Tanka Series: were you lost, brother?
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Writing and Poetry

*This is a series of tanka(s?) I wrote after seeing the one black guy at the McCain/Palin rally in Wisconsin today. This isn't about the fact that it was a black man supporting McCain. It was about being present after a week of the veiled racist attacks and the need to categorize Obama as an "other" in order to scare folks into not trusting him. At this rally, they brought up the "Hussein" and the "paling around with terrorists" thing once again. Then they made a big production of shaking hands with and hugging the one black guy in the front row. Who gave them a thumbs up and asked that they "get tougher on Obama." Also, tanka is a form of japanese poetry (5-7-5-7-7)

were you lost, brother?
on your way to some other
place, got stuck, with a
mic in your face and asked to
speak. So you had to join in.

when mccain and his
lipsticked pig snarled with contempt
and entitlement
did you flinch, brother, did you
remember what it was like?

did it bother you?
you feel some kind of way when
they placed you front row
smile wide as regret; they yell
"Kill him", when "he" look like you.

or did you kill your
mirror so long ago that
you hear them say, "He
not real American." and
forget what that really mean.

Also, I know I haven't been around. I spend most of my time on Facebook. Book is done. Touring. E's talking. I'm still awesome. Know this ;).

Soon
B.

Currently listening : Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964 By Sam Cooke Release date: 2003-06-17

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Tuesday September 11, 2001
Current mood: awake
Category: Life

"I watched those buildings collapse on each other like a broken heart...
Affirm life. Affirm life.
We got to carry each other now.
You're either with life
or against it. Affirm life"
-Suheir Hammad



Tuesday, September 11, 2001

This borough has always represented a safe haven from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan living. As the smoke blows into Brooklyn, reminding us of the days events, the truth of that echoes in the stillness that's been created.

In my neighborhood, old men spit theory of who, what, where and why "I thought this shit ended with Reagan..." . In the local bodega, women shake their heads and say things like, "Me leavin dis place here. Tek me back to Jamaica straightaway. The local hustlers, "Yo, man. Let them bring that shit to the 'Bush." The young ones never really knew this and I feel like a young one, unable to process this without that mouth agape, teary eyed disbelief.

For we, raised on movies like Independence Day and The Siege it just doesn't seem real. This security we've enclosed ourselves in. This security we've created. This untouchable idea that no one dare fuck with us. We're waiting for Denzel Washington or Will Smith or Jet Li or some other brother with an attitude and a quick punch to save the day. Waiting for the musical score to signify victory. But there is no victory in this amongst the soot and ash of fallen debris and tears. Just questions and shock. A mad scramble to figure out the whereabouts of our loved ones and special acquaintances. Thinking of people who haven't crossed our minds in months, sometimes years but suddenly remembering, "Isn't so and so's office down there?" Mad dash to remember phone numbers, spelling last names into phone receivers trying to find a way to contact those you've let slip out of your life·. For whatever reason.

Many of us are concerned about the retaliation, accusations creating space for xenophobia, praying for the lost, and dealing with bursts of never before mentioned patriotism, anger, rage, disbelief, shock. We could speak of all these things and cliches like chickens coming home to roost or two wrongs don't make a right. We can speak of feeling insecure in a country that claims to do all things in the name of security and liberty and safety and justice and freedom. We can speak of all these things and more·but there will be time for that in the weeks that come.

Right now, I choose to speak of you-my family, my friends and the love I am want to make religion and ritual. Understanding that in those moments of panic and disbelief trapped somewhere within the shock, is the love I feel for you. Your safety. Your security. Even those nowhere near the blasts by geography or fortuitous coincidence-too many events in the last weeks have pointed to the need to hold life firmly in the palm of your hands. Hold it like the lover you are afraid will leave you. The child you fear is in danger. Like religion. Like yourself. Fearlessly. It's not about deeming ourselves the lucky ones because that would imply that those that died did so because they were somehow without it or unworthy of it. I want to focus on the second chance given to maximize love and live it. Some of you I haven't spoken to for whatever reason, in days, months sometimes years, and some I've only come to recently but know that when the bell tolls-you live in me. Love isn't time. It's understanding.

I love you. I don't want tragedy to remind us of what was. I want tragedy to remind us that what could be-already exists. LOVE like you mean it. Like you made it. Like you own it. When I love you, it's forever. I refuse to allow the trivialities and pettiness of urban living to blind me from what is. If I've wronged you, I'm sorry. If I've neglected you, please, welcome me back. If it seems like I've turned my back, forgive me, I'm holding out my arms now. If I love you, believe it. If you need me, I'm here. I love you all. Be safe. Stay safe. Be strong. Stay strong. Hug someone. Kiss yourself.
Love someone
mean it.

Bassey.

Currently reading : ZaatarDiva By Suheir Hammad

2:08 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Live.
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Friends

I intended to write about Bernie Mac. Intended to document the two separate times I met him. Once about 8 years ago in the UBO offices and again, about 4 years ago, backstage at the NAACP Image Awards. Both times, he left a lasting impression. Both times he was as gracious and warm as he was brilliant and hilarious. I remember marveling at how down to earth he was and how his wife and daughter grounded him. After seeing Diddy and J-Lo in the office a few days before, I was struck by how normal and brown his family was. I intended to speak about that second time in LA,  how when he noticed our nerves and pacing backstage,  he smiled and wished me luck. I intended to write about how I watched his show in syndication while pregnant with E. How some days it would be the only time I could muster a laugh out of this pain speckled body. I intended to write about how his passing meant something more than I could justify, having only met him twice but never knowing him. Sharing a few words but nothing that could be Fox Newsed into a conversation. This was supposed to be about how artists who create from their bellies and hearts and souls change the lives around them. And touch people and move these mountains of our lives into appreciation and love and gratitude.

This was supposed to be about Bernie Mac and laughter and celebrating our lives delicate and beautiful like the crystals that create snowflakes.  And it will still be about that.

But I sat down to write and as I've done for weeks now, procrastinate. I tried Facebook first and busied myself chatting and changing my status updates a few times. Then found myself on Twitter, a website I don't fully understand, but much like my first day at Greenbelt Middle, still trying desperately to fit in. I moved on to G-chat and busied myself with a conversation that, if allowed any honest moments, shouldn't have lasted beyond the initial and defining, "hey". But that's where I was all the windows opened, the word document blank, cursor pulsating and blinking a mocking rhythm. I decided to refresh Twitter a few times and that's where I saw, "Rest In Peace Isaac Hayes". And the bottom fell out. I have no real connection to Isaac Hayes. I always appreciated his smooth, deep, bald blackness. Found him hysterical as Chef on South Park. Found him confusing and mysterious when his Scientology connections were revealed. He was one of those celebrities that I just liked. I didn't need to know if he was a swinger or a homosexual or a doll collector. I just liked knowing that he existed and was responsible for the coolest song I ever heard age 8. He was the man for sure.

But as the hours went on and I read all the status and tweet updates sending a RIP to Bernie and then Isaac, I started to settle into a thing. Started thinking about these black men, fathers, grandfathers, husbands, sons, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins. I started to wonder about my boy and my boys and the men that I hold to my heart on a daily. Wondering how pneumonia turns deadly and why the treadmill was running at Isaac's house when he was found unconscious. I started to think about my own father. The man who only goes to the doctor when it hurts so bad that he can't go to work. But never listens when the doctor says, "rest a few days.". I think about my brothers and my brothas, who roll ankles and take blows to the head in the name of a pick up game of this or that but won't visit the doctor when there's a lump here or if the breathing is laboured.

I'm sure all men have their issues with doctors and the medical field. I'm sure all men have the "walk it off" attitude and keep it moving. But all men don't look like my sweet-faced brown boy. All men, don't hold my father's weathered hands. All men, don't swag and sway like my boys do. So this is a message for them and for you to give to the men in your life. We are dying. There is so much attacking bodies and spirits and brains, two seconds to get that tightness in your chest checked out. An hour to make sure that way your ankle pops is really okay. I know you don't want to know but think about your mama, your sister, you daughter, your son, your girl and how suddenly "It doesn't matter" turns into "If only we would have known sooner."

What's the point of spending all the time in the gym to look good in your extra medium t-shirt, if your heart can't take the walk out of the gym? Or if there's a thing that is growing and attacking your blood stream? Or if you love her so much that that thing affects her too?

And let's get real, some of you need to get some of the heavy life stuff off your chest. There's nothing weak about straightening out the way your brain functions. Nothing weak about making every aspect of your life stronger so you can be stronger for your children, for your wife, for your girl... So this isn't just about physicals. It's about being holistic.

This is a delicate time. This is a special time for us. There is a man that looks like you poised to become President. We can quibble about the logistics of that all day long. We can argue about what that means to the black community, let's talk about that in November. Right now, I need you around to see this. I need you around to grow with it. To talk about it. To feel the shift.  I need you around so that my sweet-faced brown baby boy and all my little nephews and nieces can look up and see what healthy and functional looks like. I want him to know that swagger ain't just about attitude, it's about health. It's about taking care of the people who love you by taking care of yourself. All of  yourself.

And I know I'm riffing and this has nothing to do with Bernie or Isaac. But it has everything to do with them as well. It's about love. It's about loving your life so much you'll do whatever it takes to keep living it. And living it well and whole and healthy and here.

For real.

Love someone and mean it,
B.

Currently listening : Hustle/Shake It Off Release date: 2006-06-20

8:10 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

WIP/Poem: One Good Reason To Stay
Current mood: bummed
Category: Writing and Poetry

One good reason to stay
A poem for Phyllis Hyman

They said you tried
Said you squeezed laughter from stone
Whenever you could
Hurdled yourself out of bed and fog
Long enough to send your songs across the night
They said you were a fighter
in these photographs you flash a black & white
Of doe eyed and regal crowned
No one can doubt your strength

They called you Pepper
Mistook your rage for something
Other than the pain it protected
They said it was the men that
left you small in king size
Empty of bed
Said it was the weight
And the wait
The freedom that life denied you
The drugs providing synthetic sex
They said the loneliness ate you
When no one heard --
You were a half breath of ache
Before the first note
The hurt that lingered like last call after the final curtain
When it was just you and you

aching to be rid of yourself
Begged sleeping backs
And closed doors for a good reason to stay
A reason to try
To push beyond the pain for one more day
Allow another bit of morning to stun
You into beauty
Maybe you would've remembered the
Music
Caught the chord that impressed even you
Wrapped that ego around your shoulders
Rise into your six feet and 4 inch heels
Breathe air and fire and stone
Phyllis, you were an impossible quest for calm
an unattainable tomorrow
That press and push of a yesterday that
Bound you

And we your lost daughters study your song
Search for meaning between each and every line
Anything to put a purpose to the hollow that throbs with us
Phyllis, we have so many questions…

Did you see God before you left?
Did she look like you?
All long limbed and full lipped
round faced and ethereal beauty
If you had?
would you have done it anyway?
refused your own reflection that last morning…
Or would you have sighed into recognition
Exhale a low, slow mournful blues
Into the heavens
Felt like this was where you needed to be

Was Lady there?
Did she welcome you as kindred
Or beg you to return
To tell your story to the new voices that would
Hold you as example
What would you say to Amy?
To Britney?
Was it you that saved Mary?
Whitney?
Can you save Lauryn?

We need a song, Phyllis
Something like you
A pretty stained glass held to catch the light
Something honest and real
We need a song, Phyllis
put a bit of beauty inside this shell we fling from pain to pain
Drenched in our own denial and hollow pillar
Each of us adding a lyric
Another reason to welcome morning
Despite the empty
Despite the lonely
The fatigue eating through our bones
We are all tired.
All feel on odd days that this heartbreak will be the one
We need a song
A poem to carve and crawl under
Something to see ourselves in
Something beautiful
Something fragile and fire
Something like you, Phyllis
A good enough reason to stay

Currently listening : The Legacy of Phyllis Hyman By Phyllis Hyman Release date: 1996-10-29

8:18 PM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

5/17/08: I AM SEAN BELL (please repost/correction)
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life

Family,
It's been a long time. The silence isn't due to a lack of activity, if anything, it's because there's been such a whirlwind that there is nothing and everything to talk about these days. My various projects have lead me a little further away from writing and performing. I've been trying to carve a path in this world not only for myself but for my baby boy.

It's been a confusing journey. On one hand, we have Sen. Barack Obama poised to become the change this world needs, a symbol of hope and possibility and signs of things to come. I watch him with pride and hold my son close able to tell him every single second of his life that the only thing separating his dreams from reality is his will and belief. I can look him in his big brown eyes and tell him that it is all possible and mean it. When I look at Elaiwe and watch him smile and dance and drum and he loves every beautiful part of himself, I know my only job in this world is to protect that and protect him. But I can not do it alone. Because on that other hand, we have the travesty and tragedy of Sean Bell. This young man, on the eve of his wedding, had his life tragically cut short by an organization that has the blood of many of our young men on their hands. The verdict of not guilty only poured salt, only added bruise, only encouraged this idea that there is something so inherently dangerous and threatening and subhuman about our men that only a hail of bullets can stop them. And nothing can convict those who "perceive a threat". It has happened too often in my lifetime. It has happened one time too many already in my son's short lifetime. Enough is enough. We must take responsibility for ourselves and our future and our families. There is a thin line between Sean Bell and Barrack Obama. My son is that line. Your sons, your brothers, your fathers your uncles, your cousins all exist within that line. The time is now to declare that we will not be devalued our lives will not be taken and then dismissed as worthless.

I've already written this poem. We've already heard these songs. These declarations. This outrage. This anger. It's time to do something. Any little bit of something that creates a ripple of change that can be felt from the way we perceive ourselves and treat each other to the way we resist and refuse any injustices that devalue our worth. It doesn't matter what the officers look like if the victims continue to hold brown faces. Enough is enough.

Attached is a project developed by Wildseed Productions. A short film entitled "I Am Sean Bell" will be shot on May 17th, 2008 in Brooklyn, New York. If you can attend please do, bring the babies. If you can't please donate. Contact Stacey Muhammad or myself with questions or comments or concerns.

I'm organizing an event in DC for later this month. Organize events in your community.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. - Edmund Burke (attributed)

Do something.
Love someone and mean it,
Bassey and Elaiwe Ikpi.



Friends:


The ENOUGH! Campaign™, an initiative developed by Wildseed Productions, is a collective of independent artists, activist, and organizations dedicated to the eradication of social injustice through artistic expression.

We create radical media of consequence that challenges each of us to take a stand for the transformation and liberation of the human spirit.


WE NEED YOUR PARTICIPATION TO HELP MAKE OUR FIRST PROJECT A SUCCESS:

I AM SEAN BELL!


The ENOUGH! Campaign is proud to announce the production of a short form documentary / Public Service Announcement in honor of our slain brother, SEAN BELL. This project will feature 50 African American males (ages 1 – adult) armed with the message, "I AM SEAN BELL".

DATE: Saturday, May 17, 2008


TIME: 2:00 – 7:00 PM

WHERE: Brooklyn , NY / Ft. Greene Area / Playground, Adelphi St. We will be sending additional information with exact location.

Who: Black Males Ages 1 – adult. Yes, we want the little ones, toddlers, elementary school aged, teenagers as well as adults to participate in this very important project.

Compensation: Catered Food, Face Painting, Games and activities for children, gift bags, credit for participation in film and copy of the film will be provided upon completion.


Help is needed in the following area:



Participants:


For those of you who have children, please consider bringing them out to participate in this project.

Although the focus of the project is African American boys, all children are encouraged to participate. There will be playground shots taken that will include children of all ages and backgrounds. Families are encouraged to come out with their children and enjoy the festivities for the day.


*all participants will be required to sign a release form, these forms must also be signed by a parent or guardian for those participants under the age of 18)


(contact us at 917-701-1042 or contact@enoughmovement.com

8:40 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Work in progress: Note to Self (My apologies to Taaj Freeman)
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Life

Note: The brilliant Taaj Freeman posted a list to herself reminding herself of her amazing (and yes, mama, you are.) And in my writer's block, I wanted to steal it and get some things out. But rather than making a list a free verse poem happened. But I still want to credit Taaj because it's for her and for me and for Tami and for Michele and for about a dozen other women in my life. I just wrote it like 5 minutes ago. We can save the editing critique for another time. I know it needs work but it was more important for it to happen than for it to be perfect. Dig? :)


There are no victims here
Only the remnants of a heart that
Opens with the persistence of
Butterfly wings

Survived ten pound tumors
Hospital beds
Psych ward
cheating
leaving
Knives to back
Front
Side
palms
The kind of sadness that would
Crumble stone into tears
Birthed bravery and life despite
Doctors and doubt

Baby girl,
A broken heart will not kill you

If you can still twist your hips
Into a candy ribbon of dance
You were never broken

Only rearranging your spirit
To make way for this new reality
Meditate yourself into a new way of
Breathing

If you can still laugh from a belly
Ripped apart and stitched together
Held by memory and faith
If you smiled at your reflection today
admired the perfect round and curve
Of bottom lip
Felt the brown and wet of eyes locked
Into a past you can not change
Weigh this against the bitter heart
The woman who laughs at his jokes
But doubts his embrace

A broken heart will not kill you

Mama, you will always be whispered about
Someone somewhere will try to pin the title
Fool on your lapel

Twist your mouth into the widest smile
Bless them with your amazing
Remember that your ability to love
The idiots who attempt to draw blood from you
Is only a reminder of their weaknesses
Enjoy how much they hate you
Love them until they choke on it

You are coated in glitter and firestone
No amount of revisionist history
Can change that
So let him believe himself immune to you
Sit back and laugh at the way the touch
Has turned him delusional with your
Jujugoddesssexmagic

see if he can really forget
your mouth
the space of wet and divine between your hips


No child, there were no victims here
his victory is empty
Her championship hollow
These attempts to break and dispose
Futile

they got to come harder than that
It will take more than just
The  dusty kisses of a brief love affair
To destroy the god in you

Wear it around your heart
like talisman
Like truth
Like the promise of better days wrapped
In a package that can handle your amazing

Fuck all the hyperbole
The lackluster simile
Know this
Own it
A broken heart will not kill you

Rest your understanding on that 

8:54 PM - 17 Comments - 32 Kudos - Add Comment

Brief Challenge: What are you doing with your extra 24 hours?
Current mood: excited
Category: Life

I should be packing. Let's just get that out of the way.  In a few hours, Boogie Boy and I will be on a plane to Connecticut. There are things to be said and done but the point of this is not that.

With apologies to Pastor Jamal Bryant who preached a sermon on this at New Year's Watch Night Service:
Today is leap day, it is the extra 24 hours the universe has granted you to do that thing you've spent the last 4 years avoiding or punishing yourself for or pushing aside or forgeting how to love and breathe and be and live. You get 24 hours to start over. 24 hours to start living. 24 hours to decide whether you will spend the next 4 years in the same way you spent the last or if you will create something new. So today, I challenge you to write the poem. I challenge you to write the letter. I challenge you to hug the stranger. I challenge you to tell the man, the woman, the child, the mother, the father, that you refuse to be hurt anymore. I challenge you to write yourself out of every hurt that you've allowed to define your everything. That youv'e allowed to excuse and berate and punish. I challenge you to forgive  yourself. I challenge you to forgive the man, the woman, the child, teh father, the mother.  I challenge you to do the thing you thought you couldn't do. Pretend these 24 hours exist as balm. These 24 hours exist as gift. These 24 hours exist as a new chance to love and breathe and be the person you know you are underneath the layers you've coated yourself with all these years. If it started in 2004, then change it in 2008.
I  know it sounds new agey and hokey but think about how powerful it can also be if you just do it. Take that class today. Do that job search. Start that book. Kiss him! Love you. Just fuckin' do it.
What the hell do you have to lose? Really?
Besides a random extra 24 hours you didnt' even ask for. Tomorrow, you can do the same thing youv'e been doing. I mean, really, March 1st comes around at least once a year ;). You can be ordinary and mundane and normal... tomorrow. Today, be something new. Start something new. Spend a day doing the impossible.

Love someone and mean it,
bassey.

Currently listening : True Magic By Mos Def Release date: 29 December, 2006

6:28 AM - 6 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

free write: A letter from Britney to the paparazzi
Current mood: distressed
Category: Life

Written this morning after seeing the pictures of her crying on a curb.


This is me broken
For months you've documented this spiral
Downward with flashbulbs and camera rolling
This is me broken
Same body you praised for hourglass
Now ridiculed as ticking time bomb
There will be no explosion
No million dollar video of rage and destruction
This is me broken
Soft disintegration of will and resolve
I am nothing but human
In this moment
Torn
In this moment
weak
In this moment
A girl who seeks ground soft enough
To sink into

This is me broken

If tears were found
Toxic enough to kill
I would gladly sell tickets
To my suicide

This is me broken
Crazy
insane
Scream it neon from headlines
Remove all empathy and compassion
From your tongue
Forget that I am maybe your daughter
Probably your sister
Often the you refused in the mirror
I am reflection of this need to build
And destroy

Maybe, when death comes
I will be remembered for
Something other than these moments
Origami folded into history
Beautiful and delicate
"Here lies Britney. She begged you to love her."

Maybe then there will be some remorse
Melted and honey sweet in your mouth
Sing me a praise song
The girl who needed love in life
Fashioned it out of outburst
And fishnets
Or maybe, remember me for the boys
The babies I'm in need of too much
Mothering to mother
Remember me more than dismissed trailer trash
Or spoiled child star
More than this cliché of poor little lost rich girl

I am a woman who bleeds so often
I've forgotten what healing feels like

this is me broken

So when the end comes
Barreling down on you like
Expectation and disappointment
Remember me beautiful
Change the epitaph let it read:

Here lies Britney…
you used to love her.

- Bassey Ikpi

Currently listening : Piece of Me By Britney Spears Release date: 07 January, 2008

6:46 AM - 14 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

When you think it helps...
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

There is something about her. This woman in the grocery store you've followed from produce to dairy aisle to cereal lane.   You want to hug her.  The part of you that still, at age 31, believes in magic and touch, hopes that she will turn to you suddenly and say, "I need a hug." And you will be there, thin shouldered, bow legged, orange suede pumas and the glasses held together by tape and faith that your son broke.  You just want to hug her. But can't figure out how to promise her that you are neither weirdo nor Jehovah's Witness, just a body who has eyed the Cap'n Crunch which the same suspicion.  A girl who has sighed heavily at the spinach wet and mocking with its freshness.   You want to tell her that you know this is not about the rising price of breakfast foods. It's about the  wallet that holds bills you don't have the yoga to stretch.  Or the overdraft fees that rain over you like a rusty faucet.  Maybe it's about the man. Maybe it's about the fact that he refuses to love you and you refuse to walk away because the staying means you're fighting for something, even if the staying means  you've forgotten how to fight for yourself.  Or maybe it's not about any of that. Maybe it's just because Wednesdays  are the most difficult days.  Not as easy to blame as Monday but holds nothing like the anticipation of Friday that is Thursday's lot in life.  You know  that this idea of nourishment confuses her. Convinces her that if she can not decide between high fiber and low sugar, how can she make any proper decision.  She wants to package herself small. You want to offer her a pathway that promises a smile every day. But you have only recently mapped that out for yourself. For now, you can only stand a few feet away, watching as a stream etches wet across her cheek. She wipes it away. Looks up and finds you watching her. You decide not to turn away. There is no shame in the tears. You offer her a small smile. Hope it says, "I've been there. I know there. Get the Cap'n Crunch it will help you feel a little better. Make any choice that keeps you from crumbling. Tell him you love him. If it makes you feel better. If it doesn't, then pretend he loves you and let him walk away. Either way, you must forgive him. Then forgive  yourself. Quit your job. But don't tell your boss. Just leave early. Come back in the morning if you need to. Write it down. Throw it away. Then write it again. Turn on the radio loud and then scream at the top of your lungs. Curse God. then apologize. Curse yourself.  Then apologize... but most importantly, find someone to hug you." But you say none of this or the thousands of other suggestions that race through your head. She stares at you a little longer. Offers you a faint smile in return. She picks up the Grape Nuts and holds them to her. You take your cart and your belief in magic, resist the urge to reach out. Just pass her and say, "When you get home, find someone who will hug you."  Don't bother to wait or look for her reaction just go to frozen foods like you planned before you saw her. When you get there, you should probably remind yourself that you are neither weirdo nor Jehovah's Witness. Then go back to the cereal aisle and get the Cap'n Crunch... it will make you feel better.

Currently listening : As I Am By Alicia Keys Release date: 13 November, 2007

11:25 PM - 17 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

Ramble: It May Not Come When You Want It
Current mood: enlightened
Category: Life

Anybody who keeps up with my status updates and blogs know that the last few days/weeks/months/year have been... challenging (to say the least).
I've been a mess of rising and falling and standing again, then rising and falling and laying myself down waiting for the vertigo to pass.
There have been glimmers and glitter strings of "This too shall pass". There's been a struggle of addict like behaviour to distract. And then something flashing saying, "How many times must the sunset before you accept that the day is over?" Yes, I quoted myself. Deal. I'm blind and brilliant sometimes.
And I remember that I have amazing friends. People whom I've never met that offer me stories of solidarity and comfort. Those who look at my inane ramblings as some sort of kindred writings. And at first, I'm ashamed to reveal these bruised and bumped parts of myself. Wish to pretend myself made less flighty and transparent; more rooted and brass breathed. But I am what I am. And if I didn't thank you for these bits of "me too" you pass on. Then I'm thanking you now. I have amazing people in my life. Folks who have seen me through years of change and staying the same. And still despite my obnoxious moodiness and because of this exposed, raw nerve of a heart, they hold me anyway. Lift me with every stumble and still have the nerve to turn to me to be strength for them. Moments when I can't even remember what my name is to help them define and access the beauty and the wonderful of theirs. And my circle is so lovely. So beautiful. So perfectly imperfect. So laughter and smiles and hugs and patience and gift and lovely and lovely and lovely and lovely. My mamas and their babies. My papas and their defining of men and masculinity in all these burgundy and rich ways. The ones that show my baby papa, E Boogie Baby Boy, that everywhere he looks there are shining examples of the man he will become. And my ability to attract you beautiful beautiful souls into my life has got to be a reflection on me (on my best days). At my worst, I am too busy picking the lint from my navel to notice but I'm noticing now. And I thank you for the time you spend kicking my ass to wake up and holding me to help me sleep.
The strangers and their gifts of freedom and faith. The family and their holding him through this first created year. I thought 2007 was difficult. I thought it was the year that everything changed. Then I sat to write about it and I realized that 2007 was difficult. It was the year that everything changed. And isn't that amazing. Isn't that wonderful? How blessed that I was able to love and lose and still love again and lose long enough to know that it didn't kill me the first time. And it won't kill me the next. And how wonderful is hope? How amazing is a life of possibility? How precious where those moments that I spent feeling loved and loving and laughing and living? How lucky was I?
And so what if life is different? So what if things have changed? Life is supposed to be different. I'm supposed to change. Bassey now can not be Bassey 2003. My needs have changed. My life has changed. And it is the most frightened and blessed I have ever been in my life. No amount of career moves and fleeting ill fashioned 'fame" can replace what I've learned and still learning these last 12 months. I am here. When worse has had me huddled mass on a hotel floor somewhere. And yes, I could do better and will. And yes, I could be better and will. But God damn, if I ain't something now. Seriously. have you seen me?
No. Really? Gorgeous;).
I thought leaving Brooklyn would signify that a part of me had died and taken my will with me. And it slowed me so far down that I forgot I was moving. But tonight, as I sit here trying to convince the universe that I'm still here, I was rewarded with the outpouring of, "You realize that this happened this year and so did this and remember this?" So the negative seems loud and unwavering and easy to locate because it seems to receive all the attention lately but the positive, the people, the faith that was instilled in me when I had nothing to show for it but my word. My GOD! I carried a 5 lb baby and 10lb mass in my womb at the same time. With both delivered safely and with nothing but a long scar running down my belly. What? You can't tell me nothing about survival and resilience and strength and life. My baby boy lived huddled in the corner of that and I have the nerve to not be thrilled every day of my life? No wonder this boy can't stop dancing. He's got the room now! Who am I to be anything but grateful and blessed? Who am I to look God in the face every day and not smile back and dance with him? I have the nerve to battle low self esteem and feelings of inadequacy Inadequate for whom? . I must be pretty damn arrogant to think my reflection isn't good enough. For what? Again...
Have you seen me?

And yes, there are tears. This constant struggle to keep these synapses firing. Depression is real and it is ugly and Last night was a river of insomnia and weeping and this morning was a bath of frustration and self-pity. But tonight, is a celebration of what will be and the means that it will take to get there. So if it means, I'll be making you a latte at Starbucks, instead of reading you a poem then that's what it means. But it's not about what I do for a living. It's about what I do to keep living. And I am about the business of living right now.

But seriously, this is an open letter to the universe. A thank you for the everything that was 2007. For the hearts that touched mine, regardless of how briefly. For the hearts that touched mine and became permanent ink. I want to name names so badly but we could be here all year. And this is already painfully long. So if you've made it to the end. Then thank you for being with me.

I have so much in store for you and myself this next year. It's just a matter of getting there. And we will get there. We have no choice.

I love you and wish you so much everything and more this new year.


Right on time.

In love,
Bassey Ikpi.

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