the girl who dreams of fish in the sky

Care Bears notebook page 1

11/4

Lately sometimes I feel like I’m high

My senses process information and my body responds with reactions that formerly only THC and other three letter words have produced

First it happened in the mountains

A mix of altitude and fresh village air, endless green scenery that created strange illusions,

Nights spent talking to the stars and days spent talking to the earth may produce unlikely sensations

But recently I feel it mid-conversaition, mid-meal, mid-twenty-first-century-cyber-communication

Maybe my brain and body are recovering all over again

Maybe it’s a simple reminder that every feeling, thought, situation, is subjective and fleeting

Whatever high-flying dream job, whomever chest-baring macho rapper, whichever sleek reconstructed bicycle I choose,

My happiness, confidence, security, strength, will never be affected in the ways we are made to believe

It is only in my center, my insides, my pure energy, and the cleansing of these that lasting peace will ever be felt.

How easy it is to act when the mind is clear and the body is refreshed

Honesty, moderation, kindness, adventure, love, gratitude, acceptance, daring

These are the things that keep me sane.

27/3 stalked

What the fuck do you do

When a crazy boy turns up at your doorstep 

banging down the fucking door

It’s Brooklyn, it’s 1am

and motherfuckers are going crazy on the full moon

there is violence, distrust, skepticism, deceit in the air

men turn into children playing at their dreams and nightmares

women can’t take the truth and play the dance of the innocent birds

I hide in my room and turn off the lights, hoping no one will come play tonight

I fear the windows, I close the blinds

I fear the possibilities in my own home

Is it my fault

Did I bring on this mess

Is it my trouble in wanting love and giving in and never being able to say no?

I thought I left these old habits behind

Do I attract the crazies?

Should I be more discriminating?

I just got fucking stalked

No binoculars, no hidden cameras through railways or stuffed toys

But loud brutal pounding

And a guy who won’t give up the fight

Do I change my mind too often and too quickly?

Am I victimizing myself when I am in the wrong?

Aren’t their boundaries of privacy and decency

What I have done wrong.

25/3 From my bed

I imagine my future in the context of my past

Where there is a root there bears a new leaf

I never knew my life would move in circles and cycles

A slight inclination with each revolution

A path dotted with sinkholes and ladders

A start and a finish in the city that bred me

It draws me back again and again even when it’s not in the plan

The boy with shaky hands, glasses, jokes and big windows

who keeps calling me back

He always watches behind his lenses

He senses with nocturnal feeling for the silent and screaming ongoings of the night

The currents push me his way

We battle for the power, the last say, the love that so fleetingly drops and rises but always leaves the sky blue

One strong wave and I’m over the edge

with a single lonely rope pulling me in, tugging with slow persistence the opposite way

to the mecca of meccas, the bright lights of an era past

the rage and aggression that a system built on oppression has fostered

That lonely rope tries hard not to unravel

The stars will guide my heart

The Moon will light my way along the path that is mine

12/2 From Soho

This is the daily grind

Job applications in coffee shops

with waiters who discriminate

outfits I’d never wear

for interviews with jobs I only half-want

Lots of tall blonde women

with button noses and smiles that say I hate you but I’ll pretend to listen and nod along 

to get a foot up this crumbling ladder to hell

Or are they real, do they care,

is it just me, with an air?

I have to take a step back, 

stop judging and hating

Forgive the city for its love of the climb

Admire the people who don’t turn to crime

Remember I’m lucky with a big safety net

For other people what they build themselves is all they’ll ever get

These jobs are shitty but we have to comply with a grin

At least it’s not a system where the hired are only next of kin

Look close at the good things, take them with an open heart

move past the bad, instead of ripping them apart

The city isn’t easy 

People have their claws out and ready to strike

But maybe that’s the only way to be, asking for a fight

You have to hold your own,

walk with a stride that calls these streets home

Nobody will fuck with you

If with one arm you laugh, and the other shooting bitches down air shafts

Rats are your homies

Street corner kids your friends

The deli guy has your back

You’re nobody’s to whack

New York’s full of crazies

And a good few million too

Plus plenty selection of laced up shoes

There are Jamaicans and Africans, natives and Midwesterners and East coast reppers

We all mix and mingle and give looks of love and hate

Sometimes with a smile we celebrate

The city that moves and shakes.

8/2 Escape to the living room

Young money cash money bitches?

I’ll be your fuckin bitch

A city that never sleeps

in a snow storm

that begs not to be called a storm

Blues playing and a hot totty

Socks covered in dog hair

An apartment cleaned and dirtied again

An old cycle of loving and hating and loving again

Tolerating when we should but everyone tells us not to

Don’t let that fat bitch have her way with you

It’s a reggae party but the vibes are raw nasty raw

Don’t let him manipulate you, take advantage of you

But you’re doing just the same back - are you?

Scribbled rantings in a notebook of a teen who tries to grow up but keeps crumbling down

Lovers who quarrel and dissatisfaction that runs deep

A lamp that says old grandad

A dog who sleeps and barks in the simple life

Bright pink hair extensions 

Ripped jeans that cry paint some muthafuckin bling on me

The wall tells me to keep on the sunny side

But the booze tells me to tear some bitches up

The New Yorkers tell me that I gotta start saying bitch

So the bitch won’t fuck with me because she can’t deal with white chicks

And I just tell myself, I should have moved to L.A.

Where the rain doesn’t fall

The trails run deep

The MCs are friendly

And life is a ball bouncing with the sunshine

Tim Woodcocks won’t call

5/2 Midnight tomorrow in rhyme

My book is dirty

My meditations are rare

There’s a boy in bed next to me

Who has no hair

Things are off the tracks

And I don’t have to ask why

It might or might not have to do with a guy

This room with orange walls

hippie beads and a candle or two

Is now called mine

With three dogs who bark and cry

We’re all gonna get by

After a month in transition

it’s time to reshift these gears

before sooner than later

its been another year

Do what I want

and more importantly what I feel

Practice the things that took so much time to unpeel

I can’t and won’t forget the lessons I’ve learned

They’re always in the back of my head

And in this way the tides haven’t yet turned

I won’t forget Jay

I won’t forget home

I won’t forget path that my special people have shown

I’ll focus my efforts

Through the thick and the thin

I’ll kick a bag so I feel that pain in my shin

I’ll find my new passions

and my New York niche

I’ll take a deep breath and remember to breathe

I won’t be afraid to take a leap

to say what I mean

to not be a sheep

It’s not always easy

But this road has rewards

And the peace and happiness I’ve been missing

Like when dad took me fishing

I don’t normally rhyme 

This feels kind of lame

But suck it, because I won’t be ashamed

With Barbra Streisand and Wutang wrapped around my legs

I have protection, fun, and love

That path already paved

I won’t be a posession

or compromise my truths

But I’ll love back to my limits

and I won’t lose a tooth.

25/1 From Bushwick

A cold day in the suburbs of NYC

Bushwick, Bed Stuy, East New York

Once the hood now it’s good

Streets filled with trash and dog shit

The underclass picking through our loads of cans and smalls bottles from last night’s bash

A new delivery guy whose bike breaks down on the job

Hands frozen at the gate an hour late just trying to make some cash

White girls who work at Juicy Couture and rave about cheap produce and five dollar thrift stores off the J train

A regular at the neighborhood hipster joint who stands out with broad shoulders and a Nets hat, pom pom hanging proud

Women who don hats, bake pies, scribble poetry on walls, proclaim love always and love only, dance till dawn like it’s 1921

My nose is running my toes are numb from the cold towards the corner store

where the boy behind the counter encourages large papers because why roll anything if not a joint? 

New York’s a never ending party and the drunk dude stumbling in the tracks is probably making rounds in that dirty washer

Tiny bags of coke that taste like Clorox 

Overaged women who want to be drunk mentors to the young and lost ones

Crowds who don’t give a fuck and cliques who judge from their tables at bars full of semi-suited wankers

I’m another page of a misplaced manual taped to a wall plastered in useless and beautiful diagrams from an age passed

In a foreign country that is all too familiar

Sharp memories in the distance roll through my mind

The freedom and power of a late night bicycle ride with friends

Knowing everyone and feeling infinite in a city where all the people are my people except the people who come from here and hate on the real people

To be an oldschool Shanghai crewster is to be a born and bred New Yorker or to be from any place where you and your kin have witnessed the change, the growth, the gentrification and the influx of the other

To have those others come and shit on you enrages even the most peaceful and kindhearted of us

A real New Yorker shows me the ropes everyday, teaches me about the past, the present, the future

The names and faces who started the scene, the vigilante gangs who pop up on Broadway Ave, the venues where the tall ones make their names

Youngs and Yungs will keep their ears open and feed me beer, ice cream, and free tee shirts until I find my own American dream - what does it mean?

20/1 From Santos (unfinished)

A moment of quiet in this dungeon

to myself before a rush

Distant bass rumbling

of a train passing through Canal St.

A job in the city

A metal ice bucket begging for dollar bills

A space heater like the one my man said he’d buy me

The first day in a week we’ve left a five block radius in day light

Corner store, bodega, thrift store

Ben & Jerry’s in a bed after sex, too many beers and a buzz that makes him snore, a four dollar purse and a shirt he’ll leave in my dresser

New romance in a bubble on Hart St.

Deepest secrets shared under the cover, tears, sweats, shakes, emotional trauma

When I have a moment to pause, by myself, I think of you

You want to bring your things over and leave them at my place like its yours too

You call me baby and I hesitate but it feels good to call you that too

You say you want me to be your girlfriend, you’ll treat me right and you’ll be the best I’ll ever have

And I believe you.

I feel like you would make any situation better 

with your laugh, your hearty guffaw

Your perfect teeth and a winning smile,

eyes that spread and demand love and light

Sometimes I can feel the world occupying you,

I can sense your heavy heart, your responsibility and the weight of all your dreams and desires whispering around your shoulders

But mostly your smile, your jokes, your confidence is infectious and addictive

I wonder what goes on in the mind of someone as kind and loving as you

But I guess it’s less your mind and more your spirit, your soul, an inner truth that escapes the ego in you who checks the mirror

31/12 Thailand to New York

Already it was a different life

Far away, it seems long gone

A different me, exploring by bicycle around jungles and islands,

getting caught in storms and in sun

Enjoying and dreaming and living the peace and the lonely bus rides

Today I’m in the cities of cities,

under an expressway that rattles the windows

Lost in the cold in a hat

Wandering the subway stations in an uncomfortable huff

Finding solace for a second in the smile of a gruff stranger with an innocent smile that hides

How to find peace and balance in a life that speeds and changes by the night

There are no constants

Except the flux

FLUX

Living a life in flux

Accept it, embrace the movement, embrace the unknown, 

embrace whatever lets you hold on for a single second to the MOMENT,

the present

Forget the rest and look in front instead of behind or into an invisible future

Count the seconds,

there is only ONE