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Archive for April, 2008

3 nights with Concepción

April 30, 2008 cocoyea 3 comments

I Been Got!

What is it about Concepción leaving you olvidadizo
the days you scornfully dreaded a scene:
2 oblivious amantes kissing on the subway.
¡Ridículo! was what you called it
as they carelessly clung to each other like coalas
¡Ridículo! you reminded yourself as they invited unwelcomed want:
mimicking their monogamous P.D.A. What is it about Concepción?
Making ridículo mindful of the honesty in risa
beaming lovely, senselessly smiling broadly
like you had a good desayuno.
Impulsively absentminded of shame’s monotony
you forget to watch for baches en las calles now.
Your tambalea suddenly re-discovers the marvels of grace.
Her touch reminds you how good it is to feel.

Ugly

April 29, 2008 cocoyea Leave a comment

the fiend my little brother lives off on
offering up a sickness in derelict exchanges
a fiend even after a desperate hop
reveals more than a casualty of carelessness

we’ve smelled this desperation before
that infested dying still living smell
the overnight stink of skin being stretched
drained by dehydration
we’ve smelled this fear on dead uncles
but knowing never changes anything
even when we want to believe

daily, i wonder what emotion he tries to disguise
looking over his shoulder, my little brother
i wonder about his thoughts on this happening
what he notices first in the unfocused
shaky hands passing crumbled dirty dollars
i wonder what he smells
from a bloc away, a nothing to lose next
frying a hold-on un-epic explode
a fiend’s however brief brush with death
appeasing a codeine crash for an authentic
amnesiac expectation that trips on nostalgia

leaning against an absent wind
what use to be a walk
falters to maintain a stroll
and from a mile away
i see my worth being counted
against a counterfeited line full of mirrors
a prefect-fix aligning my words correct
making sense of paper-bagged exchanges

mute…no?

April 24, 2008 cocoyea Leave a comment

assassination of heroics

Your point of heroics you so excitingly take as risk
when it just means you’re a jackass, just took six bullets to the heart,
from a gun loaded with somebody’s unmentioned soul.
When your first word, first verb of action, should of penetrated,
cut through, bust somebody’s vessel, it left a flesh wound,
somebody took it and made you a mute,
because you won’t listening to the first verse of Do it Now:
The first cut should be the deepest, to penetrate
No longer linked to nobody, somebody is the shit now.
Somebody won’t be silhouetted curses of ain’t it a dream
won’t be the first thing tagged as a backlash
ricocheted as pastime masquerades, as a nigger being lynched on a page.
Ain’t it made easy regular, unmade uneasy irregular
in whichever mode of horror, so subtly exhausted, so abruptly gassed-out.


From Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides album

Brown Girl in the Ring

April 24, 2008 cocoyea Leave a comment

On a dimly lit stage, she’s a rabbit in red high heels
undressing her fur for egg sucking wolves.
Thighs around, shimming down a Maypole
she looks at her image pinned
under their greasy vision, she laughs and shouts
“Look! Look what I can offer. You can’t refuse.”
Like children wanting a breast to suck on
they begin to cry:
There’s a brown girl in the ring
tra-la-la-la-lah.
There’s a brown girl in the ring
traaaaah-la-la-la-la-lah.
Tongue tied to razors, they each wave a dollar.
And she looks like a sugar
and a plum, plum, plum.

She has many lovers gleefully climbing the cracks
up her stairs, her vision cuts off their heads.
She’s little red riding hood skipping in a driveway
waiting for the bed to sink, the wolf to come quick
running up her calves, resting on her back
fucking her in the ass.

She’s a tight numb life buoy, soaking in a tub
she’s a tight numb life buoy, rocking from side to side.
Rocking from side to side, hugging her knees
her priest pets her on the shoulder. He whispers:
If you’re frightened of dying and you’re holding on…
You see devils tearing your life away…
But if you’ve made your peace
then the devils are really angels
freeing you from the earth
from the earth.”

Her bare paws run
in the middle of winter
she’s a wild black cat
pouncing on her prey
sinking her teeth into its skin.


From “Rabbit In Your Headlights” Psyence Fiction album.

When I wrote Brown Girl In The Ring, I was completely obsessed with this song, Rabbit in Your HeadLights. I was so obsessed with this song that I created my own video in my head, and I almost wrote to Radiohead and UNKLE about my ideas. Little did I know that they had already done a video that’s just as disturbing to watch. But like with anything that ever happened, like with any book gone to film/video, the edits doesn’t play the small parts leading to the song’s rise to a climax or fall to the end.

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April 19, 2008 cocoyea Enter your password to view comments

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Typhoon

April 19, 2008 cocoyea 2 comments

I laughed at him–Dr. Lang–the psychiatrist.
Apparently he’s never been at the edge
of any natural disaster–the debacle turbulence
of almost pissing yourself–how long can you hold it?
Or sensed the secret–why a tamed dog one day
ripped apart the baby he once played with. Can you
foresee a trifling accident turn into a typhoon?
Bloodshot eyes witness the terror in the sun
rising, pouring, without a care of the closed curtains
into my sixth floor windowed room. Ignore the taunts
of the stickman’s shadow leaping into the wind
of a cyclonic train. I laughed at him. Unaware of
Nature’s fickle primordial demons, he demanded
I postpone until next month’s appointment.

About Chameleon Grace

April 18, 2008 cocoyea 2 comments

Chameleon Grace is a novel that I’ve been working on for quite sometime. I figured if I just put it out there that I’d finally finish it. At the very least, it isn’t just collecting dust on my hard drive anymore. Here’s a little background:

Now transitioning into a new life in New York City, twenty-six year old Njeri Ironside finds herself at a crossroads. As she battles with isolation and displacement, she begins to question her purpose in the city. Her ruminations lead her to memories of her past, growing up in Trinidad, particularly during the period when the country was experiencing dire socio-economic and cultural change. It was a time where her father, a beloved trade unionist, prominent political figure, is at the center of controversy.

Her memories are however clouded by a desire for revenge against an ex-lover, Pieta.

With the lost of Pieta and the community she created in D.C., Njeri is left not knowing where she really belongs, and at times incapable of reconnecting the pieces from the subgroups she had previously niched out for herself in D.C.: black/masculine/woman/Caribbean/dyke/lesbian/working class in the Americas.

Dedicated to my mother.

All works © Planet Cuckoonuts. All rights reserved. Except otherwise authorized by Planet Cuckoonuts. Contact roarplanet@gmail.com.

Chapter 1

April 18, 2008 cocoyea 5 comments

From de time you inhale de air, you get a name. De old people say yuh could name a child just by watchin how it come out de womb, but we did forget about dem simme dimme ting. Now, we just give dem wha-ever name dat come to mind: a famous athlete or movie star we see on TV. Sometimes, de child end up being de character of de name, because night after night–from de time de sun explodes into the sky to de dreariness of noontime–dey rehearsin other people’s manners, other people’s words, pronouncin other people’s voices. For wen time come to perform, dey want to be ah real person. Some of dem change deir name, because de couldn’t play de parts as if it was deir true nature. But some of dem make it look like dey is de original.

Each day, before you come, me and de moon talk all night about wey yuh fadder gone to, and who he with. Ah use to hide mehself with meh belly full like how de sky full tonight, and just drink all dat Johnny Walker. Sometimes, ah put on Al Green for company, and we would sing, “Let’s Stay Together,” and ah drink de bottle empty. Is shame dat make meh hide. Ah didn’t want nobody to know ah was drinkin while ah was havin you. Later, ah find out dey did know. Grinnin at meh. Well yuh fadder found dat to be real funny. He would laugh, and bring meh more Johnny, like if dat make up for de times he gone with dem jahmet.

Ah remember de day you come. Wednesday mornin in November, ah know yuh was comin. Ah was prayin dat ah could at least get de housework done. Ah still had to wash and put up de old curtains, paint de steps new. Send yuh brother and sister off to school, and cook yuh fadder food.

Ah tried to keep you still in meh belly so ah could put dem clothes out to dry. Ah didn’t have enough time for de curtains and steps. Ah know ah couldn’t keep yuh still no more wen de rain started to fall. Ah call out to de neighbor, Ms. Galerie, and she get one of dem boys drivin taxi to come pick meh up. Nobody could get ah-hold of yuh fadder. He was in Port of Spain, at the Red House, tryin to win de seat for dey union party.

It was trouble in dem years when I was havin you. De months before you born, I remember de big riot in Port of Spain. De people couldn’t take it no more. They was peacefully marchin, and den all of ah sudden, de police started to beat dem. It was like de heat get inside people blood. It was near Christmas time, and we want to spend it nice and buy some new tings. But we didn’t even have food to cook. And all dat was comin out yuh fadder mouth was black power dis and dat. He make meh stop usin de hot comb in meh own hair, and say not to put none ah dat white people rubberish in he child head. Yeah, I had to hide to do Serena’s hair, after I straighten it.

And dey only people you see workin in dem banks was dem fair-skin lookin girls. No black people was workin in Royal Bank. Dat is why it had to burn. Yeah, dey stoned down, and trow kerosene bottles in it. Dey did loot Woolworth. Yuh just see a yellow explosion, and people. Talk about people scamperin away like crazy ants. It was so bad, de government call ah state of emergency and put up a curfew. If police did catch yer outside, dey would ah shoot yuh down. But dat didn’t stop dem. People still come and trow big stone at de Red House, sayin dey was ready to burn dat down too.

Den de police come lookin for yuh fadder, because dey was lockin up all dem union men and black power rebels. Dey show deir papers sayin dey have ah right to search de premises for suspicious documents. Ah tell dem, dey had to wait until ah finish feed Wary and Serena. Ah wanted to see wha dey was doin. I wasn’t goin to let dem just go through my belongings. And everyting dey move, ah ask dem if dey find it dat way, wen dey just put it back anyhow, anyhow. I wasn’t afraid like dem other wives, faintin and actin stupid.

People get tired of how de government was runnin de country, and as yuh fadder say, is not like we didn’t have enough money to feed people. Trinidad is not ah poor country.

Anyway, on the day you born, we finally get in touch with Comrade, come to find out he win de seat in Parliament for de ULF party. Wen he hear you born, he tell everybody he win because ah you. He make ah big fuss about namin yuh. He say he didn’t want any of dem English names. He went and get dis book with African names, and for days he lookin for de right name. He finally say Njeri. Comrade say it means daughter of ah warrior.