Just a little somethin' from last year's sketchbook...

Pics from Memorial Day Weekend

This weekend was.. Sexy Lips

Barefeet

Mean Mugs

Raspberry Fields

Ah Dee Does

Sprinkles

Green Boys

Reflections

Candid Toilet Snapshots

DUMBO crowds

Manhattan Bridge

NY's Skyline

Chewy Chocolate Chips

Matriarchetypes

Cool Peeps

Plantlife

Good Graff

Sneaky Neeky

Dignified Pigeons

Subterranean Travels

Surprise Flowers

BK Love

Italian Ices

& Starbucks contemplation

A New Short Story I've Just Written...

It was a Monday

by Kenya S. Scott

It was a Monday. Fitting. These days every day felt like a Monday. Shuffling through the same bleak, overcast day over and over. Cloudy with a chance of blah. Gruelish in that forever kind of way. From now until he died of something boring and ordinary like starvation or bed sores. At this point it didn't matter either way.

One more Monday under his belt and then a dull bus ride until he’s home. Then it’s shoveling down lukewarm whatever with a fork while giving a glassy-eyed disregard to whatever the television called “reality.” Then masturbating halfheartedly to internet porn until he fell asleep. Then awake for another round. Wash and repeat.

He remembers when he had a girlfriend. Her name was Amanda something and he loved her. Sort of.

Amanda; nothing exotic about the name but it did imply a certain youthful beauty. He'd yet to meet an unattractive 'Amanda' and she did little to hurt the average. She was curvy, clever and pretty. They were mismatched in that way that only lummoxes and jerks ever seemed to benefit from. And aside from that, or maybe because of it, she was always spontaneous, never pretentious and genuinely excited about all of life’s odysseys that lay in front of her. She often spoke of vacation trips to Mumbai, protecting women’s rights in the Democratic Republic of the Congo or spending her golden years drinking port in some small café in Normandy. She was worldly in a way that never felt exclusive.

She'd buy him exotic gifts from all the places she'd wanted to take him someday. A moss tile jute rug from Istanbul for Christmas or a terracotta vase only made in Beijing to celebrate their anniversary. She'd always go the extra mile to get him something different and enticing.

In bed she was voracious. Experienced way beyond her 22 years and all too eager to please. As lascivious as a room of full of pubescent teens who've just seen their first nudie mag and always up to try out any half-baked fantasy he could come up with. In their time together, they'd done it wearing blindfolds, wearing handcuffs, in the bum, outside on park benches and even with another girl on one very special Valentine's Day.

She had the kind of adventurous spirit that could polarize any dinner party. Half of the room fell in love with her vernal eagerness; remembering their own dreams of traveling the globe or conquering the world. The other half hated the naïve little bitch for what she represented to them; opportunities lost, growing older, giving up hope in exchange for security. He never paid much mind to the latter half.

When you’re six years her senior, out of shape and settled into a life of one quietly, soul crushing indignity after another, someone like Amanda comes across like a gift from the gods. Think: winning lottery ticket or a free cruise to a place where the sun’s always out and the brown people smile a lot and serve the kind of drinks that have cheeky names and come prepared for rain. She was that rare. That uncommon and extraordinary. He had no choice but to fall in love.

But like most good things, even love comes with an expiration date. And nothing makes love go sour faster than languor and comfort. It's arachnid in how it spreads, in every direction at once like so much venom. Clawing away at long-term happiness revealing the apathy underneath with poisonous questions like: "why try so hard to be romantic, we've already got her?" He was bitten by the indifference bug; to life, sex, career or all of the above. And slowly it was becoming all of the above.

He remembers the day she left. It was a Monday. Fitting. Sunny and warm with just the right amount of breeze to keep the sweat off. The kind of day that’s perfect if you’re leaving your increasingly flat and indifferent prick of a boyfriend and starting a new life. Of course, if you were the guy who just got dumped then it probably would have felt more like the weather itself just played one those infectious, Japanese arcade games where the title has ‘dance’ in it twice, on your balls then kicked your teeth in to drive the point home. Or it should have. He found that he barely cared. He didn't even turn his head from the TV when he said "bye."

That was the day he gave up trying. Impassiveness dropped anchor and the notion of concern for anything was swiftly losing ground. She represented the last little dollop of drive and ambition he had. The woman he'd loved for the last half-decade was leaving him, and by that point, he couldn't muster up anything close to regard.

It started on his birthday earlier that year. He turned 32 in his favorite Mexican restaurant. Just him and her and a few of his friends from the office. It was a Monday. Fitting. He had his favorite dish, the chicken mole burrito. A mariachi band sang "Feliz Cumpleanos" to him while he blew out the candles on his tres leches milk cake.

Of course, she'd gotten him the best gift of all. Yet another doodad from some far-off place she had hopes of dragging him to. This one was a bawaajige nagwaagan for the First Nation. A willow hoop decorated with ornaments and beads with an intricately patterned net woven across it. He remembers thinking it kind of looked like God's eye as he half-paid attention to her explain what it was. Something about prosperity yadda yadda ensnaring aspirations blah blah blah keeping success etc. He was too entranced with his new present to listen fully.

That night, after a bout of marathon birthday sex, he slept with a head full of webs and the distinct click-clacking of eight separate legs moving in unison across his dreams.

The next morning he decided not to shave. Who cares, right? No one would notice. Three days later he stopped using soap when he washed. Who's got the time in the morning? A week later he stopped showering altogether. No big deal. Before long he only had clean clothes if she washed them for him. He would only have clean bowls and spoons if Amanda did his dishes.

They stopped having sex soon after. He honestly didn't care to. He was lethargic, listless and limp. And his recent lack in basic hygiene didn't make matters any better.

And it wasn't just the big obvious changes either. He hadn't bothered to follow-up with his boss about his annual raise (The one that was already three months overdue.) He no longer argued with his landlord to come fix the radiator (it worked in the summer but refused to come to life when it was cold out.) He stopped planning the vacation to Bali that he was going to surprise her with. He didn't even attempt faking being sociable when coworkers invited him out for drinks. One by one his concerns and cares came away in flakes like so much dead skin.

Not long after Amanda left, he started going to work late. Then he started leaving early. Eventually, he stopped showing up at all. He just couldn't be bothered. He began eating whatever canned food he had at home and when that ran out he stopped eating altogether. Two days later he gave up the notion of even getting out of bed at all.

He died, of course. A blank faced corpse. Ennui as the murder weapon. Death by complacency. Bored stiff.

And somewhere in his beige apartment, to the right of the authentic Bavarian coo-coo clock he got two years ago, hung the bawaajige nagwaagan. The God's Eye. The Dreamcatcher. Looking replete and satisfied. Waiting patient like a spider on its web for the landlord or the police. It didn't matter. Its next victim was just a few days away at best.

This was a Monday. Fitting.

Pics from the past few weeks

Brandon on the Monkey Bars

My baby cheese grinnin'

Contemplative Lani

Purple Sun Day

Spring is in bloom

Abie in LES

Park Slop is always this scenic

Yes, we drank each and every one of them burrs...

Botanical Gardens Koi Pond

Brandon in the garden

Everything I Touch Turns to Amberglis

My brain is in, of course, a weird mish-mashy place. With that said, life's been pretty smiley-face the past few weeks so no complaints. It's just the weather. This very English blend of mist, fog and drizzle is like kryptonite to my usual sunny demeanor.

I need money. Not in a 'I'm broke and my babies need to eat' kind of way. More like 'I'm ready to accept my destiny of being a jetsetter with homes in SF, NYC and Paris. And unfortunately they don't give out free homes to handsome, charming, talented black folks anymore' way.

Let's see what else... I'm at work and I feel like I only have another ten minutes to finish this latest installment, which of course means everyone and their baby-mama chooese now to say 'hi' so let me try to type fast.

Went with my mother to a retrospective of gay erotic art in the past centurty or so which is so ill. How many gay dudes can say that tehy can go with their moms to something like that and have a good time. I love that lady like fat guys love people who don't draw attention to their flabby man-breasts. I could not have asked for a better mother (maybe a richer one but definitely not a better one.)

I am geeked to go to SF!!! I can not wait to get to the left coast to bring in my big 27. *Now the trick is to start setting myself up to fit into that role. I want to be on the road of who I a at thet point. Does that make sense?

My sex life has been all but put on pause the last week or so. Unfortunately Brandon has a bit of a booty boo-boo and I'm not nearly as good of a bottom as I used to be. With that said, my short term goals include stepping it up, relaxing my mangina and getting some sexin' going on. That was probably way too personal but luckily no reads this. Tee hee ;)

I've been missing Cameron of late. Or more accurately, I don't want this disagreement between us to get to the point where it becomes a thing and all signs point to that natural progression if I don't step in with some of the lessons life continues to show me. This means not being stubborn which sucks because I love being stubborn.

Also, I miss Molly but it's hard to call her. The time difference becomes a problem often times because I'd really rather call her in the morning when I have the energy (usually because I'm a grouchy hermit, a lazy stoner or a drunken mess by the time where it would be appropriate to give her a ring.)

Okay I think that's it. I mean there's a ton of other things but they can wait til next time.

Later Days,

K~Digz

Chicken scratch joyrides & bad poetry jalopies...

the rabbit met the tire on the night the kings aspire
to more than greatness
hitching his pitched tent to the back of spaceships

in daylight it's cloud cover
from breastmilk & proud mothers
or twitter, warm winters
and babysitters who live inside the tv
I spend my time in my mind, whiteflag the creepy
fold this with 'Whoa, is this little creep me?'

twisted mister majestical
the best to pull his ventricles
and chew the fat like they were vegetables
or something yummy and delicious
like shattered hopes and broken wishes
gosh, I hope I broke the stitches on the glass ceiling I built
I'd kill for a thrill from the crimson I spilled

But for the minute, it's sorta sloppy
Chicken scratch joyrides & bad poetry jalopies

Reintroducing the meanest, cleanest, distinguished genuine gentleman linguist from the westside of Venus

Okay it's been a month so I figured I should write something new ;P

Uhm... nothing much to report... wait, now I feel it... here it comes in no particular order:

The Black List is a amazingly powerful collection of narratives from a plethora of successful black people in a variety of fields. It's insanely inspiring and makes me want to be a better person (who happens to be black.)

I'm loving the Twilight series. I'm a white, suburban teenage girl and my pink little pussy cannot get enough of this series. What can I say, vampires and werewolves rock!

Feeling like I'm starting to reconnect with a couple of friends who've been missing from my life as of late. It's a good thing.

Aside from my complete adoration for all things hip-hop which will never subside, I've been on this new kick for lo-fi electro dirty soul. It's kind of the next generation of R&B but from a bunch of weirdos with midget budgets and bad brains. See: J*Davey, Georgia Anne Muldrow, Sy Smith, Bilal Salaam, Foreign Exchange, Sa-Ra Creative Partners, Tiombe Lockhart, Muhsinah, Yahzarah and PPP to name a few. It's what I want out of my soul music these days; basically an uninhibited predisposition that leans toward the extraterrestrial and artistic. Basically a bunch of black weirdos with away too many colors on their mind.

Valentine's was great and fun and awesome. I slow danced with Brandon. And drank punch. And made out with four strangers. Don't worry, Brandon was there. I think they call it "Spin the Bottle".

I miss Molly much and I can't wait til I can get back to CA. I'm kind of jonesin' to go.

I need someone to promise to punch me in the brain for every day I don't keep my word in regards to my self-imposed deadlines. Any takers?

I've had a decent amount of sex recently and it's funny because the more sex I have the more sex I want. Having sex makes me hornier than when I go without it (which hasn't happened in a while but I have a pretty good memory.) *Fortunately Brandon needs near-daily injections in his sex section so it all works out quite well ;)

I'm, of course, five years old and have added about 30 some odd cartoons to my Netflix queue recently. I'm talking everything from Adult Swim goodies to Disney classics to Ben 10 & Avatar episodes. It's really kind of crazy but I like it. Plus cartoons are some of the most digestible forms of visual entertainment when your diet consists of as much greens as mine does. See also: 30 Rock, Seinfeld, The Office, most good action movies and anything remotely connected to Judd Apatow.

I think that's it. With any luck my next post will have some art in it but don't count on it.

Snoochie Bootchies, bitches

K~Digz