This Linguist Life

My dream was to be a newspaper editor. Actually, I had a few dreams, the rawest, those that came and never left. Not the prancing ones, but the sticky Langston Hughes ones.

I wanted to be a a newspaper editor and a war reporter, a jockey and paleontalogist. An army linguist. I imagined ducking behind sand-dunes with a typewriter (whatever, it made the dream better) ticking away with combat boots and an AK, tan camouflage and band of brothers that were amazed by my feminine strength and resiliency. Oh, the dream is amazing, the dark night stars drizzling red and blue, and white bullets. And I would send these amazing pieces to America and the people would cringe at the horribly distinct visions. And, then, I realized that I am a pacifist and would probably weep uncontrollably at boot camp.

I was 5'8" in seventh grade and my great uncle, looked at me with those baby blue eyes, and he said to me, he said, "jockeys are little, tiny, itty, bitty men, the horses have to run- fast." So, there was that. He was right, and my retired race horse, the one I had for practice, was so stubborn, that just as the undulation was exact and speedy, racing down the cleared out field down the road from the house, well, when she would stop suddenly, and send me flying, I realized, it was on the next one. Dream.


And, we would dig up arrow heads, ran and showed our parents and made up amazing stories of eascaping from some plantation down the way and to make friends with little Indian boys and girls and live forever down by the river dancing around a fire with cracklers blowing up in a twirl toward the sky. Smacking our hands over our mouths as we made Indian hollers waving the arrow heads or stringing them in our hair.

But then my little sister was born and I taught her how to read. The book, effectively served by phonics and memorization, "Don't Touch!" it is called. So well done, that child skipped Kindergarten.

Oh yes, the Fates anger me. Teaching really? Of all the glamorous things they could have spun and of all things at all in general, teaching.

But my Italian mom, and my Spanish mom, and my beautiful mother all said the same, that it was the thing I did so well.

So here I go, to embrace this thing that I do so well. And, nope. I ain't worried 'bout nothing. My truest dreams come true. I never know how, never as planned, but they do. So, I teach them how to conjugate verbs as I too, sit in Kiswahili and Portuguese classes.



I pack my bags for Dubai. To celebrate in a luxury hotel, with my closet of friends.  Remember how on a beach in the Mediterranean, I dreamed on seeing the Al Burj, oh but how I knew.

I dream of a beautiful man, and beautiful love. A beautiful child and a beautiful expression of my creativity, my talent, and my perspective. All the beauty comes, so I fervently try to relax.

And nope, I ain't worried 'bout nothin.

via Waka Flocka Flame, yeaaaaah. oh, let's do it.

World Domination

We seek to set forth the best examples for future generations of stripped socks, khaki, boat shoe wearing African-Americans.

Oh, yes, I do my best that they go with speed and grace and more importantly, with razor sharp vision - that that I did'nt have. You beautiful black scholars, be unlike me, be better, that is my desire.

And yet in order to do just that, in order to be better,



boo, you must beat the baddest.

via imperial swag.