Hot Buttered Biscuits

About two years ago I was at Aaron Davis Hall for a focus group the venue convened for artist-in-residence Roger Guenveur Smith. He was developing a thematic piece on water. In semi-circle sat maybe 15, a good deal students, to enrich Smith's already keen aquatic perspective. He asked us what came to mind when we thought of water. I said something about hair going back. I wore a cropped curly natural for about 5 years and my mom braided my hair weekly during my formative years but I feel as if I've always pressed/flat ironed my hair straight. For some reason it's become a defining experience. Another student, exceptionaly enthusiastic and theatric mentioned What the Bleep do We Know? She went on and on but I judged her the type of person to get crunk upon anything (Sierra Mist Free, cheese, Ne-Yo) not to mention she was fiendishly self-reflexive and long-winded so I didn't pay her or the movie no mind. For whatever reason people like her bother me. I don't so much want them to curb their enthusiam but gradate it. I need to be less annoyed by ways, ugly or idiosynchratic; it blocks blessings.

I missed church Sunday. But I think that was divined. Instead I caught an hour and a half of this film, which admittedly has some corny animation and hammy acting but by not stumbling upon those deficiencies I was able to receive an important message. One I have heard, in part, before. I create my own reality. I manifest each moment. It's simple but remains a butter pat on a loaf of doubt. But if I was to really sop my life in possibility, wipe the plate clean...