Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Art
New
Also check me out Sunday 8/1/10 in Morningside Park, 114th and Morningside for Sundae Sermon, hosted my DJ Stormin' Norman and featuring all female DJ line up including Bev Bond and GEMS. I'll be there doing art. FREE!!!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Haiti Party at Santos March 30th!
Declaration of Independence
a Fundraiser for Haiti by the
Columbia University Caribbean Students Assoc.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Santos Party House
Hosted by TastyKeish
Music by Likwuid
Live Art by LJ Sola!!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Art Exhibt at Shrine Harlem, NYC
This Friday, March 12, opening reception 6-8pm. Runs through April 12, 2010.
Harlem Shrine
2271 Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd (7th Ave.)
Between 133rd and 134th Streets
www.shrinenyc.com
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Live Art at the Nuyorican
My girl DJ Rimarkable put me onto this dope female showcase led by Christelle Durany, who is an amazing jazz singer. I gotta give it up to Olive for keeping the party crackin' too. Lucky for me, my painting was sold at the end of the night. Best..xx
Monday, March 1, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thoughts
New York is one of those tangible anomalies like a glass house or a bar with no liquor license. From a distance, it appears beautiful, perfect, full of color and light. But once inside the light dims, the colors fade, and you realize that perfection probably doesn’t exist at all. And what was beautiful is ugly like a young girl ravaged by time.
Every American with a dream and something to prove to themselves comes to New York. They come to leave behind their former lives of dull brown landscapes, of monotony and small towns, and the slow, sordid life of their mothers and fathers. They come in search of a conquest and a dream; a new beginning, and most find themselves suddenly charging toward old age and personal oblivion in an all consuming rat race. Rats wear many masks, and New York is a place where a naive mid-westerner can be devoured by the bonds of trust. In New York, it’s wise not to trust, no to believe, to remain shut off, and skeptical, while always projecting a positive facade of generosity and openness.
This is the real New York. It is an illusion of harmony, of love, and happiness. Yet, often, when my worn, bruised soul traverses the streets in a clean, pretty body, adorned with bangles and bracelets and stacked heals on my feet... I wonder if the entire city is as miserable as I.
copyright 2009
Every American with a dream and something to prove to themselves comes to New York. They come to leave behind their former lives of dull brown landscapes, of monotony and small towns, and the slow, sordid life of their mothers and fathers. They come in search of a conquest and a dream; a new beginning, and most find themselves suddenly charging toward old age and personal oblivion in an all consuming rat race. Rats wear many masks, and New York is a place where a naive mid-westerner can be devoured by the bonds of trust. In New York, it’s wise not to trust, no to believe, to remain shut off, and skeptical, while always projecting a positive facade of generosity and openness.
This is the real New York. It is an illusion of harmony, of love, and happiness. Yet, often, when my worn, bruised soul traverses the streets in a clean, pretty body, adorned with bangles and bracelets and stacked heals on my feet... I wonder if the entire city is as miserable as I.
copyright 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
SHOW AND PROVE
All female edition of this MC Competition Finals at Public Assembly in Brooklyn featuring live art by your lady friend, Layla Sola.
Our finalists for the October Show and Prove ‘Something For The Ladies’ have been selected.
Come out on October 20th to check out Zarinah, Kallae All Day, G.N.U., and Gypsy Flesh.
DJ Brina Payne on the turntables.
October 20th
Public Assembly
70 North 6th Street
Doors at 9, Show at 10
21+
$5
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Dope Read: Half the Sky
Damn! I just saw this beautiful intelligent author named Sheryl Wudunn on Stephen Clolbert explaining that worldwide women are much better loan candidates than men. Her book is Half the Sky. Her arguments were flawless and backed up with factual research: Women invest in education, their kids edu. uplifting the commuinty and businesses while men squander at least 20% of the funds on libations. Sounds about right. I'm reading this book asap!
http://www.halftheskymovement.org/
Monday, September 21, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Romantique par Moi
l'amour est les etoiles dans le nuit,
elle etait la belle lune qui protege le mer,
elle etait lumiere dans les yeux des enfants,
elle etait fiere dans le visage de le monde
prendre mon couer sanglant dans tes mains blancs,
bruler les ombres de m'historie dans le feu de ton bois,
chuchote tous mes secrets a le vent
je t'aime comme les fleurs adorent le soleil,
comme les oiseaux aiment le ciel
la seulemente chose j'ai,
est le cadeau je te donne
copyright 2009 Layla Sola
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
MJ Tribute Party @ Santos featuring DJ's Nina Sky, Beverly Bond, Brina Payne - Live Art by Layla Sola!
MJ Tribute Party @ Santos featuring DJ's Nina Sky, Beverly Bond, Brina Payne and Live Art by me, Layla Sola!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
A Bulb Fowler in the Green
When I was a little girl in Detroit, I used to stand all day in the shadows of the bushes that grew behind our house. Perhaps grandpa had planted a few shrubs along the fence way back in the seventies before I was born. Now they were all wild; wild, green and independent of us, the family who lived inside. In springtime, the rain came day after day, so that by my birthday, wild flowers hid low in the foliage, their orange and purple petals peeking out from a blanket of heavy green. I would walk beside them, keeping close so that I could hide from the sun under the shady canopy. By July the leaves and vines were so high that I could jump into them and play. I never did. I only tiptoed through the brier, searching for Hyacinths. I only ever found one. It was a beautiful, white flower. The scent of it drew me deep into the patch and I followed the trail of its’ fragrance on the breeze. It stood alone among the dark green blanket, deeply rooted. I climbed in and smiled when I drew close. It was so sweet! My young heart was delighted. I quickly picked the flower and ran inside to show my gramma.
Gramma said she didn’t plant it, it just grew.
“I don’t know sugarplum, maybe old Mrs. Rhys had them in the back of the house before I bought it. Maybe it’s just a wild thing. You ought go ask Bernice. I don’t know much about Hyacinths.”
I put my summer prize in a jar of water and ran next door with it. Our neighbors, the Lawerences (a name I never knew until I was a woman), were Bernice and Shorty. A sweet old couple who seemed to fit together like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. A pint sized pair, they lived in a house that looked like it was built for a hobbit. The front door was heavy streaked elm, and the entrance to the little home protruded out of the rest like a cute, round bubble. It looked like a house built into the hollow of a tree. It had a sharply slanted roof and shutters as dark as the leaves behind our house. For this reason I loved their little gnome cottage. It was welcoming to little people and imaginary creatures.
That day, I ran past the front door and the pink tulips. I skipped along the side of the cottage where the bed of yellow daffodils glowed in the sun. I ran carefully, with irregular footsteps to protect my treasure. The garage door was open. Shorty’s tractor lawn-mower sat in front. I called into the darkness.
“Shorty! Shorty!” The familiar smell of motor grease and pipe tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the flower as a staunch figure wafted out from the darkness.
“Nice to see you today Bear!” He said huskily, like an old, baseball coach. He wore his everyday uniform, a navy, workman’s suit with silver snaps up the front.
“Shorty look what I found! Look what I found in the green!” I chirped, holding the jar high above my head. Shorty removed the pipe from his lips and bent to examine my treasure.
“Hmm, a Hyacinth, sure enough.”
“It smells sooo good, better than perfume!” I held the jar under his nose.
“What’cha gone do with it Bear, give it to your old pal Shorty?” I squealed and we both laughed. His was the deep chuckle of an old man.
“No, it’s for my gramma.”
“Well I think that’s a great idea, but you’d better go show Bernice first. She’s in the house.”
“Okay, bye Shorty!”
“Bye Bear.” He put his pipe back in place and went back into the garage.
Bernice was standing in the kitchen fixing ham and cheese sandwiches. The Lawernces’ house was cute, and it smelled of old things that were still sweet. Bernice had exactly the same smell. She praised the beauty of my flower and gave me half of a sandwich.
“Bernice,” I asked between mouthfuls of wheat-bread, “Why don’t you have any Hyacinths? You have every other flower.” She laughed graciously.
“Not every flower Bear.”
“You’ve got a lot.” I finished my sandwich. “Can you plant some of these for next year?”
“Well, I don’t think they are compatible with the others,” I frowned like a pug. “But we’ll see. Come, let’s look at the flowers.”
We strolled out into the hot sun. Bernice wore a wide-rimmed, beige hat. She walked slowly, gently. I walked beside her with my jar. She explained what all the different flowers were around the house and why some can’t be planted beside others. By the time we had encircled the cottage and arrived at the vegetable-garden in the back, I was worn out from listening. I sat down on the grass.
Bernice placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the flourishing garden.
“Ugh!” she picked up a yellow vegetable and scowled in disgust. “These darned jackrabbits! They keep eating my turnips!”
“Rabbits?” I echoed, jumping to my feet.
“Yes, they’re horrible. I don’t know how to get rid of them without harming my plants.” I looked at my beloved Hyacinth and felt sympathy for her.
“Come Bear, I want to give you some tomatoes for Carlie.”
We bent down in the bushes, searching for the perfect summer tomatoes. It was mainly me crawling quickly under the plants, digging the deep, red tomatoes off the garden floor as Bernice directed my little hands. After half an hour I met my grandmother in our living room with six beautiful tomatoes and five delicious, homemade sugar-cookies.
“My, my, you made out like a bandit!” She exclaimed taking the jar and the tomatoes.
My grandmother sliced the summer tomatoes and ate them with salt. I ate my cookies, which were big, fluffy sugar cookies that weren't too sweet.
Throughout the following week I gazed at my flower in adoration. When the smooth, white petals began to brown and wilt, I again traversed the cool shadows of the green behind the house. I desperately searched for another Hyacinth or the sign of a baby bulb on the way, but there was nothing; only yellow Daisies and orange Lilies. I had picked the last Hyacinth. After it died I felt like a fool. None ever grew again.
Copyright 2004 by Starryeyeslie
Gramma said she didn’t plant it, it just grew.
“I don’t know sugarplum, maybe old Mrs. Rhys had them in the back of the house before I bought it. Maybe it’s just a wild thing. You ought go ask Bernice. I don’t know much about Hyacinths.”
I put my summer prize in a jar of water and ran next door with it. Our neighbors, the Lawerences (a name I never knew until I was a woman), were Bernice and Shorty. A sweet old couple who seemed to fit together like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. A pint sized pair, they lived in a house that looked like it was built for a hobbit. The front door was heavy streaked elm, and the entrance to the little home protruded out of the rest like a cute, round bubble. It looked like a house built into the hollow of a tree. It had a sharply slanted roof and shutters as dark as the leaves behind our house. For this reason I loved their little gnome cottage. It was welcoming to little people and imaginary creatures.
That day, I ran past the front door and the pink tulips. I skipped along the side of the cottage where the bed of yellow daffodils glowed in the sun. I ran carefully, with irregular footsteps to protect my treasure. The garage door was open. Shorty’s tractor lawn-mower sat in front. I called into the darkness.
“Shorty! Shorty!” The familiar smell of motor grease and pipe tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the flower as a staunch figure wafted out from the darkness.
“Nice to see you today Bear!” He said huskily, like an old, baseball coach. He wore his everyday uniform, a navy, workman’s suit with silver snaps up the front.
“Shorty look what I found! Look what I found in the green!” I chirped, holding the jar high above my head. Shorty removed the pipe from his lips and bent to examine my treasure.
“Hmm, a Hyacinth, sure enough.”
“It smells sooo good, better than perfume!” I held the jar under his nose.
“What’cha gone do with it Bear, give it to your old pal Shorty?” I squealed and we both laughed. His was the deep chuckle of an old man.
“No, it’s for my gramma.”
“Well I think that’s a great idea, but you’d better go show Bernice first. She’s in the house.”
“Okay, bye Shorty!”
“Bye Bear.” He put his pipe back in place and went back into the garage.
Bernice was standing in the kitchen fixing ham and cheese sandwiches. The Lawernces’ house was cute, and it smelled of old things that were still sweet. Bernice had exactly the same smell. She praised the beauty of my flower and gave me half of a sandwich.
“Bernice,” I asked between mouthfuls of wheat-bread, “Why don’t you have any Hyacinths? You have every other flower.” She laughed graciously.
“Not every flower Bear.”
“You’ve got a lot.” I finished my sandwich. “Can you plant some of these for next year?”
“Well, I don’t think they are compatible with the others,” I frowned like a pug. “But we’ll see. Come, let’s look at the flowers.”
We strolled out into the hot sun. Bernice wore a wide-rimmed, beige hat. She walked slowly, gently. I walked beside her with my jar. She explained what all the different flowers were around the house and why some can’t be planted beside others. By the time we had encircled the cottage and arrived at the vegetable-garden in the back, I was worn out from listening. I sat down on the grass.
Bernice placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the flourishing garden.
“Ugh!” she picked up a yellow vegetable and scowled in disgust. “These darned jackrabbits! They keep eating my turnips!”
“Rabbits?” I echoed, jumping to my feet.
“Yes, they’re horrible. I don’t know how to get rid of them without harming my plants.” I looked at my beloved Hyacinth and felt sympathy for her.
“Come Bear, I want to give you some tomatoes for Carlie.”
We bent down in the bushes, searching for the perfect summer tomatoes. It was mainly me crawling quickly under the plants, digging the deep, red tomatoes off the garden floor as Bernice directed my little hands. After half an hour I met my grandmother in our living room with six beautiful tomatoes and five delicious, homemade sugar-cookies.
“My, my, you made out like a bandit!” She exclaimed taking the jar and the tomatoes.
My grandmother sliced the summer tomatoes and ate them with salt. I ate my cookies, which were big, fluffy sugar cookies that weren't too sweet.
Throughout the following week I gazed at my flower in adoration. When the smooth, white petals began to brown and wilt, I again traversed the cool shadows of the green behind the house. I desperately searched for another Hyacinth or the sign of a baby bulb on the way, but there was nothing; only yellow Daisies and orange Lilies. I had picked the last Hyacinth. After it died I felt like a fool. None ever grew again.
Copyright 2004 by Starryeyeslie
Works In Progress
this is BRAND NEW!
the model is Adriana Lima, and this is a Remix of a satirical piece on the oppressive frivolity of western fashion magazines. Not to say I don't dig fashion. I love, love , love me some Alexander McQueen, Tom Ford, Matthew Williamson, Rebbecca Taylor, Chanel.... I just don't agree with the magazines' decided relationship with the consumer.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Randoms
If life is for Lions, I'm undoubtedly one.
If July is for Vengeance, thus far I've won.
Since August is for Lions, I guess that makes two.
Give me no reason and I'll never wrong you.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Sola looks like someone punched her in the face. Was that you life?
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
If July is for Vengeance, thus far I've won.
Since August is for Lions, I guess that makes two.
Give me no reason and I'll never wrong you.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Sola looks like someone punched her in the face. Was that you life?
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
"More than a Conqueror"
What does it mean to be more than a conqueror?
Are you more than a subjugator?
More than a power mongol?
More than a desperate wolf?
You have in your hands
at this moment, a man,
a boy really, now with child
at 360 degrees you lie.
You open your legs
like a flower from the sky.
You clutch him inside,
a vile plan you devise.
A pie of deceit
is disguised as a sweet.
No mother, no Madonna,
just a whore, with a chore,
to conquer, then destroy,
to manipulate a boy
who is fragile
like paper on the wind.
Should he blow away
in the game that you play
The Universe guarantees
suffering to your seed.
Taint an unborn life and find,
that Karma's a bitch and she never dies.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Black Rock Alive and Well with TVOR
By Layla Sola
The AmNews
TV On the Radio, is a Williamsburg band preparing of departure. Their sophomore, album, “Return to Cookie Mountain,” is a collage of (primarily), harmonious contradictions. Afropunk hipster's in plaid, all but one member of this five-piece, rock ensemble are Black (on the outside). TVOR crushes racial stereotypes and musical prototypes with their electro-washed, alternative, rock experiment that’s quite often good.
Sampling, layering and multi-syncing lend an electro-industrial sound to TVOR’s palate of rock. Tracks like the artful melodica, “Blues Down Here,” and “Let the Devil In,” are refreshingly unpredictable in their musical approach, meshing techno-inspired, electro samples over acoustic sounds and rock and staples. Occasionally, the group over-embellishes, resulting in cacophonous noise reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. Penchant to playing with different pitches and vocal harmonies, TVOR has undoubtedly been influenced by British rock, which may be why David Bowie is such a huge fan and even lends his pipes on “Providence,” a slowly crooned piece about America.
While TVOR’s signature style may be fusion, the influence of rock on the group is obvious. “Wolf Like Me,” beats with the insatiable lust of an indie, rock classic and is instantly likeable. Its medley of gyrating drum beats, wicked guitar and an intense, vocal rush provokes a salacious ebullience guaranteed to extirpate the rebel within.
Lyrically, TVOR is leagues ahead of established rock bands. At times clever and cute, and at others, unsettling and desperate, the verses are sensual, intelligent and drenched in an immutable temperament of romantic realism, honest and surreal as the ocean.
"Return to Cookie Mountain" does suffer from an ineluctable melancholy that blankets the listener in an ethereal and dark atmosphere. There is a haunting sensuality, a supreme desolateness about TVOR’s songs, with which it is easy to identify. Like the quintessential mutineer boy band of the 1980’s, the Clash, TVOR is desperate for something, deep inside, and it’s more than just fame and money.
Monday, July 20, 2009
"Vengeance is Mine!"
Never Forget.
Maybe Forgive.
the Moment of Truth,
is in how we live.
"Vengeance is Mine!"
cried the Sun
to the Night.
And all the Day long,
he burned in great Spite.
"You wronged,
you defiled me,
you disrespected the plan!"
Cried the sun
to the Night
as he scorched every land.
Humbly, Night waited,
for Sun to burn out
and as he did,
she crept into his house.
Night blanketed everything;
she enveloped all,
Until the whole world
was under nightfall.
"Time washes all things back into Black"
said Night
to the Sun
who had cast
his last Rath.
He too now was Humble.
His Vengeance was done.
A small blackened coal,
no longer the Sun.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Maybe Forgive.
the Moment of Truth,
is in how we live.
"Vengeance is Mine!"
cried the Sun
to the Night.
And all the Day long,
he burned in great Spite.
"You wronged,
you defiled me,
you disrespected the plan!"
Cried the sun
to the Night
as he scorched every land.
Humbly, Night waited,
for Sun to burn out
and as he did,
she crept into his house.
Night blanketed everything;
she enveloped all,
Until the whole world
was under nightfall.
"Time washes all things back into Black"
said Night
to the Sun
who had cast
his last Rath.
He too now was Humble.
His Vengeance was done.
A small blackened coal,
no longer the Sun.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Realize
this piece is finished now and is for sale. I call this a child's piece because I wanted something that empowered children, but really this art could inspire someone of any age. The boy holds the world in his hand. Realize
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Afropunk
Big up to Coup d'Etat for making Afropunk shine like the sun this year. My homegirls Nikki and Katrice performed with GameRebellion.
Spike Lee Tribute
This is the art I created in dedication to Spike Lee for the Wheres Mars showcase. "Our story is a Brooklyn Brownstone scene painted with red, purple, orange and green. There are collage pieces in the film reel above that represent his films. The second piece is something inspirational I did that day titled "Realize"
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Lolita
So that's my muse, Emanuella's face with a fantasy booty. Although I have seen women shaped like that.
We've GOt to Have It! BK Tribute to Spike Lee Art Exhibti featuring Layla Sola!
We’ve Gotta Have It!: Art Inspired by Spike Lee
June 25 – July 10, 2009
Curated by
Coup d'etat Arts & Raquel Wilson
Salena Gallery
Long Island University
1 University Plaza, Brooklyn, NY 11201
Opening Reception
Thursday, June 25, 2009, 6PM
Part of Brooklyn Honors Spike Lee, We've Gotta Have It!: Art Inspired by Spike Lee is a
juried exhibition honoring legendary filmmaker Spike Lee. Known for his prolific moving
images, Lee has influenced a multitude of visual artists across genre, language and borders.
This exhibition is an opportunity for artists to offer a public thank you for his inspiration.
Artists
Ajamu Kojo Chioke Walker Alzo Slade CAM Che Kothari
Christina Marsh Freddy Anzures for props Golden Aurelien
Jen One Jennifer Drinkwater Julie Puma Ka‐Son Reeves
Layla Sola Marcus Anderson Musa Nelson Caban Paul DEO
Rimx Ron Ackins Russell Frederick Stephanie Land Sylvia Maier
Jurors
Kimberli Gant, Museum of ContemporaryAfrican Diasporic Art; Leah Hamilton, Spike
DDB; Molaundo Jones, School of Visual Arts; Rose Oluronke Ojo, Independent Curator &
Art Historian; amani olu, Humble Arts Foundation; Lisa Schultz, The Whole9 Gallery;
Schwannah Wright, Brooklyn Museum of Art; Nina Ziefvert, Corridor Gallery
For more information visit www.wheresmars.com.
June 25 – July 10, 2009
Curated by
Coup d'etat Arts & Raquel Wilson
Salena Gallery
Long Island University
1 University Plaza, Brooklyn, NY 11201
Opening Reception
Thursday, June 25, 2009, 6PM
Part of Brooklyn Honors Spike Lee, We've Gotta Have It!: Art Inspired by Spike Lee is a
juried exhibition honoring legendary filmmaker Spike Lee. Known for his prolific moving
images, Lee has influenced a multitude of visual artists across genre, language and borders.
This exhibition is an opportunity for artists to offer a public thank you for his inspiration.
Artists
Ajamu Kojo Chioke Walker Alzo Slade CAM Che Kothari
Christina Marsh Freddy Anzures for props Golden Aurelien
Jen One Jennifer Drinkwater Julie Puma Ka‐Son Reeves
Layla Sola Marcus Anderson Musa Nelson Caban Paul DEO
Rimx Ron Ackins Russell Frederick Stephanie Land Sylvia Maier
Jurors
Kimberli Gant, Museum of ContemporaryAfrican Diasporic Art; Leah Hamilton, Spike
DDB; Molaundo Jones, School of Visual Arts; Rose Oluronke Ojo, Independent Curator &
Art Historian; amani olu, Humble Arts Foundation; Lisa Schultz, The Whole9 Gallery;
Schwannah Wright, Brooklyn Museum of Art; Nina Ziefvert, Corridor Gallery
For more information visit www.wheresmars.com.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Lykke Li!
Swedish native Lykke Li is dope! I love Lykke's entire vibe. Her songs are clever and feminine lyrically. They are also uptempo and banging.
Check the vid for "Little Bit": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upnTg2GPgTM&feature=fvw and "Dance Dance Dance": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=modXbqbsAvs
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Check Ill Lyricist Blitz the Ambassador at Highline 6/15
Talented hip hop diplomat, Blitz the Ambassador Monday, 6/15 at Highline Ballroom. Blitz is dope so pick up his new album, Breathe, check the live show and link Blitz' tracks @ www.myspace.com/blitztheambassador
Below is a review of Blitz performing material from his new album earlier this year.
Blitz the Ambassador @ Lyricist Lounge
Blitz the Ambassador
By Starryeyeslie
It's not easy to make a name for yourself in hp-hop, especially if you are an non-conformist . Yet, give 25 year-old, Blitz the Ambassador one show and you'll understand why this quietly ecstatic, Ghanaian born, Mid-West educated, Brooklyn resident is being called the diplomat of underground hip-hop.
Much, like the ventilating lyrics of Talib, Black Thought and Mos Def, Blitz’s rhymes carry the urgency and purpose of a mutiny on contemporary hip-hop. Like celebrated black music innovations of eras past, Blues, Rock and Jazz, Hip-Hop was once a fresh, original sound challenging accepted genres. Yet, despite its roots and versatility, contemporary Hip-hop is virtually incarcerated by an insipid redundancy of greed and assembly-line assimilation.
“Radio is the death of Hip-Hop,” says Blitz of the inspiration for his third album, Suicide Stereotype, due to release in May.
Performing tracks like, Kill the Radio, a mosh-pit worthy, brass mash-up of lyrical rage, the yet unsigned, internationally acclaimed artist murdered the stage at Saturday’s Lyricist Lounge in Manhattan.
Blitz' tempo is right on time and lyrically, he delivers an avalanche of worldly reflections and astute observations with swift celerity and unapologetic honesty. Illuminating histories our society frequently shoves under the rug of oblivion to dismiss and dust aside with disposable gloves, Blitz rouses invisible ghosts of hero soldiers, Katrina victims and hopeful immigrant workers, grinding for a promise of clean water and a living wage in the familiar dream entitled Home.
Blitz’s, massive presence devours the stage in a frenzy of passionate rhyme and percussion playing that explodes like an artful bomb. At times, his delivery is so slow he’s nearly singing. At others, he demonstrates a lyrical dexterity so swift and incisive that fans are left in awe:
“Got to admit it homey you need me,
Tired of watching the same videos throwing remotes at the TV
Like damn- what you gonna do when I let it go,
Turn it out when you hear it bang on the radio
Give it up, gotta be the flow so critical
Opposite of original, you rhyme so pitiful
Slow down Blitz these kids are dyslexic
Got a whole horn section when I’m banging with Optiks”
Yet, Blitz has more to give his audience than lyrics alone. There is an element of candid intimacy, when Blitz, an equally talented percussionist, throws back his head, closes his eyes, and appearing nearly orgasmic under a sheath of sweat, jams with the band.
Over seventies infused beats from producer Optiks, the heavy horned band supports Blitz’s garrulous rhetoric with sax, trumpet, trombone, bass, and drums like the opposing pleasantry of complimentary colors. The result is an irresistible consonance, a synthesis of brass that pushes like a hard-hitting drug, then draws back coyly, until the crowd begs for more.
Blitz, who studied marketing in college, understands the role of visual aesthetics. “I had to keep it classy,” Blitz says of the band’s stage image. Dressed in slacks, tuxedo jackets, and stiff oxford shirts, the sneaker-fresh, Mohawk rocking, all male, six-piece ensemble is unquestionably hip-hop, yet reminiscent of old-school acts like the Rat Pack, Miles and Coltrane.
“I was a fan of Hip-Hop before I became an artist,” Blitz tells the crowd in Hands of Time, a reminiscence drawing on twelve classic hip-hop melodies that's so wicked that it's already being called the best tribute in history by a host of hip-hop aficionados. Watching fans at Lyricist Lounge bobbing collectively, eyes wide, hands cupped over smiles of awe and disbelief, it’s easy to see why Blitz is expected to ambassador an improved age of hip-hop.
In a newly forged era of pan-continental diversity, ethnic complexity, and exigent change, Blitz the Ambassador’s voice of authentic consciousness may just be the cohesive agent required to bind the fabric of Hip-Hop’s future.
Copyright 2009 by Starryeyeslie
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Be You : Tommie Smith and John Carlos
I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on the 1972 Olympics, in which Gold Medalist Tommie Smith and medalist John Carlos saluted black power during the medal ceremony. The two wore the black glove, making it official and the day goes down in global history as a super day in sports and a milestone and great source of pride for African Americans. Moral of the story: Be a winner. Be you.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Aardvark, Part 1
Initially, Virginia resisted his advances. “I’m really only interested in friendship Jude,” she admonished. Yet, the rejection served only to make her more attractive to him. He didn’t take a taxi cab home that night, as was his custom, but walked briskly, releasing images of her lips, hair and skin into the wind behind him. Winning her was a game requiring subtlety and patience, and although he was a young man of twenty-eight, his experience and wit had made him an expert at both. He became the best friend imaginable; the kind who always picked up the tab when they went out, who never criticized, who kept her favorite sorbets and wines in his refrigerator; the kind who massaged her aching back, neck and supple hips until she fell asleep on the left side of his bed, too comfortable and content to bother going home. Slowly, he wore her resistance, opening her to him like a daffodil waking to the sunrise. When she finally came to him, he savored every centimeter of her body, sampled every crevice and swallowed all her feminine flavors until she was delirious, spoiled and smitten.
They enjoyed an arousing exchange of satirical banter that kept them indoors most weekends, stepping out only to brunch at the creperie, then back to his Upper West Side apartment to make love. He did her taxes, and revamped her resume, he bought her gifts and introduced her to friends. In return, she took to caring for him, lining his shoes neatly against the closet baseboards, hanging art on his naked walls and cooking him grilled avocado, egg and tomato sandwiches on wheat bread with the crusts sliced away. Most of all, she let him have her, devour her and consume her sexually, which was really no sacrifice at all, for he pleasured her orally for hours before he entered her, until she was so intoxicated with love that he could have his way with her.
One morning, at the close of a quiet weekend, Jude opened his eyes to the pale morning light leaking through the cracks in the drapes. He awoke sexually aroused, just as every other morning, and looked to the left where his girlfriend slept. The white, downy comforter covered her, but her frame appeared much more haunch than usual. He smiled, recalling images of her womanly nakedness and peeled back the sheet. Yet, rather than the honey smooth, viola-shaped crescent of her back, it was wide, thick, round and sparsely hirsute. His erection shriveled like a prune, and he leapt from the bed in fright, tripping over a stool and skidding to the floor with a thud in his haste. The bed covers tussled.
“Jude?” It was Virginia. Her voice resonated deeper, as if were being projected from a barrel, rather than the narrow passage of a throat, but it surely was her. “Jude?” she called again. The blanket slid to the floor where Jude lay motionless, his breath a stagnant bubble inside his chest. This is stupid, he thought, pushing himself onto his feet. “Jude, what were you doing on the floor?” a short, congested huff similar to a pig’s snort tailed her question, and when Jude turned to face Virginia sitting naked on the bed, he gasped in horror, for it wasn’t Virginia who faced him at all, but an animal.
It was peculiar looking with a long shovel-like snout, and tubular ears that perked up like bat’s on its elongated head. The neck was short and connected to a massive body with a strongly arched back and there were long, sharp claws attached to short, square limbs that were longer in the back than the front. The skin, a jaundice yellow-gray shade, was thick and fatty like a pig’s.
“Are you okay baby?” Her affection unleashed a wave of disgust that rippled through his body. Oversized and awkward, she inclined toward him, her large, black eyes blinking slowly with concern.
“Fine,” he blurted and darted into the bathroom, slamming the door and feverishly locking it behind him.
Incongruous sounds came from just outside the bathroom. He listened attentively, plastered flat against the door like a bug on a windshield, to a series of hollow clacks and heavy steps, the faint scratching like nails on wood and the slothful sound of something long and weighty being dragged across the floor.
“Jude honey, is everything all right?” called Virginia empathetically, but her congested animal breathing, loud and trenchant outside the door, terrified him.
“I don’t feel well.” He feigned a cough. “I’ll work from home today. Go ahead, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re sick.”
“I’ll be fine, just go to work.”
“Okay, but I need to take a shower. Come out of the bathroom,” she coaxed and snorted again, pinning him to the door in fear. He scanned the four, barren walls for an escape, but he knew the only window, a small ventilation shaft in the alcove of the shower, was sealed with security bars.
“Okay,” he relented. “Will you bring me an aspirin and a glass of water from the kitchen?”
He listened to her waddle away from the door, the cadence of two sets of limbs drumming into the distance. He unlocked the door and peeked out just in time to see a long, cone-shaped tail disappear around the refrigerator. Jude sprinted across the hall to his office and locked himself inside. His skin crawled and chilled as the clumsy waddle drew nearer.
“Jude?” the doorknob jiggled. “I have your aspirin.”
“I’m on the phone with my boss. This may take awhile. Go to work babe. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you this afternoon.”
He waited for the shower to stop running and the familiar click of the latch locking on the apartment door before he crept out of the study. All was quiet and normal, but for a lingering animal scent, a faint feral mélange of flesh, urine, dirt and sweat. Virginia had left the water and aspirin on the dining room table with a note.
I hope you feel better soon sweetheart. Get some rest, and don’t work too hard. I’ll come by and check on you later. xoxo V
Jude inspected the note. He recognized the elegant, cursive letters and slanted, vertical V that was Virginia’s signature on every letter and email she had ever sent him.
“This is insane,” he told himself, but he still bolted the door and affixed the copper chain in place before sliding back into bed to rest. He wasn’t sleepy, but he lay teetering on the brink of lucidity for hours, and when he finally rose, he felt confident and reassured that his early morning scare had been a nightmare. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and the stock market had just closed. He flipped on CNBC to watch the highlights for the day, chastising himself for missing a day of trading. His iPhone buzzed and Virginia’s heart-shaped face illuminated the screen.
“What’s up?” he said when the headphones were wedged inside his ears.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Much better,” he said and let out a long breath.
“What was wrong?”
“I don’t know, just feeling ill. I slept it off. Everything’s fine now.”
“Do you feel well enough to make the Salvador Dali reception at the museum tonight?”
“I feel fine and I’m looking forward to it!”
“Great! You’re on the list, so find me in the gallery when you arrive.”
“All right babe, I’ll see you later.”
Jude hung up the phone and gazed at the large, framed Dali print above his Television. The piece, titled, Reflections of Elephants, was probably his favorite, and depicted three majestic white swans with elongated necks reflecting grisly trunked Elephants in the black pool of water they swam in. Virginia, who was an assistant curator at the Museum of Modern Art, had surprised him with the painting after learning he had a penchant for surrealism.
“Keep the change,” Jude told the taxi driver as he stepped onto 53rd Street dressed in a sharp black suit, crisp white shirt and gold cufflinks. He strode toward the giant banner reading Salvador Dali and the Paranoiac-Critical, and fell in line with the crowd of Manhattan socialites, older, well-to-do art patrons, and beautiful women wrapped in designer fabrics with plunging necklines. Jude loved the fact that his girlfriend, although modestly financed and without legacy or prestige, had exclusive access to this community of wealth and privilege and was rubbing shoulders with Manhattan’s social elite.
Jude was ushered into the main reception room where champagne and hors d’oeurves were being passed to guests on heavy silver trays carried by tuxedo clad waiters. He sampled the duck pate and ordered a Chopin and soda from the bar. The low hum of merry conversation and laughter reverberated off the polished marble tiles and echoed faintly in the capacious hollow of the geometric glass ceiling. He sipped his cocktail and scanned the room, his eyes resting on a pair of slender, tan legs, before following a plump bottom switching under a sheath of silk into the gallery.
Massive canvases encased in elaborate bronze frames lined the gallery walls. Jude examined them closely. The palatial decadence absorbed by rich red and blue hues contrasting a desolate and ghostly hollow of tans and grays in Suburbs of a Paranoiac-Critical Town; the reverent nuns sanctifying the destitute in the gaunt visage of the atheist philosopher in Slave Market with the Apparition of the Invisible Bust of Voltaire; the transparent limbs a wash of azure rivers flowing into the blackened ovaries of mother earth below in the Freudian sexuality of the Invisible Man. He studied the clocks soft as wet pancakes, the lush red rose, the centaurs, the butterflies, the caravans of crooked, stilt-legged elephants marching across a sparse horizon of blues, browns and creams. Each image was a fantasy and perhaps a nightmare, a submersion in the subconscious, the surreal, and the cadence of time ticking noiselessly into eternity. Jude could not interpret the arcane suspension of reality or the disturbing double images. Were even his dreams as amorphous as Dali’s imagination?
He approached Herve Guillaume, the museum curator, and Virginia’s boss, who was surrounded by several patrons.
“Monsieur Guillaume.” Jude extended his hand to the bald Frenchman, his only hair a thin strip of blonde tapered into a V on his chin.
“Jude, welcome. What do you do you think of the exhibit?” Guillaume asked pronouncing his words in a tight, nasal accent.
“It’s fantastic! I’ve always been a huge fan of Dali, so it’s great to have so many pieces here in New York.”
“Indeed, it is an honor. We were very fortunate to obtain such an impressive collection. Have you found Virginia? She is there, near Reflections of Elephants.” He nodded toward the far end of the gallery.
“Thank you. I will find her.”
Jude spotted the Elephants painting and meandered toward the coterie of black suits and bejeweled ladies gazing and gesturing toward the dark canvas. As he approached, he heard Virginia’s familiar voice explaining Dali’s impetus behind paranoiac-critical from inside the human cluster.
“Dali systematically explored the unconscious with his paranoiac-critical method, inspired by the power of paranoia in association to what we view as abnormal. What is weird, grotesque and incongruous, are matters of perception, and change radically over time. In Reflections of Elephants, Dali challenges subconscious paranoia by yielding bizarre and distorted images of dark elephants in the reflection of the conventionally aesthetic swans,” she said. Yet, as he broke through the barrier of warm bodies, smelling of Chanel and Yves St. Laurent, he felt his legs wobble and give into near collapse, when he descried the aardvark center to the distinguished crowd. A middle-aged man in a ruffled white shirt with a thin, black tie caught Jude by the arm and helped steady him.
“Are you all right son? You nearly took a tumble?” Jude’s cheeks flushed scarlet and each face turned to observe the commotion, including Virginia, the aardvark, who rushed to his side.
“Jude! Are you okay?” She nudged him gently with her snout. The coarse, wiry hairs tickled his cheek and Jude felt the duck pate rise in his throat and his legs begin to quiver again. “I think I need to sit down,” he said feebly. Virginia led him to an ottoman in the center of the gallery.
Jude leered at her as he loosened the collar on his shirt. Just yesterday, he had possessed a beautiful, articulate woman, a swan among geese, and now he was confronted by a massive, repellent creature with a slithering protractile tongue and black, cavernous nostrils that flared widely with each breath. He looked away in disgust, sweat pouring down his face, as a short brown gentleman approached announcing that he was a doctor.
“What happened?” the doctor asked, squatting on the floor to look up into Jude’s pink face.
“I’m not sure. He wasn’t feeling well this morning, but said he was fine. A moment ago he nearly collapsed and now he’s sweating profusely.” The doctor felt Jude’s forehead, neck and wrists as Jude sat limply on the ottoman, his eyes turning back in his head.
“Please bring some water and a towel or napkins,” the doctor ordered and Virginia lumbered away from them. “Young man, tell me what happened. How do you feel?” He dabbed Jude’s head with a handkerchief.
“Doctor, do you see it? Do you she her?” there was desperation in his voice.
“See what? Who should I see?”
“Virginia, she’s changed. Virginia’s an animal. Don’t leave me with her! Don’t leave me!” Jude rolled back on the ottoman, faint with fatigue. The doctor shook his head in pity.
“Here’s the water doctor, and the napkins,” said Virginia. The doctor took the glass of water, his eyes locking with hers a moment in sympathy. He held the cup to Jude’s lips as he drank.
“Just a few more sips,” coaxed the doctor until the glass was empty and Jude lay back, the perspiration beginning to dry on his face.
“Take him home. Give him eight hundred milligrams of ibprofin and put him straight to bed….and let him sleep alone tonight,” the doctor added, cupping Virginia’s hand in his. Her eyes shifted anxiously between the doctor and Jude, who lay motionless on the ottoman.
“What’s wrong with him doctor? Will he be okay?”
“He should be fine by tomorrow dear. Either way, you should schedule him an appointment with a physician soon. Call me if his practitioner isn’t available.” He handed her his card.
“Thank you so much for your help doctor.”
The doctor helped Jude to his feet, but when Virginia touched him, he reeled back and shouted:
“Leave me alone! Don’t touch me you beast!”
All conversation halted at once, and the gallery was silent as a morgue as Virginia stood out in the center like Dali’s ruby Meditative Rose against a periwinkle sky, hurt, embarrassed, and with no place to hide. The ruffled shirt man offered his assistance and he and the doctor escorted Jude out of the room.
The pair rode in silence, the only sound the low murmur of the driver speaking Punjabi on his headset as the taxi plowed through the mighty rows of regal, turn-of-the-century apartment buildings lining West End Avenue. When the car stopped, Jude passed the driver a twenty without reading the meter and stepped onto the street. Frank, the evening doorman, tipped his hat to the gloomy couple as they entered. Virginia took to arranging his bed while Jude sank into the sofa, deadpan and reticent.
“Your bed is ready,” Virginia announced as she set a kettle of water on the stove to boil. “The doctor advised that you sleep.”
Jude gazed up at the Elephants poster on the wall. It had always seemed to him, that the white swans were elegant, regal, sublime, and that the elephants were dark, and ferocious in their beastliness. But now, he saw the swans differently, their elongated necks no longer appeared delicate and refined, but twisted and contorted, grotesque and unnatural. Now it was the elephants who appeared majestic, as if their murky existence beneath the water’s surface had merely been to camouflage their power over the attenuated swans.
Jude went to his bedroom. Several minutes later, Virginia placed a cup of hot tea and the aspirin on the nightstand beside him. The orange scent of the tea mixed with her earthy, mammalian odor and he thought she smelled less repugnant than before.
Jude rolled his neck on the pillow to stare out the window and saw a shapely figure reflecting in the thin strip of glass between the iridescent drapes. He turned and saw the silky fabric of Virginia’s dress hugging her hour-glass frame as she drifted toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly before she was gone. She turned in the doorway to face him. Her small, pink mouth was folded into a frown. She lifted her chin, exposing the length of her slender neck.
“Why would you do that? Why would you publicly humiliate me in front of my colleagues?” Her voice trembled like strings plucked on a guitar. “I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here.”
“We had a fight, just a fight. It won’t happen again,” he said dismissively. Virginia switched off the light and left the room.
Jude and Amanda, watched people, dogs, and cars push up Third Avenue as they relaxed in the shade of an oversized umbrella outside Seville Restaurant on humid Friday afternoon.
“It’s so good to be back in New York! I thought I might turn into an Eskimo if I stayed in Alaska any longer,” Amanda proclaimed, her brown eyes bulging with animation.
“It’s good to have you back. The city missed you.” Jude smiled, glad that his friend was back from her travels. His relationship with Virginia was becoming a struggle; one day she was an aardvark, the next she was a beautiful woman again. Jude thought he might be going crazy and needed someone to talk to.
“Did I mention that I’ve been seeing someone?” Jude asked, stirring the ice chunks in his margarita.
“You did awhile back. Is it the same girl?”
“Yeah, it’s been about six months now.”
“I’m impressed. That’s like a marathon for you!” Amanda grinned, exposing the straw inserted between the gap in her teeth as she sipped her margarita.
“Yeah, well she’s kind of disgusting,” Jude confessed. Amanda backed away from her drink. Her round eyes thinned like slivered almonds.
“Disgusting?” Amanda’s nose wrinkled. “Define disgusting. Is it stinky disgusting, obscenity disgusting, fluid excretion disgusting, animal sex noises disgusting, she won’t shave her pits disgusting? Disgusting can mean many things my friend.”
Jude stared at the hand painted face of his watch, a gift from Virginia on their trip to Argentina a few months back. She had found it in San Telmo and surprised him with the wristwatch that depicted the street market where she bought it. At first, he felt the soft blue and yellow face was too colorful, and not his style, but the more he wore the unique timepiece, the more he grew to love it. He didn’t understand why Virginia, who represented the watch, the art, and everything colorful and creative in his life was now having the opposite effect on him. Jude leaned across the small table and whispered:
“Virginia’s an animal.”
“An animal?” A crease formed between Amanda’s eyes.
“Yes, an aardvark.” Amanda threw her head back and roared with laughter.
“Dude, isn’t an aardvark like, an anteater?”
“Yeah, but looks more like a pig.”
“Does she feed on ants and termites as you slice your steak?” she snickered. Jude scowled.
“It’s not funny Amanda! I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do! She was everything I want in a woman; sexy, smart, classy, fun. She was perfect! But now, there are just so many things about her that I never noticed before, like how hairy she is, or how big her stomach is, or what a mess she makes. I can always tell wherever she’s been in my apartment!” he said angrily.
“Have you talked to her about this?”
“No.” He looked at the watch, remembering the outdoor antiques markets, the historical Spanish churches, the seductive tango dancing, and how excited Virginia had been to share it all with him. “I do enjoy her company, and we have good sex, but I can never predict when she’ll be gross again. It’s getting worse.” Amanda sucked up the last of her margarita.
“I want to discuss this, but I have to pick up the keys to my new apartment by five. Come by later this week and we’ll talk more okay.” Amanda kissed Jude’s cheek and faded into the sidewalk traffic.
Copyright 2008 Starryeyeslie
The Aardvark, Part 2
“Another margarita please!” called Jude to the waiter. He felt guilty for speaking poorly of Virginia, but her love, once intoxicating and delicious as a flute of French champagne, had become an acidic cocktail of attachment and complaisance. She always needed him, he could never give her enough, and yet, she doted upon him, waited for his instructions, looked to him for guidance. There were times when she failed to do simple things for herself, like getting a manicure or repairing her computer, but there she was, greeting him at the end of each day with an offering; her time, her cooking, her body. He wondered if her love for him was stronger than it was for herself. When she slept, she fought ghosts and demons in nightmares that she couldn’t recall. She laughed blithely when he told her of her restlessness, but her slumber was so disturbed that he feared for her, wondering what malignant turmoil raged in her subconscious. Her body jerked, her limbs flailed, her unconscious mania forcing her suddenly upright in bed like a stiff board. He often held her just to settle her fits. She slept peacefully when their forms were bonded together, his arms shielding her in a protective embrace. She was to Jude, like a disabled child; genuine and innocent yet, undesirable and burdensome. He wanted her to be happy, but he had begun to feel that she relied on him for her happiness.
Jude’s iPhone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. Virginia’s smiling face filled the screen.
“Hi, I just got off work. Where are you?”
“I’m at Seville having a margarita.”
“Alone?”
“Amanda was here, but she left.”
“Who is Amanda?” Jude thought she sounded jealous, and was annoyed by her invasiveness.
“An old friend,” he replied curtly. “Are you coming up here?”
Several minutes later, Virginia, the aardvark, arrived at the restaurant. Jude reddened with embarrassment as she struggled to squeeze into the space beside him. He ordered two more margaritas and she chatted about her day at the museum, the competition for artwork, her student loans, and how she felt inadequate and out of place in her bourgeois work environment. Jude heard her, but he didn’t listen. He gazed at people passing on the street, thinking that she was self-absorbed and banal, her problems trivial and inconsequential. A shapely woman strode by and Jude stiffened.
“Jude? Jude?” Virginia was staring at him.
“Huh? What’s up?”
“Jude is everything all right? You seem distant.” Jude straightened in his chair.
“How so?”
“Things feel different between us. We don’t go dancing anymore. We haven’t been having as much sex. Are you seeing someone else?” her face was solemn and penitent.
“No,” Jude laughed. “I am not seeing anyone else. I’m just stressed out about work. The stock market is really tough right now. I’m not doing as well as I should. I can’t do all the things I planned for us. Do you have any idea how I feel, being unable to do the things I want for my girl?” Jude brushed his fingers against the thick rolls of fat on her neck. Virginia smiled, revealing sparse, stained, columnar teeth that reminded Jude of rotting wood. “I need you to be supportive babe, everything will be fine.”
“Jesus! What a miserable day!” Jude lamented to his colleagues as they downed bourbon at Ulysses, a well-known, Wall Street watering hole.
“I know man! If the market doesn’t improve soon, I’ll be out of a job,” groaned Mitch, another junior trader Jude at the firm.
“Dude, I’m already 80K in the hole and we’ve got three more weeks left in the month,” Brad said, throwing his hands in the air.
“Look on the bright side bro– that means you’ve got three weeks to dig yourself out. You’ve got to stay positive.” Jude hoped to raise his team’s spirits.
“Here’s to staying positive!” said Brad, raising his shot glass in the air.
“And shorts!” Mitch chimed in. The three men tilted back their necks and downed the brown liquor.
“Arrrgh!” Mitch, the lightweight, spat whiskey through his teeth and Brad and Jude erupted in laughter.
“I’ve got to piss,” Jude announced and sauntered toward the men’s room.
He stood at the urinal, relieving himself of the Johnny Walker Black that had helped him forget the day’s loss when the door flew open. An attractive woman with fluffy, brown hair and shinny, pink lips stepped inside.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her checks flushing the color of her lip gloss. She slammed the door shut. Jude zipped his trousers and dipped his hands under the faucet. When he exited the bathroom, the woman was still there. She smiled, revealing a row of square, white teeth. Jude wondered how he ever fell for Virginia despite her odd and decayed smile.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the woman gushed. “The line for the ladies room is a mile long and I have to go so badly.” She hopped from side to side in her red pumps.
“Well the lock is broken, but if you want to go, I’ll stand here and man the door for you so you won’t be disturbed,” he offered.
“Would you? You’re amazing! I’ll just be a sec!” She darted into the men’s room. A few minutes later, she returned appearing refreshed.
“Thank you so much. You saved me from an embarrassing accident!”
“No worries.”
“Well at least let me buy you a drink for your chivalry,” she said, tracing her tongue along her plump, rose lips. Jude nearly tasted watermelon candy as he imagined her shinny lips grazing against his various bodily appendages.
“I won’t let you buy me a drink, but I’d be happy to have a drink with you. What’s your name?”
“Olivia,” she extended her hand.
“I’m Jude.”
Jude slowed the small, blue sedan to a stop on a brownstone-lined street and pressed his palm against the horn. After several minutes, Virginia lumbered out, her large posterior awkwardly following her short front limbs down the porch steps. Nearly two months had passed since the Dali exhibit and Jude was now accustomed to Virginia being an aardvark. He shook his head as he watched her laborious descent. She has so much to learn, he thought. Virginia entered the car and kissed Jude’s mouth, her tongue spreading a sheath of sticky saliva over his lips.
“I’m so excited!” she squealed and he discreetly wiped her fluids from his mouth. “A trip to the wilderness is all I really wanted before the end of summer. Thank you.” Her black eyes twinkled.
“I’m glad I can make you happy babe,” Jude replied with a closed mouth smile.
“Where are you taking us?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said as the car crossed the Throggs Neck Bridge.
It felt good to be out of the city with fresh mountain air blowing over his face. Jude listened to the radio and enjoyed the freedom of the open road, feeling so liberated that he almost forgot he was dating an aardvark. After a few hours, they arrived at a small cabin beside a quiet lake. Virginia inspected the property, circling the cabin several times, digging holes with her claws and burrowing herself in the dirt, while rolling around like a dog.
“It’s so refreshing to be out of the city!” she declared when she returned to find him sitting at a picnic table beside the water.
“It seems like you’re at home,” he said, focusing on the clumps of dirt spotting her tubby body.
“Yes, I always feel at home in the wild, as if it’s where I belong.”
“Indeed,” Jude smirked.
“Do you know how to swim?” Virginia asked, looking at the rowboat docked at the shore.
“Yes, but not very well, besides, I think it’s too cold today for swimming.”
“Perhaps,” she said coyly, “but we can go for a ride in the boat.”
“In that thing? There’s no motor on that boat!”
“Of course not silly! It’s a rowboat!”
“Here we go,” Jude grumbled. He didn’t want to row a boat. He didn’t even want to be at the park, but Virginia had pled relentlessly for a camping excursion until Jude finally agreed to a short trip upstate over Labor Day.
They climbed into the boat and Jude began to row. He found the oars difficult to maneuver, and the boat turned from side to side on the calm lake water without gliding away from the shore. Virginia snickered at his clumsy attempts to manage the rowboat. Jude leered at her, annoyed by her jubilance.
“My little prep-school boy,” she teased, referring to his boarding school education. “Let me try.”
She managed the boat with ease, pushing the wooden oars through the water naturally each time her meaty frame leaned back against the stern. Soon they were all alone in the serene tranquility of the crystal-blue water.
“Do you want me to take over?” he offered after some time had elapsed.
“No, it’s okay, I like it. Besides, this doesn’t seem like the kind of task for a prep-school boy.” She was enjoying teasing him, happy to find a physical activity she was better at than he, but he refused to banter with her.
“Prep-school boys know how to do this kind of stuff. I’m a city boy,” he corrected.
“Okay then, my little city boy,” she chided playfully.
When the sun became too intense, Virginia pulled in the oars and they lay back in the boat, floating peacefully in the shade of the trees. They remained on the water for hours, without talking, and when daylight began to fade, they rowed back to the cabin to eat. Virginia had packed homemade lasagna, but she barely ate, choosing instead to circle the trees with her snout in the dirt. Jude went inside so that he wouldn’t have to watch. When she was done, she joined him in the cabin, curling herself into the fetal position on the bed beside him, and resting her head on his chest.
“Are you happy?” Her voice was humble and submissive. Jude counted the rings in the wood of the rustic cabin ceiling.
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “Why do you ask?”
“Well I just wondered….you rarely complain or ask much of me, so sometimes it’s hard for me to know how you feel. It’s okay to check once in awhile right?”
“It’s okay. I was just trying to pinpoint your insecurity.”
Virginia’s body stiffened when he said this, and she buried her face in his chest. She held him closer and snuggled her snout against his neck, kissing it. Her breath was hot against his skin. He didn’t speak as he lifted her onto her hind legs and placed her wide, round bottom on top of his lap, entering her from behind, so that he couldn’t see her face tighten and contort as he slowly pushed himself inside her.
Jude stumbled into his apartment in the pre-dawn hours, drunk off Johnny Walker Black and Veueve Clicquot.
“That was so much fun! You and your friends sure know how to have a good time!” declared Olivia, her arm draped over Jude’s shoulder as her ankles teetered in her red pumps.
“Absolutely babe. I’m all about good times!” Jude agreed, removing a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and uncorking it with a loud pop. The champagne spilled over the rim and Olivia squealed as Jude pressed the tip to her lips, letting the bubbly liquid spill down her chin. He kissed her, licking the champagne off her cherry lips. She giggled, her high-pitched laughter rising in the air like a bird.
“What’s that?” She pointed at the Elephants on the wall.
“It’s a copy of a painting by Salvador Dali. It’s called Reflections of Elephants,” Jude said and took another swig of champagne.
“Oooh. Are you an art critic?” Olivia cooed, taking the bottle from him. Jude blushed.
“No, but I know a few things.”
“Okay, tell me about this painting then Mr. Artsy.” She tipped the bottle back and the liquid ran down her neck and open chest.
“Well, Dali employed his paranoiac-critical method, challenging paranoia of the subconscious by yielding images of ferocious elephants in the reflection of the aesthetic swans.”
“Oh my God! I didn’t even see the elephants!”
“That’s because you, my dear, are a beautiful swan, and could never reflect beastliness,” he said closing in on her. She stumbled, and began to wedge her foot out of her pump.
“Leave those on,” Jude whispered and pushed Olivia’s face against the wall before descending to his knees.
The next afternoon, Virginia was outside Jude’s apartment, angrily ringing the bell. He saw her hairy snout on the video monitor and buzzed her in, concealing the condom wrappers and champagne bottle in the trash before unlocking the door. She waddled into the apartment, suspiciously glancing around the living room and sniffing the furniture.
“Why didn’t you call me back last night?” she demanded.
“My phone died.” Jude said and opened the refrigerator.
“Your phone died? Then why didn’t you call me from someone else’s phone?”
“I was drunk. I came home and fell asleep immediately. It happens okay.”
“No, it’s not okay! It’s not okay to tell me you’re going to meet me, and then have me waiting for you while your phone is off!” she said, her voice becoming vociferous. “What am I supposed to think Jude?”
“I don’t know Virginia!” He shouted and abruptly slammed the refrigerator door shut. “I went to a birthday party for my boss. I was going to meet you later, but I ended up getting drunk and my phone died. I didn’t call you. It happens! Think what the fuck you want!” he walked away. Virginia followed him to the bedroom.
“Listen Jude, I’ve been stressed out lately. I’ve been doing so well at work and with my art. I want you to be proud of me and see what I’ve accomplished. I know I’m probably feeling insecure because I’m emotional, but sometimes I feel like you don’t want to see me.”
“It sounds like you’re not very happy in this relationship Virginia. Just last week we were hanging out, having great sex….why can’t you just go out with your friends, while I go out with my friends and still know that we will see each other soon and everything will be okay? Why do you always have to find something to be insecure about instead of focusing on all the things I do that say I want to be with you? I’ve been there for you when you needed help, I pay for 90% of all our dinners and activities, I took you on trips, and all you do complain and act insecure!” he shouted. Virginia looked at the floor.
“That’s not true,” she whispered.
“It is true Virginia and you know what? I don’t have time to coddle your feelings anymore! I’m done with this relationship.” Virginia’s oval eyes rounded like quarters.
“But you said you were happy.”
“I was happy, but you’re just not what I’m looking for.”
“Not what you’re looking for?” Virginia’s voice screeched like an untuned violin. Jude shrugged.
“You can be aloof sometimes. You’re not focused. You say you want to have your own art show, but the entire summer has gone by and you’ve yet to stick to a plan and execute it. It makes me think you’re not passionate about your art.”
“It takes time to create a series of paintings,” she defended, “Besides, my first priority is to pay off my student loans and get myself in a comfortable financial situation.”
“That’s another thing! I’m tired of hearing about how hard your life was and how your parents aren’t there for you, like you don’t have friend in the world!”
“Jude you encouraged me to be open and you asked me about my past months ago! Now suddenly you’re judging me for it? If you had a problem with these things why didn’t you say something instead of waiting until it was too late?”
“Well I’m saying it now, and it is too late.”
“Jude I love you!” Her affirmation blasted into the deaf silence like a horn into a dense fog. Jude stood across the bed, stiff as a corpse, his retinas burning into hers with the morbid finality of a death sentence. Tears spilled out of Virginia’s eyes before she turned and fled the apartment.
It was mid-March in New York. The winter frost had begun to melt all around the city, bringing sunshine and the cheerful melody of birds in anticipation of spring. Jude awoke and stretched his limbs, yawning off the remnants of the previous evening. He and his girlfriend had celebrated her birthday at Santos Party House downtown. Jude stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. He could hear the sound of the television in the living room as he dressed. Olivia must be watching her Saturday morning cartoons. He smiled, recalling the trepidation he had felt when he pulled Olivia into Santos deserted staircase, and took her despite her protests of public display. Jude slipped on his sneakers and grabbed his keys.
“Olivia? Olivia I’m going across the street to get some coffee. Do you want something?” Jude stepped into the sunlit living room, where Bugs Bunny danced across the TV screen in a hat top and cane, but Olivia was not stretched across the sofa as he had expected, nor was she in the kitchen.
Olivia’s buoyant, aerial laughter skipped in the air above his head. Jude’s eyes ascended to a large, monkey-like creature with shaggy green and white fur, thick as a sheep dog’s, swinging upside down from the chandelier. It had three, long ivory claws on each foot, and a small brown face, with deep set eyes, a small, round nose, and appeared to wear a perpetual smile. Jude backed away from the creature, his mouth agape, stupefied.
“I’ll take a strawberry yogurt,” it said, still dangling from its short hind legs.
Jude ran from the apartment and dashed out of the building. He sprinted between weekend shoppers and past mothers pushing baby carriages until he was several blocks across town and came to an abrupt stop near the Museum of Natural History.
Jude collapsed on a bench, panting as his burning lungs struggled to absorb enough oxygen to calm his heart. He didn’t have a name for the furry animal hanging from the dinning room chandelier. It was an unusual creature he had only seen in books and on television, but he was sure he had heard Olivia’s voice requesting the yogurt that was her usual breakfast.
“This can’t be happening, not again! Why God? Why?” he moaned, cupping his face in his hands in despair.
After several minutes, Jude began to walk along the museum fence. The enclosed palatial structure sat on a wide lawn, yellow and withered from frost, and sparsely littered with tall, monarchial Elm trees. He watched people playing with their dogs on the lawn and tried to forget what waited for him at home. As he turned the fence, Jude caught sight of a lovely, hour-glass shape moving toward him in tight jeans and tall, brown boots. Her supple breasts jiggled impressively as she bounced along the sidewalk. A gust of wind blew as she approached, lifting her long, honey tresses into the air, and spreading them over her face like a cloth. Cute, Jude thought. As they neared one another, she shook her head and plucked the hairs away, revealing a familiar face.
“Virginia!” Jude exclaimed, shocked to see her feminine and beautiful again. “How are you?” Virginia straightened her back and held her head high.
“I’m great. How are you?” she said coolly, her telling eyes lingering on his sloppy attire, disheveled hair, and sweaty brow.
“Um, you know, same old, same old,” he responded, realizing he did not look his best.
“It’s great to see you. You look fantastic!” Virginia was silent, leaving him to wonder what was the appropriate thing to say next.
“Maybe we could….get together sometime. We have a lot to talk about.” His eyes pleaded with hers for forgiveness. Virginia’s pupils dilated as she slid her fingers into the pockets of her jacket.
“Maybe we could…if you weren’t a rat.” She strode past him purposefully and Jude realized he had never noticed how tall and statuesque Virginia was. His eyes followed her until she had crossed Columbus Avenue and was out of sight. "What a stallion!" Jude declared. Then he scurried home to feed the giant, green monkey some yogurt.
Copyright 2008
Jude’s iPhone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. Virginia’s smiling face filled the screen.
“Hi, I just got off work. Where are you?”
“I’m at Seville having a margarita.”
“Alone?”
“Amanda was here, but she left.”
“Who is Amanda?” Jude thought she sounded jealous, and was annoyed by her invasiveness.
“An old friend,” he replied curtly. “Are you coming up here?”
Several minutes later, Virginia, the aardvark, arrived at the restaurant. Jude reddened with embarrassment as she struggled to squeeze into the space beside him. He ordered two more margaritas and she chatted about her day at the museum, the competition for artwork, her student loans, and how she felt inadequate and out of place in her bourgeois work environment. Jude heard her, but he didn’t listen. He gazed at people passing on the street, thinking that she was self-absorbed and banal, her problems trivial and inconsequential. A shapely woman strode by and Jude stiffened.
“Jude? Jude?” Virginia was staring at him.
“Huh? What’s up?”
“Jude is everything all right? You seem distant.” Jude straightened in his chair.
“How so?”
“Things feel different between us. We don’t go dancing anymore. We haven’t been having as much sex. Are you seeing someone else?” her face was solemn and penitent.
“No,” Jude laughed. “I am not seeing anyone else. I’m just stressed out about work. The stock market is really tough right now. I’m not doing as well as I should. I can’t do all the things I planned for us. Do you have any idea how I feel, being unable to do the things I want for my girl?” Jude brushed his fingers against the thick rolls of fat on her neck. Virginia smiled, revealing sparse, stained, columnar teeth that reminded Jude of rotting wood. “I need you to be supportive babe, everything will be fine.”
“Jesus! What a miserable day!” Jude lamented to his colleagues as they downed bourbon at Ulysses, a well-known, Wall Street watering hole.
“I know man! If the market doesn’t improve soon, I’ll be out of a job,” groaned Mitch, another junior trader Jude at the firm.
“Dude, I’m already 80K in the hole and we’ve got three more weeks left in the month,” Brad said, throwing his hands in the air.
“Look on the bright side bro– that means you’ve got three weeks to dig yourself out. You’ve got to stay positive.” Jude hoped to raise his team’s spirits.
“Here’s to staying positive!” said Brad, raising his shot glass in the air.
“And shorts!” Mitch chimed in. The three men tilted back their necks and downed the brown liquor.
“Arrrgh!” Mitch, the lightweight, spat whiskey through his teeth and Brad and Jude erupted in laughter.
“I’ve got to piss,” Jude announced and sauntered toward the men’s room.
He stood at the urinal, relieving himself of the Johnny Walker Black that had helped him forget the day’s loss when the door flew open. An attractive woman with fluffy, brown hair and shinny, pink lips stepped inside.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her checks flushing the color of her lip gloss. She slammed the door shut. Jude zipped his trousers and dipped his hands under the faucet. When he exited the bathroom, the woman was still there. She smiled, revealing a row of square, white teeth. Jude wondered how he ever fell for Virginia despite her odd and decayed smile.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the woman gushed. “The line for the ladies room is a mile long and I have to go so badly.” She hopped from side to side in her red pumps.
“Well the lock is broken, but if you want to go, I’ll stand here and man the door for you so you won’t be disturbed,” he offered.
“Would you? You’re amazing! I’ll just be a sec!” She darted into the men’s room. A few minutes later, she returned appearing refreshed.
“Thank you so much. You saved me from an embarrassing accident!”
“No worries.”
“Well at least let me buy you a drink for your chivalry,” she said, tracing her tongue along her plump, rose lips. Jude nearly tasted watermelon candy as he imagined her shinny lips grazing against his various bodily appendages.
“I won’t let you buy me a drink, but I’d be happy to have a drink with you. What’s your name?”
“Olivia,” she extended her hand.
“I’m Jude.”
Jude slowed the small, blue sedan to a stop on a brownstone-lined street and pressed his palm against the horn. After several minutes, Virginia lumbered out, her large posterior awkwardly following her short front limbs down the porch steps. Nearly two months had passed since the Dali exhibit and Jude was now accustomed to Virginia being an aardvark. He shook his head as he watched her laborious descent. She has so much to learn, he thought. Virginia entered the car and kissed Jude’s mouth, her tongue spreading a sheath of sticky saliva over his lips.
“I’m so excited!” she squealed and he discreetly wiped her fluids from his mouth. “A trip to the wilderness is all I really wanted before the end of summer. Thank you.” Her black eyes twinkled.
“I’m glad I can make you happy babe,” Jude replied with a closed mouth smile.
“Where are you taking us?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said as the car crossed the Throggs Neck Bridge.
It felt good to be out of the city with fresh mountain air blowing over his face. Jude listened to the radio and enjoyed the freedom of the open road, feeling so liberated that he almost forgot he was dating an aardvark. After a few hours, they arrived at a small cabin beside a quiet lake. Virginia inspected the property, circling the cabin several times, digging holes with her claws and burrowing herself in the dirt, while rolling around like a dog.
“It’s so refreshing to be out of the city!” she declared when she returned to find him sitting at a picnic table beside the water.
“It seems like you’re at home,” he said, focusing on the clumps of dirt spotting her tubby body.
“Yes, I always feel at home in the wild, as if it’s where I belong.”
“Indeed,” Jude smirked.
“Do you know how to swim?” Virginia asked, looking at the rowboat docked at the shore.
“Yes, but not very well, besides, I think it’s too cold today for swimming.”
“Perhaps,” she said coyly, “but we can go for a ride in the boat.”
“In that thing? There’s no motor on that boat!”
“Of course not silly! It’s a rowboat!”
“Here we go,” Jude grumbled. He didn’t want to row a boat. He didn’t even want to be at the park, but Virginia had pled relentlessly for a camping excursion until Jude finally agreed to a short trip upstate over Labor Day.
They climbed into the boat and Jude began to row. He found the oars difficult to maneuver, and the boat turned from side to side on the calm lake water without gliding away from the shore. Virginia snickered at his clumsy attempts to manage the rowboat. Jude leered at her, annoyed by her jubilance.
“My little prep-school boy,” she teased, referring to his boarding school education. “Let me try.”
She managed the boat with ease, pushing the wooden oars through the water naturally each time her meaty frame leaned back against the stern. Soon they were all alone in the serene tranquility of the crystal-blue water.
“Do you want me to take over?” he offered after some time had elapsed.
“No, it’s okay, I like it. Besides, this doesn’t seem like the kind of task for a prep-school boy.” She was enjoying teasing him, happy to find a physical activity she was better at than he, but he refused to banter with her.
“Prep-school boys know how to do this kind of stuff. I’m a city boy,” he corrected.
“Okay then, my little city boy,” she chided playfully.
When the sun became too intense, Virginia pulled in the oars and they lay back in the boat, floating peacefully in the shade of the trees. They remained on the water for hours, without talking, and when daylight began to fade, they rowed back to the cabin to eat. Virginia had packed homemade lasagna, but she barely ate, choosing instead to circle the trees with her snout in the dirt. Jude went inside so that he wouldn’t have to watch. When she was done, she joined him in the cabin, curling herself into the fetal position on the bed beside him, and resting her head on his chest.
“Are you happy?” Her voice was humble and submissive. Jude counted the rings in the wood of the rustic cabin ceiling.
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “Why do you ask?”
“Well I just wondered….you rarely complain or ask much of me, so sometimes it’s hard for me to know how you feel. It’s okay to check once in awhile right?”
“It’s okay. I was just trying to pinpoint your insecurity.”
Virginia’s body stiffened when he said this, and she buried her face in his chest. She held him closer and snuggled her snout against his neck, kissing it. Her breath was hot against his skin. He didn’t speak as he lifted her onto her hind legs and placed her wide, round bottom on top of his lap, entering her from behind, so that he couldn’t see her face tighten and contort as he slowly pushed himself inside her.
Jude stumbled into his apartment in the pre-dawn hours, drunk off Johnny Walker Black and Veueve Clicquot.
“That was so much fun! You and your friends sure know how to have a good time!” declared Olivia, her arm draped over Jude’s shoulder as her ankles teetered in her red pumps.
“Absolutely babe. I’m all about good times!” Jude agreed, removing a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and uncorking it with a loud pop. The champagne spilled over the rim and Olivia squealed as Jude pressed the tip to her lips, letting the bubbly liquid spill down her chin. He kissed her, licking the champagne off her cherry lips. She giggled, her high-pitched laughter rising in the air like a bird.
“What’s that?” She pointed at the Elephants on the wall.
“It’s a copy of a painting by Salvador Dali. It’s called Reflections of Elephants,” Jude said and took another swig of champagne.
“Oooh. Are you an art critic?” Olivia cooed, taking the bottle from him. Jude blushed.
“No, but I know a few things.”
“Okay, tell me about this painting then Mr. Artsy.” She tipped the bottle back and the liquid ran down her neck and open chest.
“Well, Dali employed his paranoiac-critical method, challenging paranoia of the subconscious by yielding images of ferocious elephants in the reflection of the aesthetic swans.”
“Oh my God! I didn’t even see the elephants!”
“That’s because you, my dear, are a beautiful swan, and could never reflect beastliness,” he said closing in on her. She stumbled, and began to wedge her foot out of her pump.
“Leave those on,” Jude whispered and pushed Olivia’s face against the wall before descending to his knees.
The next afternoon, Virginia was outside Jude’s apartment, angrily ringing the bell. He saw her hairy snout on the video monitor and buzzed her in, concealing the condom wrappers and champagne bottle in the trash before unlocking the door. She waddled into the apartment, suspiciously glancing around the living room and sniffing the furniture.
“Why didn’t you call me back last night?” she demanded.
“My phone died.” Jude said and opened the refrigerator.
“Your phone died? Then why didn’t you call me from someone else’s phone?”
“I was drunk. I came home and fell asleep immediately. It happens okay.”
“No, it’s not okay! It’s not okay to tell me you’re going to meet me, and then have me waiting for you while your phone is off!” she said, her voice becoming vociferous. “What am I supposed to think Jude?”
“I don’t know Virginia!” He shouted and abruptly slammed the refrigerator door shut. “I went to a birthday party for my boss. I was going to meet you later, but I ended up getting drunk and my phone died. I didn’t call you. It happens! Think what the fuck you want!” he walked away. Virginia followed him to the bedroom.
“Listen Jude, I’ve been stressed out lately. I’ve been doing so well at work and with my art. I want you to be proud of me and see what I’ve accomplished. I know I’m probably feeling insecure because I’m emotional, but sometimes I feel like you don’t want to see me.”
“It sounds like you’re not very happy in this relationship Virginia. Just last week we were hanging out, having great sex….why can’t you just go out with your friends, while I go out with my friends and still know that we will see each other soon and everything will be okay? Why do you always have to find something to be insecure about instead of focusing on all the things I do that say I want to be with you? I’ve been there for you when you needed help, I pay for 90% of all our dinners and activities, I took you on trips, and all you do complain and act insecure!” he shouted. Virginia looked at the floor.
“That’s not true,” she whispered.
“It is true Virginia and you know what? I don’t have time to coddle your feelings anymore! I’m done with this relationship.” Virginia’s oval eyes rounded like quarters.
“But you said you were happy.”
“I was happy, but you’re just not what I’m looking for.”
“Not what you’re looking for?” Virginia’s voice screeched like an untuned violin. Jude shrugged.
“You can be aloof sometimes. You’re not focused. You say you want to have your own art show, but the entire summer has gone by and you’ve yet to stick to a plan and execute it. It makes me think you’re not passionate about your art.”
“It takes time to create a series of paintings,” she defended, “Besides, my first priority is to pay off my student loans and get myself in a comfortable financial situation.”
“That’s another thing! I’m tired of hearing about how hard your life was and how your parents aren’t there for you, like you don’t have friend in the world!”
“Jude you encouraged me to be open and you asked me about my past months ago! Now suddenly you’re judging me for it? If you had a problem with these things why didn’t you say something instead of waiting until it was too late?”
“Well I’m saying it now, and it is too late.”
“Jude I love you!” Her affirmation blasted into the deaf silence like a horn into a dense fog. Jude stood across the bed, stiff as a corpse, his retinas burning into hers with the morbid finality of a death sentence. Tears spilled out of Virginia’s eyes before she turned and fled the apartment.
It was mid-March in New York. The winter frost had begun to melt all around the city, bringing sunshine and the cheerful melody of birds in anticipation of spring. Jude awoke and stretched his limbs, yawning off the remnants of the previous evening. He and his girlfriend had celebrated her birthday at Santos Party House downtown. Jude stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. He could hear the sound of the television in the living room as he dressed. Olivia must be watching her Saturday morning cartoons. He smiled, recalling the trepidation he had felt when he pulled Olivia into Santos deserted staircase, and took her despite her protests of public display. Jude slipped on his sneakers and grabbed his keys.
“Olivia? Olivia I’m going across the street to get some coffee. Do you want something?” Jude stepped into the sunlit living room, where Bugs Bunny danced across the TV screen in a hat top and cane, but Olivia was not stretched across the sofa as he had expected, nor was she in the kitchen.
Olivia’s buoyant, aerial laughter skipped in the air above his head. Jude’s eyes ascended to a large, monkey-like creature with shaggy green and white fur, thick as a sheep dog’s, swinging upside down from the chandelier. It had three, long ivory claws on each foot, and a small brown face, with deep set eyes, a small, round nose, and appeared to wear a perpetual smile. Jude backed away from the creature, his mouth agape, stupefied.
“I’ll take a strawberry yogurt,” it said, still dangling from its short hind legs.
Jude ran from the apartment and dashed out of the building. He sprinted between weekend shoppers and past mothers pushing baby carriages until he was several blocks across town and came to an abrupt stop near the Museum of Natural History.
Jude collapsed on a bench, panting as his burning lungs struggled to absorb enough oxygen to calm his heart. He didn’t have a name for the furry animal hanging from the dinning room chandelier. It was an unusual creature he had only seen in books and on television, but he was sure he had heard Olivia’s voice requesting the yogurt that was her usual breakfast.
“This can’t be happening, not again! Why God? Why?” he moaned, cupping his face in his hands in despair.
After several minutes, Jude began to walk along the museum fence. The enclosed palatial structure sat on a wide lawn, yellow and withered from frost, and sparsely littered with tall, monarchial Elm trees. He watched people playing with their dogs on the lawn and tried to forget what waited for him at home. As he turned the fence, Jude caught sight of a lovely, hour-glass shape moving toward him in tight jeans and tall, brown boots. Her supple breasts jiggled impressively as she bounced along the sidewalk. A gust of wind blew as she approached, lifting her long, honey tresses into the air, and spreading them over her face like a cloth. Cute, Jude thought. As they neared one another, she shook her head and plucked the hairs away, revealing a familiar face.
“Virginia!” Jude exclaimed, shocked to see her feminine and beautiful again. “How are you?” Virginia straightened her back and held her head high.
“I’m great. How are you?” she said coolly, her telling eyes lingering on his sloppy attire, disheveled hair, and sweaty brow.
“Um, you know, same old, same old,” he responded, realizing he did not look his best.
“It’s great to see you. You look fantastic!” Virginia was silent, leaving him to wonder what was the appropriate thing to say next.
“Maybe we could….get together sometime. We have a lot to talk about.” His eyes pleaded with hers for forgiveness. Virginia’s pupils dilated as she slid her fingers into the pockets of her jacket.
“Maybe we could…if you weren’t a rat.” She strode past him purposefully and Jude realized he had never noticed how tall and statuesque Virginia was. His eyes followed her until she had crossed Columbus Avenue and was out of sight. "What a stallion!" Jude declared. Then he scurried home to feed the giant, green monkey some yogurt.
Copyright 2008
Tree of Life : Adam and Eve Twisted
This painting is a biggie: 5x4 ft. and the warm colors really fill the room with light. it's actually an illustation for my story, the Aardvark. The scene depicts two hot naked black people in a nature, but look at homegirl. I still haven't decided if she is going to throw that apple at him or jump his bones. Probably both! in that order.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Smile @ XXPloytation : Elle Magazine Mockery
This is an old piece circa 2004. It's satirical, and the headlines poke fun at powerful fashion magazines.
Model is Adrianna Lima
Obsession with Foil
I love metallic foil paper. I began incorporating it into my artwork a couple years ago and really like the results. In this piece, the foil becomes iridescent leaves; in Resistance, it is a woman's dress, in Mans' Infernal Self-Destruction, it's a vibrant color to offset the dark vibes. This piece, warm, comforting, and yet unfinished and untitled is my third foil painting: More to explore...
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