I have a special relationship with Pusak, pusaq-ñiqin
Pheucticus chrysogaster vuelan por la cascada Peguche. It’s one of my favorite places of la sierra ecuatorial. Of all the music in my life right now, I was particularly enamored of a new flirty bird’s chirp. Mostly because of their commitment. For eight days, they’ve been punctual and the song is quite similar but I hear different moods. I wonder if they perch on the same twig or tree each alba. I know I hear them each day along with 4-6 other choir members but I haven’t noticed place. Perhaps, I behave similarly to all of them. Today I’m all about the psychedelic. So, today a cardinal befriended me. I love their song and I think we were trying to sing along to La Yegros.
I may have been fond of cussing early in life due to my abuela’s influence. This is significant in my life’s trajectory because a traumatic moment in my life was being punished in school for calling a bitch a “bitch.” We used all kinds of cuss words on the courts or the fields; at recess me and Liza memorized all our favorite raps (in those days by rewinding tapes back and forth for hours). What made this event different? Blonde blue-eyed rich girl, Erin “told on me.” What is it with narcs? That’s, for me, such a White issue. I’m NOT trying to be politically correct right now. Fuck that. It’s definitely some weirdass colonial shit. I wonder if any of our languages had grossass words like schadenfreude on our tongues.
Not gonna say more about Erin. I was the first girl to get detention for cussing. I may have been the only person ever in that fuckin school to get detention for saying bitch. Bitch bitchidy BIOTCH!!
That bitch is a cop now. #acab
I mean not really but #sorrynotsorry yeah
At that same school I learned to hate myself. It all started with my name. Forget that my given name is five syllables, A-L-B-A is actually difficult for many people to pronounce. It’s revolting.
So, I got the question from one of my teachers in my first memories of elementary school. I have tried erasing my name for so many years. First with Dawn Elizabeth Ocean. Sounds like an old white lady. Then I tried Sunrise theSea. That one is aethetically pleasing to me so it took the longest to quit. I love the stories of my names, our names, how we mean to each other and our place on Pachamama. Why must I call myself something else for them?
Today I decided that people who don’t give a shit about my work
I don’t give a shit about them
Well, yes. Yall knew this. But I’ve gotten so often in my life folxs who are “down for the struggle” but only insofar (is that a word) as interests converge. It’s nauseating.
I want to create
Black and Indigenous Artivist Spaces
here there everywhere!
Ahora cantan conmigo otra vez.
IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO COLLABORATE, PLEASE CONTACT ME.
I like how and why and how come and what else questions. Should I put it on my dating profiles? I don’t have the energy to date anymore. I think that’s what this time is telling me. But really I just need to be with someone who works as hard as I do at not just themselves or the relationship but all aspects of life. I ask for the impossible. Uggh, I hate when people say that. I don’t bend on my politics. Even if there are shifts in thinking, I don’t run backwards (except maybe in relationships).
fuck my subconscious
I should eat something now
People that give a shit about the same shit I give a shit about exist. They are everywhere. Okay. Now one has to come find me and make me feel like I hope this jam is gonna last…
We’re jammin’, we’re jammin’ And we’re jammin’ right straight from yard
The Offspring was a big part of my life for a long time. There music is smart, I always thought. I remember when our parents let us play Bad Habit on the last day of A.S.S. (literally their acronym). This song, in particular, taught me about grief. Just two years after one of the most traumatizing experiences in my life. Just as I was in an experience I did not know would cause traumas… when I learned that only our names came from Spain.
“This would be an appropriate time to close Rikers now. YES!! We wanted this yesterday, now here is the opportunity, NYC!!
2.3 million people deserve transformative justice
“Quality of life” policing?
The Corona is a virus that is compounded by Capitalism… (I misquoted this)
we adapt by using all modes of communication… on our windows…. we can hold a Zoom call with tens of thousands of people like we are doing right now.”
We need a multi-cultural coalition
We must reach for each other
These conversations need to keep happening again and again
I immediately adapt to natural life. Eastern Towhees join the Alba/Dawn Chorus here every morning… y me llaman papi 😉
There are memories I have that I cannot shake.
this is T-R-A-U-M-A
In one memory I sent a heartfelt email to a professor who, in turn, ghosted me. They were nasty to me the whole semester as though I had done them wrong. YOU GOT BEEF? I DO NOT EVEN KNOW YOU, BITCH!! #haterzgonnahate. That same professor was the asshole who told me all the Ecuadorians they know “identified as White.” That was one of the most ignorant and unprofessional things I’ve heard a person utter. With everything that their fuckin PhD is supposed to be about – the complicated mess that is colonialism – this dumbFUCK (and I’ll tell it to their face) decides that they know enough of “my people” to tell me that I am neither Afro-decedent or Indigenous. How many Manabas do you know? Oh you happen to know a few Ecuas from your childhood? STFU. Ooooh that felt just as gross as being called a beaner or spic or the ‘n’ word. I was so close to them when they spoke these words that I was tempted to just uppercut their mouth to shut it. You wanna see ratchet Brooklyn come out? Try me.
That same professor was “sick” at some point (they made it a point to tell us how tough they were about lateness and grading for a week or two until the prized brown nosers missed days and then I said fuck it and landed myself in the hospital – i’m annoyed at myself for being courteous to them – cause I DO NOT OWE YOU A GODDAMN THING. So, they sent their spouse to play for us a documentary about my childhood neighborhood, which supposedly was the prof’s too. I rose my hand in tears to express gratitude and praise, feeling happiness…. that cold fucker just looked at me, said nothing at all for a moment and then asked if “anyone else has something to say.” I did not even want “a thank you” or “appreciate that”…. claro que me pica! Your fuckin tool of a spouse also just takes your chismes and applies them to people he doesn’t know shit about?
I remind myself constantly to not be a cold, asshole professor like these “young scholars” (my fuckin age) who behave this way. How is it you treat a student like this?
Despicable.. YALL IS GROSS. Nasty. I hope for no students ever feel like yall made me feel.
All of this:
Throughout this article, you’ll read the occasional “goddamn” and “fuck you” and other choice cuss words. They’re not always meant to shock, but to make a point, or because I’m angry, or to keep you awake.Profanity is subjective, anyways. What’s profane to me is not someone who says “fuck.” What’s profane to me is what happened to the people trapped in the World Trade Center on 9/11. What’s profane to me is big business CEOs makin’ millions of dollars in salary perks while their minimum-wage workers is livin’ off food stamps. What’s profane to me is all the racist, sexist, legislative bullshit happenin’ in states like Arizona, North Carolina, and Texas. Profanity, to me, is not what someone says. Profanity is what people do to each other that hurts or kills. I really doubt that me sayin’ one “goddamn” is as profane or offensive as the thousands if not millions of folks in Africa dyin’ from AIDS right now. So, keep my cussin’ in perspective, OK? If you got problems with my profane voice, then fuck you—go read somethin’ else. Let the people with balls on ’em keep readin’.(Granted, “fuck you” is not the most sophisticated of retorts, but when it’s said by me, at least you know it’s heartfelt and sincere (Saldaña, 977).
Current Mood: La Peste x Camus read by my papi send via WhatsApp
NYC asked us to self-isolate for 14 days. One week down. One week to go.
My day began uneasy because I awoke with a headache. Ooof, everything is scary nowadays. Our family’s WhatsApps haven’t changed much during this time – I prefer messaging with memes, links etc and voice memos (we all kinda do some form of this mostly daily) > phone calls or live video calls. But I love seeing our kids in real time. Now I see them more cos school’s out. Our Sebastian is cute as ever – I love his bilingualisms and silly personality already. After our chat, my morning continued thru listening to a message my father sent a couple days ago. He read a few minutes of La Peste en su Español. I realized I had a little bit of water left in my last gallon so instead of doing a morning run or something fitness-y I went to Walmart (I also needed to get panties as I’m all out). I was kinda ashamed but grateful, as mami says, I live on this land and have so much more than I ever need – like a corporation open during a pandemic. Guilt free now.
Then I did Twitter and other social media for most of the day….
I looked up my birth chart because there are a lot of astrology popping up and I’m just going with it. Air that I am, afterall. So Chani Nichols explained that I am: Born under this phase, you must learn how to follow and honor your impulses, instincts, and intuition. You will need to set out on a new path for yourself and will generally have the energy, desire, and drive to do so.
GENERALLY. I’m so uninspired lately. Motivation is increasing with these Haymarket, Verso, People’s Forum etc talks. I’m hopeful it will only expand. I made some earrings today. I’d forgotten to celebrate renewal. 21 March is Mushuk Nina – casi me olvido
Ten years ago I learned that Carlos took his life. I still do not fully understand processing grief and trauma-informed practices though I’ve been trying to read and learn from art, music, movements, articles, books, workshops and talks etc for the past few years. Carlos and I shared few moments, few memories that I now have. I wanna share the funniest one:
My hook up ran late. I told them upon arrival that we had less than 30 minutes because I had class and that this particular day was important because I had some sort of presentation. I said I had just showered and done my hair so I could not be touched above my shoulders. We were tidy. Until we were not. At the important part of the story, my lover had me picked up against the wall for a moment before suddenly falling over. Motherfuckin motionless!! MOTIONLESS. I told them I had been gaining weight like crazy. “I’m too heavy,” I said. I swear I protested. I mean, yeah, I protested gently.
By the time I started freaking out about what to do about the situation – the motionless body on my living room floor – I look at the clock. FUCK ME. I slapped, sprinkled water, nudged… until I got my keys and jangled them over their face: *gasp
As I began the, “I told you so’s” that I was “too fat” to pick up, baffled, they point to the window half-shouting: “Why is it so HOT in here, Jesus?”
Footnote: Oh yeah. My heater was on even on some hot days – like on this unfortunate summer day. In my Harlem apartment 2009-2011 I had no control over some things. The heater, for example, was on full blast at, like, 90° literally 24/7 for a few months of the year. There was broken shit and steam LITERALLY just spewed out of random spots of the pipes – I probably can find some burn marks from those days. I swear it was so worth it – teaching full time, taking on part times, master’s full time and paying $1k for that apartment. Harlem and I have such a tumultuous love affair…
We cleaned up and I push my lover out of my home. I yelled about the giz in my hair for like half a block. Ratchet af, yes, I know this.
Dear Carlos, That look that we gave each other as I entered class abruptly (to me). No one else noticed. Our eyes met and we lost it. Y cuando nos reímos a carcajadas – tu a tu manera tan pero recontra Dominicano… in the middle of whatever “Pedagogical Theory 101” class… Que dulce! What a great fuckin moment to share!!
I miss even the tiny moments we had even though they are few. This sounds apologetic because I’ve been conditioned to be less empathic, to use only logic when exposing what’s going on in me. I also only very recently learned the word trauma, though I’ve been fighting for that shit in schools since I met you. Another memory I have of you is when a lot of us were all excessed and looking for work was a pain in the ass. Obama had just bailed out banks and left us poor af people even more poor af – You me and Luis were up for the same position at that Yankee Stadium school. I was so proud of you for getting the job. Then, entre our bilingual plática, I was so sad and angered to learn how they treated you and the students. I’m sad that school, like so many in NYC, was devastated by divestment in our People of Color communities. Then the way they informed the community about your death was devastating at a new level. I was crushed. We were crushed by your passing. I still feel pain today. Yes, tu sabes, the pain is linked to how I’m still being treated in educational intitutions.
Ay, Carlos. Fuck this Corona y tomamos unas juntes some day. I wish you and your family much love and wellness ❤
Abrazos, compa 🙂
Ayanna’s got me thinking about
safe spaces to grieve…
Grief is real and deserves space
supress with positive things
Thriving does not exclude very real spritual, socioemotional, psychological and physical pain.
15:50 alarm for writing group #1
16:58 I am not writing as I “should be.” Instead, on Twitter, I’m on this:
A 17 year old was denied medical attention because of no insurance and a 65-year-old, Rushia Johnson Stephens, a former DeKalb County music teacher, was denied medical attention because she was turned away from doctors.
Sí, pero sigue allí, dicen la abuelas Alina y Asturia
The serenade emerged from the west in through my window just before alba. Fractions of beaming light in seconds were followed by fractals of cacophonous shades of grey as electrostatic discharge while electrically charged regions in the atmosphere temporarily equalized themselves, causing the instantaneous release of up to one gigajoule of energy; this preceded the sounds of the expansion of rapidly heated air.
Pachamama dice stay the fuck home right now.
Father blessed them all with reason And this is what they chose
So, I did my best and just ventured around a ~20 minutes perimeter. I’ve now done my adventuring for the day before 10am.
dormire, mangiare, cagare…
A lotta academics are learning and appropriating our epistemologies and ontologies (but only in theory). Yall just learned the Western Binary Paradigm – the bullshit we been fighting for generations? Can that learning catch up to lived-experience?
YALL AIN’T INVESTED
You see no in/vest-ments, no profit, no benefits
you become us
sell that #TraumaPorn
you still cater to the cis het White toxic male gaze
Anticolonial practices begin with community. Anticapitalist actions interrupt colonial structures. “People over profit” is my ontological and pedagogical philosophy of life and I strive for this to be clear in the ways that I relate to people and my place in this world. I am not going to keep pointing at my African descendancy nor my Indigenousness (or my Queerness or 1st gen or (dis)abilities or any of that bullshit that’s “in” 2020) because it’s starting to feel to me like the ways White Pretendians are the loudest and take up waaaay too much (digital and analog) space. So fuck that noise.
You listen to the tales and romanticize How you‘d follow the path of the hero Boast about the day when the rivers overrun How you rise to the height of your halo Listen to the tales as you all rationalize Your way into the arms of a savior Feigning all the trials and the tribulations None of you have actually been there Not like me
vicariously, YOU live while the whole world dies you all need it too, don’t lie
Great gusts of winds move me now
The dancing trees, between the shades of reds, pinks and orange, keep me smiling
Imma try to learn about hair some more (I love hair curriculum building) with Self Made: Madam C.J. Walker instead of getting pissed at my writing today.
Mentira la tristeza Cuando empieza Mentira no se vaMentira, Mentira La MentiraMentira no se borra Mentira no se olvida Mentira, la mentira Mentira cuando llega
I smoke two joints in time of peace And two in time of war I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints, And then I smoke two more
“During dinner, after we considered our blessings and gave thanks to our mami, , for the nourishment she provided, sometimes we would join hands and sing the intro [to] La Muralla (1969) by Chilean group, Quilapayún: Para hacer esta muralla, Tráiganme todas las manos Los negros, sus manos negras Los blancos, sus blancas manos…” (Lamar & Guzmán, 2019, p. 99).
I love waking up to el alba entrando por la ventana abrazandome. I live a privileged life. Let me explain today backwards:
I drove down curly, at-times poory paved roads (that lead off cliffs), around bears, turkeys, and people wandering in groups (who prob didn’t get the #staythefuckHomememo like me 😉 ) nearly 30mins to apologize for being a jerk and overpay for the pocket knife gifted to me.
Before that, I watched the latest “Superstore” as I smoked and ate grilled asparagus, onions, almonds beets, and garlic octopus, with my special mashed potato. A can of guanabana nectar accompanied my brunner (desalmena?) and for dessert, I had today-made mora jam on toast.
Before that, I found the first pocket knife with the cheese.
Before that, I considered that it is MIRACULOUS that I am alive. Most of my family reminds me of this. My relationships have not changed due to el Covid19. You in my life? You all in my life already. I feel equipped with my physical and mental abilities but then again sometimes when I get in my impulsive modes, I just let the wind blow. soy aire sobre el mar
tranqui Yo perreo sola
Before that, I saw how Tennessee is vigilant. But of course. The virus. Lest we forget…. damn but I drove way out here to be fuckin harmonious. What a fuckin asshole I am sometimes. I’m wearing gloves, a mask, I work from home already anyway (I make garbage money but I survive), my family and community got my back…. so I decide to park at another “illegal” spot (every goddamn entrance into the Great Smokies is blocked. I know this but I’m annoying stubborn). I stop at water thinking of the time I did Black Water rafting within Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia in 2014. A few pictures was not enough – I am my papi’s daughter; we take a shitton of photos with every medium we have (I have over a dozen cameras and still have undeveloped Black and Whites in my luggage). I fuckin decide to get closer to the rocky waters and drop my keys! Pero, coño! This is some Stephen King’s IT story right here, WHAT THE FUCK?! How fuckin scary. I could try to enter the cement tube by half stepping onto the rocks (about 6′ down), which do not look safe at all. I’m 100% alone in this moment. I do not know if my $3 thrift store boots have enough grip to even stand unpushed by the racing water. Am I strong enough? Am I flexible enough to even maneuver into the cement cylinder? Can I reach the keys? where the fuck are my spare keys? Do I fuckin fit? I’m in the 160s! By the time cops showed up (2 in an SUV each) to examine my car… as they got closer, speaking into their wahtevershoulderwalkies as they looked at my tag, I shouted towards them for help. I did not need their help but for damn sure didn’t want them near my reekin car… by the time they asked themselves if there was a hanger, perhaps, in their cars or something similar to help. I ran back and got on my knees and used a twig to fetch my keys. Not lying – totally scary that my pocket knife was blade-out and the (yt) cops were hovering over me. I looked at their guns and grabbed the wet keys-blade-toolset quickly so they’d look away. The thought that they could make it look like a scuffle and dump my brown body right there without any fuss in town was center in my mind for a bit.
What the actual fuck if I didn’t grab my keys?!
Just before this, I drove back to the gas station (the charge on my card did not read “BP”) to see if I dropped or left the knife I just bought there. The kindest folxs did not holler or nothin. The one person said, “remember I told you about the person who bought like 60$ worth of stuff and got the knife?” I tried not to make any claims in my mind about how they said this…. The “owner” or “manager” (perhaps?) listened for a minute and then said well, we can give you another one since you really need one.
Before that, I showered and did some groceries (spent way too much) and made some mora (my fav fruit) jam.
Before that, I stopped to jump a fence to see some more of Pachamama near an abandoned jail, apts, whoknows.
I feel so very grateful for my life. I am willing and able to feel full of life. These magical moments sing to me.
“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written.” (Sacks)
Before that, I left my temp home, contemplating how dangerous just moving around and through these mountains can be – very steep, narrow turns, hidden cliffs, fallen rocks, fallen tree trunks, all the wilderness that stands to drop me if I make the wrong or abrupt turn.
Before that, I traveled aimlessly looking for a spot that wasn’t blocked so I could leave my car and explore.
Before that, I drove through town blaring Bad Bunny and stopped at a gas station to see if they had any kind of weapons… mostly just wanted a big knife. I knew the beige one was more discreet but the person suggested the red and I liked the black blade. I thought back to a bamboo forest rock climbing camping trip I took with some French folxs a few hours from Shanghai back in 2013 in which I used a small similar blade to help make a bonfire dinner.
Antes tú me picheabas Ahora yo picheo Antes tú no querías Ahora yo no quiero (pero pero, no)
Before that, my ICAN sent me the new Bad Bunny and it totally set the mood for my life right now. I do well alone. it gets lonely and for sure I miss physical affection – truly want a tender partner someday…. but I am a rock, I am an island…. I sometimes feel guilty but songs like Yo Perreo Sola remind me that my arts/ivism often become gifts to my loved ones so if they just let me push them away for a bit, we all win in the end. So, I did not even want to waste time Googling: “Are toys safe from la Corona?” Bad Bunny dice lo que pienso con movimiento sucio como me gusta a mi. The song turns me on deliciously! I had to act! On this life trajectory I’ve traveled from te crees hombre to pareces pata to tomboy to androgynous to Paranoid Android to gender bender to gender fluid… whatever yall wanna call it. I was in my zone today.
Before all this I was revising – I HAVE BEEN REVISING MY DISS PROPOSAL FOR 2 YEARS NOW (I dare you to talk to me about equity):
“Growing up I often saw los mayores singing or reading to our plants as they watered or fertilized them. They’ve taught me songs, chants, stories and rituals for mourning plants when they don’t blossom or if they die. Our mayores explain that all living beings are sentient and that life flourishes best through being fed Pachamama’s fruits and the stories and songs she gives us. These are the saberes passed down from our ancestors. We believe that art in various forms adds extra sustenance to the natural development of living sentient beings. These worldviews of my Afro Indigenous family first helped me conceptualize thriving.
Western science is catching up to the knowledges shared by my ancestors. Across many disciplines, there is now empirical data that shows how oral communication between living beings inspires extraordinary growth in a multitude of ways. Research by the Royal Horticultural Society (2019) concluded that talking to plants encourages faster and successful growth (Richard Alleyne, 2009). Medical researchers (East et al., 2010) have shown how reflecting on storytelling may develop resilience in people. Specifically, music has shown to have a positive impact on the physical and physiological conditions of living organisms (Ramekar, et al., 2016). Beethoven’s (1801) “Moonlight Sonata,” in one study, was played to rice plants and proved to support quicker growth in rice plants and they blossomed to bloom earlier (Lee et al., 2008). Similarly, a curious study by the Bern University of the Arts (2018) in Switzerland hypothesized that exposing semi-hard cheeses to different types of music during the maturing process would cause different sensory properties to develop in the cheeses. Balibouse and Mantovani (2019) of Huff Post reported that in the fall of 2018, Beat Wampfler, a longtime cheese enthusiast, worked with researchers to create an experiment titled “Cheese in Surround Sound;” nine 22-pound wheels of “Emmental cheese” were assorted in nine separate wooden crates and were played various types of sound waves and songs, including Vril’s “UV,” Mozart’s “The Magic Flute,” Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” and “Jazz (We’ve Got)” from Hip-Hop legend A Tribe Called Quest, measured against a control cheese wheel which was not played music. Swiss chefs, politicians, and artists in the study concurred that the cheeses which “listened” to Hip Hop were sweeter than other control cheese and other semi-hard cheeses, which were exposed to different types of music and were tested in terms of their sensory properties (Balibouse & Mantovani, 2018). Is human vitality, like cheese, not just in need of art, but transformed by what is related through song and story? The late neurologist Oliver Sacks (2008) explained:
Music brings us together in song and dance, in ritual and play. It inspires and consoles us. It is a way to pass down traditions from generation to generation … Humans are uniquely able to produce and enjoy music—very few other animals can do so. But not only is music one of the fundamental ways we bond with each other, it literally shapes our brains (retrieved from https://www.oprah.com/omagazine/).
His research showed the positive effects of musical therapy on people with aphasia, Parkinson’s disease, Tourette’s syndrome, Alzhemer’s and other dementias (Sacks, 2007). The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (2019) published research that provided evidence that music enhanced connectivity (implicated in sensory and higher-order cognitive functions) in some altered parts of preterm infant brains (Lordier et al., p. 12103). Another study showed how music instruction gives consistent benefits for spatiotemporal reasoning skills in youth (Črnčec, et al., 2006). While music has been studied extensively to determine its impact on the growth of living organisms, my dissertation seeks to explore whether storytelling with another art form – tattoos – affects youth in similarly positive ways.”
Transformation sponsored by #wasipisakiri #nopagodeudaexterna #solidaridad day 3 or 6 #whoknows. The last time I touched a stranger/person was March 19… yadayada. Who knows how this shit spreads? From Canarsie lands through Osage, Calucuas and Monacan lands and now seven days on ᎠᎳᎫᏪᏘᏱ Tsalaguwetiyi lands. Today I felt much strength and hope in #Seeding #notCeding It’s that #toquedequeda lyfe. I have not left the condo all day. I did a 9am CITE writing group then a CLS writing at 16:00. I had just coffee before noon. For brunch I had melted cheese on black beans and beef hot dogs over cut up blue tosted tortillas with jugo de guava. Then beets, almonds, a NutriGrain bar and some Nutella and coconut water for a snack. Spicy popcorn with melted cheese and tea for dinner. I am going to eat everything I have before shopping again. I will go out and do some walking in the sunlight tomorrow.
Les Andrades me hablaron, renegaron, se metieron al chismear…
“cuidado con los… OJO al…!!”
The Manabas keep reiterating that time is not linear. I am not a linear thinker and I am pushed to function in this temporal spatial dimension with a lot of linear thinkers, actors. No importa na’a eso. Pay attention to los sueños. Was it extraordinary that the 2013 Ecuadorian drama film directed by Tito Molina se llama Silencio en la tierra de los sueños?
Hazle caso a tu madre.
Here, now venturing through Manahoac lands
La hora sonó, la hora sonó…
My Mentor Mark messaged months ago affirming, encouraging this voyage. He didn’t quite give the devil horns hand up but that’s how the text felt.
Two fun-seeming black bears greeted me on ᎠᎳᎫᏪᏘᏱ Tsalaguwetiyi lands today
The omen is good.
I am here for 7 days and 7 nights.
My impulses still lead me to fantastic adventures, puzzles, ideas, into love and through solidarity.
What a glorius day!! I don’t know wtf is happening to this blog and why it’s all confusing now. Today was a great day and I am happy to be in the mountains for a week and that’s all I need to say for now.. Tomorrow some solo explorations.
Nearby is a “War Memorial Park,” Martinsburg, WV 25401
I’m in a tin-roofed attic with 2 guitars and 2 bass guitars, 2 twin-sized beds, a small tv, microwave and mini-fridge. I have about 2 more servings of cooked rice and a small portion of opened tuna fish, I have 1 more can of tuna, a can of octopus, 1 bag of platain chips, 1 bag of granola, 1 jar and 1 bag of almonds, 1 can of beets, 1 can black beans, half a loaf of sliced bread, 5 water bottles, 2 coconut waters, 1 jugo de tamarindo, 1 de guava, 8oz of cheese, corn tortillas, instant coffee (and Airbnb coffee and caffeine pills and energy packets), Platinum Cake, Sour Diesel, Birthday Kush, 4 kinds of edibles, shrooms, two small suitcases of clothes, books and random shit, my ukulele, and lots of art from my trips to Ecuador (2017), Cuba (2017), South Africa (2019), Belgium (2019), Holland (2020) and Germany (2019-2020).
The past 5 years have been unbelievable, it’s not regret that I feel
it’s almost just naïvete – was I that oblivious before?
Did I know that humans were capable of such deceit, betrayal?
So able and willing to hurt?
How did I become entangled in such gross messes?
Do I say and do vile things?
…hoping wishing waiting for some humanity, some tenderness, an investment in actual nourishment, in all of our thriving….
How the fuck am I here right now?
The last 4 years have felt like drowning. I was constantly catching my breath with lungs full of fire. So much confusion without oxygen. Throw me back in the water now, please? I will not climb that apple tree as a fish.
I will not be sad if apples stop growing here
Trauma is incredible. As the disentanglement happens
I had to turn my back on what got you paid
The end is the beginning is the end
then the curls begin again
In solidarity with you
You, my friend
the things I want to say are washed away
this time is here, I must speak up
use the right words that make sense to someone else
La mar estaba sereno
The sea sorts through incomprehensible knots
me vs me struggles
Was life never easy or do we make it hard for ourselves?
Though I am in a constant state of full contemplation, there is something about the spring that is unique. I began trying to document the patterns of my oxytocin and pheromones for some time – it’s blogged about somewhere. This Spring is – of course – much more different than ever before. I have been self-isolating for most of 2018 – 2020. It is eerie that now it is state-mandated or authority-imposed. We all have a slight quiver in our voices. What a great idea to connect with mi gente today, when I began feeling weak again.
“Each generation must discover its mission, fulfill it or betray it, in relative opacity.” -Fanon
Lewis Gordon notes, “for Fanon, legitimacy is not a matter of offering proof of racial or cultural authenticity; rather, it emerges ‘from active engagement in struggles for social transformation and building institutions and ideas that nourish and liberate the formerly colonized’.”
Praxis does not function under neoliberalism, White supremacy delusions, capitalism, or any colonial structures, institutions…..