sixty.one

*giggle*

sixty.

sometimes i think god's expectations of humankind were too high when he made the decision to give us minds. i say this because minds can create and destroy with such force that at times i can feel blessed to the point of unworthiness, and at other times i can feel out of my depth.

i've begun working on my book. i'm making serious progress, progress that i should be patting myself on the back for; but today i found myself underselling my achievements to...errr...myself. i mean, i set myself targets to ensure i stay on track, and if i didn't meet them then you know i would have been down on myself with immediate quickness. so what about when i did not only meet my target, but i bettered it? turns out that's no big deal. it's whatever. it's nothing. cos see, i still have alllll this other shit to complete before i can even begin to congratulate myself.

sound familiar?

i'm sharing this because i think we have to give ourselves more credit than we often do. you're not going to achieve all of your dreams in one day, and who the hell would want to do that anyway [i've heard of making room in your calendar, but that's excessive]?

don't deny yourself the congratulations you deserve when you take those little steps. a dance is nothing without that first movement. everything is habit-forming, even brilliance. if you don't acknowledge your successes then it's gonna take longer for you to develop a healthy disposition to excelling.

tell your mind to get gone and bask in your triumphs. all of them.

today: i totally rocked.

fifty.nine

sinead o'connor - nothing compares 2 u

this video is one of my favourite videos of all time. it's so simple, and in this simplicity it somehow finds power to deeply affect the viewer; and this is what makes it brilliant.

some people say that a cover is never better than an original, but i think sinead trumps prince on this one. the audio alone can bring me to tears, but when you add the visual you can be sure that by the time she starts blubbing, i am crying along with her.

it's such a gift to feel so strongly for someone; i'm looking forward to feeling that again one day.

fifty.eight

[may 29th 2009]

bilal feat. mos def & common - reminisce

in my blog post LA.4 i talked about there being no such thing as a coincidence. i also wrote that if i didn't experience a multitude of deja vu and coinkidink moments in london, i'd know i was out of step with the universe. well today it is this song, from one of my favourite singers, that has affirmed that i am in the groove. it started with a skype status message, travelled to my itunes, and then spoke on my friend's life. the words in the song and the way it just kept popping up in conversations and over my speakers throughout the day makes this my official song of the day.

honourable mentions:
billy joel - the longest time
peven everett - testin' me

fifty.seven

*sigh*

you're sure to have seen the video of spec from pretty ricky dancing in his salmon hi-leg briefs by now. if not, then check out the moving image below.

*cries*

blogs, message boards and twitter pages all over the innerweb world are proclaiming that spec is gay. shit, people are even telling him so on his own myspace page: "ok dat was just gay what u did dawg u need to hang dat shit up". [sidenote: can i get some damn punctuation? wowie.]

spec, however, is defiant. he twittered [tweeted? twitterized? tweeterlated?] these sentiments: "My video is for the ladies. I wanna kno why every wanna be real nigga watched my video!!! The whole thing!! So who's gay?? Lmfoa!"

lol @ the 'you watching me makes you gay' argument. didn't r kelly use that line of defense during his trial? "yeah i pissed on her, but you watching me piss on her makes you a pedophile, judge!"

but, believe it or not, i don't think spec is gay. and, believe it or not, i'm not posting this just to make fun of him. why? well, i still have a soft spot for the guy. see a couple of years ago i was assigned the task of following pretty ricky around for a few days for a magazine i was writing for. i wrote this article about my experience. now, of course i had to ham it up a little and get into my teenage girl mind; but truth is that spec and his brothers did grow on me like a harmless fungus. and for those that think spectacular is a gay name? blame his parents. both he and diamond [the only two in the pack of 13 siblings with the same mother] are using their birth names. yes. birth names. i know, it's a damn shame, but he can't be blamed for it.

over the four odd days that i observed these cats, using my journalistic, but mainly my anthropological talents, i was hit on by three of them. this ranged from innocuous compliments to being slipped hotel room numbers. in fact, the only one that didn't hit on me was slick'em.


so he's obviously the gay one!

lol

oh, spec. my thoughts are with you, liccle bro.

fifty.six

song lyrics : aural epiphanies pt.1

you ever listen to a song, a song you know well, and hear a lyric that you've never heard before?

today my itunes was doing its thing and i was singing along to various random treats. the only apple app that i care for threw on one of my 'judge me if you must, but i like this shit' songs: brian mcknight feat nelly - all night long.

so i turn it up. and i dance. and i practise my runs alongside brian. and then nelly comes on. and i sing-rap with him:

# time don't mean a damn thing in this case / so unplug the clocks / and close the drapes #

um...unplug the clocks???

who the hell has plug-in clocks, nelly?

what are you thinking?

huh? what's that you said?

it's one of those alarm clock radio am/fm joints?

cos you're in her bedroom?

about to do her?

oh, i see!

damn, you're deeeep nelly.

i can't see why your last album didn't sell...

p.s. ^ that's not sexy ^
:(

fifty.five

friends.

i called her at 11:46pm last night and she listened to me talk for over two hours.

it's a brave, honest friendship. one that we're only in because it makes sense now; not because of duty borne out of historical ties, or need borne out of future aspirations.

we know how we met, but we don't remember how we became friends.

but, we don't have to.

i love her.

fifty.four

i had a job interview yesterday. it didn't go so well. i haven't heard whether or not i got the job, but i'm not too optimistic about it. business-speak is really not my forte. i can talk someone's head off in a social situation [although i'm getting less chatty as i get older], but if you ask me about the day job i draw a blank. i had so many brain farts during the interview that i came out of there wishing that the other interviewees were really bad. you know it didn't go well when you have to wish ill on another person. when you knowingly sow the seeds of your bad karma because you really need the scrilla. i beat myself up about my lacklustre performance all the way home, but by the time i stepped into my house the energy had begun to shift.

see, this career, this way that i make money, is not my passion. the disappointment in not getting the job would be because of the financial repercussions, but not the spiritual ones. in fact, the more i connect with how unimportant the day job is, the more i begin to dread getting the call telling me that i have the job. the thought of sitting at a desk for eight hours, concentrating on something that doesn't nurture the most precious parts of me makes my soul die a little. at this point, getting a day job feels like a lose-lose situation.

but: i need money. i need money to pay for food, travel and clothes. to pay for my phone, to pay off my credit card and to treat myself to the occasional live music event. money is the only reason i prostitute the most productive hours of my day to these employment agency pimps and their clients. and when i say 'prostitute' i'm not even using hyperbole. i feel like julia roberts in pretty woman when i'm at these jobs: "sure, i'm here for all the good hours in the day to give these people what they want, but i don't kiss this job on the mouth."

i returned from LA with a crystal clear vision of how i want my life to look. perhaps i'm unrealistic, perhaps i'm immature, but i don't want any part of my life to reside outside of that which contributes to my overall health. i don't want to work a shitty job but have a great time on the weekends. i don't want to have the best friends but a boyfriend that i fight with all the time. i don't want to live in the house of my dreams next to neighbours i can't stand.

in addition to the sun, sea, fresh air and good people i must be surrounded by; i want to share my writing with anyone that cares to read it. not just through blogs, but through the two books i'm writing, through the editorial journalism that i'm about to get back into, and through my poems. i want to eat from that which feeds me. i want to sit down to breakfast knowing that it is my musings on faith that made it possible, i want to drink my dedication, i want to dine on my belief in love. but when do i start doing this? in the future? when a, b, c or x, y, z are in place? when things are stable? when i have the time? ha! we all know how that goes, i'll be waiting forever. so...the best time is now, right? yes, it is.

so: hear ye, hear ye!

i will be publishing a book of poems very soon.

it will be a book of - asides* -.

i will only print 100 copies.

the dream starts today.


love.



[shout out to meen]

fifty.three

my eyes! my eyes! they bleed!

i just saw the video for cam'ron's cookies and apple juice.

omg. it's like i slipped and fell in the year 2003.

i can't even post it here for fear it may infect my other posts with some kind of youtube gonorrhea.

to reference a recurring kenan & kel moment: WHY?!

fifty.two

"god always gives you something."

these were the words my mother spoke as we watched a little blind girl sing her heart out on television. her voice was stunning, and although i was no more than 12 yrs old, my mother's words really registered.

there's this guy i know that has the WORST breath. it kicks. i'm talking capoeira type spins and praying mantis type height. and it's like this all the time. all the time. it ain't that 'i just woke up' or even that 'i'm hungry' breath. it's more like that 'i have a small animal rotting in my stomach' type breath. the kinda breath they might not let you bring on the plane because it's considered a toxic substance. now i'm not saying i haven't karate-chopped a nostril or two in my day [if you know me and you think i got that all the time breff too then please be a friend and holler at me immediately], but this guy's breath is just...bad. it's so bad that after he's met friends of mine he is forever referred to by his breath, not his name.

but there's something else about him that bugs me out. he is forgettable. more than once he has told me that he knows someone that i know, but when i mention him to them i'm always met with a 'who?'. sometimes he describes them as friends, sometimes they're acquaintances, sometimes they've worked together; but whatever it is, i'm invariably met with confusion and blank stares when i tell the other person about him.

and now i come to the lightbulb moment: god always gives you something.

i guess jesusbuddhaallah was making this guy in heaven and realised that they'd missed that vital 'memorable' ingredient, that spice that keeps you in someone's mind and heart. "damn! it's too late to fix this now. what can i dooooo? hmm.....i'll make his breath spicy! they might not remember him, but they'll sure as hell remember this aroma."

except: as bad as the scent that his oral dungeon emits is, it's still not enough. supposed friends, acquaintances and colleagues are still like 'who?'. so now he's gotta go through his whole forgettable life with wholly unforgettable breath.

ain't that a bitch?

fifty.one

myspace is like a ghost town right now. i was just checking my home page when tumbleweeds rolled by, carried by dusty winds.

i'm not leaving.

i'm one of those loyal members that continue to ride for the site, even though almost every new feature over the past couple years has been stolen from facebook, and therefore annoys the hell out of me. message me, comment me, friend request me. i don't need to know your status updates [hello twitter], and i certainly don't want to be your pet [this is flattering hoooooow?].

still: me and tom have history. it's on myspace that i learned that there were a million other weird, creative souls in the world that i could relate to. and although it seems many of my tribal brethren have flown the nest to inhabit twitter, facebook and various blog sites, choosing to leave their pages unattended and unloved, i'll be there at myspace.com/anthrojourno waiting for them with open arms when they return.

and they will.

they will.

fifty.

eminem is back.

yay? boo?

personally, i'm on the side of the boooooooos; but that's not what this post is about.

see there's something that's even more pressing than the debate about his music:

WHAT THE FLIP IS UP WITH HIS FACE?

it must be botox. it must be. look at him! his face is smoother than ron isley's falsetto. comments left on the youtube clip of his jimmy kimmel interview point out that he doesn't smile once. because he can't! so now i'm tryna figure out how and why this white kid from detroit, with deep-seated freudian angst, came upon the idea to inject his face with poison...


ll got to him! lol @ the ironic caption on em's shirt. next video he's gonna be licking his lips incessantly. just watch. and remember you read it here first.

forty.nine

seven reggae songs that held me down in the '90s:

mad cobra - flex



terror fabulous feat. nadine sutherland - action



beenie man - who am i



mr vegas - heads high



chaka demus & pliers - murder she wrote



patra feat. yoyo - romantic call



shabba ranks - trailor load a girls [sic]

forty.eight

[may 19th 2009]

amel larrieux - earn my affections

it dawned on me recently that amel larrieux is my favourite female artist. i've been a fan since her days with groove theory and my fandom has only grown as the years have rolled by. her jazz sensibilities mean that her riffs are second-to-none, and she can share a message without being preachy [take note, india.arie]. she has a new album coming out soon, and i'm gonna buy the CD. yes. the actual CD. i ain't bought a CD since 2006.

honourable mentions:
georgia anne muldrow - nothingness
amadou et mariam - kirikou

forty.seven

i was in central london this weekend and had to take a picture of this caricaturist's impression of rihanna:

*dead*

forty.six

i have no idea how this album sounds, but i am in love with the cover.

it's pure gorgeousness.

forty.five

"without having your title, who are you?"

did he read my LA.7 blog? this video was posted two days before my blog was, so i guess not. but see how in tune we are? we're so in tune we're in auto-tune. we're t-pain, baby!

maxwell, why are we bullshittin'?

forty.four

whoo!

a lot goes on in this big head of mine. those LA posts really took it out of me.

time for some light relief.

forty.three

LA.7

over the past couple of years i've really begun to own that i'm a writer. i've even got into the habit of filling out forms and citing 'writer' as my occupation. there is little else that i have as much passion for, and little else that excites me as much as expressing myself through words.

i've been surrounded by creative people for years: photographers, producers, dancers, singers, musicians...you name it, i know them. and almost everyone i know, at some point, has had a lapse in confidence/energy/commitment. it seems to be the way it goes for creative spirits, one minute we're up and the next we're down, feeling uninspired and a little worthless. for what is a writer if they can't write, or a producer if they can't make music?

while i was in LA i had an epiphany. just because your label [dancer, singer, artist] is creative, doesn't mean it conclusively describes who you are or why you do what you do any more than 'plumber' or 'checkout assistant' would. i may be a writer, but am i just a writer? do i write because that's what a writer does? or is my innermost desire to share myself and connect with the world, and writing is the way that i do this best? are you really a producer, or is your spiritual hunger fed by touching hearts, and making beats is the way you do this best? are you really a photographer, or do you have a burning need to challenge the way people see things, and taking pictures is the way that you do this best?

when you find out what it is that compels you to do what you do, you can unleash that force into every area of your life. once you discover that being a singer or a choreographer is secondary to being a lover or a healer then it won't hit so hard when the songs or steps don't come. it's at those moments that you redirect that force that never fades into something and everything else, until the channel you tune into best regains its signal.

really: if you didn't paint, if you didn't make beats, if you weren't a poet, how would you be known? who are you? what will you leave behind on this blue earth for generations to come?

put that on everything.

looking over the valley

forty.two

LA.6

it seems to me that living in the now doesn't have to be in opposition to dreaming.

don't live for the future, but do visualise how incredible it will be.

botanic garden
[5th floor of kyoto grand hotel]

forty.one

LA.5

although we can choose whether or not we want to be parents, we can't choose whether or not we have parents. until technology outsmarts biology, all humans will continue to be made by two people. a man and a woman. a sperm and an egg. many of us are not raised by the people that made us. perhaps it's a grandmother, brother, or even your two lesbian mothers [congratulations wanda sykes] that care for you. whoever has the job, it is unavoidable that from the time we enter the world there is at least one adult assigned to the task of raising us.

a few weeks ago i was soaking in the tub and remembering some of the milestones i'd set myself when i was a teenager. meet my husband aged 22, marry aged 25, have first child aged 28. at the age of 27 i'm 0-2, and i pray to god i don't achieve the third. to think that i was hoping to be responsible for another human being by the time the next few months roll around is scary as hell. i feel like i'm just beginning to get a grip on what my life is about, let alone help someone else on their spiritual path.

see, invariably and unavoidably, our parents leave an imprint on us. if we're lucky, it's nothing but positive; but that's rare. most of us will, at some point, spend some part of our lives evaluating some pattern/thought process/behaviour/prejudice/world view/political position that we acquired before we knew how to spell acquired.

a friend and i were discussing this topic while i was in LA. i feel like i got my fair share of baggage from my parents, in fact at times i feel like i got a complete set of luggage. the kind you win on the price is right. [come ooooon down!] but there was no studio audience, no flashing lights and no skinny blond lady demonstrating how sturdy and easy to carry the pieces are. but the story of my inherited baggage is a story i know, the real question is: what will i pass to my children?

the truth is that we exist far beyond whatever labels our societies use, and when all is said and done our mothers and fathers are just people. plain old regular-ass people. people that made people. people that had to raise people within the structure of the life they already had and within the belief system they already held, because that's just how it goes. when you look at it that way you can't help but feel compassion for their plight. there is no job on the planet that is as important, as difficult, and as easy to screw up.

i can't help but be grateful that i don't have someone calling me mama yet. i've resigned myself to the fact that i'm gonna give my kids some kind of extra weight they'll have to burn off; but it would be irresponsible to give them a share of some of the things i have going on right now.

bag lady, it's more than your own back you hurt.

so: pack light.

me and my tan at a metro station in downtown LA

forty.

LA.4

"there's no such thing as a coincidence"

we've all heard that before. i believe it to be true. and more than this, i find that there are times in my life when coincidences and deja vu happens really often. this is when i know that i'm in my spiritual groove.

when you go with, and not against, the nature of things...when you go with, and not against, the pull of the universe: things are just smoother. they're smoother and they make more sense. they make more sense and so you see the bigger picture. you see the bigger picture and so you begin to see how things connect. you see how things connect and so you become more present. you become more present and so you are more inclined to go with the nature of things. and so it goes around, intensifying and blossoming ad infinitum.

i had these moments so many times whilst in LA. i hope they stay with me in london. if they don't then i'll know i'm swimming against the tide.

miss chicken peeping under the door in search of her owner

thirty.nine

LA.3

i think i was quite a quiet child, but from a young age i've been someone that talks to myself...out loud. if you catch me off-guard you can hear me exploring my thoughts and even going so far as to ask myself questions. i've walked past people in the street that talk to themselves aloud and thought they were crazy, and i've had people in soft-soled shoes pass me in the street from behind when i'm doing the same thing and hoped they didn't think i was crazy.

but, more than talking to myself, i somehow got into the habit of talking to others when talking to myself [why do i share these private things that make me seem hella crazy?]. when someone upsets me i can get into a good 10 minute tirade explaining how and why they fucked up. they're not there, but that doesn't stop me breaking it all the way down. and on the flip-side i can also spend a good 10 minutes telling someone why they're special to me. they're not there, but that doesn't stop me breaking it all the way down.

and aside from being happy and sad, i seem to have got into the more dangerous habit of sharing my vulnerable, sensitive, innocent thoughts/feelings with the invisible reps of people i care about. they're not there, but that doesn't stop me...you know where this is going. the day before i was going to meet up with a special friend of mine in LA, i found myself talking to his ghostly twin and telling it things that i've never told him. and then i just stopped. dead in my tracks just stopped.

this doesn't count.

this doesn't count.

this doesn't count.

jeebus, i gotta stop doing this.

i guess this is why i've gone off on boyfriends before, thinking they knew things about me that i actually never told them. or why in my mind i've cursed a whole bunch of people out, when in reality i've just smiled and walked away.

now, don't get me wrong, there's nothing inherently wrong with talking to yourself. in truth i don't think there'll ever be a time when i don't talk to myself aloud. i think it keeps you on the wrong edge of the sanity border [and i think that's where creative people should live]. but i gotta stop only being brave about the shit that really, really matters to me when i'm alone; and then wondering why people don't know the real [you ain't tell 'em, bitch!].

so, did i tell him?

no.

it just never came up.

but if it ever does, i promise i'll speak my truth.

in the studio at kpfk for the truth seekers show
[catch them every friday night from 1-3am PST]

thirty.eight

LA.2

my home was never religious. i got baptized at the age of four, and that was just so i could go to the local catholic school. that said, i went to that school up until the age of 11 and, when asked, would proudly declare that i was a christian. i stopped being religious not long before i left school. i was asking my teacher, a nun, some questions about some inconsistencies in the bible and instead of attempting to answer my questions she just kept telling me to 'have faith'. i didn't think that was good enough and so i decided i was through with jesus. as i've got older i've discovered that she wasn't so crazy after all. my appreciation for faith has grown tremendously over the past few years; i still don't do religion, but that's just me.

a few months ago a friend of mine suggested i pray. i frowned at his suggestion because i associated prayer with religion. as i said the words i surprised myself, it must have been sitting in my subconscious. i have been meditating for the past few years and this had become my way to pray, but the traditional idea of prayer had definitely taken a back seat since i stopped making the sign of the cross and touching palms.

when i shared my thoughts with my friend he told me that prayer could be anything i wanted it to be. see, prayer is about intention, not form. meditaiton, visualisation, talking to the universe, whatever works for you. this past week in LA i flexed my intention muscle super hard and prayed more than i ever have before. snatching a 10 second prayer just to send light out into the ether, or thanking the universe for the sun, or hugging someone i love and wishing the best for them really helped to strengthen the good energy in my days.

amen.

thank you, god, for jamba juice
[please bring it to england]

thirty.seven

LA.1

#if i could get over that hump/then maybe i will feel better#
- erykah badu 'that hump'

humps. barriers. obstacles.

before i left to LA i'd been thinking about humps. i wasn't contemplating the nature of them as much as i was evaluating my response to those that i've come up against. i've certainly faced some high hurdles in my life, but looking back i'm not sure how often i've jumped over them. i mean, things always work out, in so much as that life goes on. there is nothing that we can lose that will end our lives, unless it's our lives that we're losing. so when humps appear, and then disappear, it's easy to surmise that we overcame. but do we always?

on reflection, i don't think i've really jumped over all the hurdles in my life that demanded i do so. there are some i've crawled through, some i've walked around, some have been blown over by the wind, some have been knocked down by others, and then there are those that i've just stared at waiting for them to fall down without my help. there have been times when i've really fought [with a 100% success rate], but a lot of my fighting is primarily or totally internal. my idea of fighting has been to declare [sometimes just to myself] that i'm unhappy about a situation. but being angry and creating internal resistance to a situation is not the same as actively fighting to change it. to fight is to do, not just think. there are times when all we can do is try to think something better, but even then our thoughts should be positive, they should focus on what we want, not just huff and puff at the current situation.

the form of a hump is so unfortunate. as you're walking up the side it gets higher, steeper and harder to climb. as your energy depletes, the journey toughens. perhaps that's why i've stood at the bottom of them, shaken my head, and walked away.

but, due to what can only be described as a serious health problem [which has affected my ability to eat and for which there is no conclusive diagnosis. notice that i've dropped about 40 lbs in the past two years?], i stand at the foot of a hump that i can't avoid. my second day in LA was hell. not only could i not eat, i couldn't drink either. nothing stayed down. it's not the first time this has happened to me, and it may not be the last, but for the first time since this whole thing started my approach to the hump was different. so i climbed, i climbed understanding that the day would continue to get harder as i got weaker. by the time the sun set i was spent. what can you give when you have nothing left?

and then it hit me. the toughest point on the hump is the step just before you reach the top. only a fool would roll back down to the bottom at that point, right? it is then, when you really do have nothing left in the tank, that you must take one more step in good faith. one more step and you can stand at the top, take a breath, look down at the hill you've climbed and get ready to enjoy sliding down the other side.

perhaps i've given humps a bad rap all these years. i'm gonna keep climbing.

my climbing tools

thirty.six

los angeles, california

may 3rd - may 10th was one of the best weeks of my life. it didn't fly by, it didn't drag, it felt like it went at the exact pace a week should move. the week was full of revelations, celebrations and even a few complications; but they were all welcome.

i suppose a normal person would blog some kind of journal, a day-to-day rundown of pertinent events. they'd also share a whole bunch of pictures of all the crazy things they got into. of course i'm not normal, and so i've decided to blog seven entries, each exploring a different realisation i had whilst away. why seven? one for each day i was there.

...ok, you've twisted my arm, i'll throw a random pic on the back of each entry.

let's begin.

ahem!

thirty.five

and so i'm back! not from outer space, but from LA.

can't wait to get my thoughts and pictures in order and blog away about what was an amazing week.

in the meantime...ladies, have you seen this new pic of lenny kravitz?

*faints*

thirty.four

i'm currently in LA and on an internet detox, but i feel compelled to log in and share some words here. this is an entry that will make so much more sense once i'm able to share a story that is still being told in my life, but i think it's poignant now, even out of context.

your life is yours. claim it.

claim it through your words, your deeds and your intention. claim it through your faith, your love and your peace.

claim it out loud when the room is empty, and even when it's full.

grab it. hold it. own it.

and make it everything it deserves to be.

thirty.three

ladies and gentlemen, i'm not usually a fan of those 'funny' youtube clips, but this one had me dying.

this bird is on beat!

the headbanging at the end finished me off.

*dead*