boi

March 28, 2011

yur  on ma counter top   boI
yur   all up all in my nose    boi  O
yur   on my    in my mind space     BoI  O
i'm   in over my     outta my     mind   space  BOI

Power Play

March 27, 2011

pleasantries powerfully placating
you insecure maiden less made in
rest assure the best assurance was paid
via check ins so check less it happens
your way  as all always  as always

My dad and Teets (his mother) came to spend the night at my place last night, bringing along the best of the world the sensory palate could ever indulge in:

Sounds

-Arabic music playing loudly off  youtube

-Dad’s online poker game registering coins falling loudly per all major wins through the wee hours of the night

-Teets yelling and cursing her minions over the phone for hours on in for falling short on numerous shady-unspoken directives

Smells

-the fond childhood aroma of stale-choking cigarette smoke

-Wet-hot-stinky-Arab-cheese

-Dad yelling at my dogs for not understanding his detailed directives. Ex. ‘Come Lezzy (not my dog’s name) sit over here by this chair and be a good boy (not my dog’s gender) so I don’t hit you.’ Said twice more, steadily increasing decibels, until Teets yelled at dad to stop yelling so loud when she was trying to yell over the phone.

Sights

-Teets yelling at dad in Arabic and cursing that he is her son.

-Dad playing on the computer, trying to pull up Egyptian singers and Al-Jazeera while vibrantly relaying his most recent, overly dramatized escapades, as well as letting off steam about how Teets won’t get off his back and give him his space and let him live his life.

The highlight of the night,as far as I’m concerned (besides my father’s unparalleled story telling), was definitely a point where I caught dad looking up from the computer screen and gazing at Teets (in what genuinely seemed like a very nostalgic and affectionate manner, to the otherwise untrained eye) while she was literally screaming on the phone to someone about something that hadn’t been done ‘according to plan’. I asked my dad what he was thinking (which I rarely do, for various and unrelated reasons) and his gaze moved slowly and thoughtfully from Teets (his mother and life-long critic/supporter) to me.

“Y’know, (long pause and big eyes and sincere soft smile all unfolding before me)..that    woman     really    makes me miserable.”

This made me laugh pretty damn hard.

My laughing so hard then made my dad start laughing too (dad sincerely loves to make people laugh and I think its what I adore most about him).

Then Teets, sensing herself implicated in the genesis of said laughter, perked her stout torso up directly to address us, putting her minion on hold just long enough to question and accuse dad of making fun of her in English while rattling  off some heartfelt string of calculated insults (in Arabic, of course) about dad and his ways with a disappointing and judgmental look only a mother can administer to tear open the heart of her runts while seamlessly ripping their life spirit from their jugulars without ever –technically– having layed a finger on them. My Teets is a 4 ft 11 inch, stout little ole’ bad-ass motherf**** and will cut you and feed you to your kids if you get in the way of her weekly Wal-Mart and church and flea market itineraries OR any of her otherwise nefarious, profit-driven initiatives. She’s a real cutie though and people just eat her up. It makes sense though, if someone challenged me to package pure evil in a meat suit no one would ever suspect, I don’t think I could have come up with a better template than my dear, sweet Teets.

God, I really love that woman.

satellite streaming

March 25, 2011

where will we 

meet
 again

 star
 galaxy glider

 you have my heart

and hang for your hollow ways

Moving your mouth       to pull out all your miracles

aimed for me.”

-Neutral Milk Hotel, Oh Comely

I may get sloppy and paint over everything with this idea that I love you because I love to believe it is possible for me to feel incredibly, irrationally, unequivocally attached to really anything or anyone at all but as bad as I am at telling real from becoming from nothing I know very well how unreal that seed is no matter how many times I intend to intend on planting it and nurturing and growing it knowing it dies where it lies in lies time after time and this time is no different.

Stagnation

March 24, 2011

procrastinating
 on negating
 everything
 everyone
 perspire ating
 waiting
 fating
 in anticipation
 of deviation
 desecration
 abomination
 deterioration
 dearth
 rebirth
 reconfigure
 go figure
 you were the trigger

poor long term memory

March 24, 2011

Whatever I just love the idea of you I am creating
and thank you for mapping it on so charismatically
I love feeling this way and if only I could externalize pedal my desires like this always
onto your meat suit and you can use me too truly you don't know me
truly you have no idea how painful it will probably be
for you
stranger random reckless
troubling troubled
tear it up on the the dance floor
side by side
an aside and aside
to our lives

to life

thesis

March 23, 2011

Benjamin Button
Alice in Wonderland
Janie Crawford
Mahatmas Gandhi

Is the title of a great book I was forced to read when I couldn’t fully appreciate it back in high school. It’s on my mind now as I think about the main character, an African American female navigating through much more constraining and oppressive reality frames in order to realize a similar journey to our friends Kerouac and the cat from Into the Wild on their liberating misadventures. I, understandably, identify more with her perspective and the recounting of her unpacking process of novel experience packets. Poignantly, today, was my somewhat fragmented recollection of some probably quasi-monologue style literary-delivery she proffered aloud (or to herself or in some momentary aside) where she transcended the judgment of fellow travelers (far less invested in her own liberation or growth or Truth than to the salvaging of their own ego and narrative continuity) just long enough to lament the absurdity of the ridicule projected upon her for not wearing black in honor of the death of one of her partners (if I recall correctly a husband with little life and flair for what was really motivating and inspiring to the searching free soul). Why would you wear black for one day longer than you were actually actively feeling grieving? That was the gist of her experience processing and I (of course and like the auxiliary characters in the novel) judged her harshly at the time for not having respect for her husband or his loved ones or herself or societal norms and tradition. Oh, full circles, Mary, always full circles. I understand now. I am so sorry I ever judged the wisdom of another perspective so narrowly and with such minimal first person experience. May I learn from that mistake by embracing the first person experience for a second time now, just to make sure to mitigate a relapse in judging others ever again in the same or similar spheres of existence.

March 22, 2011

Nope.
No way.
Way out.
Not again.
Behind the scenes.
Believe it is not personal.
It is fake and tired and taxing.
So I am out.