Charlie M.

i love writing to music. it takes the edge away. it's my only solace to such a solitary activity. i spend a lot of my time with different folks from John and Miles to Chaka and Minnie. Erykah and Davina are there too. so are Andre and Ghostface and Madlib and Tribe. lately though, i've been spending most of my time with Charlie. Mr. Charles Mingus, that is.

i'm in love with Mr. Mingus' music. i've been for a while. and i always come back to him. from bebop to hardbop to postbop, i love every sound and style he's messed with. he was indeed a beautiful artist.

and an inspiring one to write to.

Charlie Mingus. sigh.

Abstaining. never a good idea.

a friend suggested i stop posting my work publically on my blogs. i asked her if my work was that horrible. and she laughed saying it wasn't that. i needed to be wary of idea thieves, content robbers, and straight up jackers. don't you want to publish again, she asked.

the thought of not sharing my work publically makes me sad. i began this blog two years ago. this space has allowed me to create and grow as a writer. it's allowed me to create for the sake of sharing. and that in itself has pushed me to write. yes, i might have written a lot of bad poetry. and some good stuff too. but the point is that i wrote.

i've recently begun to take my writing seriously in a whole new way. i've entered a new phase of my creative life. this means that i've become hyper critical about my work. i can see the the flaws clearer. i can see the potential in my work and know when it's not quite there. the editing process frustrates me to the point of hating the pieces i originally loved. i've become apprehensive about sharing my words with others. so for me, the issue of abstaining from public postings is not at all about my work being stolen, but rather, my work sucking. and others bearing witness to the suckage.

i realize with art, one's work will always be in a perpetual state of progress. and nothing is perfect. but i'm wondering if perhaps there is such a thing as near-perfect. and if so, should one abstain from sharing anything publically until she attains that near-perfection? but to me, that takes the joy out of writing. i like sharing my work with people. even if it my work still dwells in edit-land. sharing our work is an important part of being, and growing as artists.

sigh. i guess this is my damn dilemma to figure out. but please feel free to jump in at any point.

Solar Wind

i smelled the sun
the other day
scent fierce
like face melt heat
flooding ice
water flow
from edges
of my heart

release

scorched bones
and singed skin
recite surahs
softly marking
burnt kisses
on my neck
eyelids
and hands

receive

the hottest
gust stream
promises
cardamom dust
and particles
of you
inside me

sun struck
i smell love

Random Check

On my way back from San Fransisco to Canada, I was selected for a thorough security check. After my purse, belt, shoes and laptop had been x-rayed, a young-ish looking man came over and told me to enter a Star Trek Enterprise type cubicle, while he went to check the files on my laptop. I walked into this machine, placed my feet on the indicated spot and waited, not knowing what was about to happen. Then, POOF. Some fifteen valves burst gusts of air at my body, covering every inch. I froze for a split second, before my entire body began throbbing from the heavy pounding of my heart. What the fuck just happened?!

I stepped forward and exited the machine. I looked over at the guy, who was now closing my laptop, and decided to play dumb. He looked easy enough.

"Oh my god! Wow. What just happened in there?" I said with an exaggerated but friendly-enough expression of shock.

"Oh that? That's just to detect if you've been around any explosives recently."

"Really?" I said all wide-eyed. I gave him a smile that he liked. "So, this happens randomly right, the check?"

"Oh no miss. This wasn't random. It was indicated on your boarding pass," he said, smiling nervously.

My sweet smile shifted into a tight-lipped smirk. Now I always thought these checks were anything but random, but to actually hear this guy validate that assumption was another thing. Almost comical, in a disturbing way. I began to collect my things.

"So what were you doing here? Visiting your boyfriend?"

"Stop flirting with the passengers!" joked another airport security guy from across the way.

I grabbed my bags. Put my shoes back on. Fastened my belt buckle. And walked away, irritated but relieved: at least I wasn't strip searched.

A Post-Snip Snip

I've had an intensely transitional few weeks and I feel I've entered a new phase of my life. It's scary. It's so real. And I feel so alive because of it. I wanted to mark this feeling aesthetically. I wanted to mark this transition on my body somehow. So I made an appointment to get my haircut.

I ended up having a horrible haircut experience. I don't want to get into it. But it was anything but celebratory of positive change. So, I took the matter into my own hands. Last night, I took the scissors to my head and chopped off more of my hair. I reclaimed the haircut. And it's mine now. Even if it is a bit crooked.

This couldn't have been more perfect. Anyone who knows me well, knows my scissoring fetish. I love cutting paper, fabric, flower stems, fingernails, cardboard boxes, old shirts, new shirts. But I love cutting hair the most. It's a snipping sensation unlike any.

So this is the shortest my hair's been in a while. It's poofed up in all it's frizzy coiled glory. It's saying I don't give a fuck. There's so much wrapped up in hair socially, culturally, and spiritually. I'm feeling release with my short hair though. I'm feeling peace. I'm feeling mighty beautiful inside and out.