La Mala Vida

I'VE MOVED

2008-08-28T20:58:00.001-04:00

I've Moved

2008-08-18T14:02:00.000-04:00

MY SITE IS DOWN

2007-08-29T20:58:00.000-04:00

because my ex is a numb fuck.
he went to my website and saw a post where I called him a midget motherfucker. basically because he is a midget motherfucker. but now i get to call him a bitch ass nigga as well.
he got all irate because i called him fitty kinds of short on the site. so what did he do?
did he go on his own blog and call me every kind of whore?
no.

this motherfucker decides to threaten me. no big deal. i've dealt with worse.
but no that wasn't enough.
this motherfucker decides to send me nasty text messages. whatever bitch-ass. delete.
but no, that wasn't enough.
this motherfucker decides to harass me on the phone. aight, now you pushin it. click.
BUT NO THAT WASN'T ENOUGH.

this no good trifling ass bitch made motherfucker,
posted an ad on craigslist.
telling folks i was offering blow jobs (and other stuff).
for 40 bucks.
and posted my real name.
and my real number.
and my mama's number.
then,
then folks...
this dumb rassclat responded to people who e-mailed him.
and gave them my website so they could see my pictures.
and told them where i lived.
and sent people to my crib.

fucking whore-son

best part?
stupid ass trick baby posted the ad using his OWN FUCKIN EMAIL ADDRESS.
then he responded to people from his OWN FUCKING BLACKBERRY.
paper-trail much?
WHAT A SCUNTHOLE.

so yeah,
my site's down for a while.
but i'll be back as soon as i'm done dealing with this BITCH in boy's clothing...

My Ex Is A STILL Dipshit

2007-08-14T15:34:00.000-04:00

and other fine tales, random rants and stuff o that nature.
All over at
Mala Vida.
Go.
There.
Now.

I'm Back

2007-08-07T12:27:00.001-04:00

Server's back up, thank goodness.
I actually was patient and didn't call Matty (my best pal-iest webmaster/afropunk partner in crime/ sarcasm king).
I really should call him though, we haven't laughed at fools in some time...

Anyhoo, I posted a throwback. Go read the shit.
Please?
Thanks.

Mala Vida
It's all about me.
Yup.
The personal website is the new blog.
Word.

Damn My Faulty Server

2007-08-06T15:22:00.000-04:00

my server crashed.
my site is down.
i ain't got shit to do.
exceptin for usin bad english n shit.
i've already visited everyone that i absolutely positively adore.
they have real jobs that require them to pay attention.
unlike me.
this sucks.
i want to punch something.
i sit alone at work for just such reasons.
bear with me.
i'll be back

in the meantime i jacked ideas from 2 people. one i was doing for a while but so many people got on my nerves about it that i stopped. then i noticed that cajun boy could give a fuck what anyone said so i went back to doing the casual no-caps writing style. that shit rocks. thanks cajun boy.

the second i jacked from elle the pirate. she puts random quotes at the bottom of her posts. that shit is cool. i will be swagger jacking. yup. thanks elle.

word.

famous last words: "you're a tiny little frail little fragile little thing. all of your weight is in your ass..." - Brown

P.S. i should smack him, right?

My Personal Life On Display

2007-07-30T12:42:00.000-04:00

No longer Mala Bravo.
Back to being plain ole Mala!
It feels good.
Read all about it:
Mala Vida

Yo soy Mala... siempre

braise gebus
thank the lawd.
hey-men

Mala Mag: Sorta...

2007-04-27T17:39:00.000-04:00

Yeah.
I moved.
My bad effin life

See ya.

M. Bravo, out...

MALAMAG.COM: The Beta Test Period

2006-12-14T04:14:00.000-05:00

Updade April 4, 2007 9:22 am
I do like drupal 5.0.
Damn.
But I can't find a theme that I like.
This is taking longer than I thought.

M. Bravo! struggling...

Update March 20, 2007 9:41 am

Ok, so I'm adding stuff bit by bit every day.
My lap is getting closer to going wireless.
I'm going to stop estimating launch dates since life is all over the place right now and I'm just spitting in the wind.
I am still deleriously happy.
I'm going to go add the shopping section now.
Wepa!
Bravo.

M, out...

Update March 5, 2007 4:13 pm
Y'ALL WHINE LIKE LITTLE GIRLS.
Dang.
I put the "pretty site" back up. I wasn't trying to use the roafi picture that was up there but I'm tired of hearing "yo M, I think your site is broke" so I am just going to have to deal until I can get copies from a more recent shoot.
Everything else is still the same. I'm making what moves I can as fast as I can.

Oh yeah, I'm blogging over there now. Something to do when I want to vent or whatever. The section is called Blahgs...

Otherwise, yeah, you still gotta wait.
Deal with it.

M, out...

Update February 27, 2007 1:10 PM
Aw people...
I know, I know...
I'm slacking on my pimping but my life is unfolding in strange, beautiful ways.

In Mala News:
Thanks to the assistance of the incomparable Matty, there will be wi-fi in my lap.
Soon.
Yup.
NY... I'm so over you.
Yup.
I certainly am...
Antigua's 50th year of independence gets celebrated this summer with the fam. Oh those white beaches. Gonna get brown and dunk my toesies
Sweating at the plantation, but laughing with Marcy makes it worth it (ok, that and the paycheck).
Chillin with the fam... you know there's plenty, plenty food involved. And a little bit of grief but, we'll make it through.
Yup.
We surely will.
Laughing with migente, even the ambiguously gay ones that sorta wanna date me.
Um.
No.
Thanks.
Spending lots of time watching a man fall in love.
(con mi... maravilloso,no? Sí!!!!)
Just been busy.
Nahmean?

In Mala Mag News:
I've taken down the "pretty" site and just put up a basic functional model. I need to get some masthead and themework done as well as remove the current photo as I don't deal with the person that took it and I vowed not to use/promote their work without permission (that I do not at all intend to ask for).
Never fear, the old look and feel will return.
I have managed to work on content.
I'm still on the grind.

Keep bearing with me.
Why?
Well... because... I'm cute.

M, out....

Update February 15, 2007 12:06 PM

I am a very, very, VERY happy woman.
& I think this is it.
Seriously.
I believe I've finally got things right.
Bravo! *heart*
Yup.

In website news:
I have not been working as I should. I admit this fact readily and I do have valid reasons which I mentioned before. Anyway, lack of internet and time will no longer be an issue as of Wednesday, February 20, 2007. I will begin content addition on that day. If you all have anything you would like posted (snippets, pictures and such) feel free to send it to mala@malamag.com. Tentative launch date: March 14, 2007.

Thanks for bearing with me.

M, out...

Update February 7, 2007 12:45 pm

Um, don't spank me but I haven't been able to get much done in terms of the site. My wireless at home is down and I've been absolutely swamped. Between "workin' fo da man" and getting some side projects done (*giggle* - side projects - *giggle*) I haven't had much time to diddle with the dongle or trek it anywhere else to pimp the net. Like I noted before, the general configuration of the entire site is 98% complete. I am now ready for content. I am hoping to get it all in as soon as possible. However, at the rate things are going, I won't be able to dedicate much time to content addition until next Monday.
Forgive me.
Pretty please?
Thanks.

In other news...
THE DARK TOWER: THE GUNSLINGER BORN.
I have a feeling that I am going to be very happy very soon.
I missed the signing by the artists last night (boo hiss - Matty I got the message too late dagnabit) but I can live with that.
I can definitely live with getting that comic in my hands.
It's gonna happen.
It BETTER happen!

Yup.

M, out....

UPDATE JANUARY 31, 2007
This has nothing to do with my website.
So don't say I didn't warn you....

"The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed."
I read those words for the first time when I was thirteen.
It has been a long, long, deep, deep, love affair.
Quite possibly one of the longest I have ever had in my life.
And now, with the assistance of the Tale Master, they bring the saga forward.
They give it color.
They give face.
They prompt our imaginations so that we may change it or conform to it.
Everything that happens with this series prompts me to feel.
Now...
If you love me
or
you want me to be your slave:

The purchase and presentation of this new comic could not only make me very happy but could make some poor fool VERY lucky...
You have no idea how lucky.
I break fool for graphic novels.
I began the Gunslinger when I was just a wee lass and now as a grown wee lass I still re-consume it.
The last Gunslinger has been given form
Movie next?
I don't know but I'm so effin pumped.
Do you see the ink?
Do you see the detail?
Do you see?
I am amped.
Yeah.
February 7th...
I am thoroughly excited.
And I do mean EXCITED!!!!
If you know me then you know how much this means to me.
Yeah buddy.
EXCITED!!!

M, out...

Um, P.S. I'm done tweaking. All content is being removed to be replaced. Launch looming. Bear with me.

Update Tuesday, January 30, 2007 9:54 p.m.

Let's see.
A month has gone by and I feel pretty damn good about the future. I'm finally getting down to the last legs of this site so I can finally start adding content... and boy do I have a load of content. The final few things I have to work out is something within the theme template that's causing a shitload of call-to-file errors that are driving me bat shit. Also, making me a little nutty is the fact that my php template keeps adding carriage returns out of no friggin where whenever I save file so it keeps generating "cannot modify header" errors. My watchdog files are filled to the damn brim. Grrrr Arrrgh. Still and all, most of the things that truly cause major breaks are cleared up and that makes me happy. I don't think I am going to mess with any more modules for the time being. I'll finish my final tweaks and that's it, it will be on to content addition.

Bear with me.

Oh and um...
my article was published.
Yeah.
Published.

"No weapon formed against thee shall prosper" Isaiah 54:17

Back to work.

M, published...

Side note 1/23/2006...
"Friends are nothing more than enemies who have yet to betray you."

M, out....

Back to the grind.

Update Monday, January 22, 2007
I'm electing to stay with Drupal 4.7 for now. The upgrade would cause the loss of way too much functionality. Fuck that in its entirety. I've worked too hard to lose anything right now. Having said that I am going to stop playing fast and loose with the 5.0 test site and really get back to the final touches on the current site. I have a strong feeling that by next week I'll be able to devote all of my time to adding content.
On some personal shit:
To anyone that feels that I am not their friend, shit happens... take a pill. Its not that deep. I just do not have the patience to fake what I am not feeling, play kiddy games or pretend.
To anyone that has handed me my hat recently, I hope you enjoyed that shit because I don't wear those sorts of hats anymore.
To anyone that I have forgiven: feels good don't it?
I've got a tooth ache so I'm superbly grumpy.
I love life.
Really I do.

I'm gonna get back to work now.

Quake, bitches.

M, out...

Update Tuesday January 16 8:57 p.m.
730 is in stable condition. My heart has resumed beating. God is good every day.
Um and DRUPAL 5.0 has been released bitches. Upgrade in progress.
Yup.

M, out...

Update: Sunday, January 7 , 1:39 p.m.
730 took 2 to the chest, 1 to the groin.
Web work on hold. Won't be answering e-mails. Can barely think.
Too busy praying.

M, out...

P. Ok, it is out of hand S. (Updated 1/6/2007 3:35 a.m.)
Anyone who has created an account during this beta stage and found that they could not change their password may now do so. The correct access permissions have been modified. The beta build continues. And remember: I am that chick.
Have at it then!

M, out...

P. yep I be thuggin S. (Updated 1/2/2007)
They call me the Drupal ninja. My modification dragon style beats your WordPress tiger style every day motherfuckers. Image gallery navigation problems: FIXED. Contact form customization: DONE. I'm a bad mothershutyomouf.
Yup.

M, out...

P.to the P.P.P.S0.
AYO I am happier than I have any damn right to be. (UPDATED 12/27/06 2:28 p.m.!!)
Ok so here's the deal. I'm anal retentive. Big surprise. So there is functionality that allows me to add images to any kind of content I create. I wanted to use it to display images of things to vote on in polls. Long story short, the shit wasn't workin right. I would upload an image. The thumbnail of the image would be created with a link that was supposed to let the user go see the full sized image, except it wasn't working like that. The link kept going back to the original page. I WAS FURIOUS. When I tell you I have been working on this issue for like 4 fucking days, I mean that shit. After intensive search as well as realizing DUH modules can be edited in friggin notepad it's just PHP!!! I found the answer that I needed, which was a simple change in the module code. I've fixed/implemented my very first php snippet. WEPA MARICONS! Onwards and upwards. Mala Vida keeps moving!

But you know this just started something, don'tcha? Because you know
I WILL NOT BE COMPLETE UNTIL I LEARN TO CODE PHP.
Holler back.
And Quake bitches!

M, out...

P. when I put it on the S. (Updated 12/22/06 6:46 a.m.)
The site is down for major maintenance and content porting. Because of the holidays, I gotta spend time with family and tie one on so I'll be back around Tuesday or so. In the mean time: QUAKE IN FEAR!!!
and uh, Happy Everyday.

M, out...

P. and you know thiS. (Updated 12/18/06)
My apologies to everyone who had text image verification issues on the registration page. For some strange reason the module just does not want to cooperate with my cute behind. I removed it. Anyone who could not register before because of this error can go back now and get they get on! Oh yeah, quit it with the nasty emails, I'm building the damn site alone - shit takes time. For fuck's sake.

M, out...

I'm so serious with the P.S. (12/16/06)
I didn't realize I didn't give members permission to do shit. Ahahahahaha (nah for real I laughed for like a half an hour when I caught on) I changed that. Regular members can post and add n shit. Premium members can get all up in my business for real.

M, out...

P.P.S. (12/15/06)
I fixed the registration email issues. If you register now, you'll actually get your password. Friggin SMTP. I still love the hell out of drupal.

M, out...

P.S. Message (12/14/06)
Internet Explorer fucking blows ass. It distorts my entire site.
Fuck Internet Explorer.
Go FIREFOX!
Yay SAFARI!
Whoopee OPERA!
Did I mention fuck Internet Explorer?
Yeah.
Fuck that shit entirely.

M, out...

Just a Taste

2006-12-12T12:06:00.000-05:00

Of the second coming... gonna go live soon. Quake and such...

I Wanna...

Put him on my tongue and eat him alive.
Lick his spine and taste his life.
Wake up wondering if I'm imagining everything.
Writhe and shake.
Scream.
Beat my hands against the walls and try to escape.
Repeat his sounds.
Keep him in my mouth to remember his name.
Stretch my legs around his world and squeeze.
Stop being frustrated.
Punch, kick and yell.
Tuck my panties in my back pocket and dance.
Swallow him whole.
Whisper "por mi vida" while I scratch his soul.
Vent my sticky-ness.
Fuck up his sheets.
Make that noise, that noise, that noise, our noise.
Wake up the dead.
Kill reality.

I wanna.
Well, you know.
Damn.

M, out...

I'm Moving On

2006-12-11T00:13:00.000-05:00

Finally.
For the most part I've scaled down my huge game plan to something I can handle.
The website is up but still hidden until I work the last of the kinks out.
It's really simple, none of the FLASH BANG POW I initially envisioned.
But it's mine.
All mine.
I control it. I maintain it. I tweak it. I install it. I fight the database.
Mine.
I like this feeling.
I've been on the borderline between livid and estatic for days.
All the personal growth in the world doesn't change the reality that into each person's life a little bullshit may fall.
My bullshit?
I gotta get my shit together... I have been getting my shit together but check it: MY SHIT.
Not whatever the fuck everyone else thinks my shit should be.
I can't control everyone. I can't beat everyone's ass. I can't help the blind see.

Anyway, I'm not gonna get all into it.
I won't be on here much longer (well, I'll be posting teasers that nav over to the site).
When I go live, y'all should come visit me.
I think it will be more fun than here since I'm probably going to really let it all hang out...

M, gone
P.S. I saw a picture of you today that made me think to myself "God you are so fucking whack."

It's A Damn Shame

2006-12-10T02:30:00.000-05:00

I got up all fired up and ready to work and one little lapse lead to a gaggle of survey taking. I'm going to get back to work now though. I'm going to exercise a little self-discipline after I post this rediculous survey... I should be ashamed, but I'm not.

+ Known as: Mala
+ Born: K
+ Hair color: Brown
+ eye: Brown

HAVE YOU EVER
+ Fallen off the bed?: Often during sex
+ Broken someone else's heart?: Yep and I giggled my ass off... he deserved that shit.
+ Had your heart broken?: So often it's sad
+ Had a dream come true?: Sure and years later I'm still in shock

CURRENTLY...
+ Wearing: A thong and a baby T
+ Listening to: Everlasting Gobstopper by Apollo Heights (Who, by the way, will be performing at Mercury Lounge on December 19, details to follow)
+ Located: At my mom's house
+ Chatting with: no one
+ Should REALLY be: Working on my website

DO YOU...
+ Have any piercings: yep but they're the usual. I took the ring out of my nose eons ago
+ Drive: Only when someone is foolish enough to let me (my right foot is made of lead)
+ Drink: oh yessiree bob, Bacardi Limon is my friend
+ Have a cell phone: but of course

LAST PERSON YOU...
+ Hugged: Danny Castro after the KRSOne Show at SouthPaw
+ IMed: Tyromme of Say No More Entertainment (he got the ill ski trip coming up)
+ Talked with on the phone: muMs (lyin ass said he would call me back... hmpf)
+ Text: Swiss

PERSONAL...
+ What do you want to be when you grow up? I don't wanna grow up... (even though I'm grown)
+ What comes first in your life? Me
+ What do you usually think about before you go to bed? Chaos and Mayhem

FAVORITES
+ Show: Spongebob Squarepants
+ Store: La Caridad
+ Food: Red meat
+ Color: black

DO YOU...
+ Like to give hugs: in greeting depending on who it is
+ Like to walk in the rain: yep as long as it's not winter
+ Prefer black or blue: black
+ Sleep on your side: yep
+ Have stuffed animals: a few and a puppet named Buttons (stop laughing Damn Mess)

THIS OR THAT...
+ Pierced nose or tongue: nose
+ MTV or BET: I REFUSE, THEY BOTH SUCK
+ 7th Heaven or Dawsons Creek: see above
+ Chocolate or flowers: flowers
+ Color or black-and-white photos: black and white
+ Stay up late or sleep in: stay up late (that was tough, when I do sleep I hate getting up early)
+ Hot or cold: hot
+ Sun or moon: moon
+ Left or Right: right
+ 10 Acquaintances or one best friend: 10 aquaintances
+ Spring or Fall: spring
+ Happy or sad: happy
+ Wonder or amazement: amazement

FIRSTS.
First Screen Name: kallnightlong
First self purchased CD: Metallica, the black album ( at least I think it was Metallica, before that I bought records and cassets - I'm so old school)
First pet: a mouse named Cheese
First piercing/tattoo: the K on my breast (fainted before they could finish, never get a tattoo at a swap meet on a summer day while you're drunk... trust me)

LASTS.
Last GOOD cry: about 11 or so yesterday morning
Last phone call: Esury called to try to get me to hang out tonight, uh ... NOPE
Last time showered: yesterday afternoon

CURRENT.
Current mood: angry, petulant, distracted
Current food: tuna salad
Current hair: ceasar
Current annoyance(s): every and anybody

WHO LAST...
1. Made you smile: my mother
2. Saw you cry?: muMs

WOULD YOU RATHER..
1. Be serious or be funny? funny
2. Drink whole or skim milk? whole
3. Spend time with your parents or enemies? you're not serious are you? I'd only want to be with my enemies over my parents if I was able to inflict bodily harm to those that oppose me!

DO YOU PREFER...
1. Do you prefer gray or black? again? BLACK
2. Lust or love? Lust. Love is a fallacy
3. Sunrise or sunset? sunset
4. M&M's or skittles? skittles

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY...
1. Do you like anyone? unfortunately yes, and my taste is so very, VERY suspect right now...
2. Do you believe in love at first sight? I don't really believe in love... (at least not the "relationship" kind)
3. Do you fall for the wrong guy? So many times it's fucking hilarious in a sad sort of way.

Fin.

Ok, seriously, I'm gonna get back to work now.

M, out...

Monster

2006-12-09T11:08:00.000-05:00

Just a snippet that I felt like sharing...

"It began with the outer ring. The people that would hardly be missed but would still be thought of. One by one.

She was found eviscerated. He left her in the most vulgar postion possible. She was nude, parked in the lounge seat in front of her tv while a porno played soundlessly. Her legs were spread wide and her entrails spilled down between them.

He was found nailed to a wall. His toes barely grazed the ground and the 4 foot iron railroad nail was buried deep in his throat. His face was frozen into a rictus of fear. His genitals had been hacked off and thrust into his open mouth.

Then came the inner ring. Close friends that would cause tears to flow. One by one. Somehow they all knew the terror would not end until it had killed them all"

M, out... excising painful emotions and the hauntings of unrest the only way I know how.

Let's Get Ready To Ramble...

2006-12-04T08:42:00.000-05:00

Settled comfortably in front of a Dell Optiplex, standing at a whopping 5 feet tall, weighing in at an astonishing 100 pounds with a wicked keystroke, we have: MALA.
In front of god knows what, we have: you.
Gird your loins.

I've been gone for a bit so this may prove to be hellishly long. I don't know why I took a break, other than I needed one. It's been a trying time, even now as I attempt to corral my thoughts while a 6 foot 4 inch bruiser snores like a logger on my mother's couch and Captain Kirk delivers his lines with those awkward pauses he's known for, it' s still not all gum drops and lollipops. I wonder what's really what.

Last night while chatting with Ed, I told what is quite possibly the most horrendous lie that has ever had the misfortune to leave my lips. I said "fuck writing" (and somewhere in the cosmos a star died). I had spent most of yesterday in heated argument with my mother. You know, the kind of debate where one of the parental units insists on telling you exactly what you should be doing with your life. Writing is not a true occupation to my mother. She went on to relate to me, ad fricken nauseum, how long it takes for a writer to "make it" and point out that a lot of people only "make it" post-humously. She insists that I have neither the time nor the luxury of depending on words to take care of me. She had me sold for a moment. I thought that she may just be right, I may just need to get a nice little job and make a nice little living so that I can have a nice little life. Then I remembered that there is very little nice about me... at least in the sense of being satisfied with anything nice or little. This grievous discussion went on for hours with tiny barbs being thrown, to the point that I wished I had the heart to utter the words "would you please, in the name of all that's holy, shut the FUCK UP." However, my dearest readers, although I am stout of heart, I am, by far, not foolish of brain. I would never dare attempt such a statement because to be blunt, moms has me by a good 100 or so pounds and would make short work of beating the yellow off my ass (plus I've seen her fight, she's nice with hers). So I held my tongue and allowed her to browbeat me mercilessly. Just when I was about to fold like a wet blanket I realized, I am never happier than when I am writing. It doesn't matter what I am writing, as long as words flow from my mind. Like most, I am my own worst critic and harsh like sandpaper when it comes to judging my work but still writing makes me happy.
Damn a nice little life as it would make me miserable. I finally smiled and said "well I guess I'll just be broke then" and she harrumphed away mumbling something about a hard head. I couldn't help but sling a bit of sass. I may have a hard head but having a nice soft ass is so very often WORTH IT.

Onwards.

I don't know exactly where to begin with times now past so I'll just throw in a few tidbits that have stuck over the last week or so. Roughstars rocked R&R this past Tuesday night. It was a bit of a farce since Forrest elected to have them go on at some ungodly hour of the morning when most of the patrons had moved on to spot number 2. It was a major disservice to the band. Major. I also feel like they were not meant to play in the line up as it were since these guys bring a rough, rapid UK rock sound to a laid back r&b type night. They kicked what little ass was left in the spot and I look forward to seeing them perform in a place more suited to the vibe that they wear like a second skin. Lots of love from Mikel and sharing a joke over a glass of house wine with Tjade is nothing to sneeze at either. Bazaar Royale busted into an impromptu performance of "I Know Pain" that blew minds with T-Bone, drumming madman of Game Rebellion, sitting in. As always it was a pleasure to see a host of people that I know (which made me realize sheeze, I know alotta damn folks) and shit talking with muMs into the wee hours about nothing was par for the course.

Thursday I was a woman on a mission. There were no shows a popping but I fully intended to get into some, um, trouble. Which leads me to this whole weird thing about sexuality. It's no crime but it is a trifle wearisome and confusing. There are some that come from the school of dowhatchalike and there are others that swear you can't turn a ho into a housewife. If you choose either school of thought you'll either end up a ho or a virgin until death. So what does one do in this insane predicament? Do you wait around, holding on to your precious jewel spending night after night freezing in the shower or do you let it all hang out and take a few trips around the block? I don't know. I've still not the answer to that question. I have found no happy medium, rather only a tricky, sticky middle road that more often than not, leaves me either squashed like a grape or hornier than Bambi. I don't have the temperament to fling it around willy nilly nor do I have the moral fortitude to not take a tumble when I choose. I've found that I tend to have serial sex: choosing one partner for whatever reason until I am tired/aggravated/bored out of it (as was the case with my last lover) or forced to move on (as was the case with my lover of yore). It generally works out for the most part as long as I tether my feelings, which I have become most adroit at since having my hat handed to me once too often by the same person. Short of my ego being bruised (which prompts me to act in a most unladylike fashion) I really just don't give a fuck. I mean honestly. I don't.
But still it's weird. Unbeknowst to most, I am one of the most piss-poor sensitive sods out there. I mean it. Left to my own devices, I cry while watching movies, the news or reading sad tales because I actually empathize with the story as a whole. Shit, I can't watch anything alone without weeping like a wimp. Then again, I'd be a heartless cad if my brother were killed and I shed not a tear.
This really gets me in deeeeeeep shit when it comes to relationships and such. If I actually like someone, the level of caring that goes into dealng with them is nothing short of harrowing. I care. I worry about their well being, their mental state, their happiness, their life. I internalize their emotions and day to day activities as if they are my own. I've had that come to naught or on the flip side, eat up precious moments of my life (which turned from minutes into hours into days into years which then flew the fuck by) way to often. I do not intend to be a housewife. I will not be satisfied at home, cordoned off from the world by a white picket fence, aproned, with a baking sheet weighted down by gingersnaps. I also do not think I would be happy without love and companionship either. However, I have come to the realization that my few friends are dear and true. The love I receive is unfettered and deep. Therefore I'm not truly lacking anything and sex is a thing given or taken as I see fit. And ONLY as I see fit.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Trouble. Minus the consequences and repercussions n shit. If your linguistic dexterity is deft enough, you can make it rhyme with Mala. Ah to be me! I got me a hell of a load of trouble. Whew. I stopped by Snitch for the Fabulaun promoted party (where Jaysumma was summarily absent) and was appalled. What had once been a particularly rocking party had dwindled down to a few regulars sitting around looking hopelessly bored. Add one flat-assed go-go dancer and some other fully dressed broad making a stage of the booth-back and the sum was 1 Mala looking somewhat disgusted. Might I add, the dj should have been shot. Long ago.
ACCIO TRENCH COAT, I is ready to go. I hugged Kelsey, who popped up just as I was about to exit, door left and made my way down those steep, steep stairs in my high, high boots. Trouble began with me being lifted a good 4 feet in the air and ended with a hangover the size of Texas.
Good Times.

Friday night was a lu-lu. I made it to Trash bar in Willies-burg just in time for Apollo Heights. I don't even know what to say. They are so dope they defy words so I won't do them a disservice by trying to describe the sound. Then my babies went on. If you motherfuckers ain't up on Pillow Theory, y'all just don't know. They've got some shit for your collective asses. I am so very, very proud to know them and to be here at the beginning of what promises to be a hellafied musical rout. Sleepers will awaken eventually and what a thing that will be. My babies RIPPED THAT SHIT. Athough the monitor gave some feedback and the mic went out a few times, it was a joy to behold. I take intense pleasure in listening to their now layered sound sans the dramatic bullshit that once plagued their shows. I can't wait for the next one... and I don't have to: December 16th @ Snitch, write that down in your datebook.

I was cutting out to go to party number 2 when I had to avert disaster. Negro had come downtown with his boys and had called me some insane amount of times. In full panic mode he finally reached me and the spanish expletives blistered my ears for most of the cab ride to meet him. I got to 4th street, dealt with the cussing and pocketed a few dollars with promises that I would call when I got back to the Heights, then exited, cab right.
I headed over to Dirty Disco and was pleasantly surprised. The party was jumping, dual floors allowing for choice in music, both djs doing their respective duties. I chilled there for a while before heading to spot number 3 with Justina.
We arrived at the venue and the door girl tried to give us shit. After some swift negotiations we went inside and I wanted to exit immediately if for no other reason than to trip the doorwhore. How can you give people a hard time when the damn spot is EMPTY? Damn you woman! I had a drink, looked around, danced a little then thought to myself "this shit is whack as all get out, I'm gone."
I hit my boy Stormin' who was headed for breakfast and we yapped over a meal at Coffe Shop (I made those eggs disafrickenppear). Kels called to berate me a bit because he erroneously believed that I was wrapping myself up with someone who is dumber than a barrel of bull's nuts. I reassured him that this was not at all, by any means, the case (because nowadays I find it singularly difficult to give a fuck about fools) and after putting his mind at ease, tucked into a plate of salty bacon. Pork, the other, other meat.
Then it was back to the Heights where I threatened Negro, and I do mean it: I ever catch those gargantuan Timbs on my bed again, there's gonna be a fucking misunderstanding.
Enter Morpheous.

Saturday I spent looking a boatload of papers that, if piled one atop another, would probably be taller than me. I mentioned before in another short piece (entitled Confessions of an Autodidact: Part 1) that according to my transcripts, in two years between 2 schools and a veritable shitload of absences, I pulled down a 3.15 gpa (damn that second year French and required Orientation, as it had been a 3.45). I had toyed with the idea of going back to school since 2 more years would net me a degree of some sort. The toying is over, I'm going back. If nothing else, my mother will be quite pleased with that piece of paper they give you at the end of it all, since to her it would validate my intelligence. Ah parents, where would we be without them? Underneath the aforementioned transcripts and A papers was a rediculous amount of stories, most incomplete, all worthy of some kind of attention. It was frustrating to realize just how many ideas have made it out and ended up stagnant in some drab olive hanging folder. My complaint of this fact to my mother is what lead to the neverending discussion about what I shall be in this life. I don't know exactly what I am going to be. I only know who I am and that my ideas merit my attention. Whatever will come of it, at least they will not wither and die an ignoble death from either knocking around in my already too full brain or yellowing and curling in a file cabinet. I will write because I can.
Onwards.
That night Jerrica, Chubbs, Daddy and I drank down Coogans while talking mucho shit. After the boozing, I stopped at Mickey D's (someone PLEASE put me out of my effin' misery. Please? Thanks.) and went home to find a serious session of rummy going on complete with laughter, shouting and plastic cups of Brugal. Ah the Heights... ya gotta love it.

Sunday leads us back around to the top of this post and the end of this current foray into the mind and madness of Mala. As usual, I wrote this because I damned well felt like it. Hopefully Ed will forgive my awful mistruth, muMs will read what I sent him, Kels will understand that it's hard for me to take something stupid seriously, Negro will stop snoring to wake the dead and I'll be able to coax one more cup of coffee out of the pot. I'll try not to stay away for too long should I decide to absent myself yet again, the "where are you" emails tanned my hide.

Onwards.

- M, out...

Didja Miss Me?

2006-12-03T23:14:00.000-05:00

Well folks, it's been some time.
Much has gone on. I have talked much shit. I have rambled through these dirty streets. I have had a dirty mind (like that's something new). I've come to more realizations. I've accepted some old, other, next stuff. I've had an interesting sojourn.

I'd write more about it right this very moment if I weren't 4 different kinds of hungry and about to inhale some grub. I'll be back...
In a few hours or so.
Ok, maybe more like tomorrow... I gotta sleep this pasta off.
ciao.

- M.
P.S. "You are the dopest person you know. Word up." general words of wisdom from one of the flyest dudes I know...

Update 2 a.m. I have found yet another reason to procrastinate and it's name is DEXTER. (yes Matty, now I too am a forensic addict.) A room full of non-coagulating blood and no tissue. Classic.
And love is going to pick up a chick at her mom's and ending up sitting on the couch watching some gory shit (choose your friends wisely).

2006-11-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

Am I the only friggin person that reads Decartes because I'm curious?
All I want is to "borrow" a copy of Le Monde or L'Homme.
Please?
Thanks.
Bottom to the grindstone. Never fear, I shall return...
(probably in the next few days once I get what needs to be done, done.)
Quit it with the nasty emails ok?
Please?
Thanks.
I'll be back

In the meantime: Quake.

2006-11-12T05:00:00.000-05:00

New Young Pony Club: Ice Cream

2006-11-12T01:05:00.000-05:00

It's dope because I said so...

- M, out.

WordSmith

2006-11-09T17:25:00.000-05:00

au‧to‧di‧dact [aw-toh-dahy-dakt, -dahy-dakt]

a person who has learned a subject without the benefit of a teacher or formal education; a self-taught person.

[Origin: 1525–35; autodídaktos self-taught; see auto-, didactic]

Get ya word game up people, either that or get a dictionary and stop asking me stupid ass questions...
Please?
Thanks.

- M to the...

Small Tales

2006-11-08T22:13:00.000-05:00

I do this because I can... Funny thing how all of my protagonists, heroines and evil doers are women, is it not? Quake - continually even.

They sat around the shabby table in the club and reveled in their new found camaraderie. Karl was not much for making new friends but he had to admit that he liked the new guy. A good ten years younger than him, the young man possessed a poise and sense of humor that Karl couldn’t help but warm to. Maybe it was that or the fact that in the elevator ride leaving work, Karl realized he was completely entranced with the newcomer’s sister who had come to meet them for the impromptu dinner. He had watched her intently from the corner of his eyes as the quartet walked to the café not far from their job.

She was a tiny but elegant creature with a strange name. He rolled it around on his tongue, Omega, and wondered again what kind of parents they had who had chosen to name their children after long dead Greek Gods and ideas. The kid’s name was Ares and he spoke often of his twin brother Adonis as if he too were present in the small jazz cafe. John laughed beside Karl, a hearty affair, as Ares related his newest mishap as a novice at the job. Karl thought to himself that if he be forced to have friends it certainly helped to share drinks with men of like mind.

Mid-sentence Ares paused, a quick, worried look flashing across his face. Both Karl and John turned, following his stare across the room. Omega stood like stone as a man held one of her arms firmly in his grip as he leaned down intimately close to her ear.

“Shit,” Ares muttered around the half chewed chicken in his mouth. Karl and John made as if to rise but he held out his hand to stop them. ”Don’t. She’ll be fine. Give me your knives.” Seeing their looks of confusion he simply smiled, “you don’t know Omega. Give me your knives.” Stunned, they complied however hesitatingly.

They watched the drama unfold silently. Karl wished he could be cavalier and race to Omega’s rescue but Ares’ command and unconcerned attitude befuddled him. He was sure that if the woman gave sign of need, her brother would race to her side but Ares seemed more concerned with the food in front of him than the plight of his sister. She attempted to walk away once then twice and each time the man pulled back on her arm with a slack-jawed grin. She was stoic and stood as if nothing were amiss. Finally one of the man’s ape-like friends punched him playfully in the shoulder and he let go of Omega’s arm, attempting to swat her ample behind as she swayed gracefully away.

She made her way to the table and calmly put down the drinks she held in each hand.

“Annik ain shev,” she addressed her brother in an almost jovial manner. Karl’s blood began to race as their mother tongue left her lips like spun silk. She stretched her arms and twirled her lustrous heritage into a tight bun above her head. Wisps of hair escaped their prison and fell against the sharp, high planes of her cheekbones. Karl longed to reach out and tuck the unruly tresses behind her ears but was unsure if the rush of unbidden tenderness would be misconstrued as another unwanted advance.

“Oh-mey-gah…” Ares drew out her name the way a mother would call to a petulant child.

“Shev. Kinu.” No more a request, now a command. Heaving a great sigh, Ares conceded and handed her his steak knife, handle first. He stood as she spun on her heel and strode back towards the table of her would-be tormenter. He made no move to follow her and John stood flushed at his side, seemingly dazed at what was fast becoming an unpleasant turn of events.

Karl’s decision was already made and he followed fast on her trail as she moved towards the table of boisterous drinking men. He was willing to protect her even if it cost him a severe beating at the hands of beer-soaked rowdies, but somewhere deep inside he knew that it was not a price he would have to pay. Not tonight. The table quieted as she stood before it and in a moment’s breath, her hand flashed. With unholy venom she drove the knife deep into the already scarred wood in front of the man who had vainly sought to beguile her. She opened her lush, full lips and when the words came forth, they fell like chips of broken ice into the already frozen silence. No one breathed.

“Should you have the misfortune to ever cross my path again and I so much as think you have touched a woman without her leave I will cut off your hands and feed them to you.” She smiled sweetly. “You gentlemen have a nice evening.”

With that she turned and walked sedately away leaving Karl gaping along with the other awestruck men at the table. Karl closed his mouth slowly, looked at the knife, the blade buried nearly half-way into the table and started to laugh. He turned his back and followed Omega’s path. As he neared their own seats, his laugh had progressed into a gut clenching roar that was echoed by the two men standing there.

Omega sat serenely; her drink in hand staring at the three men as if they had lost their collective minds. Innocently she looked up at Karl batting her long black eyelashes coyly.

“Was it something I said?”

Fin

Another 15 Minutes of Madness

2006-11-08T17:52:00.000-05:00

But this may turn into more than a warm-up exercise

There had been a rage in the universe once he discovered that they had stolen his seed. At first he was unsure of the why but he knew who and that demon had suffered. It seems that the hope was to bring a child into being that could rival his power. So they sent him an allure who plied him with fire drinks and pleasure. She escaped with his fluid to parts unknown. It was not until many suns had passed that he discovered the deception and his fury was ignited. He could not find the child. He knew then that the only reason could be that his seed had gone into a vessel of good. Good. The only force he could not fathom.

He had searched the galaxies leaving dead planets and beings in his wake. The burnt out husks that bore the brunt of his anger spun in the skies, a testament to a demon lord enraged. Finally, after torturing demi-gods and angels alike, he found his child. A girl. Near-beaten by a harsh life she had sent out a plea to the heavens to remove her from the waking world. This was a normal occurrence on worlds such as the one where she dwelt, but the plea struck him to the core. It was no normal plaint for it held such base fury that he could taste it and knew immediately that such dread and awful feelings could only come from one of his ilk. Her deathwish reeked of destruction. She did not want to die alone, rather, she wanted to destroy the very stars with her tears. All that held her back was the blood of her mother coursing through her veins, the blood of good. He would soon relieve her of that blood. She was the only being of her kind, his child and the only being he could love.

He ripped apart the atmosphere. Where his cloven hooves touched, the ground shrieked and chasmed. The power of his passage blew building apart. Animals, a sight more intelligent than man fled in terror. The governments sent armies to stop him and some died, mercifully, at thought of attacking the dark lord. Others were not so lucky and perished in the heat of his ire, skin running like water, bones fusing in melted masses in the streets. The horror did not end until he found her, or rather she found him for like called to like and instead of running to no escape she sought him out. In the great clearing in the middle of the city she faced him without fear.

He looked down upon her, suffused with pride and love, as she stared balefully at him.
"My child," he intoned.
She fell to her knees before him, out of relief rather than respect.
"Father, take this from me." she said simply

And so began The Deth of Irth

- a work in progress (the list grows ever-longer)
Yo soy Mala... siempre

P.S. Hey Ed, I'm still angry, they're all still whack as fuck but at least my writer's block is gone (and this only took 8 minutes TOTAL). Ready when you are....

Ok, Ok...

2006-11-06T22:43:00.000-05:00

This is a psa for my close friends/fam
I get it.
I get it.
The only thing that is truly whack in life is giving a fuck about some whack shit.
Back to the grind y'all
Oh yeah, Ed Marshall is DOPE.

Right there... that's it.

It's finna be a mothafuckin misundastandin - QUAKE BITCHES!!!!

- working, sans acrylic!

ACCIO INSPIRATION!!!

Writing Flashbacks I

2006-11-06T21:47:00.000-05:00

A once-upon-a-time tidbit that I happened to come across.
Weird.
How do I come up with this shit?

One

I was in that non-space. That dull, lifeless place that feels dimmer. His voice droned on behind me muted and far away. In the back of my mind I could feel but that too fell short of real and I idly wondered why I was there. My knees had sunken into the lumpy mattress, my hands had followed suit and I played at this sex-thing with him. There was no art in what we did. No arch to my back, no rythm to his thrust. We were kids imitating grownups in a lackluster fashion. Somehow I guess we felt this was needed needed to prove that we were mature. We could surpass our parent's folly. To this end, we dallied in drab, unkempt rooms, our fumbling limbs and graceless actions overshadowed by our own belief.

We were grown.

And so he moved behind me, swinging to and from my body, his member hardly felt, maybe no bigger than my longest digit and me making the required noises from some tape set to auto play deep in my mind. Like chasing a ball down a long corridor, the sound of his voice began to run in the hallway of my mind, bringing with it color and feeling. I could feel his fingers digging into the flesh of my backside and another autopilot screamed that it would leave marks. His sound began to form into words that banged on the door. They jostled for purchase over the doorjamb,crammed themselves into the keyhole and flooded that slim space where the door met the floor, the mailman's ally. I could hear again and had to hurry from the place that was not, since words pierced the atmosphere in sharp shards that were jarring and unkind. I wondered out, padded back to the present, the now where it was bright and indeed, he was talking.

"You are not my girlfriend, do you understand me? You are my second friend and if you see me in the street with anyone you don't say nothing to me till I speak to you. Ok?"

I stood behind the windows as they darted right to left and back. Ah, I had stayed too long in the non-space, so long that I had ended up here. After months of courting this is what he said to me? I kicked a speaker, maybe I had heard him wrong.

"Do you understand me?"

Slap, slap went my feet along the hall as I ran from door to door looking for the right one. I hurried down the hall, sliding to a stop in front of "laughter" knowing it was not what I sought and continuing my scurry past "joy" and "imagination". Finally I came to the place, the door always ajar, leaking a dismal feeling, a sensation that rankled the nerves, into the hall. I flung the door wide and barreled in, falling over the threshold into red, hot, blinding, sweet fury.

The insides of my jacket were gummy with blood. I would have to burn it, another jacket this season. No doubt my mother would ask me if I ate my coats, threatening to let me freeze this winter. I shook it off my body and turned to the task of washing myself clean of his fluids. All of his fluids. Every one that I had taken from him when I cavorted in that last place. I wanted nothing more than to enter into the blue calm of sleep, the other-space, but I had a job due before I could allow myself rest. Now clean, I began to break the utility blade down carefully. Carefully because it became enraged when snapped, sometimes jumping to wreck the skin of the one that assaulted it. I should know. I bore the scar on my chin from a blade broken long ago, a blade who became incensed at my actions. This one went quietly. I suppose it knew where I had been and why it must now go. I dropped the pieces into the almost empty can of paint which would be disposed at my mother's leisure. After watching them sink into the viscous ooze at the can's bottom, I returned the lid to the can and pressed it down firmly.

Gaining my bed, I shifted for comfort, the covers tangling between my legs. Finally from the non-space came the answer that flew down the hall and fell almost silently from my lips.

"Yes, I understand. I am not your girl."

written circa 1994
- going through that box o papers

Power Moves

2006-11-04T12:08:00.000-05:00

She was sleeping when the match began. Not that almost asleep feint that women used to deter men during the night. It was good, honest sleep. They had tussled and wrestled throughout the night. She thought she was firm in her belief that she did not want to touch him. He was definitely solid in the knowledge that he didn't give a damn what she believed. So it went. He would make an attempt and she would rebuff him all the while wondering if she should throw caution to the wind. Finally he thought she was serious and he let her be. Besides, now he was tired also. They both drifted off to sleep.

Early morning light filtered through the window. He looked over at her prone body lying half-nude and spread out next to him. He decided that since she so obviously could not make up her mind, he would have to do it for her. As usual, her mouth was saying one thing while her body told a different story. He rolled over onto her and in one swift, almost practiced motion, drew her thong to the side and drove into her. She gasped then moaned half in pleasure, half in shock.

He was calm while she put up her half-hearted struggle. There was really no where to go and he had a firm grip on her waist as he continued to thrust. She scrambled across the bed repeatedly, her mind spinning. Her body wanted to stay where it was, her mind fuzzy slightly angry but clouded by the tide rising caused by his movements behind her. Finally she gave in, resistance was futile, especially since she didn't really want to resist. Sensing her resignation, he relaxed into rhythm pulling her body up to meet his until she was almost squatting on him. She wasn't being very helpful and seemed determined to make him do all the work. He snorted silently and figured if that was the way she wanted to handle things, fine, he would oblige and get the work done... his way.

He reached around her squatting form and grabbed her legs just below her knees. He drew her knees to her chest until her back was flush against his chest and she was pinned against him. He lifted her free of the bed and began to bounce her against his body. Caught and immobilized she could do nothing but scream. She called out to god, her mother and the words "oh shit" were repeated until he was good and done and she was well and finished. By then she simply could think no more and was content to just lay where she was panting.

- Fin (that's all I got about that... )

P.S. I heard tell this was a true story. If it is, that dude is not playing. The sheer mechanics has got to be mind blowing. Y'all other motherfuckers better step up your dick game, he's gunning for y'all women.
P.P.S. Take notes...

Quickie

2006-11-02T09:41:00.001-05:00

There's a lesson I have learned that I'd like to share: there's only room on our backs for our bags. It is not our job to carry other people's shit and it's ok to say no.
That no thing is really tricky. I have found that in friendship, people tend to feel entitled to many things. This false sense of entitlement can lead to severe miscommunication and hard feelings.
For example:
Adam needs to borrow something from Beth. Beth doesn't really want to lend Adam the item. Beth makes all sorts of excuses as to why Adam should try to use something or ask someone else. Adam has a riposte for every excuse. Eventually Adam wears Beth down and she gives him the item. Days pass, Beth becomes increasingly aggravated because Adam has her shit. She begins to cuss Adam soundly, in the corner of her mind. She becomes snippy with Adam. Adam, as most men usually are, is thoroughly confused. He asks her what's wrong repeatedly to which, as most women will, Beth replies with a cryptic "nothing". Adam knows she's full of horse pucky and continues to ask what the hell her disease is until one day Beth bursts out in a fit of fury and screams "I just want my friggin wangdangdingdoodle back." Adam is all "wtf?!" and Beth is all "I didn't want to give it to you in the first place!" and Adam is all "well why the fuck didn't you just say so?" and Beth is all "cause you're my friend," and Adam is all "that's the dumbest shit I've heard all day..." and Beth is all "shut up!" Now Adam and Beth are a tad miffed at each other .
It could have all been avoided if Beth had just said no. That's one part of being a friend, being strong and honest enough to just say no. It's your shit, you can decline as you wish and here's the best part: you don't owe anyone an explanation. If you don't want to give one, don't. Think of it this way, you don't explain to anyone why you won't just lick random body parts, it's your tongue, you do what you want with it. Same thing with favors, you don't have to do 'em.
Another part of being a friend is accepting a no without resentment. You ask for a favor and your friend says no, take that no in stride and find some other way to handle your business. Your friend is not your moms. They don't owe you their friendship or their favors. If you ask for something that you can't have, don't get all salty. It's their shit/time and not yours. It's not even for you to ask why. Like the song says, it's their prerogative (see, Bobby's good for something, god bless his forever tweakin n geekin self).

I was just on the phone with my boy who I asked to borrow something. He asked me why. I explained why (gotta answer the holder of the item when one is the beg-ee). He started giving me reasons why I should just use what I had. I did an Adam for half a second before I realized what was going down and said, "dude, just say no. It's ok. It's your shit." So he said no and the conversation kept moving. See how easy that was?

Now I'm doing the favor of sharing the knowledge with you.
Take it or shove it.

- deciding between the hoody and the scoop-neck

Early A.M. Realization

2006-11-02T07:04:00.000-05:00

Having turned over at least 5 times I finally decide to give up. One eye cracks open and I glance somewhat blearily at the clock. God lord it's damned near 7 am and I am wide awake and have been for the last hour. The book I was reading when I floated off lay discarded next to my pillow. I don't remember sticking the marker in so neatly, so I must have done it out of habit. My sheets are kicked to the foot of the bed, crumpled and I glance down. I'm, how do you say, bare-assed... which would be considered normal if I didn't distinctly remember having on pajamas when I retired four hours ago. My socks are hanging precariously on the lampshade, which is on the nightstand at my head. The pj top is somewhere around here but I know not where having climbed out of bed and sat straight-away at my desk. However, I did pass the wadded-up boyshort/pajama bottom combination on the floor next to my chair. Unlike my usual random acts of nudity, this one was inspired by the same force that has caused other garments to be flung around my room: steam. The Heights doesn't play that. None of the buildings in my neighborhood pays attention to that whole "heat season" thing. Steam has been rising for weeks. The way it works around here, if the viejas get cold in July the super turns the heat on. I guess no one wants to get jumped by old women in track suits. I'm used to living in this sauna so I know it wasn't the heat that woke me up. It was that damned Saved by the Bell. My tv is still on auto-alarm and had turned its self on at 5:30 a.m. but I don't remember anything before hearing that nerd-guys idiot voice at about 6 or so. That show was horrible in '89. I'm sure it ruined the already difficult teenage years of pre-teens world wide. I know it made me angry, then and now. Bad plotlines, bad acting, bad outfits, bad, Bad, BAD!!! Not mala, or even mal, just bad. So it's safe to assume that the crazed theme song to that insipid show is what pulled me forth from my dream of torturing people with their own conscience (Lawnmower Man style), which has the horrid result of making them tear themselves apart.

What urged me to my desk was not the fact that the remote is next to my keyboard (yes I too would rather traverse the room in search of the remote than lean over and change the channel by hand), it was this realization:
I have been sleeping!
Regularly.
Consistently.
My insomnia has been gone for weeks.
Even if I stay up all night working I've been knocking out when ever I put head to pillow.

I've been an insomniac for countless years. The only reasoning I can apply to this newfound, wonderful habit is it the result of the epiphanies n shit of the past few months. The more my mind is at ease the more my body follows.

I can definitely live with this.

- off to start my day, with a smile...

Whodini Made That Song For A Reason

2006-11-01T23:04:00.000-05:00

Theme song: The Freaks Come Out At Night - Whodini

Halloween is just one of those holidays that, as you get older, you're glad to see pass. New York is insane enough without giving folks a reason to get their veritable "dumb" on. I saw things last night that I am quite sure are going to haunt me until my golden years.

The day began somewhat normally. The weather had me thrown off. This whole warm one day cold enough to freeze fire the next is working each one of my nerves. I decide to wear a muffler and end up sweating like a rhino in Kenya. I come outside in a t-shirt and risk severe nipple frost. I guess I should watch the weather channel before venturing out but that would make sense and then you'd all be confused as to who stole the real Mala.

I got up and ambled over to Chuli's house because there was some serious cooking going on. In this neighborhood, they don't need a reason to pull out all of the pots. Chuli's mom is apt to make 7 different dishes on any given day and if you ask her why, the answer is usually something completely logical like, "we gotta eat, no? Si!" After loading up my tupperware with arroz con gandules and Chuli's namesake (chuletas - that girl will damage a porkchop), I headed up Amsterdam Ave in search of something to wear. Not that I was going a daggone place in a costume, I just needed a new shirt. I found a knitted kimono sleeve that plays peek-a-boo with any underlying flesh, before heading back to the house to chow down. I made the mistake of attempting to do some yoga poses after eating and woke up with rug burn on my ass and a shoe print on my face from rolling over onto a pair of mules. Not to mention my back hurt like the dickens. Note to self - no more falling asleep on the floor.

I had to run downstairs when I got up to have my shoes re-tipped. There's nothing that annoys me more than watching a chick walk on the sides of her feet because she doesn't have the sense of mind to take them to a cobbler. That shit is tres tacky.

It was out-fucking-rageous in the Heights. The kids were outside en force. muMs was right, you know you live in the hood when the kids don't knock on doors, they trick-or-treat at the local bodegas. I will amend that statement by adding that you know your ass is hood when you're like 16 with no costume and still demand candy. I sat around and watched all the little bad ass rock head babies bully their way into tooth decay while waiting for my shoes. Mercifully, dude at the shop had them fixed lickety-split and I ran for cover before another princessa could beg in that beautiful childish lisp they all seem to have.

I jawed with Ed for a bit about this or that before donning my pretties and heading out the door. Of course every crazy denizen from the underbelly of this seedy city was out by this time. The freaks really do come out at night - in droves. I made the mistake of taking the A to Canal street and had to walk a gazillion blocks before finding a bank and then having to wait like a bajillion hours for an empty cab. It took so long to get cross/uptown that I swear I aged like 5 years just sitting in the back of that yellow. Finally, with many expletives muttered by both me and HabibMuhammedAmedRasuulwhateverthefuckhisnamewas, I pulled up in front of the Delancy.

I made it in for the last of the Smyrk's 2 songs. Nice. From what I got a chance to hear, their music is pretty good but even to my untrained ear it needs to be fleshed out a bit more. There's a richness missing in it that doesn't make it soul moving. That's my opinion, take it or shove it. Then we all puttered around for a bit before Apollo Heights got on.

Let's see...

Some Japanese girl asked to take my picture for a magazine called Woofin. Dinna was there taking pictures of people's tattos (which resulted in me having to hoist my already see-through shirt up rather scandalously). Marjona was sufficiently bloody and rather impressed with my flask (thanks for the gift Haz). Marshe bounced in at some point half-deaf from the flight to NY (see Mec, you t'ain't the only one). Luq of FunkFace and LaRonda ran up in there to support. T-bone and Med of Game Rebellion were in the cut. Ed slid in at some point camera in hand - the man is a damn workaholic. Mikel had on full surgeons regalia... and the glove made me think twice about popping shit. And let me just say that Spooner's fiance Wildcat is the ONLY woman I have ever seen that can wear a leotard on a night out and make it look damned good. Kelsey of Pillow Theory and Lori came through to catch Bloodsugar and came ready to par-taaaaaaaaaay. And Danny of Apollo Heights is still two towns west of crazy but at least he let me squeeze his tail... don't ask.
Ok y'all, don't let me hear you griping about me not giving shout outs.

Pay attention closely: Major Taylor is one SERIOUS FUCKIN DJ. He did these blends of 80's pop over r&b, hip hop and reggae beats that had me dancing by my damned self for a good long while. I will never front on any party I hear he's spinning at.

Apollo Heights then took the stage. It was time for the kids to sit down because this was grown-folks music. First off, this band has a history that cannot be matched by most bands out there right now. They play off and with each other as if they were of one mind. I had goosebumps during some of the baselines. I had to smile as Daniel belted out some of the words. I swear to you it was the kind of feeling that you get when some ole good Earth Wind and Fire shit comes on. I know I'm crossing genres but it's the only way I can express it. The younger bands out now need to take notes. Every single member of Apollo Heights has incomparable talent just dripping from their fingers. It's insane. I'm glad they're back in the states so I can catch more shows. The story behind the band is even better (that one you'll read when I'm damn well good and done with it).

Moving right along if you want to see a performer with energy, check out Xavier from Bloodsugar. That guy is a one man electric generator. From the moment he stepped on stage until the moment the set ended he was a spark plug and out there. I have got to give it to him, there are not many men that have the vocal range that he does that still manage to be so damned hard when performing. Bloodsugar is hard hitting with their no holds barred approach to lyrics that anyone can relate to. I had heard so much about them from both Kels and Ed but it truly was an experience.

After the Liberation Session was over, Kelsey, Lori and I cabbed it over to Michael T's Motherfucker Party. My sensibilities still have not recovered fully. I talked so much smack looking at the partygoers that there is no way in the world that I can remember it all so I'll just give kudos to those that caught my attention the most. The tiny little man?-child? in the huge papier-mache King Tut crown: I applaud the strength of your teeny neck being able to hold that big ole hat up... (it sort of reminded me of that chick from that assignment I was on... you know, the one with the Pinky & the Brain dome). The frail guy in the fig leaves: I applaud myself for not tripping you for gp. The beauty queen: drag has never look so good. The old white guy in the afro wig: I remember your face, I catch you following me again I'm gonna hafta cutcha. The pretty little goth boy: I would have danced with you but the way you were flailing your skinny arms around I was afraid you would fuck up and hit me in the eye... then I woulda hadta cutcha. The chick on the rag: ok that costume was gross and wild. and you've got a hell of a rack. The chick dancing on the box: you needed to go-go your ass home, shaking cellulite is NOT SEXY! And the WTFlyingF!!! goes to: The damn near 300lbs gay guy dressed up as, get this, a fairy. I shit you not. Tutu and all.

I won't front though, I had fun. Seriously. We danced, we laughed, we left.

Oh yeah and a hearty fuck you to the bartender in that upstairs room (who had slamming music going by the way) who charged Kelsey 10 bucks for a skimpy ass plastic glass of Bacardi Limon that wouldn't have gotten me buzzed when I was five. And another fuck you for only allowing people to buy one drink at a time. I hope you fall out of bed one day and break your dick. Yup. I certainly do.

So that was my Halloween.

Today I straightened up and got some work done. Then I ran over to rehearsal and came back to jot this down and get back to getting together some other stuff I gotta do. I have a little freelance project that I'm working on. I'm not going to go into detail until it comes to fruition. Trust me, once my keyboard quits clicking on this one, you're not gonna be able to get me to shut the fuck up about it.
Tomorrow night? Canal Room! The Rebels will be out along with M-1 of Dead Prez, P.O.S., and Building Better Bombs. Unfortunately J*Davey won't be able to make it and we are all filled with righteous indignation about that shit. I'll be there to catch the goings on. Should be a hoot n a holla.
Friday we perform again, lord help us all... Scroll down to a previous post for the details.
Saturday I may do a shoot with Raf and then it's back to Canal Room to catch Saul Williams (yeah man it's not a joke), Shawn Hewitt, Stephanie McKay and Cody Chestnutt (sorry, no link, I don't know his page).
Sunday I'm going to lay around and look at my toes. Mala too must rest on the seventh day...

- power moves being made

P.S. I'm still dangling my dongle. Gosh I love being wireless
P.P.S. No matter what is said and done, that dude was and is still a cornball. Don't make me repeat myself.
Please?
Thanks.

added...

A Year Thus Far

2006-10-30T16:50:00.000-05:00

A photo review of sorts...
Actually more like: pandering to my own abject vanity.
Ah well.
What can you do?

Get Your Own! | View Slideshow

Aw Fo Damn!

2006-10-29T19:30:00.001-05:00

Ya girl is wireless now... quake the fuck in fear and such.

Verily I say unto thee: there shalt be a plethora of blogging going down. I have been very remiss in the prior days. Spank me - if you can catch me.

I've been going through quite a bit in the last few weeks. Not all of it good but all of it a lesson in one form or another.

Folks are dropping out of my life like flies. It could be taken as a bad thing if it were not for the fact that no one likes to be beset with flies. Unless, of course, they are a pile of shit. Or a toad.

I'm still facing the issue of dealing with the idea that everything that is wrong cannot be fixed overnight. Trust me, I wish it could be because the alternative can be a slight pain in the tukus.

I'm at war with Sprint yet again. I need to just cede the damned battle because it is more than apparent that I SUCK at fighting them. This time it's because I was unaware of my plan lacking roaming coverage. So I let my phone travel with a friend and it came back to me with a whopping 299 roaming minutes at a ridiculous .40 cents per minute plus tax. I don't even want to do the math. So it's off. And it's gonna stay that way. For now at least.

Speaking of my traveling amiga, she's put out with me and I'm none too sure why. Sure, we've had some history that we had to work out plus I'm a self-centered cad with a bad memory. I didn't think it was enough to be given a boot in the ass for, yet I'm getting an unpleasant tingle in my trap door from the leather lodged therein. I don't have much in the way of patience for these sorts of things so I'm quite sure sooner than not I shall be forced to extract the offending foot from my bottom. Ouchie.

My old partner and I exchanged words. Well, it's more like she cussed me the fuck out. Let me just put it out there. We made a deal that fell through. I owe her a SHITLOAD of money. You can't squeeze water from a rock though. Hi, my name is Stone. We parted ways some time ago (not because of the moola, but more so because of a choice I made). Occasion came for me to contact her and I did, attempting, erroneously, to be cordial. She, in turn, vented her entire spleen. I, in response, made the silly "O" face (because I don't dislike her). Let's just say that I had to acquiesce to the assertion that cordiality was not in our future. Besides, I didn't want my mind to pigeonhole her as yet another dame that needed to be dragged hither and fro by her tresses.

My homegirl ran into the erstwhile Pretty Noose and its beloved Ball-n-Chain. For some insane reason, my girl thought I would want to know the details. Instead, I threw up in my mouth a little bit and berated myself for not carrying a portable toothbrush for just such moments. Thank God for Dentyne Ice. Lesson learned? Getting over it is one thing, getting sick of it is quite another.

I just came in from the first part of my portfolio shoot. Hmpf. While I am a picture whore, I still find it odd to be the focus of such an endeavor. I'll get over it though, and soon 'cause them thar pics are gonna be hot! Anyhoo, my digits are nothing short of fingersicles and the acrylic contraptions attached to my nail beds are not helping me type much. Sheesh. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. I waltzed in the building doing my Mala-walk and ran into mi Negro clomping down the stairs with the force of all 13 of his shoe sizes. He takes one look at me, says "jour hand... why it look so empty..." and then with a disdainful sniff, clomps right out of the building. Like I signed some kind of Wear It Always contract. Men. You can't live with 'em and you can't hoist 'em all on their own petards. God bless their tiny brains.

Well, let me go forth and be somewhat productive. I've got to get a new micro-cassette recorder since I lost the last one rushing out of Leopard Lounge on Wednesday night. I've got countless tapes full of notes that I'd be loathe to lose. Funny, recording on micro-cassette was done to alleviate the heartache of a Treo gone unwholesomely wrong, but losing the damned contraption and not being able to replay my recordings, is just as painful as a blasted treo. I'll be "acting" this week so I think reviewing my lines would be wise. It's CMJ week and I've got about a gang of shows to attend, (AfroPunk's shows are sure to kick ass minus the name taking). Also, a copy Faust by von Goethe is laying on my bed flapping its pages (that are being blown ever-so-gently by my ever-so-slightly open window) saucily at me. Books! Oh how they do flirt.

- vrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooom (the sound of my mind revving up)

P.S. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Dao-Yi is one of the most beautiful men in creation. Period. Full stop. I drooled all over someone's keyboard looking at him. Sheesh.
P.P.S Before you even start Mr. Negron - STOP!

Wireless Networking

2006-10-29T12:03:00.000-05:00

Is the best thing man EVER invented... well, it's right up there with sliced cheese and processed meat products.

IT'S SO ON!!!

Thanks for the dongle Matty

- it begins
Now.

Got Dropped?!?!!

2006-10-28T12:02:00.000-04:00

Friday, November 3, 2006
7 pm
@ Bowery Poetry Club
St Juste Got Dropped
- the musical

Written by: St. Juste, Mala & muMs
Peformed by: see above
Directed by: muMs

15 Minute Madness

2006-10-23T18:58:00.000-04:00

He looked up from his newspaper briefly as she entered the train. She had a multitude of shopping bags clasped in her hand. He momentarily considered moving his satchel out of the way so that she could sit next to him. Before he made his decision, a man sitting directly across from him rose and offered her a seat. At first she demurred, but then gave in as the man repeatedly told her that he would be exiting the train at the next station stop. She thanked him as she sat, arranging her bags around her while murmuring apologies as they brushed the passengers sitting near her. Settling in, she reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out a book.

He glanced at her once more. She was pretty, in an unconventional sort of way and she reminded him of someone. He fingered the small, round scar on his neck absently as he tried to remember who she resembled. The train jerked and she looked up from her book. Their eyes locked for a moment and she raised an eyebrow quizically. He smiled sheepishly, having been caught staring. The train started up again and when he dared to peek again she had put away her book and was staring at him intently. He poked at his scar again. He thought that maybe she was just thinking about something so hard that it seemed like she was staring at him.

He looked up again and her eyes were still on him, only now she had a slight smile on her face and on her lap, her right hand twitched spasmodically. Something about her smile made him uneasy. She was cute but the half-grin made her look slightly mad. He prodded his scar uncomfortably, poking and pulling at the raised surface repeatedly as he always did when he was lost in thought. If only he could recall where he had seen her face. He gave his scar a particularly painful pinch and winced.

The train pulled onto the bridge and out of the corner of his eye he saw her still watching him, still smiling. He worked at his scar faster, habit causing him to remember how he had gotten it.

It was years ago when he was much younger and not quite so wise. He had gone out drinking with his friends at a nightclub in the city. Well into his drink, he had spent sometime hitting on a girl in the club who dismissed him. His friends had ribbed him mercilously about getting dissed and dared him to do something about it. He tried to ignore them and in hindsight, should have. When the night had ended, he saw the same girl outside of the club walking alone. He tried to approach her again, following her up the street talking and again she ignored him. Finally in a fit of drunken stupidity and frustration, he grabbed her, pushed her up against a building and reached up her dress, fondling her privates. She fought silently, clawing at his face. She scratched him and he laughed before throwing her to the ground.

Leaving her there he ran back up the two streets to his car still laughing and calling her names to himself. He got to his car and his boy was leaning on the hood. When asked where the hell he had been, he retold the story of what had transpired while still laughing. The got in the car chuckling when his boy told him to look, the same girl was coming up the street. Sure enough it was her and when she stopped by his driver-side window, he had done the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life, before and since; he rolled his window down. He asked her if she wanted more. His friend busted out again when he said this and croaked something about leaving them alone to talk. He had turned his head towards the passenger side as his friend exited the car when he felt a hot flash in the side of his neck. A moment later something landed in his lap and he felt the front of his shirt get wet. When he pulled his hand away from his neck it was covered in blood. He didn't remember where his screams began and her laughter ended before he passed out...

He has always been respectful of women since. He sighed deeply as he always did when that memory ran through his mind. They were coming to the edge of the bridge now. He wanted to know if she was still looking at him, so he dared peek up again. She was and now she was grinning from ear to ear. He ventured a smile back and mouthed the word "hello". She didn't answer but kept eye contact. The more he looked at her the more familiar she became. As the train pulled into the stop she reached into her bag. He still struggled to place her face. She pulled out a pen. A jolt of fear shot through his body. His chest began to heave. His face began to pour sweat. He nearly screamed when she laughed merrily and tossed the pen onto his lap.

He shot to his feet, grabbing at his knapsack. It was her. It was her. It was her, raced through his mind as he fought his way off the train, knocking over another passenger in his haste to squeeze through the closing doors. He could hear her laughing behind him and he made it out of the car with his belongings in tact, if not his dignity. The doors closed as he turned back to the train. It pulled away and through the window he saw her still sitting there smiling.

Moral of the story?
Bic Roundstic Fine Point Blue.
Be wary of the woman who wields one.

- trying to figure out what to write for my next 15 minute exercise

We Likes To Party

2006-10-23T09:18:00.000-04:00

Just give us a reason.

Paradigm Shift

2006-10-22T00:33:00.000-04:00

theme song: Juice (know the ledge) - E ric B & Rakim

And what price do you pay by being yourself that is greater than the cost of being what "they" want you to be...?
- Mala

The Second Coming...

2006-10-19T21:16:00.000-04:00

Details will follow...
Trust me on that.

On haitus, gears are turning, I'll be back with some new shit soon...

- grinding
P.S. If you're in the know, you'll join me at the Ubiquita Launch a.k.a. Damn Mess & Hot Shame birfdaydrinkapalooza. If you're not in the know then it sucks to be you!

Ok, ok, I may post the details.... we shall see.
QUAKE.
you know how I like it.

BRB...

2006-10-19T18:37:00.000-04:00

You know what that means, don'tcha?

- gettin wiggy wit it.

Send A Letter

2006-10-15T18:20:00.000-04:00

I just got off of the phone with a girlfriend of mine I hadn't spoken to in a couple of weeks. She'll remain nameless because it is her wish. While she doesn't mind me sharing the experience, she's not ready for Front Street.

We played catch up on the life and times of Mala and Ms. X. We talked about what we hoped and dreamed. We yapped about our current goings on. We griped about our over-abundances or lacks-thereof. We discussed what we wanted to accomplish and were striving for. Half way through the exchange she stopped and said "ah but Mala, it's so fuckin hard."
Then she began to cry. I joined her, because I know.

There's much to be said for the healing power of tears. I am learning to accept them more as a part of the cure than a part of the disease. I used to believe tears showed weakness. For me they were mostly a sign of deep frustration or anger (when enraged, I either weep or laugh uncontrollably). Tears were once begat by pain or suffering. Never to cleanse the soul. But this was different and in these trying times every little bit helps.

So we cried until we laughed about crying, since dried tears make your face itch something fierce. It is fuckin hard. It's hard to look back on life and wonder if you had just made that damned left at Albequerque, would things be different now. It's hard to look forward and see the obstacles you have to face. I had not too long ended a conversation about the self-same difficulties with Damn Mess minutes before talking to Ms. X.... It's so fuckin hard that it sometimes seems insurmountable. Thank God that we only are given what we can bear. So we cried about it being fuckin hard and this time we used tears to wash away some stuff that didn't need to be there any ole how. Before we hung up I suggested we try something new.

While we were still together on the phone, we started letters to ourselves. They began like this:
Dear Beautiful Woman,
I love you because...

Then we promised each other that we would complete them and mail them to ourselves in the morn. I have just finished my own (which went on for an amazing 12 pages, long-hand, front AND back), folded it, kissed it and sealed it. It made me feel so good that I had to call Ms. X back and see if she had finished hers before coming to share this with you all.

Send a letter to yourself. Fill it with love. I'm quite sure it will be one of the best missives you ever receive in your life.

- Vicissitude personified.
yup.

CrackSpace

2006-10-15T13:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, you've got me. I can't help it. The Drama Queen in me is on her death bed but hasn't quite given up the ghost. What am I hiding, you ask? Go see for yourself:
Mala
Just in case you're confused, you can click the name.
The window of opportunity is slim,
slide your ass through it while you can.
I hope you find what you are looking for.
I hope it helps you sleep at night.
Enjoy it now because it will go back to the norm sooner than you think.
And take my advice, you need a fucking hobby besides wondering about me.
Go play in a pile of dirt or something...
Thanks for distracting me a bit, this cold Sunday was making me blue.
Funny thing is, if you really wanted to be in my business, all you had to do is come here (like you've already done - ah, being popular is such a chore some times....).
Ah well:
COMMON SENSE IS BLATANTLY NOT COMMON!!!

I'm gonna go get something to eat, call Damn Mess, and then read a book.

- 5000G

P.S. For shits and giggles...

You Are 94% Evil
You're the most evil person you know.
The devil is even a little scared of you!
How Evil Are You?

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence
You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.

You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.
What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

I Love Me Some

2006-10-14T22:34:00.000-04:00

Ky-mani Marley.
Yup.
I most certainly do.
Ok, I'm gonna go back to what I was doin...

- gettin some shit together
P.S. I swear I'll post something substantial soon, I've just been busy.
Would everyone please stop cussing me out via gmail.
Please?
Thanks.
P.P.S. I love you too 7 but you a hot fool.
P.P.P.S. Negro Loco, I don't know who's worse you or 7, the competition is fierce... fools.
Px4. S. The cut really is STRAIGHT IGNANT.... I don't even know how to react to it.

The New Cut

2006-10-12T00:07:00.000-04:00

Is just ignant.
Straight up.
Pics soon to follow....

Ed Marshall will do the duty

Anyway, like I was saying.
I'm gonna have to buy a wig.
The new cut us just too much for motherfuckers right now....

scrait ignant.

- iroxdis

I Mean Really...

2006-10-08T12:51:00.000-04:00

So I'm talking to an aqaintance last night and she brings up the fact that a little pissant made some comments about my behavior.
And it went a little something like this, hit it:

Person: It doesn't bother you that clownshoes is telling people what happened?
Mala: (after busting out laughing uproariously) Shirely you're not serious.
Person: For real. It would bother me.
Mala: Listen sweetie, let me ask you a question. If I were to die tomorrow and I had to face my maker to answer for every stupid thing that I have done in my life, do you really think that trysting with that idiot would be at the top of the list? Baby, I've got about 15 years worth of shit to atone for first. That puling moron is at the bottom of the totem pole - trust.
Person: So it really doesn't bother you? I thought you would be mad.
Mala: Who has time to be mad at folks that don't know any better? Why should that kind of dumb shit bother me? Oh hells no! I love it. I'm so fucking popular that the fool is still talking about me... what more can I ask for? As they say, you don't worry until they stop talking about you.
Person: Damn, that's true.
Mala: I know. And babygirl, all press is good press.

I mean really y'all. What is this, high school? As much as I stride forward something/one has to try to pull me back. Messages on myspace, nasty emails from cowardly hoes and some corny dude talking shit, outrageous I say. Out-fucking-rageous. Don't motherfuckers have anything better to do? Go roll a tire or something.
Sheesh.
But you know what? It's all good. I still have more important things to work out within me, these little pit-stops into the inane will not change my path. I just like mentioning them because they're so damned ludicrous. These people need to hop up off my dick - all that weight is throwing off my swagger...

Say whatcha want, just spell my name right.
M-A-L-A

- *giggle* incomparable, very much so.
QUAKE - BITCHES!!!

P. S. I skipped the part where I had to explain what "puling" and "trysting" meant. Get your word game up people...
P.P.S. The upstairs neighbors are Korean. They have a great love for kareoke. Hilarity can do naught but ensue...
"Beat It" in heavily accented, severely mangled English is filtering through the ceiling.
I am struggling to keep control of my bladder as the guffaws leave me gasping for air.

Pray for me y'all. On your knees and all that.

Huh?

2006-10-07T23:16:00.002-04:00

Ok, not to stir shit up but I'm confused, flabbergasted... baffled even.
Some broad named Yanel sent me a message on CrackSpace to ask me since my profile is private why was it and this blog in her boyfriend's history log.

Huh?
1. Why are you going through your man's shit?
2. Why don't you ask him?
3. Don't ask me no dumb shit like that.
4. I don't know who in the fuck your man is NOR do I care.

This is a hoax right? Her profile is private too... with no picture.
I hate these Myspace thugettes.
Sheesh.

Hey Yanel, next time you go through your boyfriend's history log and you come to La Mala Vida I sincerely hope you see this:

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO GO FUCK YOURSELF.
Now.
Munch on that.

- making the "this bitch can't be serious" face

This Weekend's Song...

2006-10-06T16:08:00.000-04:00

"The search for perfection is all very well... but to look for heaven, is to live here in hell"
- Gordon Sumner
Consider Me Gone
Dream of the Blue Turtles

- nursing a mental hang over... sheesh.

Everyday

2006-10-05T13:11:00.000-04:00

Is fraught with new trials, discoveries and understandings.
This is quite possibly the most painful yet most rewarding time of my life...

Hot Shame and Damn Mess have been on the prowl. If I wasn't currently swamped, I'd tell you all about it. Still, like the I.R.S., I'll be back...

- a dangerous mind - QUAKE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!

P.S. Quote of the month: "Ya god-damned right, BITCH, and now it's too late" - Eminem

WordSmith: Lesson 1

2006-10-03T19:07:00.000-04:00

begin mid-conversation...
Person: So I guess you not goin to no (insert random name here) parties no more?
Mala: And why the fuck won't I? Shit, I'm going with my smile in place and my carriage erect.
Person: You gonna take a baby to a party?
Mala: Huh?
Person: Well you said you was takin yo carriage. Why you gonna take a baby?
Mala: Oh good lord....
end conversation abruptly

car‧riage [kar-ee-ij] –noun
1. a wheeled vehicle for conveying persons, as one drawn by horses and designed for comfort and elegance.
2. baby carriage.
3. British. a railway passenger coach.
4. a wheeled support, as for a cannon.
5. a movable part, as of a machine, designed for carrying something.
6. manner of carrying the head and body; bearing: the carriage of a soldier.
7. Also called carriage piece, horse. an inclined beam, as a string, supporting the steps of a stair.
8. the act of transporting; conveyance: the expenses of carriage.
9. the price or cost of transportation.
10. (in a typewriter) the moving part carrying the platen and its associated parts, usually set in motion to carry the paper across the point where the print element or type bars strike.
11. management; administration.

People... just because it is the only meaning that you know of, does not mean a word has only one meaning.
Get with it.
Thanks.

33 Part III

2006-10-03T16:09:00.000-04:00

I wish there was a way for me to encapsulate and share with you this year. For all of the words I know, there is no way to capture every thought, sight and sound that passes with each season. I can only relate to you what I deem important. You may not find it so but someone, somewhere just might and that is what gives me leave to write these things.

I am but a youth in the span of ages and so I call those less experienced, children, playing in a sandbox of life while the world spins around them. I do not fault them since every so often I too, must shake grains from the niches and cracks in my mind.

I can blame things on Saturn or Karma or the nameless universe as I may, but the fact remains that the floodgates have been opened and once the thoughts began to pour, the deluge could not be stopped.

I wax poetic and possibly senseless. Onwards to a point I go, maybe one that I shall not reach, but the journey is in fact the destination.

Saturn shakes his lithe body at me and cavorts in such a manner as to present me with his bare fanny for me to kiss. All those things that I did not want to bear he thrust in my face and forced me acknowledge. I had no choice but to stand firm and now must humbly thank him for giving me back my strength. Never was it in my tiny frame, but always was solid in my mind if I would but trust it to be so.

I spoke to an acquaintance and was showered with compliments that I sought to duck so adroitly, believing myself unworthy of such an assault. In the end I had to bow and accept that although what was said may have been mere oral flatulence, there was a ring of truth to it. It is not the physical that people fear, but the being, the mind and soul housed in this small package. My words can be as smooth and pleasing as cool silk on a summer day brushing against fevered brow. Or they can be barbed and nettled, flaying skin from the unsuspecting. The arched brow. The caustic sneer. The sardonic laugh. These are causes for many to quake because; people in general do not like to be frowned upon. Especially not by one they deem to be so much less. "How dare she?" they ask. "I have nameless accomplishments and boundless material items at my disposal while she has accomplished nothing and has nothing (in my estimation) yet she looks at me as if I were offal to be scraped from the bottom of her shoe." I dare because I can. I am no better than you and you no better than me yet you allow me to gaze at you in thinly veiled contempt. I dare because you dare. I dare because you let me. Were you to have faith in yourself that power would be pulled from me. I know this because I am learning with each passing moment to take that self-same power away from others and bring it firmly into my capable hands. I have made the mistake too often of making myself small beneath others that I erroneously thought I should envy or look up to. But ants, every one of us ants, I look up to no one. Sure I appreciate the likes of Ms. Sarfo who has her proverbial shit firmly together, or Ms. Knox who is a solid soul, but looking up to them would require an unnatural stretching of my neck. I am no contortionist! I admire them and look only up to the heavens that watch us daily. I hope you can understand what I mean.

My brother's humor struck me solidly across the chest with such force that I gasped for air. Winded, I begged him to stop. Do not plague me with those things that I fear, that make me less whole. And he acquiesced, only for a moment, before battering at me again. He demanded, with a rueful laugh, that I face those things that make me uncomfortable so that I could take from them that power which made me quake. In fear no less. And we laughed. Until I noticed that the person he made much mockery of had decided to emulate a style that I frequent. Anger was my next reaction. "How dare she?" I asked. "How dare she do things in a way that I do them knowing full well that there is no love lost between us." Then he turned the laughter upon me. How dare I not realize that mimicry (especially from those that hold no good thoughts of you) is the sincerest form of flattery. How dare I not realize that she too must find her way, even looking to someone she does not respect for her path. How dare I not allow her to emulate me even as I have emulated others, while I am sure in the knowledge she does not recognize what she does. Who was I to tell anyone what to and not to do when I chafe at the bit of control any chance I get. Who was I indeed? And so it was put to rest. Go ahead, laugh when I stumble but still see me, loathe me, watch me, ape me, adore me. Verily I say unto thee, QUAKE. Then the Universe took a bow.

I then found that a door I thought closed was ajar, giving a peek, to the one that dared to look, into my so called life. "How dare he?" I shouted. "How dare he when he was the one that made himself absent from my doings. What right has he to ask and be privy to my daily activities?" Again I was greeted with a laugh. How dare you, admonished my sistergirl. How dare you not close your own doors? How dare you not realize that you are by far not disposable and others will peek as they may at things they desire, they do not understand and things that excite them that they cannot possibly handle? So I slept and dreamt and wrote anew, then smiled and closed the door. I leave no portals cracked for easy entry, no paths cleared for return. I do not go backward, only forward into the unknown with all that it holds for me. Yet again I intone, QUAKE. Then the Universe curtsied.

Days ago I was screamed at as if I were a child and told that I was not grown, I did not have my priorities in order, I do not yet have my shit together and I did not do or have many other things that it is felt I should have. And I wept disconsolately. "Alas!" I cried. "Alas I do not live up to the measure of a person whose opinion I deeply respect." Then Karma crept up behind us and struck. The rapier of payback pierced through the nonsense to remind that person that they were in no place to judge. I did not laugh or offer a sarcastic "I told you so." or even my famous "hold that." Instead, I looked on quietly and learned what I was to discover from that. No man can judge me. I should court only my own approval and act in a manner that allows me to sleep with myself at night. I live in my head. Alone. Once again, QUAKE. Then the Universe waved delightedly.

I was propositioned and proposed to, and found that I had to refuse both requests. When a caterpillar is ensconced in a cocoon it is common knowledge that a flying thing will emerge, butterfly or moth, and it will take to the skies. I am wrapped in my own cocoon even as I write this. However, humans tend to morph into beings of their own making. I have no idea what will be born on the other side so I cannot ask someone to bond to me having no idea who I will be. It is a sad thing. For those that seek to be a compliment to my life it means that I cannot be with them. For me it means more time alone. Still it is as it should be, and it is the truth. I cannot be with anyone else until I fully learn to be with myself. This is a process that began a scant few weeks ago. I ache with growing pains, like a changeling once kept in a cage whose bones nattered against her skin. Free now, they burst forth in painful angles and curves, filling out the slack and straining at the tight. Free from clouds, the light stings my eyes. Free from self imposed bonds, my mind leaps and falls. Horribly I must accept my imperfections. Awfully I must accept what is for me and what cannot be. These are the most beautiful pains.

Pretty prose aside.
I know what I have just committed, this act of throwing words into the self same universe, is not a thing that many will understand, or care to. But it is for me. I do what I must because I still grow and change. The rate is breathtaking. I am not above my normal behavior, (tomfoolery of all kinds and such) nor am I below anyone's esteem. I am simply becoming myself at a breakneck speed. They say (and who so ever is a part of the phenomenon named "they" are wholeheartedly welcome to kiss my ass) that growth is supposed to be a silent thing kept to one's self. I say they are full of shit. Who are they to judge the means and ways of my growth? "Well if you tell everyone what you are doing, then everyone will have something to say when you fail." What care do I have for what others say? They will prattle on foolishly regardless of what happens to me. Should I remain wallowing in muck so as to avoid what "they" have to say? Not another moment of it. Let them raise their voices to the wind as they may. So you expect me to fail? Good for you. Many will be the hour that you waste concentrating on my demise instead of your own. And how on this good earth is there any failure involved in becoming one's self? There is NO WAY to fail at being you, no matter what anyone else thinks of it. Does the fact that I share my pitfalls and tribulations, my triumphs and discoveries make the act of growth any less? When a child gains an inch, does it make the new height any less real because we see it? Shut up fools. The whole lot of you needs to shut your collectively gaping maws. These things that change within me with each passing moment are all but intangible. If I do not share them I am not doing what I am so obviously here to do for myself. I share and mayhap someone else will find food for their own growth with in my cryptic words and tangled meanings.

QUAKE MOTHERFUCKERS... in fear and such
I come into my own as much as some of you would have it not be so.

- days worth of drunken skylarking soon to follow...

33 Part II

2006-10-03T14:30:00.000-04:00

Happy Mala-day

Not a malady!

33 years experienced. Some bad. Some good. All mine.

From muMs I received a moment of total embarrassment. After the performance as we took our bows, he let everyone in on the secret and the crowd broke into song as he opened the box of rich cupcakes purchased in lieu of a cake. Thank goodness everyone saw fit to forego the part that required me to sing in return.

From Aretha I received Anais Nin. "And the day came that the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." This truth was accompanied by 3 dozen long stemmed peach roses, red wine and a hearty meal filled with laughter and speech.

From Margie was given a staff, possibly that I may have to lean upon one day, which she simply inscribed with words and feelings that she whole heartedly believed in.

From my brother 7 came an envelope hastily stuffed with a pair of ripped fishnet along with the threat that if I do not continue to grow, the rest of the outrageous outfit would be sure to follow. Also he swore that while he understood that the humor we share is harsh, he knows me to be a woman of strength and I would endure and unfold. Then he proceeded to walk down the street and force every person he passed to take his phone and wish his sister Happy Birthday.

From Knoxy a.k.a. Damn Mess I received a gift that she has given me from day one: total and unmitigated acceptance of me as I am, made all the more poignant by the fact that her faith has been unwavering. Add to that a rib-eye that filled my belly, 2 dozen pink roses and straight drunken stupidity. Carry on...!

From Kelsey I received a call, even in the midst of his hectic schedule readying himself to travel and perform, where he sung into my phone with the sweetest voice possible an ode to my day.

From Carlos Negron I received 2 dozen white roses and a ring to be worn when and if I saw fit. Dare to dream and it may come true.

From Jason I received the understanding that we were family, come what may. As well as a dollar tucked into my jeans while I was doing that voodoo that I do so well.

From myself I received yet another epiphany that allows me to forgive, an uncritical look and a wide smile.

This year I received the priceless. Unfettered by monetary value but even more precious.
This year I received and accepted love.

QUAKE.
and that's all I have to say about that...

- celebrating the day
P.S. Old woman, many years ago you swore that I would not see this day beyond every other that you swore I would not reach. Each year I have celebrated the joy of surviving one more year. Know this: my survival is not yours or anyone else's to negate or insure. Your power is now gone. My life is mine. I can only hope that beyond your deathwish, you have found that your life is yours. Peace, wherever you are...

33

2006-10-01T22:38:00.001-04:00

There will be more to this but in the midst of it all I can only swear
to you all that going my way, not leaving my enjoyment in the hands of
another and accepting that I am O fucking K is the best gift...

QUAKE BITCHES!!!
no shame in being the K who is MALA!!!

Ed Marshall + Camera + Extra Time =

2006-09-27T20:41:00.000-04:00

This...
Now y'all know why I don't wear shades... bumble bee anyone?
(just kidding Jazz - your shades are dope)

ED MARSHALL VISUAL CAPTURES
it's not a game.... QUAKE I SAY!!! - fuckers

- feelin mah selph

How I Lost My Boobies RELOCATED

2006-09-26T00:47:00.001-04:00

or
Why I Can Beat My Child
by
Mala

So I was standing in front of the mirror, naked as a jaybird, hoping like hell my mother didn't waltz her ass in the room. I don't know about those of you without West Indian parents, but in our world, ain't shit sacred. My mother will walk right in the bathroom while I'm taking a shower, bold as you please. "A fi mi 'ouse. If yuh nuh like e', gwan carry ya ass go whe yuh live..." is a common statement round these parts. Either way, my mom's sense of humor is just as jacked up as mine, so if she caught me staring at myself in the buff, it'd be jokes for days. Anyway there I stood, in all my nekkid glory and I couldn't help but think, "some boobies would be nice."

The reason for the close assessment of the goods is my birthday ain't even right around the corner, it's up the block and I'm barreling towards it at warp speed. I decided to take an honest gander at myself and decide if the body is still enough to brag about.

Here we go.
The feet are a tad long (mom used to say stop doing handstands in the house), but not overly so and they look good in heels. The legs and arms are thin but since I'm tiny, they're directly in proportion with the rest of my pixie frame. The stomach is flat, the waist small, the hips rounded and the derriere my prized possession. The head fits on nicely on the neck, although the ears could be judged as big enough to hear rice growing in China. The face has it's own exotic angular look and the eyes are expressive. However, the boobies are small. Like I'm hauling around acorns in my tank top. If it weren't for my nipples (that for all the world look like cb radio knobs) I'd be flatter than an open Pepsi left out in the sun
Sheesh.

I used to have uber-perky titties. Seriously I did. Perky like a coked up cheerleader at a pep rally. They were never big, but they were a solid B cup and they poked out like they were nosy and just had to know what was going on outside my shirt. Then I had a kid. Now don't get me wrong, I don't regret my girl, but that broad owes me cause she absconded with my tits in the first 8 months of her life.

For those of you that don't know, or those of you with dicks, when you get pregnant nature blesses you with mammoth mammaries designed to nourish the coming human kicking a hole in your back at 3 a.m. It's fantastic. By the time I had my daughter, I was up to a D cup and had PERFECT posture. I mean it. I walked with my shoulders back because I didn't want anyone to miss 'em. Then I was faced with a decision. Breast or bottle. Well my family is old school and the the idea of not breast feeding my child was simply unheard of. Besides, that shit is convenient like a motha. Baby starts squalling in the middle of the night, you can just roll over, pop a tit in it's mouth and go right back to sleep. Not to mention it's easier for the kid to digest, you don't have to burp out all of that bottle gas, it's healthier for them and there's a hell of a lot less baby spit up to clean. I know I'm getting all technical and shit, but bear with me. There's an extra added plus to the whole breast feeding thing too: your tummy goes bye-bye. No bullshit. When I compare the women I know who went au naturale to those that didn't, pound for pound, we're all flat-chested but nary a one of us have a paunch like our bottle toting buddies. Ha! Take that oh thou of ample chest!

Of course nothing comes without a price. You either have to lose the stomach and the breasts or keep them both. Unless of course you've got cash for a personal trainer and the willpower to do some crazy exercising hard on the heels of pushing a watermelon out of your crotch. Laziness generally wins out for those of us without nannies. Ah, to have been able to afford a wet-nurse. Anyway, I went with option A. I had to do right by my kid so tits for breakfast it was. Also, there was no way in hell I could countenance having a belly. I'm just too damn thin for that and it would have looked all kinds of wrong. That little girl attached herself like some kind of adorable leech to my front for the first 8 or so months of her life until she started teething and mistook my nipples for a chew toy. A-weaning we will go. And fuck that shit, it hurt. After many weeks and rock hard tatas when the milk ran dry I was left with my current dixie cups. The child took my boobs. I can whoop her ass whenever I want. She owes me.

I thought about implants (and sometimes entertain the thought when my brain is idle) but I just can't bring myself to seriously consider putting some foreign shit in my body - as if dick wasn't foreign enough. Then there's the fact that although I intend to live hard, die young and leave behind a beautiful corpse, Murphy has a way of fucking with my best intentions. I can just see it now, 70 years old with everything sagging except for the the D cups I purchased at the plastic surgeon swap meet. Nah. Not for me. Besides, people tend to forget when you age your skin loses elasticity and there'd be nothing worse than silicon going south and dangling from your chest, swinging back and forth like those stupid clackers we played with as kids.

*sigh*

I guess it could have been worse... I could have been ugly. I can get a push up bra for the tetas but nothing could have pushed up a grouse grill. Regardless, after turning every-whicha-way and managing not to get called a perv by mommy, I've got to say: It's looking pretty fucking good. I know young chicks that got tuck it and suck it, one chicken wing away from weight watchers. I'll stop complaining now, especially since I think stared at my bare bod long enough to wanna go diddle with my doodads.

- lookin good in the hood, respect my gang-starr - bitches!!!

Catching Up Is Fun To Do...

2006-09-25T17:07:00.000-04:00

Once again it's time to discuss my favorite topic: Me...

Theme song: Go With The Flow - Queens of the Stone Age

Let's see, where to begin?

As we all know, and if we don't lemme just tell ya, a few weeks ago I committed the heinous act of drunk dialing and had my ass handed to me on a plate. Seriously. The" fuck you" I was presented with was gargantuan. Dude did his thing! Generally I am really unapologetic about things like that because I'm human, I'm not the only one and well, shit happens. I've often said sorry to people after debacles only because I managed to make an idiot of myself in some spectacular fashion or another and was trying to save face. Man listen, the last time I did it though, I was in rare form. I even out-did myself. However, in the ensuing days I've come to be happy it happened because things started falling into place. I don't mean things in the mundane sense of events and people, but in the more quasi-mystical sense of me falling into place. My persona is finally coming into accord with my mind and let me just tell you how beautiful that is.

I have been resoundingly smashed a nominal amount of times since then (the Miss Adventures of Hot Shame and Damn Mess soon to follow) and amazingly enough, even in an alcohol induced stupor, had absolutely no desire for company, to talk to or feel anything other than the sweet, sweet surcease of my own bed. Wow. Finally I can say thanks Saturn, now be the fuck about your business...

I've spent days upon days alone. That, in and of itself is not surprising as I spend most of my time on my own, but generally I am filled with a frantic need. A need to have something or another going on so I head out on a search for adventure in whatever form it may present itself, often to my own detriment. Lately the desire to go/do/see has arisen to a far lesser degree and has been easily fed with other things. I have NEVER been like that before. I am one who didn't give a tuppence for time, and would head out in the wee hours to see what kind of trouble I could get into. Now I head my ass into a book. Or a jog. Or a written tale of my own devising. Or fuck it, a Corona on the back patio with shared silence. It's pretty fucking dope y'all... try it. Revamp, renew and reorganize yourself. The results are amazing. I ain't playing with...:

Dudes.
Y'all motherfuckers amaze me. With the creeping of winter into our bones heralded by the bite of fall, cats have been falling up out the woodwork, crawling from up under rocks, emerging from their hidey-holes and calling me. Not one, not two, not even three, but a whole passel of cats that are either from the past or want to be a part of my future. Verily I say unto thee, "Not this time motherfuckers." Like dude who harrassed my homegirl for an introduction and my number. I gave the ok, she gave him the number and he took 3 days to call. I answer and he says something to the effect of "lets get up tonight." Um. No. Why? As Damn Mess would say, "that's the best you could come up with after 3 days?" She's right. You go hard on getting my digits and not only do you take too long to call, but you don't even have a game plan. Um, all kinds of kiss my entire ass. Then I get lambasted for giving him the old heave-ho. Fuck that shit. I am not an afterthought and if I am, then dude needs to go think about something else. Or what about my baby love who didn't consider the boon that I bestowed upon him. Not counting himself as lucky that I still even utter two words in his general direction, he wanted back in because the onslaught of my legs wrapped around his waist once upon a late night must have addled his brains. Um. No. No more rope for hanging. The line dangling from the gallows is rather short. You fucked up kid and there's no return tickets from the land of the lost. Not anymore. I'm down to forgive, I never will forget and I definitely will forgo. Too often have I allowed myself to revisit situations that are patently bad in the name of "he didn't mean to (insert whatever here)", which was wholely indicative of low self-esteem on my part. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. Anyone who can assess me and find me disposeable is sincerely not worth a farthing. Or how about the ex who "just misses" me? A few years too late. You're kidding me right? And as I bespoke those words he wondered aloud "yo, why are you buggin right now? Why are you acting like you all that?" Terse answer: because I am. I am all that all by my damned self. Able to leap small minds in a single thought. What use do I have for you? Begone!

Friends.
Oh man, like I said before, people's egos are wearing me thin. I had a homegirl ask me for a favor the other day which in and of it's self is not a bad thing, well at least were it not for the fact that I had to inconvenience myself to do said favor. That led to a whole plethora of problems and internal debate. I have intense guilt issues. So many people have done for me that I feel the need to help where I can even if it causes me major discomfort. Also I have this thing about being a paragon of bad manners and a veritable dervish whirling in the land of Fuck Up, which leaves me with the desire to be good to others and bend over backwards as a form of penance for every mean, spiteful and downright wrong thing I've ever done. So I stepped out of my zone and ended up hating myself for it. Anger suffused my body in such a way that it emanated from my skin in palpable waves. I thought I was mad at the asker but I was in truth angry at myself for giving control of my actions to someone else because of perceived flaws within my being. Flaws my ass. We are all the best we can be at each moment of our lives doing the best we can with the tools we have and as such are perfect in each second as we grow. So I forgave myself for letting a motherfucker pull me up out my zone. By the way, when you ask for help, you don't inconvenience someone else as if you are doing them a favor. That shit is fucking ungrateful and RUDE. After working through these issues as fast as my quick mind would let me, I decided summarily that I just needed to not fuck with this person for a bit. They're not bad people but they don't bring out anything good in me at the moment, so why should I detract from all the hard work I am doing righting the fallen end-tables in my mind for them and their issues? Very honestly I said to this person that "right now I'm in a different space and I can't fuck with you. Nothing personal, I just can't. It's not you, it's me and this is how I need to be." To whit they responded that I was being mean. Mean? Mean is me telling you to go fuck yourself on a high mountain. Imagine someone telling you that doing what is best for your own sanity is mean. Say it with me now people: Fucking selfish. Um. No. I live in my cluttered head, not you and as of right now I am not allowing anything to cloud the clarity. Joy in repitition: Begone! Which led to another person lecturing me (damn people ain't feeling the Kid these days) about how I come off. "Yo Mala man, you gotta understand that your face says it all. When you come through with the ice grill people feel it and it fucks them up. You gotta learn to control that shit because you make people feel bad." Dude, you can't be fucking serious. I don't MAKE anyone feel shit. We're all grown. People feel what they feel. If I were to hold myself responsible for the feelings of the world at large then surely my head would cave in from the sheer weight of the responsibility. Take a fucking pill would you? I can only be responsible for my feelings. If I have an ice grill and I tell you it's nothing personal, I'm on some me shit, do yourself a favor and don't fucking take it personally. The wonder of life is the bounty of options we have and anyone can most surely choose not to deal with me when I am not exhibiting an emotion pleasing to the palate. Get thee behind me, thou drainers of energy. Or what about the friend who, in the midst of discussing something so simple as me getting a haircut exhorted "you need to not be stunning for a while. You need to be regular. You know, not be noticed." Forsooth! I nearly shat myself laughing while ruminating on that one. Tell me, just how does that work? In all of my formative years even until this moment, I have never not been noticed. I don't even understand the concept even as I don't truly understand why I am looked upon (albeit sometimes laciviously and that's just tiring). It's just a fact. Not crowing about my attributes in any sense. It's just a fucking fact. Even when it is not brought to my attention, I get attention. Period. Full stop. How I dress is an extension of my thoughts. I wear what I feel because it makes me feel good. I am no fashionista seeking to gain acclaim and set trends. I like to wear pretty things. It's as simple as that. As for my hair, long have I changed it. From those that remember me with that blazingly awful, sprayed to kingdom come flattop, to the different colors that have peacocked my dome, I have been forever flighty with my tresses. Now it is the lack thereof. And the bald head is the move. Not for how it looks but for the sense of freedom it affords me. The pleasure of stroking my skull and feeling my mind tingle in response. The joy of rolling out of bed and hurtling headlong into my day. The satisfaction of veiwing myself unfettered by the agonies of my bangs not falling just so. This is a freedom I will not easily surrender, especially not so I can "not be stunning." Ut si! Toot toot goes my horn because the only way I would not be stunning would be if I were swathed in batting from head to toe like some modern day mummy and even then I would probably still cut a fine figure. Sheesh.

Relationships.
Oh my sisters, STAND UP. How many translations can I give you for what cavorts from the mouths and minds of men? If we spent more time caring about ourselves and less time worrying about them we would find this road easier to walk. Fix you first and you will find, as I discover daily, that everything else will fall into place, slowly but surely.. Gone will be the nights of wondering why he didn't call (he didn't want to honey), or if he's thinking about you (he's probably not), does he want to see you (well if he didn't bother to call, there's your answer) and does he want you (do you really need me to translate this one?). It's not easy. I have found my thoughts slipping back into never-ever land, wondering why am I so spectacularly single. I mean, honestly, I'm rather dashing, easy on the eyes, possess a plump posterior, have a hellraising stride and an indomitable brain. My sense of humor, while villainous at times, is ragingly wicked, my range of knowledge is vast and ever expanding, my grasp of vocabulary and nuances can be frightening and I'm more fun than a dozen drunk crabs in a bucket. Sure I can be daft, prone to actions that are more devilish than not, and I may have a penchant for violence but still, all around it's a hell of a ride. Oh yeah TOOT TOOT, I'm sexy too. Why oh saints why am I single? Quite simply because I am supposed to be. I have way too much shit to work on with me to even honestly begin working on being with someone else. My sense of self until now has to the outside world been strong and relentless, while within been a simpering waif, lost and directionless. With so much lack of love of self it would be nigh impossible for anyone to love me. Until now. In my own mental Utopia I am finding that in the midst of falling into an intense love affair with Mala, the need for others to love Mala dwindles and fades, winking out in the twilight like a dying star. It will come when it comes, when it's supposed to come and finally in that time I will be able to accept it. The greatest sum is the knowledge that within loving myself, the desperate need for companionship pales in comparison to the companionship that I provide myself each time I engage in the act of being my own best friend. Believe me, it is by far not easy, but plummeting into despair because of rejection from some man or other that I sought out for company was no easier and this is definitely more fun.

I am so caught up right now, revelling in the distinct pleasure of being uniquely me. Sure I am bragging and crowing about it right now, but this is my fucking blog and I say what I want. But for the most part I have been silently going about the business of healing the wounds that I have inflicted upon myself over the years by my blatant lack of respect for my being. The universe created us all to be uniquely who we are. Not to live up to the measure of anyone else's standards. We were meant to be the addition to the lives of others, not the completion. In seeking to have a man make us whole, we will forever be unfulfilled and lacking. STAND UP. Complete yourselves. I asked a sistergirl what she enjoys doing. She named for me no less than 20, if not more activities. I then asked how many of those things she regularly engaged in and she could give me no more than two. When I asked why she denied herself the pleasure, she said it was because she was lonely. Huh? You don't paint because you're lonely? You're not fucking serious. You mean to tell me that you would trade the joy you get putting brush to canvas for a mere man? Nuh-uh! You joking, right? So I told her (like I have all of the answers, ha! But the ones I have I'm gonna share), next time you feel lonely pick up a fucking brush. She called me 3 days later, still lonely but no longer despondant about it, positively gushing about a painting I just "had to see" that she created while waiting for him to call. And get this, when he did call, she was busy doing her so he was put on the back burner. Spoke to her yesterday, lo and behold, that unintentional dose of act right has him doing just that. In a scant few days she has tempered her need for companionship with a healthy dose of doing her and other shit fell into place. QUAKE IN FEAR BITCHES!!! The message is being heard. So I struggle on, with a few kick-ass friends, primarily alone but ok and dealing with it because I got shit to do. I mean, all them damn books ain't gonna read themselves. Them thar stories that I tap out during the witching hours will not manifest without my keystrokes. The best part of this particular trip into Mala land is trusting something that Damn Mess said "the journey is the destination" or something to that effect. I thought I would be fixed with my first dawning realization and boy was I wrong. I have since accepted that this is the way. The daily war to be waged. A fight I can actually win each time because the only way to win it is to be me, love me and devil take the hindmost. Even accepting that there will be hard days ( awful but true) has it's own rewards. It ain't always gonna be sunshine and rainbows but hey, have you ever seen my bare legs on a rainy day? Delightful! Onwards, bitches and thank God for that drunk dial. I've tried to see the forest for the trees before and it's never been so clear.

And on to my Miss Adventures

I have long since forgottenwhere I left off, and I haven't been out much lately so I'll just start with the latest foray into nighlife. The Coup D'etat party at Lotus.

Hi, my name is Hot Shame and I will soon introduce you to my partner in grime, Damn Mess.

The outfit for the night was a pair of scandalously tight pants with a drop front hoody held in place by extra-strength topstick and faith. Of course plenty of costume jewelry was involved as is my wont and on a whole it was a pretty good look, considering my lack of ta-tas. I went to meet DM at Vig bar to start off our night. That was a trip. I foolishly attempted to take the A train to a spot closer to Bowery than it was to 6th Ave and ended up in a cab going crosstown and the crossing was thwarted by a streetfair forcing me to put stilettos to concrete and promptly get lost. Well not so much lost as standing on the wrong side of the street searching in vain for a bar that was cattycorner to where I stood. Thank God for cell phones or I would have stood there all damned night. One drink down and a few jokes were exchanged with Ron, bartender extrodinaire once king of the now defunct Rivertown Lounge. Then it was off to Joe's Pub to be blessed by the sounds of Imani Uzuri. She is positively inspiring. We gathered in the front and shouted at the soundguy (fucking sound guys, sheesh) to turn down the bass and turn up her mic. If you haven't seen Imani yet, get up off your ever-flattening ass and hop to it. The woman is incredible. After enjoying the awesome Imani, DM and yours truly chilled out in the back for a bit, gushing like a faucet about the great show, before heading over to Lotus where I did not deign to sit down once. I danced my little behind off, more's the pity. Losing my gluteous was well worth the trouble. Dj Soul was phenomenal and hearing 93 til Infinity was just what the doctor ordered. Daoud and crew held down the dance circle something fierce and I can't wait for them to throw another shindig. I will be there with bells on. I chilled with Kelsey for a hot second and danced with DM til I thought my body would give out from simple exhaustion. Now, if you've never seen me dance, that night would have been the night. I was in the ZONE. Judging by the faces of the onlookers, it must have been a hell of a zone at that. Too bad no one was up to the challenge. Cowards. Either way, DM and I had a great time being a force unto ourselves, ignoring everyone else in the room. They practically had to throw us out of the spot which led to further Miss Adventures as we attempted to attend a non-existant afterparty. Bouncer's edict? Not tonight people. So taxi it was, with Hot Shame and Damn Mess sandwiched between Neil and some french guy on our way to Harlem to get up with Daryll or Dwayne or whatever the hell his name was, to chill in the crib, talk shit and continue the night/morning's festivities. We got there first and hilarity ensued. You see, D forgot to mention that he was new to his abode and his roommate did not take kindly to late night vistors. Not to mention it was a good 8 of us, 2 of which had slunk off to the store for provisions. We crept into D's house, looking for all the world like truant children cutting class only to awaken the aforementioned roommate who did not gad about when it came to asking us to leave. Whoops. Exit, door right, sans time check. We giggled like recalcitrant children as we walked up Manhattan Avenue in search of yet another vehicle made for transporting the drunk and disorderly. Enter Washington Heights and the ever-open Malecon for eats. So we discussed the the previous fiasco over eggs, bacon, coffee and a full meal of pollo accompanied by rice and beans. Then Neil got a call from D asking where we had got to in so short an amount of time. Neil told him and D came, on a hunt for more adventure than one should be able to shake a baby at with 2 heinekens in tow. Only 2? Damn you D. After very little eating and much hemming and hawing, DM and I decided to break south to my crib because the sun was coming up and this was just too much. As we sauntered down the block a cab pulled up holding Neil et al and we struggled with a decision. Here's something I learned, when you make up your mind to go home,GO, don't get in the damn car. Alas, we graced the leather seats with our bottoms and so ended up at my crib. Unfortunately for them, mi abuelito was stirring and there was no way in hot hell I was letting all of these people in my pad. Um. No. And er. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. We stepped outside to wait for mi familia to blow the spot and stood in front of Gristede's, yet another cup of coffee in hand, replendent in chancletas before I made the executive decision. I, for all intents and purposes, had had enough. When asked "well what are we supposed to do?" answered,"I don't know, that shit sounds real personal. I'm going home..." and proceeded to do so with Damn Mess close on my heels. Hot Shame that I am, I didn't even bother to look back. It was 7:20 in the morning, they were grown. I'm sure they worked it out. You ever stay up so damn long that even though you are tired you can't sleep? Ah to be Hot Shame and Damn Mess that morning. We giggled about our traipsing well into the afternoon before falling asleep, bellies full of pasta from Metro.

The rest of the week was quite basic. It involved much yoga of the Vinyasa variety, food and intermittent voyages into self-discovery for yours truly. I also met the gentleman from the next building that plays a mean concerto. He actually owns a finely tuned Steinway. Booyah! His house is nothing short of a music shop and he let me bang the drum rapidly trying to ape the cadence of Go With The Flow (hence the theme song and yeah, I can't play drums for shit...). He attempted futilely to fix my amp so I could go back making horrid sounds with Abbadon (my guitar) but his efforts were in vain. I need a new amp. Fuck. And sheesh.

Continuing, I had talked about signing up for another writing class because while the story and words are assuredly well situated in my mind, my structure is lacking. I understand what I'm saying for the most part, now it's time to put things together in a way that others will as well. First class on Thursday. Wish me luck.

Not following any particular sequence, Saturday I took a quick jaunt to the local bodega for victuals and libations before returning to the house. I ravished 3 novels in less time than it took to blink, organized my cd, dvd, shoe and tank-top collection (ocd HOLLA), then hung out with Negro, sliding through the streets on Baby and for once riding a lot more then I fell. I need to have Baby regripped though, there's no traction on him and each rock in the road sends me skittering to a halt.

Last Friday we performed St. Juste Got Dropped yet again. That shit was a comedy of errors that I won't even go into for fear that it will once again give rise to ire of gigantic proportions. Suffice to say, somehow we pulled it off. However, the end of the night was not so hot. It involved a copious amount of bullshit amongst "peoples" which caused me to lose track of Ed (who is probably quite wroth with me at the moment). I had to give up on finding him and Kelsey at some point and head out to Williesburg for DM's open-air party. If it were not for Haz's humor, DM's company, the chick that was doing the damn thing in that full-length dress, Simone's smile, running into Ramsey and Cory and that juicy cheddar burger I would have been angry 'cause dammit it was COLD. I was freezing my tootsies off. I swear, my nipples were about to abdicate my chest in search of warmer climes. DM and I spent the larger portion of the night sitting in the attached diner in an attempt to stay warm. Traffic was a mess so the night began thin but it filled up eventually. 5 of the most amazing female Djs spun that shit that makes your heart leap. Shout out to Djs Reborn and Mony in particular who held it down until everyone else made it over the river and through the hood. I wish I could have danced that night but stilettos on concrete is not conducive to cutting a rug. Instead I chilled and simply enjoyed, something which is not usually my habit, I'm generally up and about, but was fun none-the-less. Going home that morn was a chore since the Transit Authority saw fit to stop the L train (L train, yeah I said it.) completely and the chick in the booth said something akin to "fuck you, walk home...". Well actually she told me there was a shuttle bus down the street but in my brain it still translated as fuck you, walk home. TAXI! Yelled the Mala. Hot Shame. That's what it was. A Hot Shame, without the Damn Mess.

Ok well, the words are winding down now. I have no daytime gig this week which is fine by me since I'll probably be returning to being a lemming sometime next week. We'll be performing St. Juste Got Dropped again this Friday, details to follow. I think I actually want people to come to this show, well at least those who have yet to see it, so I will be posting the flyer and emailing the details. If you aren't already on the mailing list, get your fingers in gear and rectify that oversight. There's not much going on on the show and party front except for my Babies gracing Crash Mansion tomorrow night with their new line-up and incredible sound. Pillow Theory, the second coming, live @ Crash Mansion. 11 pm. Get with the program bitches!!! After that I'll be heading over to R&R for Forrest's Whitney & Bobby Tribute. Any tribute to singing addicts has got to be well worth a looksee. Other than that it'll be a simple time. My birthday is on Sunday (QUAKE BITCHES!!! In fear and alla dat). I have no idea what I am doing, having made no other plans than to just be. Methinks I shalt just wander where the moment takes me and throw caution heartily to the wind. I have 2 tango classes to attend and that should be a riot. I'll be volunteering time at the New York Open Center in exchange for more free classes to be chosen at whim. I've got some stories to finish, an ongoing, never ending, kick-ass task. I've got a fitted white sweatshirt to wear sans undergarments. I've got a check to collect and a pair of shoes to slaver over. I've got shit to do, so I'm out...

- gone, but never far away

P.S. On my wall, emblazoned on a notecard in glaring kelly green lettering, is the saying "I already have one asshole, I don't need another." I mean that shit. I intend to live by it. You know who you are. Begone!

P.P.S. Yo 7 "SQUALLAAAAAAAAAAY"

Post motherfucking script Dude, we're all laughing at you...
right
about
NOW!
Yup, we most certainly are...

Feles Mala - oderint dum metuant (don't sweat the technique - bitches!!!)

Funny Motherfucker

2006-09-25T14:49:00.000-04:00

Ok seriously, I don't make this shit up.
Really I don't.

I just got to my mom's crib and waiting for me was an early present from my brother 730. That lousy bastard bought me an outfit. A leopard print spandex tank top with matching leopard print spandex bicycle shorts (where in the fuck did he find bike shorts - oh yeah, that's that B-more shit) AND matching leopard print socks.
I'm laughing my ass off, but still,
Fuck you man, that shit ain't funny.

Over abuse of leopard print (or any animal print for that matter) should be banned. Criminals that abuse animal print should be shot on fucking sight. I'm about to become a fashion poacher for reals tho.

Long have I railed against the donning of too much animal skin, from the leopard to the tiger to the zebra and back. Even worse is my hatred of spandex. That shit is just wrong and should be outlawed on at least 7 of the 7 continents. Word up. The problem ain't the print or the stretchies (well yeah, spandex is still usually very fucking wrong) but it's the fact that motherfuckers don't know how to wear it, tend to over do it and invariably end up looking like complete fucking clowns that just ex-caped from some ungodly game preserve.

Any one that knows me knows for a FACT that I make fun of abusers (although Saturday night this chick had on a crucial leopard trench - I had to sweat her for a hot second and at least she had enough style sense to make that the sole pattern piece) of any kind of fucked up print (stripes, gingham, chevron, paisley, anything!!).

Real funny 7.
When I get to B-more I hope you have room in your ass for my foot.
You know I got big feet fucker.
You lucky I love you or it would be a problem.
The worst part is I know you are laughing at me
right
about
Now.

Lousy bastard.
Now I gotta wait 'til late to find some back alley to burn this travesty in.
Thanks a lot bro.

- be right back with the real post, I gots to call me a fool and get my cuss on.

P.S. Whooodie Whooo my ass you shiftles negro! Ahahahahaha
oh man
ahahahahhahahaha
sheesh
ahahahahhahahahahaaa
I love you but damn
ahahahhahaa
whew!
ahahahahahahaha
hiccup.
Damn.

Once Upon A Mala

2006-09-24T14:20:00.001-04:00

Lineage: One of the oldest families in the country is being wiped out. One by one the bodies are found, their faces frozen in a rictus of fear. Now only Jessy remains, racing against time to disover who is set on destroying her bloodline. Uncovering crimes that have spanned generations, she must stop a hell-bent killer to save herself and the child that she carries.

Eris Orders: In a land of magic and mayhem, Ariadne must turn to the one being that can redress her wrongs: the heartless, ebon skinned Eris. Created with the ability to see the fury that lurks in the souls of men, Eris must choose between the peasant and the master, or she may just destroy them all.

Abject Tera: What happens when a good girl gone bad is betrayed? Death. Follow Tera as she cuts a swath of revenge a mile wide through city streets determined to find the man who forsook her love. Follow quietly since Tera has a penchant for scalping.

Simulated Desire: Everything in the world can be made or bought, even sex. Over-worked and lonely, Amber has succumbed to the lure of the drug G seeking only to pacify her need. She learns all too late, the deadly side effects of her chosen escape. She falls into an ever deepening spiral of addiction, committing more heinous acts as she plummets. Can love save her or will she kill to feed the need?

The Fury: Rage can be fun. Until it enters the body of a girl sore-used by society. Then rage can be deadly. The spirit transforms her into a demon set on vengance, her way. The denizens of the new world must find a way to purge this angry spirit from the winged terror before she kills them all.

The Sea God's Daughter: Born of Titan and woman, Y'mara lived a peaceful life in her small village. Until he arrived. Caught up in passion, she was unaware of his true purpose until her legacy was spirited away. Now she must retrieve her father's talisman lest her world become slave to one who seeks to rule the seas.

QUAKE - BITCHES!!!!
you know how I like it...

- write or bust

It's Too Early

2006-09-22T06:10:00.001-04:00

For me to be awake. This is insanity. My normally loopy body clock is even more out of whack because of my day job. My insomnia is now more erratic than ever and my already thin patience is now keener than a razor's edge.
Fuck.
and
Sheesh.

We're doing the play again tonight and I am positively up in arms about the lack of full credit I am receiving. Not only was it co-written by me, but I perform in it as well. Somebody better bust out a bottle of fix-it before I get angry. At least I'm not as plagued with nervousness as I was the first time.

I miss sitting down to blog since I can't do full re-caps from my Treo. Well I suppose I could but that's too much thumb-work for one tiny woman to bear. However, Tuesday night's tomfoolery has to be shared soon. The adventures of Hot Shame & Damn Mess is well worth
remembering. I gotta get on my A game.

I woke up to the news, always a depressing way to start my day. Some 18 year old went partying, got drunk, came home, yakked, went to sleep with her four month old child in her arms and awoke to find that the child had fallen into the bucket of refuse and so met her death. I want to kill that senseless girl. Honestly, I do. Babies having babies notwithstanding, there is no plausible explaination for that.

People and their egos are starting to wear me down. At least their foolishness is giving me reason to take a good, hard look at myself. While I know the sex is good, scrambling to get me back into bed having already fucked yourself out of a hellafied ride is just stupid. Stupid people make me mad. Not angry. MAD. Rabid Cujo mad. Alas, I cannot bear the burden of other people's lack of sense. By the way, I realize I misspelt rhythm. Damn this Treo sometimes.

So the cold weather is upon us and my thoughts have already turned to the future. Already my skin pales ever more from lack of sun. Damn winter.

I'm going to go for a jog now. My thumbs hurt.

- running, but not away...

I Figured It Out

2006-09-21T20:46:00.000-04:00

When even he couldn't.
Poor child.

I know why it didn't work and for once it wasn't because I tend to wild out whenever the fuck I feel like it. It wasn't me. Nah, really it wasn't. But it took me a minute to see what even he didn't want to admit. And this is a throwback issue because it's such a non-issue. However, I was asked this question:
"So you're really serious?"
Yeah motherfucker. I am.
Ya ought to count yourself as lucky that I'm even talking to you.
Here goes the:
BOOM!

The excuses were tired and trifling and the translation of the excuses are as follows "I was just too lazy and didn't care enough to do what I had to do to make sure I supported you Mala." "I've just been really busy." translation "I just didn't feel like making time for you Mala" "I meant to (insert whatever the fuck here)" translation "I couldn't be bothered doing (whatever the fuck here) for you Mala" Um, that's why you got not one, but two middle fingers. And if I could have borrowed a few more digits I would have stuck them in your face too. I'm doing this on blog cause I know you hate that shit. translation "I could give a fuck how you feel motherfucker"
Hold that.
It wasn't 'til I sat down and thought about your life that the realization hit me. For all of our pretty words and intense emotions it would have never worked because motherfucker, I AIN'T WHITE.
I don't have no wella-balsam bouncin and behaving blonde hair. I'm a bald beautiful bold bitch.
My ass is not shaped by a pair of waist skimming jeans, but this you know. It's still something serious when the jeans come off.
And fucker, I've got rhythym. Y'all non-dancing fools better ask somebody.
Looked at your life and saw a running theme. A theme that I don't fit into.
Because I'm that raw black woman that might just throw a brick at your ass if you cross me.
So um... Check this out honey: don't ask me if one show ruined everything. Thank your lucky stars. You got off easy. And by the way... chase them willas all you want but chile, you ain't white either.
Check yourself.
Still got love for you because I love who I love and I always will but still...
Now I really ain't your friend for making me have to go there.

- not playing with these fools...

Will Mala...

2006-09-19T07:20:00.001-04:00

Make it through another day at the plantation w/out offending anyone?
Eat herself stupid at Ruby Chris after work (mmmmmmm!).
Apply a judicious enough amount of topstick to keep there from being random nippleage tonight?
Slather on enough crisco to fit into them jeans?
Keep her ice grill under control long enough to get past that bouncer she can't stand?
Have fun at the 1992 old school Coup d'etat party at Lotus tonight?
Hone her Kid & Play kick-step skillz so tight that she won't bust her ankle open bustin' a move?
Consume prodigious amounts of whatever and act up while acting out?
Remember to wish Daoud Happy Birthday after midnight?
Ever get her trifling ass to a computer and stop posting these jacked up, unformatted, misspelled, random mini-blogs from her over-worked and under-charged Treo?

Tune in for these answers and more on the next edition of La Mala Vida

- doin the wop (showin mah age - bitches!!!)
P.S. Whateva mang, dis iz how I do...

CRASH!

2006-09-18T03:34:00.001-04:00

Went the errant harddrive. "A pox!" I shouted aloud. A pox upon the miscreant life of the scurrilous virus that lurks in binaries, surfing circuits and spinning disks. If there is no recovery, I will know in that moment that evil, indeed, exists. Good is manifested in the form of backup drives.

I have faith in the good of technology, for without unwavering belief, Y'mara will be lost in the ebb and flow of 1100010100111 (or something akin to that sequence). She may once more be reborn but will never be the same.

- I'm buying a fuckin Mac... PCs blow multitudes of ass.
Yup.
They certainly do.

Dangit All...

2006-09-17T10:13:00.000-04:00

Tingling, numbness, intermittent pins and needles.
Dang it all straight to hell.
The verdict?
(Although not final as of yet) Possible permanent nerve damage.
Sheesh.
Only slightly metallic lining to this shadowy cloud?
Next time I clock a broad in the yapper I won't probably won't even feel it...

GRRRRRR, ARRRRRGH - BITCHES!!!!

- be back when I can feel my fingers again...

Dead Wrong

2006-09-14T13:16:00.001-04:00

So I'm at the plantation right and bosslady gets on the horn to say that we're gonna have a power meeting in 10 to discuss the project we're workin on.

Dig it, it's a sprawling office taking up the entire floor of a Times Square building. Needless to say, I haven't met everyone working on this objective. I drag my sullen ass into the conference room, plop the plump patootie in a chair and continue to pray for an act of God. I look up in the midst of my misery and behold a serious case of WTF?!

Directly across from my ergonomic chair was a young lady who may have been considered pretty. That is, if not for the fact that starting right above her browline, her head began to expand. The top of her dome was huge. Dude. Like big. Nah for real her shit was epic. Like someboy put the skullcap of a giant on her tiny face. BIG, DAMMIT!

So the meeting continues and my grimey ass is sitting there trying not to stare but it's Hard. Dogs, her shit is big from the eyebrows up. And I'm wondering am I just that much of an asshole because I don't undertand how every one besides me, is acting normal like this chick's head ain't superswole. I'm also trying to figure out how that little ass neck of hers keep that big ole head up. Holmes, that shit is huge.

We get to the idea pool portion of the meeting. Everyone's throwing their two-pence in regarding how to help things run more smoothly. I'm still lost in thought when bosslady says: "Mala, do you have any ideas you would like to contribute?"
I open my mouth and say:
"S'narf."

***
Deafening silence.
I excuse myself and go to the loo.

Yeah... express bus to hell and I'm driving. I'm not sure they're gonna be asking me back for the last day of this gig.

- wallowing in my wrongness

P.S. Insult to injury - I don't give a fuck what anyone says, I still think that chick is gonna go home and do the same thing she does every night: try to take over the world.

Reader Mail VII: I Love the Loathing

2006-09-14T06:25:00.000-04:00

I know I said I would ignore this dame, but this succinct and acutely honest messsage was too good to resist - you know, like an offer of free head or something.... *giggle*

Lushuslady@gmail.com aka Joanna Sevilla wrote:
"I HATE YOU STUPID BITCH!!!!!!"

My Darling Jojo:
So many pointes d'exclaimation ma petite ivrogne?
Mon Dieu!
Chaos.
Madness.
Disorder.
My work here is done.

Love forever,
Mala

- laffed so hard eye pooh ted...

P.S. sorry it ain't all pretty n shit, mobile bloggin doesn't allow me to format the font. I still luvitdoe 'cause I can commit random blog-bys whenever I want! QUAKE IN FEAR - BITCHES!!

The Covenant

2006-09-14T00:07:00.000-04:00

A veritable BONANZA of bad acting. It suuuuuuuucked! I wanted to head down to 125th, beat up the bootlegger, get my five bucks back and go buy a bag to take the edge off the headache I got watching this piece of shit. The one thing this movie did is prove to me that if this nincompoop that wrote that supershitty screenplay could sell that misbegotten story, I can sell my sideways tales of mischief.

Nothing could save this crap from the bowl. It didn't even have any nifty fx to keep my bleeding eyes busy. The story-line was keeeerappy. It jumped from point to point with absolutely no cohesion whatsoever, the sets were staid and hella boring and each and every one of the "actors" in this farce put a monkey ball in their left cheek and commenced to slobbin. Oh yeah, the camera angles, lighting and props puffed air into a sphincter as well. I've spent a more interesting time trying not to fart in the presence of mine peers than I did watching this flick. If it weren't for the fast-forward function on my beat-to-hell ps2, I would most surely be dead. Coroner's final finding? Homocide by bad cinema.

They had to be trying to kill us all with this spear of horrid movie-making. What is this world coming to? I know that myself and a few of my misguided friends are going to hell in a handbasket, but at least Hollywood is coming with us for the ride.

I'm gonna go read a book and try to strengthen the brain cells assaulted by the advent of this crap. Some Agatha Christie should do the trick. Besides, my thumbs hurt. Qwerty keyboard or no, PDA's weren't meant for writing novellas.

By way of the Treo... (mobile blogging - bitches!!!)

- gittin mah reed awn

I Get The Job... Done?

2006-09-13T17:23:00.001-04:00

This is a time-delayed post, initially written at about 2:30 pm but I was unable to put it up because of the mother-effin grandmama of all firewalls around the building I was in. You know I was dope-fiendin up in there trying to log on to blogger... straight bloggin junkie. It's a damn shame.

It's your friendly neighbor-hood Mala, transmitting to you live and direct from the confines of an office. Yep, your girl went back to work. Somebody put me out of my effin misery. Please? Thanks.

To coin a phrase, "work sucks". Or in Mala-ese "This blows hairy monkey ass." Of course if it sucks so much, then the next question would be, "well Miss Mala, what the fuck are you doing there then?"

My answer? Feeding the need.

The need to be spoiled. The need for new shoes. The need to tell that guy at the bar "Fuck off, I can buy my own damned drinks…"

You see, I quit my job a few months back because I wanted to pursue my dream of writing the great ghetto epic saga-type tome. I figured that my job was holding me back because I was dedicating upwards of 60 hours of my week to motherfuckers that I don't even like. I thought that by freeing myself, I'd be able to write some shit that would get me pizzzzzaaaaaid.

Ha!

It's not I won't get paid, but who in the hell knows when. I found that the writing game is not like hustling or even being in music where you can be discovered on the porch of your granddaddy's shack. I learned that even if I wrote some shit that a publisher practically creamed over, I'd still be spending all of the time in the world writing, re-writing and writing some more before it was fit for mass consumption. I will be writing for-fricken-ever. That in and of itself doesn't bother me. I love writing. Hell, you should be able to tell considering I blog as if the safety of my pert behind depended on it. What does bother me though is the starving artist lifestyle. Fuck that shit in its entirety. Seriously.

It's not that I don't know how to live the hard life. I've been through slimmer times than this. I thank the universe every single day for the family and friends that have seen me through these tough times. I know how to survive on little to nothing and look damned good doing it. However, this is one of the few times that I have actually made a conscious choice to be dead fucking broke KNOWING how spoiled my round rump is. I seemed to have forgotten how much it sucked the last friggin time I decided to live off my wits.

I'm spoiled. I like bi-weekly mani-pedi treatments. I like walking out of Barnes & Nobles with 8 books. I like taking a damn cab everywhere because nine times out of nine my damn heels weren't made for walking. I like looking at the guy offering me a drink with the ill screw face because he can go fuck himself, I'm not talking to him for 20 minutes in exchange for no damn Bacardi. I like eating well (shit, I can't even WALK past Keene's right now I'm so damn broke – and TRUST I'm in dire need of a steak). I like tasty, succulent shoes that make my long ass toes feel pretty. I like it, I like it, I like it.

It's not to say that I've completely let myself go. I still hit Sapore's for salmon and shrimp. I still get the monthly eye-brow threading. I still go to yoga and when I can eke it out, get a facial and a massage. However, when I have money these days, I tend to forget that freelancing is a fickle master indeed and I'll be all like "ooooh no honey, Mala doesn't walk," only to arrive home and wonder just where in the fuck did all of my cashola go.

So I decided to do the adult/responsible/fucked-4-ways-til-Sunday thing and go back to work. The major position that I was up doesn't begin until the 2^nd of October (and damned if I won't be hung over on my first day as a result of the 1^st of October being Mama Mala's BIRTHDAY - BITCHES!!!!). The secret squirrel Mala-Goes-On-Tour thing hasn't been nailed to the wall as of yet ,so that's a big wait. To pick up the slack, I picked up a temp. It blows. All kinds of random ass. Yup.

Right about now I should be rolling over, scratching something, stretching in front of a mirror while reciting all of the reasons why I am so fucking fabulous. I should then be capering to the bathroom while singing Ne Vem Que Nao Tem at the top of my lungs while scantily clad in something that has a matching tank – or not. Some time after that I should be wandering down to the chimmichurri truck for edibles and taking a walk after scarfing the aforesaid down, sipping on a .50 cent Pepsi from the habibi spot while puffing on some thing bad for my lungs.

Instead I'm sitting at a desk wondering at the unfairness of it all and the only thing keeping me sane is the hooded, drop-neck top I plan to buy and wear with a whole hell of a lot of not much of a bra under it with something skin tight and blood-flow constricting brushing the tops of those scrump-deee-leee-ish-ush stilettos I saw at De Janeiro's with my fucking name ALL OVER THEM. Yup, them thar fuckers is one bad-ass pair of shoes.

Oh yeah, I'll probably pay some bills as well. There's always that to consider, especially since in my pared-down lifestyle, my bills don't amount to much. But back to them shoes, those motherfuckers are bad. So here I am, pimping the net and trying my best to look like I'm all productive and shit and fighting the intense desire to slap the chick in the next cubicle because the sow chews gum with her mouth open, cracking it like a dime-store whore. SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU BITCH…. Yeah, not to mention the work itself sucks. I hate talking to motherfuckers on the phone that aren't my folk.

Pray for me y'all. I got 2 more days to live through on this gig. The forecast ain't sunny.

- Feelin' all anti-Evita, fuck that, please cry for me Argentina!

Oh Mocking Bird

2006-09-11T05:19:00.000-04:00

I don't generally speak too much about my girl on here. She's the only supremely perfect part of my haphazard life and as such I tend to keep her seperated from the mish-mosh of goings on as I stride through these here dark streets.

But I have to talk about her now.
Mom decided to travel today because "I believe in God, not terrorism... fuck Bush."
My girl had to go back to school.
I won't see her again for months.
So the very saddest moment I've had to date was watching that black Lincoln Town Car turn the corner on Gerard Avenue and drive away with my heart in it.

And Mr. O'Marley said it best: "Oh my children if you see me crying..."

I'll be back to normal... soon enough.

I Lived Through

2006-09-11T04:15:00.000-04:00

this fateful day...
and praise be, I was lucky.

NY/NJ Port Authority Employees.
70 East.
1 WTC
We lost so much.

I'm not going to be sad or spout meaningless platitudes.
While I do tend to blather on about trivial pursuits, I'm happy to be alive.

- respecting each year, not just the 5 year anniversary

More Epiphanies N Shit...

2006-09-11T01:20:00.000-04:00

The walking, dancing, swaying, prancing, moving, "damn girl you can dance", "shit you are gorgeous", yeah motherfuckers I know theme song: Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake

Aw people... I'm not trying to be all esoteric n shit, but damn, life reveals its-self in the oddest ways at the wierdest times.

Like waking up one morning and going "oh SHIT!"

My personal oh shit? I ain't crazy.
Nope.
Not by a long shot.

Sure I've got some shit with me. I have more issues than a German u-boat with a hole in it. I'm so human it's rediculous.

I sat on the phone with my sister-girl and listened to my pain echoed through her words and tears. I realized in that moment that it's absolutely true; we are the source of our own discomfort to the larger degree. I never blame anyone for my unhappiness, though my mouth talks a hella good game about it on a Sunday night. I know deep down that it's me that makes me unhappy. However, I do, or should I at this beautiful moment say did, make other's responsible for my happiness. That shit is whack-di-fied. Especially since the people that I allowed into my life to give me said happiness, for even the shortest of moments, have been some seriously whack motherfuckers. Still and all I am responsible for every damned second of my discomfiture because I am grown. Now it's time to go back to being responsible for my happiness.

Happiness for me this weekend?
Of course enjoying a hellafied show on Friday. FunkFace moved me yet again. HR, however, did not.
Catching up with Kelsey at Piano's and the cruel acts against dancing that were commited by the people around us.
Pulling an all nighter with aforementioned Kelsey and crew (which included Danny's crazy ass - that man is hilarious), arriving back in the Heights right before dawn, only to run into Negro and Chuli, which turned into Bustelo and watching Amen ascend.
Sleeping and waking to Cecilia knocking down my door with a plate of baccalao and yuca.
Polishing off a 706 page novel in 3 hours 17 minutes.
Downloading more freeware than my little treo could stand.
Writing 2 chapters of a throwback story called Abject Tera and getting to describe, in detail, how my heroine scalped someone who betrayed her.
Researching the current population growth trends and its global effect on society's mores - for no reason at all.
Spending 4 hours in Barnes and Nobles going through a bunch of books and cataloging the ones I am going to absolutely consume.
2 yoga sessions.
Downloading The Brothers Karamazov for my mobipocket reader.
Talking to people I love that genuinely love me.

You all know how this shit goes. You come to the grand realization and sometimes you fall down and you backslide. You pick yourself up, you dust yourself off, you throw your head up and you keep it moving.

That's exactly what the fuck I intend to do.
No shorts.
No prisoners.
Nope.
Not at all.

- Keepin it funky...

P.S. and to those that sleep, doubt or ridicule "Fuck all y'all"... I'm still that bitch
P.P.S. I don't care what ANYONE says, Justin Timberlake did the DAMN THING with that song... I'm so feeling it. Yeah, I'm bringing sexy back, show these little suckas how it's really done...

Blog-by I

2006-09-08T14:29:00.000-04:00

My fingertips are on fire right now, so I'm committing another mini-blog, much like the ones I've been posting since yesterday. I swearfogawd I'll be back to my usual tomfoolery soon, including but not limited to "Ooooh miss girl work it" at Luke & Leroy last night.

But for now, I issue a challenge:
Make a story out of this... I already did.

She crept stealthily through the camp as they slept. Draining the one guard outside of her tent had been easy. Battling the entire camp would not prove so. Waking them now would insure her death, for although she was wampyre, they were wendigo and to them her flesh was a delicacy...

Ok, I'm going to go let my wampyre princess whoop up on some ass.
Bang.
You've just been a victim of a random shot from the hip.

- gone for now

La Feles Mala

2006-09-08T03:20:00.000-04:00

You asked, I answered...

Noun: 1. mala - the arch of bone beneath the eye that forms the prominence of the cheek

Mala: (?), n. pl.; pl. of Malum. Evils; wrongs; offenses against right and law.

Latin: The Bad Kitty

Yup.
A hard act to follow

- dreaming of dragons and destruction

Just A Thought

2006-09-08T00:18:00.001-04:00

I deserve everything I want...

I'm coming for what's mine.
God help anyone in my way.

Ed Marshall

2006-09-07T08:41:00.000-04:00

Catches these moments... all in their time.
Portfolio soon to follow.
Visual captures... understand that b*tches.

Crazier than a shit house rat.
Unabashed.
Unashamed.
Unapologetic.
Realer than real.
Able to leap all minds with a single thought.

Still that bitch...
Still talking that shit.

Ed Marshall Visual Captures
copyright 2006 f*ckers

- makin moves
P.S. Outside of the Makeout: I smell you on my...

So What?

2006-09-06T15:41:00.000-04:00

AfroPunk Liberation Session
Copious amounts of booze et. al.
Me and a semi-charged Treo.

Say it with me now: lots of stupid phone calls.
I probably looked like a raging idiot to some folks.

I won't blame it on the booze or anything else.
If the underlying feelings didn't exist, those calls wouldn't have happened.

Was embarassed for a minute.
Was upset for a spell.

But you know what?
So what?

I ain't ashamed.
I ain't sorry.

So fucking what.
I'm human.
I have feelings.
I make errors in judgment.
It's ok.
I'm grown enough to own my mistakes.
I've been through enough to take this L and keep it moving.

The stride is STILL wicked.
The head is STILL held high.
The people that love me STILL do.
The people that hate me are STILL invited to kiss my ass... take a number... get on line, but I warn you, it's a long line motherfuckers.

To the true and golden souls: I adore y'all
To the bullshit and heartless: Fuck all y'all.

I'm still that bitch.
Yup.

- Outtie, laughing 'cause this is real life....

My Sweet Back

2006-09-03T12:53:00.000-04:00

Will be swinging Friday night.
FunkFace returns.
We 'bout to do it up.
True story.
Drag y'alls asses out.
Thanks

\

- Mala, the Merch Queen

So True

2006-09-03T01:38:00.000-04:00

And she said "you don't love him. You never did. You just love how he made you feel...."

And I said...
Nothing.

I hate it when other motherfuckers are right.

I'm going to bed.
Now.
Yup.

- Gone

Quick Trip

2006-09-02T00:16:00.000-04:00

Saturday, the witching hours. Theme song: Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode

I've been hanging around the fringes of my own mind recently. Got a job offer and I'm not sure if I wanna pass it up or not. It's lucrative but it would mean that I would have to go back to being a suit wearing lemming. The money sounds good but returning to the grind does not. The other options aren't that great though so I think I'm gonna have some serious thinking to do. I've got to play catch up soon, but not tonight. There's Tuesday night and the eclectic ride, Wednesday and bar bouncing with Kels, as well as the last night of Ubiquita at Sutra to review. Also coming up this Sunday night September 3, is another AfroPunk Liberation Session at the Delancey. I'm looking forward to seeing Tiombe Lockhart live. I guess I'll get around to writing about the last few days but right now I'm not really in the mood.

I lay down for a nap after gorging on a home-made turkey burger. When I awoke, every single solitary inch of my body was in pain. It was as if I had taken a pummeling at the hands of a giant while I slept. To shake it off, I went for a walk and ended up sitting on a bench by Franz Siegel park. I sat there for a while listening to Jay Gordon's "Slept so long" (one sexy ass crazy song) when a young girl came and sat down beside me. Anyone that's willing to sit outside on a sodden night is alright by me, so I smiled at her. Then she started to talk.

Each word that came from her lips was full of heartache. Some faceless, nameless, him had affected her in such a way that she was sharing her hurt with a complete stranger. She asked me why. Why did she deserve to be treated this way? I couldn't answer her. I'm no phony to tell someone I hardly know what they do and don't deserve since for all I knew she may have merited every moment. All I could do was say "this too shall pass". Trite huh? But the strangest thing was, as she continued on with her talk I began to cry right along with her. She looked over at me and said "damn, he's so fucked up he's made someone he don't know cry". We stared at each other for a split second and began to laugh. I left soon after.

I don't know her name. She doesn't know mine. Still it's odd how 2 people can connect through the sharing of an experience. She showed me a little bit of the road she had walked. I know that path intimately, having trod it more than once. I hope she minds her footing.

Life affects everyone, doesn't it?

- coming back around... soon, I hope.

Foul

2006-08-29T19:26:00.000-04:00

Tonight's theme song: Reservoir Dogs - Jay Z et. al.

"I don't give a FUCK who you are, so Fuck who you are..." - Styles

I figured out why I was in such a good mood for so many days. Life was preparing me for a swift kick in the caboose. I hate sprint. Actually it's not sprint's fault. I hate my treo. It fucked up royally and now I have a brand spanking new treo to loathe. If you know me, get at me because all of my information is gone...

I'm in the foulest mood possible. Seriously. I could just chew fucking iron and spit nails right now. I wanna eject lead. I wanna instigate some shit to spread the misery around (I won't but still...) I feel like a 1 woman war monger. For real. I could damn well chop down a mountain with the edge of my hand. I had notes for stories on that piece of shit that I took any time I was feeling creative. I had important numbers of newly made connections to get my shit off the ground. I had text messages that made me beam.

Fucked up part about the whole afternoon/evening is I was feeling pretty damn perky. Flouncing through the streets with one of those stupid happy looks on my face. I stopped at Crepes on Columbus for a sandwich that was so damn good to me it inspired me to hit my old sandwich eating partner and say hello. Which wouldn't have been a bad thing if not for the fact that I don't speak to that person, but I was feeling giddy so I figured what the hell. It's not as if they'll hit me back. I've been on an amnesty run lately, reaching out to people that got the chop from me. It was feeling good whether they got back to me or not simply because I was putting good energy out into the universe.
Amnesty is over. If I haven't already attempted contact I won't bother, because I'm feeling so GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Continuing on with my pleasant afternoon, I scoped a pair of shoes that are going to be a delight to my feetsies. Stopped by my Dr for my work-up results: all is well in the body and I gained 4lbs (don't laugh, it's damn near impossible for me to gain weight - and I eat like a pig). Yippee. Remission ahoy fuckers! I passed a shop with a dress that's gonna make my hienie happy.
I was practically skipping.
Until...
I got to the sprint store to see how my data recovery went and got the bad news. My phone told me to go sit in a corner and weep because it wasn't trying to give up any data. Damn it all straight to hell in lye soaked drawz.

Enter nasty, stinking, dirty, rotten, scurrilous mood.

The rain doesn't help. I gotta step out tonight and hit the Eclectic Ride. muMs is hosting and Bazaar Royale (finally spelled his name right) is kicking lingo. I know the ice grill is going to be in effect. Saints have mercy on anyone that crosses me wrong while I'm feeling so mean.

True story.

- Don't know when I'll return.

P.S. We're putting our play on again on 9/14/2006... details to follow, that is, when I'm not feeling like taking a bat to the world's shins....

Monday, Monday

2006-08-28T13:18:00.000-04:00

As much as I love the Mamas and the Papas, today's theme song: Brand New Day - Sting

It's been a nice, quiet, lazy weekend of just chilling out with friends and family. But Saturday night, Saturday night was definitely a rebirth.

To make the beginning of the story short, Pillow Theory rocked my socks. I arrived and met up with Kels and Ed outside of the venue. We walked over to Slainte to meet Jon and the rest of the band. Somehow I got roped into a conversation with some writer guy who suggested that I put my catchphrase "you are cordially invited to go fuck yourself" on a shirt. I may take that suggestion. I have to pause for a moment to relay a side story.

Some random chick got up from the bar while we were in Slainte and started walking to the bathroom with an overly-hippy, flat gluteous stride when she dropped something on the floor. She made it down about three steps before she pulled the "oh shit" face and turned back to retrieve what she had dropped. I was perched on my stool, with a look on my face as if I were the cat that ate the canary, pointing at the dropped item. She had the grace to flash me an "oh fuck" look that complemented the preceding oh shit. I then busted out laughing. Hard. Only Ed had noticed that she dropped anything at all. Only I noticed what it was that had fallen from her clenched fist. First rule of being a cokehead? Don't drop your shit on the way to go get high. Mala may just be watching.

Ed worked his magic on the streets of New York taking pictures of the crew. Then came the rain and the mad dash back to the venue because Mama Mala doesn't do rain when she's wearing heavy eye make-up (which I should have been shot for but alas). First band I caught was Fixer. The drummer was damn good. The music wasn't bad, but I can't say I was impressed. Especially since the lead singer offered 'posing tips' to my boys. Posing tips? Gay much? Ugh. Pansy. I couldn't enjoy the music as much afterwards with the intimate knowledge that dude was a dipshit. I don't know the name of the next band and to be honest, I was somewhere else in my head so I didn't really hear them. Then it was time.

I hid in a corner behind the speaker with Simone standing next to me because I was absolutely terrified. I have loved Pillow Theory from their first note and I was afraid that the new line-up would leave something lacking that would destroy my adoration. I didn't want any of the guys to look offstage and spot me with a 'what in the flying fuck' look on my grill. I should have had more faith.

My boys. My darlings. My hearts. They fucking BOOTED BUNS!!! With the addition of 2 gits and a keyboard they have added layers to their sound that are rediculous. Kelsey no longer has to carry so much of the weight. The timing was impressive, the step-behinds, playing notes in different keys, one hard on the heels of the other. Knowing the music so personally, I could hear the nuances of change. The richness of the texture made up for the fact that I wanted to KILL THE FUCKING SOUND GUY!!! Ok, I don't know what the hell is going on with soundguys lately. The set-ups that I have heard at recent shows have been tried and found sorely wanting. Idiotsoundman aside, I was so very proud of my boys. Proud. I stood in the backroom when they were done and tried to control the spazz out - the good prideful kind - that had tears in my eyes.

BOOM!HERE GOES THE BOOM, ready or not... Here comes the M with the shot!
And with that said I would like to send a hearty "FUCK YOU" to one Jacob Martinez. You snivelling little back-biting, sissy ass, grown-man-wearing-thug-panties. You sensitive bitch you. You. I can't believe I actually ever considered you cool and sorta hot, in your wanna-be-a-rock star way. Asshole. You gottalotta nerve with your punk ass. First off, where in the fuck did you leave your brains to think that I, Mala, would ever in my worst nightmare fuck with you? Yeah I flirt, but check it cornball, that's what I do. But I seem to remember one of the very first times that we met, I sat on your lap and told you IN ENGLISH that it was the closest you'd ever get to the glory hole so you better enjoy it. You had the nerve to sneak behind my back while smiling in my face and tell my boys that I wanted you. Ahahahahahaha, whatever, clownshoes. If I remember correctly it was YOU who came back cowed after I put your stanking ass on blast (click here to see how he blew his own spot up trying to spit back. Don't play with me, bitch ass. Ain't shit about you gangster.

You were so popular you got pictures of your feet taken... probably the most humble part of your body. Trickbaby.
Worse than that, you Benedict Arnold fucker, you shit on Kelsey. A man who has the sweetest temperment and the widest heart of anyone I've met in a long ass time. You shit on him because everyone was tired of your Drama Queen bullshit and he told you to man up? Fuck you. Fuck all of your progeny and their blighted offspring as well. Pillow Theory doesn't need your ass and the replacements are killers. You text thug. I saw the shit you sent out to my boy and I'm jumping to his defense. I have this to say, just like I said last time: I may only be 5 feet tall but you can take up any problem that you may have with me. I am NEVER hard to find. Fuck with me and I'll steal your guitar pick and kick you in your cooter.
"The truth kind of hurts, don't it motherfucker?" - Mike Patton
Now.
Run and tell your bitch about that.

Josephine lost her phone at some point while we were waiting for the boys to pack up. I hope whoever took it gets a tumor in their ear. Kels, Zach, Jo and I jumped a yellow over to St. Marks to drop off the gear to Cat's house before running upstairs to a loft party to meet up with Malik and his boy Jay (who has the most hair of ANY man I've met recently - mmmmm). The party was really low key and the free booze was such a plus. The host, Brad, was hilarious with his spot-on Chris Rock impersonations. I also appreciated his appreciation of my, ahem, assets. Jay managed somehow to let some asian chick in desperate need of a meal (heavy on the potatoes and gravy) chain him to a door. He won my everlasting respect. Jay is the shit now. I snuck off to grab a slice of pizza while everyone kicked a strange cipher. Bacon and chicken on pizza is the shit. It was shameful how I inhaled it. Nothing ladylike about it. Nope. Not at all. Returning upstairs, we drank, chilled and yapped until it was time to go. Last stop at the pizza shop for everyone to re-up on eats before Malik and I broke west to grab the A train. Yes, I took the train home. Well, after stopping at Mamoun's for Leek to get soup (ha - there's a funny in there somewhere).

The ride home was semi-eventful starting with the gaggle of gay goslings yelling "oh girl work, awww shit, go head ms thang" as I rooted around in my clutch for my ipod. They then yelled "syke". Um, listen you budding bum-biters, I didn't ask you to compliment me, I even smiled when you did. The "syke" was unnecessary and you still played yourself. You noticed me, not the other way around. Go pack some fudge. Thanks.

It's hysterical that all my kin from my neighborhood made a deal long ago that any time we rode the train home, we'd ride in the front car because our exit was up there. Pulled into 125th and there's Erica and Zha getting on, coming from god knows where. We giggled about being snookered on the train, compared shoes, got off, made a bee-line for Negro's and pounded down his door. He opened up, let us in and left us in the back because we were being "bochinchera's" and he was no "puta" to sit there and listen to us cackle. Such a man's man. 8 something a.m. everyone crawled into the rec-room and fell out.

Sunday I chilled with my family and then stopped by my besty's house because it was his birthday. I love you, army bitch. He, Cheebo, Stephanie and I just kickd back and eyed Dazed and Confused for a while before I beat a straight path home. I relaxed for the rest of night with that heavy ass volume of Crime and Punishment on my lap, a bag of Tostitos and hot salsa, a frosty cerveza and Portishead playing in the background.

Today, it's back to the usual. I have absolutely got to hit the last night of Ubiquita at Sutra on Thursday, details to follow. It's the end of a great run and I want to enjoy it with all of my folk. This Sunday is the AfroPunk Liberation Session at the Delancey. I don't know what I'm going to get into in the mean and between time but right now I'm going to get deep into a panini.

- & I'm munchin...

P.S. Danny from Apollo Heights is one hysterical motherfucker!
"...i found my self lost on a bus in williamsburg on the way to make a connect. only to wake up
on the breast of some fat chick at some bar,
im lucky iwasnt killed..."
Oh lord the man needs saving!
ahahahahahhahaha
oh man
ahahahahahhaaha!!!

It Really Sucks

2006-08-27T18:12:00.000-04:00

That blogger only lets you have 50 kbs for your profile pic even if you're hosting it on your own server.

Sorry Ed, the downsized version looks like shit but the full version is nice.

I hosted it HERE

Thanks man, always fire!!!

Ed Marshall Visual Captures

I Have Discovered

2006-08-27T16:39:00.000-04:00

That there is no sound on the face of this earth that I hate more than that of my child crying. It sends me into an unreasonable rage. I've been known to black-out and wild out at times, but it's nothing like the tight, acute, pointed fury that is caused by someone fucking with my child. I don't care who it is or how old they are, you fuck with my kid and I want to bury you. Deep. In a chasm meant for the faithless and the damned. I know other parents out there know exactly what I'm talking about.

When I was growing up my mother never let me "play-fight". She always used to admonish us with the old saying "it's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt." She was invariably correct. My cousins, friends and I, being the hard-headed little fuckers that we were, used to play 'slaps' and 'five for flinching' and all sorts of other dumb shit until someone took a hard hit to heart and things would end up in a throw down. However it got broken up, be it cries of "mercy" or an adult stepping in, the two tusslers would drag their beaten asses into the house to face another round of walloping from the parents that just told our monkey asses to quit fucking around. To this day, at my ripe young age, I don't do that shit. I don't wrestle, pinch, play-fight or any of that shit because I know I'm gonna be the first on to get serious and want to beat the stank off a motherfucker for hitting my ass just a tad too hard. I raise my child the same way.

The kids were playing outside under the patio awning. I heard "stop." Then I heard "I'm not playing with you. Stop!" I got up from my chair to go put some adult force behind that 'listen-you-little-arse' stop. Before I made it out of the door the next thing I heard was a wail from my child that set my heart to racing because damned if I knew what was wrong. I plunge out of the door to find my child sitting on the floor, crying to wake the dead, holding the side of her face. I didn't want to know anything else besides "who?" And after she pointed, I proceeded to shake that little rockhead motherfucker like to fling a limb off. Had my momma not walked out and stopped me I think that little fucker would be a functioning quadriplegic. I loosed my death grip as the red-film over my eyes cleared and he ran squalling to his mama, who looked at him and said "I told you about that play-fighting shit. Shut up and go sit your ass down somewhere before I shake you."
Yup.

I'll be back. When I am thoroughly calm.

10's & 20's

2006-08-26T12:46:00.000-04:00

I went to bed at around 7 this morning and woke up again at 10:30 or so. I guess I slept well because when my eyes opened, the sheets were tangled around my legs, I was smiling and I couldn't remember one single dream from the entire night. Nice. I guess it was the new sheets I put on the bed yesterday. If that's what it takes to sleep like a log I guess I'll be buying new sheets every week. Egyptian cotton is the shit. No lie.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a bit, stretching and thinking to myself that the new Veet formula is the shit. My legs are all nice and smooth. I may never wax again and Natasha the salon can now kiss my everloving silky behind. After a quick clean-up, I got dressed and ran up the street to the diner for breakfast. I don't know what possessed me but for some reason an egg-white omelet seemed like a really good idea. I'm not one for eating too healthy but lately I've been leaning a little more towards good than grease. I'm gonna have to get myself some bacon soon. Like they say, "Live fast, die young and leave behind a beautiful corpse..."

Anyway, I got back to the house, turned on some Relient K., stripped down to the essentials and practiced some of my pieces in the mirror until I felt silly. I mean come on, saying "hold my hand and let's fly, find places inside me to hide" early in the morning while bachata is playing in the next room can make one feel like a bit of a ninny. Having turned my back on the mirror, I fired up the old tin tower and pulled out the notes for The Sea God's Daughter and proceeded to type 'the rain in spain falls mainly on the plane and this is fucking balderdash' for exactly 23 minutes before giving up and deciding to blog instead. Sheesh.

So here I am, bloggity bloggin my life away, waiting patiently for tonight.
And today's topic: My 10's and 20's list. Random shit as usual, but still.

10 books I have read recently
1. Blowfly - Patricia Cornwell
2. The Wretched of the Earth - Franz Fannon
3. Nausea - Jean-Paul Sartre
4. Pet Peeve - Piers Anthony
5. Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton
6. Paridisio - Dante Alegheri
7. Needful Things - Stephen King
8. Superfudge - Judy Blume
9. the letter r in the dictionary
10. Women Hate Til Death - Hank Janson

20 of the 25 songs in my recently played list
1. Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode
2. I Know You, I Live You - Chaka Khan
3. Kick - INXS
4. Strings - Burning Flames
5. Steady As She Goes - The Raconteurs
6. Nem Vem Que Nao Tem - Wilson Simonal
7. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
8. Words of Divine - Sizzla
9. No More - J*Davey
10. Verse Chorus Verse - Nirvana
11. Tangerine - Led Zepplin
12. Call Me "Killer" - I,Robot
13. Too Fat To Fuck - Blowfly
14. Strange Fruit - Billie Holiday
15. Penetration - Pedro the Lion
16. Zombies - The Cranberries
17. Closer - Nine Inch Nails
18. It - Prince
19. Ecstacy - PJ Harvey
20. Givin Up the Nappy Dugout - Ice Cube

10 best moments this week (that money could never buy)
1. Sitting on lawn chairs under the patio umbrella in Negro's backyard with a cooler full of Presidente's and a bag of that good shit listening to Bebel Gilberto while watching the rain and waiting for the sun to rise.
2. Girl's Night In with Zha, Chuli and Jessica spent with 2 pints of Bacardi Limon, some sticky icky, a fresh pack of smokes, and a lot of brushes as we all performed "Never Tear Us Apart" (you know, INXS - it was in Donnie Darko) in her livingroom while her mother looked at us like we were nuts.
3. Dancing in my bedroom with my girl to calypso
4. Watching Negro tear up the dance floor to some serious Bachata.
5. Managing to make it 5 blocks on a slight incline before tumbling off of my skateboard.
6. Dancing with my very favorite sexy dred, Iwan, to "Just One Of Those Days" (Sizzla) at Savoy
7. The glitter fight involving me, Zha, Chuli and Erica that prompted the superintendant to holler at us that we were all "LOCA CONO!!!". There's still glitter all over Chuli's hallway.
8. Me, the microphone, the Psychadelic Furs, Bacardi Limon (running theme eh?) and stopping the world to melt with you during kareoke night. NOW THAT WAS COMEDY. It will never happen again and everyone is still cracking up (fuck you Kenya ahahahahahahahaha).
9. Sitting in front of my mom's building with all of my cousins while every Wu-Tang song you could think of played and the whole crew kicking Incarcerated Scarfaces at the same time.
10. Watching some broad pop mad shit to some other broad on Audobon Ave and get fire slapped out of her. We were all so shocked that we all just looked at each other and as if on cue busted out laughing at the same time.

10 funniest things I've heard all week (according to my sense of humor)
1. "Aye no ma, I no sticking my ass in the air like tha" - Negro during yoga when asked to go into the downward dog position
2. "So what did you do?" "I kicked him in the nuts and ran..." - Erica and Chuli talking about an argument with Erica's man
3. "I wanna punch that chick in the lip. Haaaard. With a captial H." - me popping shit about something or the other
4. "Levantate! Cono! Leeeevaaaaaaantateeeeeee!!!" Voodoo Ray talking about his moms waking him up for school
5. "It looks like a leaopard got sick and threw up in here" - Jason referring to someone's apartment - god it was tacky
6. "Yes I would be interested in purchasing something if you buy a bottle of fuck you from me" - my mother to some telesalesperson on the phone
7. "I think the bitch broke my dick... STOP LAUGHING LITTLE!!!" - 730 talking about screwing some fat chick drunk
8. "Bussa bum in a bush bitch. Believe... believe" - Allegra, a classic spazz out moment
9. "The Cramps? Aren't they almost dead? They don't need money" - Leek while looking at a Motherfucker Party flyer
10. "Hold on a second, that's Liberace on the other line... uh, he said he wants his gay back from you" - Me talking to a simpering fool

20 things I've watched this week
1. Entourage - Matt Dillon, Jeremy Pivens et al
2. Legend - Mia Sara, Tom Cruise
3. Shottas - Kymani Marley, Spragga Benz
4. Dancehall Queen - Audrey Reed, Beenie Man
5. Oh Brother Where Art Thou - George Clooney, John Turturro
6. Akira - Katsuhiro Ôtomo
7. Scarface - Al Pacino
8. Ran - Akira Kurosawa
9. Seven Samurai - Akira Kurosawa
10. City of God - Fernando Meirelles (director)
11. Coffee and Cigarettes - Roberto Benigni
12. Snatch - Guy Ritchie (director)
13. Ginger Snaps - Emily Perkins, Katharine Isabelle
14. Rebound - Martin Lawrence (my daughter's fault - I swear)
15. Bending Over Backwards - Porn (don't ask and I won't tell)
16. Labyrinth - David Bowie, Jennifer Connelly
17. Leon (The Professional uncut) - Jean Reno, Gary Oldman
18. Interview with the Vampire - Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt
19. Oliver At Large - Oliver Samuels (jamaican series)
20. Dark Days - Marc Singer

Ok, well I think I have distracted myself enough. I'm going to try to write again for a while. I think I might go grab a bite to eat first though. I can't wait for tonight's show. I'm so excited I can't even listen to Pillow Theory songs right now. I want my ears fresh for later. Lemme get out of here, I may be back... I may not...

- bounced...

I Know You - I Live You

2006-08-25T19:39:00.000-04:00

Just because I'm feeling a way, and been feeling this way for days...
enjoy the song:

I Know You, I Live You - Chaka Khan

I'm feeling sentimental and mushy and giddy and Idunnowhattacallit, I'm feeling something.
The weird part about it is I have absolutely no idea why. It's not because I'm feeling someone special or in particular or at all. I'm just feeling, well, girly for some strange reason. Ick.
It feels good but it's so not me.
If anyone can help me with this predicament, feel free...

- Grinning like a fool for no reason at all
P.S. A special thank you goes to aforementioned reader Jorydowns who sent me Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker". Of course it's long been in my repertoire but dammit, it was a hell of a thought and that's what counts. My greetings and 'yippee' goes out to you from the rainy streets of Manhattan to whatever the weather is like on the streets of Arizona!!!

PILLOW THEORY: Rebirth

2006-08-25T17:44:00.000-04:00

Saturday, August 26, 2006
@ CBGB's
313 Bowery
New York, NY
11:30 pm

music
booze
+Mala
A pretty good night.

Yup.
For real.

Reader Mail VI: I Like

2006-08-25T08:50:00.000-04:00

Jorydowns wrote:
"Hi Mala,
I like your blog. It seems like you have fun. *omission of stuff* You talk about what don't like so much. Do you like anything?*omit more stuff* Have a great weekend!"

Mala Replies:

Dear JD,
Thanks for stopping by. Um, yeah, I guess I don't like a lot of things and your e-mail prompted me to think of some of the things I do like.

Here goes the neighborhood:
I like words.
I like kissing my daughter until she bursts out with peals of laughter that tinkle and ring and jump through the air.
I like watching my mom sleep.
I like listening to my niece yell "Titi, CHEESE" any time she even thinks she sees a camera.
I like a fresh, clean sheet of paper and a bic fine point blue pen.
I like opening a new book, the sound it makes when the binding creaks and getting lost in the story by the second page.
I like socks. Lots and lots of socks. I could live my life clad in boy shorts, wife beaters and socks. Whimsical, patterned, happy socks.
I like the witching hour when the world is scary, dark, foreboding and anything can happen.
I like the early morn when I am alone and the day is brand new because once again anything can happen.
I like those rare, short moments when my brain is still.
I like when someone can make me feel timid and coy.
I like the Bene Gessirit Litany against fear.
I like being afraid.
I like comfortable silence.
I like picking the pimentos out of olives before I eat the olives then discarding the pimentos. Why not just buy the olives without the pimentos, you ask? Because, picking out the pimentos is half the fun.
I like spicy foods that make my eyes water.
I like daydreaming about flying and falling. There's something about the sense of freedom.
I like wolves, snakes, alligators and bats.
I like dragons, unicorns, hob-goblins, imps, gremlins, ogres, giants, warlocks and petty demons.
I like each and every one of my horrid, terrifying dreams.
I like having a cornicopia of totally useless facts at the ready.
I like sharing my life with one and all.
I like the ascension bass in Jimi Hendrix's "Hey Joe". I could listen to it over and over again.
I like music that moves me, I could give a farthing if it's commercial, odd, different or whatever but when I hear something that puts a skip in my heart, I'm happy.
I like waking up to a face that I care about no matter how seldom that may occur.
I like hot sweaty moments that render my thought process practically useless.
I like close moments.
I like any kind of puzzle or brain teaser.
I like figuring things out.
I like thinking, over-thinking and not thinking at all.
I like learning whatever I want, whenever I choose.
I like seeing the people I know smile.
I like watching the rhythmically adept move their bodies.
I like making fun of everything.
I like feeling 10 feet tall every day that I am allowed to walk this earth yet again.
I like love even when I hate it.

You know this could go on for days, right? It may seem like all I do is bitch and moan and complain and party and speak in codes to special readers and hate stuff but hey, I like doing all of that as well. And guess what Jory? I like you! Have a great life (and I'm not being sarcastic either).

Liking this feeling,
Mala

So yeah, I'm wide the hell awake, working on a piece tentatively titled The Tales of Judgement: Eris Orders wondering if I could ever live on my words alone and I stopped for coffee. Blogger has become my only lasting relationship and I wonder how I will survive when it ends. It's kind of weird really, I keep having this sinking fear that once I port over to Mala Mag I'll lose the people that have stopped by over the last year. The folks that have watched me go from seldom posting to it being an everyday thing. I have had a few e-mails expressing confusion when I launch into sides that are meant for specific people. I'll try to be more on front street with that so there's an obvious difference between shit talking to readers and messages for friends. As usual, my brain is racing. I'd give Quicksilver a run for his nectar. And just so I don't get an e-mail regarding my obscure references, Quicksilver is an alternate term for Mercury the element and the Roman version of the Greek God, also known as Hermes. The messenger of the Olympians. He was fleet of foot and the patron of dreamers (as opposed to Morpheous of dreams and sleepers), ideas, liars, craftiness, commerce, eloquence, gamblers, commerce, storytelling, quick-thinking and some magics. All and all a pretty awesome dude. Yeah so anyway, the mind is meandering and I have a consensual kidnapping to plot in Eris' world. Oh yeah, Eris was the Greek goddess of chaos. Nifty huh?

Alright, I'm going to skedaddle now, get back to writing and plotting out something relatively scandalous to wear tomorrow night. My heart is a tad sore since I missed last night but I figure the universe meant for me to stay home and write so I did. However, hell, high water nor man on horseback will stop me from making my way down to CBGB's tomorrow night for the Pillow Theory show. I love them thar boys - hi Kels! I may be back since I'm thinking about writing an "eff u" post dedicated to all the dumb shit I've seen this week. Who knows, but I'm sure we'll see...

- Yup, gone

Photo Gallery I

2006-08-24T17:17:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I posted a few pics. I must warn everyone that I am by no means a professional. Just a chick with a camera. I should also add that copious amounts of Bacardi Limon was involved. I had more fun than you can shake a stick at. I might add that I didn't get many pictures of Game's set because I forgot, due to the fact that I was too busy jumping around....
click the name to view
S.O.B's Wednesday, August 22, 2006

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I may not make it out tonight.
And that, my friends, sucks all kinds of ass!

- Figuring shit out...

And P.FuckingS. I am complex. Yeah. What's your point? Dig this, I deserve every damn thing I want and if I can't have it, why waste my time? Dudes wanna date some easy chick that they can handle, I'm totally ok with that. I'd rather date someone who is as complex as I am and can keep up with me. Why is anyone coming to me because others can't handle it? Don't blame me if some simple dude can't keep up. Go find a simple broad and leave me alone. Fuck all simpletons, fuck 'em right in their stupid ass ears.
Now.
Run and tell ya boy about that.

Happy Hump Day

2006-08-23T18:46:00.000-04:00

The week is rolling and that's a good thing! I can't wait for Saturday. I am excited as all get out right now. Looking forward to seeing what amazing changes Kelsey has made with the band. Pillow Theory kicked ass before regardless of all of the meaningless nonsense and drivel spouted by the sens(less)itive thug. Now they've got a new line-up and I'm jumping around in my head with anticipation.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
@ CBGB's
313 Bowery
11:30 pm
come celebrate the rebirth of pILLOW tHEORY with me.
It's gonna be a hell of a night

Anyway, last night found me on my way to S.O.B.'s a few days early to catch a last minute Game Rebellion show. Considering the fact that I walked out of the last one, I wasn't going to miss this one. Not to mention my boy Keyonn was hyping for Bizarre Royale (who made the only entrance on a hot ass bike - stars, what can ya do?). I got down there early and chilled downstairs with the headliners Cevil. They're a jump/metal band from Japan. Their set up was killer and timing impeccable. The costumes were wicked and the songs kicked ass. They tore it out of the frame. I have more than a few pictures of them that I'll post as soon as I get them off of the camera. Even more kick ass was the fully traditional kimono clad ladies in the front that knew every word of every song and even had whole routines they performed with precision. It was amazing. The language barrier was definitely broken with their performance. They might not speak English very well but they damn sure speak music.

Downstairs we all milled around. Netic and Ahmed had the only push-up competition with me instigating all the way. Brandy and I yapped about a whole lot of nothing. I snapped a few pictures that I'll prolly post as well. Papa Jube was a doll (thanks for taking care of me at the bar). After much ado about nothing, it was time for the Game to rebel. Off the fucking hook except for the fact that I'd like to slap the soundguy for not clearing Netic's mic properly. Shithead. His words ended up being overpowered by the music. Thank goodness those boys play their asses off or I would have been livid.

We jumped from there after the performance and headed over to R&R for the Eclectic Ride. Lovely Kara and Jess were at the front door. Vodka was a-poppin after Bizarre arrived ready to chill. Between Forrest, Malik, Keyonn and his boy (who's name escapes me at the moment) it was a pretty damn good time. For once the place didn't empty out when the last performance ended. We bugged out, danced, tied one on and some how I ended up in Brooklyn.

Did I ever mention that me and travelling to Bk doesn't mix. Still I keep ending up there. The fates are ever so fickle. Sheesh. I have also now been dubbed "Queen of the Platonic Sleep-over". If I get one more name handed to me, my head is gonna cave in from the weight. Chilled all day and talked music before heading home and stopping to write this. I don't think I'm going to mess with any of my tales today. I'll just relax and read Crime & Punishment, having been inspired by seeing the audio tapes at Leek's. I'm not taking my behind anywhere until tomorrow. I'm actually trying to save my energy for Saturday. Seriously, I'm so damned excited.

Internally I'm still feeling giddy and nostalgic for absolutely no reason at all. Something glorious is about to happen. I just wish I knew what that something is. Ok, I'm gone, be back soon and I hope those of you in Foo Yuck Shitty can come chill with me and support my babies on Saturday.

- amped like a mo'fugga, for real!!!

I feel so...

2006-08-22T15:00:00.000-04:00

Fucking Chaka Khan right now
Theme song ? I know you, I live you

Everything that is hidden comes to light.
The universe will definitely take care of it's own and the devil take the hindmost.
There's no reason to feel slighted.
Or even unfulfilled.
Everything you deserve, you will receive... one way or another.

Just a thought I had when the universe revealed something to me. I'm feeling nostalgic. Must be something in the water, but it sure feels good. It will all work its-self out in the end. I can't stop smiling.

The Vanishing Kids

2006-08-22T04:25:00.000-04:00

One of my very first indie-music loves are slated to return to NY.
I'm so amped.

Ok I'm going to bed for real this time.

Urban Renewal

2006-08-21T22:11:00.000-04:00

Life song? Once again Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve coupled with Life Can Be So Nice - Prince

I discovered that I don't need a spa to renew myself. All I needed were a few good friends, food, music and times. I'm feeling pretty damned good. Even that tired email from that even more tired broad didn't put a damper on my days. Her life must be pretty damn boring if she's gotta write me some crap every few weeks. Anyway, moving right along...

Most of Thursday was spent studying grammar and syntax, testing myself and tapping away at my desk. That evening, I met up with Kara for the XXXotica Review (starring Carmen Barika and muMs) at a small lounge/restaurant on 145th. Since I was operating on cp time, I was late and missed the show. We made some small talk before heading downtown to Sutra. Forever a good time. I got my cards read by a reader that stopped by. Biggest load of bullshit in the world, but great if you're bored. I danced until my little feetsies hurt. The gang was all there so between DJ Reborn, Kim, Jason, Kara, L'il Dave and Li I had a ball although I missed Selley terribly. Next week. Next week. I also received the most exquisite hug in the world from Dasean and I think he's the cat's meow. The only questionable moments in the night were: Getting hit on by my ex-man's friend (dude, stop playing) and some old drunk white guy (um, ick). Jason, Kara, Li and I left and headed over to Urge. I said it before and I'll say it again, if you ever want to know how fierce you are, hang out with gay men. Their compliments are so to the point and if you are unlucky enough to get read the riot act they will tear you to shreds. I have a lot of balls, but when it comes to gay men and sniping back and forth, I don't mess around. Urge was fun, complete with practically naked men crawling across the bar. It's nice to grab some booty that won't grab back. We acted a fool and shut the place down. After Li dropped us off at Jason's pad, located smack dab in the middle of everything, we stumbled upstairs and had a Buffy the Vampire Slayer throw back hour before crashing out.

Kara and I left early Friday morning, scandalously clad in party gear, while the rest of the world was heading off to the plantation. I taught Kara that the best way to deal with the looks that you get when you are so obviously just now getting in from the night before, is to paste a 'devil may care' look on your face and think about how much fun you had, the fact that you are going home to sleep and everyone else is facing a day of toil and labor. According to her call later that day, my suggestion worked. Friday I slept quite a bit, read some Piers Anthony and then hoofed it up the block to Negro's because he had just come in from grocery shopping and I got my em-effin cook on. I won't even discuss the menu because it won't do anything but make me hungry all over again. The itis set in all but immediately, so we konked out in front of the tv watching Family Guy. Or maybe I should say Family Guy watched us. We went for a quick skate, better known as Mala busted her ass all up and down the block before I headed in. I found myself typing 'I can't think of a damn thing to write' for about 4 pages before giving up. I spent the rest of the night dozing and reading Dante's Paradisio before getting a text from Johnnie G at some ungodly hour while he was on a hunt for french toast. We jawed until damn near day break before getting off our hot-to-the-touch phones.

I didn't go back to sleep because I was damned well inspired. I cranked out about 28 pages of some serious shit that was still pretty good when I re-read it. I know that's a sin but I can't help it. I don't want my story to go awry because I wasn't paying attention to the plot line. Y'mara is off that damn sand dune and hot on the thief’s heels. All is well in my head.
Later Saturday night, I plucked, powdered and primped before heading out to meet muMs for the Jaguar Wright performance at BB Kings. Lord have mercy - that woman can SANG. I'm talking hair on the back of your neck rises with her voice SANG. I mean these little chicks purring into mics nowadays can't hold a candle to her SANG. Her performance was opened by Stever Akerman (or something like that). Someone should put him out of his misery. I don't know what that lowing he was doing into the microphone was called but it surely would not be dubbed singing. Ugh. His lyrics were cheesy. His arrangements sounding like that horrible stuff you hear in hotel elevators. He had this Kenny G 'I'm so soulfoul' scrunched look on his face the whole time and last but certainly not least, he was sporting a kerchief tied sweatband-style around his disheveled hair. Sheesh. All I kept thinking was “would somebody please come get this lanky white boy off the stage? Thanks.” Jaguar fricken slaughtered it. I swear it’s almost like she tore into the heart of every woman for her lyrics. Still I wish she did not turn every song into a vehicle to show off her vocal range with neverending riffs and runs. It’s amazing but it gets kind of pat after about the 3^rd 8 minute song. Just my opinion. But damn that woman can SANG. I will turn cartwheels for a Jaguar Wright show any night.

Moment that marred my night a smidge? I ran into a dude I don’t talk to anymore. Apparently my blog is getting pretty popular amongst ex-‘friends’ because as I sat there tight-lipped, he actually said “I guess you are going to write about how you igged me on your site.” Well he was right, but I won’t bother to mention his name. It’s just not worth it. These 7 sentences are 7 too many.

After she performed, I parted ways with muMs to meet up with Jason and Cedric to celebrate Ced’s birthday at Esquelita’s. I can’t stop saying it, but when the drag queens run up on you gushing “darling you are so fucking over!!!” it feels pretty damn good, considering they were all sporting waaaaaay better racks than me. I loved being the belle of the ball even though there was not one man in there for me to practice my feminine wiles on. I had the wrong equipment. But in the midst of all the cooing about me, I really didn’t mind that much. We caught the drag show, shook our hienies, laughed at the awful-bodied male go-go dancer, tipped the female dancer and got plumb snookered before heading home at some unreasonable hour.

I posted a quickie and fell out, couch left. Jason and I spent Sunday lazing around, being catty, laughing at tacky women and talking about life before I headed back to the Heights to see what was doing. I arrived and Negro was on my block cussing up a storm fit to blow the building down because he had been calling me for an hour to find out why I missed yoga. Hilarious. I have a thugged out Dominican dude doing yoga. Make fun of him and I’ll hafta cutcha. That’s my boy. We went for a bite to eat after I changed out of my little black she-don’t-never-come-home dress and then sat in the park in silence. No music, no nothing. Just some herbal refreshment, tasty beverages and two folk just enjoying the air. Inevitably, he got called away on business so I went upstairs and puttered around, sort of cleaning up, but not really. Danny Castro and Voodoo Ray were starting off their night at Tut’s so I threw on something simple and headed downtown. Tut’s is such a tasty place. Kitchen open all night, hookahs and regular smoking allowed, a full bar, good sound system, comfy cushions in the back to lounge on, a wide dance floor, a small stage and decent décor. I’m going to hold my birthday get-together there. Yep. I surely am. It was a thin night, as most openings usually are. I sat around with Allegra’s wonderful self and just talked about girl stuff until Danny and Ray closed shop. Not ready to call it a night, we walked a couple of blocks over to Libations, running into Dorian sitting in his ride on the way there. Dude is so funny and I swear he’s not even trying. He was heading elsewhere so we kept it moving. I forgot the name of the DJ in Libations but he won my heart when he spun classic KRSOne and The Symphony. Ray Duke showed up (dude, it’s becoming an epidemic) and we all just relaxed and had a few drinks until closing. We stopped at the falafel spot before heading home. A gyro is NOT the thing to eat at 4:30 am. I learned that the super hard way. For those that don’t know the man personally, Voodoo Ray is a fucking clown! He had us in the falafel joint ROLLING. Of course I laughed myself straight into a hiccup fit, while a totally unsympathetic Danny made fun of me. After she dropped the boys off (which you know included sitting in the car talking shit for an hour) Allegra and I grabbed a cup of coffee and girl talked for while longer before we parted ways.

I don’t know. It was a really simple few days. I feel so good though. It just reinforced my belief that it is the little things in life (shut up Johnnie, quit snickering), it really is. Even opening that stupid email this morning and my utterly appalling lack of squishy can’t put a damper on the “oh yeah this is the way I should feel” thing going on inside me.

This week I’ve got some stuff to do and we begin work on expanding the St Juste play. I’m so excited. Also, my babies Pillow Theory are holding a sort of ‘rebirth’ show. They’ve dropped some dead weight and are going to treat us to their brand spanking new line up on Saturday at CBGB’s. Also it’s the Jump and Funk anniversary at S.O.B.’s. this Thursday. I know Rich Medina is going to spin the sickness. I’ll also make it over to Sutra on Thursday at some point since it’s one of Ubiquita’s last few weeks at the venue. There’s a story behind that but I can’t tell it right now. But I will, you better believe I will.

So that’s all for now.

If I feel anything else (besides a little nostalgic) I’ll be back.

- 5,000 G

Reader Mail V: I LOVE The Hate

2006-08-21T14:30:00.000-04:00

"Tru yu ah laugh dem no know seh yu will buss dem bubble" - Terror Fabalous

Hi y'all. This is not the 'days in review' I had initially promised but it's something I feel the need to speak on. Lately I've been good. I haven't been popping shit because I've been too busy getting my grown folk on. I've come to realize that one day I'm going to offend someone so badly that they are gonna put a whoopin on me that my mama is gonna feel in her sleep. However, today is not that day. Still, I need to avoid what drama I can because
1. I'm too old to be acting a fool in the street
2. I'm too cute to risk any damage to the goods
and
3. I've got too much shit to do to be bothered fucking around doing some dumb shit that might be either meaningless or detrimental to my existence.
Yet life, or Murphy - pick one, has a way of throwing a monkey wrench in even the best of intentions. I go 5 steps forward and have to take 2 steps back for some lackwit. Just when I think all is silent in the halls of madness, some psycho screams out.
And angels weep.
Sheesh.

The back story: This chick started hitting me up sometime back in January about some inconsequential dude shit. How she got the email addy I only use with close friends beats the fuck out of me. So I blocked her. Then she hit me on crackspace but she had no picture, no personal information, no identifying facts, no nothing. So I blocked her. Then I started getting bombarded by nasty crackspace messages from people I didn't even know. So I made my profile private. Then she got a hold of my general email address and started up with the nonsense again. The delete function got a work out. She slowed down after a while because I gave her no energy but for some reason she's back again. Normally I would have gone apeshit and stepped to the situation long before, but I tend not to waste my time with cowards. If a person has to hide behind a screen to speak their mind, they're not worth my attention. I save my shit popping for people I can get at live and I don't duck people trying to get at me. I just don't have the patience or the personality for bullshit. But homegirl is getting out of hand so I've had to regress to Mama Mala:Talks Much Shit...

Joanna Sevilla aka lushuslady@gmail.com wrote:
"I read your blog. You conceited bitch! Get over yourself! You are a such and idiot! No one cares about you or what you do! Why don't you do the world a favor and drop dead!"

And now a question to those up high...

Lord,
Why am I plauged with twits? Why must all of the baby net gangsters fill up my inbox with their tripe? The shit that kills me is, they're probably one of those spoon-fed, corn pone, sycophantic dames that are Mala snatch-snufflers when they see me in public. Bitches not real enough with themselves to get at me, faking the funk with air kisses and hellos when they know I make them sweat like sumo wrestlers trapped in a sauna. What's wrong with these hoes? Yeah, I toot my own horn all day, every day and whosoever doesn't like it can catch the hell express. Fuck their opinions. People call me crazy and I admit that I can be. Sometimes when I flip at the lip I don't have the good sense to think to myself 'damn, this dude is like fitty feet all... if he punches me in my snot box I'm never getting up' and that is crazy. Funny thing is, I don't even start shit anymore like I used to back in the day (when I was young, I'm not a kid anymore but some days I sit and wish...), but I will damn sure finish it or take the consequences of trying. Yeah, I'm crazy, up front, up close, live and direct. I don't hide behind a fucking monitor. I don't net beef. That shit is pointless. Also, if I don't like you, I won't smile at your bitch-made ass, I won't visit your venues/blogs/webspaces and I definitely won't waste words on you. As a matter of fact, If I don't like you, your very existence is well, a non-fucking-issue. I will pass you in the streets clean, like I never knew you at all. Just ask my ex-friends. What is it with these chicks?
Ah fuck it... I've got 5 minutes to fritter away. She wants a response? Here it is...
But remember what Lord Tariq and Peter Guns said: Keep an eye on your lip bitch, watch your mouth.
I ever figure out who you are, it's gonna be straight comedy. I will embarrass your ass in public.
That's
my
word!

AFTER 8 MONTHS OF THIS SHIT I HAVE HAD ENOUGH EXCLAMATION POINT.
My dearest Jo-lush,

I'm not even going to bother with the whole ahahahahaha thing because anyone that knows me, knows I laughed my self into a case of hiccups fit to choke the devil himself. You funny, silly little girl you EXCLAMATION POINT.
I guess the old saying is true, everyone's got an opinion and an asshole. So I guess even your opinion is valid, asshole.
But wait a minute EXCLAMATION POINT. Aren't you the same broad that kept sending me harassing emails about a dude I don't even fuck with a few months back? Yeah, you are, aren't you? Either you fucked him, are fucking him or wanna fuck him. Whatever it is you are certainly fucking up. Bored huh? Wasn't the first asshole-ripping, courtesy of my witty diva ex-partner, enough (I notice you didn't answer her after she reamed you - punk)? I didn't deign to respond to your nonsense back then but yet you remain like a chigger, or a nit or some other pest.

Let me start by saying that for someone that doesn't give a shit about what I do, you sat your brilliant ass still and read my blog. What does that say about your level of intellect? Don't think too hard about my intelligence mama, your brain might spontaneously combust. I am a self-centered ego maniac and I love it. My ego is so big right now that were it a dick, you'd most assuredly choke on it as is your wont. Honey if I don't sweat myself I wouldn't have dimwits like you hopping to my beat. I eat this shit like candy. To know that I have in some way, had a profound enough effect on your life, that not only do you read about my daily madness but you write to me as well EXCLAMATION POINT. Such is the spice of life. Don't feel bad though missy, if I were you, I'd wanna throw a brick in my face too. The only difference between you and me is: if I hated someone that much I'd probably hurl a cinderblock. For real. No bullshit.

But you love me EXLAMATION POINT. Admit it. To follow my movements so closely for so long. You probably shit your pants every time I walk into a spot, praying like a motherfucker that I haven't figured out who you are so as to avoid me stuffing my stiletto so deep in your ass your future grandkids taste leather. Then again, I love my shoes, I would never sully them in such a manner as I assume it would take industrial strength cleanser to get your bullshit off them. I just can't do that to good shoes.

Go kick a fucking tin can, you net thug. See me in the streets and yap all that yang. Please? Thanks.
I invited you and your whole sad ass crew of email/myspace message gangstas to do it months before. Funny how ne'er a one of y'all punks did. Wassamatta? Do I make you nervous? Do I make your heart weak? Do I make your skin yellow? Is the fever I bring too hot for you? Don't singe your fucking eyebrows clocking my ass. I know I spit this insanity like I'm 10 feet tall, but trust me, the flip action is fire and you won't realize how hot it is until it burns your fucking life down. Don't you have some garbage to go play in? Or a mudpie to go eat, you fucking infant. I can tell you are one of these upstart young hoes that don't know their place, by the mere fact that you don't have anything to do other than try to shout at a chick that ain't having it. A chick that doesn't know you and doesn't care to. A chick that could give a fuck about your entire lifestyle.
I don't play in the sandbox and you obviously have all kinds of dirty, gritty shit all up in your crotch, irritating you into making stupid moves, such as: fucking with me. You talked so much shit for so long about people and things that are so trivial. I figured by now you'd have enough heart to step to me. It's not like I'm hard to find.
At all.
Ever.
Well this time I made things a little easier for your silly ass. If you look in your mailbox, you will find my phone number. You're a bad ass right?
Use it.
I'm down for whatever you want baby.
Any time.
True story.

So this is the end of it. Not one more iota of energy on you and your bullshit. Go ahead and write to your heart's content. Watch my life. Make me popular. Scream my name when you nut. Sweat my movements. Lust after my style. Feed the frenzy. Cower in my shadow. Pray for my attention. Suck my sexy. Wish you could be the bitch that is me.
Do your worst.
With this post I am finished with this inanity unless, of course, you are foolhardy enough to step up. Otherwise, you are cordially invited to go fuck yourself.

Now.
Put that in your hole and ride it.

Love always,
Mala

- & I'm off to go drop dead laughing at punk bitches.

P.S. Thursday I will be at S.O.B.'s (Jump & Funk anniversary) and Sutra Lounge (Ubiquita Leaves 1st & 1st)
Saturday I will be at CBGB's (The rebirth of Pillow Theory - YAY! love yall)
I'll even post the address at some point just so you won't have problems finding me...
Come see me miss.

I Apologize

2006-08-20T21:54:00.000-04:00

Profusely for the blog-bys I've been doing lately. I promise to set aside some time tomorrow to play catch up.

I've been up to nothing good but been having a blast. I've had amazing nights with amazing friends. I've heard some fantastic music. I've enjoyed great food and drink. I've been immersed in The Sea God's daughter. I'm still feeling slightly off and I'm pretty sure the lack of squishy has something to do with it but I'll be ok.

I'm off to some hookah bar called Tuts somewhere on Orchard to catch up with D.Castro and Voodoo Ray. It should be interesting.

I will write something substantial soon, Mala's honor, so no more nasty where-the-hell-you-been emails, ok?

- Out lunchin...

Amazing Night

2006-08-20T04:19:00.000-04:00

that I can't even discuss at this point but....

there's so much I have to say,
and I won't.

because sometimes it's

just

not

worth

it...

- & I'm sleeping for once...

No Time

2006-08-17T16:19:00.000-04:00

for details but I couldn't resist the bl-urge...

I still feel pent up. My besty says a good fight or fuck will fix me right up. I guess I'll just be broke 'cause I'm not doing either one. Nope. Not at all.

Apt was good even though I didn't make it downstairs. It was too damned packed. However Akalepse was slayin' it.

I'm off to Sutra tonight to hang with Li who I haven't seen in months. I'm looking forward to catching up with her.

I will do anything for a steak from Keene's right about now. I've been craving it for weeks. It's gotten to the point that I'm day-dreaming about slabs of beef. Sheesh.

Ok that's it. I gotta get some work done.

- & I'm out

Rant

2006-08-16T09:12:00.000-04:00

The passle of nuveau-punk hip-scenester glam-rock fashionista avante garde indie punk style-whore bitches make me really tired.

They run their mouths about not fitting in and creating their own road to walk or being style trend-setters when ain't ne'er a one of y'all DOING SHIT NEW. Y'all ain't trendsetters. It's all been done. Down to the clowncake you slather on your faces.

I won't even take it out of America
Patent leather shoes? Dual textures and trimmings in tops? Stop by the 1910's
Belting your jackets? Layering your outlandish beaded jewelry? Low slung waistlines? Cloche hats and short hair? T-bar shoes? Try the 1920's
You still got that belt? Throw it over your dress or your shirt in the 1930's. Patent leather hadn't exited the scene yet so check out the high-heeled Mary Janes. Yeah, the fucking shoe, not the weed.
Wait - y'all hoes ain't gonna be able to stand me if keep taking it back like that...
You wanna wear spandex with skirts over it? Check out a Young MC Video.
Prince was one of the first to Parade around in his drawers like it was ok, but it was already on the scene, he was just letting the cat out the bag.
Salt & Pepa set off the haircut, not Kelis and just so you know, them conk&pomade tricks down south gave the flat-press curls and a-symmetrical cuts to that dynamic duo before it hit up here.
I don't even know where I put my door-knocker/shrimp(had flavas) earrings , but I'm sure they're around my mom's house some where.
Dolphin shorts with high heels were run all through by the valley girls.
I think June Cleaver rocked them polka dots with contrasting colors harder than any of y'all!
The slim jeans? Watch The Outsiders.
Those flat shoes, pointy-toed or rounded? If you're swift, you can catch an episode of Gidget.
I know there's a Native American rolling over in his grave wrapped in a pox infested blanket when the mohawk is bandied around. No respect.
Check out Cher and how much jewelry she wore.
Satin gloves, platform shoes, knee-hi's, thigh highs, pedal pushers (not just capris you dumb asses), wedges.
You are only emulating what has already occurred from the 19friggen10's until now.
I could go on for DAYS.
Trust me. I could.

And the worst part is how many of y'all think you are different? Look around you. If you and your whole crew can interchange clothes: you haven't done anything different. You're just following a trend fed to you. So go ahead, borrow your homegirls wide-body belt. Pull your polka dot shirt out of the closet, throw on your fishnet stocking and patent-leather sling backs, pile on the clunky glittery bracelets but while you're doing that would you all please shut the fuck up about how brand spanking new you are?

I wear what makes me feel and look good no matter if it's in style or not. Hell I don't even own anything polka dot at this point. Doesn't mean I won't buy it, I'm just saying. If it fits right and makes me feel like the world can kiss yet another portion of my ass, then I'll don it. Half the damn clothes in my closet are either hella old or purchased because their hella old or happened to be a piece I came across that I couldn't pass up. But I don't tell anyone I am different or a style-whore. I just wear what I wear and the consequences be damned.
I'm not saying that y'all don't look tasty but please the fuck please stop crowing about being so to the left 'cause you're not. It's all been done. Just rock your style and enjoy it. I could give a fuck about your identity crisis (in the inflected speech plural form) or your sneaker collection.

Now.
I'm going to go dust off my CB jacket and bust a move...

- shaking my head at these kids

Un-steady

2006-08-15T18:51:00.000-04:00

Tuesday until who the hell knows, theme song: Steady As She Goes - The Raconteurs

I went to bed at six am. No sleep, but at least I was in the bed.
The parents got in late last night and regaled me with tales of carnivale antics that made me miss home ever more. Soon. That's all I can say is soon. I just hope that I'm not all fired crazy to come back once I go.

Anyway, I sat down to write a while after talking to moms, who managed somehow fall asleep mid-sentence, but had a story-block. Most of the time these small tales are already mini-movies that I've dreamed. The Sea God's daughter is stuck in a rut on a dune in a desert because I just can't figure out what I want Y'mara to do next. Unlike most times, I do not have the whole thing pre-plotted in my head. The exposition seems fine, the building action is coming along but I have no climax or denouement. It's weirding me out. Seriously.

So I went to bed with Y'mara's plight heavy on my mind, hoping that Thoth or Seshat would stop by for a while and give me a dream that would help Y'mara along. The Gods of Writing came alright, and they left me this:

They say when lightening strikes, a body becomes immobile. Not so.

It flashed down from the heavens, struck her and she screamed aloud. "Father do not forsake me." The words ripped from her throat with a raw, hurt sound. Her sodden clothing began to steam as her entire form was illuminated. When the lightning stopped, she staggered, before falling to her knees. The onlookers watched in horror as she crawled to a nearby lamppost and pulled her body up slowly, hand over hand. One man made to move forward, as she released the post and stumbled forward, her hand outstretched as if she were a supplicant pleading with some unheeding God. Then she was struck again. Lightening streaked and the sheer force of it shook her body like a leaf in a storm. To all watching it seemed as if someone guided the stream of living electricity to her slight form. She trembled and smoked and screamed anew. "Set my soul free." Tears fell from the eyes of those who stood nearby helplessly, as nature ravaged, angry unforgiving. She fell again to her knees and there was an audible snap as bones splintered apart. Blood pooled around her legs as she pitched forward onto the side walk. Many gasped as her head met the concrete and they heard her skull split. No one knew where she got the strength to raise herself, but somehow she managed to turn herself over and began dragging herself backwards, away from those that gaped, open-faced at the tragedy unraveling before them. "Stay away," she begged, voice rasping between cracked, burned lips, "it is yet to be done." And no sooner than her lips fell silent, lightening struck yet again, near lifting her from the ground. Her last scream. "Finally," and her clothing went up in a roar of hellish fire. Still she screamed, wordless, garbled, awful sounds. When the light died and she was still, it began to rain, a deluge dousing the flames but the damage had long been done. She rose no more.

What a way to die. Watching it play across the back of my eyelids, loud and in technicolor was much worse than it reads above. I have the distinct feeling that burned flesh does not exactly smell too pleasant. Thanks a lot oh lords of the pen. While I appreciated the imagery, that moment in sleep doesn't help me get my raven-haired protagonist out of the arid space. Y'mara is gonna get a sunburn because I can't move her. I guess it could be worse though, I could have dreamt of Brittney Spears.
Ick!

No point in pushing the non-existent, so I got out of the bed, did a few poses to relax myself, took a tepid shower and got my sudoku on. I should have never picked up that damned puzzle. Now I may never put it down. I jawed for a while with Johnnie G about punks, posers and pickaninnies (and no, I do not use that term lightly), before going to assist my mother who must have felt the need to buy every grocery in the damned market. I really don't understand her facination with those big ass bottles of relish from Costco. Who the hell uses that much relish? My mother does, that's who.

I felt pent up, like I needed to be unleashed so I decided to go out for a spell and see if I could relax and feel a little less high-strung. I don't know what's going on with me right now. I don't want for anything. I'm not particularly worried about any one thing or other. My hair is sorta getting on my nerves but that's no biggie, I'll either wait it out to get the cut I want or shave the shit if I get too irritated. Besides the 3 tales that are sitting in my head, I'm not particularly thinking of anything, so I really don't understand why I feel so caged.

My walk outside took me down the block over the bridge and hella far. I don't know what in the hell comes over me but I walked from 161 in the Bx to 102 in Manhattan. At least the trip had a hell of a perk because I just walked in the door from Mama Mexico where enjoyed a sweet skirt-steak with cactus-pinapple pico de gallo and my absolute favorite spicy guacamole. A good meal can refresh a body. My belly is full, my mind is at ease and my legs got a hell of a workout. I've got to figure this walking thing out before I head out to the corner store one day and end up in Quebec.

I still feel a kind of way though. I dunno. I feel tense, tied, fettered, I-don't-fricken-know. I'm hoping that music will solve whatever it is that ails me. I'd wait for the Jump&Funk Anniversary but I think my body would wrap itself into a knot to beat all knots if I tried to hang on until the 24th so I think I'll take myself to Apt tomorrow night and get myself a dose of DJ's Rich Medina and Akalepse. I think I need to shake my hemi-spheres to some nice shit and they're always good for some hot tunes.
Yeah.
That's the ticket.
Apt has never let me down.

I think I'll go call Ed now and see if his camera stopped giving him a headache. Damn technology...

- Gone... but will be back... sooner than you think...

How Does It Feel

2006-08-14T22:42:00.000-04:00

When you came up for air and found you still couldn't breathe?
When you know it could be so very...
When you've waited too long?
When you think of soft sounds?
When you wish you could have recorded every moment?
When you know the experience is ...., just the way you think you remember it?
When I sounded like... stared satiated, doe-eyed, and it made you feel like...?
When you can't relieve that ache?
When you wanted it to last but the world was not built for two?
When it haunts you and you hate that it does.
When you want nothing more than more?
When you realized that more sometimes is, more often than not, never, ever enough?
When there's nothing else like it.
When you'll never be there again.

Hmmm... maybe one of these days you will be brave enough to tell me.
If you do, the doors will reopen but...
I won't hold my breath, however, I will chuckle a bit as I keep it moving...

Mala Lost A Friend...

2006-08-14T20:00:00.000-04:00

Ahahahahahahaha,
oh man,
Ahahahahahahahaha,
whew,
Ahahahahahahaha,
holy hot shit sheets batman,
Ahahahahahahaa,
gosh
Ahahahahahahaha,
*hiccup*
Damn.

Errr, I could give a fuck. Thanks.

Love me or hate me, I'm only telling it like it is.

P.S. Negro, you are fricken hilarious "Malacita, you don't half-step at being sexy, you run at it full speed... " Best quote I've heard all week (and the week just started). Besos cabron!!!
P.P.S. every once in a while I miss my hair... but not enough to grow it again. Hmpf!

This Is How It Went Down

2006-08-14T15:44:00.000-04:00

The day of the show:
I was a holy, hot mess. My sitter, who I had asked to arrive at 10 am, finally dragged her sorry ass to the crib at around 2:30 pm. It was all about cp time after that. I spent four and a half hours pacing. My skin staged a full-fledged revolt. I had butterflies out the wazoo. I had an attitude and it wasn't pretty. Nope. Not at all. I don't know why I was so nervous because it was not as if I had to get up on stage, but we worked so hard and I yapped an yapped about the show so I guess I was mentally nuts hoping it went well.

When the sitter finally showed up, I raced off to muMs' to try to re-record my part since we had made some minor changes to the script. Unfortunately for me, by that time it was too late to do anything but stare at each other like idiots and head downtown. We got a quick rehearsal in, set up the stage, everyone involved was late to some degree or another and then the skies opened up and sent forth a torrent of damn near biblical proportions. At this point I was stoic on the outside but inside I was roiling and bubbling and so forth and so on.

Then blessedly, the spot began to fill up. Bowery Poetry Club is not a large venue to fill but I must say that every other time I have been there, you could have heard a pin drop in Greenland for all the people that came. It was nice to see every chair with an ass in it, the bar full and people standing around. Margie's DJ friend was killing the deep house and I've got to get his name so I can go catch him spin somewhere. Showtime came and it went without too many hitches. The sound was good, I was on cue (whew). Margie and muMs did their thing and it was appreciated by the crowd. Put me on cloud nine. Seriously.

After the show Bee, Ree and I stopped by some nameless bar to go see Evil Dee, who wasn't there but I had the pleasure of a hug from Butta L who I've not seen in quite some time. The bar had all of 4 people inside, counting me, so I said my hellos and goodbyes rather rapidly and exited, door right, to tell Bee and Ree that it was not a go. We then went over to Sutra, which was still pretty thin at that point and the executive decision was made that food was in order, so we ran across the street to Boca Chica where we cussed Bush, praised Fidel and I stuffed myself in a most unladylike manner. I think I said "I ate too much" a minimum of 50 times once we left the restaurant. We got back to Sutra and it was jammin. Mary Mack threw on PSK and we all showed our age. Suavemente had me up dancing with Liz and not completing my double turns correctly. Poor Liz. I think I bonked her on the head at least twice. I've got to take merengue lessons. True story. For some reason, my lovely lady lumps drew a crowd during reggae. Margie gave me the 'oh lord' face and when I looked behind me to see what she was motioning towards, there was around 6 guys sitting there pitching trouser tents. Sheesh. And Ick!!

Bee had to leave to meet up with her beau, so we stepped outside together so I could retrieve my bag of tricks from her trunk. Um. Dude, where's my car? Hey y'all, don't park on First Street between First and A ever. All of the signs except the one waaaaaaaaaaaay the fuck at the top of the block, do not have night regulations. That one sign does, and that's the one that bites you in the ass at 2 am. We went back inside to tell everyone the news and got a ride to the towyard from Liz, singing merrily all the way. Funny how one can be merry at that moment, but I guess there was a whole lot of nothing we could do about the situation so why not be semi-joyous.

Car returned, after a $185 fee (ouchie),Bee and I headed uptown after a pit stop at McDonald (I just never learn) and I fell out once I got in.

Chilled with the girl over the next few days and Saturday it was off to the AfroPunk PJ party at Lucky Cat. It was a fun time, complete with a half-nude chick that made me drool somewhat, a pillow fight, bubbles and booze. My only problem with the night was the fact that if you breathed too hard, the record skipped. I didn't stay the whole night and instead took off with Malik, Naima and Siam to a bar down the block where I was introduced to the most rediculous thing in the world, the house remix of Riding Dirty. I now have a bone to pick with Chamillionaire. Word up. We didn't stay in Williesburg long. Ahmed showed up and we hopped the party van over to Max Fish. Nothing doing besides another drink, some more shit talking and then I went home.

Sunday night it was off to R&R to watch Kelsey play with Sick List and Margie throw down. The PunkPrototype party was more of the R&R vibe that I was accustomed to so I thought it would be a hot night. The only thing hot about it was the fact that I proved to myself that I can dance to just about anything, even tripped out bad shit (toot toot goes the Mala horn). The speakers were blaring all too loudly for such a small space and no one had the good sense to turn them the fuck down. Kelsey, kicked ass, of course. Margie's set wasn't that great since the mics blew chunks and she had to get a last minute stand-in for her song White Rabbit and it didn't go well. I love you Ron, but leave the bass alone. Omega Moon got up to spit some shit but looked like her heart wasn't in it. The best time I had was cracking jokes about the horrendous music with Ed and yelling "Titties" with Kelsey. Worse time I had was not having something pointy to stick in my ears to dull the sound of the somewhat awful music. Still and all I supported my folk and that's always a good time. And to those that took exception to my dress: um, fuck you. Thanks. By way of explaination, I wore a tube dress with a side cut-out that left no doubt that I wasn't wearing anything underneath. Some broad walked up to me and said "You know people can see that you aren't wearing panties?" Thanks for the news flash moron. I put the damn dress on. I was the first to know. Sheesh. Respect my sexy. After a quick stop into Lotus, I headed back uptown to sleep off the tinny ringing in my ears. Damned loud sound system.

So, that's pretty much it. I'm letting my hair grow in so I can experiment with a new cut. It's driving me bonkers. If my hair is long enough to brush, it's too damned long. I don't have a whole hell of a lot planned for this week besides getting back to my writing, but my besty is coming home in a day or two, so something interesting is bound to go down.

-& I'm out, chillin like a villan (or some shit like that)
P.S. Yeah man, all jokes aside, I am that bitch!

Brain Stew - Green Day

2006-08-13T19:31:00.000-04:00

Because this is exactly how I feel right now. Enjoy the song

I'm having trouble trying to sleep
I'm counting sheep but running out
As time ticks by
And still I try
No rest for crosstops in my mind
On my own... here we go
My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed
Dried up and bulging out my skull
My mouth is dry
My face is numb
Fucked up and spun out in my room
On my own... here we go
My mind is set on overdrive
The clock is laughing in my face
A crooked spine
My sense dulled
Passed the point of delerium
On my own... here we go

Who Is Really In Love Here?

2006-08-12T20:48:00.000-04:00

Wow, I have never gotten so many emails about one of my posts before. Y'all really went to bat for dude. I'm mean? Give dude a chance? Well shit, if y'all like him so much, you date him. Nah, lemme stop. Seriously though, why should I?
My life, just like everyone else's is one episode of experience after another. Some wonderful, some notsodang good. This happened to be one of the less fun episodes. Besides the fact that I love attention and I love writing just about anything, I enjoy sharing what goes on in my so called life with people in Ames, Iowa because I know there's no way in hell it's as interesting as New York out there. If I lived in Buelah, North Dakota I'd read this blog since watching the wind blow can get pretty boring. So when I read "your stupid blog" in the email he sent, the switched flipped and so did I.
I'm not a bad girl (somewhere someone that knows me just busted out laughing). Actually, I'm pretty good. I will bend over backwards, sometimes literally, so that my chosen and I have fun. I want those that deal with me to be happy. I want us to be satisfied. I don't think I am asking for much. I never do. And I think that's part of the problem.
As a woman I can say that many of us set the bar too fucking low. If a dude calls when he says he will call, we're all aflutter. If he buys us some little trinket or says something nice, we want to throw the motherfucker a parade. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. I'm not giving out medals to dudes anymore for doing exactly what they are supposed to do when dealing with someone they care about. Reverse the situation? Shit, I have made myself downright uncomfortable to please someone I'm with. I've given more strikes than there are in 9 full innings of baseball. I have gone out of my way, spent my last, dropped everything and gone running pell mell for someone else. I don't just want that consideration back, I fucking damn well deserve it. Fuck always having to be the one to reach out. Fuck supporting efforts like I'm some kind of human I-beam. Fuck being patient. Fuck being on call. Fuck playing my position and being considerate of someone else's goals and dreams. Fuck all of that. And the worst part is, I don't play that shit when it comes to most people. My patience is thinner than Mary Kate's left arm. You say or do some shit I don't like I will let you know about yourself. And not just on my "stupid blog" either. I'll say what I have to say to a person's face. My big mouth has gotten me into and out of more shit than an outhouse vat. I can smile at you today and turn on you like you're a dirty old man on a street corner if you rub me the wrong way. But for some reason when it comes to someone I care about, I put up with bargefuls of pure d grade a shit. Not only do I deal with it. I make excuses for why I do.
Fuck that shit.
I'll tell you what. This year has not been easy. I quit my day job to freelance because I want time to write and chase my crazy dreams. Needless to say, I've been rubbing 2 pennies together for so long Abe Lincoln's face is friction burned into my broke ass. I have cut off people that care about, male and female because I bring enough "next shit" to my life to not need theirs. As a result, there are more people I 'know' and less 'friends' in my life and it gets fucking lonely at times, but I deal. My Saturn has returned and lodged his big foot all up in my ass, forcing me to deal with years of episodes I swore I left behind. I have spent more nights alone with a cold rag between my legs than most people would think I have. Them: You are gorgeous. I know you have a man. Me: *insert disgusted snort here* Somehow, I've managed not to take up residence on a bell tower with a high-powered assault rifle. Each day I get a little stronger, and although that is great for me, it does not bode well for anyone trying to half-step in my waltz. The other night, I did something I haven't done in years, and it made me feel good.
I stressed and fretted. muMs and I fussed and fought. Margie caught the ugly face more than once, but in the end, it came together. So together that it justified the sleepless nights and heart palpitations. It let me know that people will respond to my words with more than just a comment or an email. I had more than one woman walk up to me and say "your poem gave me goosebumps because I've been there." I'm still glowing. Walking on air. Floating on a cloud. And all that sissy shit.
I have people that I didn't invite because I wasn't sure if it would suck. People that are furious with me right now. I kept my invitee list down to a select few that I wanted to be there for good or ill, because I counted them as people who cared for me. People who would hug me if it was good or it sucked. Everyone else showed. But him. Fuck that shit, right in it's ass. It's not as if he was struck by some incurable disease on the way downtown. Nobody's house spontaneously combusted. It was raining hard? Please lord, tell me that's a joke. I told my besty about it and I was asked if I were dating a gay man. Then to hear the lame ass excuses just put the icing on the cake. Fine. He did what he saw fit. And so did I. No one should get mad when blast goes on the "stupid blog". I'm not the one that pulled the dick move, he did and as such should deal with whatever the consequences are. Don't be sorry motherfucker, don't let shit happen in the first place.
I want to thank the 19 different people that wrote in to plead his case. You made my afternoon. "Just yesterday you were all lovey-dovey". Yup I sure was, but let me hip you to the mind of Mala:
I could give a fuck if I was getting tea-bagged by my husband on national television an hour before, hubby miss my shit and it's Divorce Court ahoy. I don't even want half, just get the fuck gone. I don't know what's happened recently, maybe it's some kind of weird inner growth, but judging people by the strength of their character has become easier. There are no pedestals left littering my front yard.Somehow, I've managed to put even those that I love in almost the same category as everyone else, with just a foot or two more rope. It's hanging season. No shorts. No prisoners.

Anyway, I was gonna write about the night but now I'm off to go get in trouble with Negro. I spent the yesterday and today chilling with the girl and he didn't get a chance to celebrate with me.
I'll get to it at some point.
Maybe Monday, because I'm sure hanging out with Kelsey Sunday night at R&R for his performance with The Sick List, will give me a few more episodes to write about.
'Til then

- & I'm out, catch me if you can
P.S. I may be fickle, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not having it. Put that in your mouth and chew it.

Boom: My Personal Life On Display IV

2006-08-12T15:00:00.000-04:00

Some people just don't get it...
So, you don't like blast huh?
Well baby, you know how it goes. I live my life on front street. It was no problem when it was all the good shit, now was it? Funny thing just happened. I reached slowly into my back pocket and there were some pills called "get over yourself." Have one. Sweet love, you're just making this worse. Who told you anyone knows who you are? Or even gives a shit? Here's a tip from me to you: When you walk past a blaze that you want to put out, you don't throw a log into the flames. This here, this right here, oh feel me love, when I sit down to type, this is mine. Mine. I say what I want, when I want, how I want. Your email? Deleted and responded to here. You know what would be smart? You wouldn't stop by this blog and you wouldn't have to know anything about me or my life, just like I do not intend to know if you got smacked down by a garbage truck. John Q. Public now knows that I have all of no use for you, since I didn't want you to think I didn't mean to be cold. Now you know. It's out here for mass consumption and if nothing else, I have put myself into a position that I have to live up to my word. No going back now. But be honest papa, you couldn't handle this ride. Could you? You thought I just talked more shit than I had tp for? Wrong. On all counts. I fuck up, I backslide, but I ride. Don't get it split, I adore you. Really, I do. Still and all if I can let go of someone who makes my blood run red and my skin hot and let go completely, what in the fuck made you think you were safe? You had it. However, not showing up for my shit? No papa, that's a deal breaker. I wish you all of the best and all that you so richly deserve in this here life, but there's no need to waste my time with someone that cannot support what I do. No matter how trivial it may seem to you, it's mine. So go your way and don't let the doorknob puncture your cute ass on the way out. Word up.

- Me. Yeah, I said it. So what?

The Rain On

2006-08-11T12:55:00.000-04:00

Our Play separated the men from the boys.
Hup, well lawksamercy! There was a boy hiding right under my nose.
Look here baby, honey, sweetie, love. Your excuses were lamer than a two-legged dog. You weren't sure of the address? How long have you been hearing about it? 2-3 months? Motherfucker if you look down a post or two THERE'S A FUCKING FLYER. It was a downpour? Funny, every seat in the house was full, the downpour didn't seem to stop anyone else. It was a long drive? Yeah, I know, that's what Bee said when she arrived from her long ass trip to come see my shit. So you wanna know why my voice was icey on the phone? Well to take a page from Miss Erykah, you should have kept in mind that I'm a writer and I'm passionate about my shit. I support strangers, friends and sometimes even people I don't like. It can be taken for granted that I would support my baby. And I did, until now. It's all fun and games 'til shit gets real. Words are my soul. Even if I only contribute one single word,it is a piece of my heart. You should consider yourself lucky that your absence did not darken my night for if it did, I'd probably want to lay one of my tiny fists across your considerable jaw. I love you but I can't fuck wit you. Nope. Not at all. And I'm not ya friend. So there you go, all the words behind the ice. Don't freeze your ass off on your way out of my life.

Riot act delivered.
Lets move on.
The rain stopped nothing, the seats were full, there was head-bobbing, arm-waving and clap, clap, clapping.
To every person that came out and showed love: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
You all made the severe case of nerves and accompanying oh-lord-please-make-this-good rash worth it. I thank you for all the compliments and kudos. I can't wait to share the expanded version with you all. I haven't done live work in a while and you guys made it a beautiful, trippy experience. You'll be seeing more of me, muMs, Margie and our different work in the coming months.

I can't stop thanking you all enough. I'm all weepy-eyed and shit.

To those that didn't make it (and didn't bother to call, text, send carrier pigeons, smoke signals, use indian drums): Um, Fuck your holes. Word up.

There'll be more about the rest of the night at some point, including, but not limited to: Seeing DJ Butta L, talking politics with Bee and Ree, "I ate too much", DJ Mary Mack SLAYIN 'EM, the 'audience' watching my buns, "dude, where's my car?", jamming in the truck, the tow yard and the ride home...

- & I'm out, tired but happy!

Damn, that was quick!!!
1:46 pm Reader mail IV
SparkieMark2001 wrote:
"I wish I lived in New York I would have come to your show. I'd hate to be your boyfriend. That was cold. You were all over the guy so how could you break up with him that easy? Didn't you love him? Does that mean you're on the market again? I hope I can meet you if I come to New York. I wish you all the best."

Mala replies,
Thank you, your presence would have been much appreciated. Trust me, you wouldn't hate being my man-friend, it's a hell of a ride until the wheels fall off. Technically it was a lustyloveaffair so he wasn't my boyfriend per se. Furthermore, I don't date boys, I prefer men. And cold was the feeling I got while hearing the sad ass excuses. Yeah I love him, always have always will, but loving someone means you support them and their endeavors. Also, loving someone doesn't mean they have to be a part of your life. At all. I'm taking no shorts and no fucking prisoners these days. No, I'm not back on the market. In the archives you wil find this:

They say: "Why buy the cow when the milk is free...?"
Well fuck them, whoever they may be.
The milk is no longer free..
And the cow is not for sale.

As for meeting me in New York, I'm always around and stranger things have happened. Thanks for your well wishes and for stopping by to read about me and my bullshit.

- Mala

Today, August 10th, 2006

2006-08-10T13:04:00.000-04:00

It's already a comedy of errors.
I'm running behind.
I'm nervous.
But still...

So ah, there's that.
Thanks

And a birthday.
I wish I felt more so I could send some good wishes into the universe.
But I can't.
Not because I wish ill.
Just because the feelings are coming up nil.
So I guess, all the best.

My nerves are so shot my skin is breaking out.
Being on go right now is giving me an attitude.
Gotta get this over with and move on.

Just like always.
Survive and keep moving.

- gone, sweatin like a runaway slave

P.S. Thanks for the advice D.Castro, the tea worked last night but not now. Maybe yoga will do the trick right now. See you later.
P.P.S. I know you got up at the crack of dawn & I know you'll be tired but if you don't make it I'm gonna pout until my face breaks. *muah*