self-portrait whole

Honest and gentle. How many of us can be those things? At the same time? With regards to our selves?

You see that picture up there? It is my mouth. I was going to include it in my manuscript. The bloody book is about self-portraits; why not include one?
Why not include this one?
This image is Aisha, I thought.
Teeth, the feral; mouth, the poet, the eater, the talker. The mouth looks vaginal. Sex-it's of me.
And then I said--NO!

NO!

How could I think this image, of my mouth--my body compartmentalized, objectified--could represent me? The whole me?

It can't. I'm not just giant; I am a whole.

This project, I've realized, has been about putting all the pieces together. Being One. Because the market, the Man--they take us apart. We feel fractured. We don't know how to reconcile "disparate" parts of ourselves. We don't match up to normal. We self-look, if we are able to, and the honesty is cruel. Or we lie and the illusion impedes.

Honest.
Gentle.
Whole.

I'm so self-help; I know. I don't care. I'm trying to thrive here.

xoxox

Self-portrait with by Aisha Sasha John

I gave it so much blood and thought and then I came to the end and everything must be exquisite and I don’t know if I’m strong enough good enough to make it so and thus I argh!--I'm something and it's not soft. Yes that or I need a break.

Hello.

online link to my short story

http://www.danforthreview.com/fiction/06_09/aisha_sasha_john.htm

the cover of this notebook is neon green

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work." - Thomas Edison

Yesterday was my first day off in nine days. I was feeling out of touch with my poetry, the thesis project. Not a nice feeling. I spent the morning setting up my yahoomail to be directed through Outlook 2007. I highly recommend it. Helps a body stay/get organized. Then I wrote until it was no longer sexy. I read. I read some more. I skipped capoeira class because I wasn't done with myself. I left the house on an errand. I returned. I read some more. I watched G-spot on Showcase.ca/video because I love that show and it's Thursday. I wrote lists of things that need to be done. It was overwhelming. I remain there--overwhelmed. See the title of this post.

yo

I just read the third—or was it the second?—of three (or two) short stories. I needed to read them because I needed some escape and I needed some flow. And thank you Lorrie Moore--you gave it to me. I might prefer the work of women, perhaps always though of course that can’t be true—well, it might be if only just the most delicate sliver of a bit.

Paula Rego, The Artist in Her Studio (1993)

I really like the little lady in the yellow!

!!

more. i think i like this. it's intimate yet easy and visual.

from my notebook

Assessment

This blog is 1.75 years old, approximately. I haven't written much on it of late because I haven't felt any single impulse to. I think, gulp, I may have outgrown this. Not sure. Anyway, I'm reading this thing from post one to last today. My main motivation is to hunt for material for the thesis project.

OH! I totally forgot. Excuse me. I'm thinking of switching the content up entirely. Offering only scanned images--things I gather or produce myself. Something more personal and visual. Problem is I don't have a scanner. I have scanners available to me via the EJ Pratt Library but alas, that requires travel. Anyway...that's one thought.

Quick update:
1. I've begun training in capoeira angola. I love it.
2. I've hit a stalemate with this hydration business--I think my face has been littered with undereye bags for a good month.
3. I might be doing clown in a show soon, I'll let you know if it happens.
4. May 3rd you can see the staged reading of my play at Factory Theatre, afternoon. But you've already made note of that everywhere.
5. I'm forgetting something.
6. No, I'm not. It's just I don't feel like telling you. You see, anything I would tell you these days I can't. So why talk? Pictures! Pictures are the solution!

byeeeeeeee

Yo.

Hi Blog.

Missed me? Aww...You're sweet.

I had a good day today. I am having a good day. I danced in the morning, sliding along this floor in a C-shape. And I didn't have to cook lunch because I made a lot of supper yesterday. And I love Alice Notley, she is my new hero. She and Baraka are very similar tonally--brazen, funny, honest, real. Ooh, I am loving her book Disobedience sooo bigtime you don't even know. I am back in the zone, having been out of it for a good seven days. I am back and I'm not leaving. Yesterday I finished the first draft of my play which will have a staged reading at this festival. Why did I make that a link, why not just tell you? Dunno. The play is inspired by this painting. Curious, eh? Good. Come see the bloody reading then.

'Kay. Ta for now, sugarplums. The zone is calling...

Embedded links

I’m writing in the evenings these days. This means I’m inactive, basically. The evening should be reserved for sweat. I think. And it will be soon. Next week. For now, I’m reading in it. And writing notes with this marvelous pen. I feel like my thesis topic is inexhaustible. I have to have 80 pages by the beginning of May. (This is my self-imposed deadline/quota—well, kinda). This is the thing: I have a job lined up for May and I only want to be thinking about editing if I have to travel 1.5 hours to get to work three days a week. Is this interesting? Whatever. I didn’t force you to come here. Ummm…by the way—you’re right. Whatever that thing is that you suspect but don’t have super compelling evidence about, just a sense. Well, your “sense” is correct-o! Just saying. Lately, I keep getting confirmation of the truth of my hunches. All the time it’s happening. There’s a lot to be read from a look etc. I’m, of course, only saying this to affirm it for myself.

Other people actually have topics and do research for their blog entries. I just sort of chat. But, well, I got it like that.

Feeling like laughing? Okay, do click this.

Have you watched Weeds? It’s great and you can watch seasons 3 and 4 on showcase.ca. In season 3 you can see this gentleman’s naked bum and I’m not even gonna tell you how strong it looks.

Okay, I will: VERY!!!!!!

However, I do feel like the scene's exploitative--Black man's body and all that. Like, why does Nancy get to stay clothed? And he's a farmer--read slave. The whole show is a semiotics of US race relations minefield. Every time they go to Mexico there's this cheery Mexican music that lets the viewer know that everyone's drinking tequila and fighting chickens. Film and TV shows that feature superb acting are the worst at perpetuating nonsense stereotypes--you hugetime believe everything that you're seeing. Dangereux.

po' po' poets

I'm reading Alice Notley's Mysteries of Small Houses and I'm enjoying it bigtime.

Here's an excerpt from a poem called "C. '81." In it she talks about being a broke-ass. I love how she enacts that artist rage/guilt about being poor.

I can't get to the poem of this
though I choke with it again being there
in another decade being here's not much different
the rage of unremunerated work--

can you hear the voice in my head
can't you hear this fucking voice in my head
of course I'm not right I'm never right
I'm fucking lazy unskilled and you deserve your money

Chez Moi

When you come to my house it will be messy and I will apologize for it and I’ll offer you every kind of food I can—if I have juice that’s not from concentrate I do hope you’ll enjoy some. Tea? I’ve got fancy black tea with flowers in it. D’ya wanna hear this song? It’s sooooooooooooo good. Ohmygosh you need to see this video on Youtube. If you don’t think it’s funny—well, I dunno, I dunno I’d be worried about you. Oh thanks! I got it at the Salvation Army for ten bucks! I know! I know!

Etc.

It’s fun coming to my house I very much enjoy guests I love them.

Female artists get off the pill!

Creativity surges during ovulation. Don't believe me? Ask my ovaries and my poetry folders. Or, better: Google it. And if you find concrete evidence, holla! I haven't come across any reliable findings yet but a) that doesn't mean it isn't true (I know my body!) and b) I haven't actually really looked.

from the thesis project

Self-portrait salsa dancing with an empty argyle sweater

With zest and goodwill we formed a nation. We stood from our chairs, eager to contribute our bodily honesty. We were thirsty. We knew little of calm. Our motives, they eluded us. We exchanged saliva speckled with blood. We improvised a dance, the female of us leading. We made no contact with our eyes. Our groins were more than warm, they tingled. We made touch with parts: smiles, hand palms. We twirled ourselves in grey wool socks. The smell of swine aroused us. We laughed and resembled our fathers. The heels of our feet met the floor dryly. The language of the music just one of us spoke and he sang it. Our female part saw in his mouth, a cowboy. Each of our laughs was a chitter. We did not giggle. We did not guffaw. Our blood it rushed faceward, heating our scalps and our hair grew minimally. The female of us knew bliss and feared disbandment. She sought the john and on the music journeyed. And on the music journeyed.


---

Some fine stuff

Balint Zsako. You'll recognize his style fuh sho. Look at the sex part of his gallery and also every other part because all of it's great.

In North America we are frightened of other humans. This guy shows it beautifully.

Very interesting. I recommend you print it out and read it on your bed as I did this morning.

Me again

Hold on a sec. I'm not done with custard.

Custard. It's so disgusting and yellow it looks like the spittle of an invalid.
Custard in birthday cakes--it halves the fluff of the white cake and messes the whole thing up. Oh how I hate custard. Why is it yellow?
That's gross.

Vanilla pudding is also nasty I've never eaten it how could I it looks so damn nasty?

Soft foods should be milkshakes or whipped cream. That's what soft foods should be. I will accept rice pudding that is made in the Indian style uh huh that stuff is da BOMB!

But no other soft foods should be.

Old Year's Late Afternoon

In the West Indies they say "Old Year's Night" not "New Year's Eve." Did you know that? Now you do.

Um... how about some multiple choice. If you get any wrong you're an asshole and your year will suck.

1. In which of the following locales did I NOT take a piss in this year?

a) Antigua
b) Mississauga
c) Firenze
d) Paris

2. Does my hair look better out or in cornrows?

a) Out
b) cornrows
c) You look good always.
d) Neither. I prefer you with short hair.

3. Which of the following items am I willing to eat?

a) lox
b) custard
c) blueberry muffins
d) liver

4. If I were a colour, I'd be:

a) dark purple
b) dark pink
c) orange
d) red

5. Which of the following activities do I NOT do pretty much every day before noon?

a) drink flowery tea
b) dance to a sweat, like a maniac
c) write
d) read

6. What is the best part of being my friend?

a) I'm mad funny
b) I'm mad fun
c) I tell a good, long story
d) I flatter often

7. What is my shoe size?

a) 9
b) 10.5
c)11.5
d)12.5

8. In my humble opinion, which of the following regions brews the finest beer?

a) Ontario
b) South America
c) East Asia
d) Ireland

Okay. I think that's enough fun. Thanks for reading me this year. I love it and I love you. MWAH!


------
Here are the answers.

1. b)
I never go to Mississauga. And I didn't go to Antigua really either but I did have a few hours layover in the airport and yes I made wee wee.

2. b)
I'm mad bored of my hair otherwise. Cornrows are lovely and time-efficient. You sit for 1.5 hours, you don't do anything to your hair for 10-12 days. Sounds good to me.
But I will also accept c).

3. d)
I love liver! Lox? Ugh! Custard? Doubly ugh! And the blueberries in cheap muffins make me wanna barf all over my size 11.5 feet.

4.b)
A very dark pink.

5. d)
I usually read later in the day. Though sometimes I read a story or a few poems before I write because I want new images, new words.

6. d) was the intended answer but I think b) also works.

7. See answer for #3. I can pretty much only shop at Tallgirl, guys. This--let's see, how do I put this...umm... fucking sucks!

8. c)
Tiger! Asahi! Sapporo! Tsing Tsao! Yum yum yum!

Just some links

Deep.

Moving.

Damn.

thesis

I know what I'm going to do for the next 8 months. Like, my thesis project. Whoa. This is major. It is not that dumb, market-driven novel idea I giggled over awhile back. No no no. This is true. This is good. This is what I need it feels so right oh my oh my oh my.

Oh, I am horribly grumpy.
Sometimes when you rip off a bandaid, yes--it takes a bit of skin with it. 

Most important post yet

Listen up. Six or seven years ago I was walking across Queen's Park on my way to the St. Mike's College library. An old man sitting on a bench called me over to him. I thought he wanted money; I hesitated. But I did end up approaching him. He had something to tell me, he said. At least I think--I can barely remember. He might have asked a few questions first. I do remember that he pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet. This is what the paper said. He made me write it down.

life is always on the primary basis.
as quote as mention
always for the first time
for the first time is all their [sic] is.
for the first time.

It was very surreal. It felt very important, that encounter, but I didn't really understand his message. I think I do now. Kinda. Anyway--had to share.

Paix

What do you want for your life?

Yesterday I was in the Dominion, ahem Metro, at Bloor and Spadina. I was looking for food--didn't see any I wanted. I saw index cards. I bought them. I'd been telling a friend about writing on index cards, how different things come up in that small, stiff space.

Next thing you know I was in the Manulife Centre. I went to the crappy grocery store they have there and pressed my nose against the glass display of the deli salads. Of course I didn't that would be uncouth but I looked and something slimy and yellow called to me: they called it Bombay Chicken salad. I got about a teaspoonful and it cost me 4.76. Sheesh.

I sat at one of those new tables they have with the gray leather cube stools and I ate that salad and I fought back sadness. Then I wrote on the index cards for, dunno, 30 minutes?

I bought two packs of index cards: big ones (4x6) and regular-sized ones. I wrote on the back cause fuck lines. They were floppier than I'd have liked them to be. They're supposed to be stiff oh well.

Now, there are three index cards, regular-sized ones, in my wallet, in the place where money would sit if I had any. I won't tell you what I wrote because actually I just did and had to delete it--too embarrassing.

Okay an excerpt:
"Punch where it is soft." That's how the second one begins. It's about investing energy wisely.

Um...I think I'm way too easy on myself. I let myself get away with bare foolishness. I've been easy on myself because my natural inclination is to be a drill sergeant. But that feels yucky and it doesn't work anyway. Being lenient also doesn't work. How to have balance? I think I know but I'm not sure. I'll get back to you about it.

byeeeeee

bling!

I think I'm over blue.

I think I've got my shine back.

Here's a quote from John Lyndon aka Johnny Rotten. I like this quote. Dunno why.

I really do think the crown and glory of the Sex Pistols is that we've always managed to disappoint on big occasions. When the chips were down, we never came through. We were so bad, it was gloriously awful, as it should have been.

blue

Wednesday was my last (university) class probably ever. One of the papers we were looking at was Fail Better, that classic Zadie Smith Guardian essay. The sweetheart who presented on the paper asked the class to do, individually, a resume of failures.

You try it. Spend the next five minutes writing down all the things you've failed at. Ever.

Okay now go think about the first one on the list all day. Welcome to my world.

byeeeeeee

almost back

What do you want for your life? Cause you can have it, you know. But you have to know what it is that you want and you've got to be willing to not sit there, watching episode after episode of Season 6 of Scrubs.

Just saying.

I am going to be late for my hair appointment. More later. I've decided to come back to you, blog. I stray. I return. That's the rock of this boat.

byeeeeeeee

Some pics. You deserve it!

Don't give up...

on me, I'm just on vacation, alright? I'm in the Antigua airport where there's free wireless. My flight to Barbados, a Liat flight, is (of course) delayed. Liat's ultra-wack but they have the bombest scarves.

Um...Obama won.

Wow.

Don't you feel bloody optimistic? Just generally? Don't give me any shit about the irrelevance of his victory in the context of global capitalism's actual governance of this planet. You'd be preaching to the choir. I've ignored all but the last bit of this election for that very reason. But damn...even I can't help but get a little bit giddy. Symbolically, his victory's rich. Rich!

Also: Obama is about as damn lovely as a politician can get. How can a person not like that guy! Sheesh.

Some cute guy I know went to Chicago to hear him speak. Can't wait to hear the first-hand report.

I feel so optimistic. About everything. Anything can happen. Any lovely thing.

Kisses, y'all.

La Plaine, Dominica

I'm in Dominica, by the way. I'm here for two weeks and then Barbados for a week. I love Dominica. It is so beautiful. I can't even tell you. I'll post pictures. I've been here before but I was a child and couldn't fully appreciate the loveliness of the land or the peoples. What sucks is I had/have strep throat and was lying in bed for way too many minutes. Have been still going out though, enjoying our national traditional music (jing ping) and dance. It is the 30th anniversary of our independence and so, apparently, this wee nation of 60,000 people has now 25,000 more visitors. That's what I heard on the bus, anyway. Lot's of English (as in, from England) people here. It's weird hearing Dominican accents watered down with English accents; I'm so used to them thinned by Canadian or American accents.
Okay, I gotta go. My mom and cousin have just picked me up. BYE!

a treat

Are you a good girl or boy?

Do you love deliciousness?

You're not one of those bozos who can't drink milk, are you?

Might you in the near future find yourself in a supermarket?

Do this:

Buy strawberries.

Buy sweetened condensed milk.

Combine in a sweet little bowl or cup.

You're welcome.

four true things, one lie

1. My friend's cat has the virus that causes cat AIDS, FIV.

2. I rip the skin off sausages to fry them flat.

3. Two lies, three true things.

4. I'm more flattered by "cute" than "pretty," by "cute" than "beautiful." I especially like being called "cute."

5. At seven, having recently moved to Vancouver from Montreal, I faked a West Indian accent to my new friends at church. They too were children of West Indian parents. My accent was wretched, I was never called on it, and when I slipped into my true tongue zero notice was made.

sobering

Yesterday, our city/nation's top literary agent visited my class and schooled us on the business side of the writing life.

Whoa! Mad depressing.

I mean, I knew that. I knew that, who doesn't know that who writes seriously?

Still, c'est dommage: the market. Capitalism and its prick.

Anyway, forget about doing a story collection, Aisha Sasha John. Nobody wants them. I also knew this. This I knew. But still. A girl can dream, can't she?

Anyway, I'm not here to complain, I'm here to share a piece of good news and a revelation.

A) I have a novel idea that is great. I started it today and it excites me. I needed a frame. I needed a bloody frame and I've got it and it's great and my anxiety about who the protagonist should be has been totally dealt with. I've a narrator, you see. I've got a narrator and a clever, convincing vehicle to tell a whole bunch of stories. I don't know how to tie it up nicely yet but hey--this is a day-old idea.

B) My aversion to longer form prose is only a product of a need for frequent gratification. Which short stories and poems provide. It's nice to finish things, man! But, unlike I previously had thought, I am able to conceptualize a novel-length work. Really, I can. I just have. And if I can think it up, I can execute it. That is what university has taught me. It's going to be a couple years but it'll be mad worth it.

So yeah! Here's to the next 1000 hours. I can finish this in a 1000 hours, right? How long is that? Three hours per day, that's a year of days. So basically 2 years on this project if I'm going to be realistic.

I know this talk is naive but I like to plan things, okay? I want this novel done by my 30th birthday. I've got just under 2 years. Sheesh. I'm old.

Bye.

p.s. Well there is a slight problem. I don't really have time to dedicate to this project right now because I'm trying to continue pumping out the poetry (my heart); write plays; read my brains out; be a good student, family member, and friend; go to yoga; have clean floors; deep-condition my tresses; develop dancing clown routines; and sleep. Maybe I'll work on it every Saturday or something. Don't want the thread to frazzle. Also, I need a part-time job. (Yeah, you heard me. I'm trying to be more responsible).
Bye again. My tresses are calling. I promised them a cleanse-condition party today.

hieeee!

Hi folks. Long time.

So, I made a film. Yup, it's true. I made a film with my main dog Dah-ling (what what!) and a lovely cast of beautiful people. My film is short. My film excites. My film will have it's theatrical premiere tomorrow night at the Cha Cha event. Be there. Be there or smell like a hippopotamus. It's up to you...

Burfday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My, my, my: I'm 28. Who woulda thunk? Here I am. Here. I. am.

I've got so many factors: myself, 1, 14, 2, 7 and that ambitious little 4. Here I am. Eleven and seventeen. Two and twenty-six (ouch!). Nine and nineteen (double ouch!).

Here we go!

RECAP

School's started. Blah blah blah. I have a seminar to lead two weeks from now. Blah blah. On this book. Blah Blah. My birthday's in less than a week. More blah. Now when I'm dehydrated I get under eye bags. That's brand new. That's recent aging. I only noticed it a couple weeks ago and now I'm obsessed. I couldn't tell you what the rest of my face has been looking like the past few days but I know every pore in the under eye area far too well. (Untrue, obviously.)

I have to work on my birthday. AAAHHHHHH!

That hasn't been the case in forever, if ever. I've always been in school or had a weekend birthday as a working bee. I'm teaching a test prep class that's only once a week so I can't exactly miss it.

I'm not going to tell my students it's my birthday because if I do and they aren't appropriately big-hearted, I'll hate them.

Oh and an update. Remember that Poetry Peepshow thing I did last weekend? Well, it was more of a poetry booth. "Wanna hear a poem?" "Sure."
And then I read them a poem. (I came with 3o-odd poems but read the same 5 repeatedly. Short funny ones. Or hard-hitting. Those were the ones that worked in that context).
People were gracious. Some really liked them and asked for more. Particularly memorable was this tall-ass copper. He was all, I only have time for something short. Then he asked for another! And another!
In the beginning of my slot when I didn't know any better, I read poems that excited me. One in particularI'd read to some writer friends and they'd responded positively so I figured it would be a good go for "peepshow." Well well well. After this group of lines:

the hair of a cloud is spiked

meringue stiff peaked edges white

yes,

cloud tops are craggy and i am very alive

The lady I was reading to wrinkled her nose at me as if I had farted.

Reading poetry to random people at a very commercial arts festival was one of the most humbling experiences I have ever had. NO LIE.

I felt so vulnerable. And stupid, kindof. Like, here I am with all these poems. A years worth of work (not quite, I didn't print the whole manuscript). No, more than a year. Because I've been writing forever and everything builds to what one currently has, no? Anyway, a lot of heart and guts and brain was sitting there in the form of those poems and people can listen and leave and wrinkle their noses and leave and stare at me quizzically and leave and fuck--this is my life!

Tears in my eyes right now. NO LIE.

And why were some of them so fucking surprised that I wrote them? The world is so racist and it will never change, I don't believe it.

My friend Lo (white) who also did the peepshow said people had also asked her if she'd written the poems she'd read. But did they also give her that "Oh!" face. That, you did that face?

Maybe. I don't know.

Near the end, this gentle-faced guy asked how he could support me. Those were his words. Wow. What a question. I just gave him my blog address.

Hi!

That was to him.

Now for everyone:

bye!

She Shiny in a Peepshow! This Saturday: 8-10pm! Junction Arts Festival!

Yes. It's true. This Saturday night I will be in a peepshow. A poetry peepshow. How hot!

It's intimate and West Toronto. It's literary. It's shiny it's Aisha it's bright.

Don't miss it......

Check out the details here.