“Michael Brown and the new two wrongs may reveal the right.” by Angel Brynner AOLAB 17AUG2014

…So …the riots are all over CNN in the tv room.
Been Oddly reticent on this one. But here goes:

Should this kid have been shot?No.
Yep-it’s that plain & simple. & it would be to ANY parent if they put their own child’s face in the place where THAT kid hit the ground. Imagine your daughter on the ground after putting her hands up, no matter what she did. No matter how Black or blond that daughter is, the answer is still no. That making it a “daughter” makes some people get that in a way they couldn’t over a son is a whole other post.

…BUT- parents acting like any demon-possessed kid [of any skin color]was an angel when the kid is robbing & choking folks[ if it IS him] actually IS some mess that grew old decades ago.

Should he have stolen anything OR choked anyone? No…but the cop didn’t even know he was a suspect in that. So…bluntly stated, there’s no legal stance the cops can take to cover that jerk’s ass…and THEY need to string his ass up on their own before those they’re supposed to protect justly burn that city to the ground in “protest” of their so-called “protection.”

JUST as much as parents-ACROSS THE COLOR BOARD- need to be Raising their kids to be decent individuals instead of “copping out” … until crap just like this goes down where they can cry in the cameras shoved in their faces for the morbid entertainment of sick masses. This is being said from an area where both sides of the color line fail HORRIBLY on that mess.

But the irony of the collision of those two kind of fuses… the irony of THAT there MESS is not lost on me. And in all this madness being stirred up on both sides… i feel like much of IT is because its not lost on you guys either. There’s a strange panic to all this. BUT Ironically…this f’d situation with seriously questionable vibes on both sides MAY be the only way the falsely victimized nuances both sides of this hide behind to keep doing their fucked shit…that neither side wants to own …will forcibly be broached.

Until the Lohans and Ryders of the world are getting winged by Barney’s guards for doing sim shoplifting mess no one’s going to be shouting “fairs” on this. That they tried to make it look like a black cop did the shooting is more insidiously foul than trying to release the cctv shots which had nothing to do with why the cop took aim.

But here’s the rub: This country grew both of these folks.

& “within your children lay God’s judgment against you-” can get really deep really quick. We’ve been avoiding dealing with the blunt details of this dynamic for a while.

Is this modern-day lynch-mob mentality? Yes. Sadly. An already violently disturbed mentality has turned in on itself after being swept under the rug for generations, presenting itself as much more of an aberration in these latter-days of possible plenty than ever before. But lying like feral folks championed in odd ways within and without our impoverished communities [Martha Stewart brags over hardcore rap being top played on her ipod] has not been going on for a very,very long time is part of the problem. It’s two sides of the same fucked coin that we keep “losing” so as not to deal.

AND…we’re going to have to deal with it.
Which sucks. Or our kids on both sides are going to end up wiped out by our refusal to handle this mess once and for all.

I truly believe there are less racist assholes in this country in 2014.
But i ALSO know for a fact that the hardcore jerks have raised their offspring HARD and suckled them long on that racist juice off in the cut.
Which has produced some fucked up people…as well as a slew of people who see how sick their parent’s racism IS and want nothing to do with it. Both sides of the color-line on that one too.

Which means we may actually have a fucking chance as a people.

My heart goes out to those of you reading this that are literally LIVING in the MIDST of this rioting mess. People forget when they’re gawking at the television that very real people live their lives where the latest spectacle and firebombs are jumping off.

But for  this kid to have come up and then fallen down the way he did there…means the mess was already foul there under the rug for a very long time. Which makes my heart go out to you all even more. The mourning you’re going through with all eyes on you due to the way this kid lost( and may have lived) his life… feels like a long time coming.

Was he a good kid, a bad one? Technically a good man? A bad man?

He is a human who got gunned down in the streets in an area rife with injustice at the hands of cops.

Martyrdom is very real. Even in 2014. And sometimes its the only thing that works.




“Pre 39”, “almost post-38” or “Angel on the horizon of the 39th…”

in one month and five days I will be turning 39 for the first time ever. Bouts of nakedity are sure to escalate as I meander towards this anniversary of life.

I’m excited. And writing lately. Hit and passed 20,000 words in my fourth book 48hrs ago. Also Hit and passed my 12th bday in Christ. which was cool… a mellow meal at Mopho followed by a tough tai chi class.

All is good.



I grew up in the Cleveland Museum of Art. Literally. First place they put me so as to  not draw on walls had walls chock full of all kinds of stuff I slowly but surely wrapped my entire being around over the years. But it wasn’t until third grade that it became official. And I owe it ALL-WAIT-I owe it all to GOD…but getting all Paul planted, Apollos watered about the whole thing, only one man on this earth gets the prize of turning my little creative ass out and that is due to the image on the front of his liner notes. The[unexaggerated] Lore of Angel[no surname necessary at this point] includes a daddy DJ who let no one else but his arty daughter touch his records, finding that image protecting vinyl, a pair of scissors, the sliced open plastic of the front panel of a trapper keeper and a vaguely remembered confiscation or something.

🙂 I’m gonna be an ARTIST.

[aka buck naked painting allatime~damn near showing maaaah a******! artistically in whatever medium I fackin feel like!]

When he was in NOLA last week for Essence Fest… I almost went. THAT tells you reams of stuff I am not going to say.  I’m not a lemur for much, lone wolfin’ it like a motherfact… But the Prince gang is one that I entered long ago and have Never tried to get out of. it’s deep. I mean… not only is he the only man my guardian angels had to tie me up so as to not let me run away to paisley park as a kid…the brunt of them took on the bone structure of his crew in my mind’s eye. I see other lands and realms through eyes God let his little ass brazenly open when I was a wee one. There is not a man who has known these lands who wasn’t bowing at the altar of Prince. & that’s said globally speaking, across Languages. That’s said using his tracks to communicate with lovers whose languages I didn’t know yet. Madness, pure heady madness, all my wilding out way back when due to seeds planted by him[ & Madonna] lol.

And not only that… out of All these damn musical nuts that have drawn all sorts of shall we say extravagances  and flourishes from me[ all visibly as tattooed by him as I somewhat secretly was, btw and it’s not like its that many!]…when I finally DID meet HIM?Prince is the only one who didn’t lose his flipping words. Prince is the only creative man I have EVER met on this planet who not only is not oddly scared of my Amazonian ass in bewildered way… HE started vocally shutting folks down who were flipping over what I was saying So I could clearly and loudly say it. He already had me from 8…but when he shut down a room full of presidents, other musicians and executives, all “LET HER TALK!” …in a room I was only even in  on a technicality[ read:nyc loophole]…it moved so beyond “ride or die” that it’s like beyond the 7th House mess up in here towards that man.  He’s the only man I’ve ever SEEN stand 100% up for me. Full on. The ONLY one. Artistically or otherwise.

Which could kinda suck, but maybe it’s a Highlander thing lol. Maybe for a chick like me there can only be one lolol. And that ONE dude who is Gonna DO that shit and do it HARD as a motherfuck…being PRINCE ROGERS FN NELSON… is not a bad card to draw. Especially with my mouthy ass. You really don’t need anyone else after that lol. And I doubt I was thunderstruck by meeting ANYBODY else but Jesus ever since then.

Long ago he gave me a concept of an expanded family when my nuclear one was going radioactive through his music, videos… and of course…Movies.

[yes, I said plural. don’t hate lol.] But before getting all happy weepy-

this is all coming forth due to One of those movies in particular…That literally changed MY life…and is the reason everyone born between 85 and 86 needs to kiss that man’s rings like he is the pope… because PURPLE RAIN turned out Everybody on the planet.


wHOA. I mean- like- Wow. Things change…but of all the stuff that fell away… I still am most happiest in much less than mah draws drawing and painting like there are waves of dry ice curling round my toes in a purple room.

These shots are works in progress OF ME STILL UNABASHEDLY dancing in the nakedity I once  pointed to his ass as proof of it being totally okay to be like… when they were trying to force me to put some damn pants on and stop drawing on myself..

Tossing ganglands, yall. Happy Birthday, Purple Rain. Still… I would DIE 4U.




Yeah… so…

Inner-child  & I have been having a hard time conceptualizing salads this year. If we get them  out somewhere there’s this inner conversation of “See? all we’d have to do is Get all that stuff and then we can do that at home.” But seven months into 2014 I think I’ve made two at home & they kinda sucked. I mean Borrrrring.

And since I rarely do boring with my food…they just weren’t happening [food is fuel, my ass! Food is a glorious sensory experience given to us to relish by God! see?! Relish! just don’t be a dick about it lol].

Now…I’m not talking about  labeling the deranged Americana idea of salad with all the mayo and yada yada- as healthy…but  those we got down. I did just post something about a shrimp & quail egg salad that lit my heart on fire…and a potato salad…and I keep eyefucking lobster at the market because I so wanna try to make lobster rolls this summer…even though I’m not all ga-ga over lobster in the first place. It’s probably horrifying for it to register “she’s desiring lobster to…make lobster rolls” instead of some swanky what have you, but a life lived is a lived life.

But after focusing so hard on learning what and how to juice correctly…who knew those juicing eggplant are kind of trying to kill you? [Nightshade, baby~] i sort of blanked out on the whole eating vs drinking vegetables. But months in,as is the norm with any cult[food or otherwise] you come across that are you in or out? gangland item &… inner child put her foot down. All of a sudden, everyone was championing  some mess about “you should chew your juice” …and THAT was it. She just tapped out.

“I’m done-I’m not gonna Stand here..with your~i’m just gonna say it…health-nutty butt[*gasp*]..Chewing Juice… these people are- If we’re CHEWING, we’re chewing food!dang nabbit!! Fiddlesticks!”

ok, it wasn’t that bad. But there was a period of going for the juicer and suddenly finding myself in other things, it collecting dust. Baby was NOT having it. So I got a replacement blender-I’d donated my 1st to the shack in ELH I went to write in for any margarita making madness that should hit it in my wake. Logic:My South Beach Summer cold soups when it’s so hot it doesn’t even matter the Ocean is our front yard. Plus I can put cilantro & spinach in a smoothie and be like bam!*(And anyone who has tried juicing spinach knows the  reason why it rarely showed up in my ether mixes. It’s kind of a dick to juice).

But I’d given up on the whole salad thing. Some things I’m just gonna be like “fuck it, its not that deep” about, and salads sat squarely in  that territory. I may have been born under the sign of the hare but mama didn’t raise no rabbit nibble chick in the first place, especially one to be mewing about “if only I could..sniff*… find a way…to- eat a bowl of…leaves. Only…Then everything’d be ok.”

Nah. I’ve been in this mess for too long. I know that Many flipping smoothies and salads have more calories than a big mac value meal, especially when done super-sized the American way. Whether I believe in the concept of calories as the devil is not even the point in that one[I don’t btw .not exactly]. All my life I’ve watched cholas getting fat off eating nothing but salads and cottage cheese. And I see the “salads” 9.99 a pound you can build at grocery stores everywhere now. Sometimes they may as well go get a medium pizza because it’s gonna do the same thing when they sit down. It’s just a bowl of kool-aid I have no illusions about.

…so… a lot of somewhat whiny and petulant factors working into the aforementioned absence of said item on the menu. Too much crazy space for Boring food, which I don’t do[spiritual health is as important as physical to me], oversized portions[ “But its a salad!” “it’s a Two Pound salad!” “You killed Bambi! You monster!” “& he is delicious! numnumnum~”]… ah, and the piece de resistance…presentation.  I like my food to have a little “alright now~!” Make me Want to eat or get to the bottom of you, you know? Systematic mystery. None of this “hock it all into a bowl” mess. Give me Artistry, give me Interest, Curiosity~ make it an event!

I thought that salads had given up the ghost with all this working against them. And then I saw something that…was like a Morpheus-esque splinter in my brain.. that refused to be ignored.


It wouldn’t let me go. I was already using diff sized mason jars for the soups and what-not, but this idea- this- this was pure madness! Madness, I tell ya-

I’d be looking up something else & wham, it’d hit me again, different angle. I fought as it complained that in a mason jar it’d be the perfect size, knocking out that portion control complaint- “only so much is gonna fit into a sane-sized mason jar~.”

People were doing madcap beautiful things with this- I mean incendiary mosh-pit variations- it- Kicked the aesthetic whimmering door off its hinges, blaming me for the boredom I’d yoked the concept of salads with. It was really mouthy. “Look at it! Loooookatit! Food porn, everywhere, beckoning…”this is our time~! you can DO this~like Lovin, you can make salads…fun~!”

I fought until I couldn’t fight anymore, then I succumbed.

“Ok-eventually I will try this.”

Now…anyone who Knows me…knows that as soon as I throw eventually into some shit….technically it don’t even have to go down this lifetime if I dont feel like it. Loophole extraordinaire! My “aight-!!But back up off me,tho” move.

(let’s me know that this salad thing was deep-seated that it even Got to that lol, but still.)

Che Salad stood down, I caught my breath, grinned a bit cheekily…

And after my first interval run in the NOLA summer sun[trust me, that’s Huge- ok, it was Small…bursts…that became a game of run to the next set of shade, but it worked] I came home via grocery store, winning against all Kinds of temptation, saw I had a jar of carrot soup left and the empty jar from the pea soup just grinning bashfully at me.

I said “why not?”

And IT… turned out divine.

I did it absently in direct opposition to the kitchn.com post. Piled in cilantro, then spinach, then black olives, romano cheese, caviar, a  bit of the chorizo potato chilled salad, garlic cloves,buckwheat honey, balsamic, sesame seeds and oil. then put one of the Spanish tortilla tortes at the top of the pile, sealed it, shook it and done.

Maybe my favorite part was the whole “I’m not even putting this into a bowl, I’m going to eat this salad straight from the jar!” “technically Not badass, but still” thing.

welp. That’s the fastest eventually that’s ever gone down with me. And that lil shaker in the back? That was dessert.

I’ve come onto the cold-brew coffee train,full-force. At home, anyway. Better than sun tea. Let it sit out 10-24 hrs, until long after the espresso sinks, drain the grounds from it, pour it into its temporary home, add honey while it’s still hot/room temp[which is 95 degrees in lovely New Orleans today 🙂 ], then stick it in the fridge. mellow yet potent cold coffee you don’t have to water down w/ice cubes…unless you want to.






I’m already a bit absently ridic when it comes to circulation, exfoliation and what-not. Those scrub gloves? Since I first got intro’d to them, there has always been a pair in the kit that takes care of me. Another thing I got introduced to a long time ago and that I keep up lazily is dry-brushing. But the General Patton of the AOLAB summer arsenal[ a seasonal Homemade body-scrub]  had been needling to make it for a while.

I have tried so many store-bought scrubs that your head would spin, but again and again, I come back to the tried, true and pure to do, riffing as I go. I finally succumbed to the splicing this evening…and am still luxuriating in the aftermath of this latest mix as chill-out lounge India meets Dubai undulates in the candle-lit and incense scented air around me.

I spent my day off reading, doing laundry like we often do.  After polishing off the last  Medjool date I’d gotten for something I never made I had this perfectly sized container stare back at me every time I went into my cupboard, like the weight of the universe was bemoaning to just “mix, already!” So I did.

SUMMER 2O14 AOLAB SCRUB a bit of white sugar, 7/8ths of the container full of regular table salt, 1/8 kosher salt[I may punch it up with the last of my Himalayan salt hiding out up here], and heavy sesame oil, plus buckwheat honey.

I have used many kinds of salt in the past, but the table salt base has to do with a draw towards the added iodine,  which sea salts don’t have and which my body craves from time to time. The other salts can be added to layer their mysteries into the mix. The lower sugar/ high salt combo gives a moisturizing slip without countering all the imminent detoxing afoot. In the winter I’m much heavier handed on the sugar in the ratio. & the clash between the true sesame cold-pressed oil and the earthy sweetness of the organic buckwheat  honey has me dragging my hands absently across my scented skin, pores devouring it.

This week  I’ve come out of my devic African black soap phase into this amazing cedar soap that just gives this soft, deep desirous  plume of scent to my skin. I was Loving it, “may become a standard” style. But added to the aftermath of the scrub, oh my Word!


Good day off.