.136 day 119

new years is one of the only american holidays i don't stand on my soapbox for.

while i can easily argue that, due to time changes, leap years and two months added to the calendar, time in this world is illusive at best, i'd rather focus on the one key element that loosens my 'prone to militant' grip: accidental, collective affirmation. it is the one time mass groups of people, around the world, "will" in unison. showing gratitude, wishing wellness. reflecting on and amending the tragic and beautiful things that's happened in a years time. making promises to try. to grow. to hope. to change. and there is something quaintly pleasant in that thought alone.

this new years eve was spent in purification. clean baby. clean clothes. clean hair. clean body. clean thoughts. i hung a new vision board and kissed my baby upon the arrival of midnight. candles burning. ideas brimming. i am at peace. and it is my will to remain as such throughout the year, and all the moments that follow (i wish that for you, as well).

happy new day, people...for yesterday no longer exists.

.135 day 118

it's a borderline sick obsession, me with nail polish. if you want to check my emotions, check my nails. calm and simple me = clean, trimmed, and clear polished nails. jovial me, boasts colors and dots and patterns and prints. dark me wears black. girly me craves pale pinks and purples and pure white paints. but when i'm feeling every bit of woman'ness,  and beneath my skin starts boiling, bright red is all i can bare (it's been over a month now). in fact, the only time (and it's rare when i do) i am completely unreadable, is when my nails are fully bare. no polish, no trim. no anything (when my friend, laé, left, i went bare, so sick with emotion of her departure, i was). 

but...now...i'm back...to my red nails. 

and they feel so good...sometimes i just sit and trail them across my own skin just to see them in motion.......

.134 day 117

i had plans for this snow day. i was low-key excited about taking my "challenge" pictures, mood peacefully suited for spotting the things that pique my interest, and spotting them under blankets of snow. planned on writing in my diary, which i've unnaturally neglected for some time now (unnatural, as i've kept a consistent diary since age twelve). of character sketching, and client editing. of tending to personal works and the tedious task of replying to emails, while listening to naima (john coltrane) and drinking chamomile tea by candlelight. a cliché day of tranquility. my cliché day of tranquility. so needed...but.......if you wanna make god laugh.......make plans. 

the snow was falling, newly so, and the roads were paved with slosh and slipping rainfall. the conversation on phone, held to ear, both, draining and heartbreaking. i turn around. park in front of my door and sit there for a while. (le sigh) this snow isn't pretty. it's "city snow". dirty and gray and staining to ones clothes. not high enough for children to play in, yet, high enough to be a nuisance to their path. screw the candles, screw the tea. i shift the phone from my ear to my lap (speakerphone). i listen. i reply. roll down the window and snap the side-view mirror. i listen. i reply. get out my jeep and look around. it's cold. i do not feel like snapping anything. do not feel like having any more of this conversation. toots is just inside those doors. i smile. this conversation is not reality. i disclaim it (not what's being said, but how it's making me feel). my cliché day fades. i'm going to bask in stark reality, instead. it's honest here. flaws and all, i know this place. beautifully inviting in it's ill-fitted state...(i'm rambling)...perhaps i shouldn't have written at all...perhaps i shouldn't have taken said call (that rhymed)...le sigh. i had plans for this snow day...

.133 day 116

i pulled into a hess station to vacuum out my jeep and was greeted by a meat selling, older man threatening to let me "put him to work". i protested the threat, he complied to it. and as he vacuumed out my vehicle, i learned a teeny bit more about this sporadic generous gentleman who keeps a quarter in his ear to remind himself that he's worth something.

his mother named him terrol and has never told him why. he finds his name peculiar and likes that he doesn't know the meaning. when asked of such, he simply replies "it means me". he, the cancer, who spends his free time listening to oldies in foggy bars that ignore the "no smoking indoors" law. with juke boxes old enough to house his 'jams' and stale pretzels in wooden bowls, along the bar. he only smokes cigarettes (winston salems) when he drinks, and he only drinks when a smelling-good, pretty woman is sitting next to him (only sad men drink alone, he says). his ex-wife is an aquarius and has made him an advocate of the sign. he raved of their greatness, and basic 'good peoples' pedigree. we share similar sentiments, i say. then, that makes you good people, he smiled. and it was nice, that smile he smiled. warming and painful all at once. human, even. he told me that, because of me, in this moment, selling meat ain't so bad at all. i told him that, because of him, in this moment, life itself, felt even better than that. 

.132 day 115

today...was draining. 

toots, taking "terrible (almost) two" ness way too literal. 

migraine, threatening my sanity. 

and "me" time, par the course, deciding to be politely non-existent. 

.131 day 114

at some point, an 8-track was considered advanced technology.

i try to keep this settle truth in perspective when drooling over new gadgets, but i'm human. evolution is involuntary. i can't even remember what i did with all of my old mix tapes. and once mp3 players and iPods came along, i rarely used my cd's anymore. so imagine the horror i faced when i realized my jeep did not have an outlet for an ipod. 

(i know. insert dramatic gasp here) 

so now it's back to making mix cd's. and it's actually pretty fun. i've missed my calling. for, obviously, i should have been a dj.

.130 day 113

psa: i do not celebrate christmas.

this is not a stab at christianity as much as it's a personal decline to participate in western civilization's depiction of such. the tree, the lights, the santa, the elves, the reindeer, the snowman, it's all too much for me to wrap my mind around. i love imagination as much as the next being, but mass imagination has never been good. 

that being said, this hypocritical blog is fueled by the love of my mother, the memories of my childhood and being able to buy gifts for my own child unabashedly. i remember the excitement of being awakened by my older brother. of sneaking downstairs at the crack of dawn to find a bouquet of presents under the tree and a drained and sleeping mother on the couch. 

since kindergarden, i knew the truth (my brother made sure of that). knew that mom's hard work and intense love, bought those gifts to our home. and mom, a piscean baptist, made sure i knew my father's sacrifices, as well. that he, the piscean muslim, would donate his entire paycheck to her cause (never actively participating) but lovingly feigning surprise when i called to tell him all i'd gotten.

and now that he is gone, and i, my mother and child are leaning on each other so intensely, i've softened a bit. it's not that deep. my values are still in tact. my mother loves christmas. hasn't celebrated in years because she loves her children. but we needed a boost. a happy mix of nothingness. of pretty gifts and cinnamon scented candles. of awkward family moments and underlining love. we smiled. we laughed. we took turns playing with toots and picture taking. my mom seemed at peace. and for a while, so was té and i. we, the reproductive team of toots. we, the estranged, now struggling to close the gap, parental unit. we, who learned, that life happens even in the midst of fairy-tales. our story is a skewed one. nothing is as it seems. supernaturally -severed- but there is beauty in it's ugliness...

taken by té

this piano rocks. (a gift from her father)

taken by té

taken by té

taken by té

.129 day 112

i love it. the shied on the front reminds me of my childhood fantasies. witches and ghosts and man killing mermaids. all the time, living in my imagination, a world of twisted enchantment traipse through my head. these pages, clean, crisp, bare, new. (i haven't the faintest idea what to put in here). these pages, pre-filled with invisible works, like blank promises i've made to my art.

there is a certain type of passion that exists on the bank of possibility. a tangible desire, an inexplicable thrill, that travels through my finger tips and settles in my pretty parts. mmmm, these pages, clean, crisp, bare, new...(are exciting me).

.128 day 111

"i believe in god...only i spell it n-a-t-u-r-e"

frank lloyd

focus: sunset

focus: gate

.127 day 110

my mother is a minimalist. an advocate of moderation. in my entire lifetime she has wore only one ring (presently in hiatus), a gold band with a black onyx stone. i can only remember one time she wore a necklace, a silver herring bone (also in hiatus), both, simple and extravagant in it's making. she shuns curse words and mind altering vices. the only thing i've seen her make a slight fuss about are books written by brown authors (toni morrison, being her favorite) and elephants. a trunk raised means "good luck", she says. which is odd...for she doesn't really believe in luck either. either way, this is hers, that i made her gift to me. i like it. i favor wood. and gifts that have someone else's energy attached...

(p.s: that's my daddy blurred in the background. doing my best not to build a shrine)

.126 day 109

my anonymously public note.

dear you.

no "play" here.

 i have no words for this blog, as there was no thought behind it. 

i saw a pipe against a bare concrete wall. i liked it. 

i saw a wooden 'ladies' sign on a green bathroom door. i liked it. 

and later, i liked it even more in black and white. 

you got that? i love you. you're my bestie. 

my heart. 

i hear you. 

(me)

.125 capa

last night i went to my niece's winter concert, at CAPA and was once again astounded by the amount of talent that exists in there. those children, our future, beaming bright with passion and possibility. this school is refreshing. fosters talents, creates confidence. many of philly's famed talent grew from hopes and dreams once planted here. as i walked the stairs to find seating on the balcony, i passed a painted sign in the stairwell. "art saves lives". i smiled, and thought, "well, isn't that just grand. for, art creates lives, too".