W/Doria Roberts
8:00pm
4590 Park Boulevard
Corner of Park at Madison
San Diego, California 92116
Telephone : 619-296-0616
LA last night. Quiet night. Not much to
write about.
See You in San Diego Tomorrow night.
Quiet here in LA.
Quiet.
still
still hoping for so much
resting easy with most things
most days now
I am not moving the parts of me that can afford inertia
peace love and all that Jazz
Call a friend in California
have them come say hi to us at Twiggs
Staceyann
...And the second night is not quite done yet.
Syracuse with Jose and Jordyn and the Kim and Jamaican who is beginning to sound like a Trini...
It was good to be in a place where the snow was callous and the wind was wet upon a wild woman's face. Thank you Syracuse for holding me- so many hands beneath my failing hands- so many hearts who encourage- always they reach for the parts that blink unsure.
The room held most of the parts of my crazy identity.
Asian. Caribbean
Queer
Black
good vibes
breathing heavy pon a midnight rush
pita and John Mayer on a screen
surreal
and it was way to early to leave
way to early for a flight
I could not even eat my toast
french as I am wont to eat eggs and bread
dipped in cinnamon and syrup
Barnard
a tiny place in the large beacon of Columbia
always
Barnard invites me and cradles me
they anticipate most needs
and I was grateful for Raissa
and Gloria
and Maria
and Zoe
and all the names I am not remembering
sitting at Deean's Computer
writing ad lib
opening myself
trying to love the parts that failed in the last
days
the last months have been taxing
but the air seems breathable up here
less tense
I am in my hometown
and I am certain I am
a New Yorker
will always be
one New York Bitch
moving from borough to Borough with revolting under my fist
balled up
like a woman who has a birthday tomorrow
today almost
Days bleed careless into each other
when there is something to celebrate
she loved me
like crazy
and I now know what that feels like
to be loved like that
even if it did not last into five years
even if we fought
and bled
more than we should have
we loved and that was enough
crazyu
but enough for us
we remember that and celebrate
every chance I get
every chance we get
The music interrupting
and me at a party
carving the silly notion out of a journal entry
and nothing is left now
the voices insistent
come away from that screen
leave the words
Staceyann
leave the words you tap at so intently
intense
these words and what they mean to me
I have to go
voices call at me
I have to go
lovers with no face
I must leave
you
though I have so much more to say
would love to tell you of fucking myself in my bed
for the first time in months
today
I came in waves
watched
TV
and ate ramen noodles
in my own house
hotels are hard
but I am going
forgive me
for all that remains to be told
wanting to stay,
Staceyann
We just got here. Not even an hour ago.
The show at The Social is on Thursday 13th Nov
My body has been a little out of tune with my emotions lately.
Dunno what that is about
being brave is a myth
there is only survival
and arguments
and her never understanding what the fuck
you are not saying
not implying
about her or what she believes
can an activist/poet/woman/traveller
ever find the gritty half of a coin that might complete her?
Do I take too much shit form those who I wish to own?
and what the hell is the matter with humanity
wanting ownership
possession is nine-tenths of whose law?
Wish I could own myself
my own resposibility
for the fragmented parts of what makes me anything
I need to take control of me
my life
what is left of me
nothing left of me
nothing solid
I vascillate
swing upended from choice to impossible choice
I wish I was in love
and happy
living in a place that was safe for all the fears that drive me
from city to smaller city
a calling of names might help me
I miss you Asha
still love the way you loved me
yearning is a way we own what we cannot
wish I was able to label my loves
as permanent
It's been a while since I wanted
wanting is how we drink
from a forbidden cup glistening poison
send me a sign
Goddess
God
Universe
sky
earth
mother of Gods
and the fathers that bind us to their names
I am sick and sorrowed with these games
I want to drink
unencumbered by this albatross of choosing
I want someone to choose me
desire stretches further than my cunt
my career
my currency
my idiosyncratic cravings
need to be considered too
there are parts of me that are broken
unhealthy
you have to want all that
you must query
the length of a life with those failings
are not measured by the lack of railings
I want to fall for you
feel the swift sway of your own plunge
dipping into my forever
can we promise more than this moment
to anyone
to ourselves?
what of tomorrow is already given
to these bodies sloping selfish into the years
piling themselves
onto all we have not done yet
the long night
knocking senseless at my door
Talk soon,
Staceyann
Doria and I are performing at a Place called
a place named for a woman who was not afariad to look at the sordid parts of herself. I only hope to be a sliver of the artists she lived
while she was alive
she loved
and loved senseless
and crazy
I have decided to love like her
5901 N Florida Avenue
Tampa, Fl. 33604-6603
Phone # 813 231 9199
Come see us. Check out the story about us at watermarkonline.com
anyways.
the night is here again
another day survived.
we played at the withalacoochie women's festival last night. AMAZING place.
the moon
the lake
the night
and everything was made less drunken
the smooth of sleeping in a place
with water and women
and fires burning
and all that
I sat alone and watched the sky
and was quiet
gratitude overwhelming
for being alive
for being able to live in a skin I call mine
everyday
I am able think thoughts that are my own
I made soup
in a can tonight
clam chowder
a salad
eaten in an ice bucket
felt primal
real
Australia looms beautiful
and I am not complaining tonight
I am in Dade City
heading out to Tampa
next day
Orlando
always encouraged by your presence
looking forward to seeing what a show in Tampa feels like
moving
growing
bleeding
but only in preparation for the birthing
in love
and all that jazz,
Staceyann
...all night and my eyes are grateful for the swollen release. Tears are welcome. The quiet was hard enough without the padding of her.
So the night passed in a huff of sobs and snot and sorrow
My ex writes me exquisite portraits of our love
and I am crying in a hotel in rainy Miami
Heading to a conference of women and voices and such
Martha Stewart
maybe headed to jail
maybe not
money can buy some things
sometimes
My back aches from the dry heaves
the way
the body responds
to not being held
crazy
this woman must be crazy
to bleed like this
life fluid
rationed as it is wont to be
when I am not inclined to eat much
I should save the water in my body
let the rain
weep for me
and the you I made out of paper
nothing of us mattered
everything
meant everything
to me
the small moments loom grotesque in memory
I am reluctant to recover from crying
feeling has been so far away
lately
I have to cut myself open
to feel the hum of life
my gratitude
to your constant ripping
maybe that is why
I am obsessed
compulsive
why calling you at night
seems sane
when the bars deconstruct
invisible between hope
and reality
moving in swift like a tropical temper
lightning release
cracking the sky
and I am falling from it
chicken
little brown girl
quick turning into woman
seasons don't make sense
in Florida
or Jamaica
the weather is constant there
thank God
I have to depend on something
but belief is an ugly way to plate oneself
with self delusion
red necklace
for my fire the girl said
and I fell asleep
fitful in the flame
the beads imprinted on my heart's skin
I live inside
a dream I created for me
from nothing I conjured up
a girl
extra-ordinary
some say
and the untruth mocks me at night
mostly at night
my flaws paint themselves
blatant
over what I have heard people say
what they do not know
haunts me
gives my lovers
weapons to hurl
during the dark arguments
Therapy is not a luxury
Love is a way
to cut open the hard knots of your emotional tumors
so you
can live
here I am
living
the large wound leaking
painful and viscous from the ailing pen
Till the next feral feeding,
Staceyann
So- now I understand the disappointment of the temperate travelers whjo end up in really wet places when the brochures said sun and sin
It's pouring the cats and dogs of the cliche
Wet
and poet like
the sky mocks me and my preoccupation with tank tops and skirts and cotton cargo pants that fall below the waist
the heavens darken and the firmaments shakes- and blah blah blah
I remain uninspired
I cannot seem to find my latest oral obsession
hot and spicy cheezits
they comfort me
will perhaps comfort me well into the holidays
I hate thye fanfare that crashes merciless onto us every november or so
thanksgiving
Christmas
I turn 31 on Christmas day
Wow
I was just 30 last christmas
funny how a year can do that
rack up the numbers
and I am fighting the stereotype
I have accepted being 30
but I still worry about 40
breasts
ass
toes
stretching
must mean I am growing. no?
How much more shall I grow before I start moving toward infancy again
who will care for me
quiet as my wom has been
perhaps will always be
mute
not singing like my grandmother's
nine lives emerging from her back
her belly
her hopes
pushing them toward
America
and Canada
and Germany
and Florida
My brother has a daughter
14 years old
my mother has a child 14
they do not know each other
eight hours away from each girlish room
and they miss the connect
two half white
half black babies
they look like each other
I am here
brooding
sort of
not quite
just holding a grudge against the warm rain
the sticky wet of not having sex
in the tropics
the cool hand of a stranger is often welcome
fear of me
and what I might become in this water falling from the universe,
Staceyann
Dunno why.
Like maybe
I borrowed it. Not my arms. Legs- toes, knees not mine.
Some days body parts are all over the place. Can't find them really. Can't locate the origin of nerve that produces the sensation in brain that says-yes! I can ascertain that this finger is mine and that ankle lives just above my foot.
The world is round, they say.
Columbus was not always right in the choices he made. Renaming a place that already had people and things of tradition.
Culture is a way to package things. Make it desirable to consumers.
Angela Davis is a riot.
Rock on woman.
The Matrix and me
caught in the scent of you
what is it with you and movies
and how each one becomes a place I have been with you
only you
still trying to find these parts of me
floating
the lack of anchoring pushes me from port to port
always unsure of why I am moved by you
beauty fades an inch or so beneath the skin
but you have always been so thick
woman
your beauty runs deeper than blood
bone is only halfway there
I want to be inside of you
only because I know how good it feels there
the space that fills your lungs
cocooned as I have been inside your chest
the air you breathe
swirling comfortably through
my body
not mine this morning
how does one take back one's body from the mind?
break me
open the jagged ledge upon which we sit now
shins kicking girlish
as we swing along gentler now
with the yolks of each other
careful
be careful with that yellow liquid
held together only by that thin film
of potential
turn me over
easy
there now
washing my hair is such an arduous task
cutting my nails has lost its sharp pleasure
what use are my nails now
manicured by the distance from Brooklyn to Florida
like these lawns
green with envy
I miss New York
haven't really been home in ages
I wonder if marriage makes any sense
Isn't marriage an inherently heterosexual experience?
How do lesbians or gay men- or anybody who does not subscribe to the norm of man- woman child- ordained by state and church- find a new way to construct a familial unit?
do we rename it- like they did in NY?
Domestic partnership
or do we co-op it ?
like they did in Denmark-
a wife who has a wife
a husband with a wife
etc?
no answers come to me
from these elbows
these palms
taken from some other writer
poet
woman
girl
if you see the glue that holds me together in your neighborhood
mail it to me
PO Box 130459
Brooklyn, NY. 11213
I love my PO Box.
very new to my existence. I do not have to be home to get mail. It comes to me. And it's there when I get there. Pity the box is not human or lesbian. I would ask it out for a movie
maybe
but things always look easier when you have not yet seen
the crowded edges of the dark hole
from which wonderful things emerge
incredibly beautiful miracles
arrive
you think it's a good thing
till you look in the back of the box
anyways.
till the next bleeding,
Staceyann
Tired. Achy.
Flailing in my own arms.
If you know someone in West Plam Beach or Fort Lauderdale, tell em to come see us.
Will let you guys know more tomorrow.
Your arms around me
strangle me
don't love me so hard
woman
love me
softer in velveteen twists
turn me around you
hold me
night comes too early in the fall
every autumn
I agonize
brood
walk around myself
Kiss me
the night is almost her
will soon be gone
I will rant more tomorrow,
Staceyann