New York

On my way home from my first open mic (oops I'm sorry overzealous poet by the bathroom) SLAM at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe where the famed Sarah Jones cut her razor sharp teeth, I saw Omar, the tech guy from Africana.com and the Tavis Smiley Show and all that good stuff, on the subway platform. He had headphones on in and a thick folder of papers in his hands. I had 20 or so of the NYU Magazine Brownstone that we were promoting at the alphabet city hotspot in my hand I should have bumrushed his show with one of the coveted not quite glossies but I left the man alone. We both waited for eons at Broadway and Houston minding the gap upon entering the unpopulated abyss that is the late night commute.

My scratchy throat, burning chest, persistent cough and stuffy nose played the background while the overshadowed genius of Speakerboxx blasted through my headphones.

I was slightly ashamed. I have a discman and even the borderline homeless have an Ipod but it took me and my family a while to get a CD player too. We the Burrell's were right behind the Donahoe/Atkins as being the last folks in greater Seattle without a CD player. Odddly enough change in all of its other forms in not all that strange to either of our households.

But alone in my train canoodling with my presently sick self I was bathed in a little sunshine while riding over the Manhattan Bridge-- pitch black but for the NY skyline. I thought about how so many things I wanted I have. And it was overwhelming. I was grateful. I am grateful. I am thankful to be living in NY. I am grateful to be around good people. I am grateful that all things happen for a reason, that all things work together for good for those that love the Lord, that I'll get to where I need to be in due time. Peace beyond the passion that is the disguise of anxiety.

Orville said he checked out my blog, so did Sandrea, so did Joe, Candice, so many beautiful people. It means a lot. It makes me smile and so do the Jetsons. It's late, my eyes are heavy so I'll watch the Jetsons and the let the midnight sunshine warm me to sleep.

Human Nature

It hurts to talk but my mind keeps racing. It hurts to think sometimes too. Not now. I'm good trying to finish this EDO.G feature with a horribly sore throat and light head. But I remember a time when each breath was like a swift kick in the chest, when each night's sleep was a night awake tossing, turning and soaking my pillow with frustrated tears. Aww heartache. I guess that's what it was. I never told anybody about it 'cause I never wanted to admit my heart was open. I can't remember why I was so torn up but I do remember who did the aortic damage.

I really wish I could remember the why, the trigger for that not so funny feeling. The scent I could follow in search of the beauty that preceded the pain.

CSI is on right now on Spike TV, the men's channel. I guess its appropriate. Grissom sent search dogs out in search of a bad man. In the Michael Jacksonian sense that might be my future course of action.

I'll get back to this writing shit if I don't get to distracted with HBO's programming. Brown Sugar is on. I got a sweet tooth something terrible.

Me Run Tings

Tings nah run we...I wish, I wish, I wish. I have about as much restraint as R. Kelly in middle school or maybe perpetual hair tosser Beyonce in a weave shop.


I indulge in miscellany and eschew tasks until the final hour when I inevitably have cramps, a headache or a sore throat as I do at this very moment.

Writing is penitence sometimes. The process. I gotta finish this De La review but I just don't feel like it. I wanna watch Malcolm in the Middle and Arrested Development in my apt with a nice piece of vegan sweet potato pie.

I need to call a million people back. I need to stop being such an asshole. I need to stop being lazy. I need to take responsibility for my success, for my true happiness in a major way.

I stayed at Devin's Thursday and Friday nights and since she is in possession of the original laptop and no internet service, I couldn't touch base with this my cooler side. We had a heart to heart Thursday night. She let me know what I already know, that regardless of what has transpired the future is for me to make it, my life is for me to make it.

I made one baby step for animal kind by bonding with her Chihauhau "Quiche Cuchifritos McCalla" or "Chetty" for short. I have a love/hate relationship with animals. I love the fact they are alive but I hate them in my presence but that's apparently changing so who knows what's else to shift in the near future.

L.L. whom this lady never loved was not lying when he said "cars drive my with tbe booming systems," here in my new Ft Greene apt (yes I finally signed a lease) cars drive buy with booming systems every day. You gotta love black people except when you're trying to get some sleep or some quiet time to write.

Keep it real on Christmas and every other day of the week?
Just lazin' JB

NE Heartbreak

The inimitable gloved one once whimpered "Have you seen my childhood?" an apparent rhetorical given his early entrance into the spotlight. I hope to God MJ doesn't molest boys not just because he is the pop culture embodiment of my wonder years, growing pains, silver plated spoons. You know, good times.

Their are more people, places and things that remind me of the past paradise that is childhood. Victoria BC, corduroy, skate rinks, big cookies, ash, pigtails and cornrows and New Edition. Yep, Ronnie Bobby, Ricky and Mike and last but certainly not least my sixth grade infatuation stone cold gentleman Ralph Tresvant. Well, their new CD on Bad Boy dropped today. And if the singe and video for "Hot 2 Nite" are an accurate representation of the album its fiyah!

Aesthetics and Hipness aside, NE represents much more. Age might be one of the newest monkeys on my back and I'm not that old but its freaky at 23 I already feel out of touch to the mother of inventiveness that is high school. Teen years been passed me by. I'm tired of writing...

sleepy, Jah

When Worst Comes to Worst...

"When worst comes to worst my people's come first" is the diamond bezel rule despite the left coast backpacker status of its composers-multicultural hip hoppers Dilated Peoples. Gold (even the Rose favored by Dilated's "This Way" beatsmith Kanyeezy) is out, thus invalidating the once popular "Do unto others as you would have them do to you." Not that this golden rule was prevalent except for in the altruistic minds of few and guilty consciousnesses of many more.

This is a dog eat dog world and I'm painfully hungry and infuriatingly within eyesight but out of the masticular range of the belly of any canine beast. Never really been a fighter. Punched my sister in the tummy once 'cause she came at me with a hot pan (she had adolescent anger issues) but that's it. No fights. Everybody is surprised by this little known fact. Apparently, I give off anger and confrontation which may have something to do with the fact that I'm black and female not to mention unnervingly honest.

Today was a long day at my new job broken up by the 'Making It in Media' forum sponsored by NYU's OASIS and one of my journalistic homes, NYU's Washington Square News. As my temperamental tummy rumbled I sat in on a roundtable discussion with Media professionals, Peter Bailey and Tanya Young. After about 45 minutes of informative presentations on their career path they got down to the nitty gritty dirty truth to everything in life. Networking/Connections/Your Peoples are paramount. Neither one would have their jobs without a homie hookup which is not to say they're not skilled, talented, disciplined and superb at what they do. Just that in order for them to do the fab job they are doing some degree of separation proved invaluable.

Damn, damn, damn Jalylah! I was hoping I could 'make it in the media' on talent alone which I may or may not possess at this moment but inevitably will possess soon and very soon. The cultivation of my voice, my skill, my everything is doable but now I got to market myself in subtle and not so subtle ways to people of varied (generally condescending, annoyed, privileged and indifferent) demeanors'. YAAAAY! (in my sub par Special Ed from Crank Yankers voice). The gracious Young and witty Bailey said to forget pride, forget fear and basically forcefully prostrate yourself at the media gods before you. Me nah ready!

Don't get me wrong this is no NEW news to me and not 'cause I'm old soul that's surely been here before. It's not a sixth sense (and you know yes you know!) its just pure and simple observation about the ways of the world and how less-than-me thems and yous and hers are "getting in the way of what I'm feelin'."

At work I listened to Jill, Van Hunt's "Highlights" (gets better with every listen), Gift of Gab's "Stardust", Ani Difranco's "Fuel" (as if for the first time) and her indelibly sensual "Pulse" but Jill remains with me the most: "Living my live like its Golden."


Good night sweethearts! Jah

Just What Can Happen

Maybe its naivete, maybe its faith but I hold an untenable belief that I will happen- that I will be grand. Not in a Kanye West type of way, I'm infinitely less charming, and far from arrogant, but to be fair I'm probably equally as self conscious as the Louis Vuitton Don. I just believe that with this brain and these life experiences I can make it happen. "What is the 'it'?," you ask. Good f#$ing question! The "it" proceeded to "drop the top and let the sunshine in" (Kris was kind enough to explain to clarify these lyrics after her and her little sisters enjoyed a year's worth of laughter at my expense-previously I exuberantly wailed "Gotta Gotta let the sunshine in") -a seemingly good turn of events. But then it proceeded "to blow in the wind"(Jah doesn't really love the kids) which leaves me in my current predicament-early 20s purgatory.

I know I want to write. I love music. I love words. I love the satisfaction of creating something but more than that I love the exhilaration of having an audience. Anyone who knows me (none of whom will probably ever read this blog) know that I have a song lyric for every occasion including this one. An Erykah Badu song comes to mind. Remember "...& On" from Mama's Gun? I do. Let me jar your memory: "What good do your words do if they can't understand you? Don't go talking that shit-Badu, Badu!" Well, I want the world to understand me or at least the beautiful people in my life and the beautiful black women who have gone and will come. My greatest fear is disappointment and a close second is irrelevance.

My dear friend Devin (this will be her 10,003 Google hit) soon-to-be superstar shared with me that she lives her life like she's in a movie. She sees herself in action and plays out dramatic roles whether or whether not they're the best course of action. Initially I empathized with her affliction but I didn't think it could apply to me but now I think it does. I want to be a star not in the God-given sense but in the (wo)man made sense. Despite its negative connotations, I want a lush life.

Another lyric for the old school heads and my two BFF's (What up L! What Up Kris!):

Original Version circa '95

(Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my rides
(So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines
(So whutcha want Nine?) A ill posse
And my name up in lights, N-I-N-E

She Real Cool Remix Version circa 2004

(Whutcha want Jah?) Fat beats for my techs [don't sweat the technics]
(So whutcha want Jah?) Mad clips for my res [please someone hire me!]
(So whutcha want Jah?) A ill posse [already got one!]
And my name up in lights, J to tha Mu*#$@in' B!

It's only just begun...

Jacked from b-boys and b-girls but not supplanted from its classic status, this song, these 4 words are the story of my whirlwhind life.

I'm a late bloomer. You would never be able to tell. Fronting is a way of life. I walk around confidently lost a lot. It's just a little game I play with the world, perception, assumption and all that jazz. 23 years into life and it feels like it has just begun. The nature of the gift of life I guess is infinite beginnings and infinite possibilities. Every other city I go it's a new start, new friends, new everything and a when it comes down to it a new me: a little more open, a little less afraid and eternally grateful to be here.

So greetings people! She Real Cool is powered by my oddly wired brain in an obtuse hard head in a brown gemini body.

Be Well! Jah

But before you go check out these wise words from my beloved, the late poet Gwendolyn Brooks:


THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.


We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

~Gwendolyn Brooks