Despite all the controversy and negativity surrounding this video, I have to say, it is perfect. It is a piece of art, which is supposed to be thought-provoking and provocative and I think she has done a wonderful job as a musician and as a feminist performance artist (my line of study, haha). This album, this song, these lyrics, the video and the message are perfectly beautiful to me. Exactly what I was looking for from her, this song has been my theme song lately (actually all her albums have been). Thank you once again Ms. Badu Baduuu-uuuu.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
life
a poem and two things that inspired it.
"mulberry tree" vincent van gogh
10 reasons to think twice:
1. My father is a dusty memory-leaking cardboard box beneath my bed
He has begun to wear shoes again and avoids the rain at all costs
He has stopped reading books and no longer debates socialism and baseball over cigars
My father has stopped believing in homeruns and underdog teams
He is back to glasses of whiskey and gin without ice, filled to the brim under sooty city lights
He does not believe in hammocks or stoops
He does not believe in grass and gardens or food that does not come in a wrapper
My father is a crumbling shack, trying to be strong but torn at the foundations
And every night he feels me, an arthritic, blood-clotting ache
Grinding his bones into gun powder
2. My best friend is a re-stitched smile worn backwards
An orchestra of a thousand regrets playing a never ending song
He is an unknown destination on a skewed map and the hope that he will make it there
He will make it there and promise each of his lovers imaginary things
He will compose music for no one and make vats of money doing it
He does not believe in money and will give all of it to every child on the street with hollow eyes and barrel drum stomachs
To every chance he can get to laugh like a full moon
And dance like a twinkling star
He believes I am a twinkling star
And every night alone he plays the guitar strings like they are my vocal chords
Singing him stories from the other side of the darkness
3. My baby brother is a black eye glistening tears like a mountain stream on a schoolyard fence
He will become more reclusive than ever and sleep in my room when he thinks no one is home
He will believe in guardian angels
And talk to me like his tongue is a pen and I am the pages of his diary
My brother will be the most sensitive boy in his class but only in quiet bathroom stalls and within the margins of his notebook
He has begun to seek solace in the arms of pretty young girls and the covers of my favorite novels
He will recite my poems and feed pieces of his innocence to hummingbirds and pond water ripples by our favorite park
He will wear my photograph in a frame on the mantel of his heart
4. My mother is an empty kitchen, dirty laundry and piles of yellowing papers
She will clean nothing but photo albums and treat my bedroom like an inviolable monument
Stare at all my self-portraits and want to gauge out the sadness from my eyes
She is the New Testament thrown out of her car window
And a broken prayer tucked under her pillow
She has begun to carry my scent in her nose and turns every corner expecting to see me
She does not believe in churches or prayer circles but will sit in them silently to watch other people suffer
She does not believe in homes or sanctuaries
She is still looking for her home or sanctuary
She will let me sit like a lump of guilt in her throat, my wings tied behind my back
Refusing to release me everyday
5. My family is a hurricane of yesterdays,
A battle between laughter and tears
A chewed up dream bleeding apologies and second hand love
6. My friends are all disconnected melodies floating above
Ticking time bombs of confessions and reasons to stop thinking
Drinking, snorting, smoking blame and guilt until they can’t feel shame any more
7. My community is a buzzing coffin
A beehive of questions and comfort foods
Sucking the last bits of sweetness out of teeth and apologies
They will make a plaque, a scholarship, a passing conversation out of me
8. My memory is a fading photograph
A resounding joke with an aftertaste like bile
A secret, an excuse, a forgotten promise, a wilting hope
A candle wick with no flame still expelling smoke
9. A blade trembling like an earthquake in my hand
Vomit in the toilet on a stormy Monday
Antidepressants swaddled in a tissue beneath my mattress
Refusing to leave the womb-like warmth of my bed all week
Vomit in the toilet on the first day of school
10. On February 14th 2007 I swallowed ten ibuprofen pills in the center of my bedroom
Surrounding me on the hardwood floor were clouds of torn flower heads and chunks of my hair
Salty tears and faucet water weighing down each inky pill like a piercing reminder
Rolling down my throat into prickling headstones in my stomach
I went back and forth about whether I was ready to leave
So I packed a knapsack in my spine and borrowed God’s eyes to read the map to Heaven
And what I saw was this poem, no milk and honey, no golden gates
Just this, an apology I curled into my flesh
All I know is life and I am lucky for that
That I never became the stop sign or the broken bridge in someone else’s path
That I am not a haunting smile or a fading photograph
That I am a candle wick with the flame still dancing, still expelling smoke
"mana" by mayra andrade
"mulberry tree" vincent van gogh
10 reasons to think twice:
1. My father is a dusty memory-leaking cardboard box beneath my bed
He has begun to wear shoes again and avoids the rain at all costs
He has stopped reading books and no longer debates socialism and baseball over cigars
My father has stopped believing in homeruns and underdog teams
He is back to glasses of whiskey and gin without ice, filled to the brim under sooty city lights
He does not believe in hammocks or stoops
He does not believe in grass and gardens or food that does not come in a wrapper
My father is a crumbling shack, trying to be strong but torn at the foundations
And every night he feels me, an arthritic, blood-clotting ache
Grinding his bones into gun powder
2. My best friend is a re-stitched smile worn backwards
An orchestra of a thousand regrets playing a never ending song
He is an unknown destination on a skewed map and the hope that he will make it there
He will make it there and promise each of his lovers imaginary things
He will compose music for no one and make vats of money doing it
He does not believe in money and will give all of it to every child on the street with hollow eyes and barrel drum stomachs
To every chance he can get to laugh like a full moon
And dance like a twinkling star
He believes I am a twinkling star
And every night alone he plays the guitar strings like they are my vocal chords
Singing him stories from the other side of the darkness
3. My baby brother is a black eye glistening tears like a mountain stream on a schoolyard fence
He will become more reclusive than ever and sleep in my room when he thinks no one is home
He will believe in guardian angels
And talk to me like his tongue is a pen and I am the pages of his diary
My brother will be the most sensitive boy in his class but only in quiet bathroom stalls and within the margins of his notebook
He has begun to seek solace in the arms of pretty young girls and the covers of my favorite novels
He will recite my poems and feed pieces of his innocence to hummingbirds and pond water ripples by our favorite park
He will wear my photograph in a frame on the mantel of his heart
4. My mother is an empty kitchen, dirty laundry and piles of yellowing papers
She will clean nothing but photo albums and treat my bedroom like an inviolable monument
Stare at all my self-portraits and want to gauge out the sadness from my eyes
She is the New Testament thrown out of her car window
And a broken prayer tucked under her pillow
She has begun to carry my scent in her nose and turns every corner expecting to see me
She does not believe in churches or prayer circles but will sit in them silently to watch other people suffer
She does not believe in homes or sanctuaries
She is still looking for her home or sanctuary
She will let me sit like a lump of guilt in her throat, my wings tied behind my back
Refusing to release me everyday
5. My family is a hurricane of yesterdays,
A battle between laughter and tears
A chewed up dream bleeding apologies and second hand love
6. My friends are all disconnected melodies floating above
Ticking time bombs of confessions and reasons to stop thinking
Drinking, snorting, smoking blame and guilt until they can’t feel shame any more
7. My community is a buzzing coffin
A beehive of questions and comfort foods
Sucking the last bits of sweetness out of teeth and apologies
They will make a plaque, a scholarship, a passing conversation out of me
8. My memory is a fading photograph
A resounding joke with an aftertaste like bile
A secret, an excuse, a forgotten promise, a wilting hope
A candle wick with no flame still expelling smoke
9. A blade trembling like an earthquake in my hand
Vomit in the toilet on a stormy Monday
Antidepressants swaddled in a tissue beneath my mattress
Refusing to leave the womb-like warmth of my bed all week
Vomit in the toilet on the first day of school
10. On February 14th 2007 I swallowed ten ibuprofen pills in the center of my bedroom
Surrounding me on the hardwood floor were clouds of torn flower heads and chunks of my hair
Salty tears and faucet water weighing down each inky pill like a piercing reminder
Rolling down my throat into prickling headstones in my stomach
I went back and forth about whether I was ready to leave
So I packed a knapsack in my spine and borrowed God’s eyes to read the map to Heaven
And what I saw was this poem, no milk and honey, no golden gates
Just this, an apology I curled into my flesh
All I know is life and I am lucky for that
That I never became the stop sign or the broken bridge in someone else’s path
That I am not a haunting smile or a fading photograph
That I am a candle wick with the flame still dancing, still expelling smoke
"mana" by mayra andrade
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