"Fallen" by Lauren Kate. I dedicate this to all heartbreakers and the counterparts with broken hearts. I am only on page 5 and I have quite nearly lost composure.

I am, at this moment, the little one, on the inside. I will remain as hard and firm as the big one on the outside because my reality and the world I live in has forced me to be...

Me.

I am she.

She is mine and not yours.

Reality is:
Painful in its words
Powerful in its force
Unimaginable in its belief
Insensitive in its attack
Eye-Opening in its truth
Unforgettable in its honesty
Unforgiving in its heart
Selfish in its love
Unwavering in its jealousy
Independent in its entirety
Conditional in its love

The stuff that both dreams and nightmares are made of.

It is not a good day.

The denial was expected, but the reason?

Independence takes responsibility for actions, yours and others, and not intentions, yours or others.

Tattooing eye-opening statements of truth with a frost more frigid than the Arctic Ridge and just as painful when rigor mortis finally, without remorse, sets in.

It is dead.

Reality, and it's dogma, bit me. Hard. And I will never be the same.

It is a stranger when suffering, spewing foreign words with a native tongue. Power does not wane.

You are conditional.

I am un-.

But MINE is not yours, this much is a cold hard truth. The kind that wakes you from a dream and you realize that you are not in Kansas anymore.

Were you ever?

It is the fear of letting go and re-learning that the seraph does not exist, at least for me...

Promises. Promises.

Broken pieces of the puzzle I used to be.

I am the Phoenix.

Independent. Again. I leaned but a degree in time. That time was not mine. And now I stand. Still.

Straight.

Alone.

And I will never be the same.

Always Love?

Always.

Only now, I can see and I will never close my eyes again.

Reality bites.

Bite me.

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or -un, this is my Life.

Have You Ever...?

I absolutely love this song by Brandy...

(chorus)
Have you ever loved somebody so much
It makes you cry
Have you ever needed something so bad
You can't sleep at night
Have you ever tried to find the words
But they don't come out right
Have you ever,have you ever

Have you ever been in love
Been in love so bad
You'd do anything to make them understand
Have you ever had someone steal your heart away
You'd give anything up to make them feel the same
Have you ever searched for words to get you in their heart
But you don't know what to say
And you don't know where to start

(chorus)
Have you ever loved somebody so much
It makes you cry
Have you ever needed something so bad
You can't sleep at night
Have you ever tried to find the words
But they don't come out right
Have you ever,have you ever

Have you ever found the one
You've dreamed of all your life
You'd do just about anything to look into their eyes
Have you finally found the one you've given your heart to
Only to find that one won't give their heart to you
Have you ever closed your eyes and
Dreamed that they were there
And all you can do is wait for that day
when they will care

(chorus)
Have you ever loved somebody so much
It makes you cry
Have you ever needed something so bad
You can't sleep at night
Have you ever tried to find the words
But they don't come out right
Have you ever,have you ever

What do I gotta do to get you in my arms baby
What do I gotta say to get to your heart
To make you understand how I need you next to me
Gotta get you in my world
'Cuz baby I can't sleep


Have you ever?

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or –un, this is…my Life ;-)~
Aisis

Who are you, really?

So...tomorrow we will, if you join me that is, talk about the characters thus far.

Most of these passages are direct quotes from the book, some earlier parts, some later. I did take the liberty of adding and subtracting some minute words. Some characters are harder to describe, being much more of a feeling than a scripting...weird?

None of the NLB characters are one-sided, that's the sheer beauty of it all...no one is really exactly what they seem, or what they portray. People are multi-dimensional. Some of us look the part, talk the talk, have 'things' to show for all of our hard work...but who are you really and are you happy with that person? Is there a reason for the characters chosen? In some way, I had hoped that in creating these characters (the angry black woman, the promiscuous black woman, the bougie black woman, the bible-tapping not thumping black woman, the jealous black woman) who are bits and pieces of me and people that I love, have loved and will always love, there would be a connection...a spark and that maybe not one person but many people would be changed. If you saw yourself in her and saw her transformation...could there be a seedling of difference, lodged somewhere amongst the day to day hubbub, to be watered and fertilized with growth and wisdom? Is that a possibility from mere words? There has to be more than this...

There is always a deeper meaning.

Words.

They always mean so much more to me.

You make me wanna...

But alas, I am here because you are here and really, Libra's are loyal individuals who you may not be able to see and talk to on a daily basis...but we are certainly there when you need us.

This novel is a love story about my Sisters and our responsibility as Women and Mothers because I care deeply for my nieces...

I give you the Women of The Purple Cipher:

Veronika Vicchers - Fiery. Passionate. Aries. Had the three of them, Veronika and her twin daughters, been destined for any being other than Homo Erectus, indeed it would have been Carcharias Taurus (Sand Tiger Shark). The parallel between the two was “BANANAS!”as only Chelsea-Blue could emphasize. Veronika, a sharp toothed mammal in and of herself, was destined to give birth to only the two of them. It would have been pure luck for the Chloe-Chelsea combination to have each grown in separate uteri, devouring all other embryos for survival. Sharing the same uterus, Chloe would have hungrily consumed Chelsea without a second glance.

Maxine Cipher - Stoic. Irreversible. Loyal. Gemini. So many nights she desperately wanted to tell him the truth scraping at the dirtiness she felt for allowing this ruinous situation to happen, but the truth would not form. Only pain and anger were left to fill the void of her hollowed heart. There was too much at stake then and now it was water under the bridge. It didn’t even seem as major 18 long lonely years later. But she knew when she walked through the door to Xavier’s home that afternoon that she would take her lie to her grave. “Good night Xa, call me.” She rose, forgetting the past, kissing his cheek with hers, and sauntered toward the front door.

Xavier watched each inch of every step she took, never once did she turn to steal a glance. Maxine Cipher never looked back.

Candace Pepper - Wife. Mother. Victim-extraordinaire. Crabby Cancer. Tall. Light. Bitter. Candace was the color of a large decaffeinated coffee, four dollops of heavy cream, no sugar, left overnight with mold centering its cold middle reaching to grasp the edges of a weakened paper container, discarded by morning. Otherwise warmed and then as a second thought, discarded.

Alexaandra Payne - Beautiful. Earthy. Full-figured Aquarius. If quiet acknowledgement could simply speak for itself Alexaandra would be quite satisfied and not hard pressed to find comfort disappearing into the heavy drapes that kept the bitter cold air from seeping in. Or out.

Max grinned at Alex’s apparent surprise at praise of any sort. Since they were kids Alex, to Candace's chagrin, had always been Maxine’s chosen Spade-playing partner in their weekly rivalry. “See that’s why I grab Alexaandra from the ‘getty-up’, she always has my back and never expects a ‘thank you’!” Maxine would tease.

Samantha Quinlan - Eternal. Heartfelt. Soap-box standing Virgo. “I know you slept with Meiko, Veronika. Why don’t you just admit it?” Samantha demanded weeks after the whirlwind break-up. “Listen Samantha, I am going to tell your black ass for the last time...” Veronika was sick of the back and forth bantering surrounding Mr. Man, “I no more fucked Helmet Head than you have in recent weeks.”

“Well then how do you know his penis is shaped like a helmet?” Sam cornered. “Because you told me! What is your problem, Samantha?” Veronika was tired of the accusations and had a mind to tell her the whole sordid truth. It would certainly have been sordid to Samantha Quinlan and her boring life. “The fact that it fell apart for the two of you is neither my fucking fault nor yours! He is a dog don’t you get that? I know this cause I have the same traits. And you are not the bone he’s chewing on right now. You are one of the bones he’s buried to possibly come back for later. And that has NOTHING to do with me, or you, for that matter. It’s about him.” Veronika did not sleep with him, although after all the accusations, she could have, maybe even should have.

Of these women, which one are you?

Really...

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or –un, this is…my Life ;-)~
Aisis

Attraversiamo – Let Us Cross Over Together

I end things quickly, when in fact, I am ending them.

Of their own accord or whether forced out of necessity, people leave. People leave and people take away their love and really, what can you do? You can begin a new chapter. Nothing more nothing less.

Attraversiamo …

I enjoyed, pondered, learned. Apparently though, my fair-weather blogging book clubbers, it was not your forte, reading Eat, Pray, Love…. Sad. But true. So, I am ending this line of clubbin'. Just like that.

BooOooOOooM!

It is what I do. Ask about me.

A lot has happened this September. I have broken many hearts in my heyday and sadly my heart has been broken into a thousand tiny little pieces (isn’t that a book?), as well. Among so many many things my sissy Shakira had not been fairing very well but as always there became a brighter day ;-):

…before that, there were darker days but I am not over that just yet…?

I am presently trying to understand the how’s and the why’s of yesterday, yesteryear. And the empty promises of the world we live in. I need to learn, NOT to believe the world is really all that awesome, don’t I? Or is it TO believe? Uugghh!

Growth.

It is certainly a process. Even at 40 it is a process. Yikes @ 40, right? But I am LOVING it! The only difference for me, personally, with before 40 and “at” is that I could care less what someone else thinks or says of my particular growth spurt. People have made interesting comments on this blog. People that I would never expect to have made such comments. People that are unaware that being the owner of said blog, anonymous tags mean nothing... Long story though, maybe we will have time, some other time to talk about it, because I never cared what people thought, but I was bothered by what people said.

Attraversiamo …

I am ready to begin again and what better way to begin than with my very own Never Look Back? So that is where we shall start the next book clubbing blog, yes? Again, we will do this on Wednesdays, just a few questions and or comments about a few chapters at a time or if this book reads faster than the other one maybe we’ll talk more about people and themes…and the people of The Purple Cipher have enough issues to keep us all laughing for at least the work day…




For all intents and purposes, fortunate or –un, this is…my Life ;-)~
Aisis

The Last TRUE BLOOD of the SEASON!!!

Ok, Fang Bangers...are we ready for this? Who is going to meet their true death? OMG...

Eric?

The Krazy Kaaaaaang of Mississippi?

Is anyone else just waiting for Sooooookay to stop whining?

What about Tara?

Will LaLa and Jesus keep it going?

So many questions so little of the season left...

And the Purpose is What Exactly?

So, there’s a Pastor (*Coughing* –not-a-man-of-God- *Coughing*), in Gainesville, Fl who has his religiously twisted heart hell bent on setting fire to 200 Holy Qurans to, (and get this, the irony is almost physically sickening): Commemorate the devastatingly painful memory and reality of lives lost on 9/11.

Trust that he did not so eloquently use the above words, but I did. I chose those words to show my own feeling for that day. It was single-handedly the most shocking piece of history I had ever been a part of…and undoubtedly NOT the last.

This Pastor, again with the coughing, is inciting violence. He spoke to his small following and the media, well of course the media, and I paraphrase, “Well they did this to us, so are we supposed to just turn the other cheek?!” Ahhh, I’m no Bible scholar, but I play one on T.V. and as far as my limited research goes, that answer would be a resounding, “Yes.”

Can the church say, “Amen?”

I know this verse, quite well I might add, but don't pat me on the back. At our Youth group at New Covenant Christian Center, we had to memorize a verse and say a different one every Wednesday evening. My 'go to' verse was always, "But I say to you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also."

Now.

I am not trying to say I have followed that particular word to the letter, but I am also a writer not a Pastor whose very job it is to do such a thing. You could argue that as a PERSON in this world who loves the Almighty, I am no better or worse than this man. And I would say, "Why are you arguing with me, go make these points to him."

Thwarted.

I am looking for my own salvation, I am not ingraining lies into my followers.

So you plan to BURN the sacred writings of a group that takes the burning of their sacred writings as an invitation to bang the ones and you and your 50 followers all came to this place, in agreement? There is something so very wrong with this picture.

Shall we?

1. I have more than 50 followers, so his ministry clearly leaves something to the imagination.

2. Political figures have encouraged him to quell this nonsense to no avail.

3. He has no idea the fire he is about to spark (or does he? I am absolutely sure he is not only aware of this, but also bursting at the seams, with the very thought of it.)

4. Top military intelligence avidly explains that these actions will put the military in Iraq as well as Iraqi civilians in grave danger.

5. There is no purpose other than hatred.

6. This Pastor needs to seek Jesus, Allah, and Buddha. He has a triple threat sort of confusion that needs any and every angle to help in the battle.

7. Who does this sort of thing?

Seriously, if anyone needs to read Eat, Pray, Love…it is this person (liked that segue, didn’t you?).

At this point you should have read chapters 13 through 18. Her writing actually makes me laugh out loud!

Did you laugh like I did, from a secret knowing place at her LEVEL ONE or LEVEL TWO fiasco?

This whole section causes me such discombobulation with medications and depression, I just do not agree with it. What say you…in correlation with the book and/or otherwise?

Do you have a journal? I’m almost positive it isn’t at all like hers, as hers speaks back (which is NOT the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, thank you very much…), but is this where your encouragement comes from? If not, where does your encouragement come from in those really stressful times?

And...go!

FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, FORTUNATE OR –UN, THIS IS, MY LIFE…

Aisis

Il mio telefonino…

So, I was thinking the other day how very dependent we all are on our cell phones and how such a “convenient” little thing has become an object that is no longer a “sufficient” way to communicate but more so a "necessary" (this is what the LSAT does to a brain…) piece of equipment.

Whew!

That was a long sentence wadn’t it?

And so when I saw that little phrase in our Book O’ the Month(s) – you lazy readers – I thought, good grief, even a million miles across the globe, in a place where people take a two or three hour lunch, no less, where time has seemingly stood still and the patrons feel no compunction to disturb that stillness, therein lies a need for such a thing.

But I digress.

We are here (is there anyone else out there...?) here to discuss the next six sections of Eat, Pray, Love - that I so strangely continue to call Eat, Love, Pray...I wonder what that means about my psyche...

Having read the sections/chapters 7-12 at this point:

What do you think of this woman's journey into self-revelation, thus far?

Has your heart ever spoken for you the way her heart spoke for her when she saw the Guru in a photo? Meaning have you ever said something beautiful before you had time to think about it?

If you have not, perche'?

In Chapter 9 we begin to see her forming the ways of her declaration and explanation of travel. This led me to the next question - Where would you go, alone, only alone, to rediscover your lost self or to replenish the wonderfulness of who you already are?

And the last question is this: Do you remember the first time you ever spoke to God? The way she spoke was so distant, as if The Almighty was OUTSIDE of her, as if he didn't know her at all. Honestly, I have felt that maybe I'd lost touch for so long, that he didn't care to take me back, lol, but my Almighty is a powerful Almighty and I know that he always has my back!

Ok, let us begin...

Alright True Blood Fangers, let's go!

Eat, Pray, Love - Book Club

So, it’s raining – again (*Donna) and I am fairly certain that Noah is somewhere building an ark. I am, today, ready to go. Seriously. It’s just been one of those days. At any rate, let us begin the process of change, transformation, renewal…one page at a time.

I give you Eat, Pray, Love:

So we’ve read the first six (6) sections…what reflections of your self have you noticed, if any?

Has the bathroom scene ever happened for you?

What did you think about her feelings regarding her impending divorce and her guilt?

Are you a “desperately” loving person?

Does this help or hinder a relationship in your mind.

Has reading the first 6 sections done anything for you thus far?

If so, share…

I have always wanted to travel (Egypt, Greece, Italy, Paris…) did reading her love of pasta and pizza give you the travel bug?

If these questions do not cover your own comments feel free to post them! The more the merrier ;-)

Please comment below.

TRUEBLOOD, HERE WE GO! (SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS)

So, Sookie and Bill got hitched! Well, Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer, as it were! Good for them. That would, actually, explain the chemistry of "Night on the Sun"...true to the nature of the series, that make-up sex was explosive, albeit shocking! Seriously. I had to turn away (well Angel and Sequoia were sitting right there and I just couldn't watch that with a straight face while they were sitting there like, "Is she really watching this with a straight face?!").

I mean they were broken up because she continues to nearly die every episode because of his nature, really and then somehow he is redeemed by saving the very life of hers that were it not for him would not be in danger...

Phew!

Did ya get all of that?

At any rate, there are other character so let me just touch on them really quick before the episode starts:

Tara (depending on what part of the country you are from, you will pronounce this either tArra or Taaarah...I choose the latter, but I didn't exactly create the character and in the written series, Tara is white not black, that too has a bearing, I believe on the pronunciation).

TARA found her cajones, yes? When Mr. WTFranklin cornered her she was NOT going to back down...I wonder what is up next for her. Stand up to an insane vampire (whom I happen to miss *tearing up on the inside...) what could possibly stop her? Um, her crazy mother comes to mind. That woman always seems to unhinge her.

Isn't that sort of true with most of us though?

ERIC has been eluding to some very interesting feelings toward Sookie. It's not just, Oh-a-new-toy-can-I-play sort of thing. It's something more...if you've seen the previews you know exactly what I'm talking about. I can't wait to see if they are actually going to go there. And don't you think that might be a little bit strange with Anna and Stephen being married? I know. I know. We are ALL professionals but I'm not sure if you recall Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Brad was a professional, Angelina was a professional, Jennifer Aniston was a professional and ahhhh...anyway, this is about True Blood.

PAM. Pam my lover! LOL. I love her dry humor and Eric said that it was time that she made another. Now that was clearly under duress and we are so not out of the woods. We are, in fact, standing knee deep in deer crap, with hungry wolves hunting.

Speaking of wolves: ALCIDE HERVEAUX. That is all.

RUSSELL EDGINGTON has thoroughly and completely flown the cuckoo's nest. He has gone totally crazy and once you go there, you DO NOT come back. You have simply reached a place of no return. We will eat you, after we have eaten your children...(lalala sis boom baaaaa) now back to you Tiffany!

What the effing eff?! (I've decided not to curse anymore, pray for me!)

LAFAYETTE has a friend-friend in Jesus. I do feel some kind of way about that one (I really cant deal with the love scenes. Call me a prude but Good Grief how are we supposed to handle that? It was one thing when relations were implied, now it's just right all up in your face! Geepers. Oh but I love his sense of self (i.e. his gear!) and when his mother (Loving Alfre Woodard) said, Your mask ain't on, I can see my son...my heart just nearly broke into a thousand little pieces.

JESSICA is the saddest one for me. I love her so...just 16, forever remaining virginal over and over and over again (even after NOT being virginal) and heart broken. I would just NOT go there.

JASON is a total fool. LOL. I'm a cop! Well I'm almost a cop! HA! He and CHRYSTAL (sp?) what is really good?

OK, it's starting...

Logistically speaking...

Bonus! Now that I know how this text to blog thing works...I can use it to our advantage ;-)~. For now, just know that we will read the first 6 sections of Eat, Pray, Love - by Elizabeth Gilbert, and chat about it through-out Wednesday, August 25. We can talk, post, chat, write, re-write or whatever else during the day for 80% of us because of workload / work day. The other 20% of us will read all of the comments and post something after hours due to workload / work day and a general lack of time to BREATHE let alone blog ;-)~.

Capisci?

I, will of course, be peppered here all day ;-)~, just 'cause, well...I love ya! (Say this like Chunk from the movie The Goonies...that's my favorite movie! That and The Joy Luck Club - which serves to prove that I am, in fact, an adult. *TeeHeeHee)

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or -un, this is my LIFE ;-)~.

Aisis

Hello world! Just checking to see where this message will end up! I'm sending it from my telefonino (another inside joke).

Where My Girls At?

You're right here reading this blog ;-)~

Ok, we all know how much I simply abhor illiteracy but the above interrogative seemed…fitting, yes? And make no mistake, this quest is for MY Girls and has less to do with acquaintances and more to do with my circle, my cipher, the ones that I love and that love me right back. Which means, to me anyway, that I can let loose a bit (and you still understand where I am, where I have been, where I am coming from, and where I will go). Even though, let’s be honest, I am not the best at being a best-friend or a sister-friend. I am awesome though at being an SSF (Soul Sistah Forever)*. My lifeline to you gets disconnected at times, self-inflictedly. I am who I am and you all accept me for that and that means the world to me.

Enough about all that let us get on to the business of the blog entry for today.

So, here’s my thinking: as SSFs we need to be part of the solution to the world around us and not the problem. One woman out of whack is every woman out of whack (In my humble opinion). Having said that let me say this: When I come across something that is worthwhile I learn from it and I like to share it. I am working on me and I know that there are lots of kinks I am having the darnedest time hammering out, or finding the root cause of, at any rate. I also know that some of my kinks, are also your kinks, and vice versa. But wait…there’s more!

The kinks CAN be hammered, melted-down, and deciphered into it's many many parts. And knowing, as they say, is half the battle. So...here's the news that I so desperately (inside joke) need to share with you.

I am in love!

Again!

I have fallen madly, deeply, devotedly in love with a novel! Ok, you have all heard me say that before…BUT THIS TIME IT’S REAL! “I love him, I love him, I love him!” – fade to black, or commercial as it were…Thelma, Good Times (Circa 1970something). Remember that one? When her hair was corn-rowed all flyy and she wanted to marry that guy and Flo was all up in arms?! HA! Ok, back to the book…

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I love this book. LOVE not like. Like I love chocolate and shopping and the way babies smell and really really nice shoes and my Elizabeth Grady all day spa day (that only happened like ONCE but so what I loved it!) and good movies and…okay, you get the picture.

So here is what I propose. And yes, this is a somewhat selfish proposal, but here goes nothing: I propose an online book club, starting with this book. I do believe it will change the way some of us think, feel, understand the things we all do for love (the good, the bad, and sadly the ugly…this is not my phrase, it is the title of a Clint Eastwood movie, but it fits). I propose this online club selfishly because as women, we are BUSY but we do deserve and need TIME to ourselves to enjoy friendship and community with other like-minded women folk. Most of you know my hectic, red-tape of a life and I know yours so, the last thing we need is another PLACE to go on a day that could be used for doing other things (Studying for the LSAT, reading in my PJs that I’ve had on since Friday night and it is clearly Sunday afternoon…sitting at the beach, hanging around the wonderful man in your life.)

Wait.

Stop laughing, this is positive projection here!

HA! Anyways, this is my proposal. This is what I am going to do and I would like you, and whomever you would like to invite, to join me. Please invite people that you feel will join in the conversation with something positive or if they choose not to post anything, that is fine as well. I say this because I am all for open expression, but I am not all for male or female bashing (i.e. men are no good, women are catty, etc.). I don't see how this book could cast that sort of shadow, but seriously, stranger things have happened.

What we will do is read a given amount of chapters (in this book there are 3 “books” so to speak and 36 sections/chapters in each section but the chapters are really really exceptionally short. Some are a page long, some are 3 or 4 pages long…) and then give your synopsis/opinion/feeling each week.

Does this sound like a plan? It is a plan…Brilliant! You so totally ROCK! (a Finding Nemo reference from the turtle dad to the turtle son…this is why I need my SSFs: I’ve been hanging out with Boo-Bear far too much. Even he is like, “Ma…seriously?” Heeheehee

Oh yes, the movie based on this book, is in theaters, but if you want to chat about the book, in the BOOK club, reading the actual text would be optimal. Plus, we all know that the movie will lose some of its umph and trust me, you do not want to miss any of the umph it quite literally smacks you in face. You will say, "Did I write this book and just somehow forget?"

We will start discussing say Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I will update this information once I see how many folks would like to join :-)~

*Sidebar: There is some confusion surrounding the use of “a” and “an” (to be fair some people could care less…I, as you know, am not one of the care-lessers (lessors? Uuuggghhhh). Most of you on this list have cursed at me, or at least had your feathers ruffled (peacock, not chicken) when I have corrected something you have said (DONNA) or written (INGRID)…). Anyway, just so you know it is the SOUND of the word after ‘a’ or ‘an’ that notates which one to use. If the word sounds like a vowel use “an” (an SSF sounds like esss-esss-eff) if it is a consonant sound use “a” (a Unicorn…aren’t they pretty?). OK, go back and finish reading the blog…please and thank you.

(IF YOU SCROLL DOWN, YOU WILL SEE ME AND SOME OF MY SOUL SISTAHS! SOME PICTURES LOOK REALLY SMALL, I HAVE NO IDEA WHY.)

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or un-, this is my LIFE

Aisis

Ladies First

Well hello again ;-)~,

I will make this short and sweet. This isn't about Book II or one of the characters; it's about the FLOTUS. I happened by an article on Michelle Obama and it got me to thinkin'...

I love the POTUS: Barack Hussein Obama. I do. Like I love chocolate and children that others gave life to.

But I am in love with Michelle Obama. I am. Like I am in love with life, liberty and the very pursuit of happiness. Ok, so I am waxing a bit poetic, but seriously...

Michelle, for me, is like a mentor that for one reason or another just can't HEAR me but speaks out to me with answers to questions I have yet to form. Saying and doing all the right things at the perfect moments. Straight. No chaser.

Reading an article on her "changing of the guards", I was tickled at both the smooth and swift ways in which her Chief of Staff Norris was non-explanatorily replaced.

She walks into a room of kids, graduates, politicians and continues to revel in her calm Me-ness.

Wife. Mother. Lawyer. Business Woman. Black Woman.

Good grief, Michelle, how do you make it look so effortless?

Today I'm working on Khadijah

Hey there!

I have been working so very diligently on Book II that I have neglected one of my very favorite pastimes...YOU! So I said to myself, "Self, how can you be two people at the same time? Brainstorming the next greatest novel while keeping this wonderful fan base captivated with your charm? Can these different tasks be completed, surreptitiously?" And the answer (um, I wouldn't normally suggest that talking to yourself and then answering, is in anyway a sane occupation, however, at this juncture I take creative license) is to simply share with you what I am working on!

"Do you think this will work?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"IDK." she answered, seemingly annoyed.

Noted.

Sharing here with you guys gives me the opportunity to break away from the quiet and sometimes lonely process of writing a novel. A novel mind you, where I am intermittently author, editor, writer, editor, critic, character, editor. It's the life I chose though...who could edit my story better than me..or is it I?

Writing out my unfocused thoughts and ideas before, during and/or after the actual process is helpful, me thinks.

At any rate, this is what I propose, what say you?

So I am working on this story-line involving a character named Khadijah. As a writer I tend to distance myself from certain references, certain sentence structures, and certainly names that carry the opposite connotation of my works. I create from a blank sheet hoping to color the mind of the reader with my personal crayon of choice. Leaving her to wonder who this person is or who this person may grow to be over time. If I choose a name like La-a (pronounced La-Dash-a...I kid you not, this is an actual name) the reader assumes something about this character intentional or not. I do not much care for made up names for my characters, inasmuch as I appreciate names with meaning. Don't get me wrong, I understand and also support whatever individuals choose to name their offspring.

At one point in history slaves were named Queen or Redboy or Donkey or Cook or Mammy so that they could be distinguished easily. I mean we all look alike so that's understandable.

Black folk then wanted to blend in and just BE. Black grandmothers named Edith and Ethel and Estelle and Mary and Essie short for Elizabeth and Mable were so given to assimilate and not make waves. These women named their sons Michael and Robert and Jason and Thomas and Kevin and Joseph. The next wave brought on the Revolution that did seem quite televised with the then eccentric Muhammad (character watch!) and Kalik and Jabreel and Jitu/Jiti (inside joke, lol).

You see, what happened was that we (they) wanted others to then KNOW that this child's history was written loud and it was black and it was proud with his dashiki and bongos and afro seen simply and formerly in voicing his first name. When you called his name in class, when you addressed him at his place of business, even at the car wash, you felt our struggle thick in your throats hesitating with incorrect pronunciations as the letters laid flat on your tongues, was it sour to the taste or too sweet still causing you pain?

And then, Father God, came the next generation that took pieces and scraps of people and things that were loved, like the quilts that we used for the Underground Railroad showing the way to those that had the mind to escape: the Ta'Briana and Alexus and Sha'Rahn and Mercedes of the world, the D'Brickashaw and Anquan and Knowshon NFL'ers of the world. We may not all agree on the likes and dislikes of these names, the origins or state of minds, but can we at least agree that they have as much a right to name their child as any person speaking freely? Freedom of Speech has its goods and bads, who is the decider?

I continue to wonder when the ease of speech shifted. How hard must it have been to get used to that taste as it now rolls of the palette as if it is the mother tongue.

Even the parents that named their son Adolf Hitler and one of their daughters JoyceLynn Aryan Nation (I kid you not, look it up), who did so in support of their racist and discriminatory belief system, had every right to do so because, after all, this is a free country. And if I can choose to name my child King Ra or Your Majesty or Legendary or La-a or Destiny or Miracle or Jesus or Angel, they certainly have the same right to use what idiotic piece of their brains are left from hate mongering to do the same.

What was I talking about, again?

Oh yes, names! For all the new comers mine is Ayesha it means Life.

For all intents and purposes, fortunate or un-, this is my Life:-)~
Aisis

The Ultimate Blog Remix

So nice, I had to blog it twice!


The Hip-Hop Moses



“For many are called, few are chosen.” Matthew 22:14

So…
I was called a blasphemous sinner at best and an atheist at worst, the other day, which is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Well, not THE most ridiculous thing, but really REALLY close and:

So.
Not.
True.

Ok, I obviously uttered the most offensive blasphemous metaphor known to humankind regarding my larger than life-sized adult offspring, my description, not his. Expressing a mother’s pride I titled K.O. the Hip-Hop Moses and ruffled a few feathers. (Eh, what’s a few feathers? It’s not like I said he was the Messiah or something, which is what I was going to say but decided to demote him somewhat for the sake of avoiding argument *arms akimbo*. I mean, it’s not like he STARTED hip-hop! Maybe a more substantive genre of today’s hip-hop, but that’s a whole other blog…)

Anyway…after explaining my position the ruffled woman with steam rising from her ears, nose and throat, huffed that she would pray for my sins, for me and for my offspring and in that order, to which I thanked both she, her lack of metaphorical range and her God, in that order. (According to her, her bible said that our Gods were not one in the same. I don’t know what she was reading but clearly, she is a CONfused-ed *ding*…) I then walked away feeling a bit sad for the woman who complained that her son at 42 years of age had never flown the coop. A son that moved any number of women and children, his and otherwise, in and out of her house for some said number of years. So caught up in her particular righteousness she really wouldn’t see the forest for the trees, she was given a reprieve. I couldn't bare to bring her out of ignorance, for she was truly in bliss.

You, on the other hand, lucked up.

I shall explain to you, the masses, as I attempted to explain metaphorically to her. Agree if you choose, disagree if you like, respect regardless.

This is not fodder for thought, nor is it narcissistic conjecture, this is not opinion, nor is it fiction from which fantasy is made. It is a fact.

My son is, and has, a gift.

Born to individuals preoccupied with changing the world one seed at a time, people that planned his conception and prayed for his anticipated deliverance. Born to a father determined to erase the footsteps he would never allow his son to tread.



Kash Tha Ovadose was called to duty, at his first breath, born to a mother determined not to allow her son a permanent place on the statistical charts that were assumed to be his calling. It was known when he was born a 10lb. 2 oz king of the litter that he would guide many and follow few. He WOULD NOT JUST BE. She refused. He refused.

Sacrifices were made by any and all means necessary to the shock, horror and chagrin of family and friends. No one understood our reasons, our decisions, our minds. We had a plan and tired ourselves of translating and deciphering to the blind, to the deaf, to the dumb.

Let ‘em wonder.

When he devoured The Autobiography of Angela Y. Davis at the age of 11, I knew then that he would change the world. How he would do this and when he would do this was a bit of an enigma. Not long after that day, he formed his hip-hop group. He read everything he could get his hands on, asked a million questions and questioned every answer. Yes, he was a bit rough around the early edges, a strong determined piece of glistening hip-hop coal he was. He absorbed words from women like Angela and Assata and Nikki along with Sanyika* and Donald and other men that made it snow, fortifying the power of his pen that did bare fruit (Breaking News Volume I) after fruit (The Year of the Gods), (Operation Shut Down) after fruit (countless collaborations, solo tracks and unreleased material).

An unwavering core of coal pressured through wind and water and force and failure and confusion and knowledge and pain and learning and disappointment and growth and time into a rare black diamond solid and somewhat rough and rigid and cold and fresh and raw and uncut. In turn, his lyrics are biting and flesh-eating and in your face and uncomfortable and unrelenting and sticky and hurtful and valid and bold and harsh and grimy and compelling and hungry and acidic and beautiful and hard and reflective of Life and of the Hood. (Remixed from Black Philosophers/America the Beautiful)

“Cuz I’m of God, son of God, like Jesus is…” ~ Laugh At ‘Em

He is not dismayed by the destruction of hip-hop; he is decisive in his sowing. He has not fallen prey to all that glitters in the rap game. He isn’t caught up in the laffy-taffy hold of the general rap-seeking population. On the contrary, he seeks to untangle the nonsensical stronghold, apparently knotted in the belly of the Beast. He is an urban griot, speaking to the center of the struggle he is meant to reap. Given the gift to express the collective frustration of today’s young man using a mindset not equipped to follow fake-storytelling imposters. He knows who he is, his purpose in Life and how to show the world what that Hood Sh!t is really all about ;-)

In parting, I am truly blessed to call him “Son” and proud to say his soul is exactly that which it was destined to be. At his first breath, he was called to duty. He took control heeding his calling then as he continues to everyday in each letter, each lyric, each line speaking volumes in mere verses.

And.

If you know nothing of this U.G.C. movement, please know that whenever you hear him spew rhymes from his spirit, his soul too screams for the current state of hip-hop to “LET MY PEOPLE GO!”

(* Sanyika Shakur Monster Kody)

This is, for all intents and purposes...fortunate or un-, my Life ~ Aisis

You May Know the Name, But You Don't Know the Pain

PAIN

He doesn’t know why I am here
Or why even for he
And now
He even confuses me.

Do you know pain?

I know it well, as if, in fact, it is my name
Aware that even as others grew differently privileged
And prospered with a head start
That the young people, with less than zero hearts,
In Roxbury, silently screamed to me and
My answer was to remain
And create change.
Can you say the same?

Do you even know pain?

It is your daughter restless being held at night
Flickering bits of hope like droplets of light
When she can feel your Black Girl pain as if it were her own
'Cause it is.
No silver spoon, but a wide berth of a start
Because my sacrifice is hers to mold
She's already found herself
She understands the tribulations of
Black Girl "Gold"

Her life is hers, but is this life of mine now, really mine?
Was my path chosen in increments of time?
I belonged first to HIM, then to her, then to him
Again then, to them:
Those that lived within me and then those that grew from
The powerful synapse to me.

Do you know pain like I know pain?
Sat and had dinner with pain,
Built a life around pain, surrounded your heart with pain
Watched your so-called Leaders fail over and over again
Stood by grabbing at what was left of what your community gained?
Loved and held and watched it evaporate only to return acidic like rain?

Indifference Feigned
Hatred, numbness gained
Not the only but certainly the main
I am steadfastedly going insane
Had hoped that Yin could guide
A strong Yang
Only to be wrong, yet
Again
That is my pain.

Trusting this concoction of flour, egg and sugar cane
Knowing it isn't 1986 and in 2009 it can't be the same
His testament painting the picture that
This is all just a sick and twisted icing, and not cake,
Kind of a game.

Choices were made there is no one to blame
What you did and what I am doing is NOT the same
I chose motherhood over money and lovers and fame;
I did that alone, and then I changed what I was named.

Girl.
Daughter.
Sister.
Friend.
Mother.
Mentor.
Wife.
Woman.

And still I rise.

Do you even know pain?

Pain is crying in the dark at an inscribing that hurt
Still even late into the night, watering down the strength
of penning thoughts that support one's craft, one's life-long work.

Salvation?

Not with pen and paper, not with a recorder or by type
If in the morning the World's balance still isn’t right
I remain and only then will I write
And then right, all the wrongs, that bite.

Good Morning, Billie cried.
Heartache, still in site.



(Thanks to Talib Kweli for "Black Girl", Maya Angelou for "I rise" and Billie Holiday for "Good Morning, Heartache")

America the Beautiful

America the beautiful was popping at its seams. Suppressed in the 50’s, pubescent throughout the 60’s, she was becoming more estrogenically aggressive within the feminism movements and more testosterone prone at war with other countries. In all of America’s newfound freedom she learned the hard way that nothing in life is free, not even freedom (A Song for Assata) Common and that the promiscuousness throughout the late 60’s and early 70’s would cost her dearly. The 70’s delivered the first glimpse of Hip-Hop with the likes of The Last Poets and Gil Scott Heron, lovers of wisdom.

As a direct result of the abundance of drugs and free love, America the Beautiful paid dearly. America was heavy with child and by the end of that era…children born to happy parents are generally happy kids, born to angry parents...and so it goes. Most first-born children will agree to have been the test pilots of the family…the younger siblings seem to get away with murder, even when the murder is technically suicide.

The legal system and the war on drugs created an unbalanced way in which blacks were treated. Its policies for and against non-violent crimes and people of color flashed across news screens as well as window screens as the children of Hip-Hop watched in horror. Some used the energy of what they saw in a positive way (Rapper’s Delight) sugar hill gang, some internalized the anger (Ghost) Tupac, more reflected what they witnessed in the literary sense (She’s Alive) Andre 2000, 3000 and likely 4000, and still more created their own semblance of reality and gave it back to America the way they received it. Hard. Violent. Unrelenting. (You’re Nobody Til Somebody Kills You) Biggie Smalls.

Hip-Hop lives that anger daily. The ghetto is the ghetto is the ghetto, no matter the race, age or gender (a la Eminem). Young people learned to fend for themselves using language in a separate but equal manner. Their art imitating their lives.

Mentally.
Physically.
Financially.
Sexually.

Everyone has a story to tell.

Little girls are sugar and spice and everything nice but hell hath no fury like a woman scorn. What’s the in between? Feminism is a word made up centuries after black women called it life.

Lots of families hope for, in the birth order, boy(s) and then girl(s) so as to have an extra layer of protection for daughters. These daughters, however, grew up through families that were broken and unprotected, badgering and harsh, breaking down muscle after muscle day after day only to have them repaired and healed and broken, yet again. Adversity gives a woman strength (to Zion) Lauren Hill or it kills (anything written by Lil Kim). Only the strong survive. And the entire world is witnessing her screams.

Messages are hard and heavy from Hip-Hop artists like K.O (www.myspace.com/kashthaovadose). Messages that burst from hearts that have been broken and are an unwavering core of coal pressured through wind and water and force and failure and confusion and knowledge and pain and learning and disappointment and growth and time into a rare black diamond solid and somewhat rough and rigid and cold and fresh and raw and uncut. In turn lyrics are biting and flesh-eating and in your face and uncomfortable and unrelenting and sticky and hurtful and valid and bold and harsh and grimy and compelling and hungry and acidic and beautiful and hard and reflective of their life in their neighborhood.

Their lives have been pressured through politics, policies and the police. They’ve come out of the womb of the country, swinging bats and throwing bottles, fighting the powers that be, from birth. Some fight fairly and consciously playing by the rules, some fight dirty and underhandedly breaking all the rules, but make no mistake they are all fighting for their right to speak and be heard, refusing to live in the cave:

“My mother’s first born, feeling like I’m worthless, attitude f*^ked up cause I don’t know my purpose. F*^k every body is what I must be on, by myself hoping God don’t judge me wrong. I had to adapt to my circumstances growing up in the ‘hood ain’t no perfect chances. You say it ain’t right. I say it ain’t life and you can’t judge me cause, we don’t live the same life. Every day I hope I make it rich cause I don’t know how much longer I can take this sh!t.” (Kash Tha Ovadose)

Unfortunately, the mainstream Rap Artists (i.e. Three Six Mafia, Nelly), have become the norm when in fact they are the very stereotypical ignoramuses that Rap music sought to exonerate. The intermingling of the good and the bad is quite incestuous. It’s a strange cycle of sorts. When the children of Hip-Hop watched the American Dream in her selfishness, they became sullen and secretive with the open-door policy for “others” entering the Hip-Hop Nation. This music is held close to hearts remembering the shadowed stories told by parents, grand and great grand, of the coming together of musicians and the loss of control over the foundations of Rock & Roll, a la Chuck Berry and Little Richard and Jazz, a la Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday.

Strange Fruit, indeed.

No, it was decided that this rap thing would take a decidedly different route, if not financially then certainly physically. And so the slow simmering began and when the grasp was held firmly it over-flowed and the hot liquid has burned the world.
The treatment of some blacks in this country is likened to the children that America the Beautiful tried to keep in the attic, the sheep of the family that has become the elephant in the room.

True Hip-Hop artists are not dismayed by the media portrayal of young men of color or by the destruction of hip-hop; he is decisive in his sowing. He has not fallen prey to all that glitters in the rap game. He isn’t caught up in the misogynistic hold of the general rap-seeking population. On the contrary, he seeks to untangle the nonsensical stronghold, apparently knotted in the belly of the Beast. He has seen in his own mind’s eye the fall of the fools that play like puppets being led by Gippetto, a puppet master. He is an urban griot, speaking to the center of the struggle he is meant to reap. Given the gift to express the collective frustration of today’s young man using a mindset not equipped to follow fake-storytelling imposters. A true Hip-Hop artist is a philosopher explaining his answer to “why” in his particular form. The Allegory of the Cave mentality is reflected in today’s media with rap videos, the evening news and the daily newspapers. White America seems to fear what it is that they do not understand.

America swallowed its honesty, its assurance of 40 acres and a mule and its so-called civil rights equality. Therefore, its promises of success have failed horribly. America fed its black youth empty promises and broken unreachable dreams.
The Hip-Hop Nation as the child in utero created an upset stomach and America isn’t feeling so well any more. Rap music, in all of its infinite possibilities to produce change in the black community, is simply at the moment, the result of an aggravated spewing nation. Rap music is simply the contents of an upset stomach.

The promise of a great education within the free public school systems, the endless possibilities of the milk-and-the-honey-and-2.4 kids-living-within-the-grassy-plains-of-the-white-picket-fence-American-dream didn’t agree with their tummies; the lies were too much to swallow and have become indigestible. Hip-Hop is the child in utero. Rap music is simply the result of America’s vomit.

“At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round…he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows…” (Plato) America in her infinite wisdom is seeing only the shadows, turn your heads toward the sun and behold not the shadows but the truth of this people.

Stop feeding the nation garbage and they will stop spewing the violence.