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

Call for poetry submissions. What for: The premiere of a soon-to-be-launched online portal for the reading and discovery of the work of West Indian/West Indian heritage writers of poems. What we are looking for: Unpublished works that explore images of so-called Caribbean-ness and do something with them — invert them, twist them, crack them open. Baptise them or make them anew. Works that tread unfamiliar territory — or familiar ones. Works that spill out from that dark place in your mind and relieve the pressure of compression inside of your heart. Avant-garde, experimental and radical verse are all welcome. Of particular interest are poems pertaining to themes of identity, gender, gender roles and sexuality. Please indicate upon submission, if you would prefer to use a nom de plume. Please include a brief biographical sketch or simply, nationality information. Authors retain all original rights to their work. For further inquiry, to hear more about this venture or to submit work, ple...

Disclaimer: I received this as an email and so do not know the rightful originator of this text. Barbara Walters, of 20/20, did a story on gender roles in Kabul , Afghanistan several years before the Afghan conflict. She noted that women customarily walked five paces behind their husbands. She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands. Despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem to, and are happy to, maintain the old custom. Ms. Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked, 'Why do you now seem happy with an old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?' The woman looked Ms. Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation said, 'Land Mines. ' Seriously though, it is a real situation: http://www.globalissues.org/article/79/landmines

Last night I held my 8th grade parent-teacher conferences. First off, I have to say how much I love my 8th graders. They are an eclectic, electric group of kids whose love for each other resonates. There's M, a young lady from Turkey who is pretty professional when it comes to getting her work done, E who hails from Ghana and broke down to me once admitting, "It's hard being Black in Denmark." There's H, who's turning into such a stunning young man, with those large, dark Arabic eyes which his eyelashes flutter above. There's S, the quintessential football gentleman and K, who's dancing skills are better than I've ever seen in a loooong time. To be honest, I could name them all here for you, cause they each have something super dope about them: I could tell you about S who finally, after 8 years of schooling, seems to be waking up (Yeah!)...but you get the point! They really dig each other, which I guess is where my problem is. They have such a goo...

The Autumn in the East Coast is a patient old man with a paintbrush. He dips into the sun-tinged colors of creation. He takes his time, stretching the inevitable march towards winter, equipping us with an aesthetic that will fortify us against the cold.

Blackgirl on Mars Live & just back from New York this Saturday Only November 21st at 15:30 featuring Martin Ollivierre... the exhibition hall, Helligånds kirke, Strøget...

Lesley-Ann I read about what happened at the airport. I am so sorry to hear about you missing your flight. It is kind of strange when you think about it -- at the exact time that you were supposed to be in the air you were at the reflexologist experiencing a bit of healing and having a great conversation with someone who I am sure will necessarily be in your future. The actual ticket that you had to get for the error may have set you back a bit, but what you gained as far as spiritual enlightenment is concerned is absolutely priceless. It was such a pleasure seeing you, girl. I do mean that sincerely. You are far from an angel in disguise. You are an angel in broad daylight. And it is amazing to watch you continually grow into the person that you are becoming, each and every day, in a way that seems effortless but that clearly takes hard work. Go 'head girl. Keep holding it down in Copenhagen. My warmest regards to Kai and Benjamin. I am sure they are thrilled to have you...

I'm sitting in Newark Airport waiting to get on my flight. Turns out I missed my flight by a day...I've got this thing where sometimes I see things on paper but it doesn't register. For some reason I had it in my brain I was leaving on Tuesday but returning on Wednesday...I knew something seemed strange about it but man, there has been so much on my mind...so I missed my flight and had to buy a totally new ticket to get to Copenhagen. Don't ask. The SAS ticket guy was a real jerk. I loved the woman at British Airways who helped me out. She couldn't give me a discount, but hey, they got me on a flight so that I can see my son...whom I miss immensely. This is the first time I have been to New York and not that cool about leaving... Anyway...what a trip. As I sit in the airport CNN is on and I overhear that they will execute the DC Sniper...they describe how they will do so, lethal injection. As I sit in the U.S....they are about to execute a man. On my drive to the a...

It's early morning on the day I am to depart. I'm sitting here, in Marie's living room, listening as Harlem slowly wakes up. There's the distant sounds of trucks rolling down silent streets, the sound of the steam sighing out of the radiators. There is, believe it or not, relative quiet about me. W.154th Street, Sugar Hill, is a very quiet street. And in this quiet, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude. I am thankful for Marie Brown. I first met Marie in 1996, I believe. Back then her office was at 625 Broadway. She's a literary agent and even after sending her a crooked resume, she hired me. I worked with her for four years, meeting countless literary unsung legends. Lately, when I come home to New York, it with her I stay. I would like to express my thanks to my friend Rayner. Rayner Ramirez is my old buddy from college. He is now a producer at NBC, but no matter where life seems to take us, when we're together the laughter rolls out like a red carp...

Sometimes when you have to accept a reality, and deal with a reality, you end up stifling other possibilities if only because their presence could be painful. When I left New York, almost 11 years ago, I was ready to leave. Most true-New Yorkers, and by true, I mean those of us who were either born and/or grew up in this magical area of the world have a love/hate relationship with this city. A friend once said that living in New York is like being in a dysfunctional relationship: you know you should get out, but you stay... So escaping New York was for me, and quite a few other, fellow New Yorkers quite a victory. Let me explain. You ever heard that expression: the city that never sleeps? Well, it's not an exaggeration. There is always something to do here. Take for example this past Wednesday night--the city was just as alive as if it were a weekend. Even in Brooklyn. But the problem is, what happens with most things when it doesn't get any sleep? It gets this delirious from s...

Who said you can't go home again? Last night, through an uneventful flight from Paris, I landed for the umpteenth time, at JFK International Airport. It is an airport I have passed through innumerable times but this time, for some reason, it feels different. First of all, it is the first time I am home in 9 years without my son. It is my first time home, in 9 years as just, well, Lesley-Ann. The other thing is, I have purposely made no airport pick-up arrangements just so that I could ease myself back into the harmonic cacophony that is New York City... At the train station, as I wait for the E train, I am entertained by large groups of teenagers: It is Halloween, and youngsters are, by the droves, headed into the city for the annual Halloween Day Parade. A racial hodgepodge of kids take the seat opposite me on the train: there's white-faced chocolate boys with ghoulish make-up and fish-net attired young Latinas dresses as zombie nurses. I can't resist: Can I take your pict...