Blackhur Psych 504. Graduate-level. by Angel Brynner.

This has been an on-going thing.

And on this matter iiii always felt i was pretty uncomplicated. But the only thing more complicated than the storied relationship between a Black man and his car radio is the relationship of a Black woman to her hair.

Women and their hair in general can get a little batshit crazy,but it always seems that whatever the issue is when it comes to “black hair” there’s all this extra amplification and what-not, with everyone- whether they have had the blessing of dealing with black hair or not-  feeling like they have  say in regards to what we do or do not do to our hair. And as per norm when it comes to stupid racist shit, black women themselves have become the biggest offenders towards any of us thinking outside the box for generations, be it the perm(relaxer, yall] box or the box braid.

We wont go way back into ye olde yonder with all of that because yonder is not the point of this here blog. But it seems such parameters had to be at least addressed as i set out on this here bender lol.

I have been a natural girl for most of the past decade. Curls, ringlets wilding out all over the place. Was it a statement? Nope. My hair literally has a mind of its own, i embraced her where she wanted to be and we just took it from there. DIY. Some of my best ditties have been self-done over the years. We[my hair & i] defiantly have had our fun, for real. Backlash? Of course,but as they say, it is always darkest before the dawn. I knew a greater change was in its wake. I was not trying to be Neosoul/ 5percenter/dredless rasta/vegan so&so,lahdidah… i just frankly have a lot of fn hair & love it for who and how it is… and am just done with it.

I walked through the “sessions” of mothers using my hair & pointing fingers initially mocking me until they started heralding what Hur was up there doing(&usually i absently had no real clue of those doings past the front door) so their daughters could have peace of mind frankly my generation got ribaldly lambasted for defiantly trying to have.  It’s been a strange war, & in protest and let mypeople go-mode, i’ve hacked it off, melted it off once[after thoroughly ENJOYING the Blonding of Angel Brynner],mowhawked it, Dominicanized it, & then got all black beauty/born free about it until that whinnied about new day finally arrived.

& Today? When i see Solange rocking the various looks she does… it makes my heart sing- something inside of me soars. When i see- not tourists to NOLA, but Local Ladies-not just creoles, but  evenMama’nems..proudly sporting their locks, their fros, their halos of various resplendent shades from goldenrod to black, gray & white… I feel  like the end of the Color Purple, all Love, all hanging out on the front porch. Nevermind Miss OPRAH TURNING IT BY UNVEILING HER HALO TO THE WORLD.

But the flipside? Now all the chicks who used to come for me [and the demonseed they’ve produced ] are moseying their asses down that road too. It’s “cute” now lol. Been watching that one come for a good two years lol. & I’ve worked Hard to make my peace with it and remember it ALWAYS WAS just hair, & most times they were being nasty because they didnt realize they had beautiful hair too.

But now, it is not that standing strong in the decade-long war has worn me out…it is that a damn near decade of looking [minus aforementioned seasons of sheerblondness et al] pretty much the fureakin same lolol… is going to wear thin on Anyone!lol.

I have had this goal: grow it out down my back wild,then decide to get all 90sLiiiindah Evangeliiiiiiiista about it and hack it all off. & at 14 to 16″ wilding out towards bra-line…it’s not bad, you know? And i had the interim cut in mind too. The Median chop instead of the Big chop that Naturas know about, exemplified at the time of this decision-making process by an actress named January Jones when she can be bothered to Do it. Which of course made me love it even more, seeing it when she couldn’tbe bothered, because it was still a hot,just been laid look,whether you have been or not lol. So today, after coming through with flying colors of yet Another stormy 1st half of October, i went in for an appointment at a salon i’d peeped out for the status report. As in “what’s going on back there?”blowout to check my MBBL progress[midback braline]. I got the first rollerset i’ve had in like 6yrs, minus the one i played at on myself out in Vegas in 2010. He wasnt Dominican, which is a whole nother lore. But he was a Nola’man, born and raised, whiteboy that’s been doing black hur for eons.ok. 39years.

And Here is where the Psychology of it all came into play hardcore.

I forgot, yall.

I really did. In Dominican Salons, because it all goes down in Spanish, you can pretty much tune it all out if you are not fluent.  At Cutler in Soho, it was ALL about the sheer genius there hooking my cut the F up because, being Greek & coiled to the Nth degree himself, he & the black gypsy hair up there got on hard and fast.

But here, today, after YEARS …i had it. The experience that roots WHY so much goes on for Black Women in salons. Him knowing HOW to handle my hybrid hair unhinged something. It was hilarious, chaotic and beautiful lol. Horror stories of salon-goings on poured out in this surreal cathartic fashion, from him seeing the grown-out layers that had been forciblycut into my hair in 08 leading to a recap of that, to the NaturaTrek, Unspooling, laughingly all the way back… to the day that went down in infamy during my parents divorce.

My mom and her crew all worked their asses off,&they had the standing hair appointments to prove it. Had mofos On CALL.speed-dial.[Remember Speed-dial?lol].  It was like that movie Shampoo. When the Newest, hottest guy hit the lakeshore, these ladies-these are Black middle to upperclass Ladies during the Reaganomics/Cosbyshow era-They LINED UP. They All just HAD to go.

My sister & I got dragged with, primarily because there was no way in hell my thin-haired mom could even be allowed to touch my hair after toddler to tween hair battlelines set in stone. My hair was down my back, bra-line before one was Really necessary, thick, heavy as it is now, like raw wild silk when i could be bothered. Used to get it pressed out if anything,& had no clue about the ringlets it naturally made due to 11 years of moms beating those mofos out of it.It was a combination of her Ebony husband’s thick fro-perfecting coils & her Chinese,Irish and African momma’s hybrid hair, and as soon as i was tall enough to respond like any sane one would to their hair being violently yanked, she wasnt allowed to do it again. Instinctual issues lol.

But i had read this book, about girls who’d gone to intern at a fashion mag in NYC, and this one girl, who they gave a Makeover to…as part of this Makeover[say it with me lol] …her hair was cut  into a shoulder-grazing Pageboy, sans bangs. I was 13, going into 9th grade, about to go up to NYC for the first time…and iii got it on my hair AND heart…that iiiii wanted that cut. Was going to lose[doing the math] maybe 10-12″ of hair to get it, but wanted it.  Was ready.

Mom & co were raving over the Newest new guy in town in between fits of rage & tears re: divorce. She hated me. well, she already had that clarified while they were ‘happily married’ but divorce-time? After he’d set me up to pack up all my stuff for him to come & get me because he KNEW this woman was going to make Me pay for his ish…and then didnt show? I was Him-incarnate in her minds eye lol .


I shoulda said Nevermind, shoulda Never went to that appointment. But i did. And New guy? Was really good at the Patti Labelle hair. So he went ‘this style’ll be better for you.” i said “No, I want the pageboy.” he said “ok.” with her watching{in her patti labelle hair}…and he hacked my hair off into…patti labelle fans of hair around my 13year old pissed off head lol.


Because its over. All that spilled out to this guy who’d massaged some fn nerves on my hair to say the least…and the circle just freaking closed. I laughed, then went “I always wanted to get that pageboy/bob cut, I never did. lol.”

And the war that had been raging around my halo ceased. it ALL evaporated. It was that  CHAIR. It was that event. And i Know it doesnt just happen to Black women in salons. I know it happens male or female when you trust someone else with, really, not even your hair, your face, your body…but its really about your heart. They know you in that instant of request for visual amplification- they see you for who you are in a way doctors never could because of HOW theIr hands are on you.

He finished my flatironing post rollerset[like i said, he isnt Dominican technically trained, but he did it as old-school as you can with natural hair], and it was fine…and we talked about doing that cut. Next time. Me, with a clear heart on the whole thing, my hair satisfied with his goings-on with it, and i went about the rest of my day. Which, in hindsight included flipping through the November issue of Oprah with her Yet again on the cover, rocking her Halo for all its worth. God bless her & halleluyah amen.

And when i got home…

i took a pair of scissors and hacked my hair into the Fuuuuhhhhllllllliiiiiiiiiiipppppppiiiiiinnnnggg Pageboy Long Bob i have wanted for the past[doing the math]24 years.

Spot-on gradation, neck & shoulders exposed, long lovely bits to tuck behind my ears. Seven inches.maybe eight. from the tip of my middle finger to the base of my palm. released into the wild lol. front tips grazing my collarbone. Still Natura, just pressed out, no clue what it’ll be curly lol, as well as full-on “NOTHING BUT JESUS GOT THAT ANGLE SPOT-ON IN THE BACK CUZ I COULDNT SEE JACK” Bruce Wilis about the whole thing. Attitude, not Hairstyle.



Angel Anime in a whole new way lol.

so there ya go.

{hearing strained wtfdidyou do mumbles}

So yep basically paid a man to do my hair(who did a really good job, and also set me frickin free from root ish), then came home & happily cut it all off lol.


Because its MY hair. & SHE is as happy as iiii am about the whole thing{my hair}, praise God! She’sbeen waiting 24 years to have this cut too lol.

& Like i said from jump.

It’s complicated with Black-okay- ALL- Women-okay…people…and their hair…anything. lol.

Change is frickin phenomenal.

TAKEN2, ART&WAR. by Angel Brynner.(should i say “spoilers”?)

I just saw the movie Taken 2 last night.

You who know me know of my shall we say penchant for action movies:the highlight of this excursion was seeing the trailer for the next Die Hard installment, and MY MOVIEnovember is being set NOT by vampires but by SKYFALL,baby…I  can’t WAIT to see THAT MAN jump into THAT train the way he does in the trailer with a full sense of the why behind it.

But onto the film TAKEN2…to the point action-flick. A man acting just like the man the average dad rails he’d be IN the situation as he’s screaming at the TV[movie screen,what have you] next to the daughter who would be the kidnapped child he was protecting, in exactly the same way lol.


This is for the dad who never gets to tell his whimmery kid to “Shut up & drive-!” “shut up & do it!” “Go!Go!”…but who dreams of doing it. & in that dream, the whiny nebulously adult teenchild has sparks of intelligence that are purely-AND I MEAN PURELY- from him.

HOW in the world THIS Father, who had to go through HELL to get THIS Child who was taken in the FIRST MOVIE didn’t come back to L.A. & DEMAND that she & her mom take self-defense classes-especially since he is some sort of security professional ….


…but if we were going to this kind of movie for relational aspects outside of Eddie Murphy & Judge Reinhold, we needed to be popped in the forehead and reminded this is a frickin Liam Neeson movie lol.

I didnt MIND the movie.i’d put it off, having a feeling my biggest premonitory foible with the flick was going to come true & come big.

And BOY O BOY, did it.


Why DO you HATE FAMKE JANSEN?! WHAT DID SHE DO TO YOU?Did her portrayal of Jean Grey haunt your dreams for years after the 2nd to last Xmen and you just had to make her pay for killing Professor X?

Even a Little cohesiveness as to why these two were together besides he was a dog & she was a marrowless bone that needed to be rescued would have been soooooo enjoyed.

Instead, you take one of the finest, subdued female action hero/villain successes on celluloid and you tell her the only way she will ever work in that boundaryless “town” again( since you shoot all over the place) is if she apologizes for that strength, for bringing that character to screen by sniveling, crying, gibbering, and then- at like FIVE different points in the movie where she could’ve started busting balls or at least trying to battle-on, not without my child style- you make her snivelsob”No!” & go along with the ruse.


This is no different that the black man getting killed in a horror flick first lol.It’s a trope. an old one. And with all these guys who’ve married &got with these “strong 2012 women”…I mean come on!

Even…even in True Lies…Jaime Lee Curtis…eventually got hardcore!

Oh the vaginal infamy!lol

They slit her jugular & strung her upside down with chains.he frees her.


Famke Jansen spends 90% of the movie unconscious or screaming & sobbing.

But at least there’s Ice cream.

My inner actionhero chick wants to beat this director’s ass lol.

But she appreciates the Krav Maga scenes.& the rod fight.that was kinda cool.

Brain-wise, I give it a B. For being true to what it is.Revenge porn for the fathers who’ve long since forgotten or lost the ability even to protect their daughters inthis bizarre world we live in due to its current everyday dangers, if they give a fuck at all. The B goes solid for all the girls who get odd,bossy calls from their Dads on the heels of them seeing this flick. At least the mofos call in, right?

But my Vahjayjay gives it a D for FN Famke Jansen.

The grieviousness of devious groupthink. by Angel Brynner

i Just had this chick run up to me after i’d spent an intense evening away from the compound. Asking me if i was mad at her due to something shady she attempted to do while i was FOH this morning . A chick i’d never spoken to before she tried to do this thing & failed, & whom i didnt think about after.

I had 72 people check out in the space of a half an hour, she wanted shit she couldnt get & tried to do it herself but didnt realize she couldnt until she was making a fool of herself in front of two of us with her nasty, futile demeanor. My smile as she tried it freaked her out mid-antic and she slowly backed away from what she was fucking up anyway, we fixed it, and the day carried on,meaning like 54 more people checked out over the remaining stretch of time.

Turns out she is snogging the rootrat at the base of all things that fell apart with lilbast, who’d stirred all kinds of other stuff up prior to finding his pygmalion muse in my exmaleplatonicwife lol. After my shift i saw that.  No big whoop. She’s a step up. He normally fucks what his racist ass refers to as mexicans & scuzzy gutterpunks who then try to drag new carcasses up into our floor in his absence, which had led to “i will fucking kill your gutterpunks & hand you your ass if i find any of these bitches in my things” clarifications. She doesnt absently come across as the thieving kind, so whoopie.

Absently aware of her as a Quasi-longtermer, who in typical fleshpuppet fashion, had been watching the flow of the snide carping of others on staff who clearly do not understand what “i could give a fuck about any of you” truly means as she was trying to find a way to bond with them, seeing as though she was going to be around for awhile. Typical kids at school mentality, but with me cast as “The Blunt bitch with a violent streak” talked about in hushed tones instead of the geek they pummel. The one everyone wants to have a story of tangling with as their badge of entry lol. “she’s such a bitch” shit. Par for the course. Whatever.

But in her odd “are you mad at me?” mess? I’m just like…well i honestly was like”..what?”

“You know, what i did this morning when i-i-”

& i looked her in her eye & saw it. That it had been intentional. Her going for her badge. Also saw the other aspect of this whole groupthink shit. After the bruhaha settles, and they’ve said all the shit they’re going to say about me, & i’m just like whatever fuck you…and it all goes back to “normal” because it’s a boring cycle amongst those live/working under same compound roof…the tonality of their mean-groupthinktalk had changed, throwing the wannabedown newbie for a lark. She’d charged me because…well because she had been dog-paddling after being deceived by these fools.

I just sighed, locked eyes and went “I dont even Know you.” She blinked in shock as she saw -like I saw it register in her eyes that i didn’t know her, didnt care what she was trying to do to be down, and her choosing to go for her badge to bond with them meant nothing to me because THEY mean nothing to me. But even if she had Not gone that route, its not like we would’ve been friends anyway. Even before it was officially “not my thing” the other day, I’ve been on the road too long to ring in the day with the  whole phony “besties found on the rails” bamboozled shadunk.

“No, no-” i said softly but evenly. Her face paled as it fully registered i wasnt even participating in the cauldron of hate they’d convinced her they were cooking me in, that she had to spoon up before she could be worthy of their crewdom. & That i had accepted her choosing to be in on it.

“I’m not mad at you.” I said wearily. But I continued on the path she had jumped in front of me on, leaving her dumbfounded.

I used to say people are strange.

They arent.

When you see them for what they put in front of you…the love the give or reject, the strife they strive for to cancel out any even simplistic…People are not strange at all.

Don’t try to “see beyond” the shadiness or the snarkiness or the cuntiness. Accept them as who they show you to be. And then walk. Just walk. It took until 37 to learn that and see the walking on manifest in my own actions. but thank God for all versions of that word.

What do you do if one from within that whole whatsoever pile suddenly pops into your peripherals, though, right? What about when you walk & then…That was what used to hurt me in the past. I’d always been fine whatever with the hate, but the hypocrisy of one of the crowd ambling over when no one could see…who Knew the crowd was foul & wrong- I have cussed more folks into their graves over That shit than the initial cause celebs that made me walk away.

Until i realized, today…that all i have to do is ask them WHY they are there. Now. Now that we all know how it stands.

You can’t hang with people who openly hate me & then come try and hang with me too, even in thought, even in the spirit. i used to allow that, but no more. it’s futile. Your association with whatever hates me casts you as the very same. And it’s a long shadow. It’s a valley i have been fighting my way out of for some long years. Trying to find a “how” that simply doesnt exist.

Yes, the bible says pray for those who persecute you. But you didnt see Jesus hanging out with the Pharisees  for fun. Ok, maybe it WAS fun for him,knowing what he was going to end up doing. But…

You really Can’t serve two masters. That’s not religious, that reality. You can’t. & if your friends serve two different masters, in the end, when it starts to get real, it will come down to the same thing.

I’m grieving a lot of things right now. But the clarity arising in the midst of it is Stunning. and worth it.

Wade in tha water by Angel Brynner

It’s almost “Never touch a Black man’s stereo” mode. It’s a thing. it is…you know what it is? an Era. It’s the beginning of an era. Something good is about to happen and its going to take more than words to document it. My inner child came home in waders-those thigh-high fishing boots i’ve always wanted, even though i havent learned to fish yet.

She is now making snow angels on a mountain of acryls[acrylic paints], brushes and whatnot, as i peer shyly over at the most important acquisition for ME…sketchbooks.

we went way out in the boonies just to have a plethora, an abundant selection of them to choose from. It had been that long.

“You can just use that paper[laser]& a clipboard, right?”

I’d reacted like someone had said i could take my child’s skin off & stretch it so he’d have room to grow in it. “No- NO!nowhat is- no-sketchbooks-i NEEED…sketchbooks.”

I didnt know it was that bad until all that came out of my mouth.

Two. 9x12s. Ok and a third one-but its more of a journal, smallish covered with gilded peacock feathers. That one felt Gooooood to grab.

Long time.

There’s a workbook gotten early on my re:arrival here.but its not a sketchbook.huge.gorge. not beat-up-able. I’ve sketched. All through the workbook for the past 6months[omg i’ve been here 6months in like 3 days.i made it!]. Designed three dresses over a week ago.different paper.technically disassembled pads perfect for the proportions i croquis out at. i even got a sheet music pad the other day to facilitate part of the current book project. But a sketchpad? I’ve bought hordes of journals, moleskines, planners et al…but it is very possible i havent bought a simple good sketchpad since nyc 2009.

Out the corner of my eye it gleams at me.Has been beckoning me the entire time i’ve been writing this post.

“Come smell my paper.”

“Taste me.”

“Drag your fingers across my…grain…:”)”

It gets almost pornographic up in here…very wuthering heights, lady chatterley,story of O~ as in “…oh my…what weight is That~?”

Onto my only enduring negro spiritual lol.

Thank God for paper products lol


LOVE YOU BACK, on a day of divorce

saw this after handing off FOH to lilbast. it made a wry smile spread across my face because they really look happy…and i’m happy for them & for seeing that.

First we’ve spoken since the outbreak& it was no big whoop because we now know where we stand. he’d rather try to steal from me than stand up to the friends stealing from him. ” Friendship” came to equal agreeing to being used by him or else. I guess i marvel that he didnt even realize there was another option for me to take.

I’d spent months with him mitching to me about how they treated his ship. My saying to them “you know this is his only $,at least give him something” was heard then blocked out because he allowed it. They all know they’re in the wrong, yet keep using him because he allows it. Yet they pay me.

You’re not a friend in this country until you look the other way at people you actually care about  as they get metaphysically raped. So i take myself out the running for friendship from this point out. It’s been three decades of variations on that fucked up key.

He came on playing mopey music. Instead of his normal griot. head came in. i made a joke about my “exwife” in response to  whose music it was. bast got all bessie-eyed, head got all lol.

“but yall havent signed the divorce papers yet, right?lol.”

I laughed.

But i’m done. I’ll be polite.I know it sounds to the contrary,but for the most part i always am. But being a friend will never happen again with this person. I wont allow it. Papers dont need to be drawn up. I have stuff to do here. & He was my best bud here. Until i refused to be charged extra so that the friends who mattered more could keep stealing from him without him feeling it.My refusal? Got spread as though I was the thief. The only one that wasnt robbing him But i took it. & watched him side & sneer with the very ones he knew would spit on his grave on top of the thieves, imagining in my agreeing to the days He chose for me,imagining the money he thought he was missing- that they told him he HAD to be…but it is what it is. & they are who they are. & no matter the niceties that glaze over things from here on out…it will not be forgotten. Mopey music or not.

“When people show you who they are, believe them.”

Maya Angelou said that. It’s true in both directions in this.

What i liked about the Obama shot when i saw it was that they looked 100% for each other & for enjoying each other. To have that with someone, you have to extricate yourself from all the dross you’ve been filling up on in lieu of believing or going for it. The ones who will whore you if you let them vs the ones who couldnt whore you even if you needed them to because they have your back for real.

As for me? I appreciate the picture and the thousands of words i dont have to say because of it. But from here on out, i feel like i gotta leave it there. There’s no point in loving even platonically when you see they don’t love you back, right?

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

Stephen Chbosky wrote that in perks of being a wallflower, a book he just got backed by  like frickin John Malkovich to adapt to screen and direct.  I’ve been a better friend than i’ve Ever had in my life. It has gone from feeling like a demoralizingly hopeful Bjork song to a black comedy of sorts, that topic. it’s time to mine it, dont ya think?lol

Forget “people.”

Onto Butterflies.


My heart and head are tuning out this and focusing in on butterflies instead. The bases are down. The color selection process begins in the next 48, as does sketching out the designs. My head & heart go there. Hopefully my butterflies will be soaked full of sheer, sweet sentiments that will bring out the best in those who get to see them lol.

small dreams. sprout.

It’s something i used to write off as a “silly dream.”

I wanted my own garden. To eat freshly grown, locally grown food. ideally, of my own lol, you know? That I had something to do with. Now this was no lark. Growing up, my Dad turned out our backyard-he was an fn genius about it too- he salvaged the sandstone the city tore up when it switched most of our sidewalks to concrete & built out patios, had a wielding zone, even landscaped and designed the family dog’s territory. But What was coolest? Dude had a garden. In our backyard, in the middle of Cleveland. We even had a cherry tree. & Tomatoes. He could grow Anything. He wasnt the only one.My mom’s dad had a frickin vineyard strung  up across his workshops out back-this is on Kinsman- & I mean the kind of grapes i now have to pay  frickin $12 for like barely a pound of. Her mom handled the peach & plum trees, & we didnt even always get along lol…but we agreed on her preserves being-to this day, the best preserves i’ve ever had. Nevermind the peach cobbler. I was a city-kid for sure, but just like Clevelanders say the word “wash” like everybody still is in Birmingham or Georgia…If you had a house, if you had a yard…and somebody in that house had some sense….yall were growing Something. Citykid?Yes. But  one who Loved the West Side Market, which is like a European-style mercado, open-air kind of shindig- an institution, probably as old as the city- with piles of produce as far as the eyes could see. And to this day i really have no clue if it was all backyard or actual full-on farmers were trekking into the city to sell their wares.

My whole gotta grow something thing? IT  became one of those “when i finally…i’m gonna do xyz for me because its always been on my heart.” kind of things we tend to absently never get around to doing because they end up getting hidden under all the other stuff piled on top of your heart . Add to that the whole wanderlusting, never in one spot for long thing lol.

When I lived in NYC & there could be no other place, even as i was watching the downward spiral of all that had been “the good&great” about it, that motif was always on the mix. Even as i began to subconsciously retreat lol.

The more neighborhoods capitulated to  scenesters, hipsters and various forms of gentrification and movie-set hybridization, the more ethereal the imagining of the whole thing became. But even before the blood had been drained from the body that is Manhattan, I used…to dream of even then, my version of “Away from it all~” atop 150 Fifth Avenue in the little building on the roof of it, utterly and happily hermitized, no mountain needed, nothing but skyscrapers, sky and container gardens ambling across the rooftop that had transfigured itself via my imagined green thumb into an edenic meadow.

Motifs morph over time. Whole Foods juggernauts get born, raised[who knew the first one in the country was right here in NOLA?], and spread like the flu, spawning this and thats akin to them, and the dream of it, by technically having the gloss of being answered, fades. Or at least shifts.I got used to ambling through the Union Square market for a sensory fix. Spent lots of time in ethnic markets and teeny cheese shops, the beat-up spots on tenth avenue like i was absently retrofitting the whole thing to appease my psyche. Then i gave up the NYC ghost and all the seemingly futile adaptive behavior that had come to go with it.

There was a strange blip of a return to form when i first came to NOLA in 08. The TCC center i did all the volunteering with was in on the ground floor of the Hollygrove Farm here, which blew away all speculation to become not just an example, but a beacon, a training center for urban farmers. Me? i was the sheepish chick hobbling through the aisles stupidly, not connecting the draw, nowhere near in the dirt…but I loved that place, & the people who came together to make it so spoke to something sweet and real in my chest. Plus…they let me name the chickens lol.

There were a few more radar blips across 2010 past the Hollygrove Farm: The guesthouse i worked at down in the Bahamas grew most of their own vegetables, had fruit trees & even composting; the sister of the crankily cool artguy neighbor responsible for various domes across the isle  raised the chickens that produced the brunt of the eggs-some of which were frickin BLUE; and people traded things grown on their own plots like it was going out of style, but with no pomp & circumstance. My favorite person in the hood had turned her entire rocky piece of land into a paradise of tomatoes, beans, i think even pomegranates- Like she grew Everything out there-& it was a laidback science, a sport, even. & the surferdudes? When i left they were messing around with honey farming.  For me it was like a strange promised land. I think i was happiest there really due to how everybody just grew what the heck they wanted…there’s something to the mentality of that…it just spoke to me; In September of 2010, visiting family i’d not seen in 20+years had me end up on the 40acres & a mule farm in Macon,Georgia of my dad’s older sister, with horses, sweet potatoes the size of newborn babies & snap beans. That week was the best i’d had in connection with family in a long time.

But whatever bell had been rung was lost in the din of  a year and three months in Miami/South Beach on commissions and artist residencies. There was nothing beyond the  trek to Whole Foods on Alton damn near daily, absently back to nyc-last breath form. Convienence with no real connection to where it was really coming from, no matter the artifice “being purchased from Whole Foods” allowed it to have by default. When i was holed up in downtown Miami for the LegalArt res, i heard rumblings of a market where lesbian bikerchicks made strange cheese and you could buy a pound of hand hammered fresh tortillas for like a dollar[!], but it was all like urban myths to me.

The fire got stroked back alive again in 2012 in Queretaro, Mexico, at Kukuruku the eco-hotel & hostel i got to do the artist residency at for 3wks. They too, grew their own goods…and here, as i got winged by butterflies and actual royal blue hummingbirds crashing into me to say hello…it was done…on their rooftop, like that first nyc inner vista. When i got stuck in San Antonio-remember the Alamo my ass- what saved me & got my ass back on the road after Easter was 48 hrs working for a vegan spot on the outskirts of downtown that grew much of their own goods too. Harvesting Kale and artichokes et al.

Since being back here this April, i’d thought about …like doing the subscription service for the Hollygrove Farm, you know, something…even checking out the current “Locavore Scene” that has sprung up for the invasion of hipsters on the bayou in the absence of good grocery stores. I just could never do it. I don’t need the scene. just show me the goods, i guess. Until the other day i saw this oddly posted sign for something about a small urban farm i’d not heard of in the scenester scouting of the landscape.

It took like ten different searches to find out more about this place. Turns out…it’s a chola& two friends…who have been farming basically in a garden i’ve walked by absently since my first stay in NOLA. Pretty much her own backyard[& now a few additional lots across the city].

I have to try it. At least a box.Just to see. If backyard beans still taste as good lol. & If the circle is at least quietly closing for a little while, and whatever this weird seed IS in me on this subject matter will indeed be watered.