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can you hear me now?

so yesterday began the final year of kissing the twenties good-bye. you should see me sigh & purr contentedly with my lover on the couch watching man u have their asses kicked and talking in kikuyu. who would have thought that what was love was..well.. love in training. i've thought of kicking the blog good-bye especially after being infested with the icky spammers, until a kind blogger mentioned the comment control...can we all say duh! it's not that writing didnt strike me as alluring. ive been tired ya'll. real tired about being tired.

ive also found that my perpetual cycles of painful pms,exhaustion, hot flashes (!) & unspeakable rage has got to do with - Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. thank god for small mercies though, no excessive facial hair or acne. Best believe though, i'm on the search for a sperm. if you see one walking on the street.. steer it my way.

i dont like my job. i never did. infact, ive never liked any of the jobs i've had. except the volunteer gig at khrc. when time permits, ive been helping out at a hospice for folks with aids...didnt feel inclined to write anything about december 1st. a career is on my mind. im a typical sag, lots of interests, unable to narrow it down to just one thing. so lets take notes: interests [ sex. cunt. feminisim. food. children. political & economic empowerment]

side bar. in a post 9-11 world. who are the good guys?

i'm i the only one who loves american top model. and why did i forget her name win? television and long walks in the park have kept me sane. that and speaking kikuyu. i dont get it. i've been in the states fot 4 yrs and not in those yrs have i been in the company of kenyans, and now, im soaking it all in..quench my thirst. quench my thirst..

i finally said goodbye to the ex who stroked the fires of infidelity. its all in perception. all those months, i penned for a man who wasnt quite there yet. do we love the idea of the dream?

i did finally get a chance to buy a well fitting bra @ victoria secreets. so fucking worth it. incredibly soft and my cha-chaas look tight. its definately worth the penny. i have also added 10 pounds. im now considered p.l.u.m.p. im not going to even comment about that

it feels so new. he inside me. i close my eyes & let my spirit soar, to the spaces we've danced before, as children. happy. ecstatic. un-sorrowful. as he gyrates silently, my juices flow. lubricating from the source of all things. this place that calls us in the midst of haphazard junctions. & beneath the tongue curses, i moan to reach his climaxing stance. in loving him, i love mystelf, wholefully chaotic.

this is what i've been dreaming

marilyn salcido

this is what i've been dreaming about. besides of course, placing a hex on the ex factor. solving world peace. why the hell brown people are drowning and dying all over the world. making everyday a holiday of some sort. clean water for everybody. freedom from feeling icky about sex. missing my mother and brothers. wondering when i'll ever get on of those well fitting bras. experiencing deep aprehension when venturing into the mall. more orgasims.. oh did i mention that.. its a weird time..new orleans and whether i'll ever get a chance to go there. bananas. mangoes and.. well you get the idea..

truly though. im not sure whether this image of a girl wearing boxing gloves kicking some mad passion, stepping in rhythm pa-pa-pa-pa has turned me out like this. i reckon its with million dollar baby and kill bill. especially kill bill..it could be when i first glanced at Kameron's blog & i was blown away. its that whole combination..nah..synergy of strength and delicacy. the im a woman ( insert all adjectives that come with that) & if you mess with me..i'll ( insert a picture of a guy kicking your butt) perfect!

so, what did i do? i got a speed bag kit half put together next to the guitar which im yet, to learn to play...i digress.

i have for so long learnt and re-learnt to channel anything remotely unpleasent inward..hence depression.. suicide attempts..zipless fucks ( al erica jong). & as we all know.. things have a way of coming back.

all this is a process of getting my vocal cords back, or limbs, or fingers or feet..which ever comes first.. avoidance can go for so long.i cannot, i believe change the way partriarchy instigates how folk behave. its too much of a task. i cannot go around it & neither do i want to... i am responsible though, to how i respond to things. how i react to bigotry and discrimination. when the past is used as a tool to dismantle you or just, just because one has a cunt..

two incidences defined my understanding of blackness in the world. the genoicide in rwanda and the embassy bombings in nairobi.

put everything aside. my schooling. my love for music and why i love my mom. why sunshine is my bliss and snow the dreaded kryptonite.. that i am the 2nd in my family to go to college. why my grandfather was detained in the mau mau camp. fuck everything... it doesnt matter who, what. why i am the way i am. i know im b.l.a.c.k . to many, the response to the hurricane by the government is amazing. there is shock. disbelieve. a tale of two americas.

come to africa my friend. we are not blinded by the fact we are b.l.a.c.k..thats why as variations of blackness, we cannot , cannot let others define our existance. we are from a people of rich heritage. a proud past. build on self reliance and ujama.

before i come to the states, i envied black america. with what ever images that filtered through the media, what was not to love about it... the richness of material and history. i envied every thing black america represents. the revolutionary process. the rebels in music and culture. the abundance and don't give a fuck, i'll rise again and again.

i understand though, that we in africa are not illusioned by the notion of government that will support, sustain, protect us. no.. perhaps that the separation between us. i'm not raised to believe that goverment owes me anything. i dont hold to the fact that paying taxes means my child recieves medical care. or walking through the streets as a woman, i'll be safe. i have no expectations, which equals to less dissapointment and perhaps an extra zeal to commune with others who support the dreams. at the end of the day, as my father used to say, we are black.

being black in america

images courtesy of salon.com. washington post. nytimes. bbc

i finally get it.

is it me, or are you all black?

it's been bugging me since i began watching the news coverage in n.o, mississipi and alabama. all the footage of looters, folks displaced, screaming children, old men and women in wheelchairs were all black. are there any other people in the gulf state that are non black. i really thought it was just me. me with my immigrant eyes staring at the television screen contemplating what looked like modern day acopolyse with knee high water instead of fire and brimestone.

& so, on my sometime daily readings of other blogs i realised. aha, its not just me. bitch phd over here notices it too & the esteemed world reknowed newspaper recognizes it also. which goes to my second thought...so it this flood let say had happened in other states in the north or west. would there be widespread reportings of looting and whathave you. and why in gods name is the emphasis on folks running into stores and grabbing a pair of shoes or something to eat. im thinking hey, if fema isn't doing its job or the federal government is slow in responding to disaster, then why can't folks go ahead and fed for themselves. & im not talking about looting of jewellery and fancy shit like that..

when words are not enough