Piece of a Dream

I had this dream that I used to keep high on this shelf. It was a visual display of every hope that I had resting upon this THIS that you and I were making up as we went along.

I can clearly remember the day this dreamscape began to form in my mind. Our paths crossed at a time and place so unexpected and in a way that was so delightful, I was convinced that it must be destiny.

So, I set up my canvas and began to choose my colors and consider my technique to determine what style this artistic creation would be. As days moved into weeks and into months, my vision became clearer and a magnificent montage of moments developed from the darkroom of my mind into a scene that was sometimes Monet-esque in its muted beauty, Grandma Moses-like in its simplicity, reminiscent of Norman Rockwell in its All-American-ness and perhaps even held abstract shades of Picasso's most intruiging creations.

It was a lovely happily ever after I dreamed up for you and I. A crazy combination of totally different styles of visual expression colored in by love, laughter and passion that somehow meshed into perfect picture of all that I knew we could be.

One day, I was cleaning up a few dusty places, re-organizing some areas and throwing out the things that I no longer needed. I pulled my dream down off its shelf and upon close inspection, I found that some of its colors had faded. The vivid reds, bright blues and striking yellows had somehow lost their lustiness over time. And seemingly from nowhere, pieces of my portrait were missing. Entire scenes erased with no explanation.

Hoping you could help me figure out what was wrong with this picture, I turned to you. Looking into your eyes, I instantly realized that although you stood only a few feet from me, we had grown so far apart that you may as well have been half a world away. The shock of that blinding moment of clarity caused me to lose my grip on the handmade frame. I was held rigid as it slipped from my grasp and crashed to the floor. My dream lay shattered in a million pieces.

Wordlessly, you turned and walked away, leaving me alone to clean up the mess that we had made together.

Heartbroken, I pushed the debris into a closet and closed the door. I knew that I needed to retreat into my special place, take time to regain my composure and figure out to move on.

Slowly, I found the path to renewal and began to heal and determined that from this, I would become stronger. I soon returned to the place of my brokenness armed with cleaning supplies and the knowledge that it was time to clear my closet of this skeleton.

I paused over some of the scenes. My Monet-esque scenes were even blurrier through the tears that were cleansing my spirit. I could see the influence of my own elder mother's advice in the practical poses of my Grandma Moses phase. My childlike hope for a storybook life was evident in the places that I created the scenarios of a Black Norman Rockwell. And in a strange way, the purported madness of Picasso was easily evident in the randomly patternless abstract shards that I found.

As I discarded the broken bits of who I wanted us to be, I noticed a particularly beautiful scene that I knew that I did not want part with.

So, I took this piece of that dream and put it back up on my shelf. From time to time, I pull it down, take it to my special place and sit in the sun remembering what was good about this dream.

Knowing that life continually presents me with new dreams to dream.

whispers...

My heart is whispering words that I don't want my mind to hear. I have been to this fork in the road before. And while I know that I cannot freeze time and hold at just this point in the road, I wish that I could.

So, while the roads are diverging like a mu-phucka, I do not want to take the old familiar road nor do I have interest in the road less traveled.

I just want to stay still, right at this place. I want to stand silent in reflection of what has brought me to this place. I want to lie down and wallow in the warmth of this moment. I want to sit in the eternal sunshine of this spotless time.

And I want to close my ears to the words that my heart keeps whispering.

I do not want the feelings that my heart is dancing around to take root in my thoughts. I am not ready to consider the possibilities or the limits of all that could be or not. I do not want to acknowledge the fear that will inevitably creep up on me.

The thoughts, the possibilities, the limits, the fear.

And the whispers.....of love...

"YOUR stretch marks are sexy."

negro, please...you ain't gotta lie to kick it...

public displays...

the sexiest displays of affection usually have nothing to do with kissing or groping...

there's something about the way happy lovers can't keep their hands or their eyes off each other that will tell you the depth of their passion...

it can be a slight as his hand at the small of her back or her finger hanging onto his belt loop...

it can be a shared smile and a low chuckle that hints of memories and secrets that lie only between them and the percale sheets that they lay upon...

it can be a softly whispered nickname that carries a hidden meaning just for two...

it can be finishing each other's sentences or speaking volumes without a single word...

it can be his chin on her shoulder or her hand on his thigh...

it can be that silent communication that speaks of love...

grey hair...

since i turned 30 and ma'dayum body began falling apart...i have had about three hairs on my chin that i have to pluck every three weeks or so...or at least as often as i put my hand on my chin and feel them sticking out long enough to grasp with the tweezers...

so...i'm sitting here watching grey's anatomy and i put my hand on my chin to find that my three chin hairs are long enough to pull out...

i ran to the bathroom during the next commercial break beelining directly to my trusty tweezers...stepped in front of the mirror...tilted my head back ever so slightly...moved into position to grasp the pesky offending trio...and damn near had a heart attack...

one of the gah-damn chin hairs was grey...

ain't THAT a bitch?

basic principles of success

haven't been writing lately...

have had to go dark for a minute...

i am working on some life altering shit...emotional...physical...and financial...

i wanted to share with you some advice from a character in a john grisham novel that i read recently...

1...when you fall, pick yourself up
2...set goals
3...work harder than everybody else
4...stick to the basics
5...execute perfectly
6...be confident
7...be brave
8...never, ever quit

and this is nothing that you haven't heard in some way, shape, form, fashion...in the same words, similiar words or other words...it's just that when i read it...it came at a time when i really needed to be reminded of the basic principles of success...perfect timing for such a time as this...

so...i'm passing it along in case any of you who honor me with periodic fractions of your lives needed to be reminded too...

i'm keeping my head down for a couple more months...

when i'm back in the swing of things...you'll get an update...

wish me luck...

words i didn't say...

i am whispering...so that you can act like you can't hear me and we can say we never had this conversation...

you see...together...we decided to build this box...so that we could climb inside and shut out the rest of the world...because we wanted to find a few moments of peace...of laughter and of passion...

in this made up place...we are the only two people that matter...dancing an intentional dance leading us to an amazing place where only good things happen...a wooing process...

you are like a dream come true...consistently bringing joy into my life...you keep me dancing on clouds...

and within the walls of this fantasyland that we have created...i find myself in love...

so...i ask the question...is it real or is it just make believe?

but remember...i'm still whispering...and you're still pretending like you can't hear me...and i never spoke these words...

moving on up to the good times...

i've got too much time on my hands...obviously...

isabel sanford...mrs. jefferson...louise...weezy...did her ass have a job?...and what about helen thomas?...did she work either?...how many cleaners did george own?...HAD to have been more than one...didn't you think lionel was spoiled?...and what about ALL black jenny?...did anybody besides george ever leave the apartment?...am i the only person that thought george's momma was ugly?...i mean...i know she was old...but she was old and Fugly...translation - fucking ugly...

by contrast...you know that broke ass evans family HAD to have jobs...shit...they should have even put michael's bitxh ass on the street and let him bring in some dough...something...their asses were ALWAYS struggling...now that was real life television...not like today...do we even have any broke ass black families on television today?...i can't think of any...

and we should have at least one...at least one black family that defines the struggle...what it's like when the lights are about to get cut off....your phone gets cut off and you're happy cause that means the bill collectors can't call your ass no mo'...and you're hiding your high interest expedition from the hook man by parking it at the apartments two blocks down...and offer us some creative problem solving tips....you know...

cash all your checks at the check cashing place...it's in the neighborhood so it saves you on gas for a trip to the bank...never mind that they gon' take half ya' damn check....write a check at the payday loan office so that you can spend the next six years trying to pay back $350....get your lights turned on in your MOMMANAME....cut up sausages in ramen noodles, serve it with some red kool aid and call it a balanced meal....never get to work on time and call out sick at least three times a month....just cause your black ass ain't felt like going that day...get your money by claiming you hurt your back and get declared totally disabled indefinitely by some unscrupulous ass doctor who is working in conjunction with that shiesty ass lawyer you've got handling your bullsh it case...

we can call the show....THE NEW PLANTATION

subtitled....HOW TO KEEP YOUR BLACK ASS OPPRESSED AND IN POVERTY IN THE NEW MILLENIUM

34.5

you know...there's just something about reaching a point in your life where you learn a lot of things about yourself...you learn what does and doesn't work for you..and as long as you don't allow yourself to fall into a rut...that's a pretty cool thing...

recently...i learned something about myself...it is something that used to give me pause...made me question things about my sexual openness or lack thereof...

what is this thing?...the 69 position...i don't like it...it doesn't do it for me...like 7up...never had it...never will...

the logic that i used to use was that i couldn't concentrate...that there was too much going on...i couldn't properly enjoy what was going on for me because of what i needed to be doing...and i couldn't perform my assigned task to the best of my ability because i was being distracted by the pleasure originating in my nether regions...

and for the most part...that is quite a true statment...

but i have since reached the total conclusion on why i don't do 69...

i'm too doggone tall...

my 5'10" frame...when turned upside down...puts me at least 3 inches past where i need to be...it takes far too much contortionism to get a good angle on the dizzle...and THAT is the root of my frustration when it comes to the 69...

when the dizzle ends up somewhere near the middle of my chest...it is physically impossible to get a good bobblehead rhythm going when you're trying to put your chin down between your d cups...

so...it's official...going forward...i will be participating in no form of sexual activity that even remotely resembles a 69 position...

now...34.5...THAT's a different story altogether...

nothing short of amazing...

I know how I want to be loved. I know how I want to feel when I look into my lover's eyes and when I am wrapped in his arms.

I know the connection that I want us to have and the level of communication I expect us to share.

I know the strength of commitment that will bind us together even when we are apart.

I know how I want this man to think of me. I want him to realize that while I am imperfectly human plagued faults and shortcomings, I am the perfect compliment to all that he is and all that he aspires to be. I want a lover that finds me continually interesting, intriguing and utterly remarkable.

I want the kind of love that is renewed daily and that defines joy.

I want a love that is nothing short of amazing.