Banter on Tulips and a Tribe Called Quest, Jay-Z and John Coltrane, Outkast and Othello.


RIP Travyon Martin

A Life in 7 Lines

Spring evening. Teenage conversation. Smiles. The sunshine state. Chattering. Anything and nothing. Walking. No rush. Where going. Giggles. Moseying along. Air cooler. Little raindrops. Head fresh from barber. Cold. Hoodie pulled. Walks. Slow. Because. No, You Hang up First. No, You. Car approaches. Still chill. Nonchalant. Hear it behind. Can’t let girl see. Inside, shook. Walking, still. Faster. Talking. Breathing. Faster. Walking. Walking. Walking. Shesaysrun. Moving. Suddenly. Speed of light. Think he’s lost. Then. Appears. Anger. Questions. SMACK. Pavement. Screaming. Can’t believe. HELP. Can’t breathe. HELP! SOMEBODY?! End.

Copyright, Rhythmandwords, 2012


On Spring Weather and Daydreams...

It's March in the District. Only it feels like May.

This means that whenever I loose myself from the rusty chains of Mista Charlie's plantation to walk somewhere for lunch, upon return, indubitably, I realize that my focus has quit me ... Walked off the job ... Staged a sit-in from the golden-asphalt-paved boulevard, where everyone's an heiress and stunting is a habit (get like me).

A older lady I know once uttered this phrase: "I was born to be rich. I just missed my calling."

Concurring. Elle, Mahogany.

Today "Creole Lady, Marmalade" is playing on a loop in my head for absolutely no reason. Thus, in my mind, I have ichi kichi yaya dondad my way to the French Riveria, clutching the May issue of Vogue in my hand. I am not in a miserably cold office under the glare of a boss I like to call Queenie. Nay. I am, rather, donning some smashing Michael Kors shades and a white sundress and the only gaze I'm getting is from the sun. The soundtrack to Mahogany plays in the background. Bliss is this.

Spring days when I'm stuck in the office make me think of people who have escaped the masses of the working-stiff proletariat. People like Oprah and Mark Zuckerberg. Trying to think beyond their ridiculous bank accounts, I remember that these people first self-actualized by chasing a daydream. The facebook we know was once somebody's crazy, hair-brained idea. Possibly inspired by a nice Spring day. I imagine a friend asking Mark, "What is this book of face, you say?" Now, people ask Mark if he wants car service to the bank.

If we can take anything besides lost productivity from our springtime daydreams, it is that the season represents a time when the world again opens up to us. Life becomes full of possibilities. And sometimes, one's uncanny ability to lose post-lunchtime focus becomes a question. Spring possibilities have sprung like tiny, yellow crocuses. So, what are we going to do about it? :)