Train Pain

Took the uptown #2 Local one stop uptown to catch the express because nothing was stopping on the downtown local stations due to signal malfunction.

Get put off the express #2 after a couple of stops because the train itself was malfunctioning.

Get on the #5 Express into lower Manhattan to transfer to the A train that places me less than a block from my job site.

Get to the A train platform only to learn there are no A or C trains running downtown because of a problem at Canal Street.

Play Human Triplanner.MTA.info Guide to about five different lost and clueless commuters in the interim.

Go back to the 4/5 Express train to get into Brooklyn and walk the five blocks I was trying to avoid in the first place.

Mama Mary gets her and her temporary Lost Little Lambs into Brooklyn and part ways.

Finally reach work and what is the very first email I see? “MTA Unlimited Ride MetroCard Fare Increase…”

Dear Universe, apparently, you got jokes this morning!
HA HA very funny muthafugga!

Unspoken

.
.

Hello darkness, my old friend
In twisted linen wound
My sweated girth

I’ve come to talk with you again,
In screams and wails without sound
Gossamer baggage weighting me to the earth

Because a vision softly creeping,
While the sun was upward bound
Turning this soul to flameless hearth

Left its seeds while I was sleeping
Taking from my flesh its pound
For all it’s worth

And the vision that was planted in my brain
The tick- tock of my own ‘gator run aground
Mocking me in a Cheshire mirth

Still remains
In the ever-growing mound
Of compassion’s dearth

Within the sound of silence
To seethe and confound
The truth never given birth
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Abhra is hosting at the Poetics bar here at dVerse Poets Pub today, challenging us to talk about secrets without actually revealing any.

Using the ever familiar lyrics of Simon & Garfunkle’s “Sound of Silence”  in a modified combination of Glosa and Trireme Sonnet forms.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : What is your secret

To Hug Or Not

kitten-no-hug

Usually proficient to a fault, an administrator at one of the venues where I teach was really having what Mama would have called a day a few weeks back.  We had never had a non work-related conversation before that day, but clearly something was troubling her and she was about to break down. When the session was over, I invited her into the room, locked the doors, sat in one chair and literally ordered her to sit in another and spill it right then and there before she totally lost it. Long story-short, she got it out of her system, and I offered advice, opinion and platitudes along the way. While the problem itself wasn’t solved that day, the pent of frustration affecting her performance at work and her over all mood was released and she was much better. I packed up and went on my way, thinking nothing of it. Anyone trying to suppress emotions to that degree will swear on bibles they were getting away with the subterfuge. Almost always the distress is transparent, it just needs an outlet. Surprisingly, it took me, a near stranger, to get it out of her. Then again, maybe not all that surprisingly. After all, we’ve all heard of how many will confess deep sorrows to a random bartender that wouldn’t or couldn’t be told to friends.

Returning to the venue again last week for another class she and I were exchanging our usual pleasantries when she suddenly reached out and bear hugged me. I understood she was grateful and was thanking me for showing care that day when even her co-workers could not have been so bothered, but having just shy of totally forgotten our last encounter I was not mentally prepared for it. In total opposition of my behavior the last time we saw each other, I was not gentle at all when I pushed away, just short of snarling for her to let go of me. She was understandably befuddled so I had to explain.

Now this is likely going to surprise some people, but here goes. I really do not like to hug or be hugged by every body. The expression of the black kitten from the above picture is me on the inside 90% of the time when being hugged.

Obviously, there are those with whom I give and receive hugs freely and willingly. With some other people, it could go either way as to who’s the top or bottom (< see what I did there?).  Nor is it a religious, germ-a-phobe, or I hate people kind of thing because none of that applies here. I do not get the urge to run off and wash head-to-toe when I hug, I just don’t like the contact. I do not like being mauled, you may call it being hugged, by just any and every body.  I am not even going into the whole cheek-to-cheek whether to kiss, to air-kiss or not to kiss  at all aspect. And yes, while I fully concede that for a self-proclaimed Social Mothra who is constantly milling around people, this is a baffling complex to have.

When I do the hugging thing, it is with people who I see on a regular enough basis to have become accustomed enough to let them within my personal space without cringing. I can, and often do, the one arm around the shoulder thing socially without a problem. It is, the full wrap both arms around the body and squeeze thing that is the problem for me. I feel that much physical contact should be reserved for close family, good friends and other loved ones.

As with most things there are exceptions. Though certain friends and I had known each other for years it was only online. As the opportunities arose for us to finally meet face-to-face individually and collectively the giving and receiving of hugs was never in question. I hugged, happily and joyfully.

This becomes a problem when in a heavy social setting where I am standing in a mixed crowd where some people I really know, those I somewhat know, but am not close to and the ones I barely or do not know at all. Those I barely or do not know are easy. They are not expecting to receive a hug from a relative stranger, and there is no reason to give one. For everyone else, rather than explain, one more time, yet again, that it is nothing personal, but I really do not like hugging. It really is just easier to grit my teeth, suffer through a series of quick hugs and just be done with it. For some reason it is okay for a seated person not to stand and hug.  And it is equally okay, if the one standing does not desire to lean down and give a hug, unless it is for close family, friends, loved ones. For that reason, I try to be seated, if I can.

Luckily, the venue administrator understood. Apparently she has a family member with similar view and thus took it in stride.  But for many it then becomes this but why? situation as though not wanting to be hugged by every one on the blessed earth must have been caused by some traumatic experience.  And even if it were the case, if they are someone I don’t want to hug, what are the odds they are someone I would share a traumatic experience with? Because, let’s be honest, not everyone who holds the title of a friend is also a loved one. There is no way to be honest and be kind in that situation.

Everybody has his or her thing/s. Hugging is one of mine. So depending on the person, the situation and especially my mood please don’t take personally if I don’t elect to throw my arms around you. In this case, really, it’s me not you, I promise.

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That’s my two cents, let’s see how others are slicing it up for the week:

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Battle Lines

I am sure most of the nation has heard/read about Officers Wenjian Liu and Rafael Ramos of NYPD who were murdered over the weekend. And while I sincerely wish that I can say that I am surprised that this has happened, I am not. As word of the officers’ deaths hit the news Facebook and Twitter went berserk as the immediate bastions of gut reaction opinions flew. What I am surprised at is how quickly battle lines have emerged because of this.

While few argue that the killing of the NYPD officers was wrong, posts/comments/private messages along the lines of “I guess you’re happy now” that popped up over the weekend gives a definite sense that some who are against the protests in Ferguson and NYC seemed to think those who protest and/or support the protestors are somehow engaged in Schadenfreude over this weekend’s killings. Are you fucking kidding me? I was so aghast that anyone would ever think such a thing  of any protestor, let alone me personally. I unfriended them without even bothering to engage in debate.  From what I’ve since gathered from the handful of mutual acquaintances among us it’s just as well, but as the kids say “I can’t…”

This is not an either or situation. The support of #BlackLivesMatter does not negate support of #NYPDLivesMatter.

  1. The deaths of Michael Brown, Eric Garner et al, at the hands of their respective local police is a tragedy.
  2. The assignations of Officers Liu and Ramos at the hands of Ismaaiyl Brinsley is also a tragedy.

In a previous posted I asked “Or Does It Explode?” The fuse, already lit in the aftermath of the Ferguson and New York City grand jury decisions, has the general vibe between police and minorities at a high level of tense. Both sides were walking on proverbial eggshells. Things have yet returned to anything near normal levels of tense – whatever the hell that is; the killings of Officers Liu and Ramos this past weekend have not helped at all.

Just as at our cores we know that it is #NotAllPolice are out to get us, we hope they equally know #NotAllBlacks are out to assassinate them.  The LAST thing we need is for a black man to be accidentally taken out while jogging on the street or while walking a dog because he got too close to a police car because the officers inside perhaps felt threatened.

I am praying and praying hard that the actions of Ismaaiyl Brinsley have furthered that ignition along the fuse.

#AllLivesMatter

The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Today’s The Daily Post is a good one:

You get to choose one gift — no price restrictions — for any person you want. The caveat? You have to give it anonymously. What gift would you give, and to whom?

No price restrictions? For me, this prompt is such an easy one as I literally had this conversation with another friend just yesterday.

My best-friend lives in a one-hundred plus year old, five-story walk-up that is owned by her and her family. Its age has caught up with it and the building has been in some date of construction/renovation for the past three years or so. Every apartment unit in the building is in or needing some state of repair. Not to mention maintaining the building structure itself.  It’s all necessary work, but lack of funds and family like her 90-year-old mother still living in the building during it all it has been a really stressful few years for the entire family trying to get anything done piecemeal.

In an ideal magical world, everyone would move out en masse, she would gut the building, have it renovated bottom to top and then everyone could move back in to an issue free residence. The major problem being where would everyone live during it all. Without the magic of  one hell of a mega/power ball type lotto where she could afford to arrange temporary housing for all the tenants and the rebuild itself, the ideal magical world is never going to happen.

Essentially, the gift would be move-in ready, elevated apartment building. Every one in the current building would simply move in to the new one.  It has been a dream of mine to do exactly this for her if I ever hit that mega/power ball type lotto any way, so it is absolutely perfect. Yes, I know this benefits more than just her, but family is everything to her. The ability for her to be able to provide a stable, issue free building that she would not the daily worry of Oh God what now? for her and her family would be such a tremendous gift. Even though she would never know I had anything to do with it, the ability to remove that worry from her would mean so much to me.

The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Come see how others are slicing it up for the week at Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers

 

Or Does It Explode?

I can see my personal quest for inner calm is in direct defiance of my continual reading of news regarding the lack of a grand jury indictment in Ferguson, MO.

When I first read about the verdict I literally threw up my hands in frustration. That action immediately put to mind the classic Marvin Gaye song “Inner City Blues” which I posted to my Facebook.

ferguson

I wake up this morning to the snippets of the evidence presented at trial all over the news and social media. If what has thus far ben released to the public as a way to substantiate the grand jury’s correctness in their decision, it has backfired greatly my eyes.

I’ve seen some of the photo evidence of Office Wilson’s “injuries”. They range from what looks like razor burn or heat rash to a simple scratch. I’ve marred myself more popping a pimple.

And as I angrily posted this morning upon seeing the above picture:

ferguson2

That was his personal evidence? THAT was worth someone’s life? NO!

I know. I KNOW, I was not at the trial. I have not perused all the evidence that was presented to the grand jury – now released to the public. I have seen several snippets that have thus far been posted to news and social media. Those alone, at least to me, make it worthy of a trial.

All I can think right now is: Has the value of black lives, which were always of questionable value in this country historically once we stopped being chattel in the country anyway, lowered so far down the scale that the death of one in such fashion is not even worth a damn trial?

Last night’s outbreaks of violence in the aftermath of the verdict, reminds me very much of what happened after Rodney King. And to be honest, while I understood the anger that drove it, I did not understand the point of the LA riots in 1992 any more than I understand these outbreaks in Ferguson now. Being afraid to step foot in or out of the door of your local business because your own neighbor may have a Molotov at the ready, does nothing to help the situation. I’ve lived just long enough to see that while the details change, it still all feels a harsh ring of deja vu with history repeating itself.

Here we Americans stand some two hundred and thirty plus years of freedom from England. We blacks stand some one hundred and fifty years free from slavery, but sometimes I feel like we’re still bound. The Civil Rights Movement has done much for the outer trappings, yet we are still such a long way from the inner heart of the dream of Rev. Dr. King. And it seems every generation or so, a match gets lit to a powder keg to remind of us of just how far we have left to go before that dream comes true. In the interim, it still remains a dream deferred and Langston Hughes best explained the possible ramifications of such…

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

====================

It’s a pretty pissed off Raivenne slicing here – come see how others are slicing it up today:

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life Weekly Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

The Canvas Laughs

the canvas laughs at me knowing

I hold the image of you,
sipping water from the fountain, in my head,
ready to transfer it from my memory to my canvas.
the cobalt and pthalo greens along with the terre verte
of the background foliage
the mixing of warm and cool grays for the fountain
were all easy choices
but now I’m down to you.

the canvas laughs at me knowing

ivory black, burnt umber and raw sienna?
for glossy dark locks of your hair,
the sweep of your brow, the curve of your lashes – yes.
oh, but where do I begin
for the deep rich tones that comprise all of your complexion?
burnt sienna might imbue the shadow in the curve of your dimples
maybe some yellow ochre deep to highlight your cheeks, hmm

the canvas laughs at me knowing

some titanium white to capture the hint of teeth showing as you smiled
won’t capture its mischievous gleam
but a touch of naples yellow light is perfect
in that the arc of the water drop reflecting sunlight
against the alizarin crimson
that is but one scant shade of the lushness of your lips
lips still wet from the water drank
not even seconds ago
an errant liquid drop is about to fall.

and the still unadorned canvas laughs at me knowing

there will never be a man-made hue,
that can rightly capture
the soul of you

I pick up my pallet anyway

what makes a person - Photo by Andrew Wilmot

What Makes A Person
Photo by Andrew Wilmot

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At dVerse Victoria challenges us Word Artists to Grab a Brush and Write! something related to art technique. The attached photo is from Andrew Wilmot a painter, award winning screen-writer, author and above all a person I am honored to consider a friend, is the inspiration for my write.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Word Artists, Grab a Brush and Write!–dVerse Meeting the Bar

The Daily Post: Ready, Set, Done!

<trigger warnings – bodily fluids>

I am going mad.

A feeling not entirely out of the realm of possibility given the circumstances, truth be told. Surely if any place could inspire the fragmenting of one’s mind, this dark abyss would be so.  The ongoing series of low moans seeminly reverberate about the cramped space further emphasizing the horrendous state.

When was the last time we had fresh air? Saw sunshine?

Normally a gentle roll, the summer storm turned the normally gentle rocking of the ship into anything but a comforting lull. Several found their insides unceremoniously gushing out as a result of the lurching.  I tried not to think about it, but it was more near silent susurrus, a subliminal messaging of sorts to which I would not pay heed because this sin’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me…This isn’t…

The man directly behind me starts speak when I feel hi body convulse and warm liquid strike my head and trails down my neck and back. I realize the first words were the beginnings of an apology he now completed, his stomach empty, butI ould not offer him the comforting words of understanding asthe stench and sheer repulsionstarts to overwhelm. Feeling itI reflectively try to back away from the warm body in front of me.  But like the man behind is bound to me and the stranger in front of me is chained to the man before him, I am just as shackled and cannot move when the ship lurches.

“I am sorry my brother”

And release…

Cross section of a slave ship 1828-1829.

Click for full size

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Ready, Set, Done! is a ten-minute free-write where you tap away on whatever comes to mind, no filters attached. You are free to edit later, or do as I have and just publish as-is. I have NO idea where this came from. I typed the first sentence, kept going and this was the result. The image was found after the fact.

Weekly Prompt – Share Your World – Week 45

Over at Cee’s Photography I’ve discovered a weekly challenge to “Share Your World” via random questions. While photos are not required, I agree they do enhance things. Here are my responses:

What is your favorite color? 

shades-of-black

Black. I know part of my love for the color is because of my aversion to all things pastel as a child. As a teen and adult, the appeal for me is the mystery attached to it. The color of darkness; the touch of badness; the hint of the illicit and the simple perversion of liking something girls are not supposed to like. I was Goth and Metal and Leather, a good decade before those terms existed in my lexicon. Back when it meant something rebel, mysterious, dark not to be the near casually tossed out adjectives as used today.

In what do you find the simplest of joys?

 

Bacon Mac and Cheese

Macaroni and cheese – with bacon!

 music-is-what-feelings-sound-likeMusic! Music! Music!

Food and music. A bowl of mac & cheese in general, but especially with bacon can bring out of just about any foul mood and put a smile on my face. It makes a good mood feel even better. In either case at least until the bowl is finished. * Big Grin *  Such simple ingredients at its base – yet so complex in how it just works. There is a reason it is high up in the list of Comfort Food for so many.

And as much as I am a logophile and bibliophile and appreciate the ability of words to reach and touch me to the core, music gets me there deeper and infinitely faster. I can hear the opening of certain songs and/or music pieces and feel my mood shifts on the first note of recognition. At least in my head I have to do the call backs of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” (bom-bom-bom <– see?! I just had to, had to include it!), and unless I am carrying a very heavy load, I still cannot resist the urge to drop everything in order to “air drum”, the drum solo in Phil Collins “In The Air Tonight”. I have clutched my heart and been brought to tears over a piece of music as book has ever done so – yet. I am not always eating, but there is always music -or easy access to it- around me.

Would you prefer a reading nook or an art, craft, photography studio?

studio_1

Oh, the art studio hands down.  I can make a reading nook out of just about any where I choose to sit and read. I do not work on a lot of the art things I would like to simply because I do not have the space to pursue such within the limited confines off my apartment. I am pretty sure my landlord would very much object to a kiln for glass blowing or a pottery wheel in my living room, not to mention the mess acrylic and oil paints can make. I already know should I hit the big lottery; whatever home I build will have a studio nearby where I can work on any of my various artistic pursuits at will as well as a library.

What is at least one of your favorite quotes?

 orig-copy

Everyone is born an original; sadly most die as copies.

freedom-happiness

Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.”


Bonus question:
What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

grateful
Last week was seeing the first New York Festival of Light and getting to spend some time with my eldest son in the process. The Festival was in its inaugural run and it was sweet being at the very first of something new. Years down the road from now, there’s going to be a certain cachet in being able to brag, I was at the first one. I took pictures, unfortunately not a single one with me and my son in them as proof we were there – d’oh! I am already looking forward to next year’s Festival – I know it will be even bigger and better! As for this week that is already more than halfway over, I am looking forward to the “Color Play” opening reception at La Maison d’Art in Harlem. Like the Festival I rarely get to many such events on their opening day, not to mention hardly attend any events in Harlem any more – to which hang my head in shame. That is a slight I plan to rectify starting with this exhibit.

Come Share Your World at Cee’s Photography.