It's almost leap year day ya'll, AND the last day of Black History Month.
OMNI-JAVA
*an OMNIVOROUS reading series
244 JAVA ST.
2/29 at 7:30
Featuring: Allison Rhone, Heather Acs, Crystal Chase, Adam Stevens, and Erica Cardwell
G to Greenpoint Ave.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
gratis! gratis!
It's almost leap year day ya'll, AND the last day of Black History Month.
OMNI-JAVA
*an OMNIVOROUS reading series
244 JAVA ST.
2/29 at 7:30
Featuring: Allison Rhone, Heather Acs, Crystal Chase, Adam Stevens, and Erica Cardwell
G to Greenpoint Ave.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
OMNIJAVA February!
The next event will be on the last day of the month, 2/29. Leap year day!
Looking for folks to read and/or display work. The theme for Black History Month is black identity--cultural framework and social definition.
Gimme a HOLLA if you're down!
omnivorousgroup@gmail.com
I'll pass on more details to those interested....
love
e :)
my Pops
There is a split second when you realize that an immediate family member is a separate person. I'm not speaking of that moment in adulthood when we realize that our parents are fallable human beings that make choices- good and bad. It's the space that thrusts you back momentarily and things, people, and reactions become truly objective. The clouds shift and you're flying above. Your love for them is almost excruciating and you want to grab and squeeze them tight until all of their air escapes and you have extinguished this seemingly foreign feeling. It is an intense rush that is not only unbridled, but slightly compromising. When you reach out for them, it's as if you've never touched them before. Like a first date. You're anxious and apprehensive, but you must in fact touch them to send this energy their way. Through them. This person you LOVE. It probably could be classified as the momentary realization of their infinite love for YOU.
This is a recent photo of my Dad. He's the third from the right, photographed with Major General (MG) George Weightman.
Info courtesy of my Dad:
MG Weightman is the new Commander of the United States Army Medical Research and Material Command here at Fort Detrick. He succeeded LTG Eric Schoomaker who was nominated and approved by Congress to be the next Army Surgeon General.
Despite any glory this photo may invoke, my Pops has always been the only person that I will call my hero. He continues to believe in and inspire me, so I wanted to share a recent picture of the inspired.
This is a recent photo of my Dad. He's the third from the right, photographed with Major General (MG) George Weightman.
Info courtesy of my Dad:
MG Weightman is the new Commander of the United States Army Medical Research and Material Command here at Fort Detrick. He succeeded LTG Eric Schoomaker who was nominated and approved by Congress to be the next Army Surgeon General.
Despite any glory this photo may invoke, my Pops has always been the only person that I will call my hero. He continues to believe in and inspire me, so I wanted to share a recent picture of the inspired.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
murmurings from Napolean's tomb
I will admit that I spend a lot of time laboring over the skewed view some of my friends and compatriots have of me.
I am sure that I am not alone within my worries.
Proving myself by squeaking out personal diatribes and standing on my tippy toes is exhausting and thankless. After all, people are going to think WHATEVER they want. Since assumptions are usually based on two words that I mentioned in an earlier post (face value) then, what do you see when you see me?
The short brown skinned girl with the afro and plump babyface.
Did you get that I am, EDUCATED LAYERED INTUITIVE and FORGIVING?
Absolutely not.
It pains me to even imagine what an onlooker may have dredged up at first glance. Most of us feel slighted upon introductions, however some of us do strive to fit the mold.
The key is obvious. We really shouldn't give a shit.
A recent personal discovery is that I want to change the way that people think.
Re-build the wheel? Fashion an atom? Fit a circle into a square peg?
Making something out of nothing is certainly the way I live my life, so just give me some time.
I am sure that I am not alone within my worries.
Proving myself by squeaking out personal diatribes and standing on my tippy toes is exhausting and thankless. After all, people are going to think WHATEVER they want. Since assumptions are usually based on two words that I mentioned in an earlier post (face value) then, what do you see when you see me?
The short brown skinned girl with the afro and plump babyface.
Did you get that I am, EDUCATED LAYERED INTUITIVE and FORGIVING?
Absolutely not.
It pains me to even imagine what an onlooker may have dredged up at first glance. Most of us feel slighted upon introductions, however some of us do strive to fit the mold.
The key is obvious. We really shouldn't give a shit.
A recent personal discovery is that I want to change the way that people think.
Re-build the wheel? Fashion an atom? Fit a circle into a square peg?
Making something out of nothing is certainly the way I live my life, so just give me some time.
Friday, February 15, 2008
outLOOKout!
My head slips deeper into my sweater’s neck.
Like a turtle.
I’m willing to part with my shell.
Not now, she says.
Bumps raise on my skin’s first layer.
All is quiet in this corner.
Sight beyond is hollow and unnecessary.
It’s my turn with my mind’s game.
My thought’s current tactics are patient with my recollection.
Right now.
Nothing even matters, they said.
Right now.
I interrupt myself and change channels.
Click.
Returning to my regularly scheduled programming.
Smiling like I mean it and unbraiding my hair.
If only I could slow down and return your gesture.
But I can’t recall our last move.
So I revert to an old remedy.
The shell surrounds me--
Guarded from penetration and winning the game.
The spotlight too bright and the prize extravagant.
You pawn me off with the king’s jewels.
I jump, swinging my leg over your head
And wrap ribbons around the maypole.
Shouting secrets over the uneven grass,
And mouthing fantasies across subway seats.
Doe eyed deliverance!
Posture maintained--I'm a decent bluff.
My stop approaches, and the doors open.
The game is forfeited, and I lose my turn.
Like a turtle.
I’m willing to part with my shell.
Not now, she says.
Bumps raise on my skin’s first layer.
All is quiet in this corner.
Sight beyond is hollow and unnecessary.
It’s my turn with my mind’s game.
My thought’s current tactics are patient with my recollection.
Right now.
Nothing even matters, they said.
Right now.
I interrupt myself and change channels.
Click.
Returning to my regularly scheduled programming.
Smiling like I mean it and unbraiding my hair.
If only I could slow down and return your gesture.
But I can’t recall our last move.
So I revert to an old remedy.
The shell surrounds me--
Guarded from penetration and winning the game.
The spotlight too bright and the prize extravagant.
You pawn me off with the king’s jewels.
I jump, swinging my leg over your head
And wrap ribbons around the maypole.
Shouting secrets over the uneven grass,
And mouthing fantasies across subway seats.
Doe eyed deliverance!
Posture maintained--I'm a decent bluff.
My stop approaches, and the doors open.
The game is forfeited, and I lose my turn.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
"When Clinton was in office, the whole world was cool."
- a teenager at bodega off Saratoga Ave. in Brooklyn, November 2007
Agreed.
I found this as I was leafing through my last notebook. I must have jotted it down while I was waiting on the bus before going to teach at Tilden. I wouldn't exactly say that this is "the answer", but the simplicity in the statement is definitely a start. Less frills this time around, please.
Agreed.
I found this as I was leafing through my last notebook. I must have jotted it down while I was waiting on the bus before going to teach at Tilden. I wouldn't exactly say that this is "the answer", but the simplicity in the statement is definitely a start. Less frills this time around, please.
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