I am starting to hate that Shange & Parks ever became widely read in playwriting school.

PLAYWRIGHTS, USE %%$&&%# COMMON SENTENCE AND PARAGRAPH STRUCTURE AND PUNCTUATION SO WE KNOW WHAT THE -%$%%!!! YOU ARE TRYING TO SAY INSTEAD OF TRYING TO WRITE THE WAY YOU WANT IT TO SOUND.
 
Or add a guide to your script we what your misguided @$$ed attempt was meant to accomplish...

I have no idea where these came from

Such are the perils of the communal laundry facility.

Edit:

upon going downstairs to wash last night, there were some thong unders left on the floor.

Thong unders that were so slight as to appear more as strap of some sort rather than something meant to cover "something".

I still don't get the prevalence of thongs. It seems like air flow would feel better, but my bits and/or pieces are not so arranged. 

Use It vs. Lose it

I sort of feel like I don't know how to act anymore.

The same fire doesn't feel like it's there.

I am as excited reading a piece, but putting the words in my mouth feels....

(shrugz)

Maybe it's just been a long time.

Maybe it just takes an old engine longer to turn over.

Maybe I just need to get off this keyboard and fight with this script
some more.

Byrne & Barnes - Love You Out Of Your Mind

Life is like working on cars or bikes

You learn from messing up.

You get excited and try things without the necessary tools.

You put things off that you are afraid to try,

And then you finally do it, figure out how you are supposed to do it...

and wish you'd tried it all a long time ago.

I am currently sitting in Ripley Grier reading a play for an audition that I hoped wouldn't turn into my life.

In two pages it absolutely has.

I guess I should keep reading. Maybe there's an answer at the end.

  

Sticker Shock

  This past Sunday I headed into the city to see a 2pm show and possibly drop in on a Tony party.

When I bounded from the boat, down into the station and onto the 1 train, I sat across from a gentleman wearing this sticker.

 

As a "performing artist" trying to remain alive and knowing several others who consider themselves to be the same, it resonated with me.

I had just had an experience where I asked to take a picture of someones bag and they said no. Since, however, I learn nothing from any past experience EVER, I asked again in this case instead of just going with the stealth cellphone shot. I was rewarded by being told I could have the sticker itself.

(word? gimme.)

He then volunteered that he got it from an art fair not far from the ferry. The artsy types out on the island are mostly concentrated in the area near the ferry and I've seen people with tables out with their wares before: visual art.

After I accepted the sticker and placed it smoothly and firmly upon my own shirt, it occurred to me that the intended meaning was different from the way I read it. I read it as "artists existing/subsisting as artists". Coming from visual arts/handcrafts fair, it occurred to me the more literal meaning: support artists who are still ALIVE.

Still a sentiment I could get with and still open enough to interpretation to fit my more specific needs, I thought it would be a nice sentiment since I would spend at least part of the day at a show and another part of the day among people in them/trying to get in them.

After the exchange with him, I decided to switch to the 3 train at Chambers.

At 14th Street a young woman with short locks, a backpack and folder hopped onto the train. I was standing in the doorway opposite of where she came in, and she immediately smiled at me. At the time I thought it may have been a bit of the common recognition that happens among those of locked hair. Then, once I saw she was busking, I thought it may have just come from that bit of openness that comes with salesmanship.

For a second, I thought she may have been just riding the train and in a rare (for the city) good mood. Then she opened a folder and began impassioned exhortation for support for her artistic endeavors. She showed examples of her visual art and explained that she has kids and was trying to support herself and her family via her art.

This is not particularly uncommon. Well, it's not AT ALL uncommon on the subway.

There was, however, a performative aspect to it that caught my attention. It seemed to be, if not written,  a rehearsed piece that specifically referenced common means of avoiding giving attention to train buskers (" put down your book and LISTEN to me) and intrigued me enough to lift an earphone off so I could hear it (and maybe so she would know somebody was listening).

I will now add that I am EXPERT at ignoring train performances and have a particular, high standard for what I will pay attention to. I am willing to give you attention - but I need you to have PRACTICED YOUR SH!T and have some understanding of theatricality.

(I mean YOU breakdancers/hat dancers/singers)

What also struck me about her was that on the outside of her folder, I could see the info for her GoFundMe account. Again, different from the average and more in line with the people I know rather than just another person hustling on the subway.

As she finished, I pulled out my wallet to give her a dollar. I also had the idea to give her my card - I think as form of solidarity. Or maybe to say, "hey, I take you seriously,".

She came over, I handed it to her, she thanked me adding, "that's what I'm talking about. Can I give you a hug? You 'bout to make me cry up in here.".

This time I could plainly tell she was referencing the sticker...

And I thought it might just be about adding a little more to the presentation, but I gave her a hug anyway.

And it was a real, firm hug.

And when we released, she did have tears running down her cheeks.

I said something encouraging, wishing I could come up with something more poignant. I suddenly glanced out of the doors to check the stop when they opened and backed out onto the platform.

I regret not asking her name.

People in my building have recently found out that I'm an actor (due to a certain NY Lottery commercial). Sometimes...I guess even often, when people hear you are an actor, they will compare their "normal" job to it. They way this happens varies, but the insinuation is that they have a "real" job; they would love to get to do an "easy" job like yours.

Living as an artist is hard enough. Trying to live off of your art is even harder.

It is real. It is not easy.

And no one (including artists) seems to understand just how integral artists are.

At some point I will likely come here and wax long about my views on how poorly artists contextualize the tangible, literal, pragmatic importance of what they do.


For now, just this:

support living artists.

edit: while walking along 6th ave last week, I saw her heading west (yes, among the 8 million people in Manhattan any given day). Her name is Sha. This is her GoFundMe

syntax

I have decided to forego expletives for the next 7daya

we shall see ds it goes...

Alas,

I am festooned with feet fickle,

with cartoonish ephemerality,

stereo-typic of cartoonish women;

so do I declare:



all the Puma's are being returned.




Whirlwinds just don't feel right when they're not colored black.

Dear Internet,

Please, go back to being boring and interesting...

instead of entertaining, titillating, eroticizing, polarizing, incentivizing, ad-generating...

(etc.)

Signed,

That kid who used to get nothing done getting lost in you that now gets nothing out of getting lost because of you.

Supplication

 (one day, a hurt man looked up and said)

"Dear God,
 The Truth,
 What-Is-And-Has-Been-And-Will-Be:

 I once asked you to make me a healer;

 Now I am asking you to send me one.

 Amin"



 (amin)

The Monkey

I just realized, after setting my Neuro Sequencer app for "dream state", that I dreamed about Gizmo last night.

The brain was heavy and my little feelings have been hurt, so I needed a to go for a good dream. I think I do better today.

Sometimes I miss Gizmo.

I had sex with the wrong person.

I feel like an ass.

I feel like a fool.

I feel like shit.

I knew better.

I wish I had someone to say these things to.

This is affecting everything I do.


I will very likely seek some kind of therapy.

I need a girlfriend.

There. I said it.

"I am a human being,

I consider nothing that is human alien to me."

Terence

Chappelle & Angelou

"courage, the most important of all virtues. Because, without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently."

Maya Angelou

It occurs to me

that a periodic date is useful because it is good exercise in attentiveness.

Or just good exercise?

Perhaps I'll explain more later.

...that moment when one looks down

and realizes that strange, thin shadow on the floor is not a shadow at all,

but that length of lock that had been hanging on for dear life

that you didn't want to let go.

Oops!

nevermind. Puma.com has them 30% off for the weekend...

Not exactly the right colors, so crisis mostly averted.

zapatos

Of course, now that I have a little money with which to buy (and keep
this time) those Puma Whirlwind Classics, NOBODY has them in my damnably
common size.



Boo. Boo, I say.




(sigh)




In other news: sex ruins everything.

The ducat$

A week of cool, high-school-cute normalcy descended into personal annoyance and emotional volatility dropping headlong into a descent of regular new bad news.

So, a week of nice was the precursor to 10 days of relative hell of one sort or another.

(as it turns out, I'm really sensitive to room colors and having my stuff touched

And about 30 minutes ago my roommate walks in and hands me two letters, one being from my "talent manager".

I open it and see a four figure check.

And I immediately looked up and sighed in relief, as I'd just paid rent, and in the midst of sorting through job postings on the state employment site.

And then, being the cerebral nitwit I am, I thought about it.

I'd much rather my cousin could still coddle and care for her 7 month old son.

I'd much rather my other cousin was watching his daughter play in the spring-soon-summer sun instead of holding her little unconscious hand after surgery and in preparation for a round of chemo.

I'd much rather my father were feeling better and able to putt around after he putt a round.

And I like, REALLY despise money....


but I sighed that sigh,

didn't I?

The beginning of anything

must be the hardest thing in the world.

Live. Now.

(inhale)

(exhale)

(absorb)

(explode)

:-#

.....

I grew up not being normal.

In high school I was usually never around kids like me.

(which I now realize sounds...chauvinistic?)

I have always been an exception.

So, I came to this city full of "exceptional" people, never intending to
stay here the 10 years I have.

I realized I'm weird here, too.

Recently, I tried feeling normal....and it was nice for a while,

but I think I've come to a conclusion pressed home by the weight of 12
million signs:

it doesn't matter where I go,

I will always occupy a space outside of whatever the local average is.

I am inherently,

biologically

intrinsically,

chemically,

genetically,

not

normal.

Never before have I wanted to peel off my (_____)ness,

not because I no longer want it,
because I feel I no longer deserve it.

"Green, indeed,

is the colour of lovers. "

(sigh)

My manager* gets on my nerves.





(* as in "agent", not "supervisor")

I am changing.

I thought I might be for a couple years now, but there is a definite difference in this moment.


I am a ball of raw nerves. I need something, I think.

I respond.

I finally changed my license. I decided to be where I am.

I want desperately to love, but I won't admit it.

I want to drink you in, I want to wash myself over with you even though I know you're no good for me.

I will fight.


so,
basically,


I think I'm turning normal.

I am currently on the boat watching

a family playing a charade-type game via mobile device and am not annoyed by it.

....?

"The United States Census Bureau defines White people as those "having origins in any of the original peoples of Europe, the Middle East, or North Africa."

http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/meta/long_RHI505210.htm

bolas azules

I am not quite certain what I did to invite it, considering there's been
no arousal to speak of today and certainly nothing intense and prolonged
to invite the condition,

but Righty is tender.

I assume I'm being paid back. For something.

Ok. I'll be good.


(ow)

Today's theorem

Truth is like energy. It can neither be created nor destroyed.

It is. Always.

I don't think I know enough people

who understand the glory involved in having just been called "The Stig".

(walking around with helmet on)

I am officially declaring a moratorium on playwrights that write dialogue with no punctuation and call it "stream of consciousness" or "stream of thought".

If it's written correctly, we'll get what it is

Furthermore, people reading the script need the punctuation SO THEY KNOW WHAT THEY $#??$ YOU'RE TRYING TO SAY.

I have moments

When I understand that I am nothing but the average of a 12 year old boy and a dirty old man. 

I am tired of my temper testing my patience.

(particularly when my patience loses)

I took the 3:30 drunk boat, saw a man so incapacitated his friends were carrying him arm-under-arm onto the boat.

Then I went to the front of the main deck (in effort to avoid a perceived high potential for drunken stupidity. I ate a little, thought a little...and looked around to see several people dosing on each other's shoulders, laps, chests and couples boo'ed up.

It was the first time I've ever found anything about the ferry in the wee hours on the weekend remotely adorable.

Maybe that's progress.

Today,

while on the train:

I saw a youngwoman whose face seemed as though she could have been hewed by spirits from wood

sanded in so many steps that all separation of grain and splinter melted into a consistent hue -

and rubbed with oil so that she shone.



And I found myself almost-despairing that I was not alone...

and that I had no tears...

so that I could weep the pleasure of the seeing.

A Note to Any Future Cohabitants

I need to always be near a steady, abundant supply of paper towels.

Seinfeld to Stern

"Your career is a victory over the self...you conquered yourself."

("conquered your self"?)

Right.

I am currently on the boat

sitting a ways away from a hybrid if Wilford Brimley and Holmes' Watson dressed for a jungle forest excursion.

I don't know if I want hot English breakfast or sun brewed iced.

Bliss =

That moment when a character says exactly what you've been screaming at
the screen for 2 seasons.

Voyager, 703, 12:30

The Grind

I'm not sure when, but at some point I became a teeth-gnasher.

This does not bode well for ye-of-little-to-no-health-or-dental-coverage.

"I never refer to me as an artist,

---

From: CWalkerJr
Sent: 2/3/2014 8:55
To: C. Walker, Jr.
Subject: "I never refer to me as an artist,

It's third of February.

I'm already tired of snow.

Ride.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNNoU13Xu6M&sns=em

(sigh)

Food.

and poverty.

:-/

011010111 et Magnifique!

I am that dude in GIMP.

That is all.

Rat. Turtle. Snake

Ringmaster

Well, tonight I choreographed my first stage fight scene.

Interesting.

The Bus for the Discerning Rider

Turkey Hangover

I suppose I've never been out on the night before Thanksgiving before, but I certainly never knew how much like Saturday night it is.

(currently sitting in terminal waiting for boat and surrounded by drunkards)

"I remember we were in Papua New Guinea once

 There are like 370 tribes there and they’re not nomadic, so they all stay on their pieces of land. They all speak their own languages. One of them told us that if you change your body after you come out of your mother’s womb, you’re disrespecting your mother. You’re disrespecting what she gave you… you need to embrace what you have."

Brian Spitzer 

Motorcycle derivation

Riding a fast bike slow = (not fun)

Riding a slow bike fast = (fun)

Riding a slow bike slow = (enjoyable)

Riding a slow bike slow on a 40-and-below day = (55 cool points)

" Nigger Hit Us All..."

The following is a post to facebook by Dominique Morisseau. We are acquainted via the minute vastness that is the world of theatre in NYC. If you want to know who is and what she does, consult your local internet search engine. She got credits, son.

Read.

*****

Nigger Hit Us All...

October 30, 2010 at 12:40pm

A tradition of mine to re-post an experience I had a few years ago on Oct 31st....

Halloween. 1:30am. Most crowded A Train ride of my life. Really. On the way to Brooklyn- smooshed into the train car and separated from my friends like we were going through the middle passage. Moist naked skin from ridiculous Halloween costumes puts me way too close to the touch of some random man's hairy legs. I'm already dyin', and the drama has yet to begin.

We get to West 4th and the car gets unloaded by the many people still in search of the next party to swing to, and my man and I catch two empty seats together. We think we are free. The train re-fills with some more crazies and the train takes off. Then it happens.

A White man, his girlfriend, and some young pre-teen that is with them, all enter the train- pushing past the tall older teens and young adults, some just costume-less, some faces masked in monster-ness or stocking caps and the like.

I guess somebody touched the White man's hair. It's reddish brown and wild and I'm hoping he is wearing a costume, but in NYC- you just never know. But somebody must've touched his hair, cuz he starts screaming "Don't touch my fucking hair" really loudly on the train. His girlfriend and the pre-teen with him look embarassed. They try to quiet him down. The murmurs and laughter of the masked teens get louder as they shout stuff back to him. It's inarticulate.

But the White man continues his rant, until he's so angry. So wild-eyed. So drunk. He spews amidst the laughter - "I can't stand all you stupid niggers".

A beat. A long moment of silence. Time damn near froze. The word "niggers" hit us all. The people sitting on the sidelines. The children in Halloween costumes rummaging through their candy. The mother standing right behind the White man- who kept flinching from his reckless elbows in her side. She covers her baby in the stroller that he is unconsciously pushing her into. The heat rises in all of our collective throats. We are all immediately pissed. Collectively ready to kick his ass.

"I can't stand all you stupid niggers". Beat. The train erupts in "WHOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" from about twenty Black and Brown voices, but it felt like a million of us. A million people ready to pound this drunk man into oblivion.

I can't hear my own heartbeat. I stand and scream something I can't even remember. I can't even hear cuz we are all screaming at this man at the same time. I was ready to spit on him. To throw something at him. My man stood up, ready to do the same. The blood was rushing through us like crazy. "We are going to kill your ass," I was thinking.

Then suddenly, I look to my right, at the little boy, six-years old-lookin', brown-skinned, fake blood coloring his face, and fake knife going through his head. He looked so excited about his candy just moments ago. Now he stood, back against the train wall. Out of his seat. Invisible to everyone else because the rage was focused on the man who had just cursed us all. Even his mother didn't see him. But I did. His eyes were wide and alarmed. He look FRIGHTENED by the mayhem. FRIGHTENED.

I touch him gently. Shield him with my arm. "It's okay, baby. It's alright." He looks at me and starts to cry. I realize he should hardly trust me. Just seconds ago, he probably heard me cursing something obscene and horrible. I instantly hate myself for losing my cool.

My man sees the boy too. We both start to comfort him. Then the stranger next to him ruffles his hair a bit to calm him down. Finally the mother sees, and tries to join in the comfort, but must stay standing to protect her younger one in the stroller. The noise and screaming is still going on all around us.

The White man is screaming and cursing so much I think I can see his lungs. The train is so overwhelemed with adrenaline and hatred I think we are going to ride this thing straight into Hell. Or I think this White man is about to be pulvarized.

We pull into the next stop quickly, and everyone warns this man that he better "get the _____ off the train". He pushes past all the people. The innocent Black, Brown and White faces that he whizzes by hear all the noise but missed the details and have no idea why they should hate this man.... but they do. You can tell. White man makes it free off of the train, but looks back to see that his girlfriend and the preteen have been left behind. He has left them on the train with US. It is his grave mistake.

He starts banging on the train window for her to get off. She is called Maya. "Maya PLEASE GET OFF THE TRAIN" he screams and bangs on the window. The word "niggers" flies from his mouth again, and he is sending electricity through this train that none of us is prepared for.

For whatever reasons, Maya never got off. Neither did the pre-teen. The train doors close and pull off, and the Black and Brown bodies on the train start laughing. Laughing that Maya is left on the train with this angry pack of wolves. Left to the "niggers".

It's a little funny at first. As the train pulls away, we laugh at the fool for leaving his girlfriend and this pre-teen behind. What an idiot. What a coward.

But then... Maya begins to catch all the hell he left behind. The teenagers and young adults start messing with her. The pre-teen is falling apart by this point. His curly hair is compared to "Sideshow Bob" by the teenagers. Maya, whose piercings and red hair make her the target of a number of stereotypical White punk rocker jokes, gets called "Pink", and "Eminem", and is taunted and yelled at the entire train ride home.

Maya is afraid, but she is a fighter. She curses back. She stands her short ground next to the tall group of guys and girls that taunt her. "I"m from Brooklyn" she declares. That's supposed to give her some clout. It doesn't much. But in hind sight- she got points for standing up for herself. Which is more than we can say for the White man who left her to "the wolves".

But the pre-teen is broken. The yelling and the taunting is too much for him. It's too much for the little brown boy. It's just too much. The pre-teen is afraid. He is embarassed by the White man's actions. He looks to me and my man and begins crying and apologizing profusely.

"I'm...I'm sorry" he keeps saying through a quivering voice and tears. His body is shaking and I fear that he may faint or collapse. He, like the little brown boy, is FRIGHTENED by the mayhem.

I reach out to him also. Try to touch his arm. Calm him. He's just a child himself. "It's okay," I try to tell him. "Don't be scared, honey. You will be fine. They are just being silly."

But ain't nothin' funny about it. Not to him, at least. Not to Maya. Not to the little brown boy. And eventually, not to me. Not to my man. Not to the others on the car who are getting tired of the teenagers and their loudness and their rude racial jokes. We are getting TIRED.

And as we sit on this hellishly long train ride, I realize what this word "nigger" has done to us. It hit us all. Not just the teenagers. Not just the Black and Brown train passengers. All of us. Maya was scorned by it. Had to ride home in its aftermath. The pre-teen was traumatized over it. Will now be afraid of Black and Brown people for what could be the rest of his life. Every White person that got on that train was now a target. Because the Black and Brown teenagers had to reclaim the power that was stripped from them by this word. They had to spit back the hate any way they could find. Become the "wolves" that they were being treated as.

And I was wondering to myself, as my man and I were walking our friend home... glad to be off of that A Train... glad to finally be in Brooklyn....still hearing the yelling and taunting in our own minds....

Were we even mad at that White man? Drunk off his behind and completely stupid and not to be taken seriously in any way whatsoever. Was it he who offended us? Or was it the word?

Nigger. Nigger - when said that way makes us less than. Makes us inferior. Makes us aware of our "place" in the world, even as one of us sits in the highest seat in the country. We can still be stripped of our dignity. We can still be dehumanized. Still be impoverished and ignored and humiliated.

Whether the White man says it to us.... whether we say it to ourselves..... we have given that damn word waaaaay too much power. Waaaaaaaaaaayyy too too much.....

*****

Nocturne

I just got off the train and able to walk fairly normally after suffering through a laziness-sowed, stress-triggered back cramp for two days. Stepping off the train and walking toward the work vehicle on wee-hour Saturday morning, I usually regard the youth exiting the local ballroom and on/from/at the diner where they find their mythical, rationalized inebriation cures.

(aka: eat something)

At first it was the usual age-objectified judgment that I was no longer interested in such.

Then I noticed that the mid-October morning was a more pleasant cool than it seemed when I first emerged from underground.

Then I appreciated that the episode of the NPR podcast that I'm listening to was one of the better in recent memory.

Then that late/early frolicking didn't look so bad.

The point?

I probably want to spend a late night out making just a little too much noise eating a little too much pancake once more.

As soon as my back feels better.

p.s.: I also need a fall state/county fair to wallow in.

And for 5 guys to get real whole grain buns and a beef alternative.

Off to work...

Blockhead - Sunday Seance

I just saw a group of children

wearing t-shirts that said "laziness causes pain" on the back.

I am currently amazed

at how faraway heading home at 3 to 5am on a weekly basis seems now.

You know what I didn't need to see?

An older woman bent over urinating between parked cars.

And a 6/7 year old wearing jeans off the ass over shorts.

And it started off as such a nice day...

" And remember...

,,,with enough profanity, you can accomplish anything."

Harmony

Today I was told that I have a 3 octave (plus 1 or 2 notes).

This was during my first formalized singing training.

I've been thinking about whether I should be doing something musical.

I don't know that it was apparent to the coach during the sessions that I had moments when was near having a "moment".

I have been thinking that I should be doing something other.

Hm.

Thompson & Grand

The joy of using the NYPL branch at 23rd & 7th

is watching someone place the laptop they checked out on top of their cart and wheel it into the public restroom so their music video watching isn't interrupted.

8-/

I simply adore

when I ask a "is it (a) or (b) and am told merely yes or no.

Though it is a great way to show someone when they didn't bother to read the whole question.

Peace,

c. walker jr.

I really wish I could sneak a close-up

of the wide-face, squat head baby sitting across from me on the bus right now.

Sign you've been on one place too long #1xxxx:

Remembering when this was clean.

I like seeing babies fall...

..get back up again.

Morsel - Para Siempre

Mmm...
Yes.

"One of the beauties of Jungle Law is that punishment settles all scores. There is no nagging afterward."

From Kaa's Hunting,  Jungle Book

So here's something I didn't think actually existed.

Have I ever told you thongs are disgusting?

Oh, well: thongs are disgusting.

Thongs as underwear are only acceptable in the context of lingerie.

As in, "excuse me while I put on something more comfortable" lingerie.

In fact, I go out with female-person, and she wants to thong it up at some point, she is going to have to make the thong part of her costume change.

That change should accompany a shower. Thongs as utility underwear should be banned with the exceptions for certain activity/occupation-based garments.

(dancers, various forms of athletics)

And, again, note that a SHOWER soon after will be involved.

Even primitive cultures that use thongs don't wear them in a manner that so flosses as the average western thong.

Thongs make me angry....as do Urban Outfitters and whoever else is responsible for 14-year-olds thinking it cute to walk around with their ass cheeks gadding about.

:-#

USB cable as a belt ?

Not so much.

Saturday nite alcohol consumption strikes again.

:-#

So, I just saw this parking.lot attendant

hit a car.

In case you were wondering what happens to your car when you pay to park in NYC.

Kodomo - Concept 15

(gasp!)

Unsolicited

Me: (standing outside jazz club waiting for someone, my headset and headphone in hand, just finished listening to voicemail)

Older gentleman who walks up: What do you do?

Me: I'm waiting for someone

Him: No, what do you do

Me: actor

Him: actor? What are you doing messing with technology? You're emotionally constipated. You have to be (something to create)

Me: Dude, it's just a phone.

Teaching Birlliance

swat.

I'm pretty sure that I had a dream that I did a Mutombo GEICO commercial-style swatting of somones attempt to tozs something into something  last night.

Or recently.

Or something.

I'm kinda hoping it was just a dream...

Some things aren't funny in real life.

From a Sunday afternoon in NYC

I am almost impressed that the topless Vegas-style girl in Times Square* already has a bootleg, disinterested doppleganger.

(*who was a bit bootleg to begin with, as the one I saw was obviously not schooled in the proper movement style and was wearing flip-flops)

Until subway cars are made so that the entire side opens up, people will continue to crowd the areas just inside the doors....despite the wealth of empty space in the middle of the car.

(thinking)

No. that wouldn't help. These lemmings will continue to do things that defy logic and damn sensible nerves.

Dyson does not improve things anymore, he simply tweaks his designs to justify replacing his old designs with a products with lots of fun profit margin built in.

(aka: the curse of the apple tax)

I will not likely stand on a corner and preach to you about getting proper in your religion, but it takes a great deal of energy to keep me from RAILING at you about you letting your daughter come out of the house/hotel/camper with butt cheek-baring shortpants. I may just smite you.

Contrary to what you want to believe, those super-high, narrow-wedge heels were not actually meant to be worn as daily footwear. The model puts them on, the photog takes the picture, the model takes them off. One of you is going to fall off of those things and hurt yourself....and you're going to wonder why you have gnarled witch feet and varicose veins when you're 40. Stop it.

Knowing that you shouldn't stop for nachos while power-walking from 65th to South Ferry will not stop you from stopping for nachos at 14th Street; thereby ending your power walk at Chambers even though you managed to find a clean bathroom on Canal at 1:30 AM.

Roaches aren't particularly interested in finding food in your house, they just really enjoy climbing all over your stuff.

Ba'el vs Worf

"They will kill you."

"Yes, but they will not defeat me."

upon searching for whom were the enslaved Africans

Found this interesting given the citation of a naive African writer....and a previous conversation about minorities having their own voice from this past Friday...

(and understanding that Africans are not really the "minority" in this instance)

"Slavery was practiced in some parts of Africa,^[16] Europe,^[16] Asia^[16] and the Americas before the beginning of the Atlantic slave trade. There is evidence that enslaved people from some African states were exported to other states in Africa, Europe and Asia prior to the European colonization of the Americas.^[17] The African slave trade provided a large number of slaves to Europeans.^[18][19]
The Atlantic slave trade was not the only slave trade from Africa, although it was the largest in volume and intensity. As Elikia M’bokolo wrote in Le Monde diplomatique: "The African continent was bled of its human resources via all possible routes. Across the Sahara, through the Red Sea, from the Indian Ocean ports and across the Atlantic. At least ten centuries of slavery for the benefit of the Muslim countries (from the ninth to the nineteenth).... Four million enslaved people exported via the Red Sea, another four million^[20] through the Swahili ports of the Indian Ocean, perhaps as many as nine million along the trans-Saharan caravan route, and eleven to twenty million (depending on the author) across the Atlantic Ocean."^[21]
According to John K. Thornton, Europeans usually bought enslaved people who were captured in endemic warfare between African states.^[22] There were also Africans who had made a business out of capturing Africans from neighboring ethnic groups or war captives and selling them.^[23] People living around the Niger River were transported from these markets to the coast and sold at European trading ports in exchange for muskets (matchlock between 1540–1606 but flintlock from then on) and manufactured goods such as cloth or alcohol.^[24] However, the European demand for slaves provided a large new market for the already existing trade.^[25] Further, while those held in slavery in their own region of Africa might hope to escape, those shipped away had little chance of returning to Africa."

via, wikipedia

In The midst of my current Star Trek viewing

...in which I'm revisiting old Treks and becoming acquainted with new ones (i.e.: Enterprise),

I've realized for the first time that Deanna Troi was a com officer and dilithium is lithium with two atoms.

All this time I thought she was brought purely for the sake of her clairvoyance and never considered that was just the word lithium with a prefix.

Which all sort of point to not having been quite as big a fan of Sat as I thought....

I was still the only little brown child that I knew of in rural-ish north Louisiana that cared about ST and was really excited at the prospect of TNG.

(now back to watching Mirror Mirror to stare at Uhura's abs some more)

chemistry

I made the mistake of eating mint choc chip Hagen Daaz Sunday.

I am now about to start a protest to get Trader Joes to sell a soy cream version of the same,

because there are some things methadone just can't help.

Sugar remains the magic fairy dust of the devil.

Dairy is a mu$^%&*#@#$er, too.

lil' mamacita & granpawpaw

Setting: walking out of the one-and-only diner on Roosevelt Island

L'Mamacita - 11-12, dark hair festooned with the loose wool of Afric cut with Carib, pulled back yet flowing with a downturned bound, sleeveless white blouse, black slacks, patent black quarter-heels

Granpawpaw - blue ballcap brown slack, navy windbeaker. You know. Grandpawpaw. Same height as she, hands-in-pockets.

•lights up as they exit diner, x-Ing DR

LM: Di-, di-, di-, did you, like, hear me?

GPP: (vocal but not verbal mild affirmative response)

LM: but what about, like, the high notes?

• they cross offstage, continuing unintelligibly. Lights down.

(scene)

Get up, get out.

During the past week I have had:

• humidity induced swelling in surgically repaired right knee
• tendinitis on big tow of same
• Pulled left hamstring from a trip while running
• residual soreness in left foot from standing on bike too much during previous week

Riding the bike seemed to aid in making them all go away or feel better.

There is no better medicine than exercise even when overexertion is the cause of the injury.

All things in moderation,
but never sit for too long.

P.S. - Tiger Balm patches and stretching is the *ish.

P.S.S. - Limping up and seeing the set medic smoking, then telling him (hamstring) with his response being to point at your quadriceps is not confidence inspiring.

Rarely are YT videos good enough for me to put on my blog.

This is.

currently wondering:

what I need to do to get my lungs to match the potential of my thighs.

Plaid - Small Energies
Ray Mang - Aphreako
Peace Orchestra - Double Drums (Dj Dsl Mix)
A Man Called Adam - Estelle

Ritual union

By little dragon

gets the grrrface.

(yeah)

Kings of Leon

"Closer"

(headbang)

Aqueous Transmission - Incubus

Glorious!

Beetlebum: Moby's Mix - Blur

:-o

the prestige

I just had a dream that Elton John was on an outdoor daytime stage with an invited fan to his left playing and doing some fantastical tricks on an upright piano he was making sound like a grand.

After she responds by showing some gumptions and trying to really play something, he responds by doing a hearty impression of some R&B/neosoul-ish song of recent vintage that would be sort of impressive if he knew, but I really liked.


This is what happens when you're two phones failed to roust you enough that you come out of sleep.

Whatever the song is, it has resulted in something that was completely made up by my brain called "Where Did/Does Love Go (and Have You Found Out the Meaning)" which sounds to be remarkably inspired by René & Ángela's hit "My First Love".

There was no music playing while I was asleep, save for whatever accompanied my roommates television watching.

Such is what my brain is capable of in its sleep mode.

Bluetech

"The mistake is continually made of considering these types as transitions between absolute Caucasians and absolute Negroes."

"No such absolute type ever existed on either side. Both were slowly differentiated from a common ancestry and continually remingled their blood while the differentiating was progressing. From prehistoric times down to to-day Africa is, in this sense, primarily the land of the mulatto. So, too, was earlier Europe and Asia; only in these countries the mulatto was early bleached by the climate, while in Africa he was darkened."

Du Bois, W. E. B., 1915, The Negro (p. 8). Kindle Edition.

Reachin'

Just saw this chile go all the way down the back of her sports tights to adjust her thongly doings.

Perhaps she thought I'd left the room.

Hopefully she washes her hand before she touches the food.

For the first time. ever

"Say I ain't tryin' to, to - whatchu call that shit - stereotype, but you got some weed?"

respect and appreciation.

new york is slightly less horrible tonight.

(walking north on the west side of ave A btwn 7th/8th)

Sze Man Chan

Glowrious

Tonight, after seeing a reading of a friend's play that I find interesting and genuinely good, I was standing around running my insufferable yack as is my general wont when one of the actors came over. She introduced herself and said that we'd met before at an audition (which is entirely possible, I have come to accept that I have already come across anybody in this city who is "of color" and an actor), though I wouldn't recognize her because her hair was straight at the time.

Then she stated that she remembered me because I was so pretty.

Now, I have been complimented for appearance in the past, and used to dress kind of nice and was likely referred to for at least some time as a pretty boy, but never quite in this manner....it was strange as a male....and..just strange.

She went on thought to explain that she meant I had a "pretty aura"....

The other lady I was speaking to at the time (whom I'd just done a reading with) agreed.

??

 Hm.

A pretty aura. Interesting.

I guess I'd had a good audition? I try to be encouraging regardless of my relationship to the audition room on that particuarly day. Performers go through enough. I feel like if I'm going to not get it, let me not get it because someone brought that fire: so let me radiate some heat.

You know?


...

It's difficult for we self-deprecative curmudgeons to accept praise, particularly when it might suggest we are anything but wholly curmudgeonly creatures.

So ... "pretty aura".

hm...

interesting.

:-#

Kollektiv Turmstrasse - Ordinary (Lake People's Circle Motive Remix)

 

(pinokoface)