Friday, April 28, 2006


No matter who well things are going in this lifetime, I continue to loose my breath when I think of her transistioning. That undescribable gasping for air feeling hits at mundane times: while getting dress, or cleaning floors, or listening to music, or driving to the store, or making the sweetest love. Then, there other times when I laugh so hard thinking of something she did or said, it feels like old times. Even though I realize that I can't go into our house, confidently knowing that she'd be waiting for me on the sofa, surrounded in blankets, uneaten food, bottles of pills--still managing to smile, I miss those days. Even though I hated her doctor, hospital, and most of the nurses, I miss calling Dr. Awujo a gazillion times scheduling meetings to cuss his ass out, sneaking wheatgrass into the hospital, and fussing at the nurses for not administering the pain medication on time. I miss that sweet cleaning lady who'd visit my mother daily and told me how much we looked alike. I miss riding the elevator to the 4th floor and exchanging pleasantries with the nurses on duty. I miss that fabulous nurse Bridgett, who could easily pass for 25, wild afro and comforting stare, always assuring me that everything would be ok and making me and mums feel special. I miss the soon to be retired security guard, who would wait patiently to walk me to the parking garage, knowing that I always left a couple a minutes after visiting hours were over. I miss talking to my sister about any and everything and having her update me on mums' status while I was worked. I miss leaving on those cold, dark nights and hearing my mother strain her vocal corsds to say "wear your seatbelt" or "what time are you coming back tomorrow" or "i'll be fine," or "stop wearing holey jeans up here, they gonna think you're homeless."

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Author, Character, Audience

Blogging for me, sometimes, is like cleaning out an old, cluttered closet-I know my closet is a mess; Yet when others come over, I close my closet door to hide my junk, pretending like my shit's pristine and nicely folded; I know that once I start cleaning, I won't stop until I've put all my junk outside for everybody and their pack rat grandmamas to witness and sift through. Yet cleaning up would create more space to move about and create new projects, allow me to breathe deeper with fresh unoccupied space, and 'lean wit it; rock wit it' after job well done.

I wonder if blogging would be easier if I was anonymous. A photoshoped pic. Book, without pictures. Or a grainy photo from the neck down. Oftentimes, I wish my blog was less self-centered and more about "a friend of mine" who, lets say, went to fetish party and was completely disgusted at the "she" saw ;) or centered around health and wellness issues cause that's my shit or the state of the union, or some other bs I could really crap on.

When I first began blogging, I gave my circle of friends my blog address,then I added that address to my signature in e-mails. I was too happy to share, especially with my sistergals. Yet a part of me did not think that any one would really take the time to read a single word, so I wrote freely. Unfortunately I was wrong and those insominiacs actually read my blog and sent me text messages letting me know :), not realizes I have to pay Sprint an insane amount of money per text :(. Methinks reading my blog probably bored them into REM sleep and was a panacea for sleepless nights, but that's another story :P ; but I rather believe that I have a vewwy interesting life :), coz it makes me feel super-kewl. After a few months of blogging, I deleted all the salacious posts that were more or less about fucking:(, hating that I cared what others thought and realizing that I could not hand out that "she's so innocent" card anymore and created generic posts around happiness. In one breath, it's reallllly, realllly flattering for ANYONE to actually read and gasp! comment on what i've written (and humbling since I've connected with so many wonderful bloggers that actually can write and spell). but in the next breath, it makes me afraid to blog about my experiences and what's really on my mind, which teeters on the line of sex, books, woman, health, music, the outdoors, creating stuff, and earthy centered-pagan-metaphysical stuff (not necessarily in this order). Plus since I write better when I'm completely free and find small ways to detach from what "others" may think, especially when some of those "others" are friends and acquaintances (that i actually know in the "real" world ) that may not be aware of whatever it is I choose to share. The irony is that online I'm so open and all quasi-crunk but in my "real" life I'm a recluse, extremely private, and not much of a Gemini talker. So after writing very passionately about a rather serious incident that I experienced that not only exposes me but also someone else, which is not the reason for the post , and going round and round with mind chatter and wondering how could I be honest and share what's in my heart without discussing too much of my bizness, I saved that post as a draft. coz I ain't ready to go on stage without my costume, even for an imagined audience. Unfortunately sharing stories with a circle of women (and menfolk that cry) is a favorite passtime; therefore, the sense of urgency to express through writing is overwhelming.

Taking my pics down doesn't make me feel less vulnerable since I am still the author, the charactor, and in a small way, apart of the audience (whether real or perceived). However that side of me that freely exposes it's shaved head will prevail soonish. She realizes that we are ALL actors in our homegrown play, foolishly trying to receive that standing ovation from the audience we create in our minds. And she will publish that post, knowing that doing so will be her freedom. And whatever judgements, chatter, and missteps that follow is REALLY OK. Leaping into the boundless and making it her home, perhaps a day late and dollar short, but always on time. Blogging about life can be frustrating when you have a face and name. Such is life they say, that I suppose could be my gift because I have the opportunity to say "fuck it," be in a real rider popping wheelies and all, and not stay silent or long to be nameless and faceless, something I would rather not do. All things considered, I would not rather be in any other place cause I dearly love and appreciate my life, value and heart my friends, acquaintances, and strangers that reflect un/known parts of myself and expose me to new worlds and experiences, and give thanks that I allow my Self a chance to catch my 2nd wind on endless race with infinite meets at age of 29 or I prefer almost 3-0, cheah (grown ass woman --folk)!!! So in many ways, blogging may not be that much easier if I was ANON, because I would still be hiding "something." Soon I'll be butt-mango nekkid again dancing in a middle of Saturday night's drum circle, almond oiled out, with breasts swinging and eyes wide open, feeling perfectly fine AS IS.

Friday, April 21, 2006


backflipping into the boundless and making it my home....and feeling perfectly fine.

i don't have any other space to occupy so i'll just myself permission to sit comfortably in the middle of no where and be perfectly fine.

My yoga instructor said to me as I was leaving "where you going? got plans for the weekend?" I told her that I was going to be superproductive and sit on my ass and BE!! where ever I choose to be or if i'm lucky, fkjfk dkfjj moi sdkddd(geez it was joke!!!). She laughed and said "I think you're finally getting it."

I don't know if i'll ever get "it," but what i do know is that i will continue to give love, have raunchy fun, connect with my adopted kin, and enjoy the experience while giving the middle finger to unfavorable outcomes.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Waving My Death card

*snippets of a song and poem (of sorts) in progress merge into one (sort of) something or another that clearly reflects present moment>/<

disguised as tears
deeply exfoliate my oval face
like red clay
pressed on top of melanin
as i merge with the deep blue sky
a new day has begun
death hooked itself to my phalanges
i am reborn
still vunerable as before
somewhat thinner
not quite a sage
yet wise
not quite as pretty
yet magnetically attractive
reflecting my mother's grace

i stood present so long
i am now a curvy rain goddess
cleansing the earth
and disseminating rainbows
every time my heart beats
or back arches
the dampness 'turns back' my hair
my afro beautifies me
the universe swells up
like a ripened 30 year old woman.
my emotions release
the fantasy
choosing to give birth and
real eyes absolute truth
of existence

i stand naked
as my former lover
dying to
hang out
show gratitude
playfully tease
the reflection i've knowingly neglected
seal what's been ruptured
dust off the damage
what nearly died

disguised as tears
deeply exfoliate my oval, aging face
like red clay
pressed on top of melanin
as i merge with the deep blue sky
a new day has begun
death hooked itself to my phalanges
but i ain't afraid this time
no(oooo), not this time
i am reborn

i'm reaaaady
i'm reaaaady
i'm reaaaady
" "

written by: India A.

*Picture: My favorite tarot card DEATH.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

sistren LOVEship

just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge my sistren(those close, far away, visible, distant, and unknown), my daily bread-- to give thanks for those uninterrupted moments spent with women who introduce me to new parts of my self and assist in expanding my world daily. i should be in the bed but i'm a frozen bubble of gratitude for women, especially my colorful sistren, and had the sense of urgency to express my thankfulness. nyt.

painting: gabrilla ballard "she flies"