Tuesday, February 20

Black Girl Assaulted

one of the biggest mood setters in my life is tracy chapman, a remarkable woman with a remarkable voice. no, i have never discounted the fact that she is almighty dykeness, but i have thought of her more as a woman whose emotions are undoubtedly too feminine to not relate to, dreadlocks notwithstanding. back when i was a struggling recluse in the big city of manila, circa 1991, i was walking down the street to the beat of her revolution song, armed with all the angst of an orphan girl, without a home and without warmth to speak of. for my lover brought such crushing appeal to me that i honestly wished i was a dyke or had a bummer for a lover. fast cars was the most overplayed tune around that time, and although it was fated to be so, i had deliberately turned away from the idea of sharing her with a million other souls. i must admit, the literary brilliance and her unqualified talent are way too blinding to ignore. hero worship, a term coined by an erstwhile friend about me gushing over him, or at least his qualities, that's exactly the thing that this singer/writer has caused and done to me. may i just reckon though that over late night mullings (me, cigarettes, and the ocassional mr. sanmig) and her, ms. chapman, singing the black woman sufferer's songs-- it was an undeniably hot union.

written 07.18.06
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