tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28861298739150875102024-03-05T13:00:36.563-06:00Gee's HouseGeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-87657076335739723902015-02-02T20:33:00.001-06:002015-02-02T20:33:42.140-06:00<a href="http://www.forharriet.com/2014/11/the-last-taboo-black-women-with-white.html#axzz3Qe4UeoO6">The Last Taboo: Black Women with White Men on the Small Screen Read more: www.forharriet.com/2014/11/the-last-taboo-black-women-with-white.html#ixzz3Qe4jDu8K </a><br />Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-6753813620516122972015-02-02T20:24:00.000-06:002015-02-02T20:28:46.532-06:00Dear Charles Barkley, Black People Aren't the Problem Read more: http://<a href="http://www.forharriet.com/2014/10/dear-charles-barkley-black-people-arent.html#ixzz3Qe165Spr">Dear Charles Barkley, Black People Aren't the Problem</a>Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-6150057348262318062011-09-18T08:55:00.000-05:002011-09-18T08:55:17.720-05:00DEAR FACEBOOK I NEED SPACE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZt0cbee9dLx-N4qGKnaLQoeX6FTWUOo-qr1oqtWb9AE1Yz2zEFPBpQKsBqtSAD0vzXA2FfkG9lcRSiPP4fKoSFml-gOO3hjwECD2XL3S6pv83mvDccPff0ABP6193sDUBflmPZIaujYz/s1600/breaking-up-with-fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZt0cbee9dLx-N4qGKnaLQoeX6FTWUOo-qr1oqtWb9AE1Yz2zEFPBpQKsBqtSAD0vzXA2FfkG9lcRSiPP4fKoSFml-gOO3hjwECD2XL3S6pv83mvDccPff0ABP6193sDUBflmPZIaujYz/s200/breaking-up-with-fb.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not you it is me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love Facebook. I do because it affords me the opportunity to talk with people I would have never otherwise gotten to interact with. There are a host of interesting people; notable and everyday folks some make me laugh, others make me think, and there are those that make me want to fight. The conversations are what have turned Facebook into a compulsion. My days have become inextricably tied to Facebook. Hours and hours of my life are eaten up by commenting, posting, tagging, untagging, or uploading. As I speak I am listening to George Michael singing "If You Were My Woman" my immediate thought was to post it on Facebook. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't want anything to control me so. I am taking time off. My desire is to reprogram myself. Get my priorities in order. Facebook cannot and should not be a priority. I don't know how long it will take. Like any other addiction I can only approach it one day at a time. I am 2 and 1/2 days in...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-30998405893344426312011-07-22T02:47:00.006-05:002011-07-22T19:38:43.334-05:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">BLAME</span></strong> <br />
<strong>Lamentations of the deluded</strong><br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnX5jdF_m3Pk5D-ZoKM0Ip0au8CzVkJcZJLgaW5FbBsWOlnGCYoAOmGpbEuNIbJ3keJnGart5DoXVfPldPZovbYARCvPOdkV7gA2qQDHMTt5kRZY0v4k3U3SkZM3cWKd2MEpb6WHDaID-/s1600/frida+Kahlo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnX5jdF_m3Pk5D-ZoKM0Ip0au8CzVkJcZJLgaW5FbBsWOlnGCYoAOmGpbEuNIbJ3keJnGart5DoXVfPldPZovbYARCvPOdkV7gA2qQDHMTt5kRZY0v4k3U3SkZM3cWKd2MEpb6WHDaID-/s320/frida+Kahlo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frida Kahlo "The Little Deer" 1946</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;">I could have been </div> successful<br />
better bodied<br />
done better<br />
lived better<br />
loved better<br />
<br />
<div>Tied to</div><div> the saboteur</div><div> the doomed</div><div> the damned </div><br />
I believed in<br />
the future<br />
a hope<br />
<br />
I lost verdant spring to fall’s winter preparation <br />
I swallowed the bitter poison of disappointment like mothers milk<br />
<br />
It was my<br />
cross<br />
sacrifice<br />
sustenance<br />
<br />
Baptized and reborn as a distortion<br />
No moreGeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-17574717813818787872011-03-18T11:08:00.009-05:002011-04-28T12:16:10.200-05:00EPIPHANYI look at my boyfriend, Devin. I wonder what in the world would prompt him to rip off the bottom of his polo style shirt and tie it around his head? He is mad at me yet again for a reason, or reasons, only known to him. There was some infraction, real or perceived, that I have committed. And he isn't saying. Why does my man have to be "special needs"? Everyone else has normal boyfriends with normal issues. No I have a weirdo. No job. No car. And proud to have made a 4.0 one semester in his low level classes. <br />
<br />
I didn't even like Devin in the beginning! He just showed up wherever I was, at my locker between classes, at cheer practice, sitting at the corner of my street after my yearbook meeting, and at McDonalds after a game. I thought he was a stalker. Then he seemed harmless and I was flattered by the attention. Now I was convinced he lives to make me miserable. The problem is my heart is entirely too big. I am too generous and long suffering.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrur_tA2-yfxGxzGT6WZGLgIjkZWsE_ASxiZZ_aw6R5SUgTVaYCfQZiFersfVRXvIcGcuvvMsVVkPAasjBgb2y-nWq1N6R-AHm6FJU8lo-yy0uNO3rKu4mMOt_ydwOMt-2b7FnG-Wagut1/s1600/squaw+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrur_tA2-yfxGxzGT6WZGLgIjkZWsE_ASxiZZ_aw6R5SUgTVaYCfQZiFersfVRXvIcGcuvvMsVVkPAasjBgb2y-nWq1N6R-AHm6FJU8lo-yy0uNO3rKu4mMOt_ydwOMt-2b7FnG-Wagut1/s320/squaw+rock.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South Chagrin Reservation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was bad enough that he acted completely antisocial and moody at my family's picnic at Squaw Rock, which really ticked me off. Seriously he couldn't hide his crazy for a day? My aunts and mother sat me down after the soiree imploring I rethink this relationship. Seriously it's not like I am planning to get married! I don't imagine my future with a bunch of extra light bobble headed kids and Devin. But I listened. <br />
<br />
So here we sit in the back seat of our friend Alex's car, who was conveniently dating my bff. Devin sat silently looking out of the window. Silently because he isn't speaking to me. I found the whole thing perfectly absurd. Since I am sitting directly behind Mia we talk like our normal chipper selves. We review the day's events and giggle, giggle, giggle. Because we are teenagers and that is what we do. Something in our self contained joy and our gal pal-i-ness sets Alex on edge. Or it could have been "Devin Downers" dark cloud of death. Alex pulls into the lot of Pic-n-Pay and parks the car. <br />
<br />
"You both are so damned silly," Alex said. <br />
<br />
Our necks whip around and we look at him like he has completely lost his mind. He is one of those normal boyfriends. We would expect this from the King of Romance over there not Mr. Level Headed. When Mia and I look at each other again we roar with laughter. Needless to say this did not go over well. He then begins to scold us about our immaturity. We are completely without remorse and laugh louder. Not demure hand over mouth modest laughing. No, we are talking head back uvula dancing gut busting laughter.<br />
<br />
My gem of a boyfriend springs into action. He finds his voice and says something about it's not worth it. And they get out and go into the store. It takes us awhile to regain our composure. All either one of us has to say is "You both are so damned silly" to get us started again. Once we are silent for a second I have an epiphany. Why in the world should I be tied to somebody who gets on my nerves? Life IS funny and I am young. <br />
<br />
"Mia I will see you later," I say.<br />
"Wait for me," she says.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-3820973210740976692011-03-05T23:18:00.009-06:002011-03-23T00:02:12.155-05:00CONTEMPLATIONThe sky is gray and dreary. Heavy laden clouds shift shapes as they meander slowly across the sky. The breeze whips my hair around my head. And my loose clothing billows around my body. Aside from the wind everything is still. Even the street below is strangely quiet devoid of traffic, foot or motorized. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZbKdrOOqnqKiil8DdVlA3_jtgnpUbmH8qYBvrTMlEIFGIRvt9d3GpzR_7TcQu4Q-jjVFN-lcvMakgNqcZJL5LXUM4oZJstWtikpTlHTZq5TJxcbaKtpWkI8fdDKdV1Onxkp0HoNEwM1B/s1600/skyscraper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZbKdrOOqnqKiil8DdVlA3_jtgnpUbmH8qYBvrTMlEIFGIRvt9d3GpzR_7TcQu4Q-jjVFN-lcvMakgNqcZJL5LXUM4oZJstWtikpTlHTZq5TJxcbaKtpWkI8fdDKdV1Onxkp0HoNEwM1B/s1600/skyscraper.jpg" /></a></div>Unrelated thoughts weave, intersect, and overlap through my disturbed mind. A migraine begins its dull march from my temples behind my eyes. Panic washes over me. I take deep breaths until the anxiety passes.<br />
<br />
A baby sits on a field of grass. Wondering wordlessly at the expanse. A hand grabs for the verdant blades. Once successful the hand tries unsuccessfully to stick the cool things in her mouth. Despite knowing nothing of hands nor mouths. <br />
<br />
I am a daydreaming teen. Organizing a fantastic life filled with pouty faced magazine covers and runways. The twins fame and fortune are mine. Exotic travels, a peacock array of equally exotic men, penthouses, limos, champagne wishes and caviar dreams is how I roll.<br />
<br />
There once was a sense of adventure. Let's ride this out to see how it all ends. It has to be better. Master of my own destiny and all that. Do the work and it all falls into place. The world is my oyster... yeah.<br />
Then every slight, every disappointment, every failure is clear and fresh as if it were a new occurrence. The strength of memories cause my knees to buckle. I struggle to maintain my balance. <br />
<br />
I question was it worth it? The loneliness? The lack? No joy? No contentment? Insensible to time passing or the temperature dropping I turn these questions over and over in my mind. I evaluate each thought and memory as it takes shape. I take my time. I want to answer honestly. WAS IT WORTH IT? <br />
<br />
Once again I take long deep breaths to calm my nerves. Inhale. E x h a l e. I N H A L E. E x h a l e. Then I take the final step over the rail and off the building. My pure virgin white clothing floats gently like a full body parachute. Briefly I am peacefully flying. Until the wind picks up speed and gravity pulls me into her embrace.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-63131007805473849042011-01-27T13:45:00.005-06:002011-07-26T02:27:59.878-05:00Letter to My Sister<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-m0IAoQdG5HmRKFmC4ExEwWKmrhLs-4ez6HnHUr-lI8NnnQQKIIgw9ELLTZeChc8oCT0yxpuTeeIjvYp_6JIu8y6s2Jdhixu6DAx2TT7h1dO8xI_XExpW3s1WiQ93v0oDYhB38F7qAfU4/s1600/amberandkidsgraduationdinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-m0IAoQdG5HmRKFmC4ExEwWKmrhLs-4ez6HnHUr-lI8NnnQQKIIgw9ELLTZeChc8oCT0yxpuTeeIjvYp_6JIu8y6s2Jdhixu6DAx2TT7h1dO8xI_XExpW3s1WiQ93v0oDYhB38F7qAfU4/s320/amberandkidsgraduationdinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I dream of turning back time in increments to the day of, hours before, days before, weeks before. The most insignificant things are magnified. Disjointed words and conversations float in my memory. I want to hear you say "Hi Geeeena" or "Oh "**LL NO!" Or simply hear you at all. Know you are on the line, on this earth, at home.<br />
<br />
After my year long absence I finally made it back, the saddest journey I've ever made. Once there I wanted to be among your things. Cocoon myself in the comforter you'd been in only days before and release my anguish, disbelief and sorrow. Crying for you, myself, the conversations that are no longer possible. Cry for my niece who is living my oldest childhood nightmare. But I always woke up. <br />
<br />
Our family lacks balance. There is no comfort. No words, no "better place" cliches, nor empty angel wing promises help. Not even after oceans of tears. We knew of the possibility, the likelihood, the probability. Yet nothing could have prepared us for the reality. The blow has left us breathless and lost. Your absence is a gaping raw edged wound. Will time truly heal it? Or will we just bury the pain and continue forever changed but unhealed?<br />
<br />
I knew you were a loving sweet spirit. But I didn't realize how loving or how sweet. I knew you were strong but I didn't realize how strong. It wasn't until we stopped and reflected about all that you were that we began to understand. Sometimes we can't see until our view is unobstructed. Your impact was far reaching. The people who knew you are devastated. The ones who have heard of you mourn with us. <br />
<br />
I will continue to bear witness to your life lived in earnest.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-41648070919863142062010-10-21T03:36:00.003-05:002011-01-30T02:09:46.977-06:00KISSTime slows <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qsH4Gv8VAHW83xio0kpd59UJOBhLzHFcjl0LWKNjjaiHFA11rXZDcjq4-7gPpzArBqVviK_7Ql2QLIQzg4STmC9_NzSOfBjVSEQMquoxtXnzCgsq8rERcEqR_CgFuvVqNR3WG1_a0BX_/s1600/Art_Rodin_The_Kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qsH4Gv8VAHW83xio0kpd59UJOBhLzHFcjl0LWKNjjaiHFA11rXZDcjq4-7gPpzArBqVviK_7Ql2QLIQzg4STmC9_NzSOfBjVSEQMquoxtXnzCgsq8rERcEqR_CgFuvVqNR3WG1_a0BX_/s320/Art_Rodin_The_Kiss.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rodin's "The Kiss"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Your essence engulfs </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My knees buckle</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Moth to your flame</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I cannot escape</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Your embrace shelters<br />
I am home<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I inhale your fragrance </div>It gives me life <br />
<br />
Digits dance over<br />
Glistening skin<br />
Trailing light<br />
<br />
Our lips meet<br />
We are electrified<br />
<br />
Your breath is my breath<br />
Synchronized pulses<br />
Play a beautiful symphony <br />
<br />
We are oneGeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-52126415996578581562010-05-17T12:38:00.010-05:002011-03-19T13:22:57.171-05:00FAMILY REUNION<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/11erY5OzVjc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>I love a happy ending. Being a child of divorce, and a romantic at heart, draws me to others reuniting with long lost relatives. For me there is nothing like children of adoption finding their birth parents or estranged friends and relatives finding their way back to each other. Que the water works because I am going to let the tears flow. <br />
<br />
It was only as an adult, with children of my own, did I begin to realize that some of these people were saved from detrimental situations. Realistically it is highly unlikely that two stable and financially secure people (read I am a secret princess) would place their children for adoption. The idea of “I am from greatness” is part of the many fantasies and fairytales that fuel the imaginations of our society, a kind of "Snow White Syndrome." <br />
<br />
It was eye opening to discover, on subsequent follow up shows, that the endings weren’t always happily ever after. These shows struck a chord within me as a younger person. I also dreamed that one day I would be restored to my previous status as “daddy’s girl.” One day I would receive the acceptance and love that all children need and many crave. There would be the symbolic open arm embrace, an apology for the sporadic relationship, and an ocean of cleansing tears. One day there would be healing and my father would step into the place he belonged, if not deserved. <br />
<br />
One year I had my very own “follow up show” revelation. I was newly married, with a new baby, and my father resurfaced after a three year absence. Armed with some college and an understanding, or so I thought, of dysfunction. I vowed I would be accepting and forgiving. I still had questions. Especially watching my husband parent our little baby and feeling an overwhelming love for them both. I really didn’t understand how anyone could walk away from their own flesh and blood. <br />
<br />
During that year rather than growing closer I realized that I would NEVER have a functioning healthy relationship with my father. And that was OK. For years I resented the fact that my father’s actions caused me to become a stereotype, little Black girl from a broken home. I let it go. I decided I would be content with the blessing of the funny imperfect intact family I had been a part of for 19 years, my strong mother, my step-father (best grandpa ever), and my sisters. They loved me, my child, and my husband. That was enough and the true happy ending.<br />
<a href="http://www.oprah.com/own-searching-for/Searching-For--OWN-TV">Searching For on OWN</a>Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-6465071419226183782010-04-03T15:19:00.004-05:002010-05-05T17:43:33.815-05:00Age Outing!When I returned to college full-time 3 years ago to complete the degree I’d started 20 years before, it didn’t occur to me to mask my age. <br />
I spoke freely about my children, husband, and my experiences. In context not obnoxiously so. Young adults do not appreciate hearing “in my day stories.” Or to be given uninvited advice. Who does? <br />
I opted for a small college and there weren’t many older students in the day program. I soon realized that my age was a distraction. So I didn’t speak as freely. Not because my age bothered me. But my decision to go into the traditional program made me equal, in the learning process, with people who were only a few years older than my oldest child. I wanted to get the most of my new college experience without leveraging my life experience and overshadowing my peers. Nor did I want to become the obnoxious know-it-all old lady. <br />
This strategy was effective. Nobody thought I was a young college student. However, the ambiguity was enough for most people to relax around me and be themselves. This also allowed group projects to work well. I was not the default leader. I was only referred to as a mother figure a handful of times. <br />
Completing an internship was a requirement for graduating in my major. When I arrived for the interview I noticed that everyone was in their early 20’s. I was very aware of being overdressed in the super laid back environment. I really didn’t think I would get the internship as the interviewer was also college age. I didn’t think I would be a good fit. Much to my surprise I did get the internship. Other than the owner, who was still a decade younger than I, I was the oldest person there. <br />
And my age became a closely guarded secret. <br />
This atmosphere, established by the owner, was far more casual and raw. The F-bomb was dropped enthusiastically and often. No topic or joke was really of limits. Unlike the bubble of respectability at the small Christian college I’d just left. <br />
One of the interns who felt as if she was an elder intern befriended me. Deciding we were in the same age group she confided that she had graduated college in 2004 and would be turning 28. That was such a sweet compliment. <br />
I was often asked leading questions in the epic quest to find out my exact age. Like, “How old were you when you got married and what year was it?” It was pretty amusing. My spirited rejoinder was usually along the lines of “Do you think I am stupid?”<br />
Two other members of the group and I made it to senior staff after the internship was over. Sometimes the age thing came up, and I wouldn’t cooperate. They were baffled by the fact that I wouldn’t fess up. Out of the 6 of us 4 were 23, 1 was 31, and then there was me. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, not without back-up. <br />
So with no preamble one cold gray Chicago winter day one of my co-workers “outed” me (thanks Bethany). She gave my full birth year during one of our frequent staff lunches. I, who am usually never at a loss, was stunned to silence. She denied it had anything to do with the W-2 form I recently turned in. And swore I volunteered the information. I did NOT. <br />
Truthfully, I never thought I would be one of those women who would care about their age. After all I am a proud child of the 70’s and 80’s. I am proud of the fact that my mother took me with her to hear Martin Luther King Jr. in 1967, when he came to Cleveland. Sure I was only a few months old and can’t remember, but heard his mellifluous voice. I was a fan of Michael Jackson when he hit the scene with his brothers, the Jackson 5, at age 11. Not one of those mid career fans. <br />
I was in elementary school when the world mourned the death of Elvis and was just as sad for his daughter Lisa Marie who is a year younger than me. I was there when the pre-teen disco debuted “Rappers Delight.” It was the revolutionary song that heralded the dawn of hip-hop, a genre that was predicted to be a fad. <br />
Madonna crashed onto the scene making slutty and trashy cool. As cool as she was we were pretty sure her weak vocals wouldn’t sustain a career longer than a few catchy songs. "Aging shock addict" she was once called. <br />
Fluff chicks ruled. They were girls who wore big hair high and their bangs higher. Frozen in place thanks to cans of hairspray, generously applied and reapplied. I am sure the ozone layer thanks them. Mullets were called shags or just layered hairstyles. Decades before Paris Hilton flashed her goodies. Prince, through Vanity 6, and Madonna had our generation convinced that it was ok to wear underwear as clothing. It was so disappointing that our school dress codes did not agree. <br />
I am not ashamed of my generation or what we experienced together. I just don’t have the desire to explain it to people who don’t understand.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-48926336271622681242010-01-23T19:11:00.005-06:002010-05-11T09:56:47.098-05:00UNDONEInfrequently <br />
Your eyes soften <br />
Into shimmering liquid<br />
When our gaze meets<br />
Briefly your impassive <br />
Countenance slips <br />
<br />
I am flower <br />
To your sun<br />
Seeking the warmth <br />
That allows my photosynthesis<br />
My body buzzes like a hive <br />
Tending its queen<br />
<br />
There you are <br />
There I am<br />
<br />
I contemplate being lost in <br />
The sensual plumpness <br />
of your lips<br />
<br />
My thoughts wander to<br />
Painfully pleasurable delights<br />
That would make Dante blush<br />
<br />
I<br />
am<br />
tripp<br />
ing<br />
<br />
I gather my thoughts<br />
Vowing to ponder no more<br />
Then there is <br />
That infrequent look<br />
And I become undone…Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-50211560465998976072010-01-09T17:01:00.004-06:002010-05-05T17:46:41.928-05:00HOLEDarkness surrounds<br />
Eyes lifted heavenward <br />
Reveal no light<br />
They remain downcast<br />
<br />
Relief is elusive<br />
Multiple platitudinous clichés <br />
Swirl about <br />
Irritating buzz <br />
Lacking magical egress<br />
<br />
Seeking womb like comfort<br />
Body fetally<br />
Absorbing expected blows<br />
Though only mental<br />
<br />
Sharp critical voice <br />
Of self<br />
Recites a litany <br />
Of magnified missteps <br />
Measuring against <br />
Impossible perfection<br />
<br />
Reality exists beyond<br />
the shadowy edge<br />
In the eggshell walk <br />
Of the others <br />
<br />
Who extend but <br />
Cannot reach<br />
And must be content <br />
To waitGeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-12855921167931715452009-10-04T01:28:00.003-05:002010-05-11T09:56:08.227-05:00Somebody said marriage is like cable with one channel...Some convince themselves <br />
That vampire like <br />
They can fight aging <br />
By engaging younger <br />
And younger prey? <br />
<br />
Prey it is… <br />
Determining that one <br />
Can endlessly pluck <br />
The tender fruit<br />
From the garden of life.<br />
<br />
Objectifying others <br />
Denying them and self <br />
The need to engage and unify. <br />
<br />
And nest and rest <br />
After surveying the life <br />
Lived in earnest. <br />
<br />
It is work,<br />
It is struggle, <br />
It is a fight to love. <br />
It ain’t for punks…<br />
<br />
Remembering your lovers touch <br />
Both were young <br />
And unlined by life <br />
And trauma <br />
And age<br />
<br />
Recognizing the imperfections <br />
OF weight and change <br />
Ultimately not caring <br />
<br />
Skin memory says <br />
Those lips still <br />
Are pleasure <br />
Those hands…KNOW <br />
<br />
There is still <br />
passion to be lived<br />
Explored, experienced. <br />
<br />
Trust opens doors unknown <br />
To those crack heads <br />
Who try to capture <br />
And retain the high <br />
Of first infatuation <br />
and lust...<br />
<br />
Time will not be halted<br />
It comes and blows over us<br />
Until we are but dust. <br />
<br />
The life survey will happen <br />
May it not be empty <br />
Filled with the chase <br />
Of a high that <br />
cannot be maintainedGeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-67456283532877591932009-03-23T18:29:00.002-05:002009-03-23T18:30:30.646-05:00REMINDEDAttraction, infatuation, desire<br />My love, your love, beloved<br />Soul mate, your mate, my mate, we mate<br /><br />Baby, babies, children, teens<br />Mommy, Mommy, Mommy<br />I need, I want, Can I have<br /><br />Coffee from your hand<br />Brown eyes lock on green…<br /><br />Broken glass, broken toys, spilled milk<br />Rush, lunches made, meals eaten<br /><br />Lips brush neck, dishes washed<br />Quick fondles…<br /><br />Interrupted plans, restructured plans<br />Jobs gained, overtime, jobs lost, <br />Moving, new state, new beginnings<br /><br />Kisses that ignite deep wells of passion<br />Grown deeper through the years…<br /><br />Frustrated screams, escalated arguments, questions?<br /><br />Whispered declarations of love<br />Hands still firmly held…Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-66623772198228699152009-03-11T19:52:00.005-05:002009-03-11T20:14:36.992-05:00THE BEST INTENTIONSThe nature of God is a mystery to the finite human mind. However, something about humans makes them want to control and restrict others. Of course rules are necessary to coexist peacefully with others. Sanctions against killing another, stealing, or protecting the most innocent and vulnerable members of society are examples of this need.<br /> The need to peer into the bedrooms of others, crush the creativity of artists, writers, musicians, subjugating the thoughts, and behavior of others is not part of necessity. It is never more insidious than when these regulations are born of ignorance, fear, or the simple desire to control.<br /> Historically there has been a lack of understanding in general and failure to recognize that culture of origin figures prominently in how Christianity is practiced.<br /> In U.S. culture, for example, breasts are considered private parts that need to be kept covered. I recognize that my culture has its basis in Judeo-Christian beliefs practiced and interpreted by Europeans, who are historically from colder climates.<br /> If I was ignorant of this fact would it be prudent or rational to take this belief about breasts to a society of tropical residents who have no taboos about breasts? Breasts there are displayed in all their youthful height or aged droopiness with the natives of the area thinking nothing of it. It would be foreigners, with the admirable intention of spreading the Good News, who would be plagued with shame and embarrassment (or even excitement).<br /> At that point we would try to justify our fear Biblically, Genesis where God himself clothed Adam and Eve after the fall. But did it say whose chest was covered or if a chest was covered at all? No it does not. That little fact would not really be a problem because we understand that these underdeveloped people would be OK if they were just more like us, the first world.<br /> Something about religion in general makes people check their rational mind at the door. This leads to Fundamentalism. Fundamentalism is dangerous it doesn’t matter the religion. It leads to the oppression of other humans. It has lead to acid in the face of the powerless woman who caused her husband, father, brother to feel shamed or dishonored any offense real or imagined. It leads to suicide bombers. It leads to murders at abortion clinics. It leads to cults and cultish behavior. Bottom line Fundamentalism is mans attempt at improving the rules of God. It is guilt and fear that zaps you of your choice.<br /> Anything that requires reason or even facts to be ignored is suspect. We are rational beings for a reason. God is big enough to handle our questions.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-68229332212069654432009-03-09T15:18:00.003-05:002010-05-05T17:46:14.657-05:00RELIGIOUSITYThe definition of Christian is a follower of Christ. Christ was in constant battles with the religious leaders of the Jewish community, the Pharisees. The rules surrounding the Jewish faith had moved directly away from the rules given to Moses from God. And became more about man made traditions, rules, and regulations. Jesus clearly taught against that. "Now you Pharisees cleanse the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness. You fools! Did not he who made the outside make the inside also?" (Luke 37:39-40).<br />
<br />
Time and time again he spoke of being concerned with your own behavior.<br />
<br />
How can you point out the errors or sins of another when your inside is dirty? Now that being the case why is it that our Christian denominations are concerned about restrictions and traditions than the true things of God? It has been said that if Jesus himself walked into any given church on Sunday his followers would shun him. He made it a point to reach out to the unloved and unlovely. On those he had compassion.<br />
<br />
We who profess to be his followers are so pious and serious and hell bent on appearing right in the eyes of each other we miss the mark. We are like those who Christ said not to imitate. Those who have long rambling prayers and make a big show of what they are "doing" for God. Our concern is more about the correct behavior, the correct usuage of Christian-ease, the correct clothing - woe to those who stray away from what is proper in your circles!!! Please don't have a bit of fashion sense!<br />
<br />
Do we love our neighbors? Are we modeling our life after those we look up to? Or are we modeling our life after the the perfect one?<br />
<br />
Those who seem to have it all together most assuredly do not. The pious and self righteous will let you down. Preachers who use them self as an example could have hell in their home. Politicians who target organized crimes could be visiting prostitutes. Politicians who are virulently against gay marriage could in fact be tapping foot in an airport bathroom, seeking a quick same sex liason.<br />
<br />
Do not look to the creation as an example. Seek what is true. Love your neighbor as yourself, with the recognition that your neighbor may not resemble you. If we are our brothers keepers we will all be the better for it.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-59708343117360345832009-03-07T14:00:00.004-06:002010-01-16T21:52:14.645-06:00RealityTime old healer of wounds<br />Light that reveals error <br />Of dreams and fantasy<br /><br />Maturity bends and reshapes<br />Life that exists on a foundation<br />Shaped during immaturity<br /><br />Love is not fluttery gossamer wings that tickle<br />At the thought... smell... image<br />Nor the ears that bend <br />In anticipation of the sound<br />Made by feeting moving towards you<br /><br />It is the motivation that keeps trying<br />It is the eyes that cry<br />And the mind that questions<br /><br />Life is the youth that quickly passes<br />In false knowledge and confusion<br />Middle age of dissatisfaction, re-evaluation, and work<br />Elder age of clarity, time ticking down, and counting out...Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2886129873915087510.post-9356480867445483222009-03-06T13:59:00.001-06:002010-05-11T09:58:33.360-05:00Tired of the divisionAs if our country didn't have enough things dividing us, the issue of liberal vs conservative is threatening to tear us apart. Democrats are branded as atheistic, tree hugging, supporters of baby killing. And Republicans are scathingly classified as narrow minded Bible thumpers.<br />
I resent both characterizations. No group is 100% correct. No group carries the banner of God or is intimately connected with His will. We have a hard enough time figuring out our own thoughts. There are intelligent educated people on both sides and there are ignorant followers of the party line on both sides.<br />
And then you have special cases like Rush Limbaugh who confuses his position as an entertainer with relevance. He is the self appointed voice of conservatives. He demanded the apology from the new chairman of the RNC, Michael Steele, and got it. All Steele did was point out the fact that Limbaugh is nothing more than a talking head. I am sure Steele believed it was the prudent thing to do in order to prevent further alienating party members who believe that Limbaugh is their voice. Members who no doubt resent him as their representative. First Obama now this? What a blow to them.<br />
The reality is that nobody should follow any group without question. The U.S. cannot afford to be divided by political groups. Vilifying either group because they hold positions you don't agree with is just silly. So change has come. We all can jump on board and do our part. Or those who are unhappy can suck their teeth waiting for failure. But never mistake the fact that a failure for the President will result in failure for us ALL.Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11396867289277315453noreply@blogger.com0