On the way to work, listening to Akon and Young Jeezy, I realized I wore a skirt in high school: in 10th grade and for the graduation ceremony. Both of them green. Just to clarify - 5th grade wasn't the last time I'd worn one.
I miss Cliffy today. Have kept myself busy but still feel it. Maybe it's because I could imagine her hands up into my skirt. Maybe because I think she would have liked living here instead - that we could have made a go at it and things would have been good since we'd still visit Austin plenty and she'd be able to see her family more.
In looking for places to live, there were a couple of really great spaces not too far from her mother.
Argh! I need to pull this stuff of Cliffy out of me. It feels like I'm full of deep ocean water and reminders of her are small pieces of paper floating on the top. They cling to me but can't necessarily be cupped out.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
in the mood
I don't know if it's all the movement and work I'm putting in but I've been so quick to get turned on. I was minding my own self tonight, having done some "career" clothes shopping and ordered some food and a double vanilla soy latte (new favorite - but the coffee has to be good or the soy no vale pa' na!).
The dyke-y girl who made my latte called me honey a few times and I got all warm. Earlier at work, this dyke-y girl opened the door and I got red in my face. I say "dyke-y" because I am guessing they are - who knows what they really go for. Either way, I don't get why I'm so quickly aroused.
On yahoo messenger even, someone saw my profile and IM'd me to see if I was interested in being a domme. I told them I wanted to sub and only for a woman. Dudes, they just keep
trying - can't see I like the girls!
So much so right now, I saw a green shirt at one store that said "Everyone loves an Italian girl". I'm not Italian but I could agree with it.
On the super plus side, I feel good at the new job. My boss is smart, hands-off but approachable. It's even nice to drive around during lunch. I've forgotten what to do with lunch breaks but there are a couple of great shops. I'm near all the queer community so there's always something to do after work.
Today, however, I took a couple of poems to Burger King and sat with a spicy chicken sandwich (I like anglo versions of "spicy" - such a tease). A woman working the tables called me "child" a couple of times and told me the sun was too beautiful to be looking at work. She said I had a nice smile.
I must be opening up in different ways - I know I feel different. I even bought a skirt today. Don't tell anyone but I haven't worn a skirt since 5th grade - I truly recall believing that I didn't have to dress like what people considered appropriate for those viewed as female.
I am missing my clothes. I didn't pack up everything, just those that would match each other so I'm dressing kind of dull right now. Too much pastel and black.
I really am missing Austin but, while it's kid and artist and bohemian friendly, it's just not working class friendly. And, despite some incredible friends I call family, I am partnerless and hating the "community" which had been sold to me as something incredible - I had very little holding me there. San Anto has its own issues but damned if I've not been smiling like mad the last couple of days at the excitement of true, viable, people of color-specific arts! I didn't
realize how good I had it.
Smiling more because right now, in Austin, a couple of Latino arts groups are shitting in their pants for not having had a larger vision. Somehow being more concerned about $500 in grant money is more important that assisting an organization, in trouble, that is helping others succeed. I shouldn't even say Latinos - it's down home Mexican Americans messing with each other instead of scaring dominant culture with 500 years of cultura.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
tarot readings/cappucino frothiness readings/clouds descending
I was going through all of my business cards early this morning and found a card for a great card reader who does his work at BookPeople. He gave me a great reading. Turns out Cliffy came home one day with his card and she was feeling all loving - said that he said the cards showed we had a good foundation and relationship but that I didn't always understand her and she would have to verbalize (I am exercising my right to reword his words) so that I could help her.
Used to be I thought love between Cliffy and I wasn'tenough. Now, neither is magic. If not love or magic to motivate us, what makes us move/choose?
I went to work today. It's a place that's more structured than I'd realized or would like. I'm used to nonprofits with few boundaries, where everyone does everything. Maybe that's why this group is doing so well financially, and seems to be doing good work.
On my way home I happened by a bus stop and saw an old aquaintance. I got plenty of rides home when I was without a vehicle so I turned around and gave him a ride. Within a half breath, talk of my former workplace started. Girls, it's worse than I could have imagined: people not representing themselves correctly, friends helping friends, CDC money no longer trickling in, and those remaining thinking they have all the answers but coming to other groups with more questions than solutions. People keep asking me to do something, say something, start some fire or point some fingers. Where do you start?
All this week people have been talking to me about karma. My only beef with the whole idea is that it becomes so pseudo-spiritual to believe in those aspects of a religion without having to commit to the rest. Then, if karma is what keeps us from acting up, why do we have a mouth and eyes to see injustice at all? Why are there whistleblowers who, like a surge of energy, make a change within what's considered appropriate or customary behavior.
My head was all over today. I need sleep even if I'm craving a double espreso con panna.
Used to be I thought love between Cliffy and I wasn'tenough. Now, neither is magic. If not love or magic to motivate us, what makes us move/choose?
I went to work today. It's a place that's more structured than I'd realized or would like. I'm used to nonprofits with few boundaries, where everyone does everything. Maybe that's why this group is doing so well financially, and seems to be doing good work.
On my way home I happened by a bus stop and saw an old aquaintance. I got plenty of rides home when I was without a vehicle so I turned around and gave him a ride. Within a half breath, talk of my former workplace started. Girls, it's worse than I could have imagined: people not representing themselves correctly, friends helping friends, CDC money no longer trickling in, and those remaining thinking they have all the answers but coming to other groups with more questions than solutions. People keep asking me to do something, say something, start some fire or point some fingers. Where do you start?
All this week people have been talking to me about karma. My only beef with the whole idea is that it becomes so pseudo-spiritual to believe in those aspects of a religion without having to commit to the rest. Then, if karma is what keeps us from acting up, why do we have a mouth and eyes to see injustice at all? Why are there whistleblowers who, like a surge of energy, make a change within what's considered appropriate or customary behavior.
My head was all over today. I need sleep even if I'm craving a double espreso con panna.
Friday, January 13, 2006
woo hoo! or, Oya visits
Tigrette wrote me a great note saying:
It's just Mamaaaaaa Magic! Yes, It is!
I got a job. An incredible job. Doing good work. Making a difference, getting paid well and working with people who are smart, humble and earthy.
A strong part of me is sad that Cliffy didn't have the courage to wait for me, for this job to come through. But some foundation in me, some root is quivering with the good fortune that was given to me in not being with Cliffy now. Better now than to have waited for something horrible, like a family death or incredible illness, and find myself without support.
I have been writing my play, which circles around Oya, the orisha of wind, the guide for the newly dead, the woman warrior, the woman who survives hardships and is stronger for them.
Today I worked on the warnings she gives. While I didn't find a color code like the government's, I did develop, based on her stories, a list of warnings.
1st warning: Lightening that does not touch the sky. She is reminding us to look at our actions.
2nd warning: Strong wind before a storm, and the storm. She is more tangible, reminding us of the correct way to walk.
3rd warning: Tornado. She is walking the earth. Something on the earth needs her attention.
4th warning: Hurricanes, monsoons, tsunamis, other major water expressions. Watch out.
But in each destructive act, there is regrowth and development, a chance for true change.
Makes me think of Hurricane Katrina and how quickly people of color journalists and bloggers and community members were, despite the tragedy, hopeful that real change could be made - that life could be turned completely for the better. That, I see, takes hope too. Well, that and belief in the commitment and work needed to manifest hope.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
throwing it in the ocean
I have this short poem I wrote for the manuscript. I thought I'd put it here.
the coffee press
over cafe con leche and pan tostado
Pipo would tell me
throw everything to the ocean
each time he moved
all that came along was the coffee press,
seersucker suit and white loafers
two and a half years later, I am still in boxes,
holding close only the mortar and pestle he gave me
in each move, less and less goes in boxes
the ocean is always swallowing us, Pipo says,
returning only the necessary
I had jury duty today and thought, since I was downtown, I would leave this shirt I had recreated for Cliffy at her work. I didn't want to see her. The last words she told me, right outside my door, was that she'd call me. No call yet. I don't know what I would tell her if she did call.
Still, I didn't know how to get this shirt to her without having to see her. I was presuming she wasn't going to want to see me anyhow. All the signs told me not to bother. I mean, on the highway back toward town there was a huge recliner on the highway blocking my way. As I got a block away from the day care she works at my radio started buzzing in and out like some magnetic freakout then, just as the light on Trinity and Cesar turned green, the car ahead of me went and, defying the lights, this truck barreled into it right in front of me. It had taken the red light on the cross-street. Majorly fucked up scene.
I drove past the back entrance of her job and had to back up because all I wanted was to find her car and hook her shirt on the it somehow. I couldn't find it but a woman was just walking into the day care's gate and I called out to her and asked her to give it to Cliffy. She told me that Cliffy was actually watching her class then so she could give it to her right away.
So, I was happy to at least not see Cliffy directly. My mother told me to just throw the shirt away. Another friend told me that it was a good shirt and I should just keep it. I was true to myself in that I wasn't giving her the shirt in order to see her again or be near her. Rather, it was important to me to complete the promise I'd made to recreate her shirt for her in the way she wanted. I didn't realize until now, writing this, that I might be doing it in reaction to Cliffy's not keeping her promise.
I'm still not feeling well and this kind of action just tells me I'm still reactive instead of proactive. In many ways, I feel like bringing everyone down a peg, calling them on their shit. I feel like fighting.
Krissy told me yesterday, in our time together, that I was like a mama leopard, some big cat, who was napping. I was loving and warm but everyone should know not to agitate me. This cat's awake today - and not liking what she sees.
the coffee press
over cafe con leche and pan tostado
Pipo would tell me
throw everything to the ocean
each time he moved
all that came along was the coffee press,
seersucker suit and white loafers
two and a half years later, I am still in boxes,
holding close only the mortar and pestle he gave me
in each move, less and less goes in boxes
the ocean is always swallowing us, Pipo says,
returning only the necessary
I had jury duty today and thought, since I was downtown, I would leave this shirt I had recreated for Cliffy at her work. I didn't want to see her. The last words she told me, right outside my door, was that she'd call me. No call yet. I don't know what I would tell her if she did call.
Still, I didn't know how to get this shirt to her without having to see her. I was presuming she wasn't going to want to see me anyhow. All the signs told me not to bother. I mean, on the highway back toward town there was a huge recliner on the highway blocking my way. As I got a block away from the day care she works at my radio started buzzing in and out like some magnetic freakout then, just as the light on Trinity and Cesar turned green, the car ahead of me went and, defying the lights, this truck barreled into it right in front of me. It had taken the red light on the cross-street. Majorly fucked up scene.
I drove past the back entrance of her job and had to back up because all I wanted was to find her car and hook her shirt on the it somehow. I couldn't find it but a woman was just walking into the day care's gate and I called out to her and asked her to give it to Cliffy. She told me that Cliffy was actually watching her class then so she could give it to her right away.
So, I was happy to at least not see Cliffy directly. My mother told me to just throw the shirt away. Another friend told me that it was a good shirt and I should just keep it. I was true to myself in that I wasn't giving her the shirt in order to see her again or be near her. Rather, it was important to me to complete the promise I'd made to recreate her shirt for her in the way she wanted. I didn't realize until now, writing this, that I might be doing it in reaction to Cliffy's not keeping her promise.
I'm still not feeling well and this kind of action just tells me I'm still reactive instead of proactive. In many ways, I feel like bringing everyone down a peg, calling them on their shit. I feel like fighting.
Krissy told me yesterday, in our time together, that I was like a mama leopard, some big cat, who was napping. I was loving and warm but everyone should know not to agitate me. This cat's awake today - and not liking what she sees.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
on having roots
I've had this quote circling my head for the last month and thought I'd put it here. While I firmly believe in having/maintaining/developing roots, I like how Rushdie turns the idea on its head - has us question what we consider to be roots. Perhaps paths we shouldn't necessarily have to take on or that wouldn't benefit us if we held so strong.
To explain why we become attached to our birthplaces, we pretend that we are trees and speak of “roots.” Look under your feet. You will not find gnarled growths sprouting through the soles. Roots, I sometimes think, are a conservative myth, designed to keep us in our places.
– Salman Rushdie
To explain why we become attached to our birthplaces, we pretend that we are trees and speak of “roots.” Look under your feet. You will not find gnarled growths sprouting through the soles. Roots, I sometimes think, are a conservative myth, designed to keep us in our places.
– Salman Rushdie
Monday, January 09, 2006
writing
I think I need to keep myself task-oriented these next few weeks.
I made the mistake of trying to write something last night in my notebook only to find a note Cliffy wrote for me in there sometime around Thanksgiving : "Te quiero Mi Tigressa - yo -".
What a difference a month makes.
My favorite part of the year was always from September through mid-December. I loved that my birthday was right in there with Fall, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, even Thanksgiving. It always served as a time I got the most writing done, felt freer and more capable. I remember walking down Haskell and Holly streets in East Austin, taking Tigrette trick or treating and Cliffy following in the van. I loved the coolness of the evening, how hot Cliffy looked in her leather jacket, how much energy was in the air. How hot I looked in my corset. We were ourselves but not ourselves - we were more and hopeful and liberated.
I feel like I lost some of this very important part of my time because now, in not feeling so great about myself and my potential, I wonder how present Cliffy really was. I recognize we all have histories filled with hurt and danger. That past can make it hard to be present. But how long do we carry these things? How do we truly unload them with the assurance they may bubble up in the mind but that they have no hold on us? Are any of our relationships real if they are only in respect to the incredible baggage we are capable of holding? It would be nice to each have our time of the year (like I had mine), where we actively untangled those past hurts from our veins and nerves, and truly transformed ourselves each year. Ourselves but not ourselves - so much more.
I made the mistake of trying to write something last night in my notebook only to find a note Cliffy wrote for me in there sometime around Thanksgiving : "Te quiero Mi Tigressa - yo -".
What a difference a month makes.
My favorite part of the year was always from September through mid-December. I loved that my birthday was right in there with Fall, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, even Thanksgiving. It always served as a time I got the most writing done, felt freer and more capable. I remember walking down Haskell and Holly streets in East Austin, taking Tigrette trick or treating and Cliffy following in the van. I loved the coolness of the evening, how hot Cliffy looked in her leather jacket, how much energy was in the air. How hot I looked in my corset. We were ourselves but not ourselves - we were more and hopeful and liberated.
I feel like I lost some of this very important part of my time because now, in not feeling so great about myself and my potential, I wonder how present Cliffy really was. I recognize we all have histories filled with hurt and danger. That past can make it hard to be present. But how long do we carry these things? How do we truly unload them with the assurance they may bubble up in the mind but that they have no hold on us? Are any of our relationships real if they are only in respect to the incredible baggage we are capable of holding? It would be nice to each have our time of the year (like I had mine), where we actively untangled those past hurts from our veins and nerves, and truly transformed ourselves each year. Ourselves but not ourselves - so much more.
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