I am downstairs on the couch watching television
Squaaakkkkkk squaaaakkkk squaaakkkkk
I fell asleep to some program about birds
Vrrrroooommmmmm Vrrrooommmmm
The gardener is already outside mowing the lawn
Already
Already
Bmmmzzzzzzzzz bllmmzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzz
Brother is awake and in the kitchen making a smoothie
Blender and lawn mower sounds mix
Thump thump clonk clonk clonk thump
The children are up
The oldest jumps down from the top of the bunk bed
The youngest drops the toys
Crrrssstttttpppmmmtttt
All over the floor
Gooooood mooooornnnning, everybooooooodyyyyy
Sister is up
Time to begin the day
Black ass poems. Black ass stories. Black ass art. Black ass life. Black ass love. Black ass hate. Black ass parenting. Black ass depression. Black ass mania. And other stuff too.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
L.A. Sleepy. Painting day.
11:01am. Los Angeles. I'm at George and Alisha's now. I came here last night after the Stage. I'm going to Kooki's event tonight so it was easier to be here than go back to Palmdale. Boogie was the feature last night and he did a good job. I really enjoyed it. It was a special night. I slept well last night but I'm still sleepy. I don't know what's up with that. Not much to say this morning. According to my schedule I should be painting today. I really don't feel like it but I gotta do it anyway. Have a great one.
Love yourselves.
Love yourselves.
Gratitude
I am thankful for this day
For a good rest last night
For friends and family
For a good time at The World Stage last night
Peace and ease
For a good conversation with Linda last night
For good mental and physical health
Uraeus
For blessings
For a good rest last night
For friends and family
For a good time at The World Stage last night
Peace and ease
For a good conversation with Linda last night
For good mental and physical health
Uraeus
For blessings
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Page (13)
It's 6:30am and Page is in the kitchen cooking. She made scrambled egg whites and a veggie breakfast patty for her and is now prepping breakfast and lunch for Rock for later. Rock's usual wake up time is around 10:30. Her laptop is on the small table in the kitchen and in between frying fish and scrambling eggs, whipping up french toast and turkey sausage for Rock she is watching Vanessa on YouTube. Vanessa is the only woman Page knows who loves to cook as much as she does. And she doesn't even know her. Only found her YouTube channel looking for Black women who cook. Before Page covers up all of the food she takes a minute to laugh at herself for cooking so much food. Rock isn't going to eat half of it. She says to herself. No worries though because she plans to take some down to the woman she has seen for years who sits in front of her tent on Manchester. She's been there for years and Page frequently takes food, money and sometimes blankets to her. The woman doesn't speak much but always says thank you.
"Ok people! I know you can smell my kitchen all around the world. I'm calling this segment, Mama's kitchen because it's what my mom used to make for my sister and me when we were little. How many of y'all remember these good ole salmon croquettes? I know you do." Page notices that Vanessa looks cheery in this clip. And she is talking about food. Only food. Sometimes she has shows where she doesn't cook at all. She's always in the kitchen though. Sometimes she just sits at her counter and talks about living with lupus. How hard it is on her body and how she has episodes of depression. This clip though is happy and healthy Vanessa. "So, before I sign off I just want to remind y'all to have a great day. Even if you have to make it a great day." She waves at the camera. "I love y'all. I really do! And thank you for tuning in. Peace!"
"Peace, Vanessa." Page says to the computer. She gets up and boils water for lavender tea. Her favorite. When the water is finally hot she pours it into her favorite mug and drops the teabag in after. Page carefully carries the tea into her room and sits the mug on her desk and pulls out her journal and begins to write:
Up early today. Felt the cooking bug I guess. Didn't get much sleep last night and was restless this morning so it just made sense. Been having dreams again. Not dreams. Dream. Same one. Same one since I was a teenager. At least I think it's a dream. God I hope it's a dream.
I'm about eight years old and I'm lying in bed. My dad is standing next to my bed looking at me and I'm afraid but I'm trying not to show it. He's only wearing a towel. A blue towel. I can see the outline of his penis through the towel.
"Touch it." He says. I'm frozen and afraid. And he says it again. Then I wake up. I never remember my dad being...like that with me. I don't know where the dream is coming from. It's the same dream though. Every time. The same way. The same blue towel. "Touch it." It has to be a dream. It can't be a memory. Can't. My dad killed a man. A preacher for kissing and touching on me when I was a girl. Killed him right there in the parking lot. I never write about this. Never talk about it. Elizabeth said it's time though. Maybe it is. My dad wouldn't have done that to a man if he was a man just like that. I'll never make sense of the dream. And now he wants me to see him. Wants me to come up to Vegas and see him in prison. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what he wants to say to me so bad he needs to see me in person. For years all we did was write. Why now? What's new now? Well, I'm gonna go make it a great day today.
Page closes her journal and puts it back in her desk drawer. She takes a sip of her tea then begins opening the windows in her room. "Please be a dream." She says out loud. "Be a fucking dream."
"Ok people! I know you can smell my kitchen all around the world. I'm calling this segment, Mama's kitchen because it's what my mom used to make for my sister and me when we were little. How many of y'all remember these good ole salmon croquettes? I know you do." Page notices that Vanessa looks cheery in this clip. And she is talking about food. Only food. Sometimes she has shows where she doesn't cook at all. She's always in the kitchen though. Sometimes she just sits at her counter and talks about living with lupus. How hard it is on her body and how she has episodes of depression. This clip though is happy and healthy Vanessa. "So, before I sign off I just want to remind y'all to have a great day. Even if you have to make it a great day." She waves at the camera. "I love y'all. I really do! And thank you for tuning in. Peace!"
"Peace, Vanessa." Page says to the computer. She gets up and boils water for lavender tea. Her favorite. When the water is finally hot she pours it into her favorite mug and drops the teabag in after. Page carefully carries the tea into her room and sits the mug on her desk and pulls out her journal and begins to write:
Up early today. Felt the cooking bug I guess. Didn't get much sleep last night and was restless this morning so it just made sense. Been having dreams again. Not dreams. Dream. Same one. Same one since I was a teenager. At least I think it's a dream. God I hope it's a dream.
I'm about eight years old and I'm lying in bed. My dad is standing next to my bed looking at me and I'm afraid but I'm trying not to show it. He's only wearing a towel. A blue towel. I can see the outline of his penis through the towel.
"Touch it." He says. I'm frozen and afraid. And he says it again. Then I wake up. I never remember my dad being...like that with me. I don't know where the dream is coming from. It's the same dream though. Every time. The same way. The same blue towel. "Touch it." It has to be a dream. It can't be a memory. Can't. My dad killed a man. A preacher for kissing and touching on me when I was a girl. Killed him right there in the parking lot. I never write about this. Never talk about it. Elizabeth said it's time though. Maybe it is. My dad wouldn't have done that to a man if he was a man just like that. I'll never make sense of the dream. And now he wants me to see him. Wants me to come up to Vegas and see him in prison. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what he wants to say to me so bad he needs to see me in person. For years all we did was write. Why now? What's new now? Well, I'm gonna go make it a great day today.
Page closes her journal and puts it back in her desk drawer. She takes a sip of her tea then begins opening the windows in her room. "Please be a dream." She says out loud. "Be a fucking dream."
Dear white people
I just fucking can't with these white women out here! A twenty-two year old man was stopped by police. A white woman called them on him because she said that he looked at her suspiciously. Seriously, what the fuck! She knew what she was doing. I am so sick of white women using the police as their personal weapons against Black people. That young man could have been another hashtag. Another name for us to say. Another one of us ancestered too soon. How the fuck does one look at another suspiciously anyway? Were his brows furrowed? Was he licking his lips? His hand between his legs? What? No, I really need answers. Years ago I was pulled over by the cops because I looked at them as they pulled up next to me. They said my eye contact was suspicious. We are all suspicious. It's harder and harder to live out here and there is no one "the talk" to give our children. Stay. Run. Resist. Be still. Look. Smile. Don't look. Keep your head up. Eyes on the ground. What? What the whole fuck?
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