Back again

Wow, I met a guy
that I don't mind talking to
Met him in a bar
but he didn't ask me what I do
Let him buy me a drink
because it didn't have a catch
Chilled for a while to
see what came out the hatch
--
Oh, hey
You have a sense of humor
Self-deprecating too without
a raging dose of hubris
Could it be,
that I met a valid male?
An XY chromosome who's not
beyond the pale?
--
So I stuck around
For dinner and some more drinks
to have a convo with this
guy who doesn't think that his shit don't stink
Don't want some 'Roses'
but I'm not an Outkast
I'm just looking for a guy with a little class
--
It's come to pass
that my past of getting plastered
and passing out
after hitting up another bastard...
It doesn't match up
In fact,
I'm not in college anymore
Where going to a women's school
rendered me a drunk whore
--
Nah, I don't need to beg for a dick
I'm surrounded by hardwood,
but I'm looking for a pogo stick,
A real playmate
Someone to shoot the shit with
Sit around in our
underwear
like comfy kids
An adult
who can inhabit their maturity
And hold me to the same
without giving up sobriety
--
Know what I mean?
It's ok if you don't
I'm learning too, and could use someone who says they will
even when I say I won't
--
So back to the matter at hand
with this gentleman
Surprisingly agreeable
A flash in the pan?
I don't know
We don't even live in the same city
The odds of something happening
are frankly pretty shitty
--
But guess what
I'm coming back to the Bay
And it's my birthday
Could I orchestrate this shit
and procure myself a solid lay?
Oops, I mean a convo
You know, an intro
Presumably a solid way to
stoke the blood flow
--
But could you show up
Nope, I guess you fell off
Had a little bit too much
of that Halloween-themed sauce
OK, I can live through this line
I can emphasize with a fool
tryna have a good time
--
So I called you
and we talked it out,
you apologized,
built back your -veezy clout
So we made a plan
And we talked a grand
And I found out I'd be back in the Bay again
--
Oh goody, maybe this'll work out,
for another dinner,
some good wine,
and your sweet mouth,
Oops, I mean your sweet house,
yeah, it's decorated nice
I noticed when we went and had a nightcap on that first night
--
"I could sleep here,
It doesn't look like shit..."
In fact, your down bedspread looked quite the opposite.
--
Wait, did I just go there
Oh, you bet your khakied ass!
Shit...
I'm as jumpy as a member of the freshman class
But damn, could you give me a chance?
I need to make agreements before we start to slow dance
--
Like what's your safe word?
And don't text me.
I told you the first time
so why are you trying me?
I get that you're excited that you get to see me
But the ticket isn't yours if you don't show up for the opening
This ain't a peep show
I'm not a spectacle
My doors aren't open to the thoughts in your little world
--
You've got ideas
I can hear it in your silence
And your reluctance
to stand up
is showing me you're spineless
Come on, now
Can't a beezy have a little fun,
without a mummy crying mommy
'cause he thinks that he's come undone?
--
I'm the walking dead
I can sit with that
Bring me your despair
And I'll take that heavy shit to task
What are you hiding from?
Did your excitement run
in the direction of your
predilection for hit and run?
No, we never fucked
But you swiped me with your paw
And the otter saw the peacock turn into a macaw
Now you're squawking loud
But you're hiding out
I can that see you've been looking at my Facebook pics,
so what now?
--
Come out and explain yourself
No wait, I'm not down to
That shit is bottom shelf
You hit the Maker's Mark
when we met last time
But now your actions have me ragging on you in this rhyme
And if you never call?
Well, shit, I was waiting for a muse...
I guess I'll take the letdown
and thanks for all the booze

Journey of love

Rain does not come very often
in these here parts
What we receive
is our fill
of the deluge
Or simple misting sprinkling
that lightly teases the cheek
taunts the eyelashes
makes them flutter in a girlish
way
As if to say,
See what I can do?

No, there is only the polarity
and the subtleties
Conjured by the mind
And left behind
Never chosen
Wistful, light, and pining
Cloying at the windowpane
As if to say,
Can I come in?

No, we rose above those greyish
clouds
Climbing higher
Precipitating precipitation
Beyond the reaches
of the cloying or the petty
And from our perches
We remembered what it's like
With skin moistened
and hair wet
Damp scalp
Struggling to catch our breath

Those gasps were not for naught
No, they told a pretty tale
of seduction and lust
But now, high up on the mountain
We wonder what was the worth
of sharing breath and losing it
Of throwing caution to the wind
Did we build upon those experiences
Or did we merely let them go
Let them condensate, gathering
momentum until they fell, like
one big, fat, drop.

Who's to say where we would
have gone had we lived in
the northwest, if all our
defenses were constantly wet
All we know up here is the
desert and the stars above
And we are thankful for
always having had
the choice to be in love

11/09/10

As she cozies into bed, the thought of the warm sun blanket through the dirty windshield comes drifting across the consciousness. While the toes are cold, the memory is still there, seen through tinted glasses, or maybe it is just enhanced by the scratches on her eyeglass lenses.

As she sat today, fighting sleep on the drive home from Santa Barbara, the mind drifted to the usual things. Do I like him? Not really that, but you know, the girly things. The subtle nuances included in the brain scheme after the concept of
“like” has been installed.

Well, of course, the answer is no. The like is impossible. The interest is there, but the being is not the one desired. It is the maleness, the realness, the being present. It’s all there, and yet he is not. He is not the one.

Kids, don’t play that record. This is not the convincing game at play. Trust, this realization/conclusion is the laborious effort of all too many sessions of convincing, non-convincing, and slipping again. When the mind wanders, and the poor heart aches, it is only the purveyor of these inane thoughts, this author, who can be trusted. Trust not your weary assumptions.

On the road again… the mind flits back to the image of turning over her shoulder. Hoping not to wake the sleeping giant. Catching a glimpse of the lips parted, or maybe it is the eyes watching her. They’re closed for sure, but they could be… watching. And then, the thoughts. Yes, he must have known these thoughts. For they were so obvious in the beginning. Seeping out from the cracks of her poor heart smile. Evidence of a mind unglued.

There is no truth in these vanities. It is just a simple pattern. Click and rehash. Look and reconsider. To say they are easily stimulated, is to call a spade a spade. It’s a tiresome game, really, but you know… the mind.

So she ponders and wonders and muses a bit. The moment when she glanced up a bit too close and made eye contact with the mouth. Heavy as one would suppose the lip of Henry Miller drooped when he lolled about a cigarette and spoke to his whores. Grotesque. Engorged. Nothing sensual really about the obvious ways they part and shine.

But it still makes her jump. ‘Am I ok?’ The thoughts start racing. The mind again, up to its old tricks. The casual reference to the girl that does share his kiss. Nothing sexy really about the anecdote. So why couldn’t it be as easy to drop it from the mind? Who knows…

The smell of him in the car in the morning is overwhelming. The subtle dustiness of skin and scalp. This is a smell she knows well from father and self. Something shared only in the waking hours, before we face the light. But this morning, the sun is shining bright. And the energy is alive. Bright and early. The tea she drinks is steeped in uncertainty. A poor metaphor for the simple notion that it is not her favorite kind of tea. There’s uncertainty in that, you know. Why did I buy this tea?

And as the sun streams through the window, her quiet contents are mired in the hazy glow of love that streams out from her sunglasses. Past the lenses so carefully crafted, so generously helpful. Lovely and comfortable in the moments like these that require shields to harness her love for humans.

--

Sometimes I love human beings. And I am so frustrated by the fact that I cannot express that automatically in my relationships with men. Always marred by the fact that they are men. So. What.

But I am still giddy with the idea of friendship. A companion to share in the exploits of a warrior’s life lived in ecstasy. Yes, she would like to say to the terrorized ones, there is constant ecstasy - on this planet. And it is living like a slip, tender in the moments that you only share every couple days of the week. Don’t you know these scribble out all the other days, those of the unsavory past that we bemoan on Sundays?

--

So much force in her conversation that she feels as though she is retreating into herself once again. Yet, he is responsive. Gentle, but not failing to touch the topic, to respond. Something precious that only gets trotted out for the members of the tribe, but even so, cautiously. He understands. And moreover, his contribution consists of technologies, made to connect the thoughts that only humans have. Thoughts transmitted by touch. The experiences that turn into ego. That make up our past and inform our present. I mean, how will we ever really understand if we are not standing under one other in every waking moment? There is no conversation, only presentation. Usually.

But this tool, whether by wire or by fingertips, could be the catalyst that reconnects human beings to the whole of their experiences. The shared experience of belonging to the Omniverse. Beyond the collective thought that ruled our tribes and forebears. Great leaps that wail over the wily mess that was once/will have been capitalism. Back to collect the good stuff, but not back to basics. And then bounding off into infinity, evolving with every step. We are there, he thinks. On the precipice.

Yes, I agree. I am intent in this belief, in this mode of evolution. The new institution of love .The institution of being. We are it. A love song for humanity that needn’t share a kiss.

I am charmed by the notion. The touch or transmission that could launch a thousand songs. Buddhists do it. The birds and mycelium do it. So why can’t we all connect?

I am enthralled with this creation. Spellbound for a minute. And completely free of romantic interest. In theory. In the moment. The infinite creations that we are about to release. On different paths. In different cities. With similar intents. I love this.

So, why? (the mind?) Why, the body? Not the body as home, but the catalyst? The sexual thing related to it that has come to seem so dirty. Messy and unappealing. Underwear strewn on the floor, that kind of thing. Who knows…

Would it be any better if this were easier? If she was devoid of genes for libido and didn’t own a mirror? If I had no past experiences, nothing to inform my relation to men? Who knows…

All she knows is that the sun was bright. And on the ride home, it was all she could do to stop her sleepy self from drifting up and curling into the backseat with the most comfortable blanket in the world, to go to sleep. To take a luxurious nap with the sun streaming on my face, as the car coasts home. Just to share in the parallels, the possible vision of two individuals with the core of their world resting in the middle.

For the Fems

Do you chase the joy inside you?

Cause sometimes I feel like a pinball on a guided track.

Like I’ve got levers pushing me up and down, and when I stop pushing for a moment,

I might just collapse to the ground

We’ve all got ideas of our own personal hell

Some folks call it other people

But I call it sitting still

Cause I lose it when I stop moving

Like a shark who can’t stop swimming

So you’ll never glimpse me sitting pretty or waiting for anybody

Who thinks a woman is a biddy that can live on compliments from men

And I’m at my wit’s end with these women who can justify it to themselves

Who quell their inspiration for a feast of shallow ends

Isn’t there something to be said for having my shit together?

Or do I have to weather some leather fetish to be ranked above the rest?

I may be young, but I know what I want

And I don’t have to flaunt this body nor does it have to be gaunt

See that’s the beauty of the beasts

Us off-kilter belles

We’re not just fems for better men, we’re fems for better selves

Cause self-loathing’s quite a bitch

And that beezy Debby Downer was never quite our type of chick

I’m about a balanced diet

About explosions of laughter and conversation that sticks to your ribs

And I’m salty when I’m on fire, so really is there any other that would you have it?

Like Erykah says sometimes, “I’m an artist and I’m serious about my shit.”

Meaning I create for a reason and I live to be creative

So I emote, and I write, and I dance with abandon

Cause sometimes, it’s life that’s demanding

And I’m just unstoppable

I’m like a champagne cork popping off the bottle.

I’m a crooked fighter pilot with quick fingers on the throttle.

I’m like a fuzzy bunny hopping from sipping too much André.

I may look funny when I’m dancing, but that’s just me stomping on Beyoncé.

‘Cause, yeah, I’m a I’m a I’m a – a diva

But a diva could never be a female version of a hustler

We’re so on top of this game that we could turn a pimp into a fluffer.

In fact, I’m going to go so far as to say I’m like Major Lazer’s MC

With 3,000 people at Coachella getting lifted off my energy

Cause I’m the sauna steam, I’m the artist’s dream, I’m on the ladder going up,

And right before I jump,

I’m like a Rasta going off yelling BWUH BWUH BWUH.

You can’t contain me in these moments

Cause I am nothing but energy

I’m just matter and music and pressure and vitality

See synesthesia is a bitch cause it’s difficult to describe

But I couldn’t find another way to get inspired if I tried

Some people say that musicians are like conduits to God

But I don’t get down on bended knee - I make salaam with a head nod.

I believe what I can feel,

You can see it on my face

Fuck a ringing eardrum

I am a devotee of bass

I am as passionate about music as I am about movement

So what’s the use of having limbs if you aren’t going to use them

Us Fems were never meant to be sequestered and contained

And those who try to stop us are attempting to in vain.

There is joy in the chase

And the reward is your breath

You’re invited to try to and match me

But I have yet to meet a dude who can lap me in this mess.

For now I am in love with all of life’s gifts

And I will shimmy through infinity

Until I have nothing left to give.

The Kings

When Suge Knight was King
he had a fuck you attitude
because anything was possible when you were
one intimidating bad dude
He personified the nineties
When nothing got past the media
except for if you knew the
right somebody
Attorneys could fix anything
And robbers got paid!
Now technology is just too
sharp to let anybody contest
what an HD video can say
But Suge Knight is a coward
He got beat up twice
Yeah, I found that out tonight
(Even Google's got some bite)
He's a forty-four year old
baby bemoaning a broken
crown
He says he won't back down
So he takes out his frustration
by pushing women around
Beating up his girlfriend of
3 1/2 years because there aren't
any more pussies in the studio
to inflict the brunt of his fears
It's best to let it go,
Suge,
Cause you've caused enough
of a mess yet
The nineties were about getting
yours
We even had a playboy for a
President
We celebrated Bill in spite of
his deviances
and accepted
when Rwanda went unanswered for
their grievances
Poor old Bill, he just couldn't
live up to his status:
A husband, and a savior,
and a well-intentioned egotist.
He was always committed
to doing big things
Still living up to it with Haiti
He's one of the few remaining Kings
Now when you think about
moguls of today, they must be
living in bulletproof glass encased biodomes
Because a vest couldn't keep Pac
or Biggie on the throne
But Jay-Z, P-diddy, Richard
Branson for chrissakes
They might as well be living
on Pandora
Chasing money's tail 'til
they're blue in the face.
But nobody gives them their due,
Al Gore's a bore,
But Branson maybe,
and nobody gives a fuck about the next
return of Jay-Z,
I mean, what's next,
Live in concert, 2068,
hooked up to a mic,
it's Shawn Carter's brain?
And when I
ever hear P-Diddy's
voice come in like
a toddler with cheetos in his
cheeks, I just cut out
the fat,
It's unhealthy and it's cheap

So where are the Kings,
starting now, in the Year of
the Tiger?
They can't be the club wielding
type, nor the ones who stand
beside them
Maybe Kings are for the '90s
through 2010
and it's time the harem got up
and kicked the pimp out of the
den
Everybody in power is somehow
corrupt
And even if they didn't claim
to be perfect, they're annoying
and I'd rather they shut
the fuck up

I've looked to the past
And once there was one
We all know that Jesse Jackson,
Al Gore, and even Barack Hussein Obama
Can't hold a candle to
King's son. So apart from Martin
Jr., who is the public
to look up to?
It' sure ain't the Kings of
the last decade or two.

So why don't we stop
holding on to the same idea
of who our next leader
has to be? For god's sake
let's have some originality;
Peace before power, Accord before
war, cure before prevention,
and ennoble the poor.

This isn't the job of some
modern day royalty.
These are actions that
we can manifest in our
every day reality!

If you're scared, that's because
you're a human being
But if you don't believe in your
own power
Then what do you have left
to believe in?

T.I. said it best, but now
he's in prison for slipping
So at the risk of sounding
cocky, I'm going to declare
us all Kings.

Say it: I'm a King

Say it; I'm a King

Say it, You're a King.

An old vista

The stars in Madagascar are
unabashed
They descend upon the sky
Like a curtain on the horizon
Enveloping something that isn't there
They shroud the air
And sing
Their whole sound engulfing you
So it's sink or swim
You can step into liquid,
Or hang onto the rim
They meet the rooftops of buildings
Swelling so
So much that you might retreat inside
Once I woke up in the middle of
the night
And I thought I was blind
All that I could see were sweet
punctures of light
Seeping beneath my irises
An iridescent longing to which I thought
I was immune
Now the Desert doesn't compare
With its majestic sand dunes
No, not all grains of the
Mojave could hold a candle to
the moon
And those fiery orbs of light
In Madagascar, starry night, alina kintana
"night star"
I'm remembering when you struck me
and who your victims are

Wanda!

I love to watch women older than me
worship
And revel in the beauty
of years younger
Exclaim at the difference

I wonder whether they
worship the old as I do
putting blind faith into the
human spirit

The unreasonable love for artistic passion,
that spews forth from their veins,
vocal cords exploding with pleasure
Because they know no other sound than
the sound of their right voice

Mine is malleable as of yet
Prying in its truthfulness
Supplicating and soft in wonder
And deepening in affected wisdom

-----------------------------------------

Wanda!

You've inspired the gall in me
to write this
and yet I'm sheepish in
your presence

I rehearse
the words
trying to control the situation
in an attempt to make it perfect

They come out before you
Beseeching as ever before
I am uninhibited
as of yet -
emboldened
to a certain extent

Concreteness is a virtue

But I come down on high
trying to meet and connect
I am boastful in a
way
Saccharine in earnest-
ness, in an attempt to
be loved by you

I am better with the
bass-player man
The one who slaps
family across his chest
I like him better because
he smiles warmly

Yet I yearn for your
embrace
The acceptance in your
face
The would-be enabling of
my reverie
and grounds for your respect.