Just Thursday - from yesterday's journal entry

Since childhood I have been enthralled with people watching. I don't require some grand affair to be watching people be people. No, for me, it's more immersing when humans are just doing what they (we) do on normal every day days. They way we walk. Move our hands and hair. Look up into the sky. How we lie. Live. Be. That's who I am as a photographer too. I like taking candid shots of people and things. Yes, things too. But of course things. A random Coke can rolling down the street being pushed by the invisible wind. A bird racing to the middle of the road for bread. A wave of water begging to wet feet.

Today I didn't have to be at work until 12:30 but I left home hella early and so pulled into the Baldwin HIlls Crenshaw Plaza's mall/movie parking lot to write, pray, think, watch. Repeat. But not necessarilly in that order.

First I observed four young black men who pulled next to me. One bumped my car door with his as he tried to exit the vehicle, and quickly excused himself and called me Miss. Miss? Ma'am? Ms.? Where did the time go?

Man 1: (front seat passenger) Ey, y'all niggas git out.
Man 2: (back seat passenger) We fin to.
Man 3: (other back seat passenger) I'm finna see if this muthafuckin' phone can charge while the car off.
Man 2: Never mind. Blood just called. Let's go.

Let me say here that this is an ordinary day. An ordinary Los Angeles day just off Crenshaw. These noises are not new or unusual noises or colors. These are smells of the city. I love this dirty, stinky, colorful city.

A black woman in her late sixties pulled into the parking lot almost directly in front of me. But she did not see me. We did not see each other. We are not accountable to or for each other. That is what street life is what would have you believe. She drove an old dirty gray Kia and used some kind of steering wheel lock to prevent theft. I am inclined to believe that no one would want to steal her dirty gray Kia. That's how we do. That's how we live. Like what we have is not worth a damn. Not worth the time it would take for someone to steal it. See how quickly I judged what she has? I didn't know that people still used those locks but she had one. She had one. Fifteen minutes later the woman returned to her car and put an address in her GPS that sat on her dashboard. I think that's what she did. I thought it lovely that she had a GPS and an old steering wheel lock like that. Christmas? Her granddaughter I surmised. She did not take the lock off the wheel. There were helicopters hovering above. Helicopters are a usual occurrence in this neighborhood. I am tired of saying that about helicopters and our neighborhoods. Aren't you tired of hearing it? The woman sat in her car and looked into the sky. She seemed to be praying. Older women sitting in cars with steering wheel locks seem to be praying. Don't they? Wouldn't they?

She got out of her car again, held movie tickets in one hand and a large denim blue purse over the opposite shoulder. She took about ten steps stopped, turned around and looked at her car almost like she was making sure it was securely locked. Then she noticed me. Now, now she saw me.

A black man in his early twenties walked slowly and I would say suspiciously eyeing a black security guard just seconds too long. Security guard was in the middle of the street talking to another guard in the company truck.

Two women in hospital scrubs walked across the parking lot probably headed toward the clinic. But then you never know.

Suddenly the helicopters left as if they were phoned of a bigger emergency than black people shopping and going to the movies.

Maybe nurse 1: Hey Curtis! (She yelled to a young black man who pulled up beside her. They embraced through the window.)

There was music playing from the theatre. Stevie Wonder's voice boomed from outside the advertisement center. A black mother in her early thirties whom I thought I recognized from a poetry event last month sat on a bench with her son, who seemed about four.

Three black women walked into the theatre. The women ranged in ages from thirty to fifty. Maybe this is the hour older women feel most comfortable going to the movies.

There were five black men standing in front of the Taco Bell near the theatre. The young men were in the street. An older black man drove up and blew his horn at the young men to get through.

Older black man: Git the fuck out the street, muthafuckas!

Young black men: Ey, yo, fuck you! (As they moved out of the street)

Quickly, about seven young men ran from the theatre and rushed toward my way.

Man 1: That IS that fool!
Man 2: Yep, that's that same silver Infinity! Come on!
Man 3: Come on, y'all!

That's when I left. You know, about my mama not raisin' no fool and all.

A poem a day for 2013 - day 254 - IJS

When I hear
No offense
I know an offense
Is coming

A poem a day for 2013 - day 253 - Easy. Like. Sunday.

Tell me what you are
Tell me who sent you
Talk to me easy like that
About grandmothers and gods
Let's have donuts and bake bread
Play like before
Walk with sand simple in water
Let's listen to quiet
Write bad poetry together
Make up songs like we did

Jaha Zainabu Photography - Rodzilla

A poem a day for 2013 - day 252 - Check in

It is not love I am afraid of again
It is whether I will journey
The day by day
The again again
Again

Jaha Zainabu Photography

A poem a day for 2013 - day 251 - A text to Friend

How are you is such a cheap question
Only three words
It doesn't deman a thorough search of the soul
It only asks you barely scrape the level
That's my job, I guess
To find words to ask about your spirit
Your laugh
Your heavy
Your shine
Today

Bedtime

Tonight I am going to bed reading Bethsheba A. Rem's book LONG STORY SHORT. It is so good. I miss Sheba and her stories. Her real life stories are ENOUGH, the book is even EXTRA. I am proud to say that the cover of the book is artwork done by me (yaaayyy). I've had the book for some time now and it's really been sitting on the shelf. I don't know what happened but something said, Hey, read Sheba's book tonight. Read it. And I listened.

In other news, Uraeus and I were in the store this afternoon. We were in line together laughing and talking. Clearly we were together. A woman behind us, who had on the worst blue I just got out of church suit and hat ever was behind us. She tapped him on the shoulder and asked him how old he was. He responded and she went on to ask him if he wanted to be in an all male fashion show. Um, hello!!! What the what? He said he wasn't interested and we left. But I was like, Sis, there was a better way to handle that. In these Stranger/Danger times you don't offer a minor a job (even if it is in your church's fashion show) and not talk to the parent(s)/guardian(s). Where they do that at? And I was right there! That's the thing!

I'm just free writing people. You know how I do. Yes, when you are free writing you can jump from what you are reading to an irritating person in line behind you because you get to say. Also, in a free write, please let it be known that "in other news" is an appropriate enough transition.

In other news, good night.

Photo by Holland-Reid Photography

A poem a day for 2013 - day 250 - Freedom

I am bored with the old stories about what who did to me
I am over my victimhood
And yours too

Gratitude

I am thankful this day for voice
For my voice
For using my voice as expression
As art
As love
I am thankful for waking up
For my son
For watching him rest
For the heat
For friends
I am thankful for family
For love
I am thankful for safety
Patience
Peace

Just because

Yep.