Love Beyond The Grave: A Dissertation on Where Love Goes (Part I)
The first (Musoni sun) is the sun of the ‘go order’ [lutumu Iwa Mvangumunu] to all beginnings; the second (Kala sun) is the sun of all births; the third (Tukula sun) is the sun of maturity, leadership and creativity; the fourth (Luvemba sun) is the sun of the last and greatest change of all, death.
Fu-Kiau, 1980
January 18th, 2022 (Amsterdam, Netherlands)
The stress takes my hair with it. Handfuls of follicles, rejected by the shower drain, again. I ball it up, inspect its density, run my fingers through the curls left and wrestle with my own micro aggressions.
“Finer hair does mean looser curls.”
The thought hurls out like a strike-d knee, reflexive. The dictionary app on my phone defines it as “without conscious thought.” I nod my head—
“No”
That it is not the bright side to hair loss due to untimely deaths.
No matter how much we prepare, we bargain, we bow on our knees in Parisian mosques; I pray to a God’s that isn't mine.
I weep.
I stay inside of a London flat for 28 days straight. I think the person sitting next to me on the couch, is someone they are not. I light a candle a day, look up the spells of my blood. I lean into people who lean into half truths. I curse their name for months on end when I find out the full.
I return to the states to sit by his bedside. I hold my head down when he begins to cry. He says he’s so proud, so proud, so proud to be a brother of mine.
He also wants to know about my love life, his favorite line of inquiry. I cant bear to tell him his cancer was used against me. That I got caught up in another web of lies, for the third time with the same pair of fucking eyes.
I tell him that we don't have the time.
He begs for the ridiculousness that comes with my romances. He lays in bed, half dead, with his familiar grin, waiting for the tale.
Almost two weeks since his last breath and I wish I humored him.
That we laughed at my silly love life for one last time. That we cursed her name between belly laughs and stuttered speech because nothing prepares us for losing a witness. They don’t teach us how to grieve or mourn but, we watched each other:
I grew breasts and you, chin hair.
We went from children, to adults. Moved ourselves from the swamps, to the west - where the racism was easier to swallow. All in all, we did well for some kids trudging out of Florida waters.
I go to the Netherlands for a week and some days. I kiss tears away, get engaged. Find a man in the place of a girl I use to love. We find peace after a two year break but my hair betrays my carefully placed composure. Im not sure about all the things I will miss about you brother but I think about that bundle of shedded hair for days on end and I proceed to miss my flight that weekend.
December 20th, 2021 (In Transit Lille to Paris)
I am on a four pm train toward Paris leaving Lille. I really enjoyed spending time with Ashley. I love that we prioritize one another. We have all come such a long way, my family and I. I am visiting back home more often, probably more than I ever have and it’s paying off. This is the most genuine and authentic I’ve been with my mother in about 15 years. So much time has passed, I wish I didn’t waste so much of it.
edit: It wasn’t a waste. It was our journey.
There are around 200,000 cases per day in France at the moment. Omicron is hitting everyone pretty badly. This virus feels like the new norm and this white lady keeps coughing over her mask and wont cover her mouth.. we will never be free.
I found out that I have a Scorpio Stellium yesterday and so many things about my life make sense. I think I have a good idea on how to move forward. I recognize now how I have been associating a heightened state of anxiety for love. It’s depicted like that everywhere. It’s on the television, in our phones, in the music. Summer Walker makes me think deeper about harmonies but her lyrics make me so sad.
I have to call my grandpa. He was diagnosed with cancer over a year ago and has been hiding it from the family. When I go back to Florida, I need to visit him and Courdel. I saw Courdel on FaceTime for a moment and it was shocking. I think that’s how I remember grandma Winsome looking sometimes after a particularly tough treatment. I want to honor grandma more. I think she would’ve been proud to see who I’ve become but the gay thing might’ve set shit off.
Hi grandma Winsome,
I’d like to hear from you soon, just to say hello. I’m sorry it took me so long but maybe time doesn’t matter where you are. I hope you are safe and sound and if not, I hope you are being cunning and resourceful.
amen.
I want to take this year second by second, even smaller than day by day. I want to catch every minor detail and write it all down, document it. I don’t want to miss a single thing this year. I don’t want to fast forward out of any of my misfortune.
I love my family so much.
We just got to Paris, I’ll end it here.
Til next time.
January 1st, 2022 (In transit Paris to London)
It is the first, first, first day of the New Year. It is the year 2022.
Corona cases are at its peak.
The new variant is way more contagious but 80 percent less fatal. Everyone has it but less are dying, at least that’s what they are reporting in the media.
I am on the train back to my London sublet. I am genuinely shocked at how pleasing this trip was. I took off all work-related tasks for a week straight and it was sweet and the healthiest reminder about how much I enjoy my work. I feel so lucky to say that and mean it.
There is fog rising from the ground, covering century old buildings that hold white-men-secrets.
Paris is not beautiful.
I can’t see pass the blood on their hands but Yasmina and her sister are sweet. Both babies, 19 and 21. Both so angsty and tough on themselves. I don’t say too much because there is nothing that soothes at that age. The only thing that has given me peace is a frontal lobe.
On the last day of 2021, I stretched in Yasmina’s Parisian flat, put on a well thought out, outfit and her sister and I walked to a cafe to get food. On our way, we saw a Josephine Baker homage at one of the museums. The sister’s grandparents are both mathematicians and bought the apartment back in the 80’s to be close to the university. We ate, I spoke to Kari for awhile as they were feeling off and later, we headed to the mosque. I prayed and moved my body to words and chants I couldn’t understand.
I don’t care.
It’s not about the specifics, it’s about the collective undertone that’s just about the same in every faith.
I read somewhere that “suffering feels like religion if done right.”
I’ll be thinking about that line all year.
Happy New Years.
I am 26 years old. Courdel has cancer and I am the most known to myself than I’ve ever been.
amen.
January 2nd, 2022 (London Sublet)
It is the second day (the pen is giving up) of the new year and there is a consistent, looming feeling that I am in the grips of revealing a very specific part of my personality and life purpose. It feels like air in the way that it dances tauntingly around me, whimsical and hard to grasp yet lingering always right beneath my nose.
My interests are becoming quite clear
I care a lot about research, accessibility, academia, investigative tasks, bio-engineering and the climate crisis’s affect on the Global South.
Also, Haiti is our savior.
Yesterday I was so tired that I slept through the whole day. I slept through a hungry stomach, slept through discomfort. I had a lot of dreams, a few with Rhea and I think a few with Kirsten. They’re almost dust now.
I didn’t wash my face or brush my teeth or really eat yesterday.
The sleep feels inevitable.
I had a thought about gender this morning and I kept expanding on it. I’m going to start tracking the thoughts into a google doc, maybe make an article of it. Maybe call it something to do with the spectrum? Spectral? A spectral lens?
I’m not sure.
I feel so brainy and smart these days. It’s cause of all these podcasts I’ve been indulging in. I’ve learned about so many topics these last few months, about lichens and capitalism, autism and neurodiversity concerning our relationships. I listened to a talk by Antonio Lopez on the colonization of our attention thats opened up my framework when it comes to resource extraction concerning digital media intake. Kerry Knudson’s talk on lichens also has given me a new sense of hope by the way he speaks about a “doomed” world. I don’t think I’ve ever really felt hope when thinking of the climate crisis but I’m being introduced to all these beautiful ways we can reimagine our world.
This morning I brewed a cup of green tea since I’ve been feeling so fatigued with African ginger, turmeric and sea moss. I also warmed up some soup my flat mate, Mathilde, left out for me yesterday. I’ve been picking at it. I had a long reflection on my eating habits yesterday and how my body frame affects my sex life. I’m also going to write it out in a google doc.
I spoke to dad on the phone for a bit. Jenelle told me (during the couple hours that I wasn’t in a sleep coma) about Courdel’s declining health these past few days. I’ve decided to leave London earlier than expected.
Courdel could transition any day now.
The reality is still something to confront. My emotions are at a stand still but guaranteed to present themselves depending on what happens the next few weeks. Jenelle and I have been in each others lives for so long now. About 14/15 years. Time fucking flew. I had no idea the type of love and friendship I was entering all those years ago at Lexi’s birthday beach day. She got stung by a jellyfish, someone pissed on her wound if I’m remembering correctly.
I am so lucky to have a love so anchored with Bun. It is a lighthouse for my spirit. I also know how rare it is as well.
I’ve just finished listing out all the grants that I’ll need to start applying for in the next few months. I have two to work on in the next couple of days. I have a meeting with Flo to discuss things with my NTS fellowship. There is mice in this sublet. I just thought about my undergrad academic advisor, Nina Archange. I start some rogue classes at Central St Martins in eight days, a Creative Coding course and an introductory course on Sustainability in Fashion and Design.
I am going to shower now.
January 3rd, 2022 (London Sublet)
Courdel has passed away.
January 17th, 2022 (In transit Belgium to London)
I’ve been thinking about writing it all down since the day Courdel passed.
I’ve been wanting to jot down all the minor details. I’d catch myself living, feeling the moment and think “Quickly, I need to write this all down.” It’s been 14 days since Courdel has passed. I am in Belgium on a train back to London. I have a flight to Miami in two days. I was in the Netherlands with Kanea this past week and some days. I wrote one really good poem about my breaking hair. I gathered all my tracks and realized I have a fully form project, ready to go: Move San, Lèt Gate — bad blood, spoiled milk. A phenomenon that halts rural Haitian mothers from nursing their young because bad blood equates to spoiled milk.
It is almost the end of January and I am reminding myself to take it all in as slowly as I can.
Take it in. Watch even closer than before.
I want to manipulate time, all the time. Not cause I’m afraid of the future but I’d like to savor it all. It’s been five years since Kanea and I met. I can’t believe it. 15 years since Jenelle. I’m gaining a witness a year. I am obsessed with the idea right now that a huge component of love is being able to standby and witness. The biggest grief is losing a witness and losing someone I’ve been able to witness. I want to watch more closely. I want to be a witness. I want to be for the long run. Where can I store all of this?
I am constantly searching for new barrels, the memory is not enough.
My friends remember so much about our times while I can’t remember much. I am so disappointed in Kirsten, surprised and disappointed. Big smoke usually consist of Sulfur Oxide and Nitrogen Oxide. The Eurostar jingle sounds really good with my Serpentine track.
I’m thinking about all the thing I scoffed at. Predicatably, my body seems to be aching to carry a child. It’s the evolution of it all that makes it all so humourous. I got engaged two nights ago. The ketamine, the warmth, the feeling of being in a cocoon, realizing that I’ve had Kanea somehow by my side for the past five years made the question slip out of the tongue of my sea. I’ve watched them struggle to get a visa for so long. I wouldn’t mind being married to them for one year and a day. The ceremony and the divorce party would be memorable.
Writing poetry about you. Writing poetry about me. Married to another poet.
I don’t want to compare and I don’t want to disrespect the ones before. Maybe we simply weren’t compatible?
I’ve seen so many European countrysides, I’ll be back in the states soon.
I have to remember what I want this year. A permanent base is number one. An apartment by myself. I want these grants awarded to me. I want to continue school, continue music lessons, continue making family. This project, Move San, Lét Gate wont be my most refined work but it is my most honest work. I learned a lot about production and making music with these tracks. I am proud to call them the building blocks of my sound. I feel like a child making music. I hope to make more in the future and if I end up not prioritizing music, I’m really happy that I’ll always have this child to look back on. Ages 24-26 and it was all worth it. Every loss, every gain, all the heart ache and love’s made.
What a trip.
Amen.