back on the team

yo b, glad to see you back. and may i say how great it is that i am in exactly the territory that lacks the color of which you speak.   whitey-town is doing well.  getting spiritual again. walked this cool meditative labyrinth the other day that i used to do on my last gig here in b-town.  and you have an important message for you on another account. i think you and suz will be pleased.  anyway, s has been getting spiritual and working in the cutest bed and breakfast with some cool buddhist crew.  running into some old crew in b-town and some new.  getting some mountain healing and some SUN. repeat after seattle: SUN. very happy with that.  inundating self with katt williams.  will keep it real despite white world here.  signing off because i just can bitchez, i just can.

eff you: the development of the fresh and the fly.

so, its been a while. we shouldn’t have left you. (i shouldn’t have). not without a dope means to step two. (r.i.p. aaliyah). anyways, i know its summer and i have avoided the books for the most part, enjoying my time with people, places, &c. and with the summer generally comes the superficial me. lately, i am all about the FRESH and the FLY. these terms, generally associated with hip hop culture and an urban aesthetic (read: my life, hur hur) are where its at: COLOR (people need to amplify this–i’m so sick of seattle drab chic: it screams “hey, i’m dull. look at me, i scream dull. i’m so dull, even my white guilt is dull.”); big beats (hit streets, hear gangstas rollin’ and party don’t stop til eight in the mornin’); hot sneakers; bein’ brazen (read: loud AND ethnic); and lastly, just being OF COLOR. as per conversation with m and s (that’s you, s/es), white people are the past, out, not in, faux pas, history. ON THE UPSIDE: people of color (that’s right you shades and hues of brown) are fuckin’ hot, the future, in, not out–mind you, you may be strugglin’ a bit, but give it time (believe me, its a pattern: white people see you strugglin’ and then, BAM, 20-30 years later, you are hot shit; but in this accelerated age, the brownies only need 10 years, i gar-on-tee). this may sound extreme, but i think we are on to some-fuckin’-thing. 

with a shutting eye,

b.

sunset

was up at the crack o’ dawn b. saw the sunset that i haven’t seen in years.  my ass does not get up this early. have required st’bucks mocha next to me.  will be hyper and crazy in two hours.  trying to work before roommate and g-friend get up. (he better not give me shit today, yesterday nearly started a row… these wm’s!) looking forward to some words from b*rown.

forever anxiety

so, when i left chicago after going to saic, i remember sitting across one of the corporate fountains on State St. and thinking [as i watched that water do it's thing and not care where it landed] that i wanted to be like water.  i was 23 then and now i’m 31.  it’s crazy to live like water.  i’ve seen so many cities, had so many jobs, met with so many folks, and landed again here in Co.  i think i asked for it without knowing that there are some emotional sacrifices with living like water.  so, last year while in Co for the first time, i saw those little fluffy things [fill correct name here b] that come off trees or perhaps off the weeds in the grasses. they were gliding down onto the river from high above, in very calm, downward slanting lines.  they moved continuously, but were not agitated even when the sun shone so honestly on them.  they took it in naturally.  and they eventually landed in the river.  well, i thought, i want to be like these things [  ]  and have that calm while moving.  come out of that water state and do something a little more easy-feeling. less anxiety, but not a rock on the banks or the ones that cut the river in parts.  just gliding.  that’s been the hardest to do, harder than total anxiety and harder than stasis.  somewhere in between.

no theory here

take it easy b. readin’s overrated. (coming from the grad school defector, what, what). but seriously, i might pick up a book this summer. on to other matters, i’m at chez whitey’s enjoying the mountains. keepin’ it real in the red state. (wondering how it was all kept real in Cuba.) enjoy the summer b, september’s going to slam you with work and students that won’t leave you alone. my cuties are asking to see my latest poems. some karma: they are encouraging me now. offlining it, s.

10-4 s

s is having a bit of an uneasy reaction to all of this wasteland but she’s trying to pull through somehow. little help b.  also, party with b-o last night. we held our breaths for a few seconds until we acclimated.  lots of shirtless people, a lot of girls wearing colored (red!) bras.  someone refers to s as “naked” re: story from 2006.  that shit’s “her”story, so let’s drop it.  nevermind rude intro.  also, good friend from 2006 having affair with new person, ruining marriage. is this what we’ve come to?  s felt oooolllld.  like an aunt who showed up at her nephew’s and niece’s party.  but you know, i think this is good.  this maturity thing feels better.  kept up by mice again last night. will get hands on poison, will get sleep.

reconciling this with that: marxism and the fashion fetish.

you can’t. so i won’t. there you go. 

in other news, s will be contributing shortly–give it time, mothafuckas!

anyways, i think i need to buckle down (who the fuck comes up with this shit?! cliches never go to waste since i hardly ever experience the distinct urge to be original, and therefore, smart). i don’t know what that means in my case, since there is so much shit abstractly floating out there for my summatime (and approximately a little over 2 months for me to get it in–not a lot of time, considering my current status: i am seriously wasting time until my sister comes home). i want to want to read and really feel that i deserve to even be a student at the graduate level, but i hardly ever feel that desire nor the sense that i want to do what i am doing for more than a certain amount of years. what then is it that keeps me doing what i am doing? (b is having a crisis! she’s questioning too much shit! tell her to calm the fuck down and just accept her lot!)

AtVttI, ii: you are my blind spot.

now that you have waited it out, b is graciously presenting some new shit! mulling over the blind spot today. theorizing that shit makes me wonder if tunnel vision is any different, and it is. so, let’s socialize the demon. mind you, it’s difficult not to use some sort of concrete historical evidence (and i mean personal history, not some sort of discursive knowledge bullshit); interpret it how you will, since it may provide juice, or better yet, fuel to the fire, or even better, personal notoriety! 

b) blind spot:

there are always warning signs. you divide people into factions and minds into fractions–minimizing the effects of your unplanned actions and subsequent unforeseen consequences. you’re sly though, making those around you feel, unbeknownst to you, different, more, and more aptly, better. you know just what to say, when not to articulate, how to convey with mere gestures and no intellectual posturing. yet, and of course unbeknownst to one, you begin to lose a certain ethic that makes the interpersonal a form of work–a labor full of intricacies and cues, scripts and nuances, complexity and recognition. and that slides into a social malaise; nobody but you can fully resuscitate what it is that is lost. and one is left to ponder, because you remain one’s BLIND SPOT. one is left without cures for your malaise, and left with mere questions. 

with shit always brewin’,

b

applying the visual to the interpersonal.

ideas have been brewing about the application of the visual to the interpersonal. s & b are fuckin’ with some new shit! s came up with a fantastic gesture that could never come into fruition on the page (think jazz hands, but then stop thinking jazz hands)–you’ll have to find us to perform the usual minstrel show that we know you have to come to expect. don’t hate; we just want some re-spect. 

a) peripheral vision:

you are a friend, don’t be mistaken. but, you fuckin’ bug people after a while. don’t be insecure about your friendships. no one, especially in our generation, wants to really put up with your endless insecurities.  while people generally enjoy your company for a certain allotted span of time–you joke, gossip, drink the coffee and eat the sandwich–you then proceed to say something completely idiotic, offensive, thoughtless, or insensitive. AND YOU’RE DONE. you are now in Peripheral Vision Mode (PVM). we see you, generally. but we kinda don’t want to anymore. we need a break. a healthy chit-chat will suffice for the time being. you can work your way back, but it’s a long, arduous road ahead of you. 

stay tuned for more. we know you will!

wasabi,

b

i just have a lot of feelings.

so, what is my problem? i need to stop the oozing of sarcasm and TAKE MY THOUGHTS SERIOUSLY, dammit!

why do i start many of my sentences with ’so’ lately? i must be really fuckin’ insecure to constantly qualify statements with such a shitty linguistic sign of uncertainty. 

and enough with the self-conscious, self-reflexive, self-ness (believe me, there is nothing selfless about writing a fucking blog. HA). 

maybe that will be for another day, for another post. 

you know it,

b