"Your Mouth" :Delmira Augustini (Happy Women's Month)

I was at my divine labor, upon the rock
Swelling with Pride. From a distance,
At dawn, some right petal came to me,
Some kiss in the night. Upon the rock,
Tenacious a madwoman, I clung to my work.
When your voice, like a sacred bell,
A celestial note with a human tremor,
Stretched it's golden lasso from the edge of your mouth;
Marvelous nest of vertigo, your mouth!
Two rose petals fastened to an abyss!
Labor, labor of glory, painful and frivolous;
Fabric where my spirt went weaving herself!
You come to the arrogant head of the rock,
And I fall, without end, into the bloody abyss!

Scandalous. I learnt this poem today. It's nice to know that even in the eighteenth century a woman, was still a woman.

My Body (Peter Alsop)

I saw this video when I was around 9 years old and sang the my body song for the rest of the year. Actually I saw the british tv special version of this but I can't find it anywhere. If anyone finds it let me know.

Happy New Year-Year of the Ox

Random Pieces: Zithuwa Hymns to gods.

I was walking home today thinking about the Harvest poem I read recently. This poem was taken from the Quipu (Inca knots used as written records). The question of the day is what is primitive really? I'm walking home listen to Nina Simone sing "My Sweet Lord" and thinking about the Incas singing there harvest prayer(poem) or the christian grace before meals prayer(poem). I'm looking at graffiti scribbled on electric boxes, poles, walls and garage doors and thinking about the incas and their wall art. I'm thinking about the Incas, the Caribs and other Natives. Just thinking: What is primitive? Who decides?

Harvest (1575)
Viracocha, ancient Viracocha,
skilled creator,
who makes and establishes
Below on earth
may they eat,
may they drink,
you say.
For those you set in place,
those you made,
may food be plentiful.
May there be
potatoes, maize,
all kinds of food,
you say, who command and increase.
They shall not suffer,
and not suffer, do your will.
May there be no frost, no hail.
Keep them in peace.


Grace Before Meals
"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

Not much to say: In the City

I really missed the city. The architecture for a city girl is like trees. The train lines and roads are my rivers. I even miss the annoying tourist that don't realize that people live here and take pictures in the middle of sidewalks. I really miss the city. Everything filled with my past. Everything is a key to a memory. I miss walking, riding, rollerblading to the lake. I miss Marshall Fields and Carsons and the old ice rink that became gallery 37 in the summer. Addresses change but the city remains the same. Stores change but the city remains the same. The master key to my memories. Standing on the school bus dressed in my Sunday best. Freshly permed hair flying in the wind. Alma mater dear old .............. I really miss the city. New Years day and the place is deserted all the stores closed except for Mac Donalds. I was there once on the second day in the city in the country. I remember how foreign everything felt. Strange and large. Taking the train to Harold Washington Library for science fair to science fair to history fair for research. Wanna a ticket? Half price. Plenty tickets to the "Taste of the City" being hustled along Jackson and Michigan. I can see my friend's building. I can see my friends building. Having a picnic by the Field Museum with my dog and my father in the Carib shirt and my mother in denim and my brother with his permanent smile. Erykah badu and India Arie in Grand Park. Gospel Fest, Jazz Fest, Latino Fest, Fest, Fest .... and more fest. Free Museum Tuesdays..... That lady does the best eyebrow at the best price in the city. The same ole bum on the same ole street in the city. Home is where your heart is.

Dream-Rebirth

(play this while you read)

I had a recurring dream last night. There's a party close to a sea. Everyone who's at the party came not knowing if their going to live or die. The atmosphere is friendly and optimistic. The party is never completely the same, something small might change that changes the dream a little. There's a small row boat on the water and during the party a few people will get in the boat and the boat will float out to water for a while and then rise. The boat and the people rise above the clouds and it's almost as though they meet god. Then the boat descends again but sometimes not all the people are on the boat. The people who aren't on the boat are left floating to the shoreline lifeless with their arms and legs spread out in surrender and their faces in the water. I normally get on the boat sometime during the party and always descend on the boat. Last night I did not descend with everyone else on the boat but found myself face first floating in the water. My husband fetched me out of the water and carried my lifeless body back to the next boat going out to water. He gets in the boat with me and we drift and then rise. I never dreamt it but I felt like he must have plead my case because when the boat descends again I'm on it and I'm alive again. We go home and there are people following us. Four men dressed in white. We get into the house (I guess in the dream I have a house) and my husband peeks out the window at the men. My husband then says to me,"their watching us," and my dream switches. I'm walking in a park (this also reoccurs). At intersections in the park are women dressed as butterflies (black, red and yellow butterflies). Not butterfly wings but actual butterfly costumes covering their arms and legs with only their head exposed. They pass out fliers that say something about a butterfly experience. It's supposed to be something like the boat experience. Then I image myself getting ready for the butterfly experience and I wake up.

New: I never had my husband in these recurring dreams before and I have never not descended with the boat.

Strange Fruit

It is said that Billie Holiday wrote this song after she saw a man strung from a tree in the South. This is Art.