart to go back to my old neighborhood and not see anyone that looked like me.  Maybe that has more to do with me than with anyone else...

I'm reading this book on the post traumatic stress disorder of African americans...it's not as clinical or as boring as I just introduced it...  just go with me.  The woman who wrote the book told an anecdote about her son getting verbally attacked by another little black boy, and she said she lamented (and I paraphrase) "Couldn't he (the boy) see that he (her son) was black like him?"  As if, by virtue of being black, there should be solidarity.  I would have never thought critically about that statement a couple of years ago.  Of course we should close ranks around our skin... but upon talking to my Caribbean acquaintances and African friends, people that grew up seeing other black people everywhere and were not necessarily giving the "what up" nod or sneaking in brother or sister in the small talk every time... ... I wonder if I'll see a day when I the 'what up' nod is a gesture that celebrates our humanness, and not just our humanity, but our aliveness.

  Then I'm sure, even in that utopia, we'd rise up as a human/animal/plant nation and attack all the rocks.

LOL... 

I sit and listen to the steady swishing of the second hand revloving around Malcolm's wall clock.  Have you actually ever heard the second hand?  I never knew that it made any sound until I was faced with the emptiness of my lack of creativity.  I'm completely dried up and all I can manage to think about is everything going wrong in my life: all of the failures, all of the almosts, all of the reasons why I should not ever be able to write anything.  How I can't manage to get a measley four pages of I story I already know written in any satisfactory way.  I'm not full of anything and every word, every sentence, is like pulling a cruise ship anchor ashore... painstakingly impossible.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.  Do you know how much I've written in my life?  LOTS.. LOOOTTTSS.  Pages and pages of useless inner reflection and observation for absolutely no one, and the moment I have the ability to use my joy for something productive, I have nothing to say.  I wonder if I'd be this disturbingly neurotic if I had a job.  Probably not.  

The funniest thing just happened:

I can't tell you how much energy I expend battling myself and my own demons.  At my worst I have constant chatter about why I can't have or do whatever I want to have or do, about how everything's going wrong and will never go right; how I'll never be loved or accepted or whatever other destructive thoughts I have.  I try to keep each of these battles to myself, but they undoubtedly spill over and become the predominate subject of conversation with my friends and loved ones.  I'm sure they are tired about hearing about my difficulties and my worries and my fears.  That said, what do I do?  Do I continue to jeopardize my relationships by constantly dumping on my friends until they avoid my phone calls and talk about me as the weak link of their clique.  Do I accept my role as the whiner?  Do I stop releasing these thoughts in hopes to receive assurance and comfort?   Absolutely not.  I just diversify my dumping ground.  

So I thought to myself, who ELSE could I call to talk AT as I try to work out the issues of my life.  I thought I could call my manager and express my worried under the guise of a discussion about the market and our goals as business partners.  Then I'd subversively sneak in the fact that I'm a failure, and broke, and unwanted.  Then I thought, "What are you thinking about!  You can't show her your weakness!  If you show her how much you've lost faith in yourself, how can you expect her to demonstrate any faith in you?"  Then I thought, "Why should I hide the real me from her.  LIfe ain't always a box of chocolates, sometimes it's shit."

And just then, the phone rang.  It was Cyrena.  I greeted her with as much optimism as I could, "Tell me something good," I said.  "Everything's going to be alright," she said without missing a beat.  I threw my head back in tearful laughter.  How perfect that she responded that way.  That's why I love her.  Then she said, "No, seriously, you have an audition for a film EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE ALRIGHT for the role of Nicole."

And we fell out. 

Everything's going to be alright. 

            I’ve been dating.  Dating?  I’ve been building a relationship with a man.  A great man who treats me like precious platinum.  Malcolm… as in X.  That’s his name. 

That’s one of the reasons I’ve been away.  That and the fact that I’ve literally been away: back to southern Africa for 2 months.  I went back with IN THE CONTINUUM to share it with the citizens who didn’t get the chance to see it last time… people who weren’t able to get to the cities and pay the money to get into the theatres… the people who don’t necessarily have cars and wouldn’t fathom catching a kumbi (a shuttle service of sorts) to go all the way to the city to see some show the theatres hadn’t even bothered to market to them, all for an hour and a half of entertainment, as informative and impactful as it may have been for many audiences, it just wasn’t conducive for most of them. 

Up until the point that I went to Africa the tour had really been sort of handle-able.  I was living out of my suitcase, but I knew that for at least a month I could unpack a few things.  I could cook.  I could hook-up with people I hadn’t seen in years and meet some new folks and actually have time to hang out with them once or twice before I had to go again.  I could share my experiences and take in some sights and plan and register a business and network and make connections.  But this time, in South Africa, there wasn’t time for any of that because everything came at me so fast.  It was like riding that ride at Disneyland in the dark.  You zoom up and down and flashes of light come at you and disappear as quickly as they came.  There wasn’t even any time to unpack because we were traveling to another city or township every 3 or 4 days.  I would wake up in the mornings and have to lie there for a brief moment to orient myself to my surroundings.  Which bed was this?  Do I have to exit from the right or the left to get out of the room?  Where’s the bathroom?  What city is this?  Country?  What day is it?  There was no time to sit at my brand new MacBook and record the intricate transitions of mind and heart that resonated with me throughout my day.  There was no time to record how much I was learning and how much was changing and how exciting everything was, and how homesick I became.  And there certainly wasn’t any time to tell you how I had fallen in love.  Yeah.  In love.  There is actually a place that you fall into.  It’s a womb of pink rose pettles and warm water.  It cradles you.  It gets dangerously close to sharp objects and you fear that the bubble will burst, then it gently gets blown in the direction of even more goodness.

At the risk of sounding cliché, I’ll tell you that it happened so fast and came out of nowhere, this relationship.  Yet, at the same time, it was no surprise at all.  It’s what I prayed for.  What I specifically asked for from God, and you know what she says: ask and it shall be given.  Believe and you will receive. I wanted to write about it earlier.  But I think subconsciously I thought that I would jinx the relationship by permanently recording it for all to read, then when it failed, my punishment for jumping the gun would be the relentless reminders from nosey people asking, “Whatever happened to that guy, what’s his name, oh yeah, Malcolm?” And then I rationalized that if I spent all of my time writing about it, then I wouldn’t be totally submerged in the experience of living it.  I’d miss it altogether.  I’d ruin it by not being inside it.  As if there was anything I could do, or not do, to stop the motion of God.  What an ego I have sometimes.

We got together officially in March.  Something happened that caused him to loose the other girl he was stringing along, and caused me to drop my “dating persona” early on.  We decided to give it a shot, both of us tired of getting half-ass relationships from our half-ass commitment to them.  At least this time we could both say that we gave it all that we had at the risk of everything being exposed.  I ay why not.  I’ve learned that that kind of vulnerability always seems scarier than it is.  No, you shouldn’t open yourself to everyone, but if you do, and it doesn’t work out, you won’t vaporize.  You won’t die.  It feels like you might, but you won’t.  And I think your intellect understands this.  Just like if you stand on the 110^th floor of a bulding and you walk to the panoramic window to look out, your body flinches and locks up, even though, intellectually you know that you’re not going to fall.  That the building’s foundation is strong.  That your safe.  You know that, yet it doesn’t matter.  You body flinches anyway.  That’s just instinct.  A bult in protective mechanism.  It comes standard with every model.  But you have the power to stand and look out, despite that reaction.  I’m doing that now, with Malcolm.  I’m standing on the edge.  Sometimes I’m scared.  But for moments, I actually get to enjoy the view.  And the longer I gaze out, the longer those moments of joy become.  Perhaps, one day, he and I will get to the point when that’s all there is.

I'm 28 now.  Yep.  How this happened, I'm not sure.  I started this whole touring thing when I was 24.  And now I'm 28.  Crazy.  I don't really feel any different.  Things are happening around me... all of my friends are getting married, having kids, moving, and changing.  But I don't feel different.  Perhaps more mature.  More sophisticated.  More authentic.  More confident?  I guess that depends on the day you see me.  I wear my hair natural now.  I had forgotten what I looked like and wasn't sure that I'd like who I was under the perm any longer.  Would I still be pretty and sexy and desired - since those things are the 'real' measure of a woman's worth, right  (smirk)?  I feel sexier than ever.  More beautiful than ever.  More myself than ever.  Amazing what a little thing like hair can do.

Other things have changed too.  I’m unemployed now. No one is paying me to do anything for or with them.  So I employ myself.  I am paying myself to do what I want to do.  Which means, that I have saved money to dole out to myself for the next couple of months in exchange for deep soul reflection, research and creative re-interpretation in the form of novels, plays and screenplays.  I am a writer.  Not because I co-wrote a successful play that amounts to about 60 pages of writing of which I am only responsible for 30, but I’m a writer because I’m good at it… so I feel, and so I’ve been told by people who love me and some people who could care less.  I am also a writer because stories keep coming to me looking for a place to be birthed.  My brother-in-law always reminds me in jest that my “clock is ticking” and asks, “When you gon’ have some babies?” perhaps not understanding that I’ve given birth to a big ‘ole baby, and I nursed it for 3 years, and now it’s off doing it’s own thing living on it’s own.  It still amazes me to think that I created something like IN THE CONTINUUM.  And that it’s living on without my daily interaction with it…and that it will forever.  There are productions at the University of Ill., in Cleveland, in Coral Gables, Florida… at Rutgers… it’s out there doing exactly what Danai and I, it’s parents, wanted it to do.  I also know – with the kind of knowing that surpasses all understanding – that I’m supposed to keep going.  Everything in me knows.  And circumstances are perfect to do so.  So, here I go.  I expect what I write to make me money.  I pray that it comes out with grace and ease.  I want it to help people.  I hope it makes my mother proud.

I’m working on 3 things:  IN THE CONTINUUM the novel - turning the play into a novel where I can delve into the thoughts and specifity of each character more.  I can paint the picture of the given circumstances more.  REPAIRING A NATION where I explore the effects of the institution of slavery on today’s generation of African Americans and addressing the need for internal healing by dealing with the issue of repairations, that one is for my community; and a story about a woman who falls in love with her father…that one hopefully deals with women coping with absent fathers, and looking for them.  It’s Oedipal, and mythic while being mundane and everyday.  That one is for me.  That’s plenty to work on, and I’m completely uneducated about them all.  So I get to learn.  I don’t know if they’ll be screenplays, plays, novels or short stories.  I have no idea about anything really, but I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to manifest them in the form that they need to have.  Pray for me.

I’ve already thought about all of the reasons why I can’t do this. I also know all of the reasons why I can’t have or do what ever it is I want in life:  I’m too tall, I’m too black, I’m too unexperienced or uneducated.  I don’t know the right people, I don’t have the right connections.  I have too many bills.  No one cares.  But I’m going to pursue this anyway, and use this time as a faith-building time.  God has put this in my heart and I know that if I act on it, the entire universe will support me.  I know that I am a performer.  I’m good at it.  I have the empathy to give characters and the innate talent for the dramatic and I’ve crafted my technique so that I have the capacity to give it to an audience in a way that they can digest and make use of it for themselves.  I know that I’m a writer… no I never went to school for it, but I’ve been telling stories all of my life, and I believe the gift of communication is a gift I have been given to develop and to give. Thank you God. 

So, that said, now that I am equipped with a man who treats me like precious platinum, a family who believe in me so much that they would bridge mountains with a human chain to make sure I had what I needed, all the time in the world, money in the bank to handle my affairs, and a new laptop, I embark on the newness of this moment.  I make this transisiton.  I let the past go, and I don’t worry about what is to come.  I’m writing.  I’m a writer.  And that’s good.