Tomorrow I’ll have coffee.
And I’ll sit on a bench in the morning, a green one, and wait for the pigeons to come.
Because they come every morning.
The coffee will be black with sugar, lots of sugar.
Sugar to keep me up, in the park, as the pigeons keep me waiting.
I won’t feed them but I’ll watch, as they feast and feed me.
Can’t wait.
I said, “I want to write a novel. But I don’t know what to write.” Mom told me try to put myself in it and maybe that’d make it easier. I told her she didn’t know what she was talking about. This isn’t Adaptation. “It’s not that easy,” I said. I screamed it, actually. I exclaimed it. It’s…not that easy. She says it is. I disagree. We disagree over and over before dropping the matter altogether.
We’re in the kitchen discussing the matter. The kitchen is in Philly. I’m trying to write a novel, but I have no idea. I have no ideas. Plural. No idea that’s original. My mom tells me stop. Think. Sit. Just stop. I tell her it’s not that easy. It’s…not that easy. We disagree over and over before dropping the matter altogether. We drop so many matters. Altogether.
We sit at the table and brainstorm.
Mom asks, “What do you want to write about?” I’m 19. She says, “Kayla, what do you want to write about?”
“I don’t know mom, that’s the problem!” She doesn’t understand. She’ll never understand. “I want to write about me… But not with me in it.”
She sighs. She laughs. “You want to write about you.”
“Not about me, but someone like me. I mean, something someone like me would read.”
I pause. I stare, suck teeth. “You get it?”
“Write about you.”
It’s not that easy.
See Nas’ verse on Rick Ross’ “Usual Suspects.” (a couple lines are unclear) That type of writing…you just have to have it
And still my talent is yet to be challenged
Had no jet with my own pilot
No blastin’ off with Flex and DJ Khaled
My mom stressin’ college
But my crude sense of logic did allude to my empty wallet
Try spending on a green tinted Accord
Which could mean a sentence up North
Where the homie was, but back then dough was like a whore that goldie love, it didn’t exist
And officer foley cuffs was after my wrists
Was not Beverly Hills where we chilled
Imagine this, the Nasareth
Had to get from rags to rich
I used to stand on rooftops with two glocks
Figurin’ how do I turn my Timbalands to guap
Now reptiles was left out up out a watch
What is you thinkin’? Murk you, plus the muscle that you bringin’ is nothin’ to me
If you thuggin’ or fake and shanked on Cuban
Shout out my Ricans
Dealt with all of you gangstas, from the roughest Jamaicans and Haitians
I don’t talk about my relationships here ’cause that’s not my thing, but there’s a lesson in this. And I feel like I should do some actual writing here once in a while, like one of my favorite writers is doing on her awesome new blog. Some time back, I posted Alicia Keys’ “Lesson Learned” and didn’t offer up much of an explanation as to why the song meant so much to me…
About two years ago, me and my boyfriend of four-and-a-half years at the time broke up. There wasn’t any one reason: growing apart, loss of trust and things of that nature. It was, is, the longest relationship I’ve been in and it taught me a lot. However, there was infidelity on his end (hence the loss of trust), emotionally and somewhat physically. I still don’t really know the whole story. Losing him hurt like nothing ever hurt before and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bring myself to hold conversations with him right after we ended it. It was too easy to cry afterward. Why put myself through that?
A little after we officially broke up—it seemed like we’d been in the process of breaking up for months—he started dating another girl, three years younger than him. Of course I was crushed. He was the love of my life and I wasn’t his I guess, or I was and then I wasn’t, and I had to come to terms with that.
Though we kept in contact over the next few years, he never talked about his new girl. Every time I would ask, “How’s The Girl?” he’d offer vague replies like “She’s fine.” This went on for two years. During this time, he apologized for his behavior when we were together, and for hurting me. He was remorseful and he couldn’t believe some of the things he did as a boy, not yet a man. I slowly allowed myself not to hate him. I always thought I was the (almost) perfect girlfriend—I tried to be anyway—but this only made it more hurtful when it came time to part ways. I hadn’t done anything wrong… except I snooped a bit because I had tried to communicate to no avail. Okay, that was wrong… But he was the flirty type and I was the curious type and those two types don’t quite mix.
Which brings me to now. A few weeks ago, he calls me to tell me that he and his girl are having problems, and that he doesn’t think they’ll last. She’s been unfaithful, it seems. I offer an ear. He relays that on more than one occasion he’s thought that he possibly made a mistake with us (he made many. we made many). How could she do this to him? Can’t she see she’s making a mistake? I tell him she has to see on her own. Just like he did. He doesn’t know what to do, feel. He’s lost. I don’t know what else to do but listen and say it’ll be all right. But I’m saying it’ll be all right to someone who had once made me all wrong. He tells me he’s about to talk to her about how to proceed with the relationship but that he’s doubtful it’ll sustain. He’ll call me back. He doesn’t.
So the next day I phone him to make sure everything’s okay, ask how it went. They’d broken up. I listen.
A week or so later, we’re at a mutual friend’s new apartment and he tells me The Girl is engaged to the guy she’d been unfaithful with. He can’t believe it.
A couple of weeks later, he finds out she’s getting married literally in a few days…shortest engagement ever? As much as I see he’s trying to brush it off, I know it hurts terribly. I know because…well, I know.
One day a close girlfriend of mine who’s very aware of the situation asks me: “Why are you helping him when he did the same thing to you?” I don’t really have an answer except that I cannot hate him. I will not. All the time that I’d been listening to him and offering advice, yes it did occur to me that this was karma (it occurred to him too) and that perhaps he was being hypocritical. How could he be hurt by the same actions that he hurt me with? Some of his feelings—his disgust with her behavior, not being able to talk to her at all—echoed my sentiments about him. So at times it did feel weird. Why was I even listening? Should I not have? But the past is past and I’ve forgotten how to be resentful toward him anymore. We’re just friends with a beautiful thing that turned sordid but is beautiful still. Yes, I was burned but I called it a lesson learned. I gather he does now, too.
That’s the goal—to have goals.
That might sound corny, but a lot of times we have low expectations for ourselves. We think we can’t achieve what we want, that we can’t get what we need, that we can’t live the dream inside our heads. But I’ve always been the type to think a thousand trillion steps ahead. MORE
My initial purpose in desiring to start a blog was to tell stories. To write short stories and eventually write a long one. In the form of a paperback. So a friend of mine told me to start a blog featuring my short stories. I wanted to do that, except I had none until now (though it’s more like a poem/short story hybrid). So yeah…In December I’ll (hopefully) start taking a Fiction Writing class, so more to come (hopefully).
***
She misses him. Sunday nights were theirs. So every Sunday night she does the same. Splays diagonally across her velvet covered bed. Eyes hit the ceiling. Kicks off her red slippers. He got em. They fall to the floor. Right side up Vs. Grabs her Evian, half empty, off the nightstand. Takes a few gulps. Lets out a huge sigh. Huge. Her apartment walls aren’t thin. Yet her neighbors can hear. She misses him.
Monday nights are maddening. Mysteries make it more. Where is he? She says. She cries. He can’t see. From where he is. He can’t see her crying. She walks across the dark oak floor. From the bed. To the door. Peeks through its hole. Is he there? It’s maddening.
Tuesday nights are bliss. If it could only be like this. All the time. She thinks. Why can’t it always be like this? Curled beneath his arm. This works, this position. It works. Right? He says yes.
When Wednesday mornings came… they came quick. 9s turned to 5s. Flying. She never could wait. 4:59, that was it. He was waiting. He was waiting, she thought. She was home. He wasn’t. She knew. Kicks off her heels. Slips on her red slippers. Plops…somewhere. Waits.
Thursday nights they fought. Where he’s been. Where he’s going. Who he is. Always the same. Never answers. This, she thinks, is frustrating. This, she says, she can’t do. This, she screams, ain’t us. This, she cries, isn’t working.
Friday nights are cold.
Saturdays, even more.
Sunday nights were theirs.
“No disrespect to you, make sure your word is true” (Jay-Z)Many, many more people are invested in this country’s political affairs, a lot more than before, a lot more than I knew, some I never thought would. I talk to people about this like I never have because I rarely cared, sad to say. I find myself refreshing cnn.com throughout the day to keep up with the Baracks and Barracudas, the pundits and punchlines and Palins (who was described by Bill Maher as a “category 5 moron”). Just to keep up…to strengthen my cerebral dictionary. It’s part of my itinerary now. Reading news has always been a big chunk of my job but this is something new that I guess I would describe as “change” had that word not already been so mangled and manipulated throughout this political season. For the first time ever I’m looking forward to great debates… I got some reasonable doubt.
Scruff is in, guys. I’m guessing.
?
“Can’t wear skinny jeans cause my knots don’t fit” (Hov)
(Mark Twain)I googled “The life of a writer” in hopes of finding some quotes from iconic authors or something. I just like to know what it’s like for others. This came up first. Some choice points:
The Life of a Writer by David Boles
March 10, 1998
“The first thing to realize that the life of a writer, be it one of a playwright, author, freelancer or screenwriter is governed by instability and unpredictability when you begin.”
“Writing isn’t a choice. You either must do it or not.”
“There’s nothing new in the world and good writing is simply re-inventing what has come before you in a new and delightful way.”
“If I didn’t have the Calling to write, I would’ve majored in Mathematics [Ed Note: Ditto] because your work is either right or wrong. Taste doesn’t play a part in the solution of your math problem. When you’re a Writer, however, there is no right or wrong. You can become a slave to a thousand differing tastes, and that disparity can kill you if you try to please everyone. Make yourself your own worst critic and then write to please yourself first and the audience will follow if you write well enough to lead them.”
“The secret of good writing, as Howard Stein (my former Columbia University Playwriting Professor and Contributing Editor for this magazine) taught me is: “Ass on chair.” Making yourself sit down and create is more important than the desire to write.”
“My creative process is sparked by “What If” scenarios inspired by the daily news. I have hundreds of “What Ifs?” popping into my head every day. I then self-hypnotize myself to discover if playing out these “What If?” ideas in my mind are worth pursuing on the page or not.”
“Cons: Unpredictable payments. People lie about your talent in order to steal your ideas. You must deal with some people who are stupider than you but have more money than you and they have the final say on your creative project. The final con is the inability to separate taste from judgement — and in a writer’s life — there’s no conundrum more frustrating that can serve such a severe effect on a career.”
“What’s important now is to find someone who understands your need to write — for writing is a lonesome life and sharing that isolation with someone who unconditionally accepts your Calling is paramount to protecting your sanity and career.”
“Write. Just write. There is nothing else.”
Memories don’t leave like people do
They always remember you
Whether things are good or bad
It’s just the memories that you have
(Beenie Man)
There was this girl I saw on the train about five years ago, after years of just old reminisces of her in my mind (and then on facebook). To say we attended the same elementary school would be partly misleading. The one she attended was very different from mine. You see, there were these girls, who I wanted to be very much like but couldn’t. Though I tried to assimilate, my emulations were poor. I was an A++ student, but at that I under-excelled. These girls, plus their friends, thrived because they were the best and anyone less was out of the crowd. I remember the Piggyback Club (it’s exactly what it sounds like) and wanting to be a part of it, just to be a part of something. It didn’t go so well. She was always IN. And you know how those IN ones are.
And so I saw her on the train. At the time, I wanted to think she didn’t remember who she was then. A look of “pleasant” surprise washed over our faces as we exchanged heys and pleasantries and what-are-you-up-tos. I was doing well. I’ve been writing, I said. About music. Which was to say I was happy. I wished to say something more about who she was then and ask why…because it stuck with me. It sticks with you. And everyone has those moments, with these people, where you want to say something. Instead, I Jim Carrey-d it through the conversation and wore the mask.
My mind’s posterior, on the other hand, a collage of vintage hurtful images, couldn’t forget and kept beseeching me to say something. Like, do you remember how you were? Why were you like that? And your friends…
Before that moment, I had vowed to ask. If I ever saw any of those girls. I’d envisioned some sort of confrontation. I didn’t ask. I just wanted her to see I was okay and that I’d overcome this minor childhood disturbance that was so major to me at the time. Maybe in her head, too, she was thinking, I hope she doesn’t remember. We parted with the usuals. “It was good to see you!” It wasn’t really.
I wrote previously about this Alicia Keys line: “It’s called the past ’cause I’m getting past and I ain’t nothing like I was before. You oughtta see me now.” This was that. You want to not care what they think, but you do. Of course I know kids can be cruel and unjust…is what they say. But I’d be lying to say I ever forgot her or any like her. The so many like her. I mean, I saw that she was different–everyone grows. All you can do is hope they remember themselves then. And that they’ve changed.
Posting that video of Michael and Janet’s “Scream” reminded me how many of those choreographed clips I used to try to emulate (I’m a sucker for nostalgia). I’m not a professional dancer by any stretch. But I did (briefly) take ballet, gymnastics and “hip-hop” classes in my elementary school years. I recall memorizing the moves in these videos (primarily R&B), bit by bit, each time I saw them. Until I got it…somewhat. (I see you, too)
Initially, I wanted to do the “Top 10 dance breakdowns in R&B music videos.” But after cruising YouTube, I found that too difficult and laborious. Few (Janet, Usher) can perfect the art of the breakdown. Then I decided I would do the top 10 dance sequences. But then I realized most would be too obvious, like “Thriller” and “Pleasure Principle.” Plus BET already did a top 25 dancers special along those lines. So I have something better…
THE TOP 8 R&B MUSIC-VIDEO DANCE SEQUENCES I TRIED TO LEARN IN MY ROOM, IN ORDER OF DEGREE OF DIFFICULTY (1 BEING THE LEAST DIFFICULT) OR IN OTHER WORDS HOW MANY TIMES I HAD TO PRACTICE TO GET IT (SOMEWHAT) DOWN
1. Usher “You Don’t Have to Call” [Around the 3:08 mark]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=0BDyqwwEdt4
Starting from when Usher and his boys stroll out the elevator… He and Ciara are a little too perfect, mechanical, with their moves. (Chris Brown is a bit more fluid…but then again so is Gumby) but they’re super talented nonetheless. This video came out at a time when I was clubbing heavily, my freshman year in college. In addition to Cripwalking, when the song came on in the club, I would “perform” the sequence that starts around 3:08.
2. Toni Braxton “He Wasn’t Man Enough” [Around 3:31]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-w0-agVE8g
I love Toni for her voice…love her. For her voice. I remember taping this song off the radio for one of my “mixed tapes.” Dancing was far from her forte, so I can’t fault her (or myself) for these amateur steps.
3. TLC “Creep” [Around 1:13]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=X0tNO3QFoOE&feature=related
Best female group ever. In our on-the-stoop version when I was younger, I “sang” all of T-Boz’ parts, of course, because I thought I had the deepest voice. There’s not really a routine in this video. They’re mostly messing around, but I loved when Left Eye did the walking hand stand. And loved their boyish-meets-girlish outfits.
4. Dru Hill “In My Bed (Remix)” [Around 3:14]
Not much to this, but Dru Hill (minus the recent comeback attempt) remains one of my favorite R&B groups. They had me at “In My Bed” and the remix is fly. They did “the bounce” (Brandy’s favorite move back then, it seemed) to cap the 3:14 sequence.
5. Usher “You Make Me Wanna” [Around 2:34]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=8ylrlxQz5So
The dropping of the pants was classic (I say) and the five different Ushers dancing around the chairs, creative. I also dug his breakdown in the video for “My Way” (Tyrese was in that). But I didn’t try to learn it.
6. Aaliyah “Are You That Somebody” [Around 2:47]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=XHnzjV8SaEY
Thanks to this chick, RIP, I went through a year-plus long baggy-jeans-and-boxers phase. Her choreography was always on point, graceful yet urban. I could be wrong but I think this video was the first time we saw baby girl in a skirt. To me, the geniusly strange baby crying in the background makes this one of Timbaland’s best beats.
7. Beyonce “Crazy in Love” [Around 3:09]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=0i38JRTyMik
In the beginning there’s the booty shake that shook the world. Then near the end, B walks down the runway and does this dance sequence during which she licks her thumb at one point (two points actually). It was between this and “Déjà vu” but I’m not ready to admit I was studying that video.
8. Janet Jackson “You Want This” [Around 4:12]
http://youtube.com/watch?v=Dcm67Y_kqfI
I include this simply for the sass that Janet and her girls displayed when they hopped out their vehicles.
OTHER DOPE CHOREOGRAPHY I NEVER DARED ATTEMPT
Jennifer Lopez “I’m Glad“
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyZr0xBUR_E
I know she jacked this from Flashdance…but she freaked it, I thought.
Usher “U Remind Me”
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZkmZimxFnXc
For the handstand near the end…
Ginuwine “Pony”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWh8XKvsYqc
Just sexy? And another Timbaland gem of a beat.
Ciara “Promise”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vPyzCHgZ88
The (manufactured) evolution of CiCi started here. My favorite part is the end scene with her dancing in front of the wall. Also check her dancing atop a car in the video for “Oh.”
Project in the Projects
A tiny 11th floor studio located in a housing project, provisionally named Project in the Projects, overlooks the grimy East River: a steady reminder of an old reality. Due in most part to the vision of 54-year-old Puerto-Rican curator Hugo Martinez and graffiti writer VFR, who desired to extract exquisiteness from a drab project residence, the Lower East Side apartment has undergone a dramatic transformation.
“We wanted to do something innovative and it took on a life of its own,” says VFR, 32. “This is the first time any industry has come up with a true solution instead of just whining that things should change.” The Project concept evolved from a discussion between Martinez and VFR concerning social politics in relation to art. “VFR told me we should attack the art world the same way we attack the graffiti world,” says Martinez. “The second statement he made to me was that he wanted to step up the game, which means instead of being just art, it has to be art politics, art and sociology, art and change.” Gathering some of the city’s top graffiti artists and working from a blueprint by designer Kaptein Roodnat, the pair brought life and light to the dark interior using one of hip-hop’s fundamental elements.
With graffiti, street artists instantly convert bare partitions into colorful canvases, simultaneously making political and social statements for art’s sake. The graffiti etchings of Project, including VFR’s tag on the fridge and multiple engraved boxes stacked in several corners, speak to the power of possibility. “You can paint a picture that hangs on the wall and say this represents something. But here, the apartment is the art,” says VFR. “You walk into the gallery.”
The 15 graffiti connoisseurs behind Project, including VFR, Case 2, Ghost, and Nato, toiled for three months on the low-income apartment, whose tenant resides with friends until the exhibit closes. “We couldn’t get any other apartment anyplace else,” says Martinez of Project’s initial phase. “Everybody was afraid how the makeover would look, but the tenant of this apartment embraced the idea.” After the Martinez Gallery poured $7000 into refurbishment (versus the roughly $10,000 the City charges taxpayers for a public housing renovation), the outcome is a decadent artwork on project canvas that bests some of the city’s finest “professional” art. The jail-cell colored walls have been painted over with a gray that reflects the concrete pavements graffiti artists use as their canvas—the walls also allow the mounds of boxes to stand out—and the formerly coffee-hued floors have been swathed with multicolored tape.
But despite this remarkable overhaul, the reality is that two blocks—even two doors— down, a rundown apartment is housing residents who are either too poor or simply irresolute on moving elsewhere. Why can’t the City use its resources to remodel these shabby living arrangements, or more important, why can’t the residents? “The City is very apprehensive about any changes being made, especially when it has to do with the poor. They like the poor essentially to be incarcerated by the aesthetics that they’re in,” says Martinez. “But if you can’t determine the color of your walls, it’s exactly the same thing as not being able to determine your music or what you read.”
During the Gallery’s contentious mission, law enforcement and authority figures tried to impede the artistic makeover. VFR thinks one reason may be because graffiti artists—the so-called troublemakers—were behind the renovation. “When we first revealed our creation, the cops were trying to get in here and stop us,” says VFR. “What are you looking for? There are no laws being broken here. We’re just making some improvements here and there.” Adds Martinez: “For some reason they have people in the projects thinking that if you change, you’re in trouble.”
Project in the Projects is the Martinez Gallery’s second community intercession, the first being Pediatrics 207 in fall ’04. Exhibited exclusively by Martinez, the Project exposition runs through August 31. The apartment’s enhancement may just prove that beautiful things can emerge from what seems like nothing. And it’s only the first step. “This is a prototype that could trigger other ideas,” says VFR. “Innovations that could make a world of difference to a person’s life.”
