my imaginary harem - The Aquarius List Pt.1

based on the lindy loo principal of imaginary harem building- i have compiled a secret wish list that i will share with you. a few years ago, while doing some press for some early blktygr show (ha. doing the press!) i told a french journalist that all i wanted was a

"black lady who wrote french poetry, read sarte, fanon and had a fatty."

(definition of fatty - is a big butt, but not just big, it has to have a soul and porportion to the actual overall body)

[not everyone who reads this blog would know that.]

and while making a list like this is fun, perhaps an adventurous publicist will find my humble blog and make it happen - an actual meet and greet. seriously though, while this list is made of lust candy, only one was picked strictly because she is fine.

So i decided to break the list into two posts, i encourage debate on this one so have at it.

and here we go:

10. Keri Hilson

Keri- what can i say she is the truth. wonderful pop talent, beautiful. according to certain magazines- she

is a composer, and writer of her own music. i am a talent whore. this picture is not even close to how fine she is, i was so taken by her face. wow. double wow. she has face and body games!

9. lisa bonet/cree summers

what can i say- a different world

put me on the path to loving these two. i remember the first time i saw denise huxtable- wild, creative and damn fine. it was around 6th grade, and girls were starting to be on the agenda. i thought she was the perfect girlfriend - cool, smart, sexy, with a hipster flair (before that type of flair became co-opted). for some odd reason i cannot even remember lisa bonet these days without thinking two things: 1st. wow she was in ANGEL HEART, great nipples, and 2nd. she made the most beautiful baby with lenny kravitz - i mean their daughter is seriously fine and grown up now. which makes those two - wow they have to be in their 40s.

cree summers is just fine. i hated her character o

n the show, but hey i seriously wanted her and probably masturbated thinking about the both of them in some kinda nerd threesome. the real reason for cree other than the fact that she posseses an heavenly ass- i love her music. cheese stick that it is, i love her songs. really nice voice.

[don't believe me? check her out on myspace. oh find the link yrself.]

8. zoe kravitz -

wow.

that's it. first saw her in the jay z video and i fell in love. not only am i seriously infatuated with her mama, but her daddy has to be on the top of my "i'm straight but he's fine" list.

7. gwen stefani

ever since i'm just a girl, i've been infatuated by gwen. not for sure looks mind you, but she is fine. and i typically don't even like blondes. too easy to like em, and i do not like it easy. this pic of her is too much, but i find it kind of funny seeing how we first came across her image in popular culture all valley girl ska and ish like that.

6. grace jones

first off let me say, grace jones makes some pretty raw music, and was a fashion icon who held herself to a very high aesthetic. she was challenging the very notion of beauty, and what it meant- and still should be considered a visionary. many remember her from movies like BOOMERANG - where her

power was held in the marvelous line -"she put her panties in my face!" i love me some grace jones. earlier today, while i was loop digging i found one of her records, and its still hitting. i'm not gonna give you the title, cuz frankly i help you too much.

(shot out to the record hounds.) this picture says it all, and her name is the perfect description of her to me - GRACE.

AND SO. that is the imaginary harem list 10 - 6, look for the top five in a few days. the diversity of spirit, and the independence of these women is what makes them extraordinary. sure they are all quite beautiful, but while physical beauty is a wonderful thing, there is something else that speaks to me when thinking about these wonderful women.

strength is a concept i've been thinking about for sometime, here is what is catching me up about it - its totally subjective.

there are somethings we all can agree are strong, or aspects of strength, but when we get down to who is strong and who is not, it begins to grey, and its that grey that makes it so damn interesting to be alive. i've been finding myself counting my blessings and really thinking about how wonderful it is to be here now. so many things are changing the air is electric with change, my fear is that we all may be to busy staring at the beauty of the changing times to define it. that once again we will have an opportunity to make a huge jump in the quality of life for the planet and we will blow it for lack of vision. or worse- authorship. damn i love women.

lil' michael - rest easy, you don't have to play for them no more

TRUE STORY.)

when i think of MJ, i think about THE WIZ. i was about five when my mother and the man she was seeing took me out on some kinda, let's test how he is with my kid date. you single mamas know what i'm speaking on, but hey i didnt care - we were going to the movies, and i was going to see Michael Jackson on the big screen. i didnt even really understand what THE WIZ was, or the political implications- ma's date being of a pro black sort, but disco driven too. combination huey p, and travolta. tight leather pants suit and the shit was green too.

anyway, we get there- him wanting to kinda squeeze up on mama, puts me in the aisle seat. im totally engrossed by the vivid colors, and quincy soundtrack - the characters are wild, and then it dawns on me- this is a black people wiz. i distinctly remember thinking that it was so wild that there were none of my Aunt Fran's friends in the movie(she was a multicultural lesbian before there was a term for it) and then it happened . . .

all the little kids my age, older even started to dance in the aisles, and it was to "you can't win"

the solo song for MJ- and he kills it and the kids can't sit down, and the parents are overwhelmed, a couple sit their kids down, but most just start clappin and yelling encouragement. seriously left a mark on my soul, for i got up, and started in with the rest of them. it was my first public performance, it solidified my weirdo stance for it turned on the brights on my technicolor. ever since that moment in the theatre art has been my refuge, my friend, and my shield.

the guy wasn't around by my sixth birthday, i stopped asking about him after the new one moved in. yeah. i guess he didnt pass the fam test.

and while over the years MJ changed from visionary young talent - to world icon - to worldly shame- i will always remember the simple wisdom of "you can't win".

yeah, you can't win, but you sure can moonwalk while trying.

rest in peace.

musak, dance, one off's and lack of media outlets

i was chopping it up with my stepfather last year and he was wondering why it seemed that there was nothing going on in Cleveland like back in the day.

"yeah, i hear you telling about all this cool stuff going down, but you don't see it in the paper."

pops, there is no such thing as media outlets in this town. sure there's the plain leisure, and scene, but scene can only cover so much - not enough pages really, and they got to make it work out advertising wise.

"well they do a piss poor job."

perhaps.

we ask for more media outlets, more alternatives to the shit we get, but when they crop up, we dont support them. sure we pick em up and put it in our bags, carry issues around but we do not support them as we should. and we dont have the money to support them without the help of advertising, and local businesses are hurting too much to use their limited resources and advertise with start-ups.

we all know the issues. we all know solutions. i just wonder what we are waiting for.

governor . . . RALLY TIME.

okay.

he's lost his damn mind.

im wondering what happened to the governor i voted for? its like the STAR TREK wrath of khan switcheroo - somebody implanted the mindcontrol insects from Sedi Alpha 6! KHAN, KHAN, CON . . .

as if we didnt have enough problems in Ohio with education so now your plan is to shave millions of dollars off the state library budget? oh and slots! lets put slots in the 7 major race tracks while we are at it. i think this calls for mutiny! perhaps now fuckers will get serious- and actually hold government accountable.

RALLY

Wednesday, June 24, 2009
	10:30am - 11:00am
	Steps of the Cleveland Public Library Main Building E. 6th and Superior in downtown Cleveland.
	E. 6
	Cleveland, OH

Press conference and rally designed to demonstrate public outrage and opposition to Governor Strickland’s proposal to cut $227 million from the Public Library.

article about the problem: http://www.olc.org/news_story062009.asp

http://saveohiolibraries.com/

Ye West thinks he's the ART BRUT HERO and other complaints.

So one of my favorite pass-times is to go to Bank News on Clark, and cop magazines. 

i'm a fashion

 magazine whore, but along the lines of the actual mags i cop it p

robably equals out to about 10 percent of the whole monthly habit. 

(this has been going on for about 12 years)

while i do fuck with popular mags like - nylon, wire, and paper. i devour t

hem upper ish joints like -

TAR (a quarterly arts journal dealing in film) 

WAXPOETICS( a music journal specializing in rare records, beatmaking etc.)

i'm not gonna name drop all of them, but i spend about 100 dollars a month on the copping of mags. 

while i blogged about the borrow issue i have-most folks don't even ask to borrow TAR. the joint is 20dollars. and i buy quite a few joints that cost that much. 

A 2O DOLLAR MAGAZINE! 

yeah i know. its kind of stupid, but i likes my reading material, and i love 

pop shit, even though i cannot abide by rules enough to make any.

so why YE? Kanye West is an interesting study in - art brut- i'm taking the term here out of its orginal context and using it to describe rich people who pretend to be art scholars to the masses who could really give a flying f- that they own a keith haring. 

the actual definition of art brut is -The term outsider art was coined by art critic Roger Cardinal in 1972 as an English synony

m forart brut (French: [aʁ bʁyt], "raw art" or "rough art"), a label created by French artist Jean Dubuffetto describe art created outside the boundaries of official culture; Dubuffet focused particula

rly on art by insane-asylum inmates.

While Dubuffet'

s term is quite specific, the English term "outsider art" is often applied more b

roadly, to include certain self-taught or Naïve ar

t makers who were never institutionalized. Typically, those labeled as o

utsider artists have little or no contact with the 

institutions of the mainstream art world; in man

y cases, their work is discovered only after their deaths. Much out

sider art illustrates extreme mental states, unconventional ideas, or elabora

te fantasy worlds.

Outsider art has emerged as a successful art marketing category (an ann

ual Outsider Art Fair has taken place in New York

 since 1992). The term is sometimes misapplied as a catch-all marketin

g label for art created by people outside the "art world" mainstream, re

gardless of their circumstances or the content of their work.

ART OF THE INSANE! is another one of the labels the movement has co

me to be known by.

anyway, West is all about

 picture posturing that he is completely nerdy and into avant shit. he is not an avant nigga, but carries himself in black hipster fashion - and not the ny times definition, but a more faux-spaced stylized version of it. would the guy go to galleries if he was poor? i think not. he probably would be sippin' on steel reserve and selling crack. ok, did i take it too far? could he be the next- quasi sexist racist black nig bot art brut? it seems to me that this may be true, but hey i love YE, and most of the shit he makes. i just hate that he signs these fucking half talents, puts them in DIOR and trots them out to all of us as if they are the most sincere, inventive and witty popperstars since COMMON left the SENSE behind for a righteous shot at Erykah Badu's booty! 

BUT THE GEAR IS FRESH TO DEATH.

i remember the islamic scarf being a symbol to all that you may have revolutionary tendencies. when i first started wearing them it was 1994, and people just ignored it as either as sign of misguided black power costume for the new nigga/student, or some 5percent black muslim shit. now everybody and they mama wears them and they mean absolutely nothing. this is not the first time gear i used to wear became popular, surely i can remember exactly why i donned the trench coat look, or the beat sweater. i wanted to feel like a writer, even in the midst of me learning how to write. it was the clothes that let everyone know what you were into. now, i just want to wear stuff that fits. ok not true.

but close. i do not think its wise to tell the truth on the internet seeing how they are going to be charging us to get on soon. and that will be when this blog stops, and typing will be strictly on the portable. and the only way you may catch my meanderings then, will be to stop by 52nd and catch me on the porch bumping a little Eugene Mc Daniels and having a mint tea.

a convo over a joint

While listening to the new dilla album- JAY STAY PAID, mixed by Pete Rock  the following

conversation happened. 

black guy #1

hey man, do you ever ponder why you are so agro?

Me(black guy #2)

nope. maybe its because i've smoked too much grass and can't get high anymore.

black guy #1

that's total! you can never get too high dude.

Me

why are you saying dude? you never say dude.

black guy #1

i've been listening MGMT lately, and i just feel like saying dude. what?! cuz i'm black i cannot say dude?

Me

no, it just sound funny coming from you.

black guy #1

see. that's your problem, you never have anything nice to say. that's why all the women you date hate you.

Me

they don't hate me.

black guy #1

your lying to yourself! they hate you cuz you are mean.

Me

oh. 

(silence for maybe five mins, then)

you want to roll another joint?

black guy #1

sure man, but i gotta go after this, my lady is cooking.

Me

why don't you ever cook?

black guy#1

i cook man, but she should cook, you know what i mean?

Me

no.

black guy # 1

fuck you man.

Me

see, now who agro?

FIN

THIS LITTLE SKIT IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE LETTERS -M and J. and the number 7.

Some kids just get it- The Jouvert Screen Test

So, if you follow this blog then you know Jouvert and in keeping with our regular playtime we made a screen test. she is too much!

A STUDY OF NIGHT SMOKING

my new nephew

introducing, Zion Rafeeq Washington - Kenner

blog question of the day?

is it okay to post your sister's labor pic's on yr blog?

de boo

ever get the feeling that if people could just constantly ignore the writing on the wall they would>?

the further adventures of gentleman richards - 1st chapter

first chapter of new boy. INTRODUCTION, REBUTTAL, & ADDRESS for you. so once again, here we are with the esteemed Christoph L. Richards, and his cast of unfortunate characters. before we proceed with the fiction, the legal department has asked me to inform you that this is indeed a work of fiction- any illusion, or actual jacking of real life or historic events, both real and revisionist, is on purpose and is meant to be taken with extreme seriousness.  this is after all, a work of art. sincerely,  ra washington (we have included Mr. Richards introduction as stated in his contract.) -ed. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "i love him who willeth the creation of something beyond himself, and then perisheth" Zarathustra as told to Nietzsche it was our sincere intention to write a memoir of parts, but after further consideration we felt that my unique story would be best served under the medium of fiction. we sought to upgrade the writer, but we were turned down by all the big names: phil roth steve king walt mosley deanus koonitz delany was only interested in the pornographic elements of my life,  (wait. samuel r. delany- author of DHALGREN) there. but i for one do not find his brand of meta gobble in the form of gay sex very stimulating. perhaps if some hetro fucking was involved, but alas. he is gay, so it must be gay. i dont really believe this, but why not. in any event, the job fell to the relatively unknown ra washington, who although limited in his ability to write, has made up for his lack with zeal and verve. he is not a genius. we are not peers, but i was able to salvage his butcher job into a best seller in several journals, most notably Sports Illustrated Magazine (excellent book review section). i suspect he may be a complete idiot savant. so with the commercial success of HUEBRIS, we come to the crossroads and begin another episode of my life. it has been a one ball(ed) journey, but not without the occasional pinch or two. we have decided to call this one- THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF GENTLEMAN RICHARDS enjoy. Chris Richards, character. *********************************** FOR THE SAKE OF TIME: Simone and Judith SIMONE de Beauvoir: it would seem that after all this time writers would at the very least attempt to have well drawn, fleshy women characters. JUDITH Butler: that's assuming they know any actual women. most male writers have the social skills of small rodents, so they don't know any women besides a sister or mother, an aunt or some such. SIMONE: true, but is it really that difficult? the men characters have interior dialogues, a full range of emotions, passions. but the women characters are set pieces for self loathing, or the bed and a man's ineptitude in bed. they are used as foils to show how brilliant the men characters are. like this book for instance. the two main women characters bare no resemblance to actual women at all. they are just furniture. perhaps you could write a guide book, have that fancy university press of yours put it out. JUDITH: well after my vacation in the Hamptons. i suppose i could smash something together. SIMONE: well there is a perfect epitaph on pg. 75 of the second volume of my autobiography. JUDITH: i did not know you wrote an autobiography! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- REBBECCA  VS. HAMESH SHE was running late, as was her lot after traveling across town to see Ben's band - SEXUAL FREQUENCY. despite knowing better, Rebbecca still thought of herself as the ideal girlfriend. loyal, supportive, docile. god! she hated the term girlfriend. she had not been a girl for some time, and she was not, and would never be a lover's friend. men had no concept. friends don't fuck, friends go to the locaql sports bar and shave each others back. but you had to support the man. support the love, even if he never supported you. besides she hated his music- thought of it worse than Christoph's old band VERNACULAR. (see HUEBRIS, The Notes, due out fall 2010) SO. she was an hour late for work after the second morning quickie. (she did not come the 1st.) but Ben was good, and non-committal like she, and since he was an idiot of sorts and means, he was completely at her wit's mercy. Christoph's ego, really his whole soul lived in debate. that is what she loved about him - at first. what she secretly channelled to make herself actually exist in the world of ideas. she had always felt that it was akin to a sort of social suicide to let MEN in on how smart she was.  when she was twelve or so, Rebbecca heard her mother correcting her father. it was nothing anyone would ever get mad about, a slight as a sneeze amongst the thunder- but her father wanted to remain firmly in the realm of idiot. "no one fears a smart man." he'd once said. Rebbecca still wasn't sure if he mad at his own brain, or disgusted with mama and her for theirs. he went dark at the mere sound of her mother's voice, as if the vocal timbre could scrap along the side of his feeble skull. BEN.          yes, ben was more like her father and when she was completely honest with herself                      (a rare case indeed!) that was the reason why she loved him. the train pulled into the stop, time slowed as the dead - living, working for dreams began the final click of their journey, each secretly praying that dreaming would not cost them more dignity than they had. ************************************************** Analysis of opening chapter and preface by CHRISTOPH L. RICHARDS to with- it seems that our dear Mr. Washington has taken to a more poetic (seeming) approach to the prose of the sequel. while poetry is afforded a prestige that's mostly deserved by the actual poets working in this ancient of mediums, it lends itself to prose through its POESY! (see Ezra Pound's Guide to Kulchur) very well then, Washington may indeed be an idiot, we will see. **************************** MAXIMUS ALARMIST         do you still think about her? the candle flicker brought Hamesh's eastern features to the fore, her eyes were white hot. why do you ask?         only you would think its okay to answer a direct question with a question.         last night you called me her fucking name! Christoph had never seen her mouth turn acid, all of the color in her lips had gone terse. if i did call you Rebbecca, it was surely in the middle of an awful dream or some such. its not as if i wished you not to be here. come on baby, i know you better than to be jeal-                                     she cut him.         no Chris, i know you. you live so much of our stupid life together in your         head. it seems only natural that you would slip up like this. am i not enough?         don't you feel loved? am i not enough.                                     Hamesh tore at her blouse, exposing her soft and hard to him. her breath ragged and salt.                 PAIN HAS AN ELEMENT OF BLANK                 pain has an element of Blank-                 it cannot reconnect                 when it begun- or there were                 a time when it was not-                 it has no future- but- itself                         - Emily Dickinson  some of the storm had passed, but Christoph still could not sleep. he could hear the slight purr of his lover, he oblivious to what she had actually accused him of, tried not to think about her, about Rebbecca, about himself. there was something quiet in the house that enraged him. had we become so old and scared of dying that we had forgotten how to live. how to be with each other. everything between was odd swords. tin words, and silence. oh, the silence. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ A PROXIMITY BREACH OF SORTS in a four unit apt building there usually at least one tenant that drives the building past an acceptable level of craziness, or noise. nor did they care. the building that Hamesh lived in was one of these buildings times ten. for the neighbors next door - Claude and Breen were the most notorious laughers in the TRI- State area. everywhere they went, and more to the point - they went everywhere with each other they were hysterical- two wee kittens on a sugar rush.  Claude was peanut butter brown (the local madame DEE said he looked like Eric Benet) with large coon eyes, and a perfect Cosby nose. his curls looked as if he had sprayed curl activator and placed his head in the oven for twenty minutes to cook. Breen was petite, and fair skinned with eye brows that arched naturally as if tweezed. his cackle was high pitched, and he possessed the most ridiculous set of muscles stack onto the skinniest chicken stalks ever invented. he also possessed the longest tongue know to modern man. it furled an amazing 12 inches.  both were consumed by a love of drink, both were considered gay by common folk, and gods by art brut chicks wanting to get their pretty nig freak on. of course as novels like this go, Christoph hated them and that only made them louder. it was so bad that Hamesh actually considered moving to christoph's place till the building blew up last winter because of faulty electrical wiring mixed with lit crack pipe. (see HUEbris Appendix on sale Fall '09) ************************************************* our little systems have their day; they have their day and cease to be.         - Thomas Merton the clinic was quiet for once, so Hamesh let herself relax in her office, flipping through a public health journal as if it was written in braille. she had wanted to be a doctor since she was a girl, her mother was, and so was both her sisters. but they did it for money, plain and simple. she did as a passion, and secretly despised herself for it all for she knew that deep down it was not her keen social justice, but because she wanted to distinguish herself from her sisters (names? come on, you not gonna remember?) who had always excelled. always at the top of the class, always prettier, richer, with better taste in men. she was the runt, skinny to an almost alarming stature. sure, she was curvy, but she was kind of boxy as well.  DAMN, she thought. why am i doing this in my head.  she knew it was not true. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Amendment of the previous paragraph by Christoph L. Richards while i agree with most of the portrait drawn of my dear lover- she is in fact quite boxy, and a tad chubby come to think of it. which is a luxury that her people only have here in the states. if she was still living in INDIA, she would be as thin as an ETHIOPIAN.  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ SEXUAL DEVIANT AND THE SLEEP AROUND BEER a spider of dust traced the street light throughout the room, a pulse was kept by the hiss of the steam heat, its counter point- the hum of a neighbors TV, the air in the apartment felt light, perhaps because once again they drank too much, too fast- but they had reason to celebrate. Christoph had finally sold his radio piece about meta fiction and it would air next week. Hamesh cooked a dinner filled with burnt smells, and muted tastes- he choked it down with beer and gaul, each swig pushed the nasty bite down his throat. she knew she could not cook, it was one of those unspoken truths between them. if they ate at home, it was Christoph, not Hamesh, who provided the spread. NOW, after her two bottles of red, and his twelve pack of a local micro brew - she swept along in full silk, the candles flickered winter, it was really bodice, tight and sheer- her face made up gypsy. it made his middle grow, and pump at the seams of his jeans. Christoph tried to ignore the heartburn scorching at his chest, and throat.  it was rare event when they played at seduction, usually it was a late night moan, and rub, a few awkward tongueless pecks and over. him satisfied in his mind, and ashamed in his body. but this night, oh, this night! he would give her orgasm after orgasm, he would destroy her with the pleasure surging up. Hamesh twirled, and swooped to the anti rhythm and fell to her knees - Christoph, surprised and aroused, gripped at the arms of the chairs - a life-raft on the Titantic.  he was SHINE- he would not drown, no matter how black his heart was. she asked,          what do you want me to do with this? she grabbed his middle and stroked toward the sun. he flushed, his heart suddenly seized up and the fire came rushing up. the smell came before the sound, and Hamesh fell back confused, and totally engulfed in the most awful burp ever created.  the house smelled like rancid pork, and beans. then another, more powerful belch - threw Christoph from his chair, and into a projectile vomit that lasted a few minutes that slowly turned to dry heaving, and burping. when he came out of the gastro trance, he realized that the first volley of gut landed all over Hamesh. her face was pale and twisted. he had no words. again she was covered in him and again it was epic. he chuckled as he lifted her from the floor- the smell of his guts, twining with her sweet perfume. ------------------------------------------------FIN.______________________________ (end of Chapter One)