US5219 to CLT: B***, You don't know my hands - Part 4

The last part of my B****, you don't know my hands posts. This series has truly brought out my inner rude girl. Juke queen shoutout to #Beyoncealwaysonbeat. Prepare to lose hours of your life

Part 4-

Bored?

Do your hands

feel inadequate since all they do

is grip the pen

That record your observations of me

My tools

Mesmerizing

Accentuating

Moves that you discuss  

Hot topics over lunch

Hush

Turn that pointed finger to the mirror

And conquer your own life

Just join me

Explore your creativity

Warning

The rate of return

Is exponential

Shhhh

Relax

Whisper into the tips of your fingers

Look into your palms

And emancipate your mind

B****, You don't know my hands Part 1-4

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

US5217 to MYR: B***, You don't know my hands - Part 3

I clearly had very strong feelings about this topic. My views on dance extend way past defense of dancehall. They start with the 16 year old Chante pom squad version of myself who embraced my very own juke queen with every release of a DJ Chip mixtape. 10 years later that girl was in a coma and my hands were lost. I have woken up to myself and I am in love.

Part 3- How I feel after a girls weekend at #BlackBikeWeek. 

Part 3

Listen Now

These hands

Cradle babies

Pen the script

Of generations lost

And seal boardroom deals

But Tonight

My lover and I

Meet eye to eye

I and I

Our hands meet

And shake the very foundation you walk on 

B****, You don't know my hands Part 1-4

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

AA4320 to KIN: B***, You don't know my hands - Part 2

Prelude: I went to lunch with coworkers and was part of a conversation that was in judgement of dancehall. The conversation went something like this. “You go to these dances and it’s amazing. The women are dressed like… And they have their hands on the floor… And they are dancing with a man who has them bent over. I mean it’s nothing I would ever do or you would ever do, but they do this, like, every week. I mean, Jake and I go and see this every Friday.”

This is part 2 of my response.

Keep Calm and Put Your Hands on the Floor 

Part 2

Don’t try

(To be me or see me)

Cause these hands

Have been taught

By generations of

Floor masters

Who are me

Just when you’ve figured out

Perspective shifts

Moves

Remove, reshape, recreate

A twerk becomes tweeted

I add a twit, lock, drop, and twist

Until

Newness emerges through my veins to my fists

To the smooth surface below

B****, You don't know my hands Part 1-4

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

Flight 2441 to PHX: Four hours of code

Techie girls rock. Sexy girls code. Nerdy girls turnup. Enough said

Reflections from a year ago: Temporarily trading passion for a reduction in income (5/25/14)

Most good journeys in the writing form start on a dirt road in Alabama. This is knowledge passed on by the great Oprah. I, on the other hand, was to busy to start there. I am on the verge of embarking on my "something new" as an expat consultant/entrepreneurship advisor, fuck this mundane life I'm at the beach extraordinaire. The kick off should have been on a dirt road in Alabama, but the best I could do was middle America. 

So I bought a notebook at Cracker Barrel in Lebanon, TN and started putting pen to paper. Though it's not ideal and there is no dirt road, I had to start somewhere.