Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Monday, December 22, 2008

Dear Friend...

It takes more strength to love and let go, than to hate and hold on to something that is no longer yours to hold. In compassion you can find peace, in frigidness you can only grow cold. I have learned that I wish to inspire others, encourage others to realize their own self-worth, to seek their place in the midst of this confusion-that causes us to be eluded from seeking what it is that we are all here to find. Unconditional love. Love of you, and love of me. Loving ourselves for being who it is that we be. Don’t be afraid to cry, I will always be here to dry your eyes. I will be the friend you can depend on the most desperate of days, I will cover you with the love that runs through my veins, shield you from anything that can inflict pain. I will never hurt you intentionally; I will never deceive you maliciously. I wish only that I could make you see, the beauty that lays within you. You smile and my heart is set adrift, you move and I feel as though I have been moved like a prayer that comes from the deepest of devotion. You are beautiful. I ask that you never forget how beautiful you really are. Tomorrow will be a brighter day.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Ostentatious Piety

The swollen fist. Embrace for impact in the beat of chest.
The red of her gasoline lips. The highway that can only go forward nowhere.
I am a friend. The pillows sink the clouds of distress.
Aphrodite’s satin seashell. A glimpse into the past comings goings.
When now? Thunder strikes at the most inconvenient time.
The glasses are on the bridge of her nose. Purple haze coloured exhale.
Talking, talking, silence, silence, echoes.
Fake it. Broken dreams. Open to change. Cum.
Gone alone to discover what is not seen. Freak of nature.
Gyrating the hips of conclusion. Bleeding love.
Post the mail. Adornment of ghostly grace.
Spaces between the clapping of hands. Burning blue.
Gazing upon you like Petrarch did Laura.
Disco inferno. Stillness of heart.
Communicate. Undeliverable.
Abrasive emotions. The sailor lost at sea.
Gloved hands. Burned palms.
Open cage. Praying through perfection.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

ME

I may act crazy sometimes but don’t mistake me to think that I am your fool.
So much has changed in me, and outside of me for the world to see.
I have become familiar with remembering what I am here to be; ME.
Look how things have changed, I was hustling to win the game and I realized that I forgot to maintain my own sane. It is harder to hold on being lonely with the hopes that someone better will come along, someone that could look at you and realize that they had the most precious gift in the world. I will not settle for less than my deserved best. My love and commitment is unwavering, nurturing, intelligent and it will lead you to see the true meaning of being free openly. You once did give me something I could feel, at the time it felt so real. Though you cannot take away from me, the struggle I continue to find someone who will help me to be complete.
I am not in a moment past, I am not in the future. I am present gift to my destiny as it manifests through the maturity of my breasts. Love me, or leave me, hate me, or care for me. This is who I am. I am finally happy with my relationship with me.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

"Get Together" Madonna Live Video



There is only one M, and this is why! One of my favorite feel good songs of all time!

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Mumbai Attacked

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

As you all have heard in the past 24 hrs, the heart of India's culture and economy, Mumbai, has been attacked by a meticulous, well-thought out series of terrorists attacks. Apparently the reasoning for these attacks is the targeting of mainly British and American foreigners.

What ever the case is for these attacks, both you and I know that despite the shield of religious martyrdom these terrorists use to further their extremists views, so far 125 innocent people are dead, and over 325 injured.

If you have not turn on your TVs to watch the destruction that has been going on for over a day, do it. Turn on your radio and listen to the testimonials of the eyewitnesses of these attacks- this is real, this is our world. Six different places have been attacked, 2 hotels, a restaurant and a train station to give example.
I just heard a man speak of how he was staying at one of these targeted areas, the Taj Hotel (one of India's finest), and how he was in the lobby when the young terrorists raided into the building. He proceeded to watch people be forced to their knees and shot in the head execution style. He also described how an elderly gentleman that was injured began to crawl towards the hotel stairs and was gunned down in a pool of his blood.

What are these people accomplishing? Why do we show such dedication towards causing so much pain and destruction, but rarely care to heal and love? OUR world has gone mad, lets face it. As much as I stay hopeful, I fear that cowardly events like this will never end.
The people who are inflicting this terror are described to look like young boys. Neither your god, or mine would send the young to do the work of obviously a grown madman.

I ask you to reach into your humanity, your compassion and send your good energy to my people. India is a place of beauty, colour and home to individuals that have build one of the most vibrant and beautiful cultures.

India is a testament to the beauty that humans can build with their own to hands. I ask you to seek this beauty in you today.

Parul

Monday, November 24, 2008

The Great Annie Lennox


Music has always been my most silent and steady companion. For as far as I remember, I can say that music has been the one thing that has inspired me, fed me, healed me and set my heart free from all the troubles that life has sent my way. Music was my outlet even before writing. My headphones are like my second set of ears.

Tonight I was watching the American Music Awards, and initially I was quite depressed at the performances. I was tapping my controller on the lap and thinking of the music that has pulled my heartstrings over the years. Where has all the good stuff gone?

We all know that there is so much crap mainstream music out there today. It is hard to see past all the rubbish to find musical substance. There is tons of pop out there, some of which I totally do enjoy, but where are the great musicians of the past 30 years?

Enter redemption; Annie Lennox. I just can’t speak enough of how much Annie Lennox has inspired me as an artist. When I often sit and write, the lyrics of this musical genius run through my mind. Her linguistic vulnerability is a rarity. Annie is a source of redemption for me. Her words and the emotions in her messages move my insides and make me feel so much more than even my words can explain.

Her beautiful crescendos of love and pain speak with a heart of contemplation, frustration and universality. Annie Lennox is one of the greatest artists of our time.

Today, when she sang “Why,” at the American Music Awards, the tears started to run from my eyes. This is not the first time I have been this moved by her performance. I recall at Live 8, she was the one singer that provoked the reaction of tears from me. She is the one artist I have not seen live, that I wish to see the most.

Annie Lennox is as timeless as the beautiful songs she gives voice to. She is a perfect mold for a true female musician. Annie played with experimental sounds with the Eurythmics (with longtime partner Dave Stewart) and then became a successful solo artist. Also a fashion icon is her own right, Annie popularized the iconography of female androgyny in popular culture and brought theatrical performance to the music videos. She can tell a story without it ever looking forced or awkward.

No matter what endeavor she taken on over the years, she has always done it with class and compassion. I can continuously listen to anything from the span of her career, whether it be “Here Comes the Rain,” “Who’s That Girl,” “Walking on Broken Glass,” Little Bird,” “No More I Love Yous,” or any work off of her newer albums, which received no attention on North American charts and barely any in the UK.

Annie shows us that you don’t need to strip your clothes off, or sell your soul to the devil to be noticed. Her legacy should be what young women today see. She stands for showing that you can be yourself and express yourself through vulnerability and difficult change.

Rarely in the spotlight for her music now, Annie’s humanitarian work also gets undermined- but that’s just Annie. Never seeking the spotlight, a star that burns brighter than so many around her. Somehow she still seems shy to me when she is not performing. However when she takes the stage, she opens her heart for the world to hear her beautiful stories through song.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Remember, Remember, Never Forget

To her it is always important to remember history, the mystery of antiquities place within modern space. She recalls the day when she really learned of pain, the burning red desires of melting hearts that had fallen apart. That day she learned that not everyone was blessed with the open arms to be free and permeate to a place where they can rest assured that one-day life opens the door.

She was in middle school and she was learning about a time they called the Holocaust at the local Jewish Centre. She knew from the moment that she saw the images of scattered human beings that were made with the same human mechanics as her, she would never be the same again. They all appeared as thin as wafers that one eats at mass. Laying in this pictures were piles of bodies to form one gigantic and devastating monument that truly showed hate with more horror than imaginable, or tangible. There was no salvation to be seen here.

She wandered through the long halls of black & white pictures holding back the tears in her eyes that shuffled from side to side. With no reason for her to explain why, she just felt a little shy but slowly began to cry.

She threw-up in the pit of her stomach when she realized that she was not underprivileged at all. Sure her dad may have drank too much and occasionally thumped out his anger through clenched fists, and the coldness of his permeating devilishly, possessed gray eyes. But though she may have been damaged by the lack of his ability to see how much he had hurt her and her siblings, she could still feel the cold air fill the pressure of her chest. Breathing alive became like a most valuable treasure to her that she had once taken for granted.

How could this be true? How could we ever inflict so much pain, with the reason for nothing except for selfish gain? Even the word Holocaust seemed to communicate pain.

She entered the lecture area where she was soon greeted to the sight of a gray haired, delicate old woman, about 85 and about 5’2. She watched her slowly move towards the wooden chair that resembled the lure of an olden casket promising everlasting peace in the thereafter. Though the old woman moved slowly towards the wooden chair that sat dead center, she, the girl, sat patiently transfixed.

The old woman introduced herself as a Holocaust survivor and asked her and her fellow classmates to give her the courtesy to please be heard. But she was mostly speaking to her; she knew that from the tone of her voice. Her focus was as sharp as an arrow and her legs began to shake as the old woman recounted her story of how she was shipped to a concentration camp with her mother, aunt, her younger brother and her father one cold, merciless, and dreary day. The train ride seemed long and was not comfortable in any manner of the word, the old woman said. She was packed amongst hundreds of other women in one cart. There was nowhere to sit or even spit. She had been split from her brother and father already, but she still had her mother and her aunt close by.

The now old woman recalled how her mother held her tight and assured her that everything was going to be alright. There was no food, there was no water. There was only them. Those who would soon be gone. Those who would soon become the images that appeared in the pictures on the walls that would haunt me many nights in my dreams.

When they arrived they were mutually stripped and examined for health, then they were separated into lines of men and women. She said she clung to her mother’s side and waited for a moment to see the salvation that would surely come to her and her family, and all these people who has ridden the train with her in such miserable condition, but still surrounded her like a warm blanket of kinship.

She was hungry and thirsty, but her hunger and thirst for home was even stronger. From the line of these men and women, they began to divide the young from the old. With the blink of an eye, everything once again changed and she was commanded to leave her mother and aunt behind.

She cried and cried but this did not heal her insides. She was slapped and pushed by a guard aside. Soon enough she was alone, in a place full of uniform stripped outfits of blue and white, with hundreds of young strangers by her side.

She, the girl that was watching, now began to blubber with tears and could no longer hide her fears. She took her sleeve and drowned in the misery.

The old woman continued and told them, but mostly her, that from then she became a slave of the Nazis until she was emancipated at the end of the war by allied troops that rode in with their regal tanks, and told her it would now be alright. Everything had gone oh so wrong.

She ran around the grounds to the area where all the older women were housed. She searched for a familiar face; she found nothing except the marks of soot that covered the identities of these women who looked as empty and clear as glass. She looked even harder, nothing. Her mother and her aunt were gone, gone.

She fell to the floor and began to weep. She surrendered to defeat, even thought she had managed to survive. She eventually found the courage to seek her father and brother. She ran not knowing where she was at all, somewhere in hell, the old woman said, was the most accurate description. She found that her father and brother were no more, no more.

No more. Gone. Alone and young. Broken, abandoned, traumatized. This was her life. From that moment on, the girl who had come to with her class communally to the Holocaust Centre placed her hands on her eyes. She felt so connected to that woman, that she could have laid her body down and died.

No, that was all wrong. The old woman had reminded her, the girl, of the strength that we all possess inside. From that moment in a silent prayer, she promised the old woman and the universe that she would promise to always feel alive, even when she was broken inside. She would not just go down and die without fighting for the memories of those who were forced into the light.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Broken Telephone

It is hard to break old habits, but there comes to a time to recognize that sometimes change in your strengths need to be tuned for your own survival.

I am a good person, a kind person, a loving person. For me one of the most difficult challenges is letting go of the past in my present – that is to say that I always desire serenity when it comes to situations past. What I have learned is that this is not necessarily a feasible reality when it comes to all situations.

I will admit that I have my friends that keep me in check when I have an emotional day. This usually consists of me desiring to contact someone from my past. Funny as fate is, it has always lent me the tough slap of not having those who were once special with me really make an honest effort to keep in touch with me. It seems that their pride often leaves them running as far from me as seen to the human eye. In the case of my ex’s, their actions have always spoken louder than their words.

So when I have this yucky moment, I must reach into myself, beyond my human strength, to my faith. I refuse to let anyone take my faith from me. At times I may feel dented and weak, but the biggest struggle for me has always been learning to let go and to some, say NO.

I have changed and I continue to change into a stronger, wiser me.

I will never be someone who hates another. In fact that is that day that I would no longer feel like myself. Yes I admit that I do miss these people and nothing will ever take away the memories we have made – but I can’t forget that if I was once the object of their attention and affection; they to have made a decision about me that best suits the way they wish to live their lives now.

We are at odds. How odd, who would have ever known that we would become such strangers?

Time goes on, memories may fade in preciseness and detail with time. The only hope I have is that they have not forgotten me, the person that I really am.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

The Winds of Change

We all know; yes we can.
Listen to your day as it unfolds.
Sigh when people around you act to brazen and bold to let them know.
Fight for change, not for destruction.
Reflect the light that blesses us with the intuition of love and life.
Love not only yourself, but those who are oceans away that you will never have the privilege to meet.

Be wiser than yesterday remembering that you must elevate the facets of your mind to become even better than you could have ever imagined.
Touch the sky, don't lay without pride.


Education lays within accessing openly the pounding heartbeat of our universal condition, not through dissecting and bigotry of race and sexual orientation.
Revelations can only come through reflections, through removing social constipation, with caring for those who need to be given the same consideration of you and me.
The eyes of democracy.

Fear is manifested into our conscious by the unconscious and destructive desires of those who have blackened their hearts and resorted to desperation in attempt of not falling apart.

Today is our opportunity to change the fates of our children, the fate of our planet; both of which need us to show we can lead with vigor and kindness.
We need to adapt from our past mistakes.

Free as a bird, high as a kite.
Let no one scare you into diminishing your faith in the salvation of the religion of love.
If you were to perish without leaving a ripple of good consciousness behind, it is life that has left you behind.

Life maybe a mystery but love is a simple truth.
We face a time which calls for people to lead us towards the light of brighter days.
Rise my brothers, stay strong my sisters.
YES WE CAN.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Ever Wonder? The Origin of Halloween

Beyond the broomsticks, masks and candy, Halloween is one of the oldest withstanding holiday traditions.

So where did it all begin and where did the concept of Halloween emerge from?


The History Halloween:

Halloween is on October 31st, the last day of the Celtic calendar. It was originally a pagan holiday that was chosen to honour the dead. Halloween was referred to as All Hallows Eve and dates back to over 2000 years ago.

All Hallows Eve is the evening before All Saints Day. All Saints Day was created by Christians to convert pagans, and is celebrated on November 1st. The Catholic Church honored saints on this designated day and continued their quest to create a sole world-dominating religious empire.

It was believed that All Hallows Day (Halloween) was the day that the dead returned to the land of the living. The unique circumstance of opening this porthole between the alive and the dead also allowed for the emergence of evil spirits, such as witches and demons.

Iconography of Halloween:

The meaning of Halloween is deep seeded in Christian viewpoints. Next time you dress-up think of what you are presenting beyond the flash of your costume.

When examining the history of Halloween it is quickly identifiable that symbols of evil in Christianity became central points of iconography for Halloween.

A solid way to identify this is looking at the history of witchcraft, for example, which was documented as a hunt for so-called evil women that practiced Wicca, or witchcraft. Rather than accepting the destitute that plagued illness and the social and literal drought into a reality of day-to-day life, the Catholic Church maliciously blamed general women (witches) for the human misfortunes that befell culture at large.

Disease and poverty were rampant and as the authority of the Church could not control the ethereal reality - they blamed these circumstances on evil acts of women with supernatural powers. Green with envy, evil became a symbolism of witchcraft.

The concept of good and evil being humanly innate here on earth and beyond was also founded in Halloween. Surely one would not desire to enter the afterlife of hell over the serenity of heaven.

Persecution helped to push and popularize the concept of repenting and flagellation. This led to the hysteria of Indulgences being sold by the Church to grant people asylum from their sins on earth.

Buying your salvation was sold to give peace from fearing an encounter with witches and demons.

So Why Candy on Halloween?


The Celts believed the souls of the dead roamed the streets and villages at night. Since not all spirits were thought to be friendly, gifts and treats were left out to pacify the evil and ensure next years crops would be plentiful. This custom evolved into trick-or-treating.

In other words, treats were used to bribe the dead into staying kind to the living.

While Halloween is mainly a holiday of Christian cogitation, almost every culture has some belief in the afterlife and spirits.

**************Have a safe and Happy Halloween!*******************

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Linguistic of Lamentation

I never knew it could feel like this.
That the past memories of the love that I had would be a reason for me to keep pushing forward to hope to find my heart a real home. To find my creative place upon the surface of the moon's reflecting light.

I don't ever forget you, please know I don't do. Your smile, your touch, your body, your ample intelligence of mind is all left in my Velcro hands.
Though I fail to see that if you really loved me, why can't you treat me with some decency?

I have died in my own hearts bleeding sea, I have died at the thought of mourning the loss of your face as a reality of my seeing grace.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, the thought of you churns around in my head. I look around to catch a glimpse of light that falls upon the silhouette of my darkest thoughts.

I can't give up - that would not be in touch with that which I desire to be.
Sharp, open, striving, awakening, alive to see that what will be, is an intention that may still come to me if I remain kind to the idea of being free.

I'll keep giving my best that I can with hopes of understanding the masterplan. Let me lay my head upon your chest - I want you to hide me away from all this unmerciful stress.

At my best.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

CaNdy Wall at Madonna.com

Would you like to see a great Madonna video without download? Go to the Madonna.com Candy Wall.

Great idea and one stop shopping for a quick fix!

Monday, October 20, 2008

Madonna Gives it to Toronto with all her Heartbeat





Oh…. my… god. I have never been so buzzed in my entire life.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I am a gigantic Madonna fan. For me Madonna has always been a testament to the creative force of a woman that can create trends, dissect culture and then decipher it into meaning something that can connect with people en mass. She pushed people to think.

Understanding that Madonna does appropriate culture does not and has not ever bothered me. I think that is what she is - an experimental artist that has managed to grow in the public eye without ever loosing confidence on being herself.

The first time I saw M was in 2000 when I traveled to Detroit and saw the Drowned World Tour the night HBO recorded live - from that moment, M and I have grown a very deep and personal relationship. I have seen her 4 times now and I have never regretted spending the hefty amount her tickets sell for, or taking pilgrimages to other cities to see her perform.

**********************************************

Last night Her Madgesty did not disappoint her people. I was reminded alongside the sold out Air Canada Centre - why this woman is one a kind, and irreplaceable.

The second date for the Sticky & Sweet Tour in Toronto started with M being revealed on a giant pimp throne, and the thunder of voices screaming in hysteria bouncing to the beats. The level of energy is magnetic and you can literally feel the buzz in the air.

My favourite part of seeing her live is the visual feat she gives through the production of her show. It is like being in the candy shop and wanting it all - so it was only appropriate that she opened with that track off the latest album, Hard Candy.

6 gigantic screens graced the main stage showing an array of bouncy slogans and images that created a chant along of the show and housed images for the songs that the albums producers, Timberland and Pharrell Williams appear.

Justin Timberlake was brought to life on smaller sliding screens that Madonna mounted and danced with for 4 minutes. However my favourite screen was a cylinder screen that was along the edge on the stage, a few meters from where I was seated.

Unbelievable, the screen poured raindrops as Madonna sang “The Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You,” incased within the see-through screen with a black robe on. The screen eventually lifted to reveal her tiny force.

She interacted equally on the main stage as she did on the runway stage, giving her fans the ability to be close to the icon. A surprise for me was when she sang “You Must Love Me” from Evita on the front stage.

She seemed softer and sweeter than the hardcore trailblazer we have come to love or hate. Madonna proved to be a woman of many images - just what she has always done best.

It is hard to believe that that little woman, 5'2, garners that much power over her audience. Her frame is petite and sitting in the 23rd row made me realize just how delicate and fragile the 50 year old is. Yes 50!!!!!

The woman can out dance the pop tarts half her age any day. That is why Madge reigns supreme as the Queen of Pop - she is a consummate professional and a performer, rather than a singer. She never bows down at the sight of adversity and as she has claimed, she is her own piece of art.

M is able to transport you into a trance for the hours that she graces you to her iconography, her messages about love, life, growth and her constant encouragement to keep on going. Her productions are a sensation overload, trust me I saw two people fall to the ground - thud!

I have never ever enjoyed a woman that yells at me as much as Madonna. Though she tries to kill her fans by making them scream their guts out and refusing to put on air conditioning for the sake of her voice, I would have gladly passed out for her!

Musically all Madonna concerts bring an interesting mix of old and new - but the catch for her devoted fans is that she always brings some new mixing to her old tracks.

I was transfixed yesterday when she sang a house version of “Like a Prayer” - this is my favourite Madonna song of all time. Other highlight remixes included “Vogue” sampled with “4 Minutes”, a rock out version of “Borderline” avec guitar, a folk version of “la isla bonita” with a dance circle and a beautiful flamenco dancer, and a high-energy, non-stop danceable version of “Give it to Me” to close the show.

I just could not stop dancing!!!

I can't really convey the effect of Madonna live over just a few words. I have seen many large-scale performers do their thing on stage, but no one seems to do it with the same conviction and care to details as M.

She hit every move and she danced hard and gave it to her audience. Much like Madonna has grown as an individual, she has also grown as a performer. An avid follower of her work can identify her ability to be more vulnerable on stage and comfortable with her fans.

Though she still puts on a show, it is less about fancy costuming on this tour. In fact, she is stripped down quite simply - no cone bra this time around. The costuming this tour was not my favourite, I will admit, though she still managed to rock what she wore.

It is her confidence that makes and keeps her sexy.

My favourite outfit of hers was a black dress laced with dangling neon-coloured material necklaces. She looked stunning and the outfit matched the level of fun and intensity that her show exuded.

I was touched when introducing Miles Away she remarked, "Will you giive me some love Toronto? I am feeling lonely and I need it."

This was clearly an ordinary woman with extraordinary talents on stage, being simply human. With a divorce ensuing, she still does not disappoint her fans and manages to continue her Sticky & Sweet Tour without interruption. (Meanwhile Janet Jackson continues to cancel dates and has not rescheduled any thus far).

The crowd last night in Toronto was fornicating for Madge; explosions of screams filled the air and gays jumped around like they had found their way home to mama. I was so ready to jump and did I ever JUMP! I was soaked with sweat and I had never felt so good about being sticky and sweet.

This is a night I will never forget. From the anticipation, to the coming of Provocation Day - it’s this one woman who remains my inspiration…my provocation.
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Look for my full review of Madonna's Sticky & Sweet Tour in Toronto coming soon to Xtra.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Social Retardation - Oh so Wrong at Wrong Bar

So today I have been prompted to write to you because of this note I received on Facebook from one of my best friends. It reads:

"You REALLY need to blog about our experience last night. I'm still perplexed. I will try and not talk to strangers and feel compelled to engage people because liquor was bought ! My bad..."


As you know, I aim to please my people, and upon thought I decided to tell you what we know now. Like storytellers, I wish to share my life.

Yesterday was like any Wednesday-so it seemed. In the afternoon I decided to head down to Hump Day Bump, a popular queer party at Wrong Bar on Queen St in Toronto. I felt like dancing and being beautiful, so that was the plan.

After a couple of drinks with my darling friend, we made a pact to try and talk to one person that evening- to not look so perfect in stone, as it may not be the best way to attract people.

This friend of mine refers to me as Oprul...as in Oprah but with real flava! However apparently I have become Dark Oprul to him as late. I know he does not mean this in a mean way. Actually I think he is referring to my new found ability to go for what I want without hesitation and within any given moment.

I digress. So Dark Oprul and her friend-sidekick, Rail (Oprul's Gayle) decided that is was time to socialize and begin our funny little challenge.
Oprul and her Rail.


We got over it quite quickly when we started surveying the options. In fact I commented that I was not drunk enough to find anyone there in my good taste. Rail told me I needed to drink more.

So after 2 glasses of wine and the kickin' tunes playing by hey Mr.DJ, we decided to shake our money makers and just have fun!

Dancefloors are a place that I feel quite powerful if I am feeling the musica. I was feeling the New Jack Swing that was swinging my way. So we danced like Lady Gaga.

Within moments a man and woman, who at the time were holding down the dancefloor with us, came over and said hi. They asked if they could dance with us, we said sure - no harm done. All seemed well when I was battling Rail on Rhythm Nation choreography (and I graciously accept that he won!).

We danced, we spoke and then I was Sticky and Sweet and I wanted air. We all went out of Wrong Bar to speak. I spoke to the male and Rail to the female, who I could tell was totally jonesing on my boy!

We spoke candidly about about the woman's new born and her open relationship with her boyfriend/baby daddy (yes I said baby daddy. Sorry). Then we went back into the bar and took a tequila shot. This is when the trap was set. Boo for booze! The shot went down okay though.

With the warmth of the sting of that poison in our bellies, somehow we were transformed into these individuals BFF's in their mind. They prayed on innocent Rail and asked him if he wanted to go to somewhere to talk and have a drink. I was reluctant, but I thought what the hell. Don't be a bitch, just have fun!

I should always listen to my sketchstinct.

So we went for a drink. Luckily they kept feeding us booze, but the price for this buzz was belligerence! Dear god. The dude was cool - I had no issues with him. But the woman, like most white people upon excessive alcohol intake, began to get aggressive.

For the first time EVER I was told "excuse me. can you not talk for a second. I can see you like to talk, but it's not your turn." When people talk shit, I like to bring it back down to sense. CRIME CRIME!

Only the power of Ganesha kept me from trunk slappin' that beyach. Do you know who I is?!

This also lead into Rail getting a softcore massage from this girl and I just sat there and thought, "who the hell are these people and what planet do they come from??"

She spoke of her bisexuality and her desire to raise her daughter with love. I related amicably, citing my 10 year old niece and how I wish the same of her.
Though for some reason this chick seemed quite defensive about my lesbianism. Highlights included comments like "well you are a dyke, that is the way dykes are."

I listened like a good toddler and really tried to take her perspective in. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a good listener.

Rail and I are pretty traditional queers. Yes it is true, we do exist! I mean I can get my freak on like the next, but my desire lays within a pretty contextual framework when it comes to relationships. So I listened to what she had to say - it was noisy. A wholelotanada.

Don't misunderstand me-I have friends who are into open-relationships and bisexual. I adore them as the people they are. This girl was neither, nor. She was a moron.

At that point I should have pulled out my dildo and knocked her unconscious, but I forgot it at home.

Heavily distracted by the Baby Blue going on in a bizarre massage of Rail to my right - with a light intoxication to fluff my fire, we finished up and left the wanksters paradise like Amy outta rehab; quick!

This is the moral of the story. If you have an opinion, allow it to flow from a place of honesty and integrity. Do not use queering as an excuse to behave without responsibility, class or intelligence. Let others speak without being afraid of not being heard and wait your turn. Yes, love is all that matters, but what is your kind of love?!

Most crucially, do not feel obliged to hang out with sketchy people that buy you drinks at bars!!!

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

कामसूत्र


Trippin'
The first time.
I reach into my stomach and realize that my entire body is calling for you. You are right there.
I have thought of this moment a thousand times. While I try to slumber and relax in my bed, I find myself bothered in the thought of you discovering sensations between my legs - catching the outline of your body in the darkness of my filthy thoughts.
I need to take a second to slip my hands into position.
Your lips are big and I can imagine how much suction they cause when they are matted in the wetness of red pomegranate desire. All of a sudden I don't feel soft anymore. My fingers feel tense and hectic. I need you to ravage me, spin me around and around, as if I were an unraveling silk sari full of lavish detailing.
The third kiss causes me to slur in judgment and I want to feel you against the tip of my large, brown, aroused breasts. Suck for Indian honey. My back resembles the arches of the Taj Mahal. I skip ahead and open wider as you are treated to me stirring in spoken tongues from the evocation of my falling in pleasure. I speak of spice. There is no humanity that I show you of me at this moment, only instinct. I push into hardrive.
When you say my name for the fourth time, I groan with aggression. I look away.
I am here. We are alone. There are no rules, no limits, I feel no shame.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Fix_It DYKE


How does the world work in such comedic ways? It just does. If I knew that I suppose it would take away the thought of a good, spontaneous laugh!

Got one for you. I have become every lesbian stereotype, brought to life! I am currently a fix-it-dyke!

Impressive Improvements. That is our case. I would say that I am a quick learner- I am. I am given tools to insert, install, spread and rip out. This sounds like a Sunday at home for me. *W*

Remember, I am doing work that is strenuous on a 5'3 person! I am gaining an appreciation for listening to my music and singing up a storm, while engaging in fix-it tasks. I must say I look cute with paint on me.

My first assignment; priming until my fingers bleed. Somehow this feels quite amusing to me. I have never really taken on any jobs that involves physical labour (does walking from one side to the other of Silvercity Mississauga, my first job, count?).

I will be every woman's dream! I can build dreams with my two hands, like All For One. Ouch my shoulder hurts and my legs are tender. The hope is that I don't fall apart, and to use this dyke-sona to keep the writing dream alive!! HOLLER!!

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Surface Risings

Scrap the surface of your mind to find, that if what you do is really worth your time. Follow through with that which really matters, not things that give you the temporary excuse to act within a hectic gratification, with nothing real worthwhile in true satisfaction. Follow the signs - they are there as you walk by. When you see them and you have chosen to ignore them - don't turn to me and say that you should have known all along, but your eyes were sealed shut. Choose to change for the less, if you want to be anything less than the best. Hang your head with fluctuating intentions - you will not find me waiting for your kind of intentions.

Don't ask for help unless you are committed to making your life better and stronger. Don't ask me to be your friend if you can't give me that which I give you. I am fed-up, so sure of what it is that I deserve.
I am not your shadow anymore.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Spiders on My Wall



I've always been afraid of spiders.
I know they are god's creatures, as well as their insect relatives - but frankly the whole lot scare me.

I know its rude, we all have insides. With the ripe wine of my age I have learned to appreciate them as living beings. Though I will still admit that I don't like them per say. My rules are pretty straight forward. Don't come in my room if I did not invite you there.

I know I am a hypocrite because I walk in their world all the time. Perhaps I really do need a protective bug cover if I was to venture into the rain forest of wandering affinities.

I ask you to leave your judgments of me outside. I am just saying the truth of the matter. I feel afraid of the formed shadows of 8-legged intentions coming right at you - especially when you did not know they were their in the first place. Being vulnerable to their shock.

Usually the spiders run from you when they feel your gaze on them. The spiders see you looking at them, you shiver a bit in uncomfortableness. You know that they are there.

How do you chase the spiders away, I still don't have an answer for. I am still not fully settled with even the spiders that lay still.

Though now, sometimes I just leave them there.

Uncovering History's Mystery

When looking at history objectively, you can feel an inclination towards deciphering fact from fiction. But is this what history is really about?

While historians try and contextualize the actuality of events and people to tell in truth if these individuals really lived, or these momentous events really took place, I can also understand the value in myth and legend.

For many centuries myth and legend have been used to convey stories or morality, mortality, great love, epic battle and conquest. While modern technology and in-depth excavation and research has allowed us to gain an accessibility towards piecing together the tales of the past, it is clear that the message of history's lesson lay in the teachings, not necessarily in the facts.
The walls of Troy, modern day Turkey.

I am not trying to refute the importance of academia, or even question the importance of understanding the atmosphere that was unique to a particular time, place and culture - but I think it is important to acknowledge that myths and legends were passed on through generations past, to in-power subjects into believing in something bigger, better and perhaps even of mystical relevance towards personal spiritualism.

A stellar example of this theory is antique Greek culture. From Heracles to the legend of Troy - the Greeks spread messages that were important towards establishing the abilities of ordinary men and women. Think of that time and place and really it is not much different then our world today in terms of belief: deeply saturated in chaotic nature and destruction, we reach for hope and inspiration through la storia.

Myth and legend predate even the notion of world religions. Today we turn towards religion to find solace, salvation and hope in humanity and the concepts of a fulfilling afterlife, while the Greeks saw this in tails of the mighty Zeus and the merciful Poseidon.


We all long to find something to look up to - something that makes us feel a connection with divinity here on earth. The creative texture in which ancient myths and legends were framed by the people and then communicated so colourfully is the most remarkable legacy of these civilizations past.

History, for me, holds far more of an education then the simple pages of a textbook, or some coloured plates of reference. History is the greatest testament to the human imagination - the most powerful attempt to understand our past, to negotiate our present, to hopefully change our future.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

My Article on Firaaq for TIFF & All My Writings for Canadian Film Programmes Blog

As promised, click for my article on Nandita Das's, Firaaq.

You can also read all my writing for Canadian Film Programmes Blog, here.

I look forward to hearing any comments that you may have. This was a wonderful experience for me, that I soon won't forget.

Enjoy!

Sweetest Awakening

Ordinary to extraordinary.
Falling from the sky to leave pieces of your mind wherever you go.
Cradle of creativity leaves only room for birthing ideas and thoughts.

Rejection of the ones who did not want to see you, or feel you.
Follow the golden trail of self-discovery knowing that you will seek what you find.
Destiny.

Unearth thee.
Follow thee.
Faithfully.

What is meant to be, will be.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Love Inside Me

Fall from the pieces of my worship of your Queendom and allow me to grasp the magnitude of force you bring into my power.
Softly, nestled, close against my bosom, I will love you as though you were the last drop of water to nourish the merciful ocean that sustains life by feeding the shore of the Motherland.

You speak to me and I begin to melt into a heated frenzy of...of...irrationality. I'm so damn crazy, I can't help but feel so damn crazy. I pace in and out of my breath. You have captured the butterflies of my stomach within the reflection of your blushing demeanor. Your skin glows to show the colour of your most intimate organs.

Linguistic lips. Imagining the words I would say to you, though you are standing just there.
Silence makes you look immaculate, unreachable - like you are a mystical muse from a land beyond the reach of any imagination.

My hands wrapped around your sides. I wish to stand beside you and watch how beautiful you are when you move through my visions of something pure and true.
Powerful hips, sway with me, shake low with me, move for me.

Out of mind came desires. I planted the seeds of my desires, I have watered them with the sentiment of my belief in only you.
I watch you grow for me. I am here to protect you.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

I Go DEEPA and I Get No Sleepa!


Hooooray! From Nandita Das, the star of Deepa Mehta's beautiful and provocative Fire, to the queen bee herself! Tonight I screen Deepa's latest creation, Heaven on Earth, at the Elgin. I am ready to impress and schmooze.

Am I ever so excited! Deepa is one of my favourite directors, and she will be there! I have waited for this moment. Like Das and Lisa Ray, I want to be her next muse!

Read about my tales from the Deepa tomorrow here. Also remember to read all my posts, reviews and comments about this years TIFF festival.

Good times kids! GREAT TIMES!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Cocaine---Goes Straight to Your Brain

I will not lie. I smoke pot. Every now and then I party the night away, thinking lights and sounds are coming from a spaceship and lifting me to the clouds of happy drag queens. But over the past year or so, I have noticed the heavy resurgence of one particular drug-coke.

Much like the problem usually starts, this is a habit that seems to be out of control, and is more destructive then sparking a simple dewbie. It is everywhere, in the gay world and straight world, among the young and old.

Now I am not writing this to be preachy, or to even judge. In fact my only hope is to bring awareness around this drug and the irritations in causes in peoples moods, and the erratic it inspires in behaviours. I have never touched it, nor will I ever touch it. In fact a close friend of mine battled with a heavy coke habit years back, and we almost lost out friendship over this white powder. The changes in her actions and her withdrawn nature was enough to put me off from even a curiousity.

The problem is that most people nowadays seek escapism. But coke is too quick a fix. The high is hard and quick, and that causes you to go back for more and more. In fact you have to do more to prevent yourself from feeling worse then before it first hit your system.

One more line, two more lines. I am not willing to put myself on the line. Coke does not make you cool. Coke does not take you back to a time and place of glamour. Coke is as ugly as the habit it creates in you. Like any hard drug, I think coke is such a dangerous habit because those who are on coke do not understand how much grief it causes loved ones. I have seen coke fuck people up, away and down.

I suggest keeping your nose out the white dust and focusing on a habit that is healthy, as opposed to self-destructive. If you can't stay up, go home. If you're bored, go home. If your over it, GO HOME!!

Please be safe and party responsibly.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Toil or Trouble


Sit up straight.
Pain is a most intimate experience. We fight with pain on so many levels. Personally it can be paralyzing towards growth, moving on, up and beyond. Reach on. Globally, pain echoes much quieter in our heads, then how it does outloud in fact. Listen and you will hear the sound of violence towards one another inflicts a universal, mortal wound. Recklessly, physically we toss aside others pain to put ourselves first. We beg for mercy, mentally. We are not unprivileged. The fact that you are reading this shows that you have the access to learn, and therefore change. If you choose to live ignorantly, you can be blind towards all that is unfair to anyone but you. Stop waiting, start thinking. AIDS, WAR, ABUSE, RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION, the refusal to know RIGHT from WRONG. So much violence, so much pain. Will it all be worth it in the end if you never really cared for anything but trivial conquest. When did we all get so sacred and let these fears justify becoming so consciously dumb.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Term Twister: Oatmeal Dreads

Oatmeal dreads refers to white people with dreadlocks. One may ponder where this phase comes from - I am here to tell you the thought is quite simple. What is the whitest thing ever? Oatmeal. So therefore when white people attempt to pull off the dread locks, this metaphor allows you to move beyond the racial profiling that is so strongly associated with dreads, to the hauntingly colourless, loose mess on their heads. Please. I see them everywhere. Ya still white! Booyaka-sha!

Screening Nandita Das' "Firaaq" at The Toronto International Film Festival


Co-writer and Director, Nandita Das

Screening a film at the Toronto International Film Festival is a cool experience. You get to be the lucky one that sees a film that even few industry insiders have had the chance to get their hands on. A small t.v., a set of headphones, and I was ready to go!

So I arrive excited and ready to analyze. Notes prepped in my Sandro Botticelli notebook from the Uffizi gallery, my mind racing, both nervous and excited to see the film written and directed by a woman that I admire: Nandita Das. This is the first directorial effort from the formidable force in Indian film, and a valiant effort it is indeed.

Unfortunately I can't give you the juicy details of the film, but I can tell you it is worth the gander, so see it when it hits TIFF in a week! Pick-up a copy of my review and interview with Nandita Das in The Festival Daily (I will be sure to let you know when).

To a humbling experience that has got me thinking about what to say about this wonderful, thoughtful and intellectual film.

Createher

You can only know that which you choose to learn. If you play it safe, you will never know the spontaneity which is life. Every moment if different, unless you choose to be stuck in a moment past. Move past the obstacles of yesterday to fulfill the potentials of tomorrow. Contribute to the spirit that is alive. Within your belly there lays the power to make, with your own hands, with your own mind, a masterpiece. Do not fight invisible forces that prevent you from leading a happy life. Life is too short to waste a minute, an hour, a day. Allow your creativity to flow without restrictions, and do not be dented by the rejection of others, no matter how much you are misunderstood. Your mind and heart must remain free, so as to proceed indefinitely.

I want to be the first breath you feel when you think of kindness. I want to be the last breath you appreciate before you leave me alone. I will not sink without making a ripple in the calmness of the water of the infinite mind.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Ring Master



I try and flick her off, but she turns me on. Such sweet, delight, delight. I lick my hands to taste her near, and she melts with such tenderness, all over my face...all over the tip of my luscious and vivid dreamscape. The longing the lusting, I can't explain. She is completely capable of making me temporarily insane. It's the way she moves, it's the way she glides across my fantasies. When I see her, she is not real, because it is not possible for her to be real. Real is flawed, she is not. Could this be real, to feel? I feel for you. I do.

I miss her, though I barely know her, I think of her. Kissing her, knowing her. Feeling her. I just wanna make love, make love to her. Feel the freeze of my heart melt when she holds me close. Feel the anxiousness of my mouth burn, when she lays her words accross my mind. Her, her voice that tranquilizes my sorrow, sorrow.
I have fallen without knowing who she really is. She inspires me.

I know I must seem like a fool. But only if you knew the things I want to do to you. Reclaim you, praise you, fame you, un-tame you.

I want to be close to you.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

TIFFin Around Town



What do you get at the House of Provocation. Toronto revealed! Through my eyes on the stars. On-screen or in front of me? No one knows yet.

Stay tuned for my journey covering The Toronto International Film Fest. I will be writing on the TIFF, Canadian Film Programmes Blog. Please be sure to add comments to the post, and I encourage you to engage with the handful of wonderful Canadian and foreign films at TIFF that are being screened.

Also keep your eyes peeled on the Festival Daily, which can be picked up at various venues from September 4-13, to see some more of my thoughts, reviews and experiences. I encourage you to participate. The Toronto International Film Festival stats shows that there is a palette of variety to every film taste. I am yet to know what lays ahead for me. You are welcome to find out with me!

HERE at T H-O-P, comfy and tucked in with a dash of heightened sensation--is where you can get ME covering the experience of ME covering TIFF 08.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Fighting Souljer

Into a dark space, falls the light of truth.
As one leaves, another enters with the vigor that the first, the second and the third lacked.
A smile tosses and turns, before settling into a position that realizes that life must go on. Through the withered leaves that collect at your feet, above the clouds that hide the flashes of lightning that may strike at any given time.

I would rather be lonely than sad.

Mountains rise, rivers dip. I have learned that through it all, in my heart and mind, I must learn to co-exist. I don't want to say something, or feel something without the intention of knowing that is it something I will fight for. I don't care to hustle, only to gain nothing that I can hold beyond that which is tangible. I care to give, but expect little in return-besides uncompromised respect.
A friend is all I need. Someone who makes a promise that they can keep. Someone that can hold my head up when it hangs from sorrow. Someone who wants to stay in touch with humanity and the prosperity of soul. Someone who cares for me.

I thought I knew them. I really thought I did.
I knew nothing at all until I accepted the truth. The battle does not always end in glorious victory. That does not equal defeat, but change.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Half a Century of a True Icon: Madonna


Today is like an auspicious and religious holiday for me. I have been aware that this day has been coming for about a month, and it seems quite surreal. Madonna is a true icon of the 20th century. Whether you hate her or love her, there is no denying that she is there, she remains relevant and more than anything, she can out dazzle any of the new generation of pop stars that are half her age.

There are so many things that I look up to in Madonna. Mainly her ability to command attention on issues that may lay latent of taboo with concepts of Western perception. Arguably you can say that today everyone acts like Madonna on stage. Choreographed routines, sex, costumes, lots of Hard Candy for your eyes. These performances are made by her visions to be the best show around. They are flashy, full of images, videos and with a powerful production team and dancers to maximize the capacity of the overload of senses, live. They also cost an obscene amount of money to go see; but it's worth it. Trust.

Madonna, in her resistance to criticism (though at times it was merited), and her refusal to back down from following her own path, has made herself a continuous work in progress. She is the Mother of Reinvention, and images and ideas are her weapons. It seems both critics and feminists alike have varying opinions on how she has effected popular culture and aggressively take notice of her appropriation of different cultures, religions and traditions. However the mere fact that it is even a cause for discussion, shows just how much she has impacted our culture, fashion, sex, sexuality and boundaries. She was not a suffragist, but she suffered for showing an assertive sexuality and a female power. She was not a Hindu, but she wore the marking of Ganesha and chanted in Sanskrit with respect. She was not....but there are so many things that she is. An envelope pusher, a traveller, a student, a motivator.

Madonna has kept her spotlight for close to 30 years, because of her ability to tap into the human condition. What makes people uncomfortable? What provokes people to think beyond their own experiences and comfort zones? If diversity and acceptance is our goal, "Whys it so hard to love one-another? Whys it so hard to love?"

I admire Madonna, and I am grateful that I was able to discover her as someone I respect for in terms of achieving success through art. Yes she is popular culture, but her work is remembered for her showmanship in the art of performance. There is nothing comparable to the rush of a live, Madonna concert. There is frenzy in the air, drags decked out in their favourite look of hers, and every person possesses a unique memory of remembering when they first saw her rolling around the stage in a wedding dress at the MTV Music Awards in 1984. She is a chameleon of images and the ultimate performer of images, within the intellectual persona of herself.

From molto italiano eye brows in "Papa Don't Preach", to the first appearance of the corset and the brunette hair in "Open Your Heart." To the emblem of Christian ideology becoming a central theme in her performance, starting with "Like a Prayer," to the cinematography that would immortalize her face as an figure of contemporary female strength and power, mixed with classical beauty in "Vogue" and "Bad Girl." To the incarnation of her the Queen of the Dancefloor in "Hung Up," and her pushy, do it attitude in "Give it to Me." The list could just go, "on and on, and on."

When I listen to Madonna I feel empowered as a woman. I feel like I wanna dance. I feel free. I want to sing, because I can. I ponder about my agency and how one can become a piece of art in themselves.

To the lady that inspires me, pushes me and aids me to not be afraid, I say, Happy Madgeical 50th! With much due respect and love.

“I am my own experiment. I am my own work of art.”
-Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone

Monday, August 11, 2008

Beach Break!

Hi kids! I just wanted to let you know that I will be absent for a week or so. I have left you with many yummy readings, so enjoy and let me know your thoughts.

I will return shortly, or if I get access to blog...you know I'll try!

TPG

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Banshee Crab/ Moon, Silver, Cardinal, Water


The Vestal Virgin pulls the Banshee Crab aside, towards her work layer
I know what you are trying to do! Nurture me. I am not as sensitive as you are...you are often very conservative and old fashioned. I am not saying that is bad. I respect that. I don't think that it is you....it is really...just that you need someone who can feel things like you. I know that you deserve someone who will build a home with you, sit beside you and look at you and appreciates you. Someone who has the time and wants that like you do. I have so much work to do, so many things to do. You are highly aware of what you feel...more than what you think. I don't think that this is the best for you. It's just that...you are...well, You. There is only one You. I know you won't forget me. You're not like that. I have tried, and I can't find a balance.

The Banshee Crab emerges from her shell
You are even lucky that I was trying to nurture your lazy ass. I know that you think that you are capable. The truth is you are as far as routine, but you have no danger in love. You are safe. You live in a stale room, and your feelings remain in a closet. Are you even a lesbian? You frankly have a problem trying to express yourself. I maybe old fashioned, but I know what I want... and you know what??? I know what I deserve and it is someone who can build a home with me. Feel love with me. Put me first. Appreciate me. But you think this too. I know that you think I'm crazy. But I have felt all this...and you. Through and through. I have thought, and I think. I just choose to feel as well. I think it is time I protect myself for once. I feel its time that you need leave.

[ZAP! silence may not be golden afterall]

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Androgania

My curiosity has once again brought me back, like an addiction, as it has time and time again. I reach in my pocket and feel around for my pack of cigarillos. The flicker of the flame let the intoxicating flavour dance around my palette with such sweet delight. It was only once a month that I was able to catch a glimpse of my favourite performer, Androgania, at the Velvet Bordello. There is just something so enticing, so evasive and elusive about Androgania. I just can’t explain… or put my finger on what it is, but I needed to see Androgania again. Anxious to sneak into my private booth, I reach into my pockets and discretely pull out the appropriate amount that would permit me to press myself against the thin glass barrier that stood erected between me and the tip of my fantasies.

I feel the sweat beginning to mount its tension as I approach closer to the ticket booth. The ticket attendant smiles at me, and I try to look as though I had not been at every one of Androgania’s performances in the past eight months. Avoiding eye contact, I thank him and slither myself towards my booth. I had always been a fond of the atmosphere at the Velvet Bordello. Both women and men alike were packed in like canned fruits waiting to be tasted in ripe and syrupy perfection. There seemed to be no definable lines of who is permitted into this dirty little sanctuary. I shyly pass a woman who had caught a finely dressed gentleman’s favour on her knees just outside my booth.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, again avoiding any sort of eye contact. This place reminds me of a abstract cross between a fantasy Moulin Rogue and the reality of house where you saw men leave with devious smiles on their faces, only a few short minutes after their arrival. The Velvet Bordello is an escape – an escape from the noise of the city, the indifference of men in suits, the clapping of women’s heels and the yelling of the street vendors trying to sell you crap that you’d never use.

I take a breath, and the scent of sweat lingers in the booth from the drippings of the person who had sat there last. The booth is quite simple, about the size of a small bathroom stall, and the walls made of purple velvet are adorned with gold figures of faces and forms that looked like they were trying to escape the clutches of fiery hell. I am not sure if they are being expelled, or they are being drawn into the fire. But either way, each time I could not help but be transfixed by the expressions on their faces.

The lights dim and the tableau vivant takes position on the stage. I cross my legs…I know it is time. The first bead of sweat drips down my cheek, slips under my shirt and melts down the length of my back. The lights come on and I push myself as close as I can get to the glass without pressing up my nose and leaving marks of my anxiousness. The tableau vivant remains in pose, brightly costumed in regal adornments that look authentic to another time and place. But they are present only to bring a living picture to Androgania’s entrance. A white glove appears from behind the large, draping purple curtain. I swallow. The music resonates a rustled jazz sound through the speaker in my booth: “mon amour vous êtes retourné à mes chambres pour remplir avec mes plaisirs” (my love, you have returned to my chambers to once again fill up with my delights). I can’t blink; I am transfixed watching the subtle movements of Andogania’s white glove. Then, as a servant tends to a master, Androgania comes around the curtain with such control. She is there to please her audience—and I hope especially me.

All in black, Andgorania begins to move by swaying hips in a repetition that I quickly loose count of. The music taunts me: “vous ne savez pas qui ou que je suis, mais vous savez que vous me voulez” (you don’t know who or what I am, but you want me). Androgania’s lips are blood red and I think of her kissing me and leaving the colour of desire all across my face. Androgania seems to be well endowed by the lump I see in the front of his black trousers. I have never wanted something so bad, but I am not sure what it is that I desire at all. I become jealous when Androgania caters to the spectators on the other side of the circular room, all neatly tucked into their common-place booths. I had paid more-- I wanted Androgania more. In that instant, Androgania turns with a side step and begins to make neat circles round and round, until Androgania halts in front of my looking-glass. The music makes love to my ears and for the first time, Androgania stops, leans forward and looks right at me. “Si j'étais homme, me vous permets de soignez pour vous? Si j'étais femme, aurais-je privilège pour vous tenir? (If I were a man, would you let me care for you? If I were a woman, would I have the privilege to hold you?) I am mesmerized as I silently mouth, “Yes.” A slight, cheeky smile appears on Androgania’s face, then a spin, a bow of the head, and with a turn my dreams rush out between my legs.

I close my eyes as I feel the release of such a pure delight. How could I feel ashamed of fulfilling my mind and body with such a sheer emotional high? I watch while Androgania continues to walk around the room, and I can see that there is not as much care as when I was near. A top hat on the head, skin as soft as a pearl fresh out of water, Androgania’s image remains imbedded like a drill of deep discovery, within the concaves of my deviant head.
I light a cigarillo and took a profound breath. What a virile damsel in distress.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Ever Wonder? Bog Bodies

A bog body is a human corpse that has remained preserved for hundreds, sometimes thousand of years in the bogs (wetland) of Northern Europe, Great Britain and Ireland. The difference between finding a ordinary human cadaver vs. a bog body is the quality of skin and organ preservation that is in tact, due to the wetlands ability to conserve human flesh in such a unique manner. The moist atmospheric conditions of the areas where bog bodies have been found, show that the acidity of the water and the consistent dampness and coolness of the temperature help to mummify the body. The bog body receives very little oxygen, and the skin of the body changes to appear tanned. The skeletal preservation, on the other hand, seems to suffer from a archaeological standpoint, as the acid in the peat dissolves the calcium phosphate of bone. It is not however impossible for forensics to determine the marking that often led the individual to death, as often forensic pathologists have found savage broken bones, contusions and visual markings of severe torture on the bog bodies.



Grauballe Man, found in Denmark, dated to 290 B.C.

For an archaeologist and a historian, these remains provide a great depth of understanding into the lifestyle, class, appearance, diet and fashion associated with these individuals that lived during the Iron Age (around 12th century B.C.). Fragments of last meals have been discovered in the stomach cavity, and can be analysed alongside teeth to determine the age of the individual, and what the person ate throughout their lifetime. Radiocarbon dating can be used to determine the age of burial, age at death and many other candid details. At this time close to a thousand bodies have been found within these regions and combined with modern science, have been able to reveal individual detailing such has facial quality and hairstyling, alongside the more habitual behaviours of the civilization as a whole.



The Tollund Man, found with rope around his neck in Denmark, dated to 4th century B.C.

Many of these bodies have been located around areas that would have marked tribal borderlines during the times in which these individuals would have lived. Theory has been evoked that many of these individuals could have been sacrificial sacraments made to the gods by the Kings of these tribes, to prescribe him and his people triumph in the harvest of the comings seasons, victory at battle and to protection of their lands.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

A Life in Wax

The Beginning of the End:
Another night alone in my bed. The thought of the way I had you beside me puts a shiver in my head.
Some days I am fine, some days I am weak. But not a day goes by when I do not submit to the way you made me feel.
Distances have abridged miles between us, emptiness seems to be the only sound that echoes between our two figures. The silence between us still seems so loud to me.
How come when I think of you, no matter how cruel you treated me, it never mends my broken heart?

The End of the Beginning:
I am so lonely. It feels so long ago that I felt good. I have succumb to the grace of love, the crazy craze of love, the truth of love. Only a fool is the one who really believes in love. If I could just make love to you one more time. This time I am sure we could make it right. You don't want me anymore. I know you are no good for me, you don't have what I need.

Then and Now:
Flashing lights of energies that have passed me by. Still motions captured in time, recollections flood the traps of my concave mind. Like a statue made of wax, to me you still seem real. Melted, disintegrated, aged and discoloured with time; is it normal that I still can't get you off my mind? I wish I could hate, beseech you, erase you. All I can continue to do is forgive you.

I am not sure if I am strong enough. Some days I feel as though I can never be the same again. I know I must try, or with the pain of abandonment and resentment I will die. For me, you must cry. With a steady drip, you must cool to dry.

Day Out, Day In:
The sound of a woman's voice comes through my headphones as I lay in bed. She talks about her struggle to grow beyond the pain. With the tragedy of growing pains she questions if she can survive. Misery is not sweet, it is defeat. I turn the music down and her voice grows louder. I turn the volume up and the pain seeps in quietly.

Concluding the Beginning of the End:
Look at what I have become. Not a day goes by when I do not think of you. Not a night goes by when I do not feel for you. I wish I could chase these blues away, but as every sad love song comes on, the smear of you across my heart seals my forever casted pain.

Rihanna : "Disturbia"

Hot, hot, hot! Her is the latest my Miss Rihanna. Under the direction of David LaChapelle, this video shows the influence of such videos as Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People," Christina Aguliera's "Fighter," and Madonna's "Frozen." I will admit that I enjoy Rihanna more than many of the generic, younger female black artists coming out in the past two years. I still think there is room for her to develop her sound to better represent her island identity, but she is just beginning and I hope she enjoys success for time to come. That is, as long as she does not make a track as BAD as "4 Minutes!" Sorry Madge.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Figlio Perduto


We all live only to die.
But life is too short to waste a day crumbling with worries about feeling like death.
Today I heard the news of a young boy who has lost his mother. She is gone.
The idea of thinking what that boy is going through makes me feel sick in the core of my stomach, I feel lighter in my head and I feel the shadows of darkness fill the water in my eyes.
How can life be so cruel to those who actually try to be good people, kind people, people who give love as much as they receive it.
On some days like today it all just seems like a sick joke to me. Like we have all been placed here to see how human we can really remain amongst all the withdrawing hands, careless secrets that are passed on through a chain of burning ears, all the people that will choose themselves before you time and again. Sometimes it can be such a lonely road.

I can't help but wonder if this is really the way that things are meant to be. I wish I could hold that boy close and tell him that everything will be alright, but I know right now that is untrue. I can't comfort the loss of the idea of a memory that may fade in time, a touch that you may forget to feel, the voice that you sill struggle to hear the sound of tuck you in at night.

A child's pain is incomparable to our own because they already have to see so much pain and suffering from such a young age. A mother's touch is like a security blanket that hides away all the monsters and keeps the shadows at bay in the lure of the blackness of night. I think of how destroyed I would be if I could not have my mother beside me and I am not a child anymore.

We all live only to die.
I pray that there is some salvation of all the pain, all the struggle that is taken to elevate your mind at this endless game. Today my thoughts are with this boy, every second, every breath. I know that it is the time to mourn and cry, but I suspect that his mother will remain the apple of his eye.

Brother Brother

I can't seem to forgive you, for no matter how I try I see that you care for no one other than yourself. You are cold and calculated, you hold the lock but you watch to see others fumble with the key. Have you ever stepped outside your selfish ways to see that there are many more things to life other than your immediate fulfillment and concentration on winning over things that will surely pass.

Your a empty little man. You manipulate, you cheat and you lie. You have no empathy and you care for yourself as if you were someone who mattered more than anyone else. You are not. If you hear the things that people really think about you maybe you would see how little it has done to win people over as your friends. You can not keep a friend if you do not what it is to be one. Grow up, you are lame for acting like half your age. Communicate using words, not yelling at people like they are under your control and are to cater to the bar that you ask them to jump.

I listen to you yell and my ears bleed all the years of frustration and abuse I have taken from you. I know that blood runs thicker than water but it was not my choice for us to be so indifferent. I can not imagine that I would be as slimy and judgemental with my friends as you are. I think that if I was, I would at least learn with time.

I know from the measure of how I am with my sister that you have done nothing to encourage me, believe in me, help me or be there for me over the years. I use to sit quietly and watch you abuse me through your words and your insensitive actions. You teased me for being the way that I am. I am different then you and for this I am glad.

One day you will see, what a separation of mountains stand enforced, permanently between you and me. I would have hoped that you would have learned from the way that we saw our parents argue, the way that you saw the struggle of mom with dad. The bruises of skin and emotions led me to think you would re-consider your jaded devotions.

I was wrong.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

FUNNY Alicia Keys vs. Rabbit MTV Commercial Spots

These are a couple of my favourites of my boo....I laughed my ass off! Well...not quite? It's still there (0;







Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Goodbye Golden Girl: Estelle Getty Dies at 84


This news is simply devastating, in the words of Blanche Deveroux. Dear, sweet and beyond cute, Estelle Getty passed away this morning at the age of 84, her son confirmed with a statement. Her family and friends were at her side in her home in Los Angeles home and 3 days short of her 85th birthday.

The time could not have been more odd for me. The Golden Girls have always been and remain one of my favourite shows of all time. Last week a friend of mine gave me season one on DVD and I watched 15 episodes in 3 days. So good people. The joy that Estelle's character, Sofia Petrillo has given me with her blunt tongue and through prancing around with her little straw purse and judging people is beyond imaginable. You can't forget her "picture it, Sicily..." stories. Though she was little, she packed a most hilarious punch and a mean left hand! Her comedic time was genius, her punch lines are unforgettable. I, in fact remember watching The Golden Girls with my Ba (grandma) and her telling me that "the old woman" was her favourite. My Ba had an appreciation for the funny when she saw it.

Getty had been diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia but she has been suffering from poor health over the recent years. In 1988 Getty won an Emmy for outstanding supporting actress in a comedy series for her work in Golden Girls.

Goodbye my golden friend, you will be missed and remembered.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Milky Rain

"Ya baby, keep your ass right there. You look so fucking sexy when you are loose like this. On your knees, dipped down low. Your stomach pacing in and out. Fuck I want you so bad. I just wanna..."

I saw her looking at me, peering so weakly at my control, the top of her head rested on the Egyptian cotton sheets as if she were trying to do a headstand. I watched the muscles of her stomach tighten and loosen and imagined what it would be like...what it would sound like when she released her sweetness on my face.

"I want you to cum. But not yet. Do you understand. First I wanna fuck your ass. Are you okay with that?"

Her legs shook wildly and she looked like she was in between ecstasy and trauma. She nodded obediently. Her elbows rested on the bed. Her hands gripped the sheets as if she were holding on for the ride of her life. I licked my fingers and traced around the edge of her ass crack. I could feel her tense. Her ass tightened its hold on me.

"Relax," I said. "I am not gonna hurt you. I just need to hear you squirm the sound that can only be released when you let me enter the forbidden passage to reach deep inside your secret, sacred zone. I want you to feel as though you want to scream and cry. Fuck baby, you don't know how much I want to fuck you in your tight ass."

I pushed her ass forward and she fell messily on to the bed, stomach first and slammed her head in the pillow. "No, no, up you go," I said. She obeyed.

She seemed more intent this time. She aroused up and this time with a grunt she said, "fuck me now from behind NOW" I was so damn agreeable. I licked my finger and tingled it like a Christmas bell and the edge of her asshole. She sounded pleased, I like that. I slowly slid it into her, slow and first, but gained stride like a marathon runner on her last leg.

She began to rock with me, slow and faster and faster. I grunted and I lost control. "Fuck ya," I said. Profanities slipped from my mouth like a dirty trucker who spits too much. I took my hand and wrapped it around her thigh, holding her so tight, I closed my eyes and felt her ass slap against the skin of my stomach. I lifted her up higher, as I slid the second finger in. She may have thought that I was trying to please her, but this was not the only desire I felt. I could feel the drip of my pussy start running down my leg and I wanted her ass to kiss my creamy extract.

"I am so wet baby. I want to take you there. I wanna feel your ass smash against my pussy. I want my juice to drip down your ass into your crack and I want to taste it," I murmured in dire need.

At this point I could have ripped her apart and it wouldn't have mattered. She was mine and I was hers. I thrashed my brown skin against her beautiful copper tone. She screamed my name and said "ooh baby, more, more! I want you to live inside of me."

When I felt the mixture of our juices combine on her ass, I knew it was time to blow her mind. I stopped fucking her and pulled my fingers out. I pushed down on her ass and stretched out her shaking legs. I told her to rest. I watched her lay there and I felt so content. But I wanted to devour more of her. Her and me, I was craving the tasting of our sweet wines combined. I slapped her ass lightly and she flinched. She shivered and flayed ever so still.

I kissed in between her thighs, but she tried to resist but pushing them close. I did not allow her to do this. I pushed her wide open again. I leaned down to smell her. She smelled like a combination of cotton candy and sticky sweets. Now was the time.

I took a breath and I went in for what I wanted. I licked her ass, first in one quick motion. She shook and freaked out. The taste was on my tongue and I wanted more. I wanted her all over my face to outline in white the shape of a dirty smile. I stuck in. I ate her ass for what seemed like hours, pulsing my tongue in and out, spitting and gulping her up like orange juice in the early morning. Now she arrived. Now.

She collasped even deeper. She lay still, I looked when I could glance a quick peek in my disorientation and her eyes were closed. Her body was experiencing some sort of possession, her face was in deep prayer. She begged for more and more. Eventually I returned to the cats den and licked her from bottom to top and top to bottom.

I looked over to see the time. 4:38am. I had to stop, my jaw could not open anymore.

"Wow baby, look outside," I said. "I think it beginning to rain."

Friday, July 18, 2008

27 Ghosts



Another year has come and gone.
Though I have grown older, instead I, the lioness-crab feel wiser.
I trace the lines on my tears and remember all the pain I felt, how I feel apart in my mind and heart. From a haunting end to start, all I can do is remain focused on displaying the writings of my heart.

Everyday. I can mostly still see her silhouette in the sun, like the touch of a breeze on a most perfect of days. I can't help but wonder why things have to come to an end when my only desire is for it not to end. Like an immortal trying to reach out to the otherside, I must except not being seen but sensed. Whether you except it or not, I am still here.

I still bleed and trickle down the front of your white dress with messy distress. I am still very much alive, I see red, though you may choose to see me as dead. A sound penetrates aloud that would frighten anyone to a sitting up stance in their bed. A most torturous, mortifying sound, thumps in my head. Here I ascend in myself, in my dear love. I will not let her slip away.

I touch my skin. I am still here. A tear drop, one single tear drop is all I can spare if I am to survive for deserts of time for more then a single year.
One tear drop continues to fall every day to pay dues for my burden, that I have chosen to carry along the way. It will not go away.

The truth in time has revealed itself to me in a mysterious form; so many that I have loved have gone astray, they have not even picked up the phone to wish me well on my special day. I will linger around them, like a memory that you can not forget. My face will remain their constant beyond my dying days. I will cross the river when my time has come to row away.