Darling Contagion
must be a devil between us
or whores in my head
whores at the door
whore in my bed
but hey
where have you been
if you go i will surely die
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Tuesday, March 21, 2006
In history today S told me that having spoken to Chief a few days back he had asked about me. It was exciting news because after all this time he still remembers me. " Where your girl be at", quoted S, *swoon*
Back in October, on some random evening in New York, S had invited Al and I along to her visit to her aunt in Brooklyn. I remember the long row of busy new yorkers packed in the subway carriage. Like a typical scene off a hollywood film, every character embodied a certain perfected stereotype. The weary businessman- A man dressed in a sloppy trenchcoat hugged his briefcase, nodding off to sleep. The black frazzled housewife longing for improved career options- The woman on my left was reading through college applications.A middle-aged woman, she was more engross in her college material than I, as a student would ever be. Through the scratched window panes of the subway, I observed the subway stations lose their lustre the closer we got to Brooklyn. Polished mosiac tiles gave way to clean cement,and later, rough plaster adorned with vibrant grafitti. It was thrilling.
A young black man,probably in his late teens strolled into our carriage somewhere between the clean cement and graffitied plaster. He wore a black bomber/rapper jacket with red detailing on the back and leant casually against the railing in front of us. The first thought that came into my head was, 'shit. We're going to get mugged', but this eventually gave way to ,'man, he is fiiiiiine....'. He looked over to me and smiled. I smiled back. My first encounter with a Brooklyn homeboy. Check.
Stepping onto the Brooklyn platform, the sensations the three of us were experiencing were far from sweet. Lost in a sea of afro-carribeans, the glaring flourescent lighting of the station fell hard on each grim face. A group of middle-aged men compensating for their missed years of 'thug-life' had decided to catch up by shouting some rudely suggestive one-liners at us. We gripped each other harder and pressed on, fighting our way through the crowd of grim faces. S frantically dialed Chief's number, muttering 'Where is that boy, Where is that boy' in the hope that our desperation might evoke some urgency telepathically to that boy. When we finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel- there was none. Night had finally set in and the streets were bathed in blinding darkness. To add to our misery, it began to pour heavy, oppressive buckets. It was standing in the heart of Brooklyn that we began to feel really inadequate and not to mention, stupid. S with her pashmena scarf coiled like an expensive snake around her neck, Al with her designer glasses and immaculate hair, and me, in my DKNY coat totting my matt&nat original. It was surprising we managed to survive 5 minutes unaccompanied.
Suddenly, like an oasis in the desert, a ray of hope in the gloom, Chief turned up to save us from potential disaster. A tall young man ,he was rather good looking. Shaved head, very rough and thug, he greeted S with a warm bear hug. We then introduced ourselves, but formalities had to be put on hold seeing as the rain was drowning us 3 like sewer rats. Chief, as his name suggests, was impervious to the elements and guided us fragile flowers to his family's apartment. All this time I was smitten by his accent ,' Hey Gurrl! Haven seen ya in ages man! Where you be at?' ...
Oh it was SO hot.
Braving the rain, Al was picked up by an earnest looking young thug (an oxymoronic statement if you ever heard one), who was very keen on her. No doubt Al is beautiful, what with her big eyes, perfect face structure, killer bod....Humbly walking by her he struck up a conversation and upon learning that we were from the UK, welcomed us to Brooklyn. What a nice boy.Albeit a little creepy.
When we got to his apartment , some of Chief's friends were chillin' in his crib,yo, and they were so good looking it was unbearable. They followed us upstairs and I could have just melted from the pure heat that they generated in the room. As Chief and his friend sat themselves behind us it was difficult to turn and admire, but now and then I would turn to see that his friend was staring at me. Literally, eyeball to eyeball. Or eyeball to the back of my head. Either way, I didn't mind because he was so good looking. There were no white boys there to dilute the intensity of the black thug vibe. Strangely enough, they wore the same black bomber with red detailing as the boy in the subway. Reflecting upon it now, I reckon they must have belonged to some Brooklyn gang, but they are hot gangsta's so all is forgiven. And their accents! Their voices! *gush* I have yet to hear another voice as sexy as that of a Brooklyn black boy. It was love....
The boys left the apartment after sometime and we were left with S's cousin Stacey who was gorgeous too. (This is of course, was to be expected as she hangs out with fiddy and pdiddy on a regular basis. ) As she showed us pictures of the different parties' she had attended, she suddenly turned to me and held my confused gaze. It was at this moment that my life flashed before my eyes as S's warnings rang sharply in my ear,' Stacey is psychotic...She's punched a girl before... Man,I'm scared of her... I would never dare to get on her bad side'. My heart stopped and I thought I was going to pass out.
'Oh My God,' began Stacey, My body froze.
' F***', my voice of conscience went.
' You are so beautiful' she continued.
I turned around and looked at Al giving Stacey the benefit of the doubt that maybe, she might be cross-eyed and meant to have been looking at Al. It was apparent I had mistaken the almighty Stacey, but choosing to err on the side of caution, I went 'her? Yea she is', pointing to Al. 'No, I mean you! No offence (looking at Al this time), You're beautiful too ,but you (bringing her gaze back to me), Your lips! They're like Angelina Jolie's! Your face! You're beautiful!'.
My face went red hot and I can't remember what happened after. I might have passed out, or delirium might have paralysed my short-term memory, but suddenly Stacey wasn't that intimidating anymore. Me and my ego deemed her a gem. I was a little suspicious of Stacey as I felt less than glamorous with my rain-soaked hair and tired demeanor. But even so, it was nice of her to choose to complement me rather than beat me to the ground, very hospitable.
Having left Brooklyn and finally New York, the people we had met will never leave me. In particular, Chief and his homies, Stacey and her rap stars would always have a place in my heart. As they say, there's always a first time for everything, and this having been my first time in the Big Apple, meant everything. It has been some time and it never occurred to me to pay NY a tribute. (I turned 18 in New York.)
Sigh, New York, Brooklyn, I love you, I love your black thugsters (well, the civilised ones), I will see you again...and again.... and again....
X
Back in October, on some random evening in New York, S had invited Al and I along to her visit to her aunt in Brooklyn. I remember the long row of busy new yorkers packed in the subway carriage. Like a typical scene off a hollywood film, every character embodied a certain perfected stereotype. The weary businessman- A man dressed in a sloppy trenchcoat hugged his briefcase, nodding off to sleep. The black frazzled housewife longing for improved career options- The woman on my left was reading through college applications.A middle-aged woman, she was more engross in her college material than I, as a student would ever be. Through the scratched window panes of the subway, I observed the subway stations lose their lustre the closer we got to Brooklyn. Polished mosiac tiles gave way to clean cement,and later, rough plaster adorned with vibrant grafitti. It was thrilling.
A young black man,probably in his late teens strolled into our carriage somewhere between the clean cement and graffitied plaster. He wore a black bomber/rapper jacket with red detailing on the back and leant casually against the railing in front of us. The first thought that came into my head was, 'shit. We're going to get mugged', but this eventually gave way to ,'man, he is fiiiiiine....'. He looked over to me and smiled. I smiled back. My first encounter with a Brooklyn homeboy. Check.
Stepping onto the Brooklyn platform, the sensations the three of us were experiencing were far from sweet. Lost in a sea of afro-carribeans, the glaring flourescent lighting of the station fell hard on each grim face. A group of middle-aged men compensating for their missed years of 'thug-life' had decided to catch up by shouting some rudely suggestive one-liners at us. We gripped each other harder and pressed on, fighting our way through the crowd of grim faces. S frantically dialed Chief's number, muttering 'Where is that boy, Where is that boy' in the hope that our desperation might evoke some urgency telepathically to that boy. When we finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel- there was none. Night had finally set in and the streets were bathed in blinding darkness. To add to our misery, it began to pour heavy, oppressive buckets. It was standing in the heart of Brooklyn that we began to feel really inadequate and not to mention, stupid. S with her pashmena scarf coiled like an expensive snake around her neck, Al with her designer glasses and immaculate hair, and me, in my DKNY coat totting my matt&nat original. It was surprising we managed to survive 5 minutes unaccompanied.
Suddenly, like an oasis in the desert, a ray of hope in the gloom, Chief turned up to save us from potential disaster. A tall young man ,he was rather good looking. Shaved head, very rough and thug, he greeted S with a warm bear hug. We then introduced ourselves, but formalities had to be put on hold seeing as the rain was drowning us 3 like sewer rats. Chief, as his name suggests, was impervious to the elements and guided us fragile flowers to his family's apartment. All this time I was smitten by his accent ,' Hey Gurrl! Haven seen ya in ages man! Where you be at?' ...
Oh it was SO hot.
Braving the rain, Al was picked up by an earnest looking young thug (an oxymoronic statement if you ever heard one), who was very keen on her. No doubt Al is beautiful, what with her big eyes, perfect face structure, killer bod....Humbly walking by her he struck up a conversation and upon learning that we were from the UK, welcomed us to Brooklyn. What a nice boy.Albeit a little creepy.
When we got to his apartment , some of Chief's friends were chillin' in his crib,yo, and they were so good looking it was unbearable. They followed us upstairs and I could have just melted from the pure heat that they generated in the room. As Chief and his friend sat themselves behind us it was difficult to turn and admire, but now and then I would turn to see that his friend was staring at me. Literally, eyeball to eyeball. Or eyeball to the back of my head. Either way, I didn't mind because he was so good looking. There were no white boys there to dilute the intensity of the black thug vibe. Strangely enough, they wore the same black bomber with red detailing as the boy in the subway. Reflecting upon it now, I reckon they must have belonged to some Brooklyn gang, but they are hot gangsta's so all is forgiven. And their accents! Their voices! *gush* I have yet to hear another voice as sexy as that of a Brooklyn black boy. It was love....
The boys left the apartment after sometime and we were left with S's cousin Stacey who was gorgeous too. (This is of course, was to be expected as she hangs out with fiddy and pdiddy on a regular basis. ) As she showed us pictures of the different parties' she had attended, she suddenly turned to me and held my confused gaze. It was at this moment that my life flashed before my eyes as S's warnings rang sharply in my ear,' Stacey is psychotic...She's punched a girl before... Man,I'm scared of her... I would never dare to get on her bad side'. My heart stopped and I thought I was going to pass out.
'Oh My God,' began Stacey, My body froze.
' F***', my voice of conscience went.
' You are so beautiful' she continued.
I turned around and looked at Al giving Stacey the benefit of the doubt that maybe, she might be cross-eyed and meant to have been looking at Al. It was apparent I had mistaken the almighty Stacey, but choosing to err on the side of caution, I went 'her? Yea she is', pointing to Al. 'No, I mean you! No offence (looking at Al this time), You're beautiful too ,but you (bringing her gaze back to me), Your lips! They're like Angelina Jolie's! Your face! You're beautiful!'.
My face went red hot and I can't remember what happened after. I might have passed out, or delirium might have paralysed my short-term memory, but suddenly Stacey wasn't that intimidating anymore. Me and my ego deemed her a gem. I was a little suspicious of Stacey as I felt less than glamorous with my rain-soaked hair and tired demeanor. But even so, it was nice of her to choose to complement me rather than beat me to the ground, very hospitable.
Having left Brooklyn and finally New York, the people we had met will never leave me. In particular, Chief and his homies, Stacey and her rap stars would always have a place in my heart. As they say, there's always a first time for everything, and this having been my first time in the Big Apple, meant everything. It has been some time and it never occurred to me to pay NY a tribute. (I turned 18 in New York.)
Sigh, New York, Brooklyn, I love you, I love your black thugsters (well, the civilised ones), I will see you again...and again.... and again....
X
This is Brooklyn in the day.
Now picture it pitch black, pouring and crowded.
That was our Brooklyn.
She Is Electric X 6:46:00 PM