Oh no, Oh no...I've been waiting mad long fo you!" Said God to her homegirl.
"I've been waiting for you to GET IT TOGETHER! (in rhythm with long fingernail hand claps).
"How many mutha effin' times I gots to tell you, you are the LIGHT OF THE WORLD!!!
And you sure as hell don't need all that bullshit you been carrying around in your head.
Who do you think I am? Bitch please. I'm God. I made the earth, the trees, with birds, awwwwwlllll kinds of animals and shit.
Amazing things I've done. Come on now, gimme some. (An extended pound)
And I made you, girl. So what you think you just apart of the scenery, meant to look cute and shit. I did make you kinda cute, now didn't I, with your little freckle face. Come on now, I squeezed the sun like a grapefruit to sprinkle those love jewels on you. You know how hard that is! Shiiiiiiiiiit
I made you to shine. I made you to live in the glory of the creation that is you. Um Hello?
And you are my child and I'm fly ok...haha She gets it from her mama (with a booty shake song to the left n right) So you best believe you fly too.
I created you, all of you, to love and be loved. But somebody wanted to go out there and get all uppity and start changing shit. Started getting everybody excited and afraid like there's a hell or whatever, when the only hell there is, is the one in that little itty bitty pea brains of yours.
Haha can you imagine, an old horned monster with a pitchfork breathing fire...hahahhahahahah stop it, your hurting me hahahahahhahahaha (holding her bellyfull of laughter).
Then you let that fear shit start to control you and then other people start to use that fear shit on their fellow human beings to control them too. Then there's all this killing and fighting and what not. And I'm sitting up here like, Fool, you better stop hurting each other like that. You think that shit don't hurt me too! Here I am Almighty Mutha effin God and I told you to love each other and here you are doing the exact opposite. It's offensive really.
But you know I love y'all so I'm gonna be there for you (catching feelings, wiping elephant tears away). I'm here to forgive you when your heart is open and ready for me, like BONG, here I am, take me, use me...and I'll be there. But when you living in that fear its harder for me to reach you, you're all clouded and murky in there. No wonder the storms come. No wonder the earth rumbles. People living in fear makes Mama cry, makes Mama's stomach ache.
Aight. Let me bring it back now, back to you.
Girl, it's time to let the past go boo. I got you. Don't let this fear shit drown out your head with all that nonsense. Listen to me. You came from eternity bitch. Now go out there and do what you gots to do, OK! Cus time is money and money is energy and energy is love and love cannot be wasted. ( Snaps, snaps, snaps)
The love you have inside of you is a gift, what you gonna do, play with the wrapping paper, the pretty bow?
Let somebody take your present away from you?
Let somebody tell you it ain't good enough?
Let your gift just sit there collecting dust, next to little cheap animal ornaments?
Or you gonna take that gift I gave you, you know what I'm saying, take that gift and do right by it and give it back to the world.
Give it where its needed. Give it where its wanted. Where it can be received. And in the darkest of corners where love is not wanted, where love is cast out, let your love shine like a streetlight so they can still find their way home.
Honey, love is a cycle, love is a river, love flows baby. Love gives and gives back.
You gotta love you boo, like I do.
So what you waiting on? Get to stepping mama...I gotta do my hair before I set the sun.
"in your face!" spoke the lesson of the moment, bellowing and bitching in my psyche.
"do you see it? do you get it now?"
"time to figure this shit out girl," it continued on like it was trying to be my friend, knowing all along it was hurting me something awful. but i can't be mad, no, just doing her job, teaching a lesson.
sometimes the truth just ain't nice, just ain't your friend and you wish you never met her, ever.
honestly, i'm angry with her, which may seem pointless, emotional and childish. but it feels like a valid little girl anger inside who was disappointed to discover mermaids don't exist to our knowledge and that all people pass away some day or that the universe is never ending.
1. was it all fantasy? could u be real?
2. damn, EVERYTHING is temporary, every ending is a little death
3. and shit, what do i know about anything? nothing, not a damn thing.
stuck in non-communication and limbo aftermath
voicemail and memory
mirrored journey and pattern exposed in a blazing debacle of the heart
i try to stay assured in this
that i can
1. believe in fairy tales and hope one day to see a magnificent creature
2. cherish everything in my life to the fullest, knowing everything will fall away someday but that it passed through me, that is the blessing
3. find the excitement in the infinite possibilities and surprises of life
Oh hello again. I'm back sooner than I thought. I just got to get this all out.
Watched "Evan Almighty" today. A silly comedy about a Congressman that gets visited by God aka Morgan Freeman.
The best God ever, although Alanis Morrissete fulfilled my teenage angst dreams of God.
God visits dude and says he's got a make an Ark to save the town from a flood. The wife thinks he's nuts and leaves. But God visits her at a diner and encourages her to see the bigger picture of her prayers. That if you ask for patience, God doesn't just hand it to you, he gives situations that offer the opportunity to learn patience. If you ask for courage, he gives you situations to learn courage. If you want to be closer to your family, he will provide a way for YOU to make that happen. Though I battle with the idea and philosophy of God as maybe a magic entity, the great mystery, a higher version of ourself, alien king, or a figment of our imagination. I resonated strongly with this. It hit me like a shock wave and really incited deep thought about recent experiences and what I've prayed for and what I've been given. I think it's a great way to look at the struggles we face. Finding the way through them and seeing what we can gain. How obstacles can be these amazing blessings in disguise.
I feel sometimes like everything I do in life is for a song and everything that happens to me, everything I feel needs to become a song so that it can live forever, so it can be released, so it can be a journey for someone else to find release too. Sometimes it feels like just writing a song about something that hurts will make it go away or something I want will make it alive, whatever I am asking of the song to do. The song is almost like a God itself.
The song below is one I started writing 3 years ago. I was sitting inside my little tiny room in Park Slope, huddled underneath my twin loft bed, guitar in hand and a heavy heart in my chest. I wanted to write a happy song, I wanted to write a love song. But I had nothing to go off of. I called on The Beatles "All you need is love" for a chord progression and meaningful inspiration. But nothing. "Damnit! I can never write a love song!" I said. And so this is what became of that moment, that realization that I wrote for the broken hearted, the confused, the lonely that my song is Never a Love Song. I took the idea with me out into the world and began documenting the moments I saw love around me and how I longed for that feeling. All my wonderment and longing poured into this song. I hope you can find something within it that resonates with you. But stay hopeful in more than that. I know our love song will be sung and we will be heard.
Hey you. Welcome back. I know it's been a while since I have written and there is so much to catch up on. But I thought I'd go backwards in time a little, expose some real truths and nasty confessions of my sometimes insane perspective that leads to insane actions. These experiences directly influence my music. I destroy and then create. I get fucked up then I fuck it up on the mic. I take these real life moments and turn it into art. This is a story, an actual journal entry rant that I turned into a song after being up for more than 24 hours. As it is with artistry, I started to rework some of the craziness so you could understand what I'm talking about. But the guts and glory of it stayed the same. Kissing liza was written like a thousand times in my notebook. Over and over again, the image, blasting my brain, burning it like a cigarette on my thigh.
I actually did that once. I was high on mushrooms sitting on the toilet, felt like I was in an elevator going down, down, down. I wanted to see how long I could take the pain, the burn of the ash going into my flesh. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity. Left me with a little button sized scar.
Summer 2007. I was having my quarter life crisis and partying a lot. House parties at Shelter. Coney island with dope DJs like Kamala Jefferson and great dancers like Sybarite crew and my boy Ant, and artists like Concept and dear friends like Jess and Hosanna. Wasn't a very productive summer on the career front. I guess I've always battled between the life of an artist, just living art, everyday in freedom and adventure, creating but not headed towards a goal, just BEING and then there's the life of the business of art which brings the art to a larger scale but can drain the expression. Finding a balance is what I'm looking for.
So one crazy summer night I link with, hmmm well, what should I call him, Prospect, I will call hin Prospect, hah, we used that term in college. I link with Prospect on his birthday. We had been spending time together. A borderline, are we friends just kicking it or is there some real chemistry popping off here?
So I meet him for his bday, we go to a spot, which will remain nameless cus it could get me into trouble. There we meet a bunch of his friends, some of them mutual. The liquor is flowing, I've already had at least 4 and I'm on my 5th. Hoping the drunker we get, the closer we get to each other, in more ways than 1.
Which is so retarded, actually reminds me of like a sleazy guy trying to push up on a girl, get her drunk and vulnerable and take advantage of her. I do sometimes feel like a man's sex drive and mating techniques are trapped inside my psyche. Like I'm the one on the pursuit, I'm the one who makes the move. Maybe cus most of the guys are pussy footing round the pussy. HA
This is definitely a naughty blog today.
SO all seems fair in love and whiskey. Until Liza walks in the door. And their chemistry and eye contact is obvious and annoying as hell. He then becomes the sleazy guy encouraging her to drink more and more champagne. She fights him, then succumbs to his sweet face but silly accent. And soon enough they are slow dancing on the dance floor and KISSING!!!
And me being the slightly, not matured emotionally in intimate relationships since I was 12, rushes off to the bathroom in a huff and puff. Thinking back now, I wish I could've shook myself in the mirror and made me look at how beautiful and sexy and amazing I am and that it was all good and that Prospect wasn't right for me ANYWAY. HA
But the higher voice wasn't there in that moment. Only the rageful jealous maniac who had too much to drink.
I rushed out of the bathroom with intentions of just leaving the bar and not looking back. But instead the whiskey and emotion dragged my hands to both their heads and knocked them so aggressively they might've come off if I had one more shot. And THEN I walked out and proceeded to act like nothing had happened. Eventually I made peace with them both and even remained good friends with the Prospect. Below is the song I wrote after that crazy night. Enjoy and if there is any lesson learned from this. I'd say its what they told you when you were a kid,
"Keep your hands to yourself."
Kissing Liza by the dj booth Kissing Liza in the middle of the room Kissing Liza under the full moon When you you shoulda been kissing me
Kissing Liza on a Friday night Kissing Liza all up in my light Kissing Liza got me ready to fight Cus you, you shoulda been kissing me Yeah you, you shoulda been kissing me
And I’m in the bathroom crying my eyes out Broke the garbage can and a glass or two Almost broke the mirror but not with my hand But with the look of a woman that no one understands no
Kissing Liza up against the wall Kissing Liza now I’m two foot small Kissing Liza and I’m going AWOL Cus you, you should’ve been kissing me Yea you, you should’ve been kissing me
Whispering in her ear and pouring champagne down her lips Makes me sick watching you caress her fake tits Its sweet now, but 6th sense predicts You’re gonna realize that Liza ain’t shit No I’m gonna realize that you ain’t shit No I'm gonna realize this was all one of my stupid tricks
Kissing Liza now the parties begun Kissing Liza well isn’t this fun Kissing Liza if I only had a gun Then you, you woulda been kissing me Yea, you you woulda been kissing me Hitting Liza in the back of the head Don’t do nobody good But I hit Liza in the back of the head Cus you you shoulda been kissing me
(an excerpt from Girl out of Water poetry files 2002)
The Missing Earring
Lost another earring tonight at the movie theatre; my beaded silver dangling spiral ones that everybody comments on. One earring probably swept into a trash heap, the other, abandoned. I return home to add her to the box with all the other lonely earrings. There was the pair of earrings my mother gave me in junior high school when I went through my Rastafarian phase and wore shells all the time. Then there are my jade Buddha’s,I inherited, but that one, almost makes sense to wear alone. These silver hoops I got in Canada for 2 bucks. The copper mermaid, the stars and moon collage, the music note,the golden heart. All loners now, left to rot in the bottom of my jewelry box, only to be worn as an 80’s fashion statement, like Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan. Sometimes I fantasize that somewhere out there, someone has found the other earring, like a lost umbrella, or a glove or sock that got mixed up in your wash at the laundry mat. Somewhere out there someone’s saying a prayer for the earring without a match. They sit imagining who the earring could belong to and wondering, maybe even praying the earring belongs their soul mate. Walking down the street they have forgotten all about looking at tits and ass, now they are checking out the ears, hoping to find the other half to the puzzle that magically found it’s way to them. Desperately seeking to fit together with someone. They play the whole scenario in their heads. A summer day, a warm breeze, their favorite shirt on, chai tea latte in hand crossing from the west village to the east through Washington Square Park. Not much on the brain. Unusually, he’s not looking for her today, the owner of the missing earring. Suddenly in his awkward flair he bumps into a girl. She’s pissed but he likes feisty ladies so this doesn’t deter him. He’s not interested in her at first, more concerned that he didn’t get any on his favorite shirt or on her or if he has enough left to drink, since Starbucks is way too expensive. Phew! No damage done, then he notices her eyes, that unexplainable something creeping behind them. He can see them laughing together, movies and museums, cooking and sleeping in, nightclubs and getting bored and going home. Making love over and over again. He can see fall, winter and spring. Everyday looking into those eyes. Because somewhere in there, he feels like everything he’s ever done makes sense, that everything had lead him up to this moment and she sees it too, or at least he believes she does, because if she didn’t see it, how could he? When it’s love it is one vision, one truth and both people know it.
He says something funny which is something he does well and she laughs which is something she enjoys and then, they say goodbye and keeping on walking. From west to east, east to west, but they both want to turn around, they can feel the energy like a magnet, but she’s late for rehearsal and he’s just shy and they both say to themselves, “If it was meant to be, I’ll see him, I’ll see her again.” At least he hopes, maybe she was thinking the same thing.
He goes home and writes all about this brief encounter with a Goddess. She goes to rehearsal and sings like never before and every time they both walk by that first place where they met, they look around for those eyes, that moment, see if they can catch each other again. Weeks pass and they forget all about each other mostly and they’re both out with their friends in a bar that’s too smoky and loud and they don’t feel like drinking or talking, maybe just reading or dancing. But the music’s not that great and if they read they’d just fall asleep, which actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Suddenly a friend of a friend knows one of each other’s friends and soon they’re all sitting together. He notices her eyes, plays it off like he doesn’t know where he’s met her before. She doesn’t play dumb… “You bumped into me on the street…I smelled like chai all day!” They talk and feel and listen to the silent wanting of their bodies with promise of another meeting, some place quiet so they can concentrate. He calls the next day, she’s happy and they meet for dinner, Thai. Conversation flows like water and the food is good. They split the check and go for a walk. The wind drawing them closer and closer. He takes her hand; Velvet. They don’t feel like their rushing…Mmm mm just right…they share a kiss under a tree. One soft, simple kiss. Mmm mm, just right…sweet dreams. Tomorrow and the next and the next day after that. Love is growing, unknown, yet knowing. No fear, just yes, Mmm mm, just right.
One night he comes over to her house to watch a movie and he’s in her room when he notices her jewelry box sitting on her make shift dresser. He is tempted just to look and see if she could be the owner of this missing earring, and yes, there it is, the dangling beaded lonesome spiral earring. The match to the one he had found at the movie theatre.
Knock Knock. "Who's there?" You. Welcome. Doors open. Please come in.
I went out last night. I have become some what of a homebody so this wasn't an easy task. It's great to be playing music all night, inspired, wired on the creativity or cuddling someone close you care about. But life changes. Music never stops, but relationships often do and we find ourselves rediscovering who we are, without them.
I rolled solo, dolo baby, that means by myself, alone. I didn't have a posse, no crew, no chicka's by my side. Just me. A little nerve racking, like um, will I look like the weird girl at the party that has no friends? But I remember a Bridget from years back, that went to house parties at Temple U in Philly by herself, and danced in the middle of the room, sticking out like a sore thumb, the only white kid in the crowd. So I called on that chick, hesitant at first, but the night was resoundingly a success. NYC, as gentrified and expensive as it's become, at the end of the day, when you grew up here your whole life, once you re-enter the world, it's just a small town, and every face is a familiar one and the heart is pumping open and warm, ready to accept you back in. So I went out to this party, check it, a new spot, Velour. Buttahman from MTV hosting, every tuesday. Nice lounge. Hip-hop, pretty chicks, pretty boys. Everybody trying to make that next great contact. Reconnected with an old friend Russ Jones, who works for J records. Great guy. Then met an amazing visual artist Rizz, wearing a top hat from the 1920's. A gentleman and an icon. I called him the mad-hatter, and he coined me Alice.
"Remember what the door mouse said, Feed your head, feed your head."
I went down the rabbit hole with him to Chelsea projects then to Sutra on 1st and 1st.
Let me tell you something about this spot. The owners are amazingly cool folks and friends of mine, they always bring great DJ's to the people, fly music, beautiful energy, great drinks, service, crowd. Everything. Rosie Perez told them, "It feels like old New York in here." And she's right. In the middle of Alphabet city, now the midwestern NYU colony, this spot resurrects urban culture and spirit, for real son.
Tony Touch was spinning, Talib Kweli was chilling.
Oh Talib, God, I love him.One day in BK, I was walking down the street and saw a figure in the distance, and I just knew, I could tell by his silhouette it was Talib, we stopped and talked about our mutual friends. It was heaven on Flatbush ave.
Honestly, I was afraid to be out there alone in the world. I fought myself to get dressed and put on a smile. I could've stayed home, guitar in hand, computer, movies, dreams, heartache and loneliness. But I did it, I forced myself back into the heart of NY and she told me that she's lonely too and that we need each other.
Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange. - Kahlil Gibran
Here is my song "Alright Alone," a song I sing to myself and to you, for all of us.
This song was an evolution. It started on the bed of my lover, waiting for him to return back home. The words began, "The bed and I are missing you..." and as our relationship changed and new truths were discovered, the song reflected these discoveries.
Someone told me that I am like a journalist with my lyrics. When I was a little girl that's what I wanted to be, as well as a ballerina, anthropologist, political activist...etc
But this song is a representation of that quality I think. I like to excavate, dust off bones and traces of who I am in my life. I read through journal entries, sometimes hardly decipherable, and find phrases that perfectly captured my feeling at the time. This song has pieces of that.
I finished writing it in berlin. A grey, sad city. And yet there's this feeling like there could be a revolution around the corner, which I love. It made me connect deeply to my feelings emptiness, loss and confusion, in this relationship, but also in the relationships of the world. The truest moment in the song for me is the chorus, "I better get lost, before I get found." It kind of fell out of me, like whoops, there goes deep truth, not sure I wanted to even hear it myself and I know sometimes when I sing this, people are squirming in their seats. But I like to think that I as an artist can challenge my friends and family in the room, to look deep inside and connect to what they're running from. Cus the running eventually will lead somewhere, might as well have a look while you're in the mess, which is where I am, in the mess and prodding, sifting, dancing, singing and protesting every other moment.
So in a way I have become the ballerina, the journalist, the anthropologist, the activist and artist. That just totally reminded me of the breakfast club.
I think I will start my own club, the drunch club. Have you ever had drunch? Haha its breakfast, lunch and dinner all rolled into one. If I wake up mad late, I still need to have a breakfast type of meal, even if it's at 8pm. So maybe one day, you and I, we can go have some drunch. And sit uncomfortable but peaceful in our chairs as we pour our hearts out over scrambled eggs under the stars.
Here. Today. Quiet. Still. Still here, in the green room. Welcome.
I haven't left the house today. I made french toast and coffee, got back in bed and listened to myself think for hours, which ain't always such a pretty thing to do. It's a war zone in here. There are definitely two sides of me fighting to take over. A true Gemini I am. An angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. One believes in me and is always encouraging and loving and creative and has so many dreams and visions for us. Violins and a choir. The other sees the end, nothing, crap, you lose, game over, time is up, what a joke, a fool we were to ever believe we can have a life we truly want. Ghoulish laughter now.
I heard a story once, a Cherokee Indian legend- An old Cherokee told his grandson, "A fight is going on inside me, a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil, he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, lies, false pride, and ego. The other is good-joy, love, peace, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, truth, compassion and faith. The same fight is going on inside of you and every other person too. The grandson thought about it for a minute, and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee replied, "The one you feed."
It's a battle everyday to listen to that angel, to feed the good wolf, listen to that positive voice. Some days she wins and the little devil girl, the evil wolf cowers in the corner cus she got slapped with sunshine. But truth is, she is always there, in the corner, waiting to bite, waiting for her moment to rain on my parade.
Today, its pouring in here. Down pour. Cats and dogs and frogs. All the shit I never did winds, mad regret puddles, lost opportunity thunder, broken heart clouds, foolish dreams lightning and wasted time twisters, twisting me in knots.
BUUUUUUT, I am writing now, calling on my angel to get me out of this hurricane. Get me out now, please. I am writing also to you, if there is a you, to write to. You, whoever reads and connects and understands this struggle that I am in. For us to rally together against our little devil selves that want to hurt us and stop us from being happy. Join in solidarity or whatever, something, anything to get out of the storm. Create an army of laughter and music, paint smiles over frowns. I am shouting out today to feed the good wolf a delicious meal. Because there is a world out there, people who are fighting real wars and all this stupid mess of an inner dialogue, seems so completely retarded at this point. When bombs are flying over your head, or a bullet just hit your brother, I doubt you are thinking or asking, "Do I really love myself? Do I believe in myself?" You're thinking, love, yea sure, I want to live, I want to save myself, I want to save my brother, can't talk now or think, let's just get the hell out of here!
Hmm, that saying, just hit me in a different way. Get the hell out of here. Well, yea I know that I'm not running for my life, maybe running from myself sometimes, but I too, want to get the "hell" out of here. The hell out of my mind, the hell out of me.
My radical, revolutionary friends always tell me that these personal struggles we have, are almost a privilege and that if we just focused on actually helping the world more, and not just ourselves, they would fade away. Because we would really be on the front lines for something real, for humanity, for freedom, for justice. I mean, I know that when I give to others, yes, this self-importance does seem to disappear, I connect to the bigger picture of life. That we are here, for each other. We are here to unite. We are not here, even to fall in love, be famous, make lots of money, have a grand ol' time. But here to become one again. Yes. Yes. Can I get an amen? Or an om shanti or a buck shot in the air! Bong!
I had a dream once when I was in Paris, where God appeared as a translucent Superman floating through the air. He told me, "You're not just here to have a good time." And I believe that. We got work to do. Celebrate, be joyous, but we have a responsibility too.
Now I don't completely agree with my radical, revolutionary friends. I believe we need to do both. Work on ourselves, work on the world. Outside, inside, same thing. Maybe when we focus on the world, we are healing ourselves and healing ourselves helps the world.
This is why I make music. I am expressing my personal pain to connect to everyone else's pain. This is why I am writing this today, because I needed to get the hell out of here and not be alone in this. Because this green room, this mind, this self of mine, this war that I am in, is the world too. We are the world.
Everybody hold hands and sing along now. "We are the wooooooooooorld, we are the futuuuuuuuuuuure. We are the ones to make a brighter day so lets start giving."
I am a sketch on a napkin. The ARTIST had to get the idea down in the middle of dinner, couldn't wait to get home to the canvas, the paints, the easel. I am a spontaneous doodle, next to tears, a coffee stain and a fallen noodle. I am a beginning, and I am beginning to begin again and again. With a clever, sarcastic tongue, a soulful blues rasp and a poetic dreaming mind. I am a whisper and a scream. I am heartbroken and heart-full. Singing for my supper.
