shawnajg's Blog

Ok. So The moon is in Aries, Jupiter is retrograde in Capricorn, Venus and the Sun are in Mercury, and my life is just indescribable at the moment. Let's start with gazpacho. I woke up at some ungodly hour of the night (early am), and was looking at MSN, reading different articles, listened to Alanis Morissette's new song "Underneath" that kinda stuff. Then I stumbled across an article that was comparing different foods, and saying which was less likely to cause bloating. Eg. Filet mignon vs Hot Dog hot dog causes more bloating. Gazpacho vs Chili chili causes more bloating. Caprese salad vs Potato salad potato salad causes more bloating. And so on So since I have been bitten by the cooking bug (twice so far this week and Amiri ain't even here), I decided to go searching for recipes for gazpacho and caprese salad. You know, neither of those foods are exactly Jamaican staples. Found some recipes, kinda checked them out, contemplated going shopping for the ingredients decided to look for a salmon recipe. Just to find a new way to bake/broil the salmon fillet I have in the freezer. Then suddenly, it hit me: I have nobody to cook for. Amiri ain't here half the time, and when he is here, he doesn't care for ginger-soy salmon, or cedar plank smoked salmon, or white gazpacho vs regular gazpacho. So then (especially since I was bored yesterday evening), I was thinking that I needed a partner. Not necessarily a boyfriend, just a companion. Occasional date, sometime cuddle buddy, sex is negligible, but most importantly, somebody required to consume whatever culinary experiment I am conducting at the moment and offer honest feedback. So I went scrolling through my phone list to see if there was anybody there worth considering. I am disappointed to announce that there was no one. Not one single available male personage (LOL) that met all the above criteria. That is just insane. LL Cool J started rhyming in my head (and no, this is not a dream or fugue-like hallucination, it happened for real): When I'm alone in my room/Sometimes I stare at the wall/And in the back of my mind I hear my conscience call/ Telling me I need a dude as sweet as a dove (lol, maybe NOT as sweet as a dove)/ For the first time in my life I see I need love. Ha ha ha I swear I heard the music behind that joint and errthang. It was bananas. And I am just wondering, How does one go from looking for gazpacho recipes to LL Cool J, And how frickin pathetic is it, to not have even one viable candidate for the companion position? So, I decided to reflect upon my most recent encounters with men. I have had a couple of marriage proposals, a move-in together request, couple booty call propositions, one song dedication (LMAO), and a couple of declarations of love. The funny thing is this: of all of these, there was only one that could have even been taken seriously, and that's still moot. What's even funnier is that my mother is about to embark on another marriage. Yes, I said another. She's had a few. And she had the nerve to tell me the other day when I tried on her new ring set that by the time she was my age she had already begun working on her personal collection. LOL. And' I'm like, "What is she trying to say?" Then I think some more about it, and came up with the following: My love life is stagnant (for lack of a better word), my sex life is non-existent, I am broke, haven't written any public-worthy poetry in months, and yet and still, life is inherently good. Amazing. So here endeth the long ass chapter on LL Cool J, gazpacho, and my life.

We say life goes on But that only applies when tragedies do not directly affect us Or when the incident that inspired the phrase is neither life changing, Devastating, or something that gets our hearts racing And what is the loss of another black man Or two, or three Life goes on And we juss a continue fi kill off we But its amazing how quickly the tunes change Lyrics to new songs are immediately composed and sung When tragedy touches our father, our brother, or our son And I say these things to acknowledge Weaknesses existing in all of us Less than perfect Placing bets on %#&@$!ed up odds That we will live Never contemplating that some days The decisions are not ours to make Never realizing that the difference between life and death Lies in the choice between doors 1 and 2 Which one will we take? Never believing that violence is catching It reaches out and grabs us Intimidates and kills us Leaves women man-less Children parent-less Mothers child-less While we hope and pray for God to bless us But the Christian church says God helps those who help themselves And the only way to help ourselves Is to disarm ourselves Love ourselves Enough To save ourselves And our children Chris Rock, Tony Montana and Boomer Blaze Were not just random men They were brothers and fathers, Husbands and lovers too Men who breathed and felt and hurt Just like we do Now they are gone Souls snatched from bodies Leaving lives shredded Ripping homes and families apart Families created by blood And music Plays rhythm distorted They say life goes on And since I am still living, Perhaps its true To the fallen soldiers Chris Rock Tony Montana Bumma Blaze This was written in memory of you. - Shawna 5/27/08

I was told that when I did this poetry tour thing, my life would be changed. For those who know me, you should know that I don't really be thinking that many things can and will occur to change my LIFE as it stands, outside of things directly related to my son or close members of my family.

So, we (my poet friends and I) went to Hillsborough CI in Riverview on February 16th. This is a women's facility. The turnout there was weak. Not because women are less interested in outside visitors coming to perform for them... because somebody put a picture of a old white woman playing a harp (yes, I said HARP) up on a flyer. This was the ad announcing our pending arrival. Five inmates showed up. We did our thugthizzle regardless, and life was good. Adrienne, Lizz, Brian, Nehri, Cricket and I were the performers last Saturday. It was good.

Friday, February 22 we went to Polk CI and work camp. We had to do some extra begging and promise to be on good behavior to even get into this joint. With perseverance and my excellent Public Relations damage control skills, we got in. We rolled seven deep this time. Cricket, Nehri and I rolled with Wally B in his shiny new Maxima (I got shotgun!!!), Lizz and Brian rolled together (insert kissy face noises here), and Adrienne drove herself there solo. At the main facility, we received Certificates of Appreciation, and did the thang! They loved us all, but Wally killed it. They were very appreciative of us and of what we did there. We were pressed for time coz they took forever to process us. I am learning though, that this is the norm.

*as a side note, the male CO's at Polk CI are all fine as hell!!!

We had to rush to make it over to the work camp before they shut down for the evening. With 30 minutes to spare, we did it. We raced through our performances, and were escorted out promptly at four pm. Shut down time. Polk was great.

Today, Sunday February 24, we went to DeSoto CI, located 2 hours away in Arcadia FL... yo, that joint was the biznezz! For those poets who couldn't make it out today, you missed an absolutely fantastic time. We were treated with the utmost love, respect, and just fuckin positive vibes by prisoners and CO's alike.

We were fed, loved, serenaded, all dat ish... Today Cricket, Nehri and I rolled with Lizz and Brian (insert gagging noises here), and Blu from Orlando drove down and met us there. Listen man, I saw break dancers, singers, poets that made me scared to get up and do anything, and just some of the most wonderful men ever... and you know most were fine, ladies.

I felt like I was a rockstar who had just entered a meat market. Yes, it was like that, coz, Lord... the flesh is weak! Ha ha... But naw, they were so appreciative of our presence, that it was ridiculous. We were permitted to interact a little more than at Polk. We signed autographs, promised to give shout outs and more poetry, promised to send messages on behalf of those who were from Tampa, talked about people and their situations, offered hope, different perspectives, and support.

I heard a dude (one of the more friendly, upbeat happy men there) say he is serving seven consecutive life sentences. I was told by one dude that he has been exonerated after serving 18 years for a crime he did not commit. He hopes to be out in 6 months. I met yet another who hopes to be released in a year and a half, and he is actually the brother of the dude who was killed outside Tropix 2 years ago on the 4th of July. And so it went...

They loved us, our poetry and just our presence. The thing that moved me the most was the happiness and positivity that they managed to radiate despite their obviously fucked up situation. Like I think I would have faded away and died. I think.

But they were right. I now know why poetry is important. I now know why it was important for me to go on these prison visits. Poetry is important. And I am a poet.

Peace, love, hairgrease, and two mo' a dem strawberry glazed donuts we got at lunchtime today!

Stay tuned for updates as we do this... We hope to get back to DeSoto in March. And we still got mo' prisons to visit. Like Zephyrhills, Hernando... and some more.

The other day I found myself

In the company of The Others

The normal ones

Those non-poets

Men who go to college to learn to become husbands and textbook fathers

Women who cling tightly to their relaxed hair and middle class attitude

No desire to be Regular Joe's baby mama

They have to be some PhD's wife

To give substance and meaning to their life.

But buying into the pre packaged,

Readily consumable concept of normalcy

Is not my shtick

It makes me sick to watch those who

Perpetuate the fallacy that leads my people asunder

I wish I WAS Jupiter

Mythical ruler of Roman Gods

I would unleash my anger

Lightning bolts and thunder

Bun a fiyah pon the wicked ones

Who seek personal gain

At the expense of others

Sons and mothers

Fall to their knees in prayer

Hoping to reap the rewards

For making other pockets fatter

After they die.

My, how the ones in power have lied!

Poor peasants

Properly indoctrinated

Shun truth

In favor of delusional fantasies

How dare me, a lowly poet

Fix my lips to suggest

That racism, politics, and Christianity

Are closely related?

Who wants to be reminded that Pope Pius

Said nothing publicly when Jews were being

Annihilated by Hitler?

Arrested in Poland, Russia, and Italy,

Transported to Germany

Gassed in chambers

By strangers

Who thought themselves superior.

I ain't no Jew, but who knew

The Catholic church viewed Judaism as a threat

To their all-consuming power?

Don't that explain the church's fence straddling demeanor?

And they call me the unbeliever

Because I know that God lives in me

And the Higher Power

Is neither she nor he

See

Being gender specific fit the needs

Of those who congregated and created

That which we dare not question

Lest we get incinerated.

And those who translated the book so many call holy

Use it as a tool to keep people intimidated

Undereducated

Ensuring that their own social status remains venerated

Talk about your weapon of mass destruction

Ask me who owns one

I will tell you, every Christian

And foolish followers fear me and fear for me

For not believing.

And I am the heathen for

Balking at the bee-ess buried in bougie-isms

Spoon-fed to us oh so gently

And they look down their noses at me for choosing

Wisdom and poverty

Over middle class ignorance and snobbery

Forgive me if I am coming off too harshly

But I need one non poet to feel me

I want you to understand that poets care for you deeply

That is why we perform for peanuts

Spilling our guts

Sharing knowledge in a haze of

Marijuana & cigarette smoke

Alcoholic drinks

Don't get lost in the addictive accessories that accompany

The information being shared

Pay attention

Check the information

Listen to a homeless man

Look outside the church

Do some research

Look inside the church objectively

And you will see

Believing what preachers, priests and politicians tell you

And chasing the almighty dollar

Make you more of a fool than I could ever be.

-Shawna 01/02/2008

- Shawna