My brain…is way too active for my own good. I lose sleep because of this mind control. I’m always thinking, thinking, thinking. People, places, things, verbs, nouns, keyboards, music, CDS, MP3s, speakers, boxes, Andre 3000, haters, Gatorade, basketball, Raptors…My mind just doesn’t sleep. Feeds off ill imagination. Stories are its favourite.

Look at the time: 4:34 AM. And I’m still awake.

Should you know?

I was just looking outside the window.

The snow was flowing, falling, flying in the frosty air. It kinda just made its bed across the night city, getting ready to fall asleep ever so silently. Made me wonder.

I’m a very private person. I’m not much of a talker either, as loud as I may be. I don’t really like to share. I’ve never been one to. I’ve stuck to myself since I was a kid. It’s hard for me to show my cards. Maybe I’m selfish with myself. Introvert? I guess. I have this notion in me that people…they wouldn’t understand me if I told them anything. They wouldn’t get me. So naturally, trust and chances are issues with me. People tend to get FBI on you when they find out that one intriguing detail about you that just sparks interest in their minds. I’m very fearful of that. Not that I have too many secrets locked away, but I…I don’t know, it’s just so damn personal. I hate that I’m like this sometimes. But still, I like to keep my inner thoughts and feelings to my inner me…they’re all mine, dammit. I can just be me when I'm alone, unbothered and uninterrupted. Being in my room, alone in the outer space of four walls where my imagination can run untamed and my introspection can thrive feels like something I can’t describe... I'm guessing that's a problem. No one really knows what’s happening with me. But that’s my fault, right? I’ve become a sly fox, always carrying a plan in my left hand. I've got my tactics. I'm a careful chooser of words - over your head, under your nose and around your ears they travel. Sometimes in your face. You just have to pay attention.

I guess what I'm tryna say is...

I don't really know how to change.

...

Ahh, you wouldn’t get it anyway.

Intro-speckt// (Still searching)

Hey. Been almost a month since I’ve updated. My bad for that. Just finished my first semester of school…Yep, I can’t believe it either; time flies doesn’t it lol. Anywhoos…this is a little song I just wrote; kind of a free write. I was listening to Eric Benet’s exquisite song “Chocolate Legs” and I kinda got inspired in the weirdest way. The album is fire btw; I’m hoping I get it for Christmas.
Is the song unfinished? No clue. Y’all should know by now things just don’t make any damn sense with me until I give them a little bit of thought, haha. I’m a “let it flow” type of writer. But check it anyway.

Intro-speckt (Still Searching)

I’m still searching
For a melody, for a song
For the keeper of the keys to my shattered, lonely heart

I’m still searching
For that little smile on my face
For the sunshine to bring me happinessthat my memory can’t erase

The days keep getting longer with every kiss of night
I feel like a stranger to my life sometimes
These walls keep getting taller,
I can’t seem to break them down
How do I set myself free when there’s no one around?

I’m still searching
for that lovely summer day
For the strength in me to wash the troubles away

I’m still searching
For the woman that is I
To find the peace in me
That’s just slowly passing me by…

Wordsmith.

Abstract.

The sleepy snow has been falling asleep a touch too soon.
I took a step from inside out and was accosted by the cold.

Fanatical shit.

So like anywhoos. DOOM.

I’ve been relaxing these past couple days and nights, trying to collect my thoughts. My mind is very vigorous, too much for its own good. I’m always thinking about something.

Exams. Those things. Those sly things. Haunting. Lurking. Slithering. Lingering. Two more weeks until they emerge, make their way towards me. No diggity, I’m not stressing. I’m way too cool for that.

I need Q-tip’s album. Enough said. I don’t buy albums much, but this is one that I actually…want. I’ve heard some songs here and there and I was blown away into out-her-space. As soon as I heard “We Fight/Love” and “Believe”…my mind was massaged and my ears were caressed. I know what I want for Christmas.

I played ball in the RAC for the first time in eight million centuries. I was on a high as soon as I walked in the gym. “I feel so good” was all I kept whispering to myself. Just holding the orange ball, gripping it hard with soft hands, centering my eyes on the tricky rim and releasing RAC ball #6 into the seemingly sheer air felt like a dream. Women hardly enter the gym for sports like basketball, and so when I was in there, the guys were overwhelmed with emotions, ha-ha. I had a smug look on my face: “And what motherfuckers, I play basketball and I for damn sure am not leaving right now. Deal with it.”

Life is great.

Here's a little freewrite I just did that probably doesn’t make a damn bit of sense but that's just how I do.
What this means? I don’t know.

Wordsmith.
I’ve got a rising love jones for words. I love how they slither across my lips as I say them, roll off my pens and pencils when I write them. Express. The way they crash and clash, collapse in front of my eyes; enthuses me. The way they love and become one; intrigues my soul. Sometimes I can’t take it. The sound makes my mind quiver. Shake. Vibrate. Lose control. I don’t know what it is. I can’t tell you. It’s a secret to be discovered, by me and you. The uncanny shapes, coils and curls fill me with sensations, penetration of pleasure. They fill my crux, they fill my page, my letters of pleases and thank-yous. Words are extraordinary. They fill me, my lost person, shielding me from the heavy rain. Words are at my selection waiting for detection as I long for their fond affection. Words – they are me to you.

Later Days. *waves*

Journey.

And the winner is… Barack Obama. Believe me when I say I don’t follow politics. At all. Whatsoever. I just don’t. I can’t say I understand politics either. But the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour speaking to millions of people with dignity and grace; the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour trying to promote change and trust, the importance of family; the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour who is not your stereotypical depiction of an African-American said something to me. It inspired me not to be the best I can be, because I was raised with that mind-set – but it inspired me to be more. It inspired me to do more. It showed me that I can provoke change among people if I believe. I must say, I got a bit teary-eyed watching the amazing history. Still do.

Enough tears for one moment.

I was conversing with my father as I do everyday. He was telling me how he became a traveler world-wide when he was eighteen. Starting in his homeland of Ghana, he travelled to Sierra Leone, Senegal, Morocco, and so many other places I was in such awe of that I don’t even remember them. I was just sitting back and observing him, talking about his adventures and connections and just…everything. He had told me before that he went everywhere before going to Canada, but I never knew it was this much. Back in the day when things were cheap, he bought plane tickets to Italy and from there took the train to so many other places – Paris, Poland, Belgium, Germany…

He lived off of a few bucks and cheap food, but it was the culture that he embraced so well. He lived in Italy for three years, spent summers in Europe, ate food he never knew of, met people he would’ve never found in Canada or USA. He even snuck across a border in the night with his friends…don’t remember which one. Shit, he made me want to do that one day.

I told him that I always wanted to travel, and I probably developed this love for learning and loving culture from him. He told me these days it’s way too expensive to do what he did, but I could still do some of it…after second year of course. I almost yelled when he said that. He told me planning is the most important thing, as well as being aware of your environment. And being a woman and all, that’s something that was emphasized. He said it twice.

I want to travel the world. Always have. I have this endless love for learning and experience. Being where I am can make you a little closed minded and narrow, but the possibility of getting away opens new doors and unlocks the curiosity in my mind. I'm too excited already as I type this so I'm just gonna stop. Yeah. I'm saving on up right now.

Serenity.

Glimmer of the sidewalk
Brilliant city lights capturing my mind's eye
Whistling air in the shadows of night
Leaves me, a painted scene
A cloudless sky, a love with me
Wander through the unseen
Secrets with two keys
A marvel of the mind
A Serene Dream

Ramblings

You know, words and things.

These past few weeks have passed me by so quickly. I’ve got a lofty stack of work to finish up before I can truly relax. I can’t say I’m stressing too much though. I work pretty well under pressure. I haven’t seen my eyelids fall peacefully in a while, but it’s all good.
September to now has been all about me wondering and wandering, trying to find myself in this colossal place called university. I’m still the cool kid that brings lunch to school everyday and listens to music non-stop. But this life, this complex life hasn’t really…stuck with me yet. I’m still not used to it. I don’t even remember my whole schedule. I forget sometimes. I don’t know a lot of people. I’m a raindrop in the puddle. It’s weird. I hardly have any guy friends. VERY weird. I haven’t played a sport yet…now that is some fucked up shit on my part. It’ll change though, I promise. I’m even allowed to leave whenever to wherever for whatever. Yeah, I’ve been on a Maxwell high for like four weeks now. Love that guy.

If you ask me how the life is…high school + heavier workload + more freedom = university life.

Basically. The only skill I’ve learned here thus far is that it’s up to me to figure out what’s important, not to take everything I’m taught and write it down in my mind and on paper. That’s an expertise I won’t let go of. It bugs me how the opposite was the case in high school. What bullshit. But I guess you live and you learn. As they say, things will get better.

I believe, like Q-tip && D.

Nuit Blanche: A Sleepless Night of the Crazy and the Beautiful

Downtown is the crux of the city. It pumps red wonder through the veins of the unknowing, and blue excitement through the veins of the familiar. It’s always overflowing with amigos and strangers, brothers and bastards, soul mates and sluts; the whole works. I call it a maze for people who want to see the sights and discover the culture. Whenever I go downtown, which is often because my university is there, I love seeing things I’ve never noticed before. At dusk, it’s an especially exciting scene walking towards Yonge and Dundas and seeing a bunch of people crossing at the all way intersection. I love that intersection by the way. Greatest thing to happen in a while.

My friend and I attended Nuit Blanche, which is an all-night art experience all over Downtown. From bridges to buildings to malls to alleyways, art invaded Downtown like an unwanted guest, except this was a very wanted guest. It was fascinating and mesmerizing, overwhelming and breathtaking all at the same time. The thought that these creators put into the art pieces was just…inspiring. The artistry was spectacular. The Waterfall, The Time-Piece, The Art Gallery of Ontario, and the OCAD building are all examples of it. Each one carried a sense of individuality about them of course, but they also shared imagination, and its grave importance. Mad respect.

The whole night, in the back of my crammed brain, I was wishing that I could inspire someone through my art, my words, and my voice. Be creative. I try my best to be.

Let's go to sleep in Paris...

The Remix. FINALLY. Check it out.

PARIS, TOKYO REMIX
Lupe Fiasco ft Pharrell, Q-Tip, and Sarah Green

Bonus: Paris Tokyo Jazz Mix

September 13. The Wonder.

You had passed away long ago, long before I knew your name and could speak it. You were a blurry sketch to me. I had to figure you out - research you and learn about you. I asked myself why people praised you the way they did. I had to find you. I remember listening to your words on your CDs, wondering about you – your life, your kin, the things you said. You wrote lovely poems. In The Depths of Solitude was my favorite. Still is. I felt just like you at times. I felt alone, always trying to find myself. I know what it was like; trying to be accepted by everyone, trying to please everyone. I know. Even in your songs, I could feel your voice in my heart. Until the End of Time. Do for Love. Changes. I Get Around, ha-ha. The things you said. They spoke to me. I watched one of your speeches once. 1992 speech, I think. I was in a daze watching it because I knew you meant what you said. I felt you. You truly wanted to change the world, change the system. You wanted to help your people build a better life and a better future. You weren’t like other artists. You were one of a kind. Yet lingering under the surface of these inspirational words was a dark deathly side of you. Maybe you were addicted to it, I’m unsure. But the things you said. I wondered about them and I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why you spewed such slighting slurs at the same people you wanted to help and change. I didn’t get it. Why would you do that? The shady side of you was emerging more and more as time passed. It was angering me. You said ugly words. You fought foul fights. There was only so much you could handle, I know. You were always in the spotlight. Someone was always praising you. And someone was always criticizing you. But your actions angered me, so much that I almost hated you for them. You were acting brainless. The things you said. It was beyond me how you had the guts to say them. All the talent and intellect a young man like you had was slowly going down the drain. It angered me. Convictions swallowed your whole life. In my heart though, I knew you were a lost soul wandering on the streets and stages worldwide trying to find yourself. When it hit me that you had already passed long ago, I was sad, living the life of a fan in '96. I just asked myself why you had to go so soon. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready and neither was the world. I still haven’t accepted it. To me, your presence lives on. You became a beautiful yet staggering painting. You touched my life in ways I never knew possible. I thank you for that. Sometimes I wonder about whom you would’ve been and what you would’ve been doing today. I miss you a lot, a whole lot. I’ve shed tears just thinking about you. It’s just not the same without you. But I still hope that you’ve found yourself and peace within.

Love always.

Sexy Swagger.

Lance Gross is too fine.

via theybf.com

A Taste of the T.

Beautifully edited video. LOVELY. The words he used to describe Toronto hold a universe of truth. I was at this event (Parade && Picnic) and it was exciting, exhilerating, and one of the best experiences I've ever had. I think I saw myself for half a second...I think.

Big ups to Scarborough

via Nahright

Funny Shit.

I came across this by luck. I guarentee a laugh. After watching this, my stomach was airless and my eyes were anything but tearless.

Sleepy Nights

Brimming bags of sleep
Dwelling underneath my eyes
An unending dream

Abstrakt.

WASSILY KANDINSKY Yellow, Red, Blue

I like it.

Janita

http://www.myspace.com/janitaartist

Born Once More

I had my first day of university. I was scared, nervous, excited, happy, cheerless, worried, weary, bamboozled, energized and fired up. I walked up to the university on my own. There was no one to hold my hand and comfort me, to tell me everything will be ok. There were no tears this time. There was no turning back, because God knows I’m not taking another hour long ride on a subway full of surprises and delays when I woke up this early. For the first time in my life, I am attending a school with no reputation, no status, no name, no face. Nothing. I’m label-free, baby. It’s weird, but I get to be me.

CRM 100
I walked towards my first class of the day, 9:50 AM, with a bagel with cream cheese in one hand and a tottering French vanilla in the other. I believe…that I spilled at least 25 cents of it. Clumsy ol’ me. I was looking adamantly for the building that held my class. It was like reading one of those “Where’s Waldo?” books or playing a tricky ass game of eye spy. It was like this all day, despite only having one lecture and two labs. After 4 whole centuries, I found the building. The classroom was easy to find, to my surprise. I walked in only to see most of the seats filled. I thought I was early. It’s 9:50 dammit. I stood still for a split second to stumble on a familiar face. I scanned and I scanned. Not one friend. Not one familiar. I made my way to the top of the classroom. It was almost like I was tip-toeing because I was unknown to everyone. No one saw me. In their diversely colored eyes, was just another classmate, just another black person, just another dumb motherfucker, just another bitch, just another lovely girl. I sat down and got out my green binder and lucky pen. I was ready.

The professor walked in and introduced himself as a man who is curious about law and crime. He looked relatively young and seemed down with the OPP. The words out of his mouth floated in and out of fresh and filthy ears. He introduced the course, made some funny jokes and sparked discussion about touchy topics such as racial profiling. As he did, I kept my lips together. I wanted to hear my fellow classmates and see their characters come to life before they saw mine. It gives me a feel of my competition. After all, we all want the best grade. Yet, the discussion intrigued me to the tenth degree. The topics were brought up through questions, but the people made the topics. There were small debates left, right and centre. I knew I was going to love this class. While listening to the opinionated and the ‘like’ word abusers with my ears, I inspected the room with my eyes: blonde chick in the high-waisted jeans with the Starbucks cup, definitely a fashionista; tall, dark and handsome on my left; Red haired girl in the t-shirt and jeans, laid back like a lazy boy chair; skinny guy with the glasses and purple tee, one word for him: nerd. I bet he reads comic books.
As the class came to an end, I was joyful. On top of having one less lab today, I was excited for what was to come in the future, whether it was new friends, new foes or new debates. I was joyful.

LUNCH
Lunch time hit me at 12. When I exited the building, there was a block party going on. Booths and free stuff – what more could you ask for? I made my way down the street, picking up pens, water bottles, popcorn, gum, shirts, key chains, lanyards, and anything else that was free of charge. With no familiar faces in sight, I went to a restaurant called Chipotle Mexican Grill with, you guessed it, a coupon. One free burrito for me. As I was ordering my food, I watched the lady stack it up in the tortilla – chicken, lime rice, black beans, tomatoes, cheese, guacamole, and some spicy sauce. I sat on the lipstick red stool, facing the window where people walking on the other side. It was fascinating to see different people doing different things – talking on their cell phones, listening to their mp3 players, and even staring at me. I must be stunning even while chewing a burrito. I finished eating with time to spare before my next class. I left the place and walked around like a tourist, taking in the impure air and admiring the big flashy signs. I wandered about for almost an hour, watching the mass amount of people crossing the streets, buying hot dogs from the vendors, refusing pamphlets, accepting honey bunches of oats boxes and admiring the street artists. The old lady with the bad fashion sense was near the mall again, holding that sign of hers – “God will save us” or something like that. Even that pro-black guy was there, talking people to death about fighting the power that wanted to go grab some grub. I glanced at my watch. Time to go.

SOC 105
I show up to the door of the room. 5 people are standing outside, chatting away as if they were about to skip class. I was wondering why people were standing outside, despite the door being unlocked and unclosed. I would’ve asked…but I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. So I did what anyone else would do – I walked in the classroom. I sat myself down near the front so that this time I would be able to see the teacher and hear their voice well. A minute after I walked in, the rest followed. They sat down and got out their notebooks like responsible students. I talked to this one girl in front of me, asking her why everyone was standing outside. She told me she had no idea either, and we laughed it up for a moment, a short-lived moment. After that, we exchanged no words. My eyes exchanged looks with the back of her head though. 10 minutes go by and the prof has not shown up. I was sitting in amazement how late this prof was. It’s university! At least send out a notification because one of the laptop abusers would check it out. 5 more minutes go by and we all start to discuss this problem. We come to the conclusion that because it was a lab and the first day of classes, there wouldn’t be a class, hence the teacher being absent. I felt dumb for a moment, a short lived moment. I took my stuff, stuffed it in my bag, and walked out with the entire class. What a waste.

HOME TIME
I hopped the train and took a journey home. My first day, was an okay day. I met a few people, saw a few places and enjoyed my world of wonder and amazement, the Ryerson University experience.

Jazz Café Experience

Surrounded by swirling smoke in the jazz cafe, I was sitting down, tapping my fingers to the lingering sound of a tune. Couples around me were holding hands like sly foxes under the round tables, kissing keenly, like the sky does the moon. Empty seats and lonesome folk were sitting as one, with scented candles burning with zeal. Strangers and friends mingled, lounging on the divan. I was focused, gazing at the starry spotlight on the woman onstage. She was singing the blues, freeing them from her soul with every gloomy note. Her voice was almost haunting, sending chills throughout my body. The band played slowly, with the music leading the way. Taking a drag of my last cig, blowing smoke rings that travelled across the room, I closed my eyes and swayed my body, left and right to the melody, digging into my thoughts and untamed imagination.

A bluesy dream, it was; the sound of the barry soothing me. I was floating on air, flying high through the smoke. I was lost in the music, lost in the moment. A heavy crowd of colours emerged; blues, reds and purples, chatting away like a soft breeze. A figure, faded like a black sketch loomed; all rubbed out and messy, but redrawn as it neared… It has bold outlines and faultless features – teasing me to insanity. This handsome painting whispered into my ear sweet nothings, sweeter than the sweetest honey. When I unclosed my eyes and took a look around, I smiled, bit my lip and guzzled my drink down. I just sat there and smoked my ciggy dry and tasteless. Tapping my fingers to the lingering sound of a tune, I let the nocturne of the keys make its mark in my mind.

(No folks, I don't smoke lmao this one isn't about me)

Lightning Bolt Strikes Gold too…Cheerfully?

“And he’s done it! He’s done it! I cannot believe my eyes! Wow! Amazing!”

He looks to his left. He looks to his right. He knows. He knows. He beats on his chest. As he crosses the finish line with ease, he spreads his lengthy arms like wings and flies across the track. He celebrates with a smile and a handful of dances. He’s broken the world record. 9.69. The fastest man in the world. Number one. Who, you ask? Usain Bolt.

This young, now 22-year old, Jamaican sprinter has a future ahead of him brighter than the biggest star. I was in absolute awe for two days straight. Usain Bolt, 9.69 seconds, 100 M? It was mind-boggling to me. It still is. He is definitely the highlight of the Olympics. Usain is a relaxed and fun-loving guy who knows that he’s a damn good sprinter. Yet I tune into my daily dose of the Olympics while I’m enjoying my breakfast and I hear some breaking news - Jacques Rogge, president of the International Olympic Committee believes that Bolt showed a lack of respect for his rivals by celebrating too early.


"I think he should show more respect, shake hands, give a tap on the shoulder to the other ones. Not making gestures like the one he made in the 100 metres,” Rogge said on Thursday. “He still has to mature. I would love him to show more respect to his competitors. He should learn that he should shake hands with competitors." - Link

Is this guy serious? Showboating is embedded in sports like a heart is in one’s body. When you score a goal, make a sick pass, cross someone to the point where they fall, of course you want to celebrate! It’s a great feeling. You cannot deny that nor can you deny how they’re expressed. And when there are far more serious controversies to deal with, such as the age of the Chinese gymnasts, this man wants to cry and whine about a little celebration. Usain is overwhelmed with joy and Rogue expects him to shake hands? Bullshit. He hugged some people, and to me that’s good enough. It’s not as if he put up his middle finger, turned around and starting running backwards, saying “Catch up niggas! FUCK YOU!” It’s not as if he did not acknowledge the other sprinters. He was as modest as he could be. Many athletes have been “showboating”. Just yesterday, during the 50k walk, the first place man from Italy was waving to the crowd, pumping his fists in the air. Volleyball players run around and yell at the top of their lungs every time they make the other team cough with their sick plays. If Usain had showed no emotion at all, there would be an even bigger whine from that rogue, calling him stuck-up and rude. Give me a break. With such a great accomplishment for Jamaica, a country full of sprinters that hardly make the podium, there is absolutely no reason to criticize a young man who celebrates his success. It’s not that serious folks. You know what’s really serious? Doping. That’s some serious shit.

Snowy Sunday

Snowflakes awake on a Sunday sunrise,
Swirling in the vivid sky,
dancing to the rhythm of peace,
Until they fall asleep ever so softly on the sill,
Silent and serenely.

I watch them in naive wonder
as they form a lovely painting;
Beds of purity lay upon naked nature,

streams of water are hidden under rinks of gleaming ice.

Snowflakes dance to the rhythm of peace.

As the sun glimmers,

I blow a kiss to my window, concealing this scene with a cloud of air
And draw a heart for the sleeping snow.
This snowy Sunday,

a winter bliss,

my favourite day.

Bored beyond bright && broad borders

When you’re incredibly bored as I am, you just ramble on about random things, wandering about in the world of words, jumping from subject to subject like you’re jumping rope (Double-dutch is still the shit by the way), and trying to become interesting and more interested in something or someone. But on the plus side, that’s probably when the best work crawls out of its shell and makes itself known in my mind. Inspiration hits me in the most awkward moments, like when I’m drinking my daily OJ. Then BAM! I have a story. It’s crazy. My persona is just random and on that WTF level of a higher power that is just works. Everything just works. But for now it’s back to your regularly scheduled boredom – in the early morning.

August 19th. Year 2008. The sun left the sky to smile in the east, leaving the shady moon behind. It reminds me of a ruined marriage, you know, the ones where the man avoids his wife and eventually leaves her…for a white girl.

2:15 am. I’m drooping down in my seat further than my bottom lip. I feel like just descending all the way down to the crimson carpet beneath me and falling asleep once and for all. Not to die, for you literal folk, but just … to let go, you know? The Olympics have been wearing me out. Yeah, yeah, it’s low and vile what China has been doing to Tibet. At this point in time, you’d think we as one world would learn by now. But noooo. Everyone wants to enslave each other’s minds and paralyze the rights and freedoms of every human being…and steal pencil crayons. Everybody wants to scrap and struggle with the next man who looks at them funny, even if they just have a lazy eye. Everyone wants to have that control, that power that makes people bow down and kiss one’s dirty feet. BUT, at the end of the day, The Olympics are the event to watch. People just forget about the troubles and enjoy the show. It’s exciting! Exhilarating! Electrifying! It’s been my life since 08/08/08. What a lucky day, eh? The 100 meter dash, 4x1relay, gymnastics, triathlon and the list goes on. Tibet what? Who? Where?

Under my eyes, bags of Z’s have made their impact. I should lie down in my bed and let my eyelids do the falling. I should at least try, put my imagination at ease. That thing is wild. But I’m one of those people who stay up for absolutely no reason. I’ll be finished the day’s tasks and be sitting down, changing channels even though there’s nothing on. I’ll be listening to songs I’ve listened to more times than a millie. I deal with my boredom that way – by writing and jamming. It’s just how I do.

I wonder a lot, you know? I was always one of those kids who asked “Why?” too much, the semi-annoying, Stewie like tall girl. I used to gaze outside windows, mostly on rainy days until the sun went down. The sound of the pitter-patter of the raindrops was so soothing. The rain would slither down the window, making a silent stream. I’d grasp its serenity with a firm grip and get in that zone of mine, thinking about anything – books, people, twister, Power Rangers, life. It was fulfilling for me to create pictures and stories in my mind from just about anything. Silence would swallow my surroundings and I’d be rapt in the climax of my story, the splendor of my picture. What can I say, I’m a curious person. My imagination runs wild. One day, I’m meeting someone from my past, the next day I’m narrating in third person with the most exquisite words, running from people with machine guns. Is that weird?

Don't answer that.

Villain of the Midnight

Lure her on a wounded leash
To a dark space in the mind
Take control her peace; feed her a spoonful of lies
Suck the life out of her eyes with an evil ablaze
Take away her last breath, her last tear; make her crave
Dig the hole that is her grave
And write a letter for my lover
“She’ll be back after never
And you’ve blown your stupid cover”
Make her suffer to the ceiling
Make her slam down to the floor
Make her feel no feeling
Make her living no more
Hide her body under the surface
Under the grime where it stays for a reason
If only he were cheating
Then her demise would be needed...

When Sunny Gets Blue . . .

Sunrise seethe (fancy fancy, eh?)

My book’s overdue…4 days. I should’ve returned it without ado but fuck that. It’s not that important, right? I owe what, like 45 cents? That’s my entire piggy bank gone. Damn. All those pennies…

“She ain’t got no money in the bank…”

They won’t track me down though. It’s not like I have overdue taxes for the government to enjoy waiting on, shit.

So it’s 6:30 am, and I’m one pissed cookie.

Since yesterday, I sketched out a plan in my mind to run in the morning, 6 am sharp knives. 6 am rolled out of bed with me, and I was getting ready – black tee and tights, messy hair, stank breath and I was red’ to go. I opened the brown door and stepped into my world of focus. I was a dazzling day – light blue skies with stratus clouds, lively trees with tiny birds chirping away, the weightless wind singing a jazz tune. I was walking to run. I took my first running steps, and I could feel a twinge in my knee. My knee felt out of place. When I looked down, I saw why – I forgot my knee brace. While saying a compound of cuss words to myself, I went up the stairs slowly, and got that stupid thing. I went back into my now awry world, and attempted to bring my sketch to life - So much for that. My knee still hurt with every little step I took. Sucks, right? I know. I hung my head low and went inside. Still cussing, I was still glad. I woke up early for once. In my book, that’s a huge accomplishment.

Wait for Her . . .

I long for her. I lust for her brown sugar voice to escape her full lips, one crystal at a time, once again. I miss her.

When nightfall struck us deeply one day, she was in my arms. She was motionless, sleeping peacefully. I was smiling at her closed eyes, stroking her dark hair back. I slept with her. The next day, when sunset made its grand entrance, I awoke with happiness. I rolled over to my left in the white heavenly sheets to share it. She was gone. She was gone. Empty closets and drawers swallowed my now vulnerable mind. I didn’t remember the last time I blinked. I called for her name, no response. I checked the bathroom, the main room, the hallway, everywhere. She was unseen, lost and not to be found. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t leave a number. She didn’t leave a sign. She left me. I sat down on those white heavenly sheets, and held my head lower than a bottomless pit. She left me.

Everyday, I look optimistically outside those lucid windows of mine. I view the blossoming flowers, their petals floating through the air; the trees slow dance with the wind; the seemingly static soft clouds; and the people, a motley of colours, shapes and sizes. But I never see her. I never see her. I play her favourite song on the piano, a nocturne it is. I play it for her everyday louder than a thunder strike. But she never hears it.
I’ll forever play the song, waiting for her to come back to me.

Mission X

The human race lives unconsciously under his roaring red eyes, burning for a chance to escape his watch. They live a thousand deaths under his turmoil of tyranny and between the four corners of the planet. Fear has taken the place of their souls. They do not think. They do not wonder. They do not see. They do not speak. They are masked machines of silence. They do not question, ever. Questions lead to false answers, which lead to the pathway of torture and demise. They report to the command center for the daily inspection of their thoughts. Thoughts are only thoughts if they are of his wisdom. The consequence of ill thoughts is one’s end. The populace does not dare resist his army of men for fear of the black bag. They do not dare resist his word. His word is always right.


My name is X-42. I am a mole. His word has made me seek places of escape for I am against it. I have to change locations recurrently to conceal myself. I trust nothing or no one. I disguise myself differently day by day. By nightfall, I am on a mission. It is a mission to change the eyes and minds of my people; a mission to end the downstream of life. I plan to destroy the command centre by 2300 hours tonight. I want to send a message of challenge to him, and a message of change to them, the people.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow . . .

1:02 am.

Tick tock the clock goes. Every stroke of the hasty hand of seconds strikes my ears stridently to my demise. It’s like I’m brainsick. The sound clutters my mind like a cloudy thought; a romantic dream; a crooked nightmare.
Typing away, I am, pressing these dark and dirty keys one at a time, relentlessly, like my life depended on it. Yet, it’s all meaningless. Empty words and faceless phrases attack the computer screen with pleasure. I’m trying to think of an idea to embellish with captivating language sprinkled with a touch of the abstract. Something to write – a poem, a prose…anything. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I listen closely to the swirls of air dancing, the silence wandering the room like a stranger; It's soothing...but no ideas, nothing. Fuck. My eyes are starting to mound with sleeping bags. I can feel my eyelids trying to hold on to each other for more than just a swift second. Widening my eyes isn’t helping much. It’s just making me look crazier than I do. Remember kids, images are crazier than they appear. Sounds crawling through the speakers are the only thing keeping me awake...but not for long.
THINK JEAN, THINK! THINK! I’m pounding my head for an idea to surface. I’m scratching my neck for inspiration to slither out of my veins. My eyes are drifting away from the screen to spot an idea on the shadow-ridden walls of this apartment; stacks of papers, black pens, flowery curtains, burnt out batteries…nothing. This is more bullshit than FOX news. My imagination is lifeless, like the broken printer in front of me. Stupid printer - couldn’t print a resume when I fucking needed it.

Chapstick

Moves across my lips

Cherry flavoured ecstasy

...

Who wants to kiss me?

F L a w s .

Strip. Take it all off.
Naked chocolate skin
Undressed bare body
Natural beauty, blooming
Breathing life into flawless imperfections
Embrace them. Feel them. Like them. Love them.
Stare. Watch me
Take over the world
With my perfect flaws and all

Return of the writtens.

I’ve been on a writing lull for a long time. I don’t know what it is, but I just haven’t had any inspiration hit my ‘packed full of luggage’ mind. I’m fresh out of snazzy ideas and random thoughts. I’ve been attempting to write, for sure. I’ve been wasting more paper than all of Canada. The ink in two of my pens has departed too. But nothing has come out. I’m a night person regardless of my ‘invisible’ skin colour when it comes to writing. When I’m drunk on wakefulness, I write my best work. It’s unbelievable, I know. I’m a super human being. But I have never been on writer’s block for so long. Maybe I’m just being lazy. I haven’t a clue. Writer’s block is a bitch.

[ Love + Laces ]

Old Works

...My mind just undressed/
My common sense senses itself being laid to rest/
This naked intellect, wandered by imagination/
A dark sensationJust made its entrance..
--------------------------------------------
» J a d e D.

So jaded is how she left me.
Those words, locked up in my head,
serving their sentence behind the bars I created.
It felt like I died before I lived,
got in a casket before a bed,
got hurt before I was loved...
My soul, empty. My heart constricted.
I want to forget those incorrect words,
but my mind won't let me.
When she let those words roll off her lips,
I let my tears roll down my cheeks.
There was a silence between us - my eyes dilated.
I felt like the sky had fallen on top of me.
Gravity crushed my body too early.
My breath could not escape my lips.
Jaded, was how I was left.
-----------------------------------------------------

Wandering Soul

I'm just a wandering soul
drowning in my own blue stream
looking for a place
rather than the one in my dreams...

I'm just a wandering soul
silence makes me smile
darkness covers my shadow
as I walk the long mile.

I'm just a wandering soul
with no place to go
and an ache in my chest
'cause my heart's on the floor.

Old Works

Just thinkin'
- 'Bout my own mind, and how it's like a film strip
Just flippen through each still picture, then stoppin at one in paticular,
Perpindicular, are the lines of an X, similar, to X on ma chest

Just thinkin'
- 'Bout the people that I know, and how they have nothing to show,
But somethin to hide, and why, I deal with them? I don't know,
Just the flow of the whole world makes me wonder, why do I
do the things I do, just to be cool and show that I am no fool?

Just thinkin'
- Bout the things that I see, and how the homeless on the street,
Have nothin' to eat, the crackheads walkin clumsily, and the children
gettin abused, used, and bein confused, bout what to do, choices to make
will either build or break you down underground, to your grave...

Just thinkin'
- Bout beauty, and how it has many definitions, people reminiscin, sayin size zeros
are the best, but you know, beauty doesn't show, unless you know, who you are, look in the mirror, know that you a star

Just thinkin'
- Bout love and what it really means, and how I'm lookin' to love someone and for someone
to love me, for who I am and who I is, sticks and stones break your bones...and words will always
stick with you, in your mind, and once they're in, you'll completely forget about time..

Just thinkin'
- Bout the black folk these days, and how the ways of our kind, has turned back time, a whole lot, just the thought of the word "nigga" kills me inside, because I'm tryna rise to the top and these flip flop blacks tryna act, tough, droppin outta school, breaken all the rules...then it's complaints about racism and critism..but it doesn't makes sense because your intuitions of your decisions are your own fault or success..

Just thinkin'
- Bout the gurls these days, tryna dress older than their age, without a page in their mind of what to do and how to do it...it's unprotected sex and parents gettin' vex over baby mamas bein 13, 14, and even 15...Gurls havin abortions, havin gurl fights, Looken for a boy to say "Damn" in da middle of the night...We gettin abducted, killed, raped, and murdered, and all you can say is "It'll never happen to me." Gurl please.

Just thinken
- Bout how to end this poem, it's been a long one, been a long day, and by the way...i enjoyed ya precense cuz time is of the essence...but promise me one thing...Visit my site again, and tell ya friends, cuz signen the Guest book aint nothin but a G thang

Old Works

Beautiful Dancer

Lyrics move her lyrically

Leaping lovely across the stage with ease

Turns and twirls,

Enchanting the eyes of her world.

She moves her body,

Sinuously,

Like poems of cursive writing,

A dream of beauty.

She spread her soul in the sky

Passionate flying

Her eyes as the stars

Dancing,

Like there's no life tommorow.

A beautiful dancer,

A song in disguise,

A woman with soul,

A real fantasy.

---------------------------------------------

There once was a girl from Peru

who was walking around with the flu

She coughed and she sneezed

all her boogers on me

and my friend said "Jean, why so blue?"
----------------------------------------------

My Smile

I carry my smile wherever I go

Inside my pocket, where it won't show

I wear it when I see my friends

Straighten it out when I see my foes

Flip it upside down when I'm drowning

in my tears, my smile is no more.

When I see that special someone, I stretch the ends, 4 by 7

So that he'll notice me and answer me like a question

I wear it in class when I'm doing my work

But hide it if the teacher starts to lurk

My smile and I, we are close for sure

We share good food, jokes, and words

I take good care of my smile and it takes care of me

Give it whatever it needs

I don't want to end up

with chapped lips and bad teeth

It helps me laugh and feel happy

even in pictures, I wear it and say CHEESE!

My smile's like my best friend

Funny and lovely,

A star that lights up in the sky above me =]