high tides.

boooy, watch me as i touch the bow of my lips to the S of your neck, memorizing the lines of your elegant countenance...letting the tips of my fingers trace pirouetting swirls down your torso as i inhale the scent of post-game glory sweat and taste the vapour of your oceany-salt skin.. wait for me to pull your head back and brush my lips to the underside of your throat, lingering upwards towards the soft patch of undiscovered smoothness behind your right ear...pressing into you as i lean into your retreat, infused in your essence, finally greeting your parted lips with contained delirium, the perfect dichtomy of rough and tender, slow and fast as the music in me swells and billows over like white sails on a cobalt blue sea, only to find myself catapulted somewhere among the stars...ohhhh yeaahhhh.

Do I dare? Do I dare disturb the Universe?

evidence of life lived.

the reason for which i sometimes get on the blog can and update the seminal events of my so-called life. momentary lapses of fear that i'll be swallowed in abbreviated mortality, corpse splayed on table like the primordial insect sprawled on a pin of t.s. elliott's love song of j. alfred prufrock, engulfed by life's unceasing flow... tragic the thought... and therefore i write, in my morbid hopes that my writings and idle musings will evidence a life lived, a human writ large onto the cosmos' grand stage, transient between multi-universes yet as real as the virtual copy paper i transpose my thoughts upon..

times comes and goes with feverish regularity. and yet, as the moments tick by, i am ever so acutely aware of my state, seemingly fixed and frozen, the moment before me looming large and wondrous in my tiny human imagination. life has a way of magnifying all monstrosities and present realities, condensing and compacting our existences into tiny, neat little campbell soup cans. we forget the meaning in the gestalt light of things, so taken by the minutia detail of our intricate lives that we suspend, mid-air like in the thing of things, forgetting all too briefly our existential dilemma.. ohh yeah, that.

been drowning in hairy dreams as of late, inception like, the real-likeness of my dreams reigning sovereign to the conscious life version. hmmm... fascinating how lucid our sleepy docility may appear. woken, we are sleep-walking zombies. in slumber, we face our truest realities.

for now i'll just let it sit like a hazy blanket on a cool summer's night. til the smoke rises from the pipes of my imagination, malingering like the dust that rises at dusk...

the art of grilling, and then some.

i just purchased a george foreman grill today and i can't get over how much i love it. i could just pore over the manual that comes with the package for hours. i have this peculiar interest in meat- cuts of meat, temperatures to cook it at, different grains and marbled contents; its composition, texture and coloring. it's weird, i know. but i get uber excited at the thought of cooking, 1) in my slowcooker and 2) in my newly acquired handy-dandy little portable grill!

been transitioning to school and the kids- i'm starting to develop that rhythm, getting a feel for the little ones and the way their brains work. it's been really challenging, taking on this job, especially in such a high caliber school, but i know it's taking me places and developing the characteristics in me that i need, for the now and beyond. i'm also learning to develop a heart of patience, understanding and compassion for the little ones who are so behind.

my one kid, donvan, the one who usually gets super hyper and excited broke down in tears today because the work was so challenging. to me, what seemed like a simple activity of sorting initial consonant pictures of S and R had donvan's brow furrowed up in such distress, he was reduced to tears. i'm learning, as my kids are.... how to love, how to give, how to not give up on them, as tempting it seems at times. this job has not only shown me my talents and successes; it has, admittedly, revealed some of my greatest flaws and deficiences... it is a work in progress.

i have found that the nature of my job is rather unforgiving and oftentimes, blearing of major oversights when it comes to the work we pour in, day to day. thank goodness, for 3 day weekends and friday celebrations and cute sticky note pads, which makes the title 'teacher' oh so worth it. and oh, yeah, for little donvans, who sometimes teach you life's most teachable lessons. <3

Gaga, ooh la la..

ive been a mystified critic for too long, of gaga's fantastical eccentricities and over- theatrical displays. i am, however, a convert. her creativity is brilliant; while this video featuring ms. B-b-beyonce is clearly more gaga's vision than sasha fierce's, i give credit to the dynamic duo for pulling off an outrageously colorful and in-your-face sexually charged performance that has us panting for more p*ssy wagon-esque antics(props and spiked louis included) and punchy gun-metal expletives.

NEW ORLEANS RISE.

grasping, feigning, groping, understanding, tryna come to grips with this blood spill thang, echoes of the sirens and the ear-shattering gun bangs. why our youth's lost the truth, is there hope? seems to be the only resounding battle cry... i try, with all my might, to fight the ig-norance, take up fight with what's right and yet my cries are silenced, like a revolver, i'm getting cold, shit's getting old, my shoulders are weary and my eyes teary... how can we try, to define the power struggle, our hands binded, mouth muzzled as we deal with all this trouble, the grime and the street stuggle, i'm so puzzled. what to do, where to turn, how to deal when all i feel is anger and disappointment inside, to the point where i'm sittin here just tongue-tied..

I have to say that one of the things that's awesome about living in new orleans are these fantastic rainstorms we get. buckets and sheets of rain, pouring over the roofs, slapping against the windowpaines with newfound easy familiarity. granted, we've witnessed our fair share of devastation in these parts due to atomic caliber hurricaines, but nothing beats the sound of murderous thunder in the sky as i sit, tucked away in my cozy southern digs, buried beneath a mountain of pillows and a stack of books perched precariously on my side. Perfection.

the place has charm, i'll have to post some pix. hardwood floors, french doors, tall ceilings. an adorable screened little balcony. the house is a delicious flamingo pink with major new orleans classic throwback appeal. the bathroom features a claw tub and a black and white checkered floor. my room is floor to ceiling windows, letting in so much natural light i could just pinch myself.

ive decided to sort of abandon the editing process in my writing and just write what comes to mind. it's interesting; i viewed another friend's blog and decided i liked her ramble musings so much i thought that some soul out there might feel the same way. people's lives are interesting, even in their placid ordineriness. for instance, in my younger days, i used to get oodles and noodles of delight in falling into the lives of the characters of Laura Ingall's Wilder's Little House on the Prairie series. God knows those days are a far cry from the technological-gadget filled, modernized world we currently occupy, but there was so much imagination! A peppermint stick would elicit cries of delight and something as seeminly benign as a gentle kiss on a woman's cheek would have all the girls' hearts cooing and fluttering with exultation. i lost myself in that era, feeling just as dainty and fine as the young ladies skipping about in their muslin and calico petticoats and fur trimmed collars. And school! Oh, how school seemed so interesting and fun. I may even dare say I attribute my teacherly aspirations to Wilder's descriptive pages by I so routinely got lost in.

The nostalgia of those times fills me with a sweet reverie. While I didn't choose to be born in this century, something about life on the homefront transports me to a time and place where things didn't matter as much as people mattered. where importance was placed on virtues or character traits. where blizzards brought people together around a warm family hearth, stories spun with animation and plumes of delicious color. Fast forward to the present: I guess storms have a way of harkening back to simpler times, when a cozy kettle and a warm quilt (let's not forget a good book) were some of life's sweetest indulgences. For now though, I have imagination...and imagination I shall readily use...

More than a Woman.

i think this video, this song, these lyrics are not only incredibly sexy, they tell one helluva love story. The song, by the timeless Angie Stone, features Joe at both their best. If you feign romantic indulgence as i do, and love it in a pictographic form, this vid's for you.

I guess I'm momentarily revived.

In the world of blogging, I meant. I came across a colleague and friend's blog on her life as a teacher living here in New Orleans, and I was struck by the austerity of my own blog, one that should very much be colored by my own strands of rich experiences living in one of the most interesting and perplexing cities of our time. So here I am, months later, again picking up the dusty cyberquill, which has, for some time now, remained unused and abandoned. I am enthused. By my life right now, which is textured with graininess and the sorts of runs you might find in a pair of weathered pantyhose (as most interesting and lived lives might contain their fair share of, I posit), but also by my experience. By the sensational act of getting up every day and going to a job that resembles something like the frontlines our American soldiers face in strange, unknown places. A job with worthiness. A job with purpose. A job that's more than just a job; it's a duty, an honor, an adventure containing tons of snares and tangles, roadblocks and other sorts of obstructions that might threaten the demise of a journey. But it's cooh, man, it's realll cool, 'cuz it's something that you believe in. Something that gets you going in the morning like a cup of mint java. Something that incites the exhale of sleepy weariness at the end of the day, the mark of a day's good work.

junk reformation.

my cutie, rockin out the new hand-painted vintage desk we salvaged!

E= MC squared.

So its been a cool ass minute since i took the time to stop. pause. reflect. and connect pen to paper in a way that fossilizes my thoughts- there's the fear perhaps of what could emerge from the abyss of one's mind, that deep, cavernous place far within, tangled with the cobwebs of history's incandescent moments. Your memory will fail you, but the all mighty quill shall not, as the inner workings of the subconscious gush forth with the infallibility of life, embalmed in its own ceaseless immortality.

you asked me to write, E, and writing i am.... because you shall see the brilliance that shines like the lone light in a sea of darkness, bouying it's way to the surface. we all wish we could glimpse our humanness; some have a way with revealing our inner vicissitudes in ways others do not. there are those, like me, who take pleasure in pondering the striking uncertainty of it all, who dabble in the unknown with rapture, sensuous delight.

i wonder of your own magnitude, the posturings of your body, the flickers of emotion that cross the oceans of your deep, warm eyes. because part of what i feel is indescribable, a flurry of warm and penetrating instances that embed themselves, deeply, keenly, ever so serenely... is it the way you fill an entire room with your being, top to bottom, floor to ceiling, beckoning the eye in your direction? or is it the way you can demurely camaflouge your way into the foreground, innocuously and surreptitiously sitting on the rim of life's rushing canvas? you stick. somehow. in a world that is fleeting, where time flows through the fingers like sand. where faces become blurred with time's fash forward button, people forgotten, memories swept aside like the high noon tide. because you matter, in that large and special way, to the people you come across, leaving an imprint, a footprint frozen like the apparitions of the sun's telling mark on the body's canvas... easily left behind, not easily forgotten...