Some niggas recognize the light but can't handle the glare

So every time I see this, it makes me all warm and toasty inside:

Its a piece by Glenn Ligon ("We are the ink that gives the white page a meaning").

Negro. Sunshine. The irony... I love it. Something tells me that the average person would be hesitant to put the two words together. They appear to be polar opposites. Negro literally means Black... in more languages than one. And sunshine refers to those direct rays of light, unbroken by cloud. Therefore, it seems contradictory to combine them. But why? Isn't it in the darkest of corners where a ray of light has the most meaning? Don't you need the dark to be able to recognize the light? The existence of one, allows for the existence of the other.  This is not to say that Black people need White people in order to define themselves as a group, or vice-versa. It is simply a thought that without the social construct known as race, that we use and enforce, one's "Blackness," or "Whiteness," or "Asian-ness," or "Latino-ness" might simply be lost and defined only as "selfness." At least the way I see it, in order to have a distinct and collective identity, there needs to be something to which it compares - something it is distinct from.

Just a thought...

"There is a light that shines, special for you and me..."

From my stoop I stand

With this day, I hold that my summer has officially started. 

As I sit on the front porch watching the slow, silent, and damn near deserted place that is suburbia... I can honestly say that it feels good to have nothing on my plate. I usually thrive on an agenda: the need to have a time and a place to be. I suppose it makes me feel as if I have a purpose. This usually manifests itself in a flurry of meetings, organizations, and extracurricular activities. Last summer this meant not only was I working 40 hrs a week at the YMCA with those lil bas ass kids that I loved so much, but I was also slaving at Banana Republic, and volunteering at the Literacy volunteers in my spare time. I was busy, but I was never bored and never broke. 

But right now feels somewhat different. I don't have anywhere to be, nor anyone to be with, at any point in time. (At least for these next 3 weeks). It's kind of nice to just be able to sit. And think. And watch. And listen. And write. Maybe this'll be the summer that I get a headstart on that book I swear lays dormant inside me. Why not.

India.Arie and Mirah are where I am in my life right now, and I think that's a beautiful thing:

"Been around the whole world, still ain't seen nothing like my neighborhood. And of all the fancy satins and silks, my white cotton feels so good. Search high and low for a place where I can lay my burdens down. Ain't nothing in the world like the peace that I have found..."  

Newfound glory

So... I'm not sure what this means, but I've decided, possibly out of sheer boredom, that I'm going to go on a run - yep, I said it - a run. 

I am by no means athletic, or health conscious. But laying around the house makes me feel fat and I am determined to do something about it.

Just thought I'd share.

I'll let you know how it goes lol.

Oh yeah... 21 days.

1:40pm update: This is ridiculous. I am so completely out of shape, and EVEN THOUGH I took my inhaler before I almost passed out mid-jog. It wasn't even that hot, and then my legs started tingling, and I got lightheaded and had to walk pretty much the rest of the way. But I did get in a good 35 min. of cardio, and for that I'm proud. So, working out def has to be put on my list of things to do this summer... that and discover a new fav author. I'm starting with Joan Didion.

Home, Sweet Home?

So I've been back in Rochester for not even 24 hours.

Is it a bad thing that I already don't want to be here?

They say home is where the heart is. And while I know, and love the place from whence I came, I truly feel like I could do without it. 

I'm beyond boredom... and I simply can't deal with it. Or maybe its deeper than that. I'm beginning to think I've simply out grown it. I've moved away, in more ways than one and I'm beginning to feel like a stranger in my own skin. The house is the same. The streets are familiar. But somehow... the feeling is not. 

The family is lovely. And the food is great. But beyond that... nothing here even slightly begins to beg my presence. Half my friends are gone. And the other half are still in Pittsburgh. And I hate feeling like I'm trapped inside with nowhere to go on days like this... where a trip to the grocery store is the highlight of my day, and the only reason to put on some clothes. Summer is not supposed to be like this.

But then again its still only April. 

And so the countdown begins... 23 days until London.

Brownie

An outside of body experience,

I am the onlooker no longer the actor

The listener, no longer the voice

Watching

Waning

Waiting

For something to come or someone to follow

Because otherwise it seems I'm just walking blindly

seeing all but understanding less

eyes masked by the sinfulness of it all

vision blurred by the confusion its begun

to unfold

from paradise to purgatory

purgatory to paradise...

Take 562

Once again, I've decided to embark on this journey that we call blogging.

Usually such an act on my part is nothing more than a temporary pasttime. For historical reference I considered including post from my previous blogs. But I won't. Each is representative of a separate moment in my feelings, my thoughts, and my life. Thus, each is to stand on its own. And this blog is no different. 

And so it begins... and we'll see what happens.