Madhuri Pavamani's Blog, page 6

Quote Challenge – Day 1 – Zora Neale Hurston

The other day my friend, fellow writer and Write Bitch, Kayti Nika Raet, tagged a couple of us in her Quote Challenge. The intent seemed pretty clear – get a bunch of folks together to share some great writing – and the premise was so straightforward and simple – share your favorite quotes – that I could hardly resist.

Plus, anything to get me back to posting more regularly around these parts is gladly accepted.

Here are the rules:

1. Post on 3 consecutive days

2. Pick 1 or 3 quotes per day

3. Challenge 3 different bloggers per day

4. Thank the blogger who nominated you

I’m going to state right from the get-go that I’m breaking rule 3 of the challenge because I’m not going to tag anyone – if y’all want to post your own quotes in the comments or on your own blog, by all means please do so. And in deference to rule 4: thanks Kayti – you know I love a good quote.

My inaugural post in the Quotes Challenge is dedicated to the luminous wondrous brilliant fellow Barnard woman (sorry, I couldn’t resist) – one of my favorite writers – Ms Zora Neale Hurston.

God, I love her. So much. If you haven’t read any of Ms. Hurston’s work, I am so damn sorry for you. You’ve gotta grab a copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God and fall in love with both Janie and her gifted creator. Trust me – do it. Thank me later.

Love Letters to Rihanna

 

Dear Rihanna,

First things first, let’s get the obvious out of the way: I have a thing for you. Those who know and love me, know I love you. Madly.

But in a good way – I love your style and your gangsta is so. fucking. hot. – not the bad way – I’m a stalker and you might find me standing in your driveway at three in the morning.

 

Being the dancing girl that I am, your music is all over my iTunes, I overlisten your Pandora station, and when your songs come on during my workout, well shit, I kind of forget how painful those weights are, the burn in my legs from all those lunges, the sting in my triceps from countless push ups.

Simply put, you make everything better.

But even I, the girl who thinks you can do no wrong and are all kinds of magic, didn’t expect you to pull me out of my writing funk, the shitty place I’ve been living these past few months, producing all kinds of poetry, but not so much in the form of prose. And definitely not so much when it comes to JUMA.

Oh yeah…JUMA…book II in The Keeper Series…that book I’ve got all mapped out and analyzed and character-studied, but that I can’t seem to find a flow, rekindle my writing rhythm, bathe in my (usual) good writing juju…yeah…JUMA.

MOTHERFUCKING JUMA.

The book that should have been finished by now, but isn’t because life has a funny way of throwing you all kinds of curve balls when you least expect them, some in the form of writer’s block, others in the form of general fuckery and bad shit. The book that is going to be so damn good, mostly because Juma and Dutch are so damn good and so damn sexy and good fucking lord! I love them. And oh yeah – JUMA – the book that is finally getting written thanks to some help from you, Ms. Fenty.

You heard me right. You.

See, your album Anti, well it’s kind of the shit. Actually, it’s totally The Shit. And yes, it’s kind of Dutch, here and there I feel him, but holy fucking hell, it is all Juma.

All. Juma.

It’s as if you wrote the album for Juma and JUMA and if I loved you in the bad way discussed above – the scary stalker way – I would whole-heartedly believe you wrote it for me and my writing and especially my writing of JUMA, that’s how on point it is.

There’s the obvious Sex With Me and your confident, ballsy statement “sex with me, so amazing” but there are also subtle moments, quieter pronouncements and admissions, full of longing and vulnerability and a hint of grief and holy shit, that’s Juma. It is so JUMA.

That line in Close to You – I know you don’t need my protection, but I’m in love, can’t blame me for checking – seriously woman? The scene I wrote months ago in the apartment lobby – this is wrapped all around it.

Love on the Brain could easily be D+J’s theme song:

Must be love on the brain

That’s got me feeling this way

It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain

And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name)

No matter what I do

I’m no good without you

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain

Then there’s the sexy, seductive Desperado, that’s got Juma’s name written all over it, up and down, sideways, backwards, forwards. Any way you parse it, Desperado is Juma. I can see her moving to it, singing it, living its sultry promise: I’m not trying to go against you/I can be a lone wolf with ya/Gotta get up out of here/And you ain’t leaving me behind/I know you won’t, cause we share common interests/You need me, there ain’t no leaving me behind/Never, no, no, both want out of here/Yeah, once we’re gone, ain’t no going back

I could keep going but then I start looking like scary stalker girl and like I said, that’s a road I’m hardly interested in traversing.

Anyway, you get it. I love you and I especially love this album and the fact it did what so many other people, places, things could not – it helped me start writing again. It brought the magic.

GAH.

Thank you, RiRi.

So much.

Love,

Me

(the happy girl, sitting in the corner, writing)

#Poesia – SATURDAY MORNINGS AT THE Y

SATURDAY MORNINGS AT THE Y

swish glide swoon

move with the freedom

of weightlessness

escape the limits

of skin bone muscle

swim little boy swim

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This one’s genesis is as literal as it sounds – from spending my recent Saturday mornings at the Y. These works are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

Just A Taste, A Tease: JUMA

The last month has been one big battle of the bug around these parts – first The Kid got some random, high fevers that had the school nurse calling me in the middle of the day to come pick him up, which is not the easiest feat to accomplish when my butt is in New York City and his in the ‘burbs. Then his nastiness decided I tasted better and feasted on me for two days while he ran around wild and happy. Only to turn around a day later with another fever, this time raging, and a case of strep throat, landing us at the pharmacy laden with a prescription for antibiotics, ready to fend off those streptococcal pharyngitis motherfuckers.

Which we did with gusto, managing a whole six or seven illness-free days around Chez Blaylock, to the point we started strutting around, feeling all big and shit, healthy and fit. Little did we know, the joke was on us.

This past Sunday at 3 in the morning, I heard it. And I must digress here for a second to expound upon the amazing seventh sense us moms have, the one no one talks about: the ability to sleep through world war III, but hear the slightest, and I mean slightest sound of distress from your kid. That was me. Up late writing, dead to the world, and then BAM! Wide awake as a motherfucker with that first gag…

and then the barf gates opened. I walked into The Kid’s bedroom to find him on his side, vomiting up his guts. I helped him through it, without gagging myself – another mom superpower that kicks in when necessary, because anyone else vomits in front of me, and all I want to do is heave. And that was us for the next twelve hours. Followed up by twelve hours of fever, and finally after another twelve hours of solid rest, he walked down the steps Wednesday afternoon with a grin on his face, ready to watch TV and eat some real food. And just like that, my entire body was suddenly achy and cold.

So began my two days of 102 fevers.

And the craziest. sex. dreams. ever.

EVER.

This is all a very long way of saying I cannot wait for spring and some warmer weather and the dismissal of all of this funk and gunk and nastiness that has attacked us the last several weeks.

And for those of y’all who don’t know – it’s tough to write when you’re sick or dealing with someone small and sick. But here and there, I managed to produced some good stuff. In between the doctor visits and medicines and baths, I wrote some kick ass poetry and I broke through my first ever writing block (with loads of help from my good friends and fellow Write Bitches Kayti and Laura).

So far JUMA has been an exercise of writing in fits and starts, something I never do, and something I’ve been having trouble wrapping my head around, figuring out a way to conquer. But amidst the sickness, I did it and hot damn, it feels good. JUMA feels good. And to celebrate, here’s an eensy-teensy-weensy little taste:

Hope you like.

Now it’s back to writing…and ingesting more vitamin C than I ever imagined possible.

Random Thoughts

1. You might be buying Preparation H for the bags under your eyes, but the cute guy at the cash register doesn’t know that…

2. This taste of spring is delicious

3. All the fish in The Kid’s tank died the other day. Every single one. As if they had a conference, agreed they wanted to make me feel like a huge piece of shit, and drank the kool-aid…that “special” kool-aid. Needless to say, three years later, I am throwing in the towel and admitting defeat. My fish experiment is done – no more dead fish for me. Going back to what I know – rodents. Just added a hamster named Shema to our crew. She’s so much cuter than those damn fish.

 

4. That said, I’m so goddamned pissed about the fish. I hate failing.

5. The Kid has spent the last two days, sick as a dog. It started out as projectile vomiting at 3am, evolved into a high fever, and now although he’s feeling better, he’s totally weak. We spent all day yesterday in bed together, him trying to recover, me doing some lawyering, and in between it all, at the most random moments, he would reach out to hold my hand. MEEP. He just turned 8, so I know these moments are about to come to an abrupt end, but for now, I’m going to savor them and all of their sweetness.

6. I’m going to do my first spoken word gig next week at a bar in my old neighborhood. I’m nervous, scared, terrified, but that’s even more reason to show up and read. Not sure which makes my stomach turn more, sharing my work or having to stand up in front of a crowd.

7. Once upon a time, I had some hair

8. That Chili Peppers song Road Trippin’ – since the first time I heard it, the lyrics “let’s go get lost” have stayed with me, finding a dark little corner of my soul to make themselves at home. The idea of escaping with girlfriends or a lover or The Kid is so appealing – it doesn’t have to be forever, even just a few moments of disappearing from it all, losing myself in someone else – friends, lovers, family – it stirs me. So much that I got it tattooed on my clavicle (thank you, Jason Barletta and Rising Dragon Tattoo) and wrote this poem – hope you enjoy

And on that note, I think y’all have heard enough from me – I’m out of here.

#Poesia – WANDERLUST

WANDERLUST

 She contained miles of stars

stunning waterways

jaw-dropping mountains

meandering paths

all waiting to be discovered

He grabbed a map

bought a new compass

rolled up his sleeping bag

and set out on the

adventure of a lifetime

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This one came from my love of the word “meandering” and just flowed and I freaking love it. I think it might be one of my favorites, if not my favorite. These works are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – GOOD HAIR

 

GOOD HAIR

purple hair

I want it something fierce

it screams

freedom

laughter

light

I need that in my life

that and some purple hair

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – BE

BE

sing dance wallow

weep wander laugh

live gush love

it’s a one shot thing

make it count

be the wild

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – ON FANS AND (WICKED) WRITERS

ON FANS AND (WICKED) WRITERS

Write me a romance she said

full of sweeping gestures

and grand statements

bring me to my knees

make me weep

then piece me back together

with a simple

Happily Ever After

What I’ve got for you

is a dark-hearted girl

and an ass of a guy

who fall in love despite themselves

and even though they’re both

horribly annoying and full of fuckery

you’re going to root for them

fall for them

cry for them

adore them

you’re going to become convinced

they’re the most worthy

of all worthy lovers

in the history of loving

Then I’m going to kill them

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This one makes me laugh because there have been SO many times I’ve wanted to kill my characters and have been pulled back from the brink by friends and other writers. All of us writers have these evil moments, our very own Misery moments, where we fantasize about doing what we WANT to do rather than what we should do. Anyway, these pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#ThursdayThoughts

nope – not at all