I met Shirley Horn tonight in one of my beloved Facebook groups. Her other-world voice gently commanded my attention, stopped me from skipping from one comment to another, as I gathered verbal daises and lilies. Paused every cell in my Being and I could do little more than bow to a Soul who, though transitioned, via her sensual, silky, smoldering style, stilled me and invited me to discover more of her repertoire. Truly, if I didn’t require slumber sometimes, I’d be her willing captive for the remainder of the night…but sleep, I must.
Good night, Sweet Love, good night…
I wholeheartedly agree with Christian Mihai’s post. Whenever I write, I am in the midst of it, braided and weaved, stirred in dreams and lovingly singing the arias of what titillates ME.
Originally posted on Cristian Mihai:
First, I’d like you to watch this video. It’s really short, and I assure you it won’t be a waste of your time. Then, I’d like to tell you how much I agree with what Chuck Lorre had to say about writing.
I’m an ardent believer in the fact that all great writing comes from a place of truth, from a place well hidden inside our soul. I believe that those elements that are based on our own experiences, faults, and beliefs give substance to a story. I can see many writers who are reluctant about that. I can also understand why. It’s the most difficult thing to do. Once you start writing about yourself, in one way or another, you realize how difficult it really is.
“Why is it that when women give birth public opinion has it that they should go sit down, be a mother and cover up for the rest of their lives, and when men become fathers, they are heralded, trumpeted, aaaawed and cigared? Society
never invites them to a role, room or recliner for the duration of their days.”
“Think, people, think.”
Shakira and Rihanna are two of the hottest artists on today’s music scene. I’m a music-loving lesbian, and as such, their performance in this video satisfies different layers of my Being. Their contrast in skin color and hair hues and racy garments and their similarities in vibrancy, spice and sensuality command my applause. I admire their audaciousness to take on the wrath of public opinion and homophobic whispers to continue growing as artists and performers to do something different in music videos. This one reminds me of Shakira’s “Beautiful Liar” collaboration with Beyonce, minus, of course, the cheek-grabbing or intimacy that resembles Hawaiian lays kissing. Sure, I understand why the Shakira/Rihanna combination is safe to purr for many. No matter what they are doing, I don’t care if they stood up and climbed one another, they are, as far as I know, straight women, and no matter if their caressing, to me, insinuates a latent desire that cannot be forgotten, even as they croon about letting him go, they are behind the velvet rope of social acceptance…primarily, although some folks would simply like to see such coupling behind closed doors…and preferably, their doors. Nonetheless, I can dance beyond the song’s lyrics to relish the explosion of sensuality squared. And make no mistake, I am for freedom of speech, so I read a few of the more colorful YouTube comments under the video, some decrying the fall of the artists to looking like strippers (and?) and others adding how the lyrics were weak so the ladies resorted to making the video, but being my say is the most important, at least here, I say, “Carry on, Lovelies! My clit loves it.”
I enjoy my multitude of various Facebook groups. This photo comes from one of those groups, the Nudists As Naturists. This beauty is FOLA, and Mike Modernday Mogul, a New York, New York-based photographer photographed her. FOLA’s jet skin against the yellow background is awe inspiring. I’d love to be photographed nude with Mike Mogul behind the lens. His creative eye is keen, bold. Instead of being photographed in a studio, no matter how artsy, I’d opt for a beach, at dawn or sunset, or just before a storm, when the sky is a remarkable shade of fuchsia and turquoise.
Would you ever do a nude shoot? If so, in what setting?
Mike Modernday Mogul has his own Facebook page and can be found under the name here. KUDOS, Mike, KUDOS!
For the first time ever, I participated in a Susan G. Komen “Race for the Cure” gala! The experience proved exhilarating, a celebration of giving back. No, I probably wouldn’t have participated, if my Cousin Mary Ann had not broached the topic, her face beaming with glee at the notion of us walking in pink for such a noble cause. Since I’m generally good-to-go when presented with ideas outside of my norm, I was all over it! Our registration fee covered the price of an official Komen, pink-ribboned T-shirt, on which we lovingly pent paper placards “In Memory” of our beloved family members. Beneath my ginger-streaked, dark-brown Sisterlocks, three sheets made a triad about my race number: on them were my beautiful mother’s name, Clementine Young Moss, about whom I will blog in a coming post; my mentally-retarded yet generously-gifted cousin Elondia “Bim” Young and my Renaissance/Entrepreneur uncle, Unca William “Popcorn” Young. No, he didn’t have breast cancer. My baby sis just reminded me that he succumbed to Prostate cancer. I forgot to include our mother’s mother’s name, Mrs. Pearlie Mae Young. On my cousin’s back were other family members.
The gala consisted of different categories of races and walks. There were even categories for little people. I don’t know who won what, being I was more interested in soaking up the bounty of the day: the energy of the throngs of pink-clad folks, stupendous West Palm Beach weather, the eccentric souls with pink falls grazing their shoulders and backs, those with fuchsia tu-tu’s bobbing over big and little butts, sexy workout gear that claimed my glances, the pink vehicles and fire trucks that had to roll out yearly, free-flowing bottled water, Blue Bell ice-cream cups, fruit bars, red gumbo apples and big-mama oranges, toothless babies smiling and grinning, couples boo-ed up, straight and a few gay, hey!, pets dressed better than some of their owners, dj’s spinning sounds along the race course, and Latino, Zumba afficionados popping and locking in the street in front of the dj booths!
A girl was enchanted!
What follows is a gallery of photos I snapped with my trusty cellphone! I had a slew of pics, but these made the cut with one criteria: they had to make me smile. So I figured it they could make me grin, you might follow suit. Are they not adorable…ESPECIALLY the one with a woman’s hubby dressed in a PINK BRA? I loved it. When illness or any sort of dis-ease strikes, beloveds can play a key roll in your healing!
This blog’s title drifted from the lips of an older gentleman whom someone had the foresight to discard on a low-standing concrete wall surrounding a breathtaking marina, so that he might, I gather, have a clear view of the runners and walkers. In the street before him, a television reporter in shorts with a mic and plenty of personality regaled the crowd.
“Hi! How are you?” I greeted him.
“I’m good, thank you.” He smiled, sat up straighter. “How are you, girls?”
“Super, and thank you!” I said, my cousin and I returning his cheeriness.
Bags of goodies someone, no doubt his livelier wife or girlfriend, had collected along the race route, stood sentry about him, forming a pink moat.
“Don’t you love some of these outfits? Even the pooches are decked,” I commented, laughing, wishing I’d been a bit more creative with my black yoga pants and official shirt. Together, we stared as a sexy Latina strolled by, her race shirt cut to fashion an alright-now, off-the-shoulder T-shirt above a pair of amply-filled shorts. I waved, gave her a thumb’s up. Winking, she waved and laughed.
“That’s nothing,” the Discarded Gent said. “You should see my wife’s shirt. A survivor, hers says: “Save the Tat-Tat’s! She’s a member of a group of survivors who believe in coming correct, okay!”
“Well, okay then!” I laughed and my cousin and I wished him a good day and strutted back towards the Blue Bell truck and its queue of quietly waiting ice-cream lovers.
I walked away thinking, “Yes, Lord! Save as many of the tat-tat’s as possible! And thank you, J E S U S!”
There is something to be learned from fear, as with all things…and people. This is a photo of a night beach. Walking it at midnight, you might discover fear tapping gently or banging rhythmically within your bosom. Will the waves snatch you from the sand and into the great dark depths of a watery deep? What lurks in the waves? Does it have serrated teeth, scales and/or claws? Will the sand bite? Who might stroll out of the darkness? The questions are infinitesimal, and can bludgeon your heart with unreal imaginings heavy enough to staunch breath!
Fear, like your mind on a night beach, has the capacity to run amok. And if left unexamined, it will hurl you into a black sea replete with every monster and catastrophe known and unknown to humankind.
Last night I brushed up against a night beach. In the middle of my covers, my heart raced. Nerves frayed. My mouth dried, and paranoia fingered my locs. I was perfectly safe…from the weather, hunger and imminent harm, so why?
“What was my dilemma then?”
In a nano moment, I bowed to fear. Imagining I’d not rise in time to conduct a talk show I didn’t have scheduled. Believing I needed to be doing something I wasn’t at the moment. Thinking I wouldn’t have time to do all that I needed to do.
And when I realized the mind, my mind, had created the stress I was feeling in a fraction of a second, I became still and faced what was happening, utterly Present.
That is when I realized my fear sprang out of my thoughts of inadequacy. So, just like that, I changed them. Without words, I reminded myself I was blessed, safe and wonderful! I became grateful for the fearful moment. I slowed down and discovered I’d run over myself. There was no show planned for the next day! Had there been, I was already prepared. And then another thought became real: the mind could not determine if I was actually in a perilous state. Same as fear stole in and momentarily crushed my joy, so, too, could I impress my mind with what I wanted to create, to experience, to taste. Via my choice (my decision) and thoughts, I could change my life.
Now it is one thing to read this…and wholly another to experience it for yourself.
FEAR NOTHING. FEAR NO THING. Move through it to learn what it desires to teach you.
When you do, a night beach becomes an experience, something beautiful and whatever conscious or unconscious encounter you seek. So why not stand at the helm of your ship and co-create with the Universe!
Love this journey. Have faith. And LIVE.
THIS POST WAS WRITTEN ON FEBRUARY 7, 2013 AND LEFT AS A DRAFT. TODAY, I RELEASE IT TO YOU…
Besos y abrazos