Sunday, November 27, 2005


See, now, this is the sole reason why i don't throw fabric away, no matter how ugly it looks. Geezzzz, would you look at the stitching on this knapsack/bag back/workout bag/whatever else kinda of bag. I revamped some dusty curtains, probably older than me, I found in my mums' attic into this thing. I'm sure that it's quite obvious by the multi-pattern that the curtains weren't even a lil' bit cute, but my mama loves her some colorful curtains. Anyway I cut the curtains into 8 large squares. Then cut 1/2 of the panel into little squares, sowed the squares together (with mums helps), attached the revamped panel to the base, added two big straps in the back from a busted canteen jug, cut out some holes in the top, added strings for a drawstring closure, also added an ametuer lining inside...and would you fooky lucky here. Look closer and you will a fake pocket on the side I added for...shoot...i dunno but it made it coo.

Aww how coo is that stitching? There are some raggedy areas in the back (ok, on the left side too) but overrall it came out well. Methinks it may be large enough to put all my junk in. INSERT BIG GRIN HERE!!!!

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Building Alhambra

Photo Cred: Val "Val's Room"--Thanks sis....

(Edited Version)

it’s 7 a.m.
sun colors my blinds
haunting whispers of Nina
skip on vinyl
i have a heartache
and a sleepy hard-on
you should be here, there
as i lay
a yogini in child pose
folding into myself for comfort
a frown
drowns my face
existence simple yet stagnant
nights are too much to handle
behind my stares
in a constant place of anticipating
your distinct smell
arousing my olfactory
grant me this wish in time(less)
of having your
perfectly umkempt locs revisit my face
lips leaving traces
a seamless kiss that attacks the
small of my back
your torso responds to
the dance
of my appreciative little,
shaky hands
fingers leaping into the boundless
making that shit our home
not as womyn, but as celestial bodies
searching the curves underneath the curves
the prana sychronizes us
turns gangsta
unselfishly sharing
ripened fruits
ready to be eaten
two lotuses became one
entangled like a
harnessing up to longboard
as pros
on an inseparable wave of
from un/known places
an amalgamation
of tears, sweat, and cum, nature
dampens our soil
as we collapse in each other’s arms
still i lay here, a teary-eyed
yogini in child pose, wondering
a woman could
think this moment
--Indiana Jones

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


I love anthologies. Reading the varied prospectives on a subject keeps me awake. Currently, I am reading "Naked: Black Women Bare All About Their Skin, Hair, Hips, Lips, and Other Parts." And it spawned my urgency to write a snippet of my personal ‘naked’ story:

Aaron nicknamed me Torpedo. It wasn’t because I could effortlessly outrun the all the boys in Thomasville Heights Proj. Nor because I was dark, gangly, and unusually tall for a gymnast. It was merely because I had large nipples at 10. I remember this naming ceremony like it was yesterday. I walked out the house with my freshly activated hair pulled back, baggy jeans, and dirty dunks, ready to shuck and jive with my boys. As I walked towards them, Aaron yelled out, "Torpedo. Look at her torpedoes." When I asked him what he was talking about, he pointed at my chest and made awful jokes about my nipples resembling torpedoes. Visually horrified, I wondered who put this rootwork on me and how I could quickly remedy this situation . Whenever I was spotted by one of the boys, they would collectively hum this gawd-awful Shaft-inspired tune, yell "Torpedo," and pitchy laughter would ensue. They were hugely responsible for the shame I felt about my body at this time. I hated those bastards.

Like most young girls, I discovered that in a patriarchal system, most of a woman’s worth is measured by how attractive she appears to the opposite sex. Because of constant compliments, catcalls, flowers, dinner invites directed at my mother from men, she was my template of beauty. She was always naked and I studied her like an artist studies people, especially her breasts. She would cook in the nude with the phone receiver in one hand, my nephew on her hip, and chaos in her space. I remember her nearly D-cup breasts appearing brown, symmetrical, soft, and full. With the slightest bit of movement, they danced to a djembe rhythm only a melanin women could inspire. My mother did not breastfeed me and I remember awkward moments of being jealous of my sister and brother because they had the opportunity to experience that union. In my late teens, I sucked the breasts of a woman that reminded me of my mother. I was searching for my mother's milk, as most people do unknowingly.

As I continue to expand, it’s been revealed that the actions of sex and love are not the same. The first love is being nourished in the nectar of the truth (breast-feeding) and last love being love of the self (the self, being all things). I'm trying refrain from being arrogant in saying that ALL women should breast-feed their children, but I frankly, I wish more women would simplify our existence enough to do so.I don't know how I got started on breast feeding and clearly this entry did not go as planned but this is the way my mind has been working for the last month or so. Anyhoo, my relationship with my body is healthier than it use to be. I don’t dress to attract attention; quite, the opposite, I suppose. Despite being underrepresented in the popular world, I know I’m sexy and have love affair my curves. Wearing stretch jeans, shorts skirts, tattered shirts, spandex or even ol’ school checkered baggy pants is merely for me. I don’t need fucking validation anymore. Do you know how many times I’ve fucked for some goddamn validation?? SERIOUSLY :o). This book was kinda kewl to read, but honestly, I heard those stories over and over again. I’ve created a new reality for myself. The space where I occupy completely reflects me as a goddess.healer.sage.journeywoman.artsyfartsy.African(american)Woman. As I patiently wait to sit at the feet of my sisters, with legs comfortably folded and tea steeping, sharing our untold stories, I hold the vision that that time will surely come.


INDIAna Jones and Temple of Everything on the freaking Planet....muahhh!!

Monday, November 07, 2005

Ya, Today feels Good

"....Come one we belong
Where mystic is strong
Home in a butterfly song
And today, ya today feels good..." Cree Summer "Soul Sister"

I had an amazing day today. Nothing extraordinary happened and actually the day started off quite painful. I woke with this intense headache that's been ongoing for a couple of days. My sister suggested it was probably my wisdom teeth that my orthodontics recommended I get extracted months ago. I cried a Nile River this morning. We drove to an oral surgeon and got very lucky because he was able to see me and I only had to pay $70 bucks. The brother was very nice and took care of me. I'm chillin now; painfree minus any wisdom tho;O).

I went to our community pharmacy and the pharmacist asked me if I was my mother's daughter because of the odd last name. Then she asked how she was doing and I gave her an unconvincing "ok." She told me that she remembers my mom because she has "such a sweet nature" and then told me I'd inherited her nature. I was all smiles, awwwws, and thankful for the that compliment and her words just reinforced what I already knew about my little lady. I told my mom that she shines her light in the world, so much so, that it has to be a gift from GOD/DESS. She nodded her head in agreement.

I love seniors. Seriously I do. My mum is an active member of the SouthEast Senior Club and those ladies involved are just bundles of joy to be around. They come over everyday in their multicolored floral dresses and arcopedico shoes (just as cute as they wanna be) and bring my mom and me soups, ice tea, fruit, or anything else we need. They talked about Reverend such and so, asked me about my imaginary boyfriend, who is actually my best friend ;O), but since my mum approves of him, I let them have that one for free:D.

After ruminating for a few seconds, I can't quite put into words why today feels so good; it just does. I know that everyday won't be like today and I ok with that. Gawd what is it? The air, the weather (wore my flip flops), the people...I don't know. It just all felt beautiful and I must admit that I felt beautiful. It feels like I am headed to a fantastical place full speed ahead with my Wonderwoman undies on.VRoom-VRooommmm baby! When my mum initally became sick, I dreaded the experience and became depressed. Really, our experiences are the purposely given to assist us in actualizing our divine self. Plus, we have the tools needed to aid us in mastering the experience because the tools are innately within. Talk about beautilicious--uhoh uhoh uhuhoh.., it's all that and then some, and some mo. Making love to the experience sounds corny but it's real. Because what's the alternative? Getting upset, making yourself depressed, becoming ill, and weakening your immune system, thus making your self susceptible to all kinds of dis-ease and creating all kinds of imbalances in your body...Naw, I choose to pass the basketball and use up the clock, rather than to take a 3 pointer with 5 secs left and my team is up by 1. I'd rather change my focus, continue to eat healthy, exercise, quiet my mind, surround myself with good people and embrace the experience, realizing that I had to have it inorder to be as lovely as I am today. I pray and truly believe that I will remember this when hill gets too hard to climb.

Also I want to give thanks for the women whom I've ever made a connection with in my life; be it, platonic or otherwise. Just because---

The feeling is coming back in the space where my wisdom teeth occupied--Must find pain med now dammit

Sending tight hugs, huge smiles, and sips of silver needle tea (google the benefits),

I (mbear)

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Mission Accomplished

Gemini Horoscope for week of November 3, 2005

In the 1670s a British naturalist named Robert Plot discovered what we now recognize to be the first dinosaur fossil ever found by a scientist. It was the femur of a Megalosaurus, though back then no one knew what it was. Taxonomist Richard Brookes, a contemporary of Plot, made an educated guess. He believed it was the petrified scrotum of Adam, the first man. I believe a comparable scenario will soon unfold in your life, Gemini. Through ignorance or inexperience, a potentially rich discovery may initially be misidentified. It will be your job to reject premature conclusions, keep everyone's mind open, and organize a quest for the unpredictable truth.