blackgirl on mars: notes on a life in copenhagen (or how my alienation brings me closer to people).

I used to live at Flux back when it was in Williamsburgh and can vouch for the amount of fun you'll have with these folks if ever your paths cross. So, if you want to be part of something transformative (I just made that word up, I like it!) and creative, definitely join them. Here's the information: Flux Factory, an artists collective and artist-run center, is seeking volunteers to help build its new communal home. Starting April 1st we will be renovating an 8,000 square foot building in the heart of Long Island City, Queens. The move follows our eviction from our former home this fall due to expansion of the Long Island Railroad. Our facilities will include work studios and offices for artists of all walks, a communal computer lab/office, woodshop, silk-screening facilities, two galleries, shared kitchens and bathrooms, and (for at least a little while) a three-story tall conveyor belt. We’re also hoping to set up a communal roof-top garden (even though we don’t know much a...

Wow. I know I complain a lot about being here, even if I avoid doing so aloud. It is a complaint that is down in the bones, that reaches out with each breath I take and returns with each inhale. I make an effort not to let it be known--I put on a smiley face and declare to the world, "Hey, I'm happy to be here." Some days it takes an effort, and other days, like today, it's the truth. Let me explain. Today I had my first parent-teacher meeting. Denmark, have you any idea of the human resources you have at your disposal? The flowers that are coming up through the cracks in the concrete? Have you any idea of the people who come to your shores, their stories, their struggles, triumphs, dreams? Well, I got a glimpse of it tonight and it's the brightest evidence of hope I have seen in a long time and if I were to close my eyes and never awake, know that I have been touched by this. Touched by the beautiful Iraqi boy who shows up with his father--a man tortured, a fami...

Junior Murvin's Bad weed plays in background-- The thing about being preoccupied is that it robs you of enjoying the beauty of life. Little does it matter what your preoccupation is: money, work, love, your children, --whatever it is, it saps you of all your energy and prevents you from experiencing the magic of life. When you're preoccupied, you don't notice kick-ass artistic expressions such as these. Whomever is responsible for this, which I passed in Nørreport Station, is cool. I hate it when I feel like I'm being assaulted by advertising, and this artist spoke for me when he or she not only rearranged "Clear Channel" to the above, but come on, that advisory notice? Brilliant. Thank you, whomever is responsible for that. I'm your biggest fan. Biggie's Get Money in background--can't write, got to dance. The great thing is: I've got so much work to do that I can't even sit and meditate on whatever it is that is now awry, personally, in my...

August 26, 2008-March 25, 2009

My only New Years Resolution this year was to get out more. I have a tendency to be a home-hugger: I mean, all I really need are my books and computer and I'm straight, right? Who needs people? Well, I do! I'm trying to get out more, open myself more to, well, life. Don't get me wrong either, it's not like I'm always a homebody. I have my moments. But anyway, yesterday a friend of mine alerted me to the fact that Dawn Penn was holding a concert here in Copenhagen. You don't even have to be a reggae enthusiast to recognize her signature song, you know, that long, moaning wailing lament that, "No no no...You don't love me anymore..." Man, just typing those words gives me goosebumps-so anyway, after a GREAT dinner at my girl Paulette's (the best cook in Copenhagen?), I jumped onto my bike and headed to Nørrebronx. Dawn Penn gave an excellent performance and I couldn't help but think, as I looked upon her with puppy dog eyes that hey, she is th...

As I'm scrambling to get done all that I have to get done (a task I should admit is impossible) I turn on the television and there is Junot Diaz! Yeah! I'm not sure if he is still in Denmark, if the show was a repeat or what, but man, how cool would it be if he could come and visit my students? Here's the link to the interview. For those of you who don't speak Danish, hang in there, cause what he says is worth the wait. For those of you who do speak Danish, enjoy! Junot Diaz in Copenhagen p.s. cool is Junot Diaz replying to your invitation to visit your school and your students and although he was already back in Boston when he received my invite, he answered my email and so, the NEXT time he's here... yeah, cool, huh? the lab

In an effort to bond with my kids and for us to get to know eachother, another teacher and myself decided to take them bowling! Last week we took the girls and we had a blast! Yesterday I took my Grade 6 boys bowling and that too was a success. I really wanted to crush all of them, but my weak bowling skills prevented me from doing so. On our way to the bowling alley, H asked me, "Lesley, why do Black Americans want to be called African Americans?" We were surrounded by a few Danes and my first impulse was to panic. I mean, these are the very conversations I love, but was unsure about how I felt about conducting it under the gaze. I focused on my students and proceeded as though I was in my classroom. "Well, where is it that all Black Americans can trace their ancestry to?" S, a contemplative biracial boy responds, "Africa." My students love to ask me questions about race and the U.S. The other day I overheard one say the N word (and this time it was not ...

Mentee Emily and mentor Karen read their original pieces at Girls Write Now Day March 8, 2009 at the New School University. What I miss most about NYC is all the dope people I rolled with. People who think critically and out of the box. People who dare to challenge norms and to create a new way of living. People who are passionate about words, their people and love. Well, here is my soul-sister Karen Good. Need I say more? farvel, the lab p.s no coincidence it's the day after my birthday and at my old school...sigh. The planets are aligning again, watch out world!

The fact of the matter is that no matter how well you have adjusted to your new life abroad, you will always be visited by a nagging longing to go home. This longing does not reveal itself constantly, but instead chooses to hide behind your happiness and optimism until, well, you realize that although you may even think of your new country as home, you will never, ever be really home until-- Until what? My theory is that this longing will always surface and that you must get better at combating it. The truth is, I can't move back to the U.S. now. If I didn't have a child, it would be another story... This weekend my son sprained his ankle. But before we knew it was a sprain, I had to take him to the emergency room to ensure that it was not broken. We showed up at what was a very quiet emergency room. We both were well-armed: I had my students' work to correct, my son his psp and new Tony Hawk game. The wait was not long and the staff, pleasant. "You speak perfect Danis...

I don't know if the world is falling apart any more than it ever was, or is it that I am getting older? I'm not sure which is which, but lately, it's been a bit of a challenge to look on the bright side. Don't get me wrong, I'm managing, but it would be all the harder if I didn't periodically have little gems of experiences to remind me of the beauty of life. I was lucky to have such an experience last Tuesday. A group of us here in Copenhagen have decided to put together an anthology. It's a project initiated by the American Woman's Club and will be partly funded by said group. For those of you who know me, you know I'm a Groucho Marx kind of girl when it comes to clubs, but I do have to say that whatever experiences I have had with these women have been overwhelming positive and have even made me reconsider my preconceived notions of what comprises a club. So anyway, last Tuesday when we all met to discuss the upcoming anthology, one of the women ...

(my young cousin sent this to me): Wild Meat for Lent - Trinis not easy nah Each Friday night after work, Charlo wud fire up his outdoor grill and cook wild meat. But, all of Charlo's neighbors were Catholic....And since it was Lent, dey was forbidden from eating meat on Good Friday . De delicious aroma from de wild meat was causing such a problem for de Catholic faithful that dey finally talked to their priest. De Priest came to visit Charlo, and suggested that he become a Catholic. After several classes and much study, Charlo attended Mass .....and as de priest sprinkled holy water over him, he said, "You was born a Baptist, and raised a Baptist, but now you are a Catholic." Charlo's neighbors was greatly relieved, until next Good Friday night arrived, and de wonderful aroma of Tatoo filled de neighborhood. De priest was called immediately by de neighbors, and, as he rushed into Charlo's yard, clutching a rosary and prepared to bouf him, he stopped and watc...

Yesterday was my birthday and I had a fantastic day. First of all, I skyped with my sister and was able to hang out with her via computer (oh, the wonders of modern technology!) and then I had a little gathering of amazing people in my life-- and it was a success! What I now realize is how all the different strands of interest in my life are now, slowly coming together: that of social justice, education and writing. Since I've only just recently embarked in the field of education, I am interested in how each will inform the other. This upcoming year is a year of observation, learning and action. Sounds exciting! farvel , the lab

"You must always be intoxicated. That sums it all up: its the only question. In order not to feel the horrible burden of Time which breaks your back and bends you down to earth, you must be unremittingly intoxicated. But on what? Wine, poetry, virtue as you please. But never be sober. And if it should chance that sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you wake up and your intoxication has already diminished or disappeared, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans, everything that rolls, everything that sings, everything that speaks, ask them what time it is and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply: It's time to be intoxicated! If you do not wish to be one of the tortured slaves of Time, never, ever be sober; never, ever be sober! Use wine, poetry, or virtue as you please." -- Charles-Pierre Baudelaire

dear lesley-ann brown, this whiteboy from bronx browsing about glenn in the early am of a snowstorm found your blackgirlonmars link which i hope to lookit more when i'm awake. me & a couple others here are friends of glenn from the lower east side days ages ago & then some. carol klein & i saw glenn off over a liter of 110 proof slivovitz which lasted glenn (so he much later told me) the whole yugoslav freighter trip to tangier at the start of his old world adventures. i was in touch with glenn during some of his early rambles (ibiza, amsterdam, kibbutzim...) and sent him a copy of marat-sade (which i saw from the umpteenth balcony in ny with a bunch of my anarchist friends). that play blew my mind as it did glenn's, tho surely in very different ways. glenn's adventures as he related to me (on the two brief occasions we met during his later sojourns in new york) were- are- absolutely great as stories. my fear is that glenn would have regar...

There have been many things given to me by my mother. Frilly blouses with missing buttons bestowed upon me with, "Here, I pay fifty cents for this!" Or designer underwear found on sale Her delight hardly contained "Two for one at Conways! You know how expensive they would be? Tommy Hilfiger!" I have ceased explaining to my mother how conservative I have become with my money --buying into in some way, a compliance with the market economy. Suspect of the feelings of exhilaration quickly punctured by reality that sets in, I question shopping. But, if truth be told, I happily receive these trinkets from my mother blurring it, in my mind with some kind of interest.