My daddy is … dying
a slow death
a slow death
of spirit … of spirit
of body
of mind … of mind

And I, the
his forever little grrl
bear witness to …
the

Falstaffian demise
of
this
now …
familiar … stranger.

He sits in muted …
paleness
of what he once was.

A nonexistent hand …
of his GREAT power
OVER me.

I relive with him … wrinkled memories …
from his childhood
that safe-unsafe haven
he goes back to …
crouching in gray recess …
from the monster … of
dementia.

He speaks with vivid recall of a riverbank …
HIS grandmother’s mother …
dressed neat but severely in the daily uniform - a long cotton functional skirt, dark in color … the garb of a sharecropper … swishing against long grasses … warning him of hidden poisonous snakes … as they fished … seemingly without care (for once) … for the days meal.
“Louis (or LC as they called him) watch out for dem snakes” … he says now …...

when my mind wants a comfortable chair … it goes to you …
U R … my muse

He rises
He rises …
with determination …
his lanky body
escapes …

the bed

In habitual rhythm …
he steps to the kitchen …
crashes the scooper
twice …
into the grounds of coffee …

He then showers …
the aberrations of night … away

The first coffee of the day is …
always … black … strong …
thereafter
mellowed -
unlike … his evolving mood.

In these hours …
before work
he acknowledges his demons
to start fresh his new day.

His thoughts …
focus … in necessary simplicity
on tasks … and completion … at first.

Residual survival … girdles his life.
“Clarity by subtraction.”

THEN …
then …
his FLOWERS …
touched with roughen fingers … in unconditional LOVE/nurturance/attention

BUT
but …
not? …
me?
when my mind wanted a comfortable chair … it went to you … U WERE … my … muse

Time did …...

I got inkedin 2009.

In the tatoo parlour, a woman, an employee, was sitting in a red chair (hint) by the door, like nothing horrendous ever happened in that shop.
I on the other hand …

I had just come from the tropical island of Kwajalein landing in Honolulu (the island people … well everyone calls it ‘Hono’) on my way home and to get my Rite-of-Passage tattoo.

I never had a tattoo yet my daughter has about 20 to this date (and counting!). So in my naviete I thought getting inked was a fairly easy process. Hell, everyone has one or two or three or twenty or, their entire body covered. How bad could it be?

I wanted a dolphin tattoo around my ankle and star/sun type thingie at the nape of my neck. Unlike the grrl in the red chair, by the door, my back fat encroached on the nape of my neck rendering it ‘no land to place a tattoo.’ So, my star/sun is in the back fat. But, I digress.

I am Adrienne Zurub a born citizen of the United States.
I am the mother of a biracial (Black & Palestinian) eighteen year old young man, presently in university.

There is no vocabulary to express the joy and overarching fear I live with daily from the moment of my son’s birth into this society of America.
Imagine feeling both guilty and overjoyed at his birth!

My daughter will give birth to my grandson in December 2014. I am the oldest of nine siblings, six whom are brothers (one deceased-after birth).
I have wonderfully intelligent nephews.

I write to you … out of sheer desperation and now, panic induced fear considering the Zeitgeist.

Please, please for the sake of not just my son, but the sons of those whose voices and minds are raw with the fear and stress of simply surviving day-to-day with the unimaginable pain of the forces of racism, blatant inhumanity and stark...

I am … in love.
IN LOVE! … with the term ‘Cognitive Dissonance.’
It looks imposing … does it not?
Admit it … just looking at it … it commands your respect and attention.
You want to know … more.

I love the way it sounds AND the way it looks … on paper, digitally … in a dimly lit space - reading.
Being a logophile and perhaps somewhat of a geek (somewhat! you say!)
I love … words.
I love the way they are married and integrated from the soil of thought into sentences, stories, pOetry, the gamut.

A confession … I … hoard … words.
If I see a beautifully constructed thought in a sentence … I capture it. I bring it close to me. I relish it. I write it down.
I place it in my menagerie of collected words … usually a note I can no longer find … on my computer or … a piece of paper … or written where I think I know I will see it or find it again (never to be found or seen again).
Yet, and...

WHAT HAVE WE BECOME?

A mere two hours and thirty-six minutes away, approximately 169 miles driving time stands the imploding metropolis of Detroit, Michigan.

I belatedly became acutely aware of the present crisis in Detroit, Michigan regarding the shutting off of water to some of their most impovished citizens. Notably, the majority appear to be Black (cap intended).

The Detroit Water and Sewerage Department, has made the immoral and inhumane move to cut off water service to thousands of homes, therefore affecting infants and children, the sick and the elderly.

I am sickened and disgusted.

Children in these situations may be removed from their families and placed in foster care because working utilities in home are a necessary requirement for care and sanitation. The emotional and psychological aftermath to these children and their families is unconscionable.

Water service for...

“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud” -Coco Chanel

“believe nothing,
no matter where you read it
or who has said it,
not even if I have said it,
unless it agrees with
your own reason and
your own common sense.” -Buddharite post here

My book, “Notes From the Mothership The Naked Invisibles” (2008) is a Pillow Book!
I discovered this just today (duhh, six years after publication) while reading about Sei Shonagon and the definition to follow.
I had not yet, heard of Sei Shonagon.
Yet, I do remember a woman in Ohio telling me about the movie, ‘The Pillow Book.‘ I puchased the movie and enjoyed it.

I described ‘Notes’ as a Faulknerian stream of consciousness BECAUSE, one of my editors stated that. And because, I really had no ready pidgeonholing 'label’ for what I wrote.
I still do not. I just knew at the time … that I had to get ‘it’ out. Comparable to pushing out a past due baby … ready or not.

I deeply appreciate the definition below as it mentions, “haphazard brilliance” which in part describes me … without the haphazard part!

Sei Shōnagon

“A PILLOW BOOK is an open-ended and spontaneous collection of...