Thursday, September 19, 2013

Throwback Thursday #1

The best part about writing a blog, like a diary, is that you can look back over stuff you've written.

See if you've grown any.

See if you have changed your mind about anything.

See if you still feel the same way about anything.

See who is still in your life/not in your life.

Facebook is great for instant gratification. "Likes" and lively discussions. It is NOT good for retrospection. Well, except for photos. Facebook holds on to photos very easily (it IS "face" book, after all) which isn't that great if you can easily spot the *cough 30 pounds or so you've put on over the last five years. But conversations go by in realtime, in much the way they do in real life. It's very transient. In some respects that's great. I do like the conversational aspect. But FB is not great for introspection. For learning about yourself.

I started this blog in anonymity. I liked that; that I could write freely about friends/family/jobs, what I was feeling, what I was dealing with. I made some blogfriends. I enjoyed it. Then I got seduced by FB. And eventually I revealed my blogself to FB because I did enjoy having people know more about me. I am, as I've said repeatedly, mildly narcissistic. However, that sort of poses a new problem, since I can't really freely write about how people affect me. I'm not into hurting people's feelings. I'll have to be even more fair and unbiased in my reporting.

But I have really missed writing.  Like I miss singing. I've let singing go, pretty much, except for in my house... but my house is too full most days for loud at-will singing, and then I fell out of the habit and my voice, like my body, is a little flabby and wobbly. But I can start making time for writing again. And then maybe I'll find the time for singing. And exercising.

Anyway... to try to jumpstart things, I'm still playing with the new look of this blog. I realize I'm a little different than I was when I started this thing. In good ways. But I needed to see a different thing when I come to this blog to visit myself. I've still some tinkering to do. In the meantime, I read over some of highlighted posts, to reacquaint myself with myself. And I came across this post in particular, this New Year's Confession in 2008. And HA! waddya know. Every goal I set for myself that year, got set in motion that year. And I didn't even know it at the time.

So... here we go. This year I resolve to love someone wholeheartedly who loves me wholeheartedly in return, and figure out how to obtain those red patent leather pumps and still keep my soul and my sanity.
I loved wholeheartedly that year, and in the process damn near lost my sanity. But out of that torment came the single greatest thing ever, and that was BigMan... even though he didn't come along until the following year. But without that Scrubthing, I never would have defined what I needed and wouldn't have recognized it when it stalked me on a darkened dance floor.

And... four years later I got those red pumps. Haven't worn them yet!! But I got 'em! Also, as of this moment I only have $30 in cash and -$30 in my bank account. But I'm in full command of my soul. And my artwork is really pretty good. AND I occasionally make real money with it, too.

Moral of the story: identify your needs. Then make them happen.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Marion Brown in 1967

Marion's son Djinji posted this today on FB... and I thought that instead of sharing on FB for likes I'd come back "home" and post it here. So here it is:

I remember Marion Brown in 1968 when he came to Paris. I was three. I remember his hands, I remember his voice and thinking that it didn't fit what I thought his voice should be like. He was brown and skinny like Poppy and somehow I thought he should sound like him. I remember Marion Brown's music. I remember that he and my Mima had a love and so he was at my house a lot. I had a huge crush on him because he was always very quiet around me. His music was not. 

This is the music of my very early childhood. It brings to mind the smell of my mother's paint, the sound of my father's typewriter, my new baby sister who was born that spring of '68 during the Paris Student Riots, the constant grey of Paris skies that pressed against the warm yellow of our little apartment on Rue Regis that my mom had filled with her paintings and African fabrics.

I remember people like John Keyes and Prince Kisa from the Congo and still others whose names I've forgotten but faces I vaguely remember, writers, thinkers, musicians, hustlers, artists. I remember Marion's musical partner Gunter Hampel who scared me because he was tall and his energy was weird, and I'd hide under the table when ever he came around.

I didn't know what racism meant, I didn't know yet that people could be mean. I knew that I was loved.

I was three, but I still remember all of that as if it were the day before yesterday.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

A Little Lite Housekeeping preparation for some more random musings, hopefully. I've been encouraged/prompted to pick up where I left off. I figured a clean page may inspire me to come visit myself more often.

But... now that I've done that, it's time for bed. In the meantime, an advertisement:

It should be an interesting collective. Some very talented folks. And some different pictures from me; not what I usually put up.

Till later...