She does it again. A vocal masterclass. Not based on a range, broad and high. There's simple no one like her!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Lovely, Still Gray Eyes (Flash Fiction)
This night's moon was lovely and the hovering coolness of the ending day sat still on the valley floor. The freezing winter would not arrive however, until the end of November.
In a small cabin deep in the woods of Modesto. On a wooden table next to a broken window, with difficulty, Phoebe birthed very small baby. And when the child's body was finally free of the womb, Phoebe moaned and tossed her head backwards in relief. The abortionist wasted no time. After grabbing his blue bag of medical equipment he slammed it on the kitchen counter. Yanking the child as worn luggage for leisure travel, he turned. Laid the dead child on a brown towel next to the deep white sink with two sides. The man's movements, purposed in routine, became an eager undertaking. Albeit fascinating, Lillian, Phoebe's mother, looked upon the man's undertaking with hardship. She blink when he ignited the hot water and hardened as rock beneath the sound of the water filling the sink. She decided to watch up close.
"I'll be back honey," Lillian told her daughter, Phoebe taking no time to occupy the spot next to the man. Because the interest, the sear wonder Lillian saw in his movements were appealing, she crossed her arms in slow approach. "What do we do with it?" He didn't answer but stopped the water once the sink filled to capacity. The child laid silent and Lillian shifted her eyes left and right, between the freshly birthed dead child and the purpose of the steaming hot water.
He looked at Lillian, "We clean it then bury it," as if fish was to be bought and sold. Startled, she followed the words back to his mouth and looked on his lips for a moment. She previously gave little attention to the deep huskiness of his voice which made her to think in gray waves circling about. He'd said little at the picked up. But his voice was odd and tasteless, unfitting to the shortness of his height and the lacking of body weight. He stood a small David of a man but his voice belonged to Goliath.
Phoebe suddenly hummed through her pain in perceived melody it seemed. The man and Lillian turned to her notes. The wooden table Phoebe laid was but a few feet from their standing position. But when Lillian viewed Phoebe it seemed steeply. Her daughter looking at the blue bag rose a depression in her chest, somewhat as a belch with no exit. This worsened by the way Phoebe hummed in tiny moans of pain. But lest duty be accomplish both turned back to the task of the disposing of the child. This small helpless dead child which could say no words but spoke only by the stillness of its presence. Though the knowing Lillian understood (as to the fate of the dead) she wasn't prepared for the callousness of the man's handling.
As quick as a breath, the man pulled child by both ankles. Held it upside down in the air. Then lowered it, first by the head, until body was completely in the water while his hands remained gripped about the ankles.
"What's the purpose?" Lillian asked. "The child is already dead. Wrap it up and bury it."
"To be sure," he said yet gave her no look. In time he released the ankles and both watched the tiding water rocking back and forth as the child sank like a wounded bird to the bottom. Lillian's interest widened greater than before, for the poor small baby was still, however, perfect in death. So much so she began examining the body of the child beneath the surface the water by counting the fingers and toes. Then looked upon its delicate chin. Cheeks sunk in deep. She reckoned the length. She then realized no ruler could faithfully measure preciousness, not for a child living or dead. And considered peculiarity when she noticed the child's eyes were as gray as the man's voice. Peculiar not because the eyes themselves were gray. She didn't recall the eyes having ever been opened!
The flesh above her brow wrinkled in curiosity as she leaned closer. The closer her lean, the greater the strangeness. She leaned closer and thought, wonderful, beautiful gray eyes. Even closer and thought, lovely, still gray eyes. A breath away from the surface of the water, she stood staring right into the peculiar, interesting gray eyes of the child. Then interest became hysteria once those gray eyes blinked twice. Lillian jumped back from the sink and grabbed her chest. The child began to move lightening fast beneath the water. The water splashed on the floor. The head and legs jerked with hot frustration. And Lillian's heart beat as if to escape her body.
"Oh my Lord!" Lillian said. "Mercy me."
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Blackest Bird -- Flash Fiction
Recalling was laborious, how confusion and time became friends. By this friendship, a strangling of a seven years marriage occurred from a noose knotted by a deceptive hand holding a black ink pen.
On Monday the divorce papers arrived in a manila envelope by hand of a gray eyed mail carrier with purple shoes. When she opened the door she first noticed the carrier’s eyes, then her shoes, then a school of black birds flying above the house across the street.
“Thank you.“ Gayle said closing the door. She looked on the package as an evil only because the significance not because of its presence. The package wasn’t the actual evil, for those papers hadn’t strength to transgress. The transgressor (to Gayle) was the owner of the signature sleeping faithfully above the line which said "petitioner."
I’m his wife. Did everything necessary to provide what he needed. And that she did. For the example was plentiful. Her father never scream and mother held the eyes unrolled. Indeed, her childhood home had structure of both daddy and mommy; present and aware. With this and being witnessed to no peaceless confrontation by her example, the manila envelope was an foreigner unwanted. The migration of which gained citizenship of her reality without the benefit of a green card.
Now, he faked happiness (the transgressor/petitioner that is), then phoned on her lunch break a week prior.
"I think we should separate,” he said with no emotion. She moaned pleases into the phone but before her acceptance arrived, silence lingered; he’d ended the call. Inhaling, placing the phone in its rightful place, she laid both hands on the surface of her desk seeking balance and waited to exhale. By strength of her own two feet she’d found that balance and stood upward. But the equilibrium of what life became in that instant held no foundation and she felt a falling in her chest while standing, posture driven and six months pregnant.
Hearing a faint commotion, her manager came from the office, eyes concerned. “Are you ok, Gayle?“
“No,“ she said. “Can’t say that I am.“
“Take the rest of the day off?“
“I may need a little longer.“
“Take as long as you need.“
She went home, put on her bathrobe, had a seat in the reclining chair in the living room and sat seven days. She moved only to cry until the arrival of the gray eyed and purple shoed messenger. Gayle grabbed the envelope, closed the door, sat back in the reclining chair and clutched the package with both hands. The television was not on though she stared at its screen. Listening to the home’s closed lips and dried emptiness, the crying came endlessly and without remorse. Balance, at this point, was no longer a standing issue but a constant one, premised only to the heaviness of thought. Within the week of the phone call she ate sparingly while sleep was longed for but rarely accomplished. The only accomplishment was her place in the reclining chair where she and the television screen made powerless small talk. But this day, while she sat with envelope in hand, while she sat tearful and unfocused, a heat broke famine on the landscape of her inner-valley; a place where consideration was never considered; a place she reckoned hadn’t needed nourishment. And like a climatic scene in cinematic thrillers the wind blew outdoors, enough for her grief to adjourn if only momentarily. Then, and only then, did she realize movement in the world.
Opening the nearest window slowly, she pushed the window screen until a snapping kicked it out of place. The screen, bent and broken, fell on to the dried lilies beneath the window. With no warning the wind built power and unloosened the knot binding her bathrobe around her waist exposing her mounting belly. She stood before the window while September’s wind pulled her ungrounded hair over her shoulders and eyed the body of the wind as it massaged the curtains. But perhaps it was the difference of it all; the fact she indulged in nothing more than her grief; maybe God spoke in the pushing of her hair, her loosened robe, her waltzing curtains. But as if the wind carried some fashion of joy, this movement brought a slow and brief smile. But as quickly as the wind arrived, it departed and the curtains grew still. She tied the bathrobe snug about her waist beneath her belly, put her smile away and sat in the reclining chair still grieving but grieving differently.
Five minutes passed since the wind's arrival when she heard a whistle outside the window. The sound seemed miles away. Further maybe, but a plentiful whistle jumping and ducking in melody then stopping. Quickly, she threw her curiosity towards the window but didn’t move from the chair. A second whistle came causing her eyes lids to flutter. This whistle was closer, even more pleasant, even more pretty. Her eyes fluttered once again. Then a third whistle, which followed stronger, higher and more godly then the two that came before. Wasn’t until the whistles completed that she’d found the source. The blackest bird she’d ever seen landed on the window sill, whistled no more, just stood and yet her eyes fluttered.
It doesn’t have to move, she thought to herself looking at the blackest bird, there’s nothing to fear.
When this thought finished she grabbed her belly startled. The child inside danced, turned, move, shook and fell silent. It doesn’t have to move? she repeated in question, this time out-loud. All began to have newness. The grandfather clock behind her spoke in ticks and a smell of fresh scented cotton filled the home. While worrying about the future was constant in her life, the world remained consistent around her. Immediately she heard what she hadn’t realized before; a voice of reason.
Life stops for no one. The life inside of Gayle was in motion and around her the world was dancing. The only one, until that moment, who needed to partake in the dance was she, whom now permitted those feelings of rejection to live. Not in mind, but in the space within her which had power to bear it; her soul.
Feeling the grief was fine to her in that moment. So long as grief disturbed not the dance of life. But it took complete surrender, however. Sitting in that chair, listening and feeling life and regret until what she needed arrived. Forgiveness. She forgave the petitioner even though he wasn’t present to receive it. She signed the papers and laid them on the mantle above the fireplace that same day. And from the reclining chair to the days to come she let life move at will, only to become a willing participant in its dancing.
She saw the blackest bird every day for the four weeks following until she delivered a baby girl she named Raven. Once the divorce was final, she saw the blackest bird no more… and her eyes no longer fluttered...
On Monday the divorce papers arrived in a manila envelope by hand of a gray eyed mail carrier with purple shoes. When she opened the door she first noticed the carrier’s eyes, then her shoes, then a school of black birds flying above the house across the street.
“Thank you.“ Gayle said closing the door. She looked on the package as an evil only because the significance not because of its presence. The package wasn’t the actual evil, for those papers hadn’t strength to transgress. The transgressor (to Gayle) was the owner of the signature sleeping faithfully above the line which said "petitioner."
I’m his wife. Did everything necessary to provide what he needed. And that she did. For the example was plentiful. Her father never scream and mother held the eyes unrolled. Indeed, her childhood home had structure of both daddy and mommy; present and aware. With this and being witnessed to no peaceless confrontation by her example, the manila envelope was an foreigner unwanted. The migration of which gained citizenship of her reality without the benefit of a green card.
Now, he faked happiness (the transgressor/petitioner that is), then phoned on her lunch break a week prior.
"I think we should separate,” he said with no emotion. She moaned pleases into the phone but before her acceptance arrived, silence lingered; he’d ended the call. Inhaling, placing the phone in its rightful place, she laid both hands on the surface of her desk seeking balance and waited to exhale. By strength of her own two feet she’d found that balance and stood upward. But the equilibrium of what life became in that instant held no foundation and she felt a falling in her chest while standing, posture driven and six months pregnant.
Hearing a faint commotion, her manager came from the office, eyes concerned. “Are you ok, Gayle?“
“No,“ she said. “Can’t say that I am.“
“Take the rest of the day off?“
“I may need a little longer.“
“Take as long as you need.“
She went home, put on her bathrobe, had a seat in the reclining chair in the living room and sat seven days. She moved only to cry until the arrival of the gray eyed and purple shoed messenger. Gayle grabbed the envelope, closed the door, sat back in the reclining chair and clutched the package with both hands. The television was not on though she stared at its screen. Listening to the home’s closed lips and dried emptiness, the crying came endlessly and without remorse. Balance, at this point, was no longer a standing issue but a constant one, premised only to the heaviness of thought. Within the week of the phone call she ate sparingly while sleep was longed for but rarely accomplished. The only accomplishment was her place in the reclining chair where she and the television screen made powerless small talk. But this day, while she sat with envelope in hand, while she sat tearful and unfocused, a heat broke famine on the landscape of her inner-valley; a place where consideration was never considered; a place she reckoned hadn’t needed nourishment. And like a climatic scene in cinematic thrillers the wind blew outdoors, enough for her grief to adjourn if only momentarily. Then, and only then, did she realize movement in the world.
Opening the nearest window slowly, she pushed the window screen until a snapping kicked it out of place. The screen, bent and broken, fell on to the dried lilies beneath the window. With no warning the wind built power and unloosened the knot binding her bathrobe around her waist exposing her mounting belly. She stood before the window while September’s wind pulled her ungrounded hair over her shoulders and eyed the body of the wind as it massaged the curtains. But perhaps it was the difference of it all; the fact she indulged in nothing more than her grief; maybe God spoke in the pushing of her hair, her loosened robe, her waltzing curtains. But as if the wind carried some fashion of joy, this movement brought a slow and brief smile. But as quickly as the wind arrived, it departed and the curtains grew still. She tied the bathrobe snug about her waist beneath her belly, put her smile away and sat in the reclining chair still grieving but grieving differently.
Five minutes passed since the wind's arrival when she heard a whistle outside the window. The sound seemed miles away. Further maybe, but a plentiful whistle jumping and ducking in melody then stopping. Quickly, she threw her curiosity towards the window but didn’t move from the chair. A second whistle came causing her eyes lids to flutter. This whistle was closer, even more pleasant, even more pretty. Her eyes fluttered once again. Then a third whistle, which followed stronger, higher and more godly then the two that came before. Wasn’t until the whistles completed that she’d found the source. The blackest bird she’d ever seen landed on the window sill, whistled no more, just stood and yet her eyes fluttered.
It doesn’t have to move, she thought to herself looking at the blackest bird, there’s nothing to fear.
When this thought finished she grabbed her belly startled. The child inside danced, turned, move, shook and fell silent. It doesn’t have to move? she repeated in question, this time out-loud. All began to have newness. The grandfather clock behind her spoke in ticks and a smell of fresh scented cotton filled the home. While worrying about the future was constant in her life, the world remained consistent around her. Immediately she heard what she hadn’t realized before; a voice of reason.
Life stops for no one. The life inside of Gayle was in motion and around her the world was dancing. The only one, until that moment, who needed to partake in the dance was she, whom now permitted those feelings of rejection to live. Not in mind, but in the space within her which had power to bear it; her soul.
Feeling the grief was fine to her in that moment. So long as grief disturbed not the dance of life. But it took complete surrender, however. Sitting in that chair, listening and feeling life and regret until what she needed arrived. Forgiveness. She forgave the petitioner even though he wasn’t present to receive it. She signed the papers and laid them on the mantle above the fireplace that same day. And from the reclining chair to the days to come she let life move at will, only to become a willing participant in its dancing.
She saw the blackest bird every day for the four weeks following until she delivered a baby girl she named Raven. Once the divorce was final, she saw the blackest bird no more… and her eyes no longer fluttered...
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Cerulean Sweater - Art Imitates Life
Art imitates life in many ways and I love the use of motion picture to help us escape the boredom and confusion of the world in this current time. There are many movies, which have sat in the deepest part of me and spoke to my soul directly and I want to pay homage to one particular movie that made me think differently about true effort. This movie is called The Devil Wears Prada.
Don't worry I'm going somewhere with this!
Anne Hathaway plays a geek with a talent for writing and no venue to express it. Desperately needing a paycheck and a foot in the door she applies for an assistant position in a prestigious fashion magazine and ends up being an assistant to an assistant in a corporation of superficial bigots and cashmere sweaters. It took some time, some crying, and some serious errand runs but she finally got the hang of the position. She subsequently discovers her personality didn't matter, effective demonstration of quality work ethic was key. Plainly, she beat their system with their system and gained an advantage by employing her smarts with their shallow viewpoints of fashion concepts.
So, The Underdog became Top Dog! Bow-Wow!
I am certainly an underdog and I don't profess to be the most professional but I work hard. After watching this movie (eight times, mind you) I discovered that I, too, must play the game in regards to work ethic in conjunction with my intelligence.
You see, it's not about how good I do my job, it's how much more innovate I can be next week as I was this week. Good effort is built on progress and developed through constant awareness. Good awareness is when your consciousness locks onto the environment and builds character based on the elements. A good God is how I tied it all together, for a 'laborer is worthy of his hire.'
P.S. This blog was written: January 27, 2007 - Saturday @ 12:58 a.m. Here's the original:
Don't worry I'm going somewhere with this!
Anne Hathaway plays a geek with a talent for writing and no venue to express it. Desperately needing a paycheck and a foot in the door she applies for an assistant position in a prestigious fashion magazine and ends up being an assistant to an assistant in a corporation of superficial bigots and cashmere sweaters. It took some time, some crying, and some serious errand runs but she finally got the hang of the position. She subsequently discovers her personality didn't matter, effective demonstration of quality work ethic was key. Plainly, she beat their system with their system and gained an advantage by employing her smarts with their shallow viewpoints of fashion concepts.So, The Underdog became Top Dog! Bow-Wow!
I am certainly an underdog and I don't profess to be the most professional but I work hard. After watching this movie (eight times, mind you) I discovered that I, too, must play the game in regards to work ethic in conjunction with my intelligence.
You see, it's not about how good I do my job, it's how much more innovate I can be next week as I was this week. Good effort is built on progress and developed through constant awareness. Good awareness is when your consciousness locks onto the environment and builds character based on the elements. A good God is how I tied it all together, for a 'laborer is worthy of his hire.'
P.S. This blog was written: January 27, 2007 - Saturday @ 12:58 a.m. Here's the original:
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Amazing Ben Underwood
At the age of two Ben Underwood was diagnosed with retinal cancer and had his eyes surgically removed. Three years later he found a way to communicate with the world; a way to see without eyes with a technique called echolocation (generally use by dolphins to communicate). Through this mode of detection he possessed the ability to locate and identify objects around him by frequently clicking his tongue. With these clicking sounds Ben could identified the location objects and employed this information, through the agency of his hearing, to navigate freely.
Close to a year ago I remember watching this story and being perfectly amazed by the power of determination of mankind. There is something special God gives, that in the moment of deficiency we can utilize an ability to see the world through different venues. Ben Underwood is prime example of God’s quality to circumvent disability.
Sadly, I discovered last night, Ben Underwood went home to the Lord on January 19, 2009 at the age of 16, passing away from the same cancer that claimed his sight. He was a scientific breakthrough to some and incredible to most. To me he is the demonstration of accomplishment by surrendering to what is and using what is already possessed.
Right before he passed his mother, Aquanetta spoke to him moments before his passing:
"I said, 'Ben, it's okay, you can let go,'" Aquanetta said. "'You don't have to hold on for mommy. Just remember, when you get there, tell Jesus to have that place right beside you for your momma when my time comes.'"
In that ‘Great Getting’ Up Morning’ she will see her son again. When the first trumpet sounds and the dead in Christ shall rise we shall all behold the Lord face to face. That is: when we all get to heaven.
Close to a year ago I remember watching this story and being perfectly amazed by the power of determination of mankind. There is something special God gives, that in the moment of deficiency we can utilize an ability to see the world through different venues. Ben Underwood is prime example of God’s quality to circumvent disability.
Sadly, I discovered last night, Ben Underwood went home to the Lord on January 19, 2009 at the age of 16, passing away from the same cancer that claimed his sight. He was a scientific breakthrough to some and incredible to most. To me he is the demonstration of accomplishment by surrendering to what is and using what is already possessed.
Right before he passed his mother, Aquanetta spoke to him moments before his passing:
"I said, 'Ben, it's okay, you can let go,'" Aquanetta said. "'You don't have to hold on for mommy. Just remember, when you get there, tell Jesus to have that place right beside you for your momma when my time comes.'"
In that ‘Great Getting’ Up Morning’ she will see her son again. When the first trumpet sounds and the dead in Christ shall rise we shall all behold the Lord face to face. That is: when we all get to heaven.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Throwback of the Day - Addicted to Love - Robert Palmer
Addicted to Love, a song by Robert Palmer, which reach #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1986. It was an intended duet with Chaka Khan, however, her record label wouldn’t release her, still, she is cited as a vocal arranger on the record.
I find this song hypnotic, musically and lyrically. The guitar riffs, drum percussion, and looping vocals seem to carry a harmonious alliance. It‘s bewildering how the hip-hop community hasn‘t sampled this masterpiece.
The lyrics are what songwriters labor to achieve; art. My favorite section:
“Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh yeah… it’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough. You know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love.”
This blog is a tribute to Robert Palmer, who passed in September of 2003 in Paris, France, at 54 years young of a heart attack. He leaves behind him; a legacy. Musical genius many try but can’t seem to apprehend.
Additional Throwbacks:
Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
EnVogue - Hold On
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Sister Act - I Will Follow Him
Alexander O'Neal and Cherrelle - Saturday Love
I find this song hypnotic, musically and lyrically. The guitar riffs, drum percussion, and looping vocals seem to carry a harmonious alliance. It‘s bewildering how the hip-hop community hasn‘t sampled this masterpiece.
The lyrics are what songwriters labor to achieve; art. My favorite section:
“Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh yeah… it’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough. You know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love.”
This blog is a tribute to Robert Palmer, who passed in September of 2003 in Paris, France, at 54 years young of a heart attack. He leaves behind him; a legacy. Musical genius many try but can’t seem to apprehend.
Additional Throwbacks:Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
EnVogue - Hold On
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Sister Act - I Will Follow Him
Alexander O'Neal and Cherrelle - Saturday Love
Monday, October 19, 2009
Throwback of the Day - Saturday Love - Alexander O'Neal and Cherrelle.
A massive success in 1985, Saturday Love was a R&B hit performed by Alexander O'Neal and Cherrelle. At the time, the single reached #2 on the R&B chart and #26 on the Hot 100, a great feat of the time.
The vocals are ridiculous. Alexander is a massive vocalist, one of the greats and Cherrelle, she’s beautiful and brings such a finesse to the song.
Come on son! Twenty-four years later the song is still a groove. That's called staying power.
“Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturdaaaay Love.”
Additional Throwbacks:
Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
EnVogue - Hold On
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Sister Act - I Will Follow Him
The vocals are ridiculous. Alexander is a massive vocalist, one of the greats and Cherrelle, she’s beautiful and brings such a finesse to the song.
Come on son! Twenty-four years later the song is still a groove. That's called staying power.
“Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturdaaaay Love.”
Additional Throwbacks:
Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
EnVogue - Hold On
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Sister Act - I Will Follow Him
The Funny[ness] of Clair Huxtable
The Cosby Show
Scene One:
Cliff and Clair, with a great trepidation, sought to find Vanessa but when found and brought home, one of the funniest scenes on television occurred. They discover Vanessa uses mistaken judgment as she and friends joyride to Baltimore for a concert to attend The Wretched concert.
Scene Two:
In the second clip, Elvin opts to open a wilderness store and to stand at her husband's side, Sondra decides against law school. With all the money her parents put into Sondra’s education, as Clair details the exact dollar amount, this decision isn’t a decision Clair is particularly happy with.
Prime-time television has never seen such elegance, in my opinion, before or after Clair Huxtable, who is quite frankly one of the funniest T.V. mothers in history. In both clips we observe the brilliance of Phylicia Rashad
Cliff and Clair, with a great trepidation, sought to find Vanessa but when found and brought home, one of the funniest scenes on television occurred. They discover Vanessa uses mistaken judgment as she and friends joyride to Baltimore for a concert to attend The Wretched concert.
Scene Two:
In the second clip, Elvin opts to open a wilderness store and to stand at her husband's side, Sondra decides against law school. With all the money her parents put into Sondra’s education, as Clair details the exact dollar amount, this decision isn’t a decision Clair is particularly happy with.
Prime-time television has never seen such elegance, in my opinion, before or after Clair Huxtable, who is quite frankly one of the funniest T.V. mothers in history. In both clips we observe the brilliance of Phylicia Rashad
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Whitney Houston's X-Factor Performance
I hand it to reason with no shade: this wasn’t the grandest Whitney Houston performance in history, however, the measure of vocal quality (considering the current state of music) was on a tier of its on. Better than most live performances of ‘talents‘ in the music business.
The beginning of the performance seemed slightly awkward, as she near began the song 16 bars too soon. The delivery of the first verse appeared exhausting through her panting of the lyrics and pointing into the crowd to build connection. I was a little embarrassed initially; however, by the middle of the chorus (after the first verse), she's gotten it together. Even with the 'wardrobe malfunction' she seemed overcome as only a diva could.
Again, I’m extremely partial to Whitney Houston and my opinion will only be tainted by my complete loyalty to her (for she is the best, but I digress), I really enjoyed this performance. I yet marvel? Although her voice, not wholly in its original state, still lingers the gift we'd fallen for; pure elegance.
The beginning of the performance seemed slightly awkward, as she near began the song 16 bars too soon. The delivery of the first verse appeared exhausting through her panting of the lyrics and pointing into the crowd to build connection. I was a little embarrassed initially; however, by the middle of the chorus (after the first verse), she's gotten it together. Even with the 'wardrobe malfunction' she seemed overcome as only a diva could.
Again, I’m extremely partial to Whitney Houston and my opinion will only be tainted by my complete loyalty to her (for she is the best, but I digress), I really enjoyed this performance. I yet marvel? Although her voice, not wholly in its original state, still lingers the gift we'd fallen for; pure elegance.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Throwback of the Day - Sister Act: I Will Follow Him
Amazing how they turned an old tune to an outstanding homage to God. Reminiscent of the time I spent in the church choir at Fellowship Baptist Church in Fresno, California, and how the director was so meticulous about enunciation, pitch and harmony, this song reminds me of, not only the feeling that I felt when the spirit moved, but also the feeling that I feel when love has conquered.
Epitomizing appreciation and the magnetic effect it has on a willing heart, this song, somehow, groups the feeling of needing and wanted need to be loved, adored, and challenged. In addition, the lengths one would go to follow the feeling, "wherever it may go." (Not to mention Whoopi Goldberg's hair is serving me all kinds of Chaka Khan.)
This choice is brought by the Follow Friday love on Twitter and the love of God. God is love.
Additional Throwbacks:
Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
EnVogue - Hold On
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Throwback: Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You
Inspired by the death of friend "They Reminisce Over You" was the first song from Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth's debut album, Mecca and the Soul Brother.
When I hear this song, the melody and lyrics reminds me of my late brother. In fact, following the death of the song's inspiration, Trouble T in July of 1990 of an accidental fall, my brother Sterling Darnell Hollis died two months and three weeks later from gun violence. There not much more to say.
Throwback of the Day, Part II: They Reminisce Over You (TROY) Additional Throwback:Rebbie Jackson - Centipede
UMC - Blue Cheese
En Vogue - Hold On
Throwback of the Day - En Vogue - Hold On
Beautiful, articulate, engaging…
The planet was ill-prepared for the coming. The fact, pure as water, each could sing distinct to their personality was only exemplified by the ability to cooperate, wholeheartedly, in harmony. Neither Dawn, Maxine, Terry nor Cindy was lead vocalist (something the industry should learn nowadays) and this fact gifted an advantage no succeeding girl group could present.
EnVogue! Speechless! An enchanted element of talent and harmony emerged the instant of their arrival. “The coming storm” comes to mind. My throwback of the day: Hold On - En Vogue
Additional Throwbacks:
UMC's Blue Cheese
Rebbie Jackson's Centipede
The planet was ill-prepared for the coming. The fact, pure as water, each could sing distinct to their personality was only exemplified by the ability to cooperate, wholeheartedly, in harmony. Neither Dawn, Maxine, Terry nor Cindy was lead vocalist (something the industry should learn nowadays) and this fact gifted an advantage no succeeding girl group could present.
EnVogue! Speechless! An enchanted element of talent and harmony emerged the instant of their arrival. “The coming storm” comes to mind. My throwback of the day: Hold On - En Vogue
Additional Throwbacks:
UMC's Blue Cheese
Rebbie Jackson's Centipede
GLEE? SUV?
Afforded the opportunity to watch an episode of Glee, I promised myself that if I wasn’t amused within the first five minutes I would give my attention to Law and Order: SVU (I wanted to say SUV).
The show was enjoyable. Because I love a good musical (the rendition of Jill Scott’s Hate On Me was on point, by the way) was why I watched but I can’t find myself being an avid watcher. Truthfully, aside from the Jane Lynch, who is a genius to say the very least, I was less than entertain. And as paramount as Coach Sue’s presence is on the show it doesn’t trump SUV… oh I mean SVU.
Blame the old man in me.
The show was enjoyable. Because I love a good musical (the rendition of Jill Scott’s Hate On Me was on point, by the way) was why I watched but I can’t find myself being an avid watcher. Truthfully, aside from the Jane Lynch, who is a genius to say the very least, I was less than entertain. And as paramount as Coach Sue’s presence is on the show it doesn’t trump SUV… oh I mean SVU.
Blame the old man in me.
Usher 911 -- The Keying of the Car
Apparently hell hath no fury as a woman’s scorn.
In an apparent 911 call, a calm, cool, and collected Usher Raymond (yes THE Usher) accused ex-wife, Tameka Foster, of keying his car in September. This occurred subsequent an argument the previous night in which Usher having already contacted the police for a possible, “domestic violence” situation. The first call? Understandable. The second? Where was the emergency? Emergency 911 can’t be called for a keyed car. A keyed car? Wowzer.
A celebrity life is not a favorable one. TMZ seems to be all over this. But we can thank heavens she didn’t have any gasoline, for that would have been a situation for Usher to ultimately… let it burn.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Throwback of the Day, Part II: UMC Blue Cheese
"Blue Cheese" by U.M.C. -- Hass G and Kool Kim
From the album Fruits of Nature of 1991, this song made it to number one on the Billboard Hot Rap Single and I see why.
Honestly, I'm trying to find out why I love this song. Logic is defied when the why is searched so I've halted the journey. Another throwback of the day, more specifically part two. In my childhood the first time I heard the song I counted it pure love to my hearing: the best thing ever written (I think differently now). The background vocals, oooooh, the background vocals... the "yah yah!" Priceless!
It's awesome to find songs that makes you feel good. And this song does it!
From the album Fruits of Nature of 1991, this song made it to number one on the Billboard Hot Rap Single and I see why.
Honestly, I'm trying to find out why I love this song. Logic is defied when the why is searched so I've halted the journey. Another throwback of the day, more specifically part two. In my childhood the first time I heard the song I counted it pure love to my hearing: the best thing ever written (I think differently now). The background vocals, oooooh, the background vocals... the "yah yah!" Priceless!
It's awesome to find songs that makes you feel good. And this song does it!
Throwback of the Day: Centipede
One of my favorite of all time.
The two baselines, one quickly following the next, introduces a perfectly produced number of percussion and claps as hypnotic as well... magic. In my younger days this song felt like sin: desire stricken, pulsating, hot, alluring... much like chocolate cake. And though then I had no notion of its content (no shade: I'm still at a lost), I use to fall deep into the groove every time I heard the beat! So, even though, to this day, I'm unsure of the song's meaning, I still love it the same.
(By the way the song was produced by her brother Michael. Letoya sung backgrounds and additional backgrounds were sung by The Weather Girls, you know them, "it's raining men!")
The video, however graphically generic, showed how unbelievable beautiful Rebbie Jackson presented herself. It's a beautifully cheesy video. And my throwback song of the day!
The two baselines, one quickly following the next, introduces a perfectly produced number of percussion and claps as hypnotic as well... magic. In my younger days this song felt like sin: desire stricken, pulsating, hot, alluring... much like chocolate cake. And though then I had no notion of its content (no shade: I'm still at a lost), I use to fall deep into the groove every time I heard the beat! So, even though, to this day, I'm unsure of the song's meaning, I still love it the same.
(By the way the song was produced by her brother Michael. Letoya sung backgrounds and additional backgrounds were sung by The Weather Girls, you know them, "it's raining men!")
The video, however graphically generic, showed how unbelievable beautiful Rebbie Jackson presented herself. It's a beautifully cheesy video. And my throwback song of the day!
The Light of God's Realness
God is real?
Amusing the variety of complication wrapped in life’s grip. With no definite understanding of clear direction, it seems favor eludes at times and questions roots low in the soil anxiety regarding God’s presence in your life. "Is he really there?" You may have asked.
Contrary to common belief, this question holds a profoundness, a depth hunger for wisdom. Once one has arrived in a region of life when God’s locality is question, however, not his existence, there has been an arrival of loveliness, a place of knowing, “God is real, but I must have lost his home address.”
Honestly, one could declare, “There is no God.” Although, an innate wisdom fashion into your make has observed evidence pointing to the contrary. The bible says, “The fool has said in his heart there is no God.” Why a fool? Because a fool “lacks judgment and prudence.“ Not a fool because he doesn’t see that God is real, but denounces an apparent realness of God in all he sees.
Some, three years ago I’d began reading a book, which I am unable to recall the title or the author (Thomas… something or other). The author was psychologist or psychiatrist, who’d written a book about motivation (or whatnots… but anyway). To paraphrase a part that proved pivotal to my life was this:
“I don’t know whether it can be called angels, God, or some other high power. But through my life there has been something associated with me, that is much wiser than I am.”
Although, this by some perspectives, isn‘t absolute truth, a truth is absolute in this notion. Even in the unbelief of God’s presence, with any human being, there is a notion, a knowing even, which clings to the human essence distributing a remarkable wisdom beyond the eye’s understanding, "There is a metaphysical force beyond the movement of this examining eye." This some may call, “the peace that passes all understanding.” Meaning, peace that makes no sense at all.
How do I know God is real? For the raging storm’s wind came and the billows rolled; however, regardless of the tempest it never quench this little light of mine.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Do It On Purpose
"Find out who you are and do it on purpose."This quote was given by an unsuspecting singer/songwriter/actress who has accomplished much but the greatest accomplishment she's attained was knowing and loving herself. The quote was so simple it got me pondering on my desire to find the most profound and artistic words ever spoken. I feed on knowledge and the structure of words. I light up reading and hearing subtle metaphors with hidden meaning and oxymoronic forms of phrases, which shift the course of a sentence to mean nothing and everything in a single moment.
This quote; however, boggled me. I read it over and over again as if the words were transforming me with ever consonant and vowel.
"Find out who you are and do it on purpose."
With this I'm elated and blessed and joyful and content. The majority of my life held many attempts to attain this visualization of happiness thereby pouring my soul into what I thought was love and that kind of love left me bitter and baptized in feelings of rejection. I'm no longer feeling rejected and bitter. I'm no longer allowing the lack of my accomplishments to cloud my better judgment because even if I have nothing tangible to feel, I feel blessed to know and been baptized in Christ Jesus. So, I count my blessings and not my problems; I AM that I AM!
YOU ARE who YOU ARE…
And if you don't know who you are…
"Find out who you are and do it on purpose." It's worth it…
Dolly Parton is a wise woman.
David Archuleta - Christmas From the Heart Review
I listened to David Archuleta’s Christmas album Christmas From The Heart. Bombarded with Christmas standards, which many have done before but ‘oh well,' I can say the album was not bad at all. Honestly, pretty good.
David’s talent is not to be denied. A great voice and excellent vocal choices, one can say what they will but the boy can saaaaaang. It’s great to see him at work.
1. Joy To The World
2. Angels We Have Heard On High
3. O Come All Ye Faithful
4. Silent Night
5. The First Noel
6. O Holy Night
Tracks 1-through-6 are ok but at risk of sounding like a judge on American Idol, “I didn’t hear any risks.” I longed to hear uniqueness while listening and, yes, it could be stated that he’d ‘song them as they should be sung’ but it’s David? He, out of shear talent, jazzed up “Another Day in Paradise” and I desired the like-magic.
7. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
For preference sake, however, the most engaging song was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" with Charice Pempengco, who brought a soul[ness] to the song, which could have worked without her but there’s an appreciation for her contribution when heard. Oddly, her English is very limited but sings this American standard as good as any English speaker I‘ve heard.
8. I'll Be Home For Christmas
9. Pat-A-Pan
10. What Child Is This
11. Riu Riu Chiu <---- (comment: just an awesome rendition)
12. Ave Maria
13. Melodies Of Christmas
Tracks 7-to-13 were worlds better in production and quality than their predecessors. A complete different record it appeared to be. Oh, and the last three songs? Perfection (maybe it was the whole 'different language' thing).
The album gets a B+! Not because it wasn’t enjoyable, only because I wanted to hear him sing “This Christmas” by Donny Hathaway. Awww. Maybe next year when he sings Christmas From The Spirit.
David’s talent is not to be denied. A great voice and excellent vocal choices, one can say what they will but the boy can saaaaaang. It’s great to see him at work.
1. Joy To The World
2. Angels We Have Heard On High
3. O Come All Ye Faithful
4. Silent Night
5. The First Noel
6. O Holy Night
Tracks 1-through-6 are ok but at risk of sounding like a judge on American Idol, “I didn’t hear any risks.” I longed to hear uniqueness while listening and, yes, it could be stated that he’d ‘song them as they should be sung’ but it’s David? He, out of shear talent, jazzed up “Another Day in Paradise” and I desired the like-magic.
7. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
For preference sake, however, the most engaging song was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" with Charice Pempengco, who brought a soul[ness] to the song, which could have worked without her but there’s an appreciation for her contribution when heard. Oddly, her English is very limited but sings this American standard as good as any English speaker I‘ve heard.
8. I'll Be Home For Christmas
9. Pat-A-Pan
10. What Child Is This
11. Riu Riu Chiu <---- (comment: just an awesome rendition)
12. Ave Maria
13. Melodies Of Christmas
Tracks 7-to-13 were worlds better in production and quality than their predecessors. A complete different record it appeared to be. Oh, and the last three songs? Perfection (maybe it was the whole 'different language' thing).
The album gets a B+! Not because it wasn’t enjoyable, only because I wanted to hear him sing “This Christmas” by Donny Hathaway. Awww. Maybe next year when he sings Christmas From The Spirit.
Whitney Houston and The Little Black Boy
The world was powerless to Whitney Houston’s vocal charm during the period I attended Tehipite Middle School in the early ’90s. Her album, I‘m You Baby Tonight, couldn’t stay on the shelves of record stores before additions had to be order. Then there were beautiful performances of ’All the Man that I Need’ that seemed to be televised three to four times a week on episodes of The Tonight Show and Saturday Night Live. My memories of being glued to the tube as she was singing, in retrospect, seemed stalkish and fanatical but this kind of talent seemed superhuman to an eleven year old skinny boy from Fresno, California.
Something sudden emerged, better, a someone in this time. Another extraordinary vocalist took the world by storm and rivaled Whitney’s position as the greatest female singer of the era. With no shade, this newly debuted artist was an above average singer and possessed exceptional delivery and phrasing which couldn’t (and still can’t) be denied. But the skinny little black boy of Fresno was, yet, partial to Whitney Houston and couldn’t comprehend the reason. The question was solid: Why did I believe Whitney Houston was better?
One of the reasons I was born to be my mother‘s son was because God orchestrated our relationship based on teaching. After leaving school where a debate surrounding who was the better singer erupted in the cafeteria, I came home and sought my mother‘s guidance on the debate. Without a definite recollection of what my mother was doing at the time, I do remember how her head rose, her eyes met mine with a certain certainty, reason and wonder and how her words were clear:
“Yes, [the other person] is a great singer, but she can’t send a shiver down my spine like Whitney Houston.”
I am certain that my mother doesn’t remember this day, as she can’t generally locate her missing car keys, but this (and many other situation by the wisdom of my mother) was defining for me.
Through Whitney’s effective inflection and gifted talent to modify words into vocal artistry. Her presence on stage and ability to touch the heart without being in close proximity. Even in this day, a time critics are unbelieving of efforts to gain the power she once had but proved them wrong on The Oprah Winfrey Show. These are the reasons for my preference.
Nearly 20 years later that skinny little black boy now knows: he loves Whitney Houston because no one can send a shiver down his spine like her.
Something sudden emerged, better, a someone in this time. Another extraordinary vocalist took the world by storm and rivaled Whitney’s position as the greatest female singer of the era. With no shade, this newly debuted artist was an above average singer and possessed exceptional delivery and phrasing which couldn’t (and still can’t) be denied. But the skinny little black boy of Fresno was, yet, partial to Whitney Houston and couldn’t comprehend the reason. The question was solid: Why did I believe Whitney Houston was better?
One of the reasons I was born to be my mother‘s son was because God orchestrated our relationship based on teaching. After leaving school where a debate surrounding who was the better singer erupted in the cafeteria, I came home and sought my mother‘s guidance on the debate. Without a definite recollection of what my mother was doing at the time, I do remember how her head rose, her eyes met mine with a certain certainty, reason and wonder and how her words were clear:
“Yes, [the other person] is a great singer, but she can’t send a shiver down my spine like Whitney Houston.”
I am certain that my mother doesn’t remember this day, as she can’t generally locate her missing car keys, but this (and many other situation by the wisdom of my mother) was defining for me.
Through Whitney’s effective inflection and gifted talent to modify words into vocal artistry. Her presence on stage and ability to touch the heart without being in close proximity. Even in this day, a time critics are unbelieving of efforts to gain the power she once had but proved them wrong on The Oprah Winfrey Show. These are the reasons for my preference.
Nearly 20 years later that skinny little black boy now knows: he loves Whitney Houston because no one can send a shiver down his spine like her.
The Journey of Mike Tyson: Oprah Interview
Without expectation, my approach to this interview was to bring any judgment to submission. But at first glance it appeared the interview was an advertisement for the upcoming movie Tyson, a biopic of his life as a fighter (and I know this “glance” is ultimately a judgment but I digress). Nevertheless, immediately upon Mike Tyson speaking, a shadow of understanding covered any subconscious efforts to judge and within this secret place something stirred within me.Within the first five minutes of conversation he softened like kneaded dough. Presuming expectation was present, again working tirelessly to halt this approach, I found myself turning my eyes from the television on to the white walls of my home as if embarrassment was before me. It wasn’t embarrassment, however, it was connection; me looking at myself. Me looking into the portal of change. He was addicted to the strength of “not being a victim,” which caused anger. The strength of my addiction was alcohol. I wasn’t embarrassed for him but connected to him by the recollection my own past, which cause me not to want to look into the heart of my yesterday but upon something clean, solid and present.
This was the most emotional interview I’ve experienced. Not only feeling a connection but also having witness him chewing Evander Holyfield’s ear on national television on my 19th birthday I remembered feeling (not being) bewildered at the pleasure which guides one to such levels of extremity; the interview answered those questions for me and countless others thanks to Oprah.
He has changed for the better, at least by the eye of empathy. The cross he’d bored was heavy and despite his size, it weighed upon his humanity, pressing his mortality to a measurement of thinking himself a “god” and wondering why one would “dare to challenge him.” And for Oprah Winfrey’s dynamic interviewing style, the ability to reach low and deep within the human emotion, solidifies her as the “Queen of Talk.”
He has changed for the better, at least by the eye of empathy. The cross he’d bored was heavy and despite his size, it weighed upon his humanity, pressing his mortality to a measurement of thinking himself a “god” and wondering why one would “dare to challenge him.” And for Oprah Winfrey’s dynamic interviewing style, the ability to reach low and deep within the human emotion, solidifies her as the “Queen of Talk.”
Mr. Honesty he was. Speaking on his nine month marriage to Robin Givens (who now calls him a "hero" for opening up about the abuse) and speaking understandably not-so-candid about the death of his daughter, Exodus, whom he called ‘my angel.‘ He, furthermore, spoke greatly on maintaining through technique the power of temperance. These things exhibited such change; a change for the good. A great level of positive modification. Kudos to Mike Tyson for being one of the greatest fighters of our time and for his honesty.
Indeed, honesty is a lost art. And Mr. Tyson is now a Picasso.
Indeed, honesty is a lost art. And Mr. Tyson is now a Picasso.
President Barak Obama & The Nobel Peace Prize
President Barak Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize?
Upon the early morning announcement outrage guided media scrutiny wickedly coated in disbelief. Nine months in office? What action has been implemented to serve a relatively unknown man with such prestige. Further insult was given in the additional announcement he’d been given the nomination two weeks into his presidential term. As strong as an oak the question arises: Does President Obama deserve the prize?
To many the question mark can succeed no reason explanation; however, the committee whom awards this prize allocated based on, both a need to give credit for peace by those who speak volumes in its regard. More specifically, it is award to the person whom: “during the preceding year [...] shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.“ Granted his receiving the award had no definite action whereby one would say, “That was a good choice.“ And save dozens of dynamic speeches it is not a stretch to understand why one may say, “Are you serious? The Nobel Peace Prize.”
Notwithstanding, hope and peace are blood relatives. Within the time he emerged from obscurity, a new mold of human revealed in standing sophistication before the eyes of the masses cloaked in power even previous to his own nomination of presidency. He became a symbol; a prophecy of the slave; a hope for the misfortune; hope for a future whom our children can reference and proclaim in this hour, “In America all things are possible.” When the rough times constrict and one is steered entirely by the limitation of difficulty one can look upon this example and say, “Yes we can.” Does President Obama deserve the award? Yes he does.
Obama won the prize not through the power of action but from deep impact. Not too many individuals following the honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. has gifted promise tied to a better tomorrow such as President Obama and for this he’s deserving. For continuing to build on the solid foundation of the promise land Dr. King examined upon the mountain top, he‘s deserving. For helping to recreate the image of the accomplished man of color upon soil, where in history voting was not an option, he‘s deserving. For strengthening the muscle of reputation in American and given back the truth that America is the greatest country in the world, he‘s deserving. The committee awarded based on his, “extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples." Has he not done this?
Congratulations President Barak Obama… you’re deserving.
Upon the early morning announcement outrage guided media scrutiny wickedly coated in disbelief. Nine months in office? What action has been implemented to serve a relatively unknown man with such prestige. Further insult was given in the additional announcement he’d been given the nomination two weeks into his presidential term. As strong as an oak the question arises: Does President Obama deserve the prize?
To many the question mark can succeed no reason explanation; however, the committee whom awards this prize allocated based on, both a need to give credit for peace by those who speak volumes in its regard. More specifically, it is award to the person whom: “during the preceding year [...] shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.“ Granted his receiving the award had no definite action whereby one would say, “That was a good choice.“ And save dozens of dynamic speeches it is not a stretch to understand why one may say, “Are you serious? The Nobel Peace Prize.”
Notwithstanding, hope and peace are blood relatives. Within the time he emerged from obscurity, a new mold of human revealed in standing sophistication before the eyes of the masses cloaked in power even previous to his own nomination of presidency. He became a symbol; a prophecy of the slave; a hope for the misfortune; hope for a future whom our children can reference and proclaim in this hour, “In America all things are possible.” When the rough times constrict and one is steered entirely by the limitation of difficulty one can look upon this example and say, “Yes we can.” Does President Obama deserve the award? Yes he does.
Obama won the prize not through the power of action but from deep impact. Not too many individuals following the honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. has gifted promise tied to a better tomorrow such as President Obama and for this he’s deserving. For continuing to build on the solid foundation of the promise land Dr. King examined upon the mountain top, he‘s deserving. For helping to recreate the image of the accomplished man of color upon soil, where in history voting was not an option, he‘s deserving. For strengthening the muscle of reputation in American and given back the truth that America is the greatest country in the world, he‘s deserving. The committee awarded based on his, “extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples." Has he not done this?
Congratulations President Barak Obama… you’re deserving.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Flash Fiction: The Road From Bishop Pine
Perhaps her morning rush changed everything?
Nurse Ida lived in a wooden area twelve miles from the city. Of gravel stretching from the steps of her front porch to Cimber Road, the path driven every morning was thin, curved, and simple.
This morning Ida was late and took the road by force but, today, found Julius standing on Cimber in her path of urgency. Before the brakes became an option the car stroke Julius, lifting him high into the air. As Ida stopped, she watched Julius slam into an oak tree a third of the way up, descend the bark as a broken slinky down concrete stairs and plummet head first to the earth at the foot of the oak. A blood splatter shaped as a question mark stood strong on the windshield before her eyes. Exiting the car, she found Julius at the foot of the oak still as ice.
"Julius," she whispered. Fear guided her heart, which beat with the absence of steadiness. Five eternal steps she took towards him, leaning forward she said, "Please, get up Julius" and knelt placing both hands on his chest finding no life. Quickly with muscle, grunting, heavy breathing, falling tears, pulling, lifting, tucking, and a scream of unbelief the body was finally place in the trunk. Once sealed shut she examined the oak tree. As strong as the one on the windshield, the same red question mark cradled the bark of the oak. She wiped her windshield clean and made it to Mark Antony's at seven sharp.
Julius had been in her truck the entire day of work. He'd also been in her mind leaving the hospital at five. On the slow drive from the hospital to the intersection at the corner of 15th and Brutus Avenue, the stoplight flashed green and Julius's image was replaced by a lime; small and perfect. "The field," she thought.
There was a road of bishop pine leading to a field of lime trees deep in the woods four miles from her home. She'd found herself circling around the back of this field twenty minutes later. Getting out the car, she pulled Julius out easy as midnight sleep and placed him next to a lonely shrub with many leaves and no fruit. One tear fell as she drove off looking on his body in the rear-view mirror until she disappear down the alley of pine.
At home cooking by the time her husband arrived from a construction project in Capitol Heights, she'd given the final ingredient to the beef cuts and submerged them gravy when she heard the door open.
"Hey honey, ready for dinner?" Ida called.
"Smells good," he said from the front door. "Work went well?" Through the door of the kitchen he removed his yellow hard hat, walked to her and kissed her on the cheek.
"A bus for Madera collided with a big rig. We lost twelve."
"Sorry to hear that," he said sitting at the kitchen table. He slapped his thigh, made kissing sounds in the air, followed by a long whistle in the high E above middle C. "Here Julius," he called.
"Try your keys," Ida said. "He loves those keys."
Turning with two plates in hand she sat on before him.
"What am I gonna do with that dog?"
"Oh honey, I have no idea." She smiled and stroked his hair. "I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later."
Thursday, August 27, 2009
God Made The Difference
Feeling blessed today.
God goodness deserves appreciation.
Therefore...
For his presence and assisting me in my freedom from alcohol; for health and being able to be alive in this most special time in America; for being present and showing me my own potential. Just having him in my life made the difference.
Tomorrow marks three years and five months of complete liberation from the bondage of alcohol and I dedicate this song to him. It’s one of my favorite songs of all time. Having You There by Mississippi Mass Choir. God simply answers prayer.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Remembering Aaliyah
A family reunion brought our family to Houston, Texas in July of 1996 from my hometown of Fresno. Born in El Paso, Texas and having lived a great deal of childhood in the heart of the state, July was a common month for heat and I knew it. A summer’s heat as bearable as a root canal.
We’d arrived and noticed the music was thick; mountains of R&B and Hip-Hop station flooded the airwaves. There were no words to articulate the feeling of love my soul felt (that‘s what soul music does to me). Once we were in pursuit of the family reunion, driving from our hotel, ‘If You Girl Only Knew’ came on the radio. “I can’t believe this song,” I said to myself. The beat was hypnotic, the harmonies were impeccable, the singer’s voice? An alto[ed] perfection. When the song completed and the announcer said it was Aaliyah! “You have to be kidding me” thinking, “Not the ‘Back and Forth’ girl.” From then on she had a faithful fan.
Fast forward to August 25, 2001, just weeks prior to the attack on September 11, I was in a three month relationship for the wrong reasons. We were talking at the time, the TV was muted, flashes of Aaliyah came across the screen and my eyes continued to pivot to the news’s special report while we were in conversation. After giving the TV its volume we’d found Aaliyah died in a plane crash after shooting the music video to ‘Rock the Boat.’ It was a defining moment, I ended the relationship immediately. Before this relationship I’d never been one who used another and didn’t intend to keep company based on the assets. Because I was being taken care of, I’d given the relationship attention. A needy attention not a commitment focus. No cheating was involved but it seriously would have been in upgrade. Sometimes the reason to maintain a union because of what’s given, is as sinister as any act of infidelity.
My ex and I are still friend, in fact, we’re going to meet for the first time since 2001, hopefully sometime next month. Her legacy educated me. A vehicle of preserving truth and honor. By the devastation of her death I became more important than the person I was becoming; a self-serving, egotistic bastard with no regard for my fellow man. Therefore, I remember Aaliyah on this day and provide appreciation to Christ, even eight years later, honoring Aaliyah by remaining true to my own legacy and hers alike.
We’d arrived and noticed the music was thick; mountains of R&B and Hip-Hop station flooded the airwaves. There were no words to articulate the feeling of love my soul felt (that‘s what soul music does to me). Once we were in pursuit of the family reunion, driving from our hotel, ‘If You Girl Only Knew’ came on the radio. “I can’t believe this song,” I said to myself. The beat was hypnotic, the harmonies were impeccable, the singer’s voice? An alto[ed] perfection. When the song completed and the announcer said it was Aaliyah! “You have to be kidding me” thinking, “Not the ‘Back and Forth’ girl.” From then on she had a faithful fan.
Fast forward to August 25, 2001, just weeks prior to the attack on September 11, I was in a three month relationship for the wrong reasons. We were talking at the time, the TV was muted, flashes of Aaliyah came across the screen and my eyes continued to pivot to the news’s special report while we were in conversation. After giving the TV its volume we’d found Aaliyah died in a plane crash after shooting the music video to ‘Rock the Boat.’ It was a defining moment, I ended the relationship immediately. Before this relationship I’d never been one who used another and didn’t intend to keep company based on the assets. Because I was being taken care of, I’d given the relationship attention. A needy attention not a commitment focus. No cheating was involved but it seriously would have been in upgrade. Sometimes the reason to maintain a union because of what’s given, is as sinister as any act of infidelity.My ex and I are still friend, in fact, we’re going to meet for the first time since 2001, hopefully sometime next month. Her legacy educated me. A vehicle of preserving truth and honor. By the devastation of her death I became more important than the person I was becoming; a self-serving, egotistic bastard with no regard for my fellow man. Therefore, I remember Aaliyah on this day and provide appreciation to Christ, even eight years later, honoring Aaliyah by remaining true to my own legacy and hers alike.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Whitney Houston - Is It Worth It?
The song opens in chorus, wide and telling, coasting above a seemingly 90's R&B base percussion and piano riffs. Imagine sitting in Starbucks and eavesdropping on a woman telling her girlfriend of the power to grasp relationship without mistake, using colorful language and a soft caring voice. It's beautiful.
With that in mind, the phrase of the first verse, 'it's a beautiful thing, when it's share between two...' is quintessential Whitney Houston. Indeed, her voice has changed but with warrior valor she has a adjusted and that vibrato (we fell in love with in I'll Always Love You) is unmistakably unchanged, meaning, the only thing that has changed is the key. Many people say this song is Whitney's version of Mary J. Blige's Be Without You. One must agree the groove is undeniable and as Californian's in the bay area proclaim, "This song goes."
The album is solid. Based on the muscle of promotion, the strength of the comeback and (let's face it) her own name alone, the album is guarantees platinum sales. The hope is that the leak doesn't stifle sales. I don't think it will. She's Whitney Houston - You betta recognize!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Battle Cry: The Art of A Hell No!
Honestly, I've currently done some stupid things I am not proud of, yet, I maintain. I move with cautious sensibility in the race I've been given with wisdom and endurance because I know that the race is not given to the swift. I arm myself with power from on high and dress myself in the weapons of warfare, yet, I do this with focus and steady breathing because I understand the battle is not give to the strong. I take with me power of mind, bruises of my body, and the restoration of my soul, because a three-fold cord is not easily broken. I'm walking in the freedom of my mind because the truth has set me free. So, I ask you what should we do from now on?
Our minds are not destiny-oriented and are not in the habit of appreciating greatness. It's necessary to give the mind to destiny. It's not uncommon for ALL OF US to act according to our desires. Hell, sometimes we NEED A RELEASE (for lack of a better statement). However, we shouldn't fall victim to the pressures of our bodies. We are the drivers of these vehicles called "bodies" and can steer in paths of greatness by the map of a simple idea:
We need to agree to live in wisdom and avoid stupidity at all cost. As people, being pre-disposition to stupidity, (which some use as re-enforcement to function in a foolish frame-of-mind ) should say, NO MORE!!!
No more dumb relationships!
No more saying, yes when no is meant!
No more critical and judgmental thoughts!
No more self-esteem problems!
Let's just say, Hell No!
Stupidity is an awful disease and like any other disease it comes to infect. In this case, it comes to infect your joy. This is why Hell No! is important! Hell No! is a therapeutic and forceful expression which removes foolishness before infection. How? When Hell No! is spoken it looses remedy in stupid situation and severs stupidity at its foundation; our minds!!! However, if you want to make this more effective... replace Hell No! with the name of Jesus.
No more dumb relationships!
No more saying, yes when no is meant!
No more critical and judgmental thoughts!
No more self-esteem problems!
Let's just say, Hell No!
Stupidity is an awful disease and like any other disease it comes to infect. In this case, it comes to infect your joy. This is why Hell No! is important! Hell No! is a therapeutic and forceful expression which removes foolishness before infection. How? When Hell No! is spoken it looses remedy in stupid situation and severs stupidity at its foundation; our minds!!! However, if you want to make this more effective... replace Hell No! with the name of Jesus.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
The Gift of Goodbye
All structures are unstable. Life ultimately ends and so we all must face the truth that all things in connection with this life is owned by no one, not even the air you breath for it can be taken away this very second. Once the mind can conceive all structures are unstable, then we have met the birth of true enlightenment and have begun the process of ending the dependency on life.Yes! We are so dependent of life! The very foundation of peace, it seems, is determined by events and situations and happenings in our lives. Good and bad days seem to be dictated by events and not by the peace of knowing that life happens on autopilot and freely flows towards a metaphysical destination orchestrated by God, meaning a bad and good day [and your stress] is structured SOLELY through the error of your perception and not by what's happening. What's happening? Exactly what's suppose to happen. What's happening? The is-ness of life.
Where you are right now God circled on a map for you. Something you can't change. An awesome way to plan for the future is to place all energy into the moment at hand. Should we plan and aim for something great? Yes, of course because humanity cannot operate without time; however, never let a goal dictate the totality of being; of who you are… you're more than a goal, you ARE life.
So, say good-bye to your dependency on the structures in life. Eliminate the tags your place on people, the judgment you render, the criticisms you invoke.
Say good-bye to those relationship you hold on to. Guess what? You're the only one holding on. It's been over for a while now. It's o.k. to let it go.
Say good-bye to self-hate. Who cares that you don't like your nose? Your feet? Your weight? Your height? No matter what you think of yourself the thought is not who your are, good or bad, you're worth much more than any adjective. Any descriptive word. Any label. Investigate the more and less will be alleviated.
Say good-bye to identifying. The best way to find the truth in life is to leave it nameless.
Know this: whatever you call it. That's not what it is. "The finger pointing to the moon, is not the moon." What you believe is, is NOT and is much deeper than you can ever fathom.
Furthermore, say good-bye to your bad days, change your perception. Look at the day as a necessary place in this chapter of your life. Don't perceive the day as bad, know the day is God's.
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