Ozy's Fall Girl > Oya Me

Ozy called me Oya once.

the first ever. and it is true. this morning i woke up realizing how much i change others and environments wherever i am embedded. i would like to think i am quiet not making waves but it is not true in the least. and then, now. this. so me! the words especially!!



Original Art Work: Ozy Merrique
FallGirl
Medium: Acrylic on canvas board
Dimension: 16"x20"


 Ozy Merrique shared his photo. and poem

"Sometimes she moves so fast a beautiful blur
And I find myself praying,
That certain precious moments would somehow re occur.
The sound and smell of her lingers like etched echoes
Playback grooves, poetic wax,
Waxing hot she got that fever.
A Modern Millie A Newer Nina
Uncut and unsigned .
Sometimes.
She makes new words to readefine her older crimes.
And tho she favours the floor
One must still soar to source her higher base
Climb to the topmost leaf.
Her morning dew to taste.

Mysterious and manic she twists like a nervous riddle
Finding that her centre may not be her middle
She crouches down, searches for prints and clues and left impressions
Choosing hues of vague impressionist working in indigos
She goes where she knows. Hurtling through weaker days
At night time too she circles…
Prays for a cloud to crack and give the moon her break,
She picks her pocket mirror from her purse
Aims and catches a sliver of lumination.
Hers to take
Home to where she had a place already ready.
By morning she grew it to a sun.
Yeh she got some magical sexspiritual emanation
Causing ripples in time and in the place of the space
That soothes and renews like the gift
Somebody wraps and signs with slow consideration.
Personal eyes that stare through solid defenses
No second chances with this one…
3rd eye semi-automatic …prone to supernovas
Defies description. Deifies conceptions.
Goddess of her own creation.
Glad to know if only I knew her
I might have wrote this better to her."

‪#‎merrique‬

Dream Seeker Seer

i see that ten million in a different light now. it is what volney was not smart enough to do. and slaves would never see it, conceive or understand it.

being so up in your game that you have to pay me to leave what i have created.
it is kind of a small hedge. this thing might fail, i might be fired, i would have crossed a bridge unknown if i can return. pay me to cross paths, bridges and abandon career, least of all coveted positions. also one considers, leaving certain jobs at certain levels might constitute an abandonment where one forfeits retirements, pensions and other benefits. I dont know the particulars. But given this time I realize the level of thinking, self insurance, intelligence and financial shrewdness. Nothing I have a problem emulating. And surely have plans to arrive.

it relates to one's ability to negotiate for one's interest.
it is the height of not being a slave but being at once, for and in one self: agent, talent, service, company, corporation and insurance. Total Self Ownership.

Granted. Employee. Consultant. Owner. Entrepreneur. Patron

some scheme like that. I shall have to research it as time teaches me

this man needs to mentor me and i was awakened with the thought ; how much time must i put in languishing in this here trinidad. time longer than twine they say so in that i pray that vindication and elevation comes for me to enjoy something i have never had: a mentor

==============

another interesting night of dreams. really bizarre
i dreamt of someone here but hesitate to tell them people are so vapid and stupid the bloke may feel i have something for him. but it is really weird because from that dream about him and another unknown guy in the scene, i realize, i think some people are about me to perform certain tasks in my life. not just him but others. he might be to cook for me. which is crazy as hell. while i was there with him in the dream chloe paul called on the phone. there was a younger guy and it seemed we were sending him off to work or to some task or project. he was gathering different things up about the place in a bag. and i seemed to think i was packing food and i had access to the whole house. it is kind of cloudy beyond that remembrance.

then another part of another dream. it is like i dream in compilations. one sleep. various stories, locations, imagery and casts. in another one i learned all humans who appear are not . some of the people we interact with me, and do things with are ghosts. i know right. crazy. a guy named takei made me to understand that and it is like he was renamed tasuma takei or something like that after my recognition.

=============

i find it so amusing..talking about being a corporate mentee when my life, dreams and natural inclination are taking me in the complete underside and opposite inclination.

if i did not know better, read authors travelers, journeymen and sangomas  like carlos castenada, malidoma some, my own relative ebenezer elliott.... I too might think me crazy

--------
it is so critical that we write our own stories. speak of our own passing through/
document our own going in and coming out. how

-----------------

as i search for these pictures too...i remember the other thing from last nights passing...i am to be around people like Gita Dubay Naipaul and i cant remember the other...people who see, see you, but refuse to speak. they at least know what is before you. the gauntlet/and might choose to be supportive, enabling...that goes back up to the part of certain people are to do certain tasks for you, fulfill certain roles. and it is already so and happening. i write facing the window, looking out...this by far is not where i would have preferred to be, the environment, but this is it. this is my coming out cocoon. and this is the place and the person giving birth to the coming me. she does not even know she is doing that. and she too has fought against it. but what the spirit designate no body can put asunder. strive though we might and try. it is futile. these few years have taught me that well

fascinating

April, Poetry Month, 30 Day Writing Challenge

Day 19: A poem about a political party you dislike, BUT write a positive piece about them.

the political party amassed by default
no name no logo except by the destruction of the earth

predominantly male
all either victims or victors in the game
who is more sociopsychopathologically about death and mahem

the winner takes all the spoils, all the money and all the misogynistic women
leaves no clean air or water in his wake
and the relics and refuse of his passing through are what the survivors fight over

but in the midst of all that mayhem
ghost devil and evil creatures like them serve a high purpose
to give birth, source and antithesis to savior beings
the one of a different fabric, blood and ilk
the one that sees how things may be different
the one taken away from the bustle of the noise and haste
to be taught a different pathway
and they shall be the one to lead the doom
give the other warriors a way out

i emerge every night from my tutorial

US Taxes, Policies and Modernist Proposals

it has been years since i did any inquiry of rigor/ involving myself to engage on this post makes me feel smart/ as if i still have the goods to dig deep/

i thought to post it in case...

--------------------

Steve Vandewalle

If we all paid taxes by check, the tax form was also our election ballot, and the more taxes we paid the more our vote counted---this nation would look very different

• Maven Huggins: i like the idea but isnt the glitch that the people with more money would still be in more control? what we have now and maybe not by more taxes paid but by more income owned?

  
  
• Steve Vandewalle: We don't tax wealth, we tax income. If the people who knew how to build more wealth had more control than people addicted to other people's money, I believe we'd be more prosperous and everyone would live better.

  
  
• Maven Huggins i just think there might be some dark corners in your postulate. for who is more addicted to people's money than the banks. they house and use everybody's money? but the projects they support and build in creating wealth, who does it serve now? not a cross section of people
  
  it seems as if you wrote something new but what you wrote is what obtains now and it does not have that outcome so i am trying to work it out in my head.
  
  i guess i would have to ask, who do you see as the elements:
  lets start with: "the more taxes we paid"
  you only pay taxes according to income . and then after a certain level the people with the most income have loopholes and systems by which to avoid paying taxes so that is the first weak conjunction in your theory i think...>>>{who really pays?}
  
  right now i think the people who pay the most income by proportion are the poorer and lower income groups yet they are the ones with the less power to control or lobby ...that too puts a crick in your postulate
  
  so the other question is : who are the people you identify as " knowing how to build and create wealth"? "who are the people addicted to other people's money"?
  
  and how do you see "we'd be more prosperous and everyone would live better"? cause we have a system that is very much anti- we
  
  so let me learn more. I am intrigued

  
  
• Steve Vandewalle: Right now society looks at poverty as a distribution problem, as if there's X amount of wealth, and the rich steal it all from the poor. In reality, the reason the 'poor' have anything at all is because of the rich. If I print $100 and hand it to someone not working, (or even as corporate bailout for that matter) all I've done is watered down the dollar. The inflation that results represents a tax that hits the poor the hardest. If instead I pull some metal out of the ground and build $100 worth of hardware to sell, I've created $100 worth of new wealth. Now you can print $100 that's backed by something, and you grew the GDP by $100. Our current system does all it can to discourage this. 'The poor' for the most part are not people who want to be permanently that way. By rewarding productivity at any level we provide ways to move up, rich or poor. The rich of today were the poor of yesterday. So if the people that know how to convert raw materials into wealth vote the system to support their approach, the GDP grows, and there's more for everyone. If the people dependent on the government are the majority, they are voting themselves parts of an ever dwindling pie.

  
  
• Maven Huggins hm. we just walked into another doorway. with a whole new set of caveats. i wonder if i want to dismantle or deconstruct them all...one central piece is what is the creation of wealth in these modern twenty first century time and for the poor no less, the majority of the population. let me take some time

  
  
• Steve Vandewalle A question I like to ask hard line liberals is, "If you could double the income of the poor, but in the process you'd tripple the income of the rich, would you do it?" TYpical answer is no----the issue isn't giving more to the poor, but the income gap. What the heck does a starving person care about the income gap? Double income would make life better. Beyong that who cares how much someone else makes? The only way to decrease the gap is by making it so no one can be wealthy---bring down the top, even if it brings the bottom further down.

  
  
• Maven Huggins hm
  and i would love to hear the mechanism by which the rich income is tripled by the doubling of the poor's income but i suspect there is no mechanism just a wrench thrown in? for effect?

  
  
• Lee Kiester Maven is being Obtuse? I love the loophole garbage you toss out there. Currently the Top 1% Pay 30% of All Income Tax Collected. http://www.irs.gov/pub/irs-soi/05in05tr.xls However, lets look at the last year the IRS has reported. This shows you that the top 50% pay 97% of all income taxes. The top 1% pay 39%. So the inequality of revenue stream is not where you think it is.

  
  
• Maven Huggins no obtuse is not having comprehension and deep critical thinking skills as well as depth of knowledge. it also means garnering information not prepared or spoon fed
  
  i am not going to scour the above but i am almost sure i used the word proportion. another way to speak of this is tax burden.
  
  Data and Statistics are numbers that can be sliced, diced and cut up in any number of ways and you only get to the truth if you look at one pie in several dimensions.
  
  low and moderate income people pay a larger portion (proportion) of their income to taxes than the rich or wealthy
  
  i am not speaking, thinking or writing about the contribution of income tax to federal sources by which group, but that is studied here as well
  
  read and be enriched
  
  http://www.cbpp.org/cms/?fa=view&id=3505
  
  There is a difference. I love when not so smart people show themselves up
  
  my muse was "who pays more taxes? by what dimension? total or proportion..if one is to talk about vote association to tax payment.
  
  proportion of income and/or/versus total paid

  

  Misconceptions and Realities About Who Pays Taxes — Center on Budget and Policy Priorities

  www.cbpp.org

  Non-partisan research and policy institute working on federal and state fiscal policies and public programs that affect low- and moderate-income Americans

  
  
• Maven Huggins http://www.businessinsider.com/no-the-rich-do-not-pay-all...

  

  No, The Rich Do Not Pay 'All The Taxes'

  www.businessinsider.com

  Poor people don't pay federal income tax, but they pay lots of other taxes, adding up to about 13% of their income overall.

  
  
• Maven Huggins my point is the post raises some hairy factors. the last link i posted relates to the thorny issues about who decides how to spend money and build wealth is different at opposing sides of the spectrum: federal versus local/ which opens up grand schemes and dams for policy.
  
  it is still an intriguing idea vandewalle. an excellent question to research and volley. a worthy academic inquiry!!

  
  

the council. in questions, paintings and photographs

good morning:
{the call for the day: Self Confessions or Negative Self Confessions}

have i been unfair to you?
have i held a price or cost to you but given far more to another for nothing or much less than what i charge you for? and in your face, apparent?
have i lied to you? have i manipulated you? have i schemed against you to enrich  myself, take what you have for my benefit? did i then turn around and deny you anything> whatever i could have done to allow you to pass through unimpeded?
have i resented you? have I resented the gifts you bring? have i resented your blessings? do i feel you are too lucky so if there is a small innocuous thing that you are getting if i hear any good of it at all, do i resent you getting/? and getting all? of that very small thing? that i get every day and seven times on sunday even if i wanted to? am i that ugly to you?
have i planted obeah against you? seeing how talented and skilled your hands? your abilities that surpass all I have seen in my meagre life?
have i hurt you?  have i given gifts thinking i am helping you? but then withhold something else that is far more nourishing and enabling?
have i taken you for granted?
do I take liberties about your body and self?  do i touch you unbidden?
do I take the audacity to touch you in places I shouldnt? your butt a good place to example? do i exercise my privilege on  your personal space? even when I call us friends? do I betray that word when i have ulterior motives? when I want you for my own self, purposes, in my own defined confines of spaces?
do i bristtle at your entitlement?  do i get sharp and play devil's advocate when i hear your unrepressed spirit to pursue what ever your soul guides you to?
do i think even if I never say it, "who is you?" "why are you special?" "why are you different?" "why should your suffering and sorrows end when all of us are so entrapped and sucking salt?"
have i harbored unfriendly, soul stripping, personhood defiling thoughts about you?
have i sabotaged you in anyway
have i been unkind while i parade as kind personified to the outside world?

=---------------------

after  yesterday i feel i want to be more positive, less abrasive, less aggressive,  less confrontational. but then i remember I am in babylon. in its belly really, the depth and bottom of all it can give...whatever worse is possible, the belly is where you will see it first, at its raw and most unrefined. then i thought why... why would i be placed here having been and travailed in the most sanitized of places like the silent monied  american and academic midwest. i suppose for sanitation purposes, after there would be switzerland/sweden.. but it made me imagine and think..i wish i could appear before the council and ask, so they can tell me how to be in the jungle amidst all the animals and natives to make it well with my being and theirs. and that also serves the purpose and complete the mission for which the council sent me. and i write council this morning and think they are always all about me. can you peer deep into the picture on the wall that is attached? instead of bashing then, i posed questions of the ways in which people strip your soul and dont even know it. the ways people show you at the core and by their belly who they really are. i see all the times in a variety of ways people when they see who you are and what you have believe it is their purpose to rape it or you. if you are more than them, they feel it is their right to take what they can. i have had this happened by landladies, to men who want you to boyfriends who tried to  play you. seen it in work offices where people feel you are above them so they will withhold friendship. people who have amazing houses sitting idle and empty. they would prefer that than let it be lived in lovingly.. yesterday i got to see how money is not everything and there will and is coming a time when it will mean nothing and i want to see all those people who dscern life via paper, i want to see what they will eat then how they wlll survive. i wrote a post the other day about the myriad confusions concerning land...and all of it relates to people who have it yet it is fallow, growing nothing..i have this weird sense that those folk like so about and around me will be coming to me in the future. and if not that, i will see them scrambling just as i am observing now.. i literally have friends on here who in other places are trying to make and create other systems of value using other that fiat money, paper we use now. barter is the thing. but it is hard to barter with people who at their belly tell themselves and seep to you how unworthy they think you. meanwhile it is you dancing to and fro, freely with the bank of life.


yesterday, i saw me ushered into a community, effortlessly where someone else has wished they could be for years. situations like that make the lessers resentful

something so.
but read the questions to yourself. i get the sense it can be real valuable.
like prayers, psalms or exhortations? maybe it can get us to a place pure.
(there is that word again)
 but those questions seem to me now having written them, like a vacuum cleaner in the soul, to each person.

Selah Saturday/
Good Journeying

Black Men's Wealth: Who Do They Give IT To?

i dont know what it is with me
but bare with me. i have to put my truth out no matter how much it offends various quarters.
my sleep has become an odd haven
i am never just resting, wandering or travelling on adventures
now it seems it is all purpose filled and driven
i am either encountering future parts of my self that is given to prepare for
or getting insight into battling enemies and becoming victorious
or setting my sights, clarifying goals
talking myself into my destiny
clearing cobwebs, deadweight and wrong energy

but this morning's sleep...seems i was just making list, asking myself where am i going
clarifying it is not to state what i dont want but what i want
and whilst doing that it seemed i was asking myself questions about my realities

when i got to rectifying what happened to me in 2013
and that is another interesting peg in my existence by the way
information is coming to me, it is a long held and across cultures and philosophies...
the belief that sometimes wrong must be done by righteous people to bring correction...i have not yet gotten to doing wrong but i am glad to know...that is the kind of preparing i spoke of a few lines ago...but
i asked myself...why am i willing to correct wrong done me now at this stage and not before decades ago when it was king's county hospital and my brother, or when it was in the late 90s with my father. and the way i set up the question answers everything...it was before.  i was younger. i was more naive. i was more idealistic. I had a greater longer horizon before me. I felt any and everything was possible. we get to lines though. but as i pondered my father and his stories. the things he has done me. my status in life because of him . i came to this. and it is peculiar i find that i never came to this realization before:

black men are a disservice if not the enemy of black women.

yeah. i know. disturbing to come from my hand. given my life . but again. the truth is that i was living and admitting only part thereof; not the whole thing.

i am now considering my father toward me. and how he as disinherited me. by putting all his ownerships and businesses and assets into his young wife's name. a wife that is indian. that is what got me on this rabbit hole. I was for the first time matching the shenanigans in the national landscape of trinidad and realizing ...hmmm did i not, have i not been introduced to these shapeshiftring manipulations and smartwomen in cindy. and i wondered what manner of women, why and whom...and it got to me and carl huggins...

my father did good in his life. i was afforded a privileged lifestyle because of him. but when he moved back to trinidad. whose land did he return to? Not his own of his making but his mothers, which was owned and lived on my by her mother before her. so for two generations black women owned land on montserrat hills. the son comes and appropriates it. he built a house that was for her ostensibly but then he lived in it and alienated her from it. that is an ugly story i have never written about  in public. I am sure some event will happen somewhere, externally or internally to spur me sprouting that story.

but it hit me today. I as a black woman am struggling against so many forces to build my hand. and who and what is most palpable in that struggle"? other black women who fear and feel i want to take from them what they think they alone own. but the men. chase last year, my father decades before. men in the landscape like paul quinn who refuse to help me after meeting me for i dont know what reason. but exclude that last bit. that is in my mind as parts and rivers i must cross over but he is not really in the equation nor matters. but it hit me. black men. have undermined me. have weakened me. have robbed from me. where i was rich an in standing they swiped and removed money, access and ownership from me. what made me rise from my muse this morning was that. my father prime and first integer among them, and there have only been two. and both in trinidad. have been my enemy .

and look at the nature of it.
land and holdings that was never in any man's hand in my family, in my paternal family. owned by my grandmother Ruth Huggins and before her, her mother, my great grandmother, AnaLiza Huggins...my father, Carl,  now comes to transfer to an indian woman and family.

sit with that a moment.
so in one fell swoop my inheritance is taken from me
dont see the need to ride out on horses and demons and kill people
destroy their living and standing
if you cant walk righteously, dont walk at all kind of thing

so i suffer for this iniquity. and make no mistake, i have been suffering
my father once tried to make a deal with me and asked me which one of the houses and land i wanted and in a huff i said i wanted nothing. i was too angry to be sane. but my point to him was I should not have to choose a damn fucking thing.

The first land he owned by right was my inheritance. and peculiar enough my brother is gone. that should have went from my paternal maternal lineage to me, another woman.

Then the second land and house he built he bought by illegally selling my birth mother's house and land in la baja st. joseph. he got some corrupt lawyer to do some shit like that. and then he purchased the land facing west sunset over the savannah, the whole range , 'cross the highway straight to paria. you have a full 180 view from that spot.

what the fuck is he talking about which one do i want. all belong to me.
but at the time I was so in fealty and loyalty too and in a mindset that i did not have a hand in making building or buying; nor sweating sleeping, shlepping or slaving for the anything held by anyone of my parents and if neither of them saw it fit to insure for me it was not my role to fight for it.

but what has happened. life has taken its turns to show me that is all i can do. that is the only thing before me to do. that despite my attempt to build my self up by education and experiences to have my own, i have to fight still . fight for income. fight for the right to earn a living. fight for employment. fight for space and entry to build businesses. fight to be noticed  . in a country where the black men with something...ask yourself and observe who they are with. if they are keeping the wealth inside or burning it, lightening it, distributing it to those not of their own ilk. do their wives look like their mothers.

black men are black women's enemies.

I swear when i saw other women like kola boof write that I never thought ever it would come from me, my experience but there it is

and i still dont know what i would do about carl huggins.
i sometimes have vision that when he dies i got straight up that mountain and put that bitch out.

oh. i never told you of her treachery. and the character we are speaking of, which is where i started this mental revelry.. what is it with these women and are they any different from any other kind of women? I just know what i have been told...always..that indian women are tricky, strategist and serious players for riches, money, status, standings.

anyway, my mother hired this nineteen year old to help her in the store. it was the last store remaining ...they had sold the other eight or nine. my mother hired this girl from gran couva.

Cindy told me her self since i came home. since my mother's demise and death.. since the intervening years...her story. her rendering:

"that from the first she saw my father, she wanted him. she intended he will be hers. she had to have him" this while my father was married. my mother living. my mother with lupus. my mother the co-creator of their empire.

so i am not just seizing upon this woman to dump on ...i am telling you what she has said is her personal life story. and i myself was too stunned, too close, too confused, too present  to contend with her. and she would be surprised if she encounters me again because i was nothing but kind to her. overkind. i used to think and wonder back then what was wrong with me why i was so accepting of her but i saw no use in fighting fights that were not mine...and there is the error eh. we often feel someone else fight is not ours. but if we stand long enough and think long enough we would realize their opposition is in fact my enemy

i have written before. men with family, whomever you want to take and fuck and live with. when you have a family and children, keep them wenches out the family home. go find your new and elsewhere...

the other thing that hits me in all of this is the requirement and seminal aspect of consciousness. these negro mother fuckers (never a more apt term) think they are just living their lives, making their choices, loving who they wish, not recognizing there is such a thing as black reality. black life. black statistics.

so when in the national landscape media people, researchers or bloggers want to outline what black people have in relation to all the things all the other ethnic groups have i want you motherfuckers to think about who you marry, who you share wealth, money and ownership to and who you disinherit. when you destroy the holdings of a black woman you are prescribing the downfall and ruin of yourself.

i sit here still undecided whether i will ride in on an armageddon to correct this record, this one story. but it hit me like a ton of bricks the realization. that black men, my father, has been the enemy of black women.

my father richest of all. he as been the enemy of his mother, his grandmother's legacy, his wife's contribution to his life and a criminal to his daughter's legacy. this man who listened to farakhan on sunday mornings in brooklyn.  life is amazing eh.
The twists of yesteryear may have nothing to do with the current path bending.

black men of wealth and money: who do you see them giving it to?

Mining Professional Opportunities Through Dreams. And Indignations

Sunday night discovery and post: sickening fkg slave cunts. i bet with that money alone with the range of stars i have on my page, from the arab world,  to nyc connoisseurs, writers, authors and actors, to european travel starlets, to the black elite  as represented and the la film crew; occupy activists; not to mention my healers, shamans,   wizards and babas from all over...i can get a sizable portion of them to come to tobago within  the next two years alone. direct. not even inclusive of their circle of friends. Canadian to get $30,000 to spend 60 days in Tobago www.thetobagonews.com Sunday night dream and astral travels: "wow. i knew i was going to bed last night overpacked and unprocessed but i was too tired to do anything about it a second longer and i would have been like those babies who refuse to sleep but still want to take on involved activities like riding a bike or eating, and yet, they are deep in slumber. but that last post and situation in tobago canada must have really impacted me is there a university of western ontario? i have never seen, read or engaged it in any way but i dreamt of it, was there, with a group of internationals: two Koreans, Jeong the guy and Wong a girl; a Jamaican i cant remember with/ no name a male, but he looked most like Bandele/ a close friend but he too i come out of the dream with no name or picture of him, just a sense. we were close and some other people who were nameless and faceless. but we were in an apartment like msu's university village but bigger. we just arrived. we dropped our bag and we went to get our bearings. and it is like i was walking the campus as if i had been there before, as if i was the lead on the project and the host and guide. but dont ask me what was the project either. but the travel was intense. and deep cause i come out feeling cottoned. we bought food from a machine that looked like more like a coin counter and i have no idea how the food got to us. seemed like it was in the middle of nowhere, a courtyard but not next to a counter or anything..i remember trying to get jasmine rice with sea vegetables and condiments and like the meat came from elsewhere, dont remember what it was. crazy ass dream. all these details but remembers nothing but the best sense i can make of it, it was spurred by that tobago canada arrangement, and remember me saying i have so many stars here on my page. well it is as if i had a collection of those stars but we were not in tobago but instead had traveled abroad. and before i went to bed, i did realize that if tobago tha tourism gave me that deal instead, and i worked it as i planned with my great international fellows on my facebook, that it would easily erupt and unfold into me giving international tours around the world. i saw that. but looked like of all places, we went to the university of western ontario. going to research/search for that now Good Morning. I woke up just so i would not forget the pieces that i had holding" Richard Anthony Luke: "Yes there is such a university. http://www.uwo.ca/"  i then write an email to the Vice Provost of Academic Planning, Policy and Faculty from: mmladyh to aweedon

Dr. Weedon,

Greetings from Trinidad.

I am writing you as the Vice Provost for Academic Planning, Policy and Faculty.

I am a public academic, economist, writer, painter, photographer, chef, entrepreneur, and creative artist/designer. I make things like eyeglasses out of wood.

This email though avant garde, I assure you is serious and professional.
I literally woke up from a very deep dream in which I was a host, guide, lead on a team of international persons..I have no idea their specialties or careers, but there were Koreans, a Jamaican and some other persons who were both faceless, nameless or origin-less. The Koreans name was Wong and Jeong. The place we arrived at to work was called University of Western Ontario.
 I have never heard or seen of such a university.

I did go to bed hearing that Tobago (Trinidad and Tobago) would pay a Canadian $30K Canadians per month to tour the island and blog about it. Kind of the very thing that I do.

I blogged about the dream and a friend gave me the link to your university.

I just perused faculty and staff vacancies. I decided to write you an introduction in addition. I have no idea what may come out of it, but I do believe in metaphysics, magick of what we cannot see and do not know and seriously follow intuition and mysterious guidances; this dream last night, is one such.

I am attaching my CVs -- a writer's and as an economists. You will tell me if anything novel comes to mind. You will note the range of my exposures, experiences and travels. I see you have an area in Entrepreneurship...I wrote a National Women's Program for Entrepreneurship in Trinidad and Tobago.

I am a US and Trinidad citizen. I have worked throughout the US, continental Africa and a few Caribbean countries. And, I am willing to move.

Best Regards,
Melise D. Huggins, PhD

Once Upon a Best Friend

Day 6: A Poem about My Best Friend

this is an interesting muse
my intuitive immediately chimes, 'you have no best friend'
but then faces pop up
charm- mugure was the first. debbie the second
debbie was my real best friend for a time; the last few years in college at delaware. we shared new york even though we did not know each other then, back there, our respective and mutual home
charm-mugure was my close friend at graduate school michigan
chantilly was my best friend for a time in 2006 when she opened her home to me that summer, i staying at her place while she traveled her academic prowess.
do you see the trend?
my best friends have always been for a time, a place, situational.
i have moved around too much
my life too vagabond
i never stayed any one place more than ten  years.
twelve, was the longest, growing up on e 42nd street in brooklyn
and i have no friends from that block remaining or located
i had leslie it seemed for a time in elementary school
i remember no one from the two years in meyer levin
and for high school of james madison, was there a best?
i think of a sister whose name now i cant remember, but seem to me she and i were the two bourgies . we both had real cowboy boots we rocked at sixteen.
my high school track team; yeah i was cool with the girls, but no besties there . i even refused to go with my relay team on our scholarship to grambling. i went to delaware instead
but the one who stands out from back then is charm-cantstop my jamaica sistah...who thanks to fb is still here; and she not alone. a whole crew from high school the ones who were in my classes, kicked it with in the halls, in front and in the courtyard of school before and after, old boyfriends who are now pastors, even but no best friends

the truth is the one best friend i had in life was at and from tuskegee
we met as we both entered vet school. she went on to completion and i believe some measure of fame, i dropped out to become an economist, a traveler of africa as a developmentalist. stephanie miles richardson.
want to know how you know who is your best friend? It is the people you are literally in love with.  the folk who so amaze you with the things they do, their accomplishments stir your soul, their friendship to you is gold, you love spending time with them, doing anything with them. i remember when i learned i was in love with stephanie. it was when i realized my emotions and connections scared her. at that point i realized her best friend was her life, family and husband. she was not so free avant garde as to not be shaken by such deep attachments from a sister who has been co-traveling.

and by then, so early still, i was such a best friend i knew it was time to let it go

i have not had a best friend since. even in hindsight doubt those i so label as such. just good connections for a time, reason, purpose and space.
having a best friend means people travel with you to psychic emotional, psychological, physical , economic, mental and journey places. and they dont leave you there either. they travel through. they arrive and exit with you. the road before you continues with best friends. they can tell your story best and better and sometimes before if not after you. no one really knows my story.

to write 'knows my story' reminds me of one best friend for a time. now gone. tShaka Dagbovie. a sister who i knew all through doctorate grad school but we only became close when my economic reality took a down turn...i was one of the early economic crisis casualties. tShaka used to come over and bring wine, take me out to dinner and put money in my hand. I was shocked. I was touched. that was back in 2002, 2003. she even wanted us to do a movie, film script together. about an international intercontinental global black sister traveling her life and story. it took me coming to trinidad and living this trauma for that script to be written. if that writing ever turns into a film, it will be dedicated to her. but you know what is peculiar? i left her in 2003, went back to visit michigan on a fluke in 2007, only for that sister to go to sleep one night, lay down and die. leaving a husband and three sons. i have always wondered why the universe saw fit to have me present for her crossing over. as it was all I could do was just grieve and watch. it appeared she was my best friend in silence, and in the scheme of things, her family, other friends, husband, the reality, paled me and mine out of existence

all those stories but the truth is current time and life, these eleven years, may sixteenth twenty fourteen completing, is a period of no best friend. best friends have turned out to be haters, enemies, conveyors of deep envy and resentment. friends and families, cousins  with whom i traveled with for a time, and only in more time do i learn of their  duplicities, coversions; refusing me employment, telling me no one makes and plays individual mas, and that was because coming from a carnival cultural family who lived here their whole life and never once did any of them think to be so independent brave and free to design their own costume, own the road, mas solo, so who was me to wash meh foot and come in and so or something like that it go. 

being around people who have no clue or coordinates to relate to your life story or circumstances prevents any pretense to friendship, and now as i have grown older, and have a long road to look back on, i know my idea of basic friendship is Rumi, and then beyond that impossibility, who can top that to be bestie? What is best beyond Rumi? not even god, or oneself. the idea and pinnacle has not been corroborated.

a poem about my best friend is a prose essay instead.
if and when ever i get to a poem of stanzas and lines less sentences;
it will be called,
Once Upon a Best Friend

..."i feel like someone attended me accompanied me
all through last night's sleep
but i dont feel like i slept
i dont feel rested
nor was it fitful
just endless talk, reassuring, coddling, guiding, teaching, exhorting and showing
and when i think of the company
it is a female sense that comes to me
but quickly, immediately after
i know that is not complete nor true
it was male too
as if intergalactic metaphysical spirit energies
have no gender or such fake banal constructions

but as if the entity was there to reassure me of the myriad forms, paths , and processes of breakthrough coming my way.

and i was just writing a prose and it occurred to me,
this year, is eleven years here

from may sixteenth, i surmise, might itself be an entrance, doorway, hallway, portal
a crossing over

perhaps that entity last night was my guardian best friend"