In the Time of James

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His world had been comprised of hastily constructed philosophies, which upon close examination, had failed him and promptly collapsed.

It failed James as a child whose smart mind disagreed with being limited by his scrawniness of sickly body. All were sure he would be buried before his parents would be. His mother would mash together any and every concoction anyone told her in dogged determination to prevent such. Decades later he would semi joke that he could still hear the nasal voice of his mother coaxing him to consume the shed skin of a snake, that some witch – though he usually pronounced that word with a b –  had convinced her would help.

It failed at puberty when the truth of what he was became evident. Where was sickly he becomes strong and different. Oh, so different. He is outcast by those who are terrified of what he had become. Unconditional love apparently had its conditions after all. Those early years on his own were hard.  He was not there for the passing of his progenitor. And as far off as it may be, he knew no one would be there for his passing. That which made him unique had also made him lonely.

As time passed for him, the more he rebuilt himself, the more it failed him. Logan learns to be the best there is at what he does, “…but what I do best isn’t very nice.” Coworkers came and went with jobs and time. He lives vicariously through others’ primitive view of what a normal life should be, as the pâro of his own wedged its way through any hope that friends, true relationships would ever be his lot.

Then he met a young girl named Marie. In rapid succession he then met Scott and Ororo. And Jean. And most important he met Charles.

Finally, his life started to pile up memories that were of not of just co-workers, but colleagues, not acquaintances, but friends. It took some time to get there, you don’t unlearn things taught via decades of heartache overnight, but he got there. In time he learned new philosophies that stayed. He was still unique, but not alone. He had people he knew had his back as he had theirs. If they were not of his blood, it didn’t matter, he had family.

Still, that which makes him unique has him watching as his family passes over time. Even he himself starts to feel its affects as he begins to fall victim to its ravages. He had accepted his fate his life, but Fate had one more trick up the sleeves in the form of Laura. In the dusk of his days, as even he was running out of time, he learns of his daughter. His old philosophy failed him, but this last once he could not complain for Laura was there. Her hand in his, as time caught up with him at last.

Logan Noir - Image with Wolverine and Laura holding handsImage: From Logan Noir – Wolverine (James “Logan” Howlett) and Laura holding hands.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Wordle #154

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

Pile, Smart, Pâro, Vicarious, Mash, Nasal,
Disagree, Witch, Shed, Primitive, Wedge, Scrawny

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: First Line Friday 12.05.17

It’s that every other Friday again where Dylan gives the first line, and we all get to write the rest.

Nothing

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Do you not feel me?
           Feel me.

Do you not hear me?
           Hear me.

I know I can be shallow.
                Shallow.

But you know I am not empty.
                      Empty.

Within my heartbeat echoes yours.
                           Yours.

Yet I know within your heartbeat mine is nothing.

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dVerse De (whimsygizmo) asks us to write a Quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words – not including the title, and to make it echo. “Echo” being the word that must be used in the poem. I went for  its absence.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #32

The Color of Numbers

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We are in Week 19 of the year 2017 and in that time twelve transpersons of color has been murdered in the United States.

Last Thursday Brenda Bostick, a 59-year-old Black transgender woman, died from an attack on Tuesday April 25th in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood. She is at least the twelfth trans person murdered this year in this country alone – all of them women of color, one Native and eleven Black. The others are Mesha Caldwell, Jamie Lee Wounded Arrow, JoJo Striker, Tiara Richmond, Keke Collier, Chyna Gibson, Ciara McElveen, Jaquarrius Holland, Alphonza Watson, Symone Marie Jones and Chayviss Reed.

Think about it: That is roughly every 10 days. Let me repeat that – Every. 10. Days. We are not even at the halfway point of this year. What does that portend?

According to the Human Rights Campaign there were at least 21 deaths in 2015 and 27 deaths in 2016 of transgender people due to fatal violence.  Bostwick was attacked on April 25th, today is May 9th, fifteen days. By this unfortunate barometer, someone has been attacked – the question is how soon will we be reading – watching – hearing about the murder of yet another transperson of color?

Please note the use of “at least” in all of the numbers given, for they only represent the murders against transpersons that we know of for a certainty. Only the heavens know how many other murders, which have slipped under the radar, have actually occurred.

The victims of this violence are overwhelmingly transgender women of color, who live at the dangerous crossroads of transphobia, racism and sexism which often lead to high rates of poverty, unemployment, and homelessness. And some of these homicides have not yet been identified as hate crimes due to lack of information about the perpetrators or motives.

It has been reported that LGBT+ people are more likely to be targets of hate crimes than any other minority group, and within that group the percentage of these crimes of misogyny, racism and LGBT+ against trans-people are higher and rising.

It is an ironic dichotomy that while this country has becomes more openly accepting, it has undeniably also become more openly hateful and worse more openly violent in its hate.

Are crimes against people of color, women, gays and/or trans new? Of course not. What is news is even with the documented increase of violence against transgender people at an all-time high and potentially rising, national media coverage is severely lacking. I’m minded of the song “Small Circle of Friends”.

“Oh look outside the window, there’s a woman being grabbed
They’ve dragged her to the bushes and now she’s being stabbed
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain
But Monopoly is so much fun, I’d hate to blow the game
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends”

While the protest song covered several events as commentary on human apathy, it song was inspired by the case of a woman who was stabbed to death outside her home in Queens, New York, while dozens of her neighbors reportedly ignored her cries for help. That the woman then was presumably CIS and the women now are trans make no damn difference.

The point of it being if it’s not in our own back yard many don’t want/care/are afraid to acknowledge it. I live in NYC, where there is a heavy LGBT+ influence. These deaths were of note here before Brenda Bostick’s murder in Chelsea, a neighborhood of New York City, placed her in our proverbial, if not literal, backyard. That these murders happen anywhere is horrific enough, having one happen here in the city of The Stone Wall Riots, a place pretty much considered the birthplace of gay liberation and LGBT+ rights, it seems especially galling.

In a sequitur/non-sequitur Sunday was the MTV Movie & TV Awards. In an unprecedented move MTV removed genders from all of their categories. Men, Women and Non-Binaries competed against each other for the honors. I’m waiting for the day when the news reports on a male, female or non-binary event it will be reported without the “trans” modifier. Not because I do not want to talk about transgender, but because what happens to a man, a woman, or a non-binary, that the person is also transgender should not matter.

It is an unfortunate fact that stigma based on sexual orientation is still widespread. I know there are documents, commentary etc. covering the myriad psychologies of those who commit these types of crimes.  None of it excuses it. Preaching to the choir, hiding it from the news, not talking about it and/or outright dismissing it, will make these murders go away. Public education, policy change and community efforts are needed to address this. Overcoming these prejudices will take a lot of work. A LOT of work.

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Let’s see how others are slicing it up this week:

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Slice of Life Writing Tuesday Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

52essays2017
Writing Our Lives #52essays2017 challenge – Week 19

A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.

 

Art and Dollars and Sense

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Was speaking with a friend regarding how I like going to galleries to see all the different kinds of art out there and how much I wish I had the funds to purchase some. The discussion eventually lead to the following question —

Do you need to agree with an artist’s lifestyle or politics to appreciate their art? To spend money on it?

No, I do not have to agree with an artist’s personal views to appreciate the art.   What’s the joke…? I don’t know what art is, but I know what I like.  Often times I see/hear/read the art long before I know the views/lifestyle of the artist anyway and have made my own opinion of the art. The last time I checked, artists are people and definitely have their own opinions and theories on any variety of subjects, as I have mine.  There are going to be differences of opinion. Little of which has bearing on whether how I will perceive the person’s respective arts.  If it moves me, it moves me.

So many people liked Tom Cruise’s body work until he became outspoken on Scientology (and the infamous couch jump on Oprah). Okay, he was (is still?) an ass personally. The backlash was odd and misplaced. So many could not separate the man from the various movie characters. It is interesting now that his personal life is such horrid gossip fodder, the general opinion on his acting ability seems to be rising again.  It is/was the same with Mel Gibson and Clint Eastwood. Providing Gibson can keep his rants to minimum, and Eastwood sticks to being a rambling curmudgeon only between “Action!” and “Cut!”, that is. I suspect the same will happen with them as well, as people tend to forget/stop caring quickly enough if you let them.  That’s not to say given their respective faux pas, I would never see a movie either are in again because of it.  I know I would simply because I respect their work as actors, if not necessarily the current state of who each is as a person right now.

To spend money on it, though?  Well, that has a caveat or few.

I have a friend who will not purchase anything from a particular band because he despises the lead singer’s political views. My friend loved the band’s music, all the way until he learned of the singer’s view. Now it is all about how the band sucks.  He can’t bring himself to separate the art from the artist.  Now, I agreed the artist is a jerk, however, this artist continually has songs that impressed me in spite of my opinion of him personally. As long as that continues, I can support his artistic work.  If it moves me, it moves me.

As a woman of color in America, should I discover that a sculpture I simply adored and am seriously considering its purchase was created by a staunch, outspoken  member and defender of the Ku Klux Klan, it would certainly give me pause.  As I stated before, it would not stop me from appreciating the beauty of the art, but I cannot knowingly aid someone in a cause I am solemnly against.  If I have already purchased the item before I made the discovery, I would not return it.  I would not be happy for quite the while of my accidental contribution to the cause, but I’d eventually get over it. And knowing me I’d likely have an anecdote along the lines “it’s amazing how could someone so ugly could create something of such beauty”.

After all, if it moves me, it moves me.

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Let’s see how others are slicing it up this week:

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Slice of Life Writing Tuesday Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

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Writing Our Lives #52essays2017 challenge – Week 17

A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.

Respirator

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Beep

Balloon bubble shimmers green,
On cue – jarred springs twist,
Spark, curl

Beep

Lulled shadow clouds melt,
Leaving scars that dance, skip,
Journey on breezes

Beep

Drizzling grins
Don’t spill
in open giggles

Beep

Dawn rose in ghost whispers
To breathe still
but I

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…

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Today at dVerse we’re asked by Grace to write a Quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words – not including the title, and to keep it still. “Still” being the word that must be used in the poem. I went for the ultimate stillness.

As an added bonus this is also with all the words. The word list so far:

dance, lull, bubble, grin, melt, shimmer, twist, skip, green, breeze, spill, rose, journey, jar, leaves, open, shadow, cloud, spark, cue, breath(e), scar, curl, whisper, dawn, ghost, giggle, spring, balloon, drizzle, still

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dVerse ~Poets Pub | Quadrille # 31

 

MLMM – Saturday Mix: Dear Diary

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Painting of a man, with an open umbrella, walking along a riverside promenade on a rainy day. A bridge and skyscrapers in background.

Artwork: Glenn Hunt

“Is this what they mean by “I feel like a school girl”? I had no idea being with you could be this freeing, this decadent! The feel of your warm skin against mine. How your eyes glassed over as I plunged deeply into you – how messily you came apart! The feel of your disassembled body in my hands. Washing all the blood from the sheets was hard, but worth it. Angela Matthews, my angel! I thank you for the gift of your life yesterday, each time I walk along the pier, I will honor your watery grave wih all my heart.

This was dated April 22nd. Autopsy confirmed the timing is correct. He likely would have gotten away with all of them had our team not found his journal.”

The detective visibly shuddered with revulsion as he folded the copy of the journal entry, then looked to the gathered press for questions.

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We’re asked to write a page from a diary using the above photo as inspiration.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Saturday Mix – April 22, 2017: Dear Diary

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Nothing To Fear

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I see a guy I know speaking with a mutual friend. Everyone knows we have a ridiculous, but fun flirtationship. I walk up to him as the friend, who did not see me – because she surely would have stayed, is walking away and stop inches in front of him, my face deadpan. He shakes his head and waits.  I say nothing, sip coffee and wait.

Guy (knowingly): Can I do something for you?

Me (still deadpan – sips coffee): No. You’re still standing.

Guy (shakes head): If I thought you were serious I’d run.

Me (arching brow): Were I serious you wouldn’t be standing.

Guy (grinning): What would I be doing?

Me (smirking): Calling your Lord’s name.

Guy (curiously): In fear, pain or pleasure?

Me (nonchalantly): If you’re calling His name?-In the fear of pain. If you’re calling Mine?-in the pleasure of fear.

Guy (blinks rapidly): uh…

** I grin, take another sip and start to walk away **

Guy (shakes his head reverently): I’ll be damned.

Me (sashaying away): You’ve met me; you already are.

Knowing When To Press “Pause”

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We’ve reached past the halfway point of National Poetry Writing Month, Week 1 of 52 Essays 2017 and my email inbox has days’ worth of writing prompts from the several groups I am a part of. Yet, I have posted nothing since last Tuesday. From February 28th to April 10th I posted something everyday single day. There were also days where I posted multiple times, such as April 4th, where I posted thrice in a 24-hour span.  Yet for the past seven days, I’ve posted nothing. Maybe it is something of a burnout, I don’t know. What I do know is that it is not writer’s block.

There are 28 items sitting in draft mode. Some are partially done poems needing tweaking, some essay ideas to be fleshed out, three are nothing more than a couple of lines of an idea I want to work with at some point. Thus, I know it is not because I do not have anything to say. Maybe it’s because I have so much to say and it’s all bottle-necked. Still, with the exception of my Verbal Diarrhea Diaries, I have humbly learned that every emotion that emits or bon mot that bubbles from my lips is not necessarily something that I want put to print or pixel; this is especially true with essays.

It would be much too easy for me to become one of those writers who quickly spouts off on all the many events that happen- the tragedies, the scandals, the oh so many injustices in the world, with commentary from the hip. I admire the writers who can regularly, and seemingly within a mere few hours of an event, publish intelligently heartfelt, or uproariously satirical content. I even admire the tweeters can who evoke the right contextual chord in 140 characters or less within minutes of an event. I do consider myself a decent story-teller, and am humbled when someone messages me wanting to know if I am going to comment on some event or another. Yes, it pleases me that some want to hear/read what I have to say whether in poem, prose, essay or my Verbal Diarrhea Diaries, but I also feel something of a responsibility to that which will remain behind in these pixels long after I am gone.

The permanency of the Internet certainly makes me think more carefully about what I say, and when and how I want to say it, because I do not want my contributions to be little more than mindless chatter in the white noise of the Internet. It is that responsibility, in the week or so before April tenth, where I have increasingly found myself thinking of better ways to express a thought coherently only after I hit ‘publish’, which has me galled to no end.  That lexical lethargy had become increasingly worrisome and seemed to hit its head last week where the first time ever I trashed something I wrote. I did not return it to draft mode to be reworked – I trashed it. I can all but hear certain writer friends of mine gasp in the horror at this cardinal writing sin – I know, I KNOW, I sincerely apologize to you and to myself for that as well. So in the midst of what should have been another busy week of words, I chose to pause, to step back, to wait.

And in that pause instead of writing, I went back to reading. I have found one writer’s adage to be true – the best way to learn to write is to read. I like to read, or reread, the words of others who have inspired me to write. Read those writers whose voices, have helped me to discover my own. After all, we learn to read before we learn to write, so it makes sense in a way. I read some for pleasure and some for research of the ideas pieces in draft mentioned above. Twice I found myself donating a couple of hours to Wiki Walking. And I say donate as opposed to lost as most of the information accidentally gained was worth the time spent.

I want to feel comfortable in what I write, that I have something to say that makes sense. Sometimes I need to write because I feel confident that what I say that will inform or entertain others and sometimes I need to read so that I can be better informed and entertained myself. What I will always need regardless, are times like week -when no matter what is going on and as I pick up my pen again this week –  is to know which to choose and when.

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Writing Our Lives #52essays2017 challenge – Week 16

52essays2017

A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.

The Canvas – The Artist

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The
Canvas
Is pristine
The artist sighs
Prepares the first brush

The
Canvas
Is intrigued
The artist picks
Lets the brush drizzle

The
Canvas
Is moaning
The artist smiles
Chooses the next brush

The
Canvas
Is complete
The artist bows
Blows the brushes out

Wax play

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dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille #30 – Drizzle

Mish wants us to drizzle out s Quadrille -a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title- using the word drizzle.

Today’s other form: the Arun.

A nonce poem created by friend and fellow blogger, GirlGriot, an Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements. Because today is Quadrille Monday, I took creative license of her form  by adding a fourth stanza to meet the 44 word requirement for a Quadrille.

National Poetry Writing Month (NoPoWriMo) 2017

National Poetry Writing Month: Day 10

LP & Me

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I was asked if Metallica and Linkin Park had new releases and were touring around the same year, which caused them to have concerts on the same day which band would I chose.

The reality is I am surrounded by so many venues and both bands always play multiple days in a given arena, that this conflict would never really be an issue. The question would be which one would I want to see first? And that is a damned good question.

Ask anyone who knows me about my favorite band and all will unequivocally tell you Metallica. It’s hard to even write their name without wanting to scream it out loud, immediately follow by an expletive, at least one. My love for Metallica has been unflinching since the first chords of “Master of Puppets” entered my pysche. No, I was not there from the very beginning of their career, but I have been a loyal acolyte to the altar of James, Lars,  Kirk and Robert (with nods to Jason, Dave, Ron and a RIP to Cliff, of course). However, those who know me really well know I also have a thisclose second musical love and that is Linkin Park.

Linkin Park Logo

My adoration for Joe, Dave, Brad, Mike, Rob and Chester runs deep. They remain the only other band, besides Metallica, whose music I will preorder notes unheard simply on the faith of who they are.

When this began…

It was 3am and I was in the midst of a three day insomnia run. I had given up the ghost of pretending I was going to sleep and turned on the TV. I was flipping through channels when I came across MTV’s Insomniac Theater, or something like that. One would think with a title as such it would be something sedate right? But this is MTV, it was playing rock, hard rock, thrash rock, loud rock and I hit the channel just as one video was fading out and what faded in was the sound of water draining. Huh? My head popped up, and some of you LP fans reading this may have already known from that small descriptor the song was Crawling.

I can’t seem to find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence)
(I’m convinced that there’s)
(Just too much pressure to take)
I’ve felt this way before so insecure

These lyrics described exactly how I was feeling about myself in the world at that time. It was a whole new thing for me, a place where I can find, or is that lose?, myself in.

The song hit hard and unapologetic. Chester Bennington, lead vocalist for Linkin Park, was unforgiving as he growled his way into my id, fucking trashed it like a drugged out rocker’s hotel room and by God I wanted more! When the video ended I immediately turned off the television hyperventilating, not knowing what the fuck hit me, but I remember I finally fell asleep and felt so much better upon waking. I could barely contain myself after work long enough to get to the record store, buy the CD, get home and blast it.  The CD? Hybrid Theory. And thus a new love was borne.

Hybrid Theory stayed in my portable CD player for at least, at least, two solid months. I mean I am pretty sure I listened to nothing else, but Lincoln Park for a solid two months. Even now when I hear certain songs from that album, my mind automatically starts playing the opening notes of the next track in album order.  Play One Step Closer and my mind segues into With You; A Cure For The Itch will fade into Pushing Me Away. If you have the extended version which I did, you also got to hear My December and that remains in my mental rotation as well.

But wait…

As happily stunned as I was by Hybrid Theory, the group’s next release Meteora simply floored me. You know how for many bands the sophomore release can be meh? Well, Linkin Park clearly did not get that memo.  Musically, it follows a similar vein as Hybrid Theory, but lyrically it hits the emotions harder.

Depression –

Can’t you see that you’re smothering me?
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control
‘Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you

Anger – 

Time won’t heal this damage anymore
Don’t turn your back on me I won’t be ignored!

Recovery – 

I want to heal,
I want to feel,
What I thought was never real
I want to let go of the pain I felt so long
(Erase all the pain ’til it’s gone)

I’ve quoted lyrics from Numb,  Faint, and Somewhere I Belong respectively here, but really the entire album simply works for me. There is a reason it remains their highest grossing studio release.  Chester’s voice combined with Mike Shinoda’s rap, and Joe Hahn’s sampling/mixing was a heady combination. If The Devil Went Down To Georgia were rock/rap based, Meteora would have been the din that did Mephistopheles in. And they didn’t stop there…

Their next album, Minutes to Midnight was released ten years ago – yet…

Meanwhile, the leader just talks away
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay
And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day
Both scared and angry like “What did he say?”

Now, replace “nightly news” with “Twitter tweets”. Sounds familiar? It’s their third album in and they are still speaking what’s inside my head, then and now.

A Thousand Suns

God save us everyone,
Will we burn inside the fires of a thousand suns?
For the sins of our hands,
The sins of our tongues,
The sins of our fathers,
The sins of our young.
No!

Living Things

No, you can tell ’em all now
I don’t back up, I don’t back down
I don’t fold up, and I don’t bow
I don’t roll over, don’t know how

The Hunting Party

You’re guilty all the same
Too sick to be ashamed
You want to point your finger
But there’s no one else to blame

The Hunting Party marks something of a departure for LP in that it is their first album to bring in guest appearances with other artists to collaborate.

Now include their one off singles like New Divide (from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen – Movie Soundtrack) and the hits keep coming. Another standout for me was Chester’s cover of Adele’s Rolling in the Deep that he performed live during a concert. In the clear opposite of the style that is the earmark of his general singing with Linkin Park, here it is stripped down and one of the times you get to hear him just sing. It is an almost acapella cover that showcases the strength and beauty of the man’s voice. There is a reason he did a short tour on lead vocals with Stone Temple Pilots – the man can sing.

Now, I am eagerly awaiting their seventh studio release – One More Light set to be released May 19th. In the interim I am enjoying the first single released, Heavy, featuring Kiiara. Heavy marks another first for Linkin Park with this song being the first studio release for them with a female vocalist. It’s a little pop-ish to me, but I like it. And there is the recently released Battle Symphony, lyrically more along the Linkin Park I know and love.

For all the brouhaha of the negatives some speak of rock and rap music, one would think that a band who has successfully, and consistently, done both well would be a monster. And yes they are, believe you me, but they are my kind of monster. These savage beasts sooth this beauty. I continue to listen to them, especially when seeking a way to ease my anger, or when I feel the stress about to overwhelm. All I have to do is put in my earbuds, or if home turn up the volume, and let myself drown in their music. To quote One Republic here – everything that drowns me, makes me want to fly. When I need to immerse myself in their music, they are my CPR and I am always resurrected in a better mood.

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

Writing Our Lives #52essays2017 challenge – Week 15

52essays2017

A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.