I’d like to take time and space to think,
Of the things we love to regard as fair,
Of the thin pale skin that blushes pink,
The cold color blue your proud eyes may wear.
You whose face that marks gold and silver coins,
Whose pale and callous hands rinse red with war,
Hatred sprang then and now from fertile loins,
Beckoning to us now as done before.
The brilliant whiteness of face and teeth
Reflecting golden sunlight all too well,
Harshly turned down to those lying beneath
Becomes for us bright, rich, glorious hell.
Keeping close and dear your father’s fair laws,
Keeping copper and brown skin in your jaws.
Copyright A.Davis
28 April 2009
15 April 2009
On Swag...
Yes, I know, that title is a little unconventional in relation to the others, but I think it fits...
:-)
So, this term started a while back, blew up big with the M.I.A. sampled song, rode the highs of a Soulja Boy single, and has permeated the vocab of people young, old, white, black, etc.
I do believe everyone has their own "swag" (mojo/"it"/hustle/je ne sais quoi), and mine took a blow recently...
When I came into this year, I was with a very close friend of mine, and I made my resolution both in my mind and vocally to her: this is going to be MY year. The year of me doing me, "swagger on a hundred, thousand, trillion". And, arguably, it has. Starting an hour or so into this year, I was already living up to that resolution, with people trying to get numbers, giving me the eye, and the like...
Oh your girl was ON.
This pattern continued as the weeks progressed, and my swag was on the upswing (paint a picture of the stockmarket decline or recent months, now flip it...you got it). Including back to back law school acceptances, I've been feeling right nice.
And then one school in particular came around and decided they wanted to ruin my streak. And it was my top choice. And I got into a school about 10 places higher.
When I saw the small envelope, I knew it wouldn't be the news I was hoping for. This is how it sounded in my head: "whatintheworldcouldhavehappeneditriedsohardtomakesureeverythingwasrightandidoublenotriplecheckeditOMGTHEYMUSTNOTKNOWWHOIAM!!!"
It truly was that crowded in there. And over the past few days, I've been thinking on those last few clustered words: they must not know who I am.
I'm going to repeat that until my swag gets back up to where it was...
Yeah...
:-)
So, this term started a while back, blew up big with the M.I.A. sampled song, rode the highs of a Soulja Boy single, and has permeated the vocab of people young, old, white, black, etc.
I do believe everyone has their own "swag" (mojo/"it"/hustle/je ne sais quoi), and mine took a blow recently...
When I came into this year, I was with a very close friend of mine, and I made my resolution both in my mind and vocally to her: this is going to be MY year. The year of me doing me, "swagger on a hundred, thousand, trillion". And, arguably, it has. Starting an hour or so into this year, I was already living up to that resolution, with people trying to get numbers, giving me the eye, and the like...
Oh your girl was ON.
This pattern continued as the weeks progressed, and my swag was on the upswing (paint a picture of the stockmarket decline or recent months, now flip it...you got it). Including back to back law school acceptances, I've been feeling right nice.
And then one school in particular came around and decided they wanted to ruin my streak. And it was my top choice. And I got into a school about 10 places higher.
When I saw the small envelope, I knew it wouldn't be the news I was hoping for. This is how it sounded in my head: "whatintheworldcouldhavehappeneditriedsohardtomakesureeverythingwasrightandidoublenotriplecheckeditOMGTHEYMUSTNOTKNOWWHOIAM!!!"
It truly was that crowded in there. And over the past few days, I've been thinking on those last few clustered words: they must not know who I am.
I'm going to repeat that until my swag gets back up to where it was...
Yeah...
13 April 2009
On Rejuvenation...
Ahhhh...relaxation....
I just slept more in the past two days than I did during the exam week at university... I sometimes wonder what kind of life I'm living when I begin looking forward to the breaks when classes first start up. Don't get me wrong, I do look forward to the classes I've signed up for, and the events on my campus, but I think I've outgrown the small college town setting...
I guess it's a good thing that I'll probably be in a nice, large, urban setting next year. (Law School = three more years of not having to become fully acclimated to the "real world")
But then I wonder if I really want to go to a big city. I just got used to the feel of the college town, and I'm about to tear myself away from it to readjust myself to the bustle of city life... Wait, let's be real, I've never been a small town girl. I like the type of diversity that you only find in cities with populations at least in the hundreds of thousands. I like the opportunity to go to a museum, then to a boutique, then hop on the public transportation system, go to a 5-star restaurant, hit a bar/club, meet people, go home at 3 am, and there's still traffic, sleep. Rinse, and repeat.
Mmmmm....metropolitan life. I can't wait!
I just slept more in the past two days than I did during the exam week at university... I sometimes wonder what kind of life I'm living when I begin looking forward to the breaks when classes first start up. Don't get me wrong, I do look forward to the classes I've signed up for, and the events on my campus, but I think I've outgrown the small college town setting...
I guess it's a good thing that I'll probably be in a nice, large, urban setting next year. (Law School = three more years of not having to become fully acclimated to the "real world")
But then I wonder if I really want to go to a big city. I just got used to the feel of the college town, and I'm about to tear myself away from it to readjust myself to the bustle of city life... Wait, let's be real, I've never been a small town girl. I like the type of diversity that you only find in cities with populations at least in the hundreds of thousands. I like the opportunity to go to a museum, then to a boutique, then hop on the public transportation system, go to a 5-star restaurant, hit a bar/club, meet people, go home at 3 am, and there's still traffic, sleep. Rinse, and repeat.
Mmmmm....metropolitan life. I can't wait!
02 April 2009
On Creativity...
Show and tell time...
So, I have a confession to make: I have a huge regret... I never pursued the creative side of me.
Don't get me wrong, I get my read/listen/view/taste/write on, but there's something of a performer that was never let out in the way she could have. I actually cannot remember the last time I put pen to paper in a creative manner.
When I was younger, I had desires of a bohemian life, full of colors, sounds, harmonies, galleries, studios, roadtrips, 8-hour conversations, and knowing the band. I was going to do it all, and then become president. My talent would be words, and I would give them to audiences every night relentlessly and with passion.
And then I was taught the five paragraph essay, the lyric poem, and the book review. I was forced to compartmentalize the very form that seemed to breathe freely and with ease within my mind.
And now, I'm afraid that it's gone. My head is too much like something from The Container Store: all sterile and clean, transparent and cold. It feels like science in my head, and it makes every essay feel like a ball bouncing hollowly through rooms that used to be alive and move with syllables that flowed on rivers of rhythm and groove.
I need a release.
So, I have a confession to make: I have a huge regret... I never pursued the creative side of me.
Don't get me wrong, I get my read/listen/view/taste/write on, but there's something of a performer that was never let out in the way she could have. I actually cannot remember the last time I put pen to paper in a creative manner.
When I was younger, I had desires of a bohemian life, full of colors, sounds, harmonies, galleries, studios, roadtrips, 8-hour conversations, and knowing the band. I was going to do it all, and then become president. My talent would be words, and I would give them to audiences every night relentlessly and with passion.
And then I was taught the five paragraph essay, the lyric poem, and the book review. I was forced to compartmentalize the very form that seemed to breathe freely and with ease within my mind.
And now, I'm afraid that it's gone. My head is too much like something from The Container Store: all sterile and clean, transparent and cold. It feels like science in my head, and it makes every essay feel like a ball bouncing hollowly through rooms that used to be alive and move with syllables that flowed on rivers of rhythm and groove.
I need a release.
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