I AM an Island!

The Thirst

2012-01-01T00:41:00.000-05:00

It started out innocently enough, until my craving turned insatiable. Walking down the street has become torturous as I see potential preys within an arms length away. There was a time when this need was given to me daily and often, like a baby having regular feedings and then in a blink of an eye it was rationed out.

Every day I go without, I feel less pliable, I am changing.

I walk pass a group of kids with my hands stuffed in my pockets, they stop and stare as their ball rolls in my direction. I slow down, this is my chance. I look around and wonder if they can see that I am thirsty. The hairs on my arm stand at attention as the youngest child moves closer. My heart beat skips and the street sounds dissipates into a frantic, high speed drumming in my ears. I pull my hands out of my pocket and can no longer see straight as I bend down searching.

A soft breeze hits my face when the youngest grabs the ball and steps back mumbling “Sorry”. The blood drains from my face and my vision clears up to the reality. I stand up, run my hands over my mouth and quickly stuff them back in my pockets as I scurry away.

Each missed opportunity, I become a stone gargoyle guarding the entrance of all things soft and light.

I stare at my computer screen which is full of pictures of prospects. I could ask someone out on a date, something simple like coffee at Starbucks cause dudes are so cheap these days. I replied to one who looked interesting enough and waited for his reply. I swear I never get a word in edge wise and have long given up thinking these calls were about me.

This house needs some heat cause my heart is becoming an icebox.

As I sat over my second cup of chai it’s evident that dude peeked in and decided to stand me up. Fucker! He doesn’t know how lucky he is. I stand up and robotically walk towards the door when in walks an old colleague who I hadn’t seen in ages. She catches me off guard and hugs me tight.

I become soft as play dough, her touch was like a cold glass of water in the hot sun. I felt every atom in my body sigh in relief. My skin was hungry for touch and I am satiated for now.

Perfect Peace by Daniel Black

2011-06-23T12:24:00.005-04:00

The story was set in a small town in Arkansas in the 1950s. A mother's yearning for a daughter causes her to do the unthinkable after giving birth to her seventh son. She decides to raise the son as a girl, who she names Perfect. The Peace family is special and gifted yet the times force them to work hard and walk the straight and narrow until they can't any longer. The emotions this books evokes and the depth of the characters make it surprisingly believable.

My heart went out to Perfect when the truth was revealed because of how raw and harsh it was. I couldn't even begin to imagine how confusing it was to find out who you thought you were was nothing but a lie. And most of all, for everyone to know because all the ribbons, dresses and frills have been stripped away. Perfect went from being loved and adored and treated special to being ridiculed, talked about and treated as if he was a freak. No longer perfect, now he must navigate through gender issues, sexuality, and societal values to become the man he was born to be.

Emma Jean, the mother, had her own demons that she dealt with as a woman and it reflected on her relationship with her husband, Gus and her children. She truly felt that having a daughter would give her a chance to prove her worth as well as allow her to relive a childhood she didn't have. Overall, she was a miserable woman who never grew up or let go of her past pains to see the pains she caused to those who loved her the most.

The writing technique mostly focused on the present moment yet, there were a few times when dealing with the brothers that the author gave an overview of how/where their life proceeds once they leave the house, almost as a rites of passage since they were no longer "main" characters, even though they remained within the present storyline just not as prominent. Interesting technique!

Back at it...

2011-06-06T12:37:00.003-04:00

No point in attempting to get caught up. Much has happened yet this is normal in my book of life.

I have been contemplating what happiness means to me and focusing on making moves towards living a life that honors this moment for moment. In this pursuit to live my best life, I realize that I also have to learn what makes me tick and allow myself to jump off the edge so I can truly fly.

I do know that I have to work on how I feel about how others feel about me. I am not perfect but I enjoy being and doing me without explanation. Deep down it pains me when I have to explain my behavior or decisions.

I plan on writing a few letters to people today. I figure as much as I LOVE mail someone else has to love it as well. Plus I need to reach out more and maintain the few relationship I have.

The Courage to be Myself

2010-10-27T23:21:00.003-04:00

The Courage to be Myself
I have the courage to...
Embrace my strengths
Get excited about life
Enjoy giving and receiving love
Face and transform my fears
Ask for help and support when I need it
Spring free of the Superwoman trap
Trust myself
Make my own decisions and choices
Befriend myself
Complete unfinished business
Realize that I have emotional and practical rights
Talk as nicely to myself as I do to my plants
Communicate lovingly with understanding as my goal
Honor my own needs
Give myself credit for my accomplishments
Love the little girl within me
Overcome my addiction to approval
Grant myself permission to play
Quit being a responsibility sponge
Feel all of my feelings and act on them appropriately
Nurture others because I want to, not because I have to
Choose what is right for me
Insist on being paid fairly for what I do
Set limits and boundaries and stick by them
Say "yes" only when I really mean it
Have realistic expectations
Take risks and accept change
Grow through challenges
Be totally honest with myself
Correct erroneous beliefs and assumptions
Respect my vulnerabilities
Heal old and current wounds
Favor the mystery of Spirit
Wave good-bye to guilt
Plant "flower," not "weed" thoughts in my mind
Treat myself with respect and teach others to do the same
Fill my own cup first, then nourish others from the overflow
Own my own excellence
Plan for the future but live in the present
Value my intuition and wisdom
Know that I am lovable
Celebrate the differences between men and women
Develop healthy, supportive relationships
Make forgiveness a priority
Accept myself just as I am now

Taken from a poster in my old room at my dad's by sue patton thoele

Foodie Inspired!

2010-10-27T23:08:00.002-04:00

(Pre-Clean Eating Plate)
I’ve been thinking about going to culinary school for quite sometime now however, I’m on the last leg of receiving my Masters in Industrial Organizational Psychology. I recently found a website that links all food bloggers together and boy did it inspire me! I don’t necessarily HAVE to go to culinary school to be a cook. I admit I have this subconscious tickler that likes to strike experiences off the list though.

I’ve learned years ago, how relaxing cooking makes me and I even attributed LOVE to me WANTING to share my food with another person. During my stint in Asia, when I traveled I collected recipes and cooking techniques instead of the typical souvenir. It was beautiful and delicious! I think last year, I started withholding that I COULD cook to men I dated until I felt they deserved to know that piece of info. Why would I do this? Well, I found that men would stick around much longer for the homecooked meal (compliments to the chef but what about the women, I digress).

Growing up, I had an aversion to cooking maybe because my stepmom always linked MARRIAGE to it. The feminist in me was not feeling that idea at ALL however, this feminist learned to cook for HERSELF. I realized she LOVED it!!!

Today, I spent an hour chopping up veggies and bagging them for easy assess. I am salivating at the thought of making Panang curry tomorrow over a bed of brown rice. As a foodie, I am also working on being a clean eater so it challenges me to re-think the things I swoon over and figure out how to make them clean. I would like to be more creative and adventurous as a cook so I have some ways to stretch my culinary skills.

What is your favorite food?

The State of Matrimony

2010-03-11T20:48:00.001-05:00

Throughout my life, I have had a few differing ideals to marriage. Before, I address them I would like let the record show what I saw in my life of relationships.

My parents were married because it was the RIGHT thing to do since my mom had gotten pregnant. They didn't last long cause I don't have a memory of them ever being together. My dad remarried while my mom married and divorced. My paternal grandparents have been married forever and a day and my maternal grandmother has been married twice.

I grew up seeing people love real hard or holding back and not being successful. I only dreamed of the wedding because all the other girls were doing it. I talked about the man I would marry, how many kids we would have and where/how we would live yet it never resonated deep in my soul as a necessity for my happiness.

I secretly felt that marriage was a type of bondage that stole from people. I remember watching women's wrestling before I realized it was fake and being fascinated by the power thus saying I would marry a weak man who I could jack-up against the wall and make him do as I say. (Yes, I was kinda crazy...lol) After her second marriage, my mom confirmed my secret feeling by telling me that in love/marriage you lose a part of yourself. So, I didn't really want a weak man I just knew I would have to fight to be and keep ME.

I questioned my femininity because I didn't feel like the girls did about marriage so in my militant self-defined feminism I resorted to saying I would only get married if I could have both a husband AND a wife. Although, I could never truly imagine being married to a woman...too emotionally needy for me (I'm the only one allowed to be overly emotional in relationship).

I've never really imagined a wedding, a dress or even the cake. I think about being embarrassed about kissing and showing all that affection in public even among intimate company. I have avoided being in weddings by opting to be the Mistress of Ceremony ensuring their dream is fulfilled.

Sadly, I've seen how things change once people marry and even how cheating continues. So, what's the point in getting married? This confuses me deeply. I'm the type who struggles with moving forward if I'm perplexed by a step in the process.

I totally understand people when they say they are single until they say "I do" too bad, even some married folks think they still are. I'm a loyalist so even though there is no ring on his hand, I won't give him the time of the day if I know he is in a exclusive dating relationship (despite it ALL I'm a major romantic and I love love).

Could I marry for benefits? I'd consider but there are so many other things to factor in. Would I marry to help someone become an American? I had this proposed to me once but again the factors.

Ultimately, I don't think marriage is for everyone however, society puts pressure on people to do so instead of just living their lives in a love that works for them. I would be fine with a life partner that believed in a lifelong commitment without succumbing to the traditions of marriage just because. We would do it because we felt deeply affected by NOT doing it and believed we wouldn't take pieces of self from each other.
Grow and evolve with me for the betterment of all,

Being a Professional Student

2010-03-02T19:25:00.002-05:00

Last year in June, I began pursuing my Masters in Industrial Organizational Psychology with an online program through the Chicago School of Professional Psychology. I was nervous since I had been out of school for twelve years but felt that if I waited another year I wouldn't return even though I didn't feel that online studies would work for me.

My first few weeks, I was a bit confused not by the material but by my resistance to the entire experience. One, I felt like I was in solitary confinement with sensory deprivation. I wasn't hearing, feeling anything through the vast amount of reading that I had paddle through. I love to read but not everything. Second, the first couple of class yielded very little instructor participation so to me it was the blind leading the blind. I didn't like this concept at all and made me question what my tuition was paying for. Third, I've never been the type to feel it necessary to speak because however, the graded discussions require you and all your classmates to answer the same question and then reply to atleast one to three with significant contributions to the thread. I understand the idea but honestly, I lose most of my points because I hate being redundant, searching for something significant to add and speaking for grade sake. Lastly, the material makes some sense but not enough to ease my nerves since I've never worked in the field so my applied lesson always seem very bare-bones compared to my colleagues (yeah, yeah, I know I shouldn't compare myself to others).

I've taken loads of assessments from MBTI, DISc to 360 Feedback and have learn much about myself however, I think the exceleration of the program along with life prohibits me from internalizing the information.

I'm pushing through school as best I can (Class 2011), thankful that I don't have kids to add to my mental obligations. I hope it will all make sense one day though but I've always wanted a Masters in this field so I'm in it to win it. Working full time adds an additional dimension to going to school.

What would I do with the degree? Well, my dream job is to be a dream maker and help other reach their goals yet I would love to work a few years at the Center for Creative Leadership since leadership and organizational effectiveness is my specialization.

The Problem with Positivity

2010-03-02T00:52:00.001-05:00

The law of attraction aka the secret stays in the forefront of my mind as I watch and listen to people talk about what it has done for them. I have a pal who had a man whisper to her he knew the "secret" and it sent her on a uplifting journey in her life. She is truly doing the damn thang! I'm proud of her for living the secret and like that she keeps it real.

I use to have another pal who I met when I first moved to New York. We met at the library in a career workshop and the thing that bugged me about her the most was how positive she was. I just that the extreme of it was surreal and she had to be overcompensating for something. I let her go because I saw her truth and my gut was right.

The problem with positivity is that any other emotion becomes a weakness in the eye of the beholder. Honestly, I don't believe a person can be positive all day everyday yet in my quest for personal emotional balance, I seek happiness. In that world, I am positive but I'm also vulnerable enough to show ALL of myself.

The problem with positivity is the state of perfection it puts on a person. I typically get down on myself about things and as I've been told before "We have enough critics to not be our cheerleader." Even they aren't perfect but they look good trying. They fall from the top of a pyramid, cry a bit and then try again with either trust or trepidation.

The problem with positivity is negativity. You must not think or even worse speak about the cons instead live in Pollyanna's world. This wrong, I guess as a Libra I believe is weighing my options, the good and bad before I jump into a situation. For some, they would say I lack faith and I would reply "blind faith" is how Jim Jones got hundreds of people to move away from their families and drink the kool-aid. Others will say, to obsess on life's cons is to plant retarded seeds into the universe.

Maybe, but a balance must be struck between positivity and being authentic. People shouldn't appear hyprocritical for stating the facts on a situation that is not in the best interest the individual OR even feeling anything but positive in this moment. Sadly, unless I'm missing the silver lining, its not there.

Is there a place for negative feelings in the world of positivity?

Glistening,

Vicx

She's RAW & CLEAN

2010-02-24T22:57:00.001-05:00

I have always leaned more towards the healthy spectrum of eating however, you would never know this by looking at me.

Sugar is my drug of choice and my thighs suffer because of it. My mom use to say, "You'd lose those thighs if you let Lil' Debbie go," needless to say my love affair with her has survived the test of time.

One of my favorite books is "The Jungle" by Upton Sinclair and it addresses the meat packing industry. I became a vegetarian for a couple of years.

Currently, my dietary goal is to be a Raw and Clean Eating. I have been learning more about being a raw foodist and have embarked on sprouting pumpkin seeds (stinky and bitter)and quinoa, fermenting wheat berries to make rejuvelac (can't wait to start flavoring it) and marinating collard greens and mixed veggies. I aspire to be a healthy eater however, I find myself slipping and knowing what my goal is I haven't gone 100% raw but I've been doing 2 raw meals a day and 1 cooked.

It has been made official that I am lactose intolerant, it was interesting to feel how immediate my body reacted to diary (nutmilk here I come) and I have burped everyday since I've been eating this way which is not typical for me. Not sure what that is all about.

Eating clean is often what bodybuilders refer to when they are training. Its eliminating processed foods and artificial additives and preservatives from the diet. Lean meat is suitable and is typically eaten with a carb or vegetable. Basically you are feeding the muscles, amping up the metabolism and starving the fat with several small meals a day. Herbs and spices can be used to season the food.

I suspect our ancestors were Raw & Clean so let's take it back!

Checking Your Connections

2010-02-21T18:57:00.003-05:00

I have been thinking about connections a lot lately especially as it relates to friendship. I've learned in the past ten years that people don't allow themselves to connect nearly as much as they could with others. We are constantly analyzing the situation to fast forward it to where we think it is really going but unfortunately connecting is something we can't force.

Many people miss out on this amazing life altering event simply because they are afraid. Afraid of being hurt, betrayed, used, loved, etc. Along with the fear comes to confusion of what the connection really is. I will admit I've connected with people and immediately assumed it was an intimate one, because it felt so GOOD, instead I jumped the gun and neglected to lay the foundation in a friendship. Unfortunately, jumping the gun takes kismet out of the equation and severs the connection before its truly rooted within.

I've never been the type to have loads of friends but I have a handful of people who no matter the amount of time passed we seem to always pick up where we left off. Deep inside I feel like we are only treading the surface of the connection but I know my resistance to devulge my inner being keeps us there but because they are my friends they wait patiently.

Friendship should be enriching, nurturing and boundless connections so what is the majority of my relationships called because I rarely feel good in them. Some people I feel connected to but its crystal clear that the feeling isn't mutual. Why would I say this? Well, its based on how they make me feel and my inability to be myself unapologetically. I feel that I am just a placeholder, a gag gift, a cesspool for their perverse thoughts, an afterthought. It makes me question how I treat people because I am only a reflection of the people in my life. Am I taking people for granted, not calling, cancelling at the last minute time and time again, not telling them how much they mean to me?

I don't feel as though I've genuinely connected with another in a while and that scares and makes me sad.

When was the last time you really connected with someone?

Spirituality Quotes

2010-02-21T15:23:00.000-05:00

Just when I found out the meaning of life, they changed it. - George Carlin

Science cannot solve the ultimate mystery of Nature. And it is because in the last analysis we ourselves are part of the mystery we are trying to solve. - Max Planck, Nobel Laureate and Father of Quantum Physics

Do not be idolatrous or bound to any doctrine, theory, or ideology. All systems of thought are guiding means; they are not absolute truth. - Vietnamese Zen Monk Thich Nhat Hanh

The purpose of the spiritual life is to be happy...The reason why men seeks for happiness is not because happiness is his own being; therefore, in seeking for happiness, man is seeking for himself. - Sufi Master Hazrat Inayat Khan

Lest ye become as little children, ye shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven. - Jesus

Happy Sunday,

What is Spirituality?

2010-02-20T16:35:00.000-05:00

In the last post I mentioned I was reading "The Seeker's Guide" by Elizabeth Lesser. I was introduced to this book through Raw Foodist, Kevin Gianni who mentioned in the foreword or intro of his book "High Raw" that this book changed how he lived his life. (One of the great things about reading is how jewels are sprinkled inside as possible influential landmarks in our lives.)

She asks "What is Spirituality?" and then explains that after surveying and interviewing 200 spiritual leaders it was apparent that there is no right answer.

Spirituality is NOT the same as religion. I've said it for years that I'm not religious however, I don't think I've ever truly defined what being spiritual meant for me. I had an idea of what the vision looked and felt like but never really invited spirituality in my life with a definite intent.

According to Lesser, defining this idea/tenet for oneself is the first step in the journey of life's great adventure. So, I begin by forgetting everything I think I know about anything, becoming comfortable with the unknown and displaying fearlessness as I embrace a "beginner's mind" which is similar to that of a young child's optimistic, wide open nature of questioning.

This will be uncomfortable for me but I can only imagine the sense of relief it will bring my mind, body and spirit to NOT fear the unknown and be okay with not knowing.

Buddhists use the word "shamatha" to define spirituality which means "tranquil abiding". One of the values in my life is Happiness and it always seems that the key to this is within my definition of spirituality.

My heart is so heavy thus in this state of being happy with a light heart seems impossible however, there are things I have to do so that I can relax such as letting go of the thought of perfection since this is NOT reality and admitting I don't know something.

Returning to the idea of the "Beginner's mind", as coined by Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki, is about "discovering the essence of our humanness" in other words our true nature and an attitude of divine possibilities.

While I continue to consider my definition of spirituality, I do know that it involves happiness, living gleefully in the present, balancing the mind, body, heart and spirit.

What is spirituality to you?

[Quotes to follow]

*Lesser, E. (1999). "The Seeker's Guide: Making Your Life A Spiritual Adventure." Villard: New York

Breaking It Down

2010-02-19T16:25:00.003-05:00

I have been experiencing loads of blocks and decided that this is probably because I over complicate things thus adding more to my mental reducing any chance to have a clear mind. I'm going to start HERE, today because I have like 50 blog pages for various aspects of myself however TODAY I have making a merge. If I feel like posting a story, my academic experience, my spiritual journey, etc...its all me at the end of the day paddling through the murky water of life.

Update on my "currentlies" :

Reading: The Seeker's Guide by Elizabeth Lesser
Eating: Raw and Clean
Loving: ME
Drinking: Water and Rejuvelac
Wearing: Size "shut your mouth"
Hair-Style: Kinky Twists
Thinking: About my present and future
Feeling: Pensive
Studying: IO Psychology, Leadership, Spirituality, Moon Phases
Writing: Master ARP (Applied Research Project)...more on that later

Loving,
ME

The Dream

2010-01-23T08:54:00.000-05:00

Quite often I don't remember my dreams but I woke with a crazy name and scenario from it.
I had moved into a place and then immediately had guests. My cousin D shows up with her boyfriend who flipped from being a basketball player to a football player. One day, I came home and saw them going thru a big box of board games so we started playing one on the floor it had red with 100 and green ? coins embedded on them and some cards to read. There was someone who I knew but didn't really like maybe she was a roommate trying to be friendly but because I was out a lot, my cousin and her became close. Mind you I had just moved so I hadn't picked a room so one day I was walking thru the place like wow, this is a nice bathroom but which room is mine since they were both occupied so I started cleaning. Pulled out 4 socks, 3 matched with pink trim and one was mismatched. Put 2 that matched on and started spraying the first room with some liquid but before I could begin the roommate came in and offered to help so I gave her the sock and she started wiping all the surfaces down, all the while talking about wanting to read a book I had or wrote "young lovers or lovers and sins" I walked out of the room saying my cousin was reading it. Was on my way to the living room to sweep the floor which was carpet because my subconscious didn't even think about a vacuum.

Jean-gac was the name that came into my head before I woke up. Not sure why!

Becoming a Woman

2009-11-10T07:54:00.002-05:00

Netflix drops gifts into my mailbox on a weekly basis, some are expected while others are careful disguised jewels that leave me emotional and thoughtful. The recent movie I saw tugged at my heart strings and I'm glad I decided to watch "Bedtime Stories" prior to experience the horrors of "Maya".

It depicits a young girl's experience of becoming a woman and the celebration it provokes in India. The movie opens to screams of a young girl and a boy beating on a locked door. Sanjay is a mischevious young man whose sidekick in his life is his sister Maya, an equally exhuberant child. They do everything together from pranks on the local shopkeepers to sharing a bed until Maya's period comes on. The response is startling and confusing to the children especially because Maya has no idea why she is told not to exert herself, asked to wear a clothe and is suddenly a woman not a child. The family returns to the village Maya was born in to have a huge celebration and prayer festive in the honor of puberty. Sanjay is feeling left out during all the preparation for this big day yet and does things to stir up drama which further isolates him from Maya. Part of the celebration is for the family to have a holy priest precede over the prayer ceremony and to cater a big meal for the village.

It troubled me how Sanjay felt something wasn't right about the priest and no one listened to him. Too often children's voices are ignored because adults believe they know what's right. Its important that adults are aware of how children respond to other adults as they might be indicators of who that person really is.

The prayer ceremony consists of Maya, the priest and his four cohorts in a temple which was locked once they entered. Prior to entering, Maya began to feel strangely and started to hesitate but continued inside and again felt odd and resisted physically and verbally with screams to no avail. Her family waited outside the door smiling, ignoring her merciless screams and feeding guests while those men took turns raping her.

Sanjay was the only one asute enough to even try and help but his father beat him and scolded him for embarrassing the family. When it was over, Maya limped out of the temple disheveled looking while these Holy men smiled and said she had a pure soul and God really loved her. It sickened me to watch how the family catered and bestowed all this graciousness to these men that just raped their child. I wondered if the family knew what the prayer ceremony consisted of and if so why would anyone condone the deflowering of a child to a group of men.

Even though Indian Government forbids these practices, NGO's estimates 5,000 to 15,000 girls are still dedicated to such or similar practices every year.

The film was based on a few practices such as "Devdasi", "Jogini" and "Anang Dana Pratana".

"The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain hovering over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves." - Kahlil Gibran

The Prize - unedited

2009-11-01T21:25:00.004-05:00

The day always held such electricity for the adults and kids in Coffin Park. The Coffin Park neighborhood had a Halloween tradition of randomly selecting 13 houses to judge the costumes and tricks. This forced the kids to parade around to each house hoping a glass eye, severed finger, a bat wing or bloody heart was dropped into their bag. Each item had a different score to it and it changed yearly so it kept the kids eagerly awaiting the results at the bonfire.

Sampson, a ten year old with the hair and mind of Einstein with a dark side, planned out his costume months in advance with his mom at the craft store and a crayon sketch to use as inspiration. Plastic and store brought costumes were for amateurs. Sampson considered himself an expert of All Hallows Eve, he studied the origin and had read all literature about the day, it was his absolutely favorite holiday. He planned on winning the prize this year and had canvassed the neighborhood to try to figure out which houses were judging this year.

As the sun began the set, Sampson finished putting the final touches of his makeup on and looked at himself in the mirror. He then heard the howl that marked it was time for trick or treating, smiling he set out to make this his year. This year started off differently as Sampson walked outside and felt a chill move onto his sandaled feet and gave him goosebumps. The little kids skipped down the sidewalk dressed as princesses and superheroes and Sampson scowled at them. He stopped at the edge of his first house and watched as the porch light flickered on and off as an skeletal hand gave out candy. His focus wasn't the candy but the prize so he had to watch closely on what was dropped into each bag. People were sneaky.

Stepping up to the door, he began to sweat and felt like someone was behind him. He turned around and found a strange sight all the lights were flickering on and off and no one was on the street. Where did the little kids go? His hand touched the door and he shivered and held out his bag and whispered "Trick or treat" while the skeletal hand dropped a glass eye in his bag along with bubble gum. "Thank you" as he turned around to a gang of kids running up and down the sidewalk. Every house he went to he had hot flashes that were followed by chills. His bag was getting heavy and he still hadn't gotten a heart yet and time was running out. Sampson stood in front of two houses, Ms. Ruth and Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs was an old man who thought having several different pairs of dentures and sending kids into his study to find his glasses in a drawer that held more than 50 pair was funny. Ms. Ruth smelled like moth balls and never gave candy instead she had a bag full of miscellaneous items that she gave out so of course no one liked going to her house. Sampson stood between the two houses and something flew by his head causing him to move toward Ms. Ruth's house. Walking up to her door, he saw the light flicker and he heard the light bulbs pop and go out as he touched the door.

Ms. Ruth opened the door quickly, "Come in boy!"
Sampson wasn't expecting to go inside the house and he knew if he didn't arrive back at the bonfire before the final howl he would be disqualified but he let her shoo him in. Her house was dark except for the candles burning and something smelled dead. "Ms. Ruth, I have to go the bonfire should be starting soon." His voice and body tense as his eyes struggle to see through the darkness.
"No worries, young man" "I hold the key to that prize you crave so dearly"
His body relaxed and his breathing calmed a bit, "Ok, so where's the prize and what IS that smell?"
She laughs "That my dear is the prize. Come with me." She grabs his hand sending a icy jolt through his body as they head towards the kitchen and the smell got stronger with each step.
"Umm, Ms. Ruth" His eyes watching a pot boil on the stove and his feet became heavy as she went over to stir the contents "What's in the pot?"
She pulls out a ladle and a bowl, "Have a seat Sampson. Your reward is near after you have had a bowl of my Wolfat stew. Each year one person is selected to eat a bowl of this Coffin Park specialty and this is your year."
She pushes the bowl towards Sampson and the candle light flickered revealing the contents in the bowl: a severed finger, a bat wing and the heart of an animal in a garlicky broth. Strangely, Sampson began shaking and salivating and before he knew what was happening his fingers were in the bowl grabbing at the contents and shoving them into his mouth. He was disgusted by his behavior yet couldn't seem to control himself. As he ate his senses grew stronger and he heard something deep inside rumble. He felt the need to run and Ms. Ruth already had the door open as his metamorphis began. Sampson fell to his knees and ran out of the house on his newly formed paws with delight as he stopped and looked up at the moon and began to howl and happy song. He had heard the legend of Coffin Park that there were Wolf and Bat People living among regular people and he did all he could to be the prize this halloween. He trotted towards the bonfire to reveal himself to the others with pride.

In Observation of NaNoWriMo

2009-10-31T18:23:00.002-04:00

In observation of National Novel Writing Month, I will add my flare to it by just doing a daily flash story. A flash story is a short concise story in 500 words or less. So this should be fun as I will also let state where the inspiration came from for the day.

Boy lemme tell ya, this sista is deliriously paddling her boat in circles these days so this should be REAL fun! Let the games begin....

Feelings

2009-09-18T12:21:00.003-04:00

Been feeling a myriad of emotions lately. I guess that's the purpose of the fast to be more aware of my emotions and how I'm feeling but I swear I feel like skin tingling in anticipation of the unknown. I'm feeling my heart beat and skip to the rhythm of my thoughts both negative and positive. I feel like my eyes are crossed and my mind in cloudy and I'm walking through a fog but I'm not feeling the moisture cause my mouth feels dry. I'm feeling like my air is labored and it hurts to inhale or exhale deeply. I feel like I'm being bound and gagged and can't move. I feel helpless as if I am paralyzed from head to toe. I feel like the more I have to focus the more panic I experience. My mind is running in circles to no where, heart is confused because of the harden that is slowly happening. My spirit is wandering aimlessly through the life on auto pilot. No gas pedal or brake, I'm just on cruise leaving a trail of sparks behind.

I ME Wed

2009-08-24T19:46:00.001-04:00

Things You'll Need

* Open heart
* Self love
* A willingness to throw out old habits and self loathing

Steps 1. Set Your Intention.

Work out what you want to achieve by marrying yourself. For example, "a lifelong commitment from a partner in a relationship that exudes happiness at every turn." Before you can expect this commitment from someone else, you must first promise that you will do everything in your power to give this to yourself, every day.

2. Throw Out Self Loathing.

Looking in the mirror and criticizing your imperfections? Laughing off compliments and dismissing nods to your brilliance? Flying under the radar so your super-stardom goes unnoticed? These are classic signs that you have a degree of self-loathing. Self-loathing only serves to block you from finding happiness within. When you radiate unhappiness, you attract unhappy people. Unhappy people are generally commitment-phobes. So get over yourself girl, and repeat after me: "Self-loathing is for suckers."

3. See Yourself As Goddess.

Begin to notice your perfections when you look in the mirror. Receive compliments as graciously and copiously as you give them. Say "yes, yes, YES" a lot, with revellious and delightful energy. Practice shameless acts of joy and master joyous acts of shame. Affirm yourself daily with delicious words including "magical, mystical, sparkling, juicy, ethereal, beauty, intuitive, divine." When you see yourself as Goddess, this is the gorgeous energy you radiate and hence, you begin to attract similarly gorgeous people into your life.

4. Be Your Own Best Friend.

Tell yourself jokes. Spoil yourself rotten. Keep yourself entertained by doing what YOU want to do. Write down a promise to self that you will "never put baby in the corner." Flick "friends" that dare to support habits of self-loathing. Become a magnet to new friends that are a reflection of your perfection.

5. Create Your Day.

Now that you are your own little solar system and the brightest little star at the centre of your own cosmos, it is time to invite family and friends who love you as much as you love yourself, and to help you celebrate your rocking divinity. Picture your perfect ceremony in your head, see the smiling faces of your friends as they witness your joy, play with wedding vows until you have the perfect expression of your perfect self.

6. Let the Party Begin.

Set the date, find your venue, send out invitations, and let the party of self-love begin.

Tips & Warnings

* Go overboard with fun and self-love.

* Do not marry yourself if you hear voices in your head that serve to sabotage your intentions for true, everlasting, undying, fulfilling, rip-roaring LOVE.

In medias res - The Secret Within

2009-06-26T21:30:00.001-04:00

In the waiting room having a panic attack. I need to tell him everything! But can I?

Keith has always been a straight shooter and respected people more if they just told the truth. The consequences were increased with each word courage permitted. My hands were soaking the lap of my raw silk dress as I look over at his hulk-like body as he sits awkwardly in the regular people chairs. He is a beautiful man with an immaculately groomed goatee, huge callused hands with a huge white smile that hides so much pain. This is a big day for him but I am looking for a way out. If I walk into the doctor's office with him, as he refuses to let me do this alone, he will find out. I considered fainting but realized that it would put myself in the pit of damnation where I have no control. I'm afraid if he finds out he will love me less and worse of all fear me.

Fear is always the thing that prevents me from just opening my mouth and just telling him. But there is a time and a place for everything. And I'm not sure if there will ever be a time to tell him this particular truth.

"Babe, are you okay?" His deep tenored voice rouses me out of my thoughts as he pulls my stiff body closer to him, leans down and kiss my slightly damp forehead.

I smile weakly at him and croak tentatively. "We need to talk."

He looks at me questioning through his warm chestnut eyes and instead of saying anymore he stood up and went over to the plexiglass window to inform the receptionist that we were stepping outside.

We met under the most discreet circumstances as I am a psychic or medium as we prefer to be called these days. Keith Bachallard was referred to me by a colleague who used my services to find a kidnapped little girl named Amber. Keith wanted desperately to become a detective and join the elite special forces of this club as he was also a former Army soldier who carried quite a bit of importance in certain circles. He barged into my parlor with a chip on his shoulder and scepticism glistening on his lips as I drank my morning tea and read the newspaper on my velvet gold couch. My clientele is referral based with the occasional random curiosity seeker who heard rumors that fortunes are told here. Thankfully, my antique store with its ever-changing window dressing allows me to maintain my eccentric nature and use this to deter the rumors since its against the law to practice parapsychology.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew I would fall hard for him. "Jesenia Christianson?" He asked accusingly. He hands were held in a tight fist and his mouth, that beautiful mouth that sang my name, was frowning.

I slowly put down my cup of tea and folded my newspaper and stood up as I placed it on the small table beside the couch. I put my hand out to make his acquaintance and smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's so wonderful to make your acquaintance."

He winced as though I had thrown boiling water on him. It was apparent that he was the type that liked to intimidate and control people and situations. Little did he know I only deal with people's authentic self even if they have no idea who that self is. This is typical practice for me to remove the cloaks and facades within seconds and deal with only the person that is within.

The secret to my success, however, is the aching in my bones I get when there are negative and dark energies within a certain distance of me. With Keith, my bones tingled with delight so I knew he was the man for me. As soon as our hands touched, he was dismantled in a matter of minutes and five years later, we sat in a doctor's office awaiting results of fertility tests.

We find a comfortable bench across the street to sit on. Even though Keith got his wish by solving the case years ago and was promoted to detective he still found it difficult to read me. So, he sat looking at me and waited for me to begin.

Taking a deep breath and wringing my hands. I can't believe I allowed the tingles in my bones to get the best of me because no one ever understands the full magnitude of the secret I hold within. "I am not who or even what you think I am. I've told you from day one that I couldn't give you children. I suggested we adopt instead you have put me a position to tell you a truth I can't bare to share." I can't bare to look at him if I want to keep my courage but I peek out the corner of my eye and see him staring intently at me. He has always spoken about wanting to having children and told me after we had been together for two year he was insisting that I was the woman he wanted to sire children with.

"I can have a children but..." I continue because I can tell that he wants to hear me out. "I can't have children that you can raise up and call your own. It's all very complicated but even the doctor would not be able to explain this situation. I have an extra chromosome that allows me to reproduce without the assistance of a man."

"So what are you saying you don't need me to get pregnant?" Keith clears his throat which is an indicator that he is confused. He is staring at the side of my face as if willing me to look at him. I turn towards him and slowly nod my head and put my hand up so he knows I have more to reveal. Laughing nervously to myself, that wasn't even the real bomb.

"I was born centuries ago into a life where I was an orphaned outcast with a revered brother. Everyone knows of his birth and death I never understood why I was ignored and and many thought I died and didn't care to know about my rebirth. The night I died I went into labor and gave myself life again."

"What do you mean, you gave yourself life after death?" Keith was rubbing his goatee inquisitively. I stare in shocked that he doesn't seem alarmed by this nugget of information. I guess he is scrambling my ability to predict his reaction because I anticipated anger and unbelief at this point.

"Well, what this means is in order to live I give birth and..." I look at the doctor's building and count cars. This is the hard part of the revelation because I've never gotten to this point with any man in my lifetime. Usually they are seeking to Baker Act me for even suggesting Jesus is my brother and that I was born "with Christ". I've never said it out loud either but he is staring at me with an inquiry that is full of open mindedness. I close my eyes and finish "I have to eat the flesh of the seed."

I open my eyes and look at him as he stroke his goatee and stands up. He walks towards the street slowly. He gets blurry as my eyes begin tearing up, I let the tears fall freely when I hear his voice softly in my ear. "Can we keep one?"

Anew ME

2009-06-22T12:56:00.002-04:00

This weekend, I really got into the cleaning and purging spirit in my study. During this time, I ran across pages and pages of words I've strung into a line called a sentences and pieced together to form a unique jewel called writing. Its always delightful to re-visit and touch my jewels. They remind me of the gift that I have and encourage me to spin and weave more often for the fun of it. I'm here to say...I am back, anew ME!

Watch out world, here I come to dazzle you with my wordplay and twisting plots.

If this is your first time visiting this site...I have a few stories at the very beginning with articles I found during my knowledge surfing as fillers until I returned!

VA

Tears for Fears

2008-10-14T22:09:00.003-04:00

Seasons change, feelings change and people change.

Interestingly enough, I was born in the fall yet my entire being goes into hibernation as soon as the weather drops a degree minus a fahrenheit. I have been falling deeper and deeper into a sleep stupor that I have been trying to busy away to no avail. I'm moving slower and body parts are starting to ache and creak like an old house.

I was watching the Biggest Loser and I had an epiphany about all the emotional cleansing that goes on. The lack of their comfort foods is the reason why they all are weepy. I know if I wasn't able to go to the bodega downstairs and get a Little Debbie or a bag of chips I would be the biggest crybaby. Seriously, they would hate me for all the whining I would do. I'm not proud of my junk addiction but I'm honest about it. I know I need to shake it for the betterment of self but it's so very complex.

All my feelings rise to the surface during this time of year. I really get to see people for truly who they are but more important I see myself. I have been having out of body experiences where I have watched myself in action and honestly I didn't like what I saw. I'm on the road of being a bitter, selfish woman unless I change things soon. The road less traveled is one of discomfort and I am making steps to embrace it. I'm a ball buster because I'm a controlling, domineering bitch who is afraid of her own shine so she stands in the shadows like a shrinking violet.

Writing Challenge 1

2008-02-14T23:47:00.004-05:00

The Word Hoard: Supply of words/phrases. Helps creates unusual phrases that you wouldn't normally come up with consciousnessly.

Shelf of books and take one book randomly open it. Place finger on a word then write the 3 words before and after it. Continue writing for 5 minutes. Write as fast as you can. Then read it forward and backward.

Underline the phrases that:

It has energy
It surprises you
ITS NEVER BEEN WRITTEN BEFOER IN YOUR LANGUAGE
Must not be opaque in meaning

Write a short story or poem using a phrase without it seeming out of place.

Supplied by Writing Challenges Podcast

Beginnings Exercise 3

2007-09-13T21:32:00.000-04:00

Alice Leung has discovered the secrets of bats: how they see without seeing, how they own darkness, as we own light. She walks the halls with a black headband across her eyes, keening a high C ----- cheat cheat cheat cheat cheat cheat ----- never once veering off course, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Echolocation, she tells me, it’s not as difficult as you might think. Now she sees a light around objects when she looks at them, like halos on her retinas from staring at the sun. In her journal she writes, I had a dream that was all in blackness. Tell me how to describe.
It is January: my fifth month in Hong Kong.
In the margin I write, I wish I knew.

After six, when the custodians leave, the school becomes a perfect acoustic chamber; she wanders from the basement laboratories to the basketball courts like a trapped bird looking for a window. She finds my door completely blind, she says, not counting flights or paces. Twisting her head from side to side like Stevie Wonder, she announces her progress: another room mapped, a door, a desk, a globe, detected and identified by its aura.

--Jess Row, “The Secret of Bats” From Ploughshares and 2001 Best American Short Stories

The first thing the author chose to present was the fact that this young school girl from Hong Kong had done something remarkable; discovered a secret. In the first sentence it is blatant of who the story is about and rationale behind the title, in that makes one want continue reading to learn how she made the discovery.

We meet the narrator and Alice Leung in this first paragraph. It is unknown at this point what relationship they have however it’s clear that Alice confides in the narrator and seeks advisement. The journal exchanges lets us know that the narrator is someone of authority, a teacher maybe.

Questions that are raised in my mind as a reader are:
Why has Alice decided to confide in the narrator, is it because they are both different?
How could one describe an all black dream?
Can you see auras of objects in the dark? Are they different from those we see in the light?
Is this discovery considered a difficulty feat?

I think the writer chose to start this way because it’s an intriguing setup to a story that shows a young lady who is obviously lonely, since she is hanging around school after six, and just makes you wonder what is going on at home as well as what bought on her interest in the secret of bats. It’s a different take on the education of bats that makes you realize she is unique in her thoughts. The only really inclination that the teacher/narrator might be curious is in the simple response in margin of Alice’s margin. It draws us all into the secret one girl has.

First Sentences: In Medias Res

2007-09-11T01:04:00.000-04:00

"First sentences are doors to worlds." -Ursula K. Le Guin

1. Phia never dreamed an ordinary life for herself, it was always glitter, spotlights and fast movement, well her specifics weren't exactly what she was living at the moment.

2. He woke up with a start, sheets drenched in the reminder of the world he fought to get out of nightly.

3. Even the road to nowhere leds somewhere.

4. Warren Trotter was a man that lived a life of decisions, rituals that had been adjusted until they were perfect, he was before his time yet out of time.

5. From here on out, I promise I will tell you the entire truth, no more lies, no exaggerations, no dreams; just the facts.

6. I always thought birds, cars and crayons came in colors never trees.

7. Hand in hand, they walked through minefields, survived muggings, having children, extramartial affairs so it was shock to their little community when she came up the street alone.

8. Tim had a secret that could change all that we understood about the world and she knew it.

9. "Sometimes its not who we want to see," the weathered faced lady said, "but who needs to see us."

10. I was so uninformed back then and I blame my mom for not sharing it all right then instead she played the waiting game.

Critical Reflection #1

2007-09-04T22:24:00.000-04:00

In the introduction of The Best American Short Stories, Barbara Kingsolver states "I love it for what it tells me about life. If it tells me something I didn't already know, or that I maybe suspected but never framed quite that way, or that never before socked me divinely in the solar plexus, then the story is worth the read." Its amazing how the things we consider to be less than normal draws us in day by day, inch by inch. The Secret of Bats is a story that does this as it truly touches two lonely individuals and connects them in a way that no one could ever understand. Its not often enough that we allow ourselves to go beyond the surface to actually feel the spirit in all in which is around us.

The story fits Kingsolver’s statement perfectly in that from the beginning the audience is drawn into this strange girl from Hong Kong and her obsession with bats. Her obsession was not one we can all consider ourselves to be familiar with instead hers was deep in that she wanted to know how bats recognized each other based solely on sound. I think Kingsolver had this surprise in mind because indeed as the story moves along the reason is revealed and it is intriguing. There is a since of wonderment in the story that after reading it you can’t help but stop and think of how would you recognize a loved one.

Kingsolver’s idea of what makes a short story good fits the idea of where I want to go as an artist. It is clearly the rebel within that requires me to find a way to shock someone into wanting more. As a writer, an individual I am constantly seeking new ways to explain things. Now, I think the idea that is different however needed in my writing is a reason for telling the story. I think Kingsolver is absolutely right that the stories that we hold near and dear are those in which taught us a truth about life and even most so, ourselves.

In the stories I write I look for familiarity with a mysterious quirk. In mysterious, I simply mean something that draws us closer, that makes us want to know more. I love characters who are both sad and humorous because I think they represent how I see life. If I can see the movements and hear the ripples in the story, that to me is good fiction. Even more so, if afterwards I am having a conversation with someone and I revert back to something in the story and repeat it as though it were a truth. I’m sure others have had that moment where you recall an event and can’t pinpoint where you received the information. That’s good stuff to me because it has become two things; something I hold truth and believe and something that made an impression on me enough to remember and want to share.

As I have said before I am not good with having a reason, moral, which leads to the ultimate weakness lacking voice. Voice is knowing your beliefs, truths and sharing them with the world. I think to have a voice comes when one believes in themselves and what they have to offer those around them.

Self study week one

2007-09-04T12:04:00.000-04:00

TOFP Week 1 Homework

1) Set up a schedule and try to stick with it as much as possible.

2) Pick a story to use during the course.

3) Read the forward and introduction to Best American Short Stories 2001. Select one statement that interest me and speaks to what I believe makes a short story good.

4) Write a two (2) page critical reflection as it relates to the statement and my TOFP selected story.

5) Read the introduction to the "Beginnings" section of What If? Then select one or two exercises that appeal to me. Complete the exercises before moving on. I choose exercise 1 (first sentences pg.3). Let it sit for a day or two and then go back and reread it. Looking on page 15 to reflect and answer questions

6) Type out the first paragraph or 200 words (whichever is longer) of my selected story and then answer the questions in TOFP exercise 3.

7) Select one exercise that interest me the most and complete it. I chose Exercise 30 - First Person or Third, p.85 and read the intro to the "Perspective, Distance and Point-of-view section" of What ifon p.83.

8) Review the intro material in the sections of What if? on plot, point of view, and character.

9) Reread the Description exercise.

10) Reexamine my story as it relates to each of the elements.

11) Draw four examples from story see ToFP exercise 5.

12) Beginning drafting my own story.

The Stoop

2006-04-03T23:44:00.000-04:00

Everyday the screen door slammed as she ran outside to check on the seed she had planted. Her mother told her that nothing grows without nourishment. She didn't want to ask so she pulled down the big, black and coverless dictionary from the second to the top shelf of her father's bookcase. She looked for a week under NA, NE, NI and before she could get any further it happened. The screen door swung open and it seemed as if it would never closed so she put the big book down with a heavy thud and went to check.

A tumbleweed of hands and feet knocked her down and rolled over her, stopped, rolled back and started to do everything from the bottom to the top. Her cousins had come for the summer. She was the only child and while she loved her space and getting what she wanted, she also hated being alone and not having a crew at the playground. She smiled at the thought of walking down the park with her 3 cousins and not having to push herself on the merry go round.

I'm on a CinQuain Roll

2005-12-21T10:40:00.000-05:00

Strike
Hoofers Unite
Workers Fed Up
Give them their dues
Walkout

Sleep
Mediation overload
Eight hours of peace
I crave it badly
Snooze

Stay tuned for the one today!

Profile Random question

2005-12-19T03:00:00.000-05:00

You've written a hit musical! How will you avoid having fame go to your head?

Gimme my TONY while I look at it on my desk as I bang out more hits. A hit musical is a huge accomplishment because writing a musical is a difficult feat. Pats on the back are definitely in order but getting beside yourself isn't. Its time to capitalize on this by writing a book, doing a promotion tour, etc. Get in serious hustle mode cause everybody will be looking for a way to get a slice of the pie you baked! I don't feel I'm famous unless I'm consistent in the craft if thats not possible then I will be known as a one hit wonder and that is nothing to let go to anyone's head. I believe I have more than one hit in me and in order for me to be considered famous I would set out to prove that true. I would remind myself that if I don't continue writing and growing, my claim to fame will be a one hit wonder! That humbles me!!! Its like a movie no one really pays attention to the person who write the screenplay its all about the actors and directors. I have to embrace my role and realize that showboating can only cause the public to shame you! I honestly don't think musical writers get paid alot of money. Its a special occupation that has the ability to die out if its not careful. Its hard work to create a score in words as opposed to just instrumental.

Rest in Peace August Wilson!!

The Grinch stole My Christmas spirit

2005-12-18T23:45:00.000-05:00

Hey, let's look at it most of the stories that we know and remember related to the holidays are old and worn out. I use to love the holidays but I've noticed that I don't even get excited about it anymore. I figured one way to hype up the holidays is to have a Christmas reading with original stories for the holiday season. You never know your story may be the one our children ask us to read in front of the fireplace as they munch on sugar cookies and drink milk. So, writers...I urge you to grab your pen and create a piece for the holiday!

Look for mine as the clock strikes 12 on that day we all know and love!

Poetry exercise

2005-12-18T23:32:00.002-05:00

Exercise: Write a Cinquain......

On to the rules...
The first line is the one-word title and subject of the poem.
The second line consists of two words describing the subject.
The third line has three words expressing action for the subject.
The fourth line is a four-word feeling or thought about the subject. This line has the most freedom.
The fifth line is a one-word synonym for the title. This usually puts the spin on the subject that you wanted them to understand in the 4th line.

Template:

Subject
primary descriptive
acting and reacting
Wonder what it means
topic

victoria Andre'a asks writing.com: I've always wondered about written poetry and spoken poetry, is there a difference?

Answer: Written poetry depends on meter to flow properly in the reader's mind. Spoken poetry relies more on rhythm as delivered by the speaker. A lot of poetry on this site seems prosaic until you hear it from the author's mouth (like that of Eliot at the Writing.Com conventions). One popular oral poetry format is Def Jam which relies heavily on alliteration, internal rhyme, and pop culture references. Written poetry will be much more traditional but may eventually evolve to incorporate some of the advances made by the fast-changing spoken variety. Also consider that songs are poetry. Their lyrics try to romance your ears, though, generally not your intellect.

Challenge:

These are the rules:

1)You must use the words I give in a poem.

2)They can be in any order and anywhere throughout the poem.

3)Deadline is January 12, 2005

The words are:

snowflake winter night bright lights busy silence kiss

Flex them poetic muscles!!!

A Pawn of Love (Erotica)

2005-12-02T00:12:00.000-05:00

I was a member of the Happy Hour community at Café.com and chatting under the handle “BlackIce”. I was a pecan tan brother with hazel eyes and some “good hair” as the women love to say. I had been working out so I had some definition in my once bird chest and added some thickness to my chicken legs. I got a lot of responses from the ladies when I showed off my picture, especially the one where I wasn’t wearing anything but a white towel and big koolaid smile.

I felt like I truly belonged there and was so comfortable that I would greet folks as they came into the room. However one day, I got a private message and me being the charismatic host I was I replied without a thought.

UniqueVision: Hi! I’m new here...how do I get people to talk to me?

BlackIce: Welcome! Just jump into the conversation…the people are very nice in here…enjoy yourself.

UniqueVision: Thanks for the welcome. Ill try to get in where I fit in. *s* So, where are you from?

BlackIce: No need for thanks! I’m from da dirty south and U?

So this was the beginning, although I had no idea that she had been eyeing me for weeks before she launched the blitz by moving her first piece out slowly. I didn’t really pay her any mind because I had my sights on throwing those worn out ‘punk ass’ speedos away and putting on some ‘freaky’ briefs. She was a bit too far away to help me with my situation but little did I know she had other ideas for me and popping my freak cherry wasn’t one of them. Months passed and I was cordial to her and she always spoke to me whenever she saw me online.

Then just as I lost my freak she seemed to have set the game on speed cause I got an email from her. Personally, I was a bit baffled as to how she had gotten my email address. Hell, maybe I gave it to her in passing but I have no recollection of it. But honestly during this time period I didn’t have much memory of anything with her. It was as if she was an “indefinite article” in a sentence or a song that is constantly skipped on a CD.

To: BlackIce@hotmail.com
From: UniqueVision@hotmail.com
Subject: Something interesting….

In the land of cyber sex and alter egos
A constant ray of peace and realness lingers
When you come in it follows you where ever you go.

Cool water blue with fiery impulse red highlights
Your magnetic yet quiet ambiance
Is so strangely alluring and comforting.

There’s an intoxicating nectar of calmness
Glistening on your regal lips
But its tainted with loneliness in your right eye
And airbrushed with animalistic craving in your left.

Endless dreams of waltzes and two steps
Sending the room into a canvas of watercolors
Is that smile or a frown?
Hard to tell as everything is bleeding together.

Can I follow you?
Can I come in?
Can I be some company for your right eye?
Can you see yet?

Honestly she did a sneak attack on my mind and sacked my heart for a 10 yard loss. I truly didn’t see her coming but this second move was definitely not subtle but it was tactical enough to get my full attention. I swear the blinders melted from my heart when I read the last line of the poem. She waited patiently for me to wipe that ‘punk ass’ look off my face and put my freak game face on with pride.

I immediately wrote her back apologizing for ignoring her and praised her on the truth that she painted with her words. She was understanding and gracious and told me to forget about the past and enjoy the present. Nevertheless, I was a bit ashamed of myself for being so self contained for months as I was on the prowl for a taste of the honey love.

As I began to sponge her up, she tickled and fondled emotions I didn’t know existed. She was one of those women that made you feel like you could fly with clipped wings. She had a lot of substance skimming the surface of her essence and even more in the abyss of her soul. I felt like I was water-skiing and scuba diving whenever I talked with her online.

She was a spoken word artist that toured the country. Apparently she was pretty well known on the east coast and was beginning to make quite a name for herself in the poetry world. So one day she mentioned me that she would be coming to perform at a Slam in my area. All the time that I had been officially getting acquainted with her she refused to describe herself or let me call her so I had no idea of her physical. All I had was my imagination and some preconceived notions but I figured that so far her mental and spirit were beautiful so the physical had to earth shattering.

*********

I walk into the Blue Chakra dressed in a navy blue Sean John velour sweat suit, a matching baseball hat and some Timberlands. I sat in the back of the room as several people had already asked me if I wanted to do a piece. The atmosphere was tropical with a dash of Africa. The set was in a small Jamaican restaurant so there were huge flags and murals of Bob Marley all over the place. The lights were low and the incenses were burning long and strong. I started to relax as I vibed with the congo drums and sipped on my Red Stripe as the long dusty blonde loc’d emcee got on the mic and started the show.

I sat in my little corner of the room waiting for a signal as poet after poet entered and departed from my mental membrane. And then it seemed as if someone pressed the mute button as a mahogany beauty with big inkwells of eyes and ebony painted lips walked up on the moderate stage. She was wearing a light blue baby tee with the word VISION written in shimmery blue and the tiniest light blue denim mini skirt I’d ever since on anyone in my presence. Her breasts were a soulful Sunday dinner that left you lazy but happily satisfied. Her nipples were screaming “DON’T LEAVE WITHOUT TAKING A PLATE?”. Her legs were those molded by the fingers of a world class sculptor using her best piece of clay. She stood in the middle of the stage with her lacquer legs spread apart military style as her wild bush of hair screamed peace. Her energy was liquid oxygen and she filled the room with an electric freshness. This woman was all of 5’2 but the Queen Amazon stood before us and no one could deny her presence. She leisurely scanned the room in an undeterred fashion until her eyes landed on me. She smiled and graced the room with the light of the moon and with two deep stars pressing deep into her cheeks.

She started to speak and her voice was a trio jazz band. Oh my, the flirty piano was whispering bass can-Is and treble want-yous in my ear. The sexy saxophone was running feathery scales up and down my spine. The seductive bass was strumming my stroking my dick to a slow and mind blowing rhythm. Once I got pass the beat I heard the words and they were a rare classic and a must have in everyone’s collection of masterpieces. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to blink for fear that I would wake up. When she was done the applause was deafening, she glanced soulfully at me and knew her third move was effective, as she exited the room.

My feet were itching to follow her so I ran out of the room like I was a Jamaican track star. She wasn’t in the entrance of the restaurant so I decided to peek into the bathroom before going outside. BINGO! She was lending over the sink checking her makeup giving anyone that walked into the room a clear view of an ass that could steal a lead singer’s solo. That’s when I notice why she seemed so tall she was wearing a pair of black mile high club stilettos. My eyes met her eyes in the mirror and my dick jump with anticipation as I looked around to make sure no one was watching me.

I bumrushed her into the empty bathroom stall as her laughter became harps in my ear. Hell, we both knew foreplay was over when she walked off the stage. I kissed her passionately as I pushed her roughly into the corner I ran my hands over her smooth thighs and pulled her piece of skirt up. Her tongue was a sweet savage writing haikus in my mouth. My hands moved under her shirt, up to her ain’t to proud to beg breasts and I traced a spiral of candles around her engorged nipples. I pulled away from her ripen fruity lips and I let my tongue follow the road that my fingers had recently paved with scented candles. Once my tongue reached the summit of all Godiva chocolates my mouth began to water as I flicked my tongue over her nipple and nibbled on it.

She gasped and began panting, as my other hand massaged her hot pussy feeling an African drum beating a fervor message of ecstasy. I ripped her panties off and I swear I heard cymbals crashing together as she came all over her thighs and my hand. She lifted her thick thigh up so her pussy was pressing against me so I grabbed her ass with my hands and she got the hint. She wrapped those pillars of heaven around my waist and began to grind lewd and lasciviously. She gave me an all access pass to her body as I dropped my pants down to my ankle and slid my granite cut dick into her scorching hot honeycomb hideout. I used the pass for all it was worth and touched her like I was blind and she was Braille.

Her moaning had me punch drunk till I wanted to climb inside her and stay there forever. But after she came for like 3rd time, I put her down and sat down on the toilet as I watched her lazily feather touching herself. It took her a minute to realize I wasn’t touching her. She opened her big eyes and I just wanted to jump inside of them. I held her buttery soft hands as she walked majestically in front of me and I turned her around so I could look at her show stealing ass. She smelled like sandalwood with a hint of honeysuckle and as my tongue strolled down the valley of her ass. I pushed her forward as my tongue continued to make its rounds right down to the grassy knoll. As I traced flowers on her pussy lips I realized that her nectar was honeysuckled flavored. She moaned loudly as my tongue became a hummingbird and dipped into her honeydew.

I was officially addicted to this cat as my tongue turned tricks on every corner in hopes of getting to the bottom. I sucked and blew on her clit like it was a military bugle waking up the entire camp. My fingers were bobbing for multiple orgasms as they double dutched in her ass and pussy. She pushed my head away with all the strength she had left in her. I stood up and she slowly turned me a round so my back was to the door of the stall. She pulled her lil bit of skirt down as she sat on the toilet seat and pulled down my pants. She looked at me as she wrapped her juicy lips around my rock hard dick. I almost fainted as I felt her tongue slither along the underside of my dick and the tip touch her tonsils. OH my gawd, she was deep throating me and I swear a burst of colors formed in front of my eyes. I felt dizzy yet exhilarated with pleasure and desire. My knees began to shake as she cupped my balls and rubbed my thighs. My hands grabbed the back of her head as I gyrated and fucked her face hard as I felt myself coming close to a sublime eruption. I shouted “Im cumming” as she grabbed my ass, moaned and forced her mouth to the root of my manhood. That move caused me to cum all in her mouth and she took it all. I thought to myself a swallower equals a keeper. As she massaged my dick out of her mouth she mumbled something that sounded like “Checkmate”.

2003

Poetry Challenge Answered

2005-11-26T23:00:00.000-05:00

Write a poem with the following words in it somewhere.

Cradle, hopeful, sweet, blue, change, shine, photo, ring

Desperately seeking change is the mind
Corrosion spreading through my heart
Tears are streaked with a blue pain
Hopeful thoughts are drowning
Need to rub the dull off
Ring up a purchase of shine
Take a photo for the time being
Show it and toot the horn
Maybe that the key to the sweet cradle

v.andre'a 2005

Love is a Battlefield - sneak peek

2005-11-14T04:04:00.000-05:00

“There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.”
William Shakespeare

It is inevitable that more than once in a lifetime, a battle will ensue that will leave major carnage behind. In the art of war, the basis behind becoming victorious is to hone the fighting skills, get close to the enemy and to make the opportunities deathly. Luckily for me, this particular battle is one that is usually a draw despite the sacrifice. The virgin tied to a stake as the town watches on peering over the rock so when the big bad intruder comes there is no mistaking who’s the lamb.

The battle began for the same reason as always. Chasity and Tiffany are my sicken competitive roommates. We all grew up together, went to college together and packed up and moved to the big city together. I’m used to them competing over everything but there is one thing I have yet to get use to, their wagers on men. Any man that walked into their vision was a reason to declare war. Warren was no different, when he called all phone lines in the house were picked up. His recently call he decided to pour it on thick with his riddled question, “Win, lose or Draw? What is it going to be tonight?” The question fluttered around the house as my lips pursed together into a ‘look what you started” whistle, I almost missed the reply, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

I plopped down in the overstuffed armchair and took some deep breaths as the two ran around in a whirlwind. Unfortunately, this was a normal occurrence that we had dealt with all our lives. We were childhood friends that had made the big move to New York City with hopes of making it big. I was interested in being a writer, Tiffany wanted to be a socialite and Chasity was researching speed dating.

Tiffany kept the house buzzing with something at all times and Chasity was our resident “Suzi homemaker”. I was the observer to the madness of it all. The ear for the stories, the shoulder for the tears and the hand to slap sense into them as needed. I had a feeling tonight would be one that the hand would be used. They were always arguing about this or that.

“What color underwear should I wear?” Chasity yelled from her room.
“Who cares about the color? Eliminate the obstacle and don’t wear any like me!” Tiffany threw her head back in loud laughter.
Chasity scoffed at the idea. “That’s so not ladylike but why should I expect anything more.”
“You are so funny! Don’t get high and mighty sister prude! Don’t any man want a frigid lady.” Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips.
“So, you think Warren will respect you if you had sex with him on the first night?” Chasity leaned against the dresser.

“Girl, I could care less about his respect. I want something that will make me speak in uninvented languages.”

“Well, I will make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, will you now? So, Miss prim and proper the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, what’s on the menu?”

Chasity and Tiffany went into the small yet sunny kitchen. Tiffany opened the refrigerator to present the wilted celery, too ripe tomatoes, a bag of onions, a clove of garlic, a tub of extra firm tofu and some hummus. A blind man would have thought that was a house of herbivores however we knew that Warren liked meat on his plate and his women, so that wouldn’t cut it. Chasity found some spaghetti sauce in the cabinets but not the noodles and wasn’t sure if she wanted to lie about the mystery meat in sauce.

Chasity sighed loudly and threw her hands up in defeat, “Ok, ok, I need to make a quick run to the store.” She grabbed her purse and keys and stopped just briefly to enforce her motherly ways on me. “Evette, please keep Tiffany under control.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Tiffany overheard her request and as always had to put her two cents in, “Vette, ain’t my mama. I’ll be good cause I want to be! Now go and get us some snacks.” Chasity huffed and walked out the door before the door could slam behind her Tiffany was in my ear talking about her, as usual.

“Vette, we need to Chasity a man cause she stressing me out with all her sexual frustrations.”

“I know but you know she was raised with old fashion morals. I mean she believes that black underwear are only for special occasions.”

“Hmph, she is too by the book for me. I can’t stand that, you would think that I would have rubbed off on her a little bit.”

2 of my Best poems

2005-11-06T00:14:00.000-05:00

They both need some work but they are good enough at the moment to post..but they will be tweaked in the near future!

Gaijin

A rose in the land of the rising sun
Potted in concrete and pollution
The saccharine fragrance is fading fast
Petals wilted and dehydrated
Suffocating in the darkness
Thorns bloated with emptiness
There’s an nectar of melancholy
That trickles through an emaciated stem
But its tainted with rage
Fertilizing the roots with emotional chaos.

A rose is the land of the rising sun
Speaks in dead tongues
Talk to me
Water me
Stroke me
Feed me
Love me
Shelter me
Humor me
Deaf ears and blinders ignoring the pain.

In the Land of the Rising sun
A rose is foreign to the natives
Foreign is exploited yet unwanted
Coveting yet isolating
Thoughtless thoughts of thoughtfulness
A constant ray of insanity
Morning mantras of negativity
Fragments of a once beautiful self
Elementally broken and unstable.

2004 v.andre'a

One Night Scent

Excuse me Miss
You smell like someone I want to take home
Maybe we can talk and proceed to bone
Little miss has an agenda of her own
she dreams of creating a happy home
with picket fences, little feet tracking mud onto the floor
She takes this proposition as the magical cure
So instead of acknowledging the illusion
She disregards all the possible conclusions
Hope and faith strings her out
Holding her soul desire of this life’s clout

Her smell is suffocatingly strong
causing a release of slow leaking moans
Breathing is a fetish for him
He steps out on a limb
As he reaches for her arm
And embrace her with his whispered charm
The air shifts ever so slightly
He licks his lips lightly
As she melts into the wetness

As his arms wrap around her
they dance in various speeds of lust
the confused wonderment of each other
she is tucked into a magical tomorrow
only to wake up holding a question mark in her hand
periods are stamped across his forehead
replacing yesterday’s exclamations
hyphenated with the finality of her once heady whiff.

she drags herself away in a trance
reliving last night’s dance
the felt deja vu was the clue
Dropping hints in his flared nostils
The adams apple bobbing
in a crazed gasp for one last breathe
the effect remains the same
it goes by life’s hindsight’s name
bottle it up so it fades undetected
engineered to kill andthen repent
Lord, discontinue this one night scent.

2005 v.andre’a

The Rising

2005-10-03T10:29:00.002-04:00

As the sun peeked up over the bruised horizon, the phone rang pulling Shannon out of her restful slumber. She lifted her boyfriend’s heavy arm off of her chest as she rolled over him, exposing her nude body to the sun.

Who is the world would be calling me at this time of morning? I hope nothing happened to my brother or sister. Most people know to call the house number but who ever this is has my cell phone number. Why did I put the phone on Hakeem’s side of the bed? Dead to the world and he wouldn’t wake up even if the house was on fire. Usually I’m up early but last night was an unusual marathon of loving.

She smiled and then cleared her throat and picked up the phone and was instantly slammed with turmoil.

“I’m gonna kill myself!” A frantic and hoarse female voice wipes the groggy out of Shannon’s body.

Sitting up fast in the bed, Shannon takes a startled moment to place the voice. “Kim?”

“It keeps crying and I don’t know where Mike is! I can’t take anymore!”

“Listen Kim!” Her eyes scanned the dead to the world body of her boyfriend as she got out of the bed causing her to stomp her toe on the foot of the bed. She grimaces as she hops to the bathroom and sits on the cold toilet seat. “What can I do to stop you?”

“Take it away! I don’t want it anymore!”

“I need you to make a bottle and warm it up! I am on my way ok?

Silence on the other line other than the baby’s cries.

“Kim, I need you to answer me!”

“Yeah, yeah….I’ll make a bottle! Shannon?”

“Yes Kim?”

“Please hurry!”

The next few minutes of hours were a blur to Shannon as she got dressed, drove over to calm both mother and child down. Kim was just one of many young mothers on her overwhelming caseload. The potential of curing family dysfunction is what kept Shannon on the job. There were many nights she woke up out of her sleep wondering where were the babies tonight.

Kim was an 18 year old who had an extensive history of mental breakdowns and based her entire world on her current boyfriend. She had gotten pregnant as a way to keep him and expected him to be with her at every moment of the day. Shannon had gotten involved after a call had come in from the hospital alerting Child Protection of Kim’s mental instability throughout the pregnant and there was concern on her parental skills. Shannon had been involved for 2 months and had gotten close to Kim and was proud of her attentiveness to baby Mikayla. The only reason she hadn’t released the family is because she knew that there was a severe co-dependency issue and things were always fragile when Mike needed time out.

As Shannon climbed out of her car, she noticed the baby stroller outside of the duplex and all the lights on in the house. The door was cracked open and the house was deplorable as the furniture had been broken, clothes were strewn all over the place and food had been spilled all over the floor.

Despite the chaos the house was quiet as she maneuvered her way into the bedroom, to her horror she found Kim holding a dirty pillow over Mikayla’s face. Shannon ran into the cluttered room and pulled Kim and the pillow off the baby and proceeded to give the baby CPR. As Shannon pumped the Mikayla’s tiny chest, she yelled for Kim to call 911 but saw that she was curled up in a corner with her thumb in her mouth. After a couple of minutes, Shannon felt the tiny heart flutter faintly giving her a little time to call 911. It was only after the call was placed that Shannon noticed the aspirin scattered on the floor along with a bloody and broken gin bottle. Kim wasn’t moving in the corner and there was blood everywhere.

Shannon wasn’t sure if she should pick up Mikayla so she gave her one more breath and watched to see if she would breathe on her own. As her small chest rose slowly, Shannon crawled over to Kim’s body and prayed that the ambulance would get there soon. She put her hand on Kim’s neck hoping to find a pulse; one was found however it was as faint as the baby’s. Shannon grabbed a flannel shirt that was on the floor next to her and wrapped it around Kim’s wrists as tight as she could.

Shannon signed the paperwork at the hospital after paging Mike and the on-call Investigator. She sat down and tried to make herself calm down but her mind was racing. Life was always full of trials and it was up to each individual to plead their case to the best of their ability. People never realized how much pleading Shannon has done in her life and she often wondered if it was worth it in the end. She could relate to the woes of all of her clients in one-way or another and if she had a questioning client she would tell them her story. She too was an abused child, abandoned and neglected without anyone to save her from the demons in her life. Just knowing how she grew up helped her clients understand her sincerity and need to alleviate the pain the world bestows upon us.

She is bought out of her daydreaming when she hears her name over the paging system. Mike is at the nursing station dressed in a green jumpsuit with the embroidered letters of “Quality Control Engineer” on the pocket. This was his third job since Mikayla was born as Kim made it impossible for him to keep one. He tried to make it easy on the family by working at night when he figured Kim and baby would be asleep. Shannon had to give it to him, he tried very hard to keep Kim stable as well as his head afloat.

Shannon walked over to him and touched his broad shoulders. His big eyes widen with questions and fear as he saw her blood caked shirt and jeans. Tears rolled down his pudgy face as Shannon pulled him close. He whispered “You paged me 730? Are my babies alright?”

Before Shannon could answer him the doctor called her name. She and Mike look over and he tells them that they stabilized Kim and Mikayla. A breathe of relief came from Mike as he then asked to see them. Shannon peeked in for a moment and reported the incident to the investigator when he came. She knew she would have meet with the lawyers when she got in the office to discuss the recent threat to the child’s well-being.

The sun was up and people were on their way to work as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She was a morning baby so her greatest pleasure expectation was playing peek a boo with the rising sun. She loved the crisp morning air and how it all felt like being born again. Unfortunately, the sun didn’t wait for her this morning which left her in an agitated state.

The keys jingled in the lock and as the door creaked open not even the loud snap of the light switch changed the mood. Oh, the hate left its track like a slug as she walked towards her office. She was first there and glad she had a change of clothes. She thought about her feelings towards the job, as she wrote her report for last night’s incident. She felt that despite all the positive returns it brought, it wasn’t enough sometimes. After doing the job for several years with little to no advancement or change and as far as she could see no was coming anytime soon.

“Shannon, can you come into my office for a moment?” A dark haired male peeked into her office with his arms filled with paperwork.

“Sure, Roger. Let me complete this report and I’ll be right there.” She wondered with each strike of the keys what could he possibly want this early in the morning. She wondered if he had heard about the Reid case.

She stood up and walked what felt like the green mile to his office. She lightly tapped on his slightly ajar door as he acknowledged her with a flick of the wrist. She sat down in front of his cluttered desk and smiled.

He looked at her grimly and sucked his teeth as if he had something stuck in between them, “I’m not sure how to say this but we got something in the mail yesterday that disturbed us terribly.”

The smile on her face disappears as her thinks what next, “Ok?”

“The letter…” He removed a small folded paper out of a equally small envelope and reviewed it before continuing, “has some very incriminating information pertaining to you and your work here with us.”

Shannon’s mind racing around for the culprit to this bad joke, “Incriminating in what way?”

“Well, very incriminating and due to the nature of our job an investigation must be conducted to measure the validity of the accusation. ”

“Can you please stop beating around the brush and tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Shannon, you have been accused of child molestation!” He refolds the letter and looks at her with a stoic look on his face.

“Molestation! Are you nuts?”

Shannon looks up to see the local security guards at the door. Shannon stood up and pushed past the good for nothing rent a cops. She went into her office and started removing everything that meant something to her. Tears of rage streamed down her face as she tore out of the office into the crowded packing lot. Shannon dropped the box of goods onto the hot ground as she searched in her bag for her car keys. She did everything but dump her purse out in the road to find them at the bottom. As she sat in her car she tried to get her car to start but it wouldn’t. Tears streamed down her face as she called her boyfriend, Hakeem as just her luck his phone went straight to voice mail. She called the house and still no answer.

She got out of the car and looked around for someone she knew. Any other day, there would be somebody from her neighborhood at the office to either to re-certify their food stamps or to try and get some. Sweat dripped into her eyes reminding her that she was kicked to the curb by the State of Florida due to a vexed parent.

Just when Shannon thought she was going to have to foot it to the street, a shiny red Cadillac Seville pulled up in front of her. The car sat there for what seemed like minutes before the tinted window rolled down and smoke rolled out along with a tenor voice.

“Is that little Shannon Reynolds?” A man with gold teeth, a pug nose and sneaky eyes glared over at her.

“Hey Mr. Charlie.” She tried to suppress the habitual groan that usually followed behind him.

“Why you standing out here looking all hot and bothered?” He licked his ashy lips and winked.

“My car is out of commission so I’m stranded out here.” Shannon hated that she was in this predicament but needed help.

“Well, baby girl you know I always got you.” He got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side opening the door for Shannon. He was a short man with a major Napoleon complex.

Shannon was always a bit afraid of Mr. Charlie because he always looked at her in a lewd manner. He had a way of making her feeling naked and dirty. Mr. Charlie was her next door neighbor and he seemed to always show up when he was least expected. Shannon sat close to her door with her legs closed tightly.

Putting a cigarette in his mouth, “You don’t mind do you?” Before she could answer negatively, he had taken two puffs. Shannon tried to roll the windows down but he stopped her. “I got the AC on, girl, it’s hot at there.”

Mr. Charlie touched her a few times as it was his way. He needed to touch you to talk to you. Imagine that as a child, a dirty old man always touching on the little girls and boys. Parents were on the alert all except Shannon’s as her aunt actually dated him for a moment. This gave him an excuse to come by unannounced even when he knew she wasn’t there.

Shannon breathed through her mouth and prayed he didn’t take the long route home. The lord answered her prayers as they turned the corner to her neighborhood. Shannon couldn’t get out of the car fast enough as she slammed the door and thanked him profusely.

She marched up the stairs and saw the door was open. Strangely, no one was in the house, which was a blessing in disguise. Because if someone had been home they would have been laid out on the phone, which is what she needed desperately right now. She walks into the kitchen and reaches for the phone but it wasn’t on the base. Unfortunately, for her this wasn’t one of the cordless bases that you can press the button and it calls the makes a sound until you locate the sound.

Shannon heard her stomach growl and decided to find something to eat before searching for the phone. Opening the refrigerator to find an egg and some orange juice. Some is an exaggeration as it was more like a swallow. What the hell is going on up in here? She opened the cabinets to find nothing but ramen noodles and some canned beets. What’s really going on? The state of nourishment in the kitchen made Shannon forget about her hunger.

She walked out of the kitchen on a mission to find the phone. She checked the couch, lifted up the cushions, looked under the couch as well as all over the living room, dining room and kitchen before proceeding to the bathroom and bedrooms. After an hour search for the cordless phone she slumped on the living room couch with the remote control in her hand. She flipped through the channels absentmindedly as she analyzed what her life was about.

She was writing notes in her palm pilot when the door burst open. In came her mother, Diane, dressed to the tees with the cordless phone to her ear. Both of them were surprised as Shannon rarely came home since she moved out to live with her boyfriend and Diane talking on the missing phone.

“Hold on! Shani what are you doing here?”

“I just thought I would come by to see how ya’ll living.” Lying through the gap in her teeth. “Where you been?”

Putting her finger in the air, “I’ll be right back.” As she walks into the small bedroom and close the door on Shannon’s peering eyes.

Diane comes out of the room with a white tee shirt and some paint ridden jeans. She sits down heavily in the armchair and lights up her Newport and looks at the TV with Shannon. Shannon looks over at her mother and shook her head at her inability to maintain eye contact and a meaningful conversation.

“Where is the phone and what kind of starvation diet are ya’ll on up in here?” Shannon asks as she stands up.

“Oh, its in my purse in the room.” Scrambling up and pretty much knocking Shannon down in the process. Making Shannon wonder what should she have been looking for during her phone search.

Yelling into the room, ”Why is the phone in your purse?”

Diane walks out of the room with the phone in her hand, “Your brother has a nasty habit of running up the phone bill so I carry the phone on me.”

Shannon grabs the phone, “Who he calling out of town?” Sitting back down on the couch feeling more relaxed. Diane walks into the kitchen and begins to bang on pots and pans.

“Some girls he met at that Black College Spring Break in Daytona Beach. I told him those girls ain’t nothing but prostitutes but he claiming he in love with a few of them.”

Shannon nods her head in agreement, “Yeah, he told me he was supposed to go to the something that one of the chicks told him about in ATL.” Dialing the phone when she hears Diane turning the water on in the kitchen.

“Who is this and what you want, cause I don’t know you and I ain’t got it.” A deep voices booms through the phone.

“Babe, where you at?”

“Oh sup, slim! I’m up at the shop pricing out some rims for the cars. Why you calling from your folks house?”

“My car won’t start! I need you to come get me and stop by the house and pick up my cell, please.”

“Oh, well you gonna have to stay put for a couple hours cause they just took the tires off my car.”

“Well, I might see if I can get a ride to the shop. Call the house before you leave, ok?”

Shannon hangs up the phone and leans back on the floral print sofa. Looking around the room you would never know that this was her childhood home as there were no young faces on the walls.

It's fundamental

2005-05-30T00:30:00.000-04:00

The love for words and the places that the combination of verbs, nouns and adjective alike, is the reason I breathe today.

One of my earliest experiences with words, especially those pesky adjectives, is reading "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" to my grandmother who was a first grade teacher. I had the most difficult time pronouncing the word “beautiful” and time after time it came out at “bootiful”. I think she thought I was playing around since my cousin was giggling so she would hit me with a wooden ruler and tell me to read it again. It took all I had in me to get that first line right but once I got past that bump in the road I've been on cruise control ever since. Its amazing all the different types of fairies there are in the world and each tale was a watercolor painting nailed to the walls of my mind. Opening a book was like rolling out a magical carpet to a world bigger than one I could even wrap my mind around.

As I maneuvered through life on Aladdin’s magic carpet, I one day found myself laying on a thin futon looking at a shoji door. I could almost see something on the other side yet I wasn't sure if it was my imagination. The tatami mat floor cooled my overheated mind as I dropped another finished book on the literary cluttered floor. I read like crazy yet I found myself running in slippered circles instead of standing up and opening that shoji door. In the midst of the cherry blossoms, sumo wrestlers, ikebana and the simplicity of a summer yukata, I found my passion. With just a small bit of exertion, the door glided open and I found myself scribing stories of life as an foreigner in Japan among my other adventures.

I get this feeling of a spice tossed in the air of zen when I write. I know that I'm skilled and not even at my best yet I feel that I'm "damn good" so far. Books, words and the escape into a dream has existed in my soul for the longest time. I would love to give you a guided tour of how the flair of my pen can be used to create and edit classics. As I mentioned earlier, the love of words and the places they take us is the reason I breathe.

Shoji Part 7

2005-05-22T20:46:00.000-04:00

Eating had become an obsession as soon as she stepped off the plane in Japan. So, in the short time she had been there she searched high and low for restaurants that served food on normal sized plates with american sized portions. She was aware that Americans ate entirely too much but still being incubated in a all you can eat culture effects you in ways you never know until you are away from it. So to celebrate her new job Kariya and her best friend dressed up and went to the yakiniku restaurant that overlooked the river.

This was the type of restaurant that left its mark on you when you left. It was a smoking barbecue inside a poorly ventilated room. Every table had a small pit in the middle of the table. The waiter came over and took their order and turned on the fire with a small dial on the corner of the table. They ordered various types of raw meat, cow intestines, beef stomach among other things and once it was bought to them sliced on huge white plates, they would but the meat on the grill and cook it as they talked and had their drinks.

“So, are we going out tonight,” tomoko asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“why not? We’re celebrating!” Stuffing her mouth with rice and burned meat.
“Good because I want you to meet someone.”
“wait, so you holding out on me?”
“No, no..its not that. I just met him myself and he invited me to his club.”
“His club? What, my girl has pulled a Japanese baller!” kariya leans across the table to give tomoko a high five.

Tomoko was a wild child and although she was born and raised in America. She has the grit about her to get accepted into every circle around her. As a child in San Francisco, she resisted learning Japanese and would only answer her parents in English. they tried very hard to get her to use her Japanese in the home so she would be alienated from her homeland and after a while gave up on her speaking it. she understood it but she was missing the details that put her in the “in” category with japanese. Her parents constantly worried that she wouldn’t receive acceptance in japan especially since she wasn’t born there. Imagine their shock and excitement when tomoko told them she was going to Japan.

Tomoko decided to travel and felt that her parents would only support her if she started in japan. She knew that she couldn’t go without her best friend kariya. She meet her one summer day in San Francisco, looking out of the window she saw a little girl her age wearing cowboy boots and drawing some lines on the ground of her next door neighbors drive way. Tomoko was strangely drawn to the girl and ran down the stairs and out the door to see what was so special about this girl. She found out immediately when the little girl look up at her and smiled and greeted her in japanese and proceeded to ask her if she wanted to play hopscotch. From that moment on tomoko and Kariya were unseparable in the summers and wrote each other every month during the school year.

Leaning back and patting her full stomach, Kariya sighed as she looked over at her friend. She secretly worried about tomoko because she was so impulsive with men as they broke her heart over and over again. kariya had little experience but just by listening to others relationship woos she kept that part of life at bay. She was also envious of her ability to open her heart repeatedly without thoughts of the past. Tomoko lived in the present when in love and it was a beautiful thing until the guys buckled under rainbow effect.

the ladies paid their bill and walked out of the restaurant wearing the tell-all scent of yakiniku for dinner. they went to one of the well known hip hop clubs in the area and found that indeed they were on the guest list so they were escort in and lead to a room filled with soft couches and a huge glass window that looked out into the dance floor. Everyone in this room were putting up airs like that meant something and maybe they did. They ordered their drinks and sat down and spoke in English about the people in the room. As they talked, a small guy with a oversized head with a hat and clothes to match came and sat down. His eyes dragged slowly from Kariya to Tomoko as he pulled out a cigarette. He then got very animated and as he spoke to Tomoko in japanese.

“tomoko, do you know her?”
“Yes, she’s my friend. is there a problem?”
“Uh..no no none at all. I am just surprised that you know foreigners.”
“Yes, i just met her.” smiling as she looked at me so i knew she was playing him up for the moment.
“Oh yeah, so is she an english teacher?”
“why don’t you ask her?”
“oh oh no, my english is very bad.”
tomoko looks over at me and pretends to relay the message. Kariya immediately decides that her first story will be japanese perception of english teachers so she goes into character by nodding her head.

“figures they all come here, smiling and speaking the little japanese they know to try and pick up boys and girls.”
tomoko said no more and instead sat and listened and nodded her head and laughed at all the right points. kariya excused herself and decided to start her research on the club level.

the club was full of japanese people dresses is various stereotypical ways. One corner was a group of japanese guys dresses in dickies, chuck taylors, plaid shirts with only the top button fastened, blue bandanas and had various tattoos on their arms and face. They all had this super mean grimace on their faces yet when someone mistakenly bumped into them they immediately bowed and said they were sorry. One could only imagine that the line of low riders outside belonged to this group of “eses”. Another corner had a group of guys that were all blinged out with girls on their arms wearing close to nothing. They nodded their heads in greeting as Kariya passed by and their girls snuggled in closer. The music was intoxicating and surprising on point as Kariya bobbed and weaved her way through the crowded club. She ended up having to stand up on one of the platforms to get the best view of what the demographics of the club was truly like.

Next to her was a blonde loc’d skinny guy wearing an complete burberry outfit molesting some poor japanese girl as she tried to keep her rhythm. there was a lot of grinding going on up there and Kariya wanted no part of it. there were a group of black guys standing on the stairs of the club,one dressed in a suit like the rest of security, most wearing various sports jerseys and baggy pants with a huge chain of some sort on their neck. It had taken kariya a moment to figure out what the difference was but as she walked over to them it became apparent.

“Hey,” she exclaimed as she stepped up on the stairs towards them.
The tallest one looked down at her and started laughing as he spoke in another language to the guys standing with him.
“What is so funny?” An suddenly enraged Kariya shouted over the music.
Everyone stopped laughing but no one spoke to her. She stood there for a minute waiting for an answer. She looked at each one of them making notes of their identity for future reference.
“Assholes,” she said huffily as she turned away and walked back to the room where Tomoko was.

She rushed up to tomoko as told her in an upset voice, “See you at home, I’m leaving!”
tomoko reached at her quickly and was pulled up by Kariya. Looking back at the man she has been entranced by for the past couple of hours she said “I’ll be right back, ok?” He nodded his head and lowered his lids as he examined the situation.

As they rushed pass the clubgoers and into the bathroom. Kariya went into a rant like no other that sent all the females who were in the bathroom out with the quickness.

“These motherfuckers all up in here acting like they better than somebody. who the fuck they think that are? Fucking fakes! Acting like they Americans! I can’t stand their funky asses! Damn fugitives!”

tomoko knew to let her ride the wave of anger. She opened her purse, added a little more foundation and some lip gloss. She pulled out a pack of gum and popped a piece in her mouth and offered a piece to Kariya as if she wasn’t ranting at all. Kariya looked at the gum as if it was something she had never seen before. She stopped talking and slowly reached for the gum.

“Now that, that’s over, their is someone who wants to meet you!” Tomoko said quietly as she knew the currents had shifted within Kariya.
“Why do they want to meet me?” Kariya inquires cautiously.
“Cause they saw you when we came in and found you interesting.”
“How can someone find another person interesting just by seeing them from a distance? That’s crazy!” Kariya’s voice got stronger as if ready to release into another tirade.
“What if I told you they have seen you around but never felt right approaching you?” Tomoko knew she had to keep this girl calm.
“Oh so, I got myself a stalker on my hands and you are just gonna....”
“Girl, shut the fuck up” Tomoko interrupted angrily because she hated when Kariya sabotaged meeting men prior to even meeting them. “Now you are gonna go out here and meet this damn man and if you aren’t feeling him then and only then can you take your ass home!”

Kariya looked incredulously at tomoko and couldn’t help but follow her back into the crowd building. Sitting next to the club owner was one of the DJs, He was te one kariya pegged as the best looking one, he was stocky and had a little facial hair and he his musical rotation showed that he has some connection to America. He stood up when they walked up and looked only at her. kariya noticed the japanese girls lookin thru the window with a face of jealous curiousity.

“hello, my name is Minami” He spoke to her in English.
“Hi, I’m Kariya, nice to meet you.” She replied.
They sat down and began talking about basic things and then the silence settled in. She was going back and forth in her head on whether she should reveal her japanese profiency around tomoko’s ignorant man.

“Do you speak any japanese?” He leaned over and asked her as the waiter brought a round of drinks to the table.
“Yes, I do! I thought you would never ask!”

After that the conversation flowed non-stop as Tomoko’s club owner friend’s mouth gaped open in shock. He knew then that all the things he had said about her in japanese was comphrehended. Kariya left the club that night after exchanging numbers with Minami and making him promise that they would hang out again.

He was true to his word and made sure to invite her to all his shows but that was the jest of it.

Weeks passed and Kariya worked on her first story, Japanese interest in the English language. One day, as she sat at the station in the editing room. She heard one of the resisters asking where she was. Even though she had been at the station for a couple of weeks people still pretended that she wasn’t there. She peeked her head out of the closet size room and call to him.

“Here I am, Mr. Aoki! How are you today?” As she opened the door wider so he could come inside the small room with her. He was a very short and conservative dressed man. He had a comb over and a slight overbite. He sat down in the comfy chair which meant she had to resume in the hair metal chair. The room was a wall of TVs, VCRs and control boards.

“So, Kariya lets see what you have for us.” He says somberly as if the results meant life or death.

Kariya smiles and takes her finger and puts it on the knob and turn it counter clockwise until the screen was black. She then hit a green button and the screen begin to change to first rainbow and then into a classroom of little tots saying their ABCs. The screen then moved to a group of women around a table with an english book and then to a business man studying English on the train. The three screen then joined together as Kariya’s voice tapped in giving the statistics of Japanese people studying English. The tape was cut exactly to 25 minutes and it was a great piece of work that was honest and culturally sound. As the screen faded to black again, Kariya tapped the yellow button causing the tape to pop out along with a mini disc.

“Give this tape to the program director and tell him to play make room in the evening lineup.” Mr. aoki puts his hands in his suit pocket and pulls out something that resembles a tube of lipstick only its the stamp with his signature, he takes the tape and stamps it and hands it to Kariya. She is standing there in disbelief and telling herself to close her mouth and breathe as her fingers grab the tape.

“After that get your things.” He stands up and puts the haruka back in his pocket and walked toward the door.

“Www...why?” she stammers thinking all type of negative thoughts yet conflicted since he just told her in his way that her segment was worthy of airtime.

“Because you are going out with me. Now hurry along!” Mr. Aoki opens the door and walks out leaving Kariya shaking her head at him. He likes her enough to invite her out for drinks. This is an important ritual in Japanese cultural to go out drinking with the boss. She had been waiting on this moment since she started at Fuji. She take a deep breathe of relief and drops the mini disc in her bag as she walks toward the program director’s office with her first segment.

Shoji Part 5

2005-05-18T00:38:00.000-04:00

Kariya found herself sitting in front of a panel of five businessmen dressed in various styles ranging from super conservative to wanna be surfer casual. She brushed her freshly ironed blue dress suit and began speaking in the most humble voice she could muster without losing her standing. It was all about positioning and presentation in the business world and Kariya was the queen of climbing ladders based solely on those two principles.

“Hello, I am honored you invited me to sit in your presence.....” All of this said in perfectly Tokyo dialect. “I am so gracious for this opportunity and I believe I can learn so much in your company.” The violins began playing as she continued to pour on the compliments as well as throwing out pieces here and there to show her knowledge of the company. “...to work for Fuji has been a lifelong dream and I truly believe you are a credit to society and touch more than 200 million people a day worldwide. This statistic alone is astonishing yet it is expected of Fuji since you exemptlify excellence and quality programming.”

Kariya was on a roll as the questions came in she saw that a couple of the “suits” were resisting her but she had the other three in the palm of her hand.

“Do you expect us to hire you as a reporter?” One of the resister asked smugly.

“Well, I expect you to hire the best person for the position as well as someone that has innovative story ideas that can bring you more subscribers. I would also expect you to see an opportunity to create a buzz that will again force people to tune into your station. I expect that there are others that wants this job but I expect to give you great ratings.” Kariya spoke in a meek voice through it all which somehow cracked his resistance.

The interview was pretty much in the bag after that moment and she was told to wait outside as they conferred about her possible employment. After waiting for ten minutes, she was asked to come back inside and this time only the two resisters were seated in front of her.

She then learned their names, Mr. Yoshimoto and Mr. Aoki as they informed her that she would be hired as a part time reporter for 300 thousand yen a month. It was her job to go out into the community and find stories to report. They said that if her story ideas panned out she would be expected to create a 15 to 20 minute spot weekly. She thanked them profusely because it seemed that in ten minutes a position was created for her. She was sent to the human resource office to fill out her paperwork and start thinking aobut her first story on Fuji TV.

Kariya changed out of her suit in the lobby bathroom with a knowing smile on her face. She knew she was set to explore Japan on her own terms and now get paid for it and not even have to sit in an office. She changed into a pair of camoflague shorts, a white wifebeater and a pair of flip flops and put her suit in a duffel bag. Kariya was floating on cloud nine as she walked into her favorite conbini. The staff was always courtesy with their hellos and equally excited when she spoke to them about the happenings in japanese. She walked around and looked at the onigiris, rice and beef bowls and curried stuffed pastries until she decided on two tuna onigiris and a juice. She then moved to the magazines and saw the new Japanese version of Vogue. After snatching that up, she paid and walked outside with the magazine in her hand and headed home to tell Tomoko the good news.

Shoji Part 3

2005-05-13T13:53:00.000-04:00

Summers were cowboys and samuris, as the only child of two very old fashion parents, she needed something off kither to fork up her road. Her parents were born and raised in a small town called Dothan, Alabama and didn’t really seem to want anything extra out of life. This being the reason Kariya was an only child, no extras needed. She was all her parents wanted along with a house and a job with the school board as a janitor and cook. This was the ol’ American dream, right?

Fortunately for Kariya, her father’s parents moved to San Francisco seeking the American dream of real estate and government employment. Without this smudge in her family dream book, her life would have been eating TV dinners on a foldable tray and buying a vowel with her high school sweetheart. This blip made Kariya’s dreams silky with a swagger and she couldn’t get enough of it.

The end of every school year, was like an adventure starting for Kariya. Her mother packing her sundresses, sandals and underwear in a small plaid suitcase as her father made peanut butter and jelly cracker sandwiches for the trip. The bus trip was always fun as her father invented games for them to play to pass the time until they arrived to the bus depot in the Land of Rice o’ Roni. Her nana would greet them with crushing hugs and then hurry them into the car explaining she was missing her stories.

Entering the house was enough stimulation to manage an army of pre-schoolers. In her right ear, with her pop sitting in a worn brown leather recliner, was the gunshots, horses galloping and John Wayne. She played saloon waitress and made sure his mug was always filled with frothy beer or a whisky. Her pop would talk to her about the presentation of “real men”. In her left ear, with her nana sitting in on a plastic covered loveseat, was swords crashing into each other, wooden shoes trampling on cobble stone and another language. She was the translator holding a billigual dictonary of Japanese - English. Her nana would hear a word on her “stories” and would ask Kariya what they were talking about.

By the time she was in middle school, she was fluent in Japanese and John Wayne-isms. As Kariya sat in the hard steel chair awaiting her name to be called for her interview at Fuji TV, she smiled at how influence sneaks up on destiny’s radar. If they didn’t know yet they would soon see that Kariya Herald was a huge force to be reckoned with.

Behind the Shoji

2005-05-10T01:35:00.000-04:00

The smoke rose slowly almost magically to the roof, lingered there and then suddenly was sucked out of the small window above the door. Kariya sat quietly on the tatami mat floor as she looked into the mirror as applied the white makeup to her caramel skin. She always dreamed of this day but felt that Riku's smoking was tainting it. As she pinned her wavy black hair up with the ivory and jade hair sticks, she heard Riku murmuring to someone on the phone. Kariya bites her tongue as she has vowed not to speak tonight, only smile, but how can she get her message across to Riku.

As her lipstick glides on her full lips smoothly, giving them the illusion of being thinner than they could ever be. She takes one last look at herself in the mirror and can't recognize herself underneath all the makeup. Kariya stands up slowly and smooths her 100% handmade silk kimono. She shuffles to the shoji door and takes a deep breathe and cracks it open. She sees him and watches his reaction to her illusion. It is priceless!

His cigarette falls out of his mouth and scatters ash and flames onto is nude skin. He drops the phone and before Kariya can get her hand out the door to invite him in, he has crashed through the door. All the work Kariya put into the illusion is gone within mere seconds as Riku pounce on her. She falls to the floor and scoots herself and Riku to the futon next to them as he excitedly undresses her. In the heat of the moment, she feels as if she's disgracing the art of geisha by prostituting herself for a couple million yen.

Almost

2005-05-09T01:40:00.000-04:00

Can you smell my insecurity when I walk into the room? I often wonder if it comes in different shapes and forms but maybe you have the sensitivity of acknowledging auras. I lean foward in wonderment,so tell me is there truly a slash in my aura? You look a bit perplexed at this sudden question but please excuse me when I'm unsure of where I stand I speak off the top of my head. I thank the frail looking waiter as he pulls the chair out so I can sit down. Its a bit of an awkward moment and definitely not the graceful event I imagine in my dreams.

Even in the darkness of your skin I can see a tinge of embarassment spread across your cheeks. My thighs brush the table causing it to tip your Coors Light over. I reach quickly to catch it but the sleeve of my shirt gets caught in the flicker of the candle. At this point my arms are waving in every direction and the purse I was carrying has smacked a tray out of another waiter's hand. Food is flying everywhere and someone has thrown a glass of water my way, missing its target completely but right in my face. The frail waiter is still holding the chair in shock as I step from the table and grab a pitcher of water from a nearby table and extinguish my shirt. I curse myself because I planned to take the shirt back. I only bought it to impress you during our first meeting.

As my arm blisters I look around the room with tears in my eyes. Spilled food and drinks pointing accusatory in my direction. You remain seated and I as look at you your eyes look down immediately in shame. I take a deep breathe and whisper I'm sorry as I walk out of the restaurant. If you didn't know I was insecure I made sure you got a one act play of the severity of it. Sadly, you never come out to comfort me or reassure me thus allowing me to remain fearful of being me.

Welcome

2005-05-09T01:05:00.000-04:00

I am that Island that people say you aren't!

I don't apologize for my self-centeredness.
In my world, self-centeredness is the key to world peace and lack of ego-tripping.

The question is if you were stranded on an island, would that be a bad thing?