An Impulsation Celebration!

The play that I am in love with, all consumed with, and motivated BY...is having a fundraiser. The proud founders of the Impulse Initiative--Michelle, Miriam and Elisa-- are throwing a raucous, fistpounding, financial wonder next Wednesday.

The IMPULSATION CELEBRATION!

Come out and support ART. A BIT more explicitely....come out and support this production of Jose Rivera's, Sonnets for An Old Century.

BAR NINE
JULY 30--next WEDNESDAY
807 NINTH AVE. (between 53rd and 54th)

7-10
*drink specials!!!!
*a FANTASTIC and eclectic lineup of music
*raffles, raffles, raffles


So bring twenties (not dollars) to this enormous events.


love,

your OMNIVOROUSis
E :)

Open, close. Open, close-doors, eyes, legs.
Blinking, I look and my six year old surroundings are suddenly familiar.
Dusty half-read books, stacks of mail, and mismatched blankets.
The mirror never lied--my smile did fade.
It hurts to crease its corners today.
Firey salt fights to exit.
Releasing.
Shameful and red; vulnerable and broken--necessities within my gray.
My attempts at prevention backfired and love's chemical magnet attracted, reacted, and dulled.
Truth did not disappear, only emerged from the clearing.
I finally welcomed it back into my home.
Blinking, I look and my six year old surroundings are suddenly familiar.

evol.....V-E...Evolve!

You may need a mirror for this one.

Lately, my astrological connection has been intense. Being an annoyingly intuitive Pisces, I never really thought the planetary alignment was entirely a hoax, but I certainly never thought my relationship with discovering my daily horoscope would be so pertinent. The Mars/Virgo battle has been spot on and my week has been pretty mapped out by the semi-ludicrous Sally Brompton from the Post (!) and Mr. Genius Rob Brezsny from Free Will Astrology, listed in the Voice.

Lately, I've been clocked faster than that biological ticking time bomb located in my uterus and my unfortunate social psyche making "womanhood" curious, yet FUN.

Lavish
Omniscient
Violent
Essential

LOVE. The latest take.

Holla at your girl.

All I want to do, is grow old with you.

tiny birds

the boys!


the girls!






death to R2D2


Proof that my mother was in attendance.

*Welcome to Part Two of your outlook for the second half of 2008, Pisces. I'm hoping that six months from now, you'll look back and make the following declaration: "This year I was a real artist in the way I lived my life. Everything I did was like working on a beautiful masterpiece. I had a sixth sense about when to shut up and when to speak out, when to pull back and when to push on, when to recharge and when to ripen. Whenever my efforts were ready to climax, I brought them to a climax and moved on to the next adventure. So here's the big question: What can I do to keep cultivating this adroit and graceful approach to being alive?"

*courtesy of Mr. Rob Brezsney's Free Will Astrology for the week of June 27 to July 4, 2008.

If you'd like to view your horoscope, click here.

one of these things first

Certainly, Nick Drake, certainly.

theOMNIVOROUS.net has been left to twiddle its thumbs for nearly three months. Rather than attempt to put up several separate posts as updates on time passed, I've decided to post a photo album of sorts--with some random pics to keep things colorful and emotional. Heather's graduation from Gallatin program at NYU; the Off the Hook performance of Eddy Fortune's original work, Chasing Chris; Danielle's Bachelorette Party spectacular; the end of the nannying gig; my roommate Richard pre-departure to Uruguay and Argentina....


A bientot pretty Ricky!

We've been blessed with a fantastic subleter named Kristine. She's a photographer and you can see her work here. She's been a really supportive listener and friend over the past few months and I'm glad to know her.

Professor Acs. The pic below is a blurry action shot with no flash, but I dig it. The semiotics are profound. Diploma under one arm, the other arm almost in low fifth, a downward gaze. I think we're going places!



Pink headphones from Glenn!

As a part of her thesis, Heather performed her piece, "what the brain forgets and the heart denies the body remembers" at the TANK at Collective Unconscious. Unfortunately, I don't have any of the video still yet-- but soon. Her work was extraordinary and complete, a real privilege and inspiration for me as an artist and her sister.

To open her show, I read a working piece about my father loosely titled, "Cowboy". It was helpful to get some feedback and positive response. As my schedule opens up a bit more, I look forward to pounding out more "cowboy" text.

My argyle darling, Glenn, will be performing in the return of LUSTRE at Abrons Arts this week, beginning on June 25th. If you missed it the first time around at P.S. 122, PLEASE don't miss it this time. It is truly a religious experience --moving and fabulous...LUSTRE will rock you.

Glenn Marla and Justin Bond will take you to church.
www.myspace.com/justbond

Tonya, Eddy, and exhausted me post opening night of the OTH show.


Eddy's play was a tangled gangster piece with an all female cast. Tonya played the mob leader and instead of actual gunshots, I used the sound of a snare drum. That's me--always keeping it soft and funky. OTH has definitely served as directing school for me.
http://www.falconworks.com/oth.asp


*just a little transitional Henriette Jones to keep things inspired


AND...onward to May. Hen Night.

She looks beautiful in that hat, doesn't she? Josh and I made it whilst watching Coming to America. Look closely and you'll notice that her candy necklace is made of tiny penises.
I don't think I've ever felt that much pressure to pull something off RIGHT before in my life. The stress was obviously because I love my D-dawg so much. But by the start of the party, my anxiety attacks could be clocked.


Sequinette schooling Danielle, "Dolly-style".
My camera broke that night so I am slowly collecting photos from people's online albums.

Here's a sweet pic of Clarke (a kid I used to nanny) in his tennis uniform with a mouthful of chicken. He's a doll and we used to laugh a lot together. I'm just a big kid.


And there's some Ben thrown into the mix. He somehow looks like an adult to me in this picture--so coy, yet underwater in thought all at once. My little brother/best friend.




I told you! She's taking off!


My niece, Heaven Leigh doing what the women in my family do best--laugh our asses off.

I am directing Jose Rivera's Sonnets for an Old Century this summer, to be performed in early October. It's exciting to cut my teeth on a large project. It way past time and definitely signals the beginning of a new aspect of my journey.

My "time spent pastiche" will close with a poem I have been working on. It's continuing my meter-less, disjointed style and finally chronicles something I've been hesitant to approach and see through.
It needs some work...nonetheless, here are my naked words.

ADORNMENT

My psyche dives into my belly, swimming within my nerves.
I don’t know what I have never felt; making this new.
I detect a barrier.
The key in my mouth and the combination in my heart do not match.
One was made earlier than the other.
Since love is war, then peace and conquest are mere accessories.
My armor needs earrings.
A bracelet made of your lacey fingers, perhaps.
I succumb to your tingly tangle of tumult tasting terrific touch.
My knuckles pinch your eyelids.
Pushing for immersion within my members embers.
I begin to contend with the guard.
“Paris is burning”, murmured he, as he lay breathing next to me.
The key in my mouth and the combination in my heart do not match.
Give me your hand.
Safety is a slave, requiring ambition.
Remove the shackles, slicing the skin to watch the blue/black blood drip drop red.
Let me free you.
Love you.
Strong you.
It appears that you don’t want any company.
The key in my mouth and the combination in my heart do not match.

time

I haven't posted in awhile. My schedule's been insane to induce tears and malnourishment. Here's a pic taken by my friend Lori at the big Thanksgiving celebration at my crib. It's a little b/w father daughter action. I love it. Lots are in the works for me and lots have passed as well. Lots--parking, happenings, and theater...ha!
Get it.
Get me.
Get there.


I'm dealing with issues of time, of late.
More to come.

HELLS BELLS

The original version of this essay appears in Issue 17 of the London Progressive Journal.

“We call each other brothers and sisters because we feel like we’ve been here together before.” - Archie Cardwell

Over the phone several weeks ago, my father said this into my ear during our most recent fist pounding discussion on race, art, and current events. He is the original cowboy in my life. On Friday, April 25th, the officers that murdered young, black male, Sean Bell on November 24th 2006 at the Kalua nightclub in Jamaica, Queens, were acquitted of all charges. Flashback to 1999, another innocent black man – Amadou Dialo - falls victim of a cop firing squad, complete with bullet holes in the bottoms of his feet. The officers were also acquitted in that case. It is easy to label these men as “cowboy cops” for so mercilessly taking this man’s young life presumably emblazoned with the power that firearms and heightened circumstances can spark in the wrong hands. And fear, always a factor, remains a tired component that cannot be overlooked. The repeated issue amongst cop killings and unlawful treatment by law enforcement is justice. The cops were reportedly in pursuit of a prostitution and narcotic ring at the nightclub and Bell and his friends were simply out in celebration, the night before his wedding. Bell was gunned down in front of the strip club, after his car checked the back bumper of a patrol van filled with undercover cops. Allegedly, they were under the assumption that Bell and/or his friends had a gun. Three officers fired fifty shots--two black, one white, the white cop reloading-- killing Bell and injuring both friends.

This verdict has served as a time machine-- zipping us back to the Civil Rights movement and the uphill battle that was the 1960s for blacks. However, it is 2008 and unfortunately this decision reinforces the private, yet unspoken consciousness that blacks still have minimal value in America. As a 26-year-old black woman, my position within “the good fight” becomes more visible. This should also remove any deliberation over the rising suicide rate amongst black youth. The strain of a weak social scope will take its toll on even the strongest inhabitant, specifically vulnerable youth. James Baldwin said,
“…that the popular culture certainly does not reflect the truth concerning the lives led by white people either; but white Americans appear to be under the compulsion to dream, whereas black Americans are under the compulsion to awaken. And this fact is also sinister.”
-Of Mice and Movie Stars, “Authors on Film”

Nina Simone’s “Young, Gifted, and Black” continues to be on heavy rotation in my house.

After the announcement, blacks swallowed hard and with furrowed brows and frustrated gazes continued about their days. The next morning, the front page picture on the AM New York was of a small brown child on his father’s shoulders, carrying a sign that read “ I am Sean Bell.” The headlines on the NYPost and the Daily News were still relishing in the smut of the Spitzer spiral and any Giuliani drama surrounding the recent papal visit, thus perpetuating the stagnancy of justice that validates the criminal profiling of black America.

This certainly makes it difficult to “spread our wings” and “believe we can fly”, when the very people that are appointed “to protect and serve” can get away with murder? What’s even more alarming is that a presumably ethical judge felt it feasible to proclaim this as justice. If justice is, in part, for the betterment of society, then after such a decision, justice needs to be redefined. Following the announced verdict, the NYPD tripled patrol officers in anticipation of a raucous reaction—the black taxpayer’s cherry on top, basically. My father’s quote rings true. Blacks need to reach out and grasp hands of our nearest brother and sister. We need to unite as a family and decide not to retaliate in the way we’re expected to.

THUNDER

I see your hand reaching for my thunder.
Exhausted thieves spend lifetimes dodging guilty rain clouds.
Your smile does nothing to mask your crime.
I cracked your eggshell façade and spoke all the words you hate.
Honesty love and faithfulness
Your eyelids wrinkle as you continue to reach.
Still present--yet in the dark--seeing only the red beneath your lids.
I don’t stop you, and cowardly claim, “Reasons”.
This glory will not comfort my thankless hard work.
You’ve taught me to find new ways to brew a storm.
Clutch my knuckles without touching my fingertips,
While making me feel good about myself by doing what I say.
Threaten my thunder to thoroughly defeat you.
Force me to rumble to discover my enemy.


"Pisces, you don't want to hurt people, unless you are feeling righteous and need to punish the guilty."

Black Summer's Night

This is a tantalizing snippet from Maxwell's overwhelmingly anticipated new album trilogy, Black Summer's Night. The song is called, "PrettyWings", and I can't get enough of all 1 minute and 36 seconds of it. Enjoy.

New Amerykah-n Philosophies for 2008

I'm working on the hair, girl.

Thanks Sasha
You never cease to amaze us...even from the staircase.