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

I visited Arthur Flower's rootsblog today and found this clip I just had to share. Arthur Flowers is an amazing writer, and lucky for me, I can also claim him as a friend. Back when I worked at Marie Brown Associates, Arthur was one of our most trusted readers--helping us get through the mountains of manuscripts that came through our doors. Most agents would just ignore unsolicited manuscripts, but Marie? She was committed to rewarding writers, no matter what their station in life, for their efforts of actually finishing a book. It is this spirit and devotion which makes Marie a force unto herself, and in this light, I ask all who come upon this post to think about the spirit in which Marie operates, the magic of Arthur Flowers and the wise words of Amiri Baraka.

So yesterday V and I finally hung out. It's been a while since we've seen each other: She's been in New York for the past two months (lucky devil...). Kai and I biked over to her new apartment in Nyhavn, a funky old school Copenhagen apartment which never fails to inspire me to write... With it's loft bed and central location, courtyard view and proximity to the water, it's the writer's dream apartment. It's a chill day, lounging on the couch, our two boys Teo and Kai geeking out on their respective computers. V fills me in on her recent trip to Berlin, I gush about my upcoming trip to Nice (I can't wait...) We check out shoes, clothes, books... Later that day we end up in Nørrebro. It's the part of Copenhagen that reminds me most of New York. It's hectic there...young kids breaking the virginity of their adulthood (their first Summer out on the streets, a valid part of the nightlife). There are families with kids whose parents sip cool on the...

In 1999 I made a life-changing decision. I packed up an odd assortment of clothes, books, old letters, journals and headed for Copenhagen, Denmark to give birth to my child. There are many things I left behind: friends, belongings, family. In the landscape of family, there was my father, living in a home on Dekalb Avenue. My father's kidneys had failed him and due to his insistence at not showing up for his dialysis and the fact that he was officially a ward of the state, he had very little options. His health was bad. He had already suffered numerous strokes which let him unable to use the right arm and hand. I had visited him in the hospital a few times, and the last time was due to the fact that his neighbor had found him passed out in his room. He was not happy to be in the home. He complained endlessly about it and in fact, one day, with his face full of rare hope asked me, "Lesley, why don't we live together?" To which I immediately and flatly replied, "No...

if you look closely...you will see that this grape is smiling!