Eccentric and Bent

Come on a fantastic voyage in the backwaters of my mind.

Monthly Archives: November 2013

The Daily Prompt

I read the daily prompt everyday.  I often use it to help me in my writing.  Rarely does any of that writing end up here.  It normally stays within the confines of my notebook(s).  (I guess I am somewhat old fashioned because all of my writing begins with a pencil and a notebook. My daughter compares my love of pencils to the the usage of quills and ink in 2013. *shrug*)  Anyway there was a prompt earlier this week that asked us to get our most persistent characters out of our heads and into print.  I really had no persistent characters so I started to dismiss the prompt out of hand.  The prompt went on to tell us that the character could be anything of our choosing whether animate or inanimate.  I decided to reread the prompt and search my head to see if I had anything to fit the bill.  I figured I would get a short scene out of it.   I decided that my character would be my home city.  Now for the last few days different scenes have been popping up.  These scenes are fully populated by people I have never met before.  One young lady seems to be the starring attraction as she is the commonality among all the scenes.  I really don’t know what this means.  I mean I used to have characters in my head all the time when I was a kid.  Writing was my escape from stress so I engaged in it frequently.  I was always writing short stories or poetry.  I filled hundreds of notebooks.  I dreamed of being a best selling author or Pulitzer Prize winning journalist.  But then life interrupted my dreams.  I had little people populating my waking and sleeping hours because I became a mother to 7.  I had adult responsibilities to my parents, siblings, husband and children so I really had no room for the characters that took up residence in my head.  They received eviction notices and quietly moved.  I stuck to writing essays and poetry because that could be done in a matter of minutes instead of the long term commitment to birth fully actualized characters.  Now with the reading of that daily prompt people have once again taken up residence in my head.  I am scared because I don’t know what they really want from me.  I hope they don’t plan to hold me hostage because I still don’t have the time to tell their stories.  I don’t think I have the talent either.  I hope that the young lady is just trying to show me her back story before she demands my attention be turned to trying to tell her tale.  I am going to try an resist reading any more of those cursed daily prompts… Yeah right I’ll be back at them again tomorrow.  



“She stepped out into the type of day that felt as if it could shatter at any time.  The brittle rays of the sun raked across her sun stroked skin. She inhaled a lung full of cactus needles and exhaled the fragrance of desert blooms.  She stood with the bearing of an Amazon queen among the leathery people of her current reign .  Her braids swayed in the convection breeze.  She looked out onto a street that just a few years earlier was a frequent witness for the tumbleweeds.”

Rantings of a Misfit

As my posts have previously indicated my grandmother passed away this month.  I am at peace with the transition. My only hope is that some way she will be able to communicate with me what happens after the transition.  You see I am one of those who does not believe that the death of the body is the end of the life force.  I believe that we are energy that inhabit physical forms for a while.  I also believe that some energy gets a chance to come back.  I would say that this clearly indicates that I am not Christian and therefore I don’t adhere to Christian doctrine.  I know that some of my tendencies are based on Christianity and Islam as those were the religions of my youth but I have chosen a different path. 

In the USA, Christianity is the basis of our society even though we profess a separation of church and state.  As such religion permeates every aspect of our lives even if we do not seek it.  I had not voluntarily attended a church service since I was 25 (I am 40 now) but knew that in order to attend the home going celebration of my grandmother’s life I would have to go to a church.  I knew that there would be a sermon and hymns included in the praises and remembrances of my grandmother.  I prepared myself for that.  I actually enjoyed the musical selections as I enjoy all types of music.  I didn’t mind the sermon of the pastor chosen to officiate the event.  My problem came when they allowed my grandmother’s son, my biological donor, to offer words of comfort.  

As you can tell from the previous sentence, the relationship between that gentleman and myself is strained.  I don’t respect him as a man or a father.  But I absolutely love him, if for no other reason than he shares DNA with me. You see he made me when he was 19 and my mother was 14.  He decided that he would not be responsible for me.  My mother chose to be responsible.  And the young man that she had been dating chose to pick up the mantle of responsibility that my biological donor threw off.  The young man who chose to be my father made that decision at 17 years of age and changed his whole future for me.  As such I grew up with two loving parents who taught me to be a royal warrior.  They taught me that I was brilliant, capable, beautiful, and worthy of all the great things I was destined for.  They taught me to speak my mind, no matter how uncomfortable others felt with my feelings.  They taught me to love people just as they appeared and not try to force them to be my vision of perfection.  My parents taught me to put no person on a pedestal; the only thing worthy of worship was my higher power. They also taught me that image is nothing more than smoke and mirrors.  Unfortunately my donor’s family are stuck on image instead of substance.  To them, you fake it until you make it.

As part of their fakery and fuckery, they allowed my donor, Rev. L. Sr, to speak at my grandmother’s funeral this past Friday.  Now our strained relationship made that uncomfortable for me. Another thing that made it uncomfortable, for me, is knowing that he just finished a stint in federal prison behind making a choice to rob a bank.  He became involved in drug usage and his life spiraled out of control.  I know I just told y’all that my parents raised me to love people just as they are. I do but that does not mean I condone every action a person takes. You may also be wondering what difference does it make who is preaching if I am not a Christian.  Well it matters because I believe that a spiritual leader should be honest and humble, first and foremost.  I believe that until Rev. L accepts the mistakes in his life and shows true repentance then he should not attempt to lead others.  I refuse to be a sheep led by any old shepherd.  They have to prove that their walk on their path is true to their beliefs.

So I left the church but still heard portions of the speech and was receiving texts from my mother and daughter about other parts. What I heard and received were either half truths or outright lies.  The most grievous offense was the fact that his speech became about himself and not my grandmother. He attempted to minimize his culpability in any of bad decisions he’s recently made. He went on to talk about how he came home from prison only owning the clothes the prison provided and how he has been blessed by Jesus with all the material comforts he now possesses.  He went on to point out his daughter (my youngest sister [who happens to not be his biological child]), his grandchildren by her, and one great grandchild despite having ALL of his living children in the church.  He made a big deal about buying shoes for his grandchild and finished with a caveat about how “Pawpaw takes care of all of his babies”.  At that point my daughter sent me a text and asked me what her Pawpaw had ever done for her or me.  I told her “not a damn thing”. See he wanted the image out there of him as a wonderful, loving father and grandfather who has had a few stumbles on his path. He wanted the image out there that he is a truly spiritual man who does all things to honor his god.  I said nothing on that day because it was neither the time nor the place.  I thought about it and it continued to bother me.  So yesterday I wrote a Facebook status about my feelings.  I expected some of my family members to be offended.  I did not expect the level of feelings these folks got in to.  

On the one hand I find it funny as hell that they are so worried about a false image. On the other, it pissed me the fuck off.  I don’t try to dictate other peoples feelings to them and I expect the same respect. The three most vocal opponents were the 3 children he chose to raise; two are biological and one is technically a step child. They felt that the forum was wrong.  They felt that I was embarrassing the family name.  They felt that I had embodied the accusation that I leveled at their father. They felt I had put their father on blast although I mentioned neither his name nor his relationship to me.  I understand their loyalty to the man, he is the only father they know.  Unfortunately, I don’t have that same loyalty.  I also was raised not to put any person on a pedestal, remember.   My parents allowed their children, me included, to respectfully call them out on what we thought they were doing wrong. My parents felt that their children should know that they could speak up for what they believe in. I guess the Rev. didn’t not encourage that in the children he raised.  As a result, we are looking at this from different perspectives.  

From my point of view, this man is a screw up.  This man is allowed to continually shortchange himself and those who love him. This man is allowed to spread pain but we are not supposed to give it back to him.  He is rewarded because anything less would let the world know that the family is not perfect. From their point of view, he is the man of their childhood memories. He is the man that they turned to when they were hurt, scared, or lonely.  He is the man who was there for all of their firsts.  They remember when he loved their mothers.  I remember when he told me that my mother raped him and that is how she got pregnant.  I remember when he told me that I act just like my mother.  I remember when he told me that I am full of drama.  I remember when he told people that I am a liar when I relate how I met him.  I remember all of the discomfort he has caused me throughout my 40 years of life.  So how in the world could they expect me to want to hear “words of comfort” from him!? How could they expect me to applaud when those words ended up not being about my grandmother and her legacy?

My grandmother, Irene Lujan Primous, was the reason we all had come together in the first place.  The mother to 18 children born from her body and 14 gathered to her heart through marriage.  The mother in love to various spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, and community members.  The friend to a beautiful group of women.  The eldest sister of several younger siblings.  The grandmother to at least 79 people.  The great grandmother to over 100 people.  The Tia/Aunt to several nieces and nephews.  The Prima/ Cousin of several people.  The mentor, The caring nurse, the restaurateur, the open heart, the open door and so much more to so many.  Her strength, grace, ready smile and LOVE was the legacy she left.  So many from the community spoke of these attributes of hers yet her own son ignored her for his own ego.  

He didn’t just get off track, he wrecked that train and exploded in a hay field. So I expressed my opinion. The majority of my cousins agreed.  The phone lines lit up across the land. Text messages were sent and received.  People came for me on my status.  Others defended my status.  Others injected their god and what he expects from me into the conversation.  I talked on the phone with one of my cousins and based on that conversation with her, I changed the privacy of the status to where only I can see it.  I refuse to delete it because I meant it and it will stay in black and white.  And since one of the complaints was about me putting people on blast, I decided to do an in depth blog.  I also decided not to change the names to protect the innocent or the guilty. And that, my dear, is how you ended up reading the rantings of a misfit. 

George Zimmerman Arrested…. Again?!?

Are we really surprised that Zimmerman finds himself under police scrutiny again? I know that I am not. From what I can gather this person has been skirting the law for a very long time. He has never really been punished for any of his alleged crimes. And when he was acquitted of murder, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before he felt emboldened by his firearm once again. I thought that threatening his wife and her father would lead to some consequences but alas he was once again let off. Now he is allegedly threatening his pregnant girlfriend and involving a firearm again. This is his pattern and just like they taught us in math class a pattern is a repeating sequence. I just hope that this time the pattern gets broken at the “get off” stage. If not we will be reading about this person again.

97.9 The Box


According to TMZGeorge Zimmerman has been arrested in Orlando, FL after allegedly attacking his girlfriend, law enforcement sources tell TMZ.

According to law enforcement sources — which have been involved with the Zimmerman case since day one and have always been reliable — Zimmerman got physical with his girlfriend earlier today, and law enforcement sources tell us the woman claimed in the 911 call she was pregnant.

The domestic violence arrest is listed as a felony. The Seminole County Sheriff’s website says Zimmerman is not eligible for bail.

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Why do Mexican’s hate Blacks? (Or BS they try to make you believe in this society.)

This past Friday we held the homegoing celebration for my grandmother, Mrs. Irene Lujan Primous.  It was a beautiful celebration with family, friends, and community leaders.  The recollections of my grandmother living in her South Phoenix community for over 7 decades were of love, strength, understanding, and acceptance.  So many people felt that she gave them what they lacked from their own family. She offered guidance and love to all who sought it from her.  She was remembered for always using terms of endearments to address everybody; mijo/mija, baby, darling & son/daughter being her favorites.  These were terms not just used for those who shared her blood but for every body she came into contact with.  Her home had an open door and open heart policy.  All she ever wanted was for us to be happy and feel loved. I have made it my goal to share that same love with everyone.  It is the only way I know of that I can truly honor the woman she was. 

Image Image

Due to celebration, I was able to overwhelmed and amazed by how many individuals I with whom I share DNA.  Not only was the amount amazing (She helped raise 32 children [18 were hers and the rest were my grandfather’s offspring], 79 grandchildren, 166 great-grandchildren, 16 great-great-grandchildren and a host of brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, and neighborhood kids) but the shades of skin in evidence, from alabaster to ebony. Image ImageImageImageImage We also had representatives from across the USA and Phillipines.  I met quite a few aunts, uncles, and cousins for the first time in my 40 years.  (I missed out on meeting a couple of sisters of mine for the first time.  I am feeling some kind of way about it but that is a topic for another post.) If you listen to the reports out of Southern California, this event should have been full of animosity.  Why?  Well because Mexicans hate Blacks and Blacks hate Mexicans. And at this event there were just as many Mexicans as Blacks. We should have come to blows and engaged in racially charged arguments.   That is edict that has come out of the Southern California Prison System.  Mexicans should racially cleanse the areas they live in.  And of course we, Blacks, should make sure that no Mexicans want to live in our neighborhoods.  There has been article after article investigating this topic. (See this article for more insight: or this one:,0,4607165.htmlstory#axzz2l1DU4zum ) It really is a confusing stance to someone like me: a Black woman who can also trace her roots to Mexico and the indigenous peoples of the USA.Image

 I have the blood of Africa and it has given my skin the sun touched beauty of which I am proud. I also have the blood of the Yoeme/ Hiaki/ Yaqui, the blood of the Cherokee, the blood of the Muskogee/Creek, the blood of the Louisiana Creole, and the blood of the Tejano (Texas Mexican) which increased the determination of the warrior that I was blessed with.  All of my roots are appreciated for the knowledge of self and the bravery of heart.  And with such knowledge, to hate another is to hate myself.  I can’t bring myself to do it.  How can I hate my blood/sangre and consider myself sane.  I just can’t do it.  I looked at my family and it reaffirmed what I have always known.  Black and Brown are the same. We have different cultural artifacts but we are the same.  Some of us have a different languages and dialects but we are still the same.  Our histories both contain oppression at the hands of the so called majority.  The same Jim Crow laws for Blacks were used for Mexicans.  The same second class status was assigned to us both. The Panthers were Black and Brown.  Cesar Chavez was a hero for all farm workers and one of his inspirations was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  If you don’t understand why the separation of our people is encouraged then you really are still asleep.  I suggest you wake the hell up. Because I need you just like you need me. I know that we can get along.  

I know you may be thinking what does this have to do with anything that is important in my life.  I will tell you.  We all walk around with stereotypes and prejudices in our heads.  Most of us try not to act on them but we do it anyways.  I have been pissed and call somebody a mojado.  Just as I know some of you have been pissed and called somebody a mayate/mallate. I know that it is just as possible that the one I called a racist slur is related to me in ethnicity if not in actual lineage.  We have to remember that looks are deceiving and there is no such thing as a pure race. I am Black because of my skin and my worldview but I am Indigenous because of DNA percentages.  If I am attacking other Indigenous people, I am displaying self hatred that will hurt me more in the long run. I will internalize the thoughts and my own self esteem will be lowered. Each time I lower my self esteem, I will become more likely to lash out at others and myself.  It becomes a cycle of self hate manifested in trying to make others feel less than me.  I will be miserable.  And I will no longer be living the life my grandmother wanted me to live.  Remember I said she wanted us to be happy and feel loved. I will also be cutting myself off from my family. And I just met some of them, why would I want to give them up already. Hell, I don’t even want to give up the known racists because I feel everyone is redeemable.  I know that when we realize that our fates are intertwined we will be an unstoppable force of change. Until then, I leave you with Love and Hugs, Baby. 🙂 

La Reina Went Home

She came to live among us/ a blessing/ so marvelous/ many of us/ didn’t know/ who was really in that cloak/ red lips/ black hair/ skin so smooth/ not a blemish there/ she walked among peasants/ giving her love/ as a present/ a gift of the present/ to all/ the foundation/ of her kingdom/ 18 blocks/ dug deep/ in south side streets/ over a hundred courses rising/ to heaven/ built on love/ forces/ and a wicked humor/ a gentle reign/ a calm breeze/ blowing through the furor/ on her throne/ next to her King/ 50 years/ they reigned supreme/ he was her sword/ and she was his shield/ they showed us/ Eternity/ is real/ Now/ a decade has passed/ since we saw the King/ last/ he took the journey/ home/ but/ the Queen remained/ there/ on her throne/ to see/ her Legacy/ reclaimed/ the mantle/ of dignity and strength/ warmed by love/ the years passed by/ marked/ by new songs and dirges/ additions and purges/ ALL/ under her watchful eye/ and I guess/ she was finally satisfied/ we can only cry/ because/ La Reina went home.


I am thankful/ for the tears/ that wash away the soul’s/ debris/ setting the enslaved/ free/ I am thankful/ for the memories/ made/ despite the plans/ others laid/ I am thankful/ to know that/ after the rain/ comes the sunshine/ that in the joy/ comes the pain/ this ain’t Base/ drag/ but/ a Maze thing/ Life/ a beautiful curse/ amazing/ the burdens/ of memories/ are in the remembering/ did you do/ ALL/ that you could/ then rest easy Fam/ it’s all good/ and that right there/ is on the Cuz/ don’t fall for the flyshit buzz/She is still/ checking for us/ she showed us/ the way/ and/ we are still here/ at least/ for this day/ strength/ love/ & Grace/ from the taproots/ through each pulvinus/ ooops/ I’m sorry/ let me back up/ just remember/ REJOICE/ be thankful/ our tears will wash away/ the debris/ and we all will be/ free/ to stand in the sunshine/ left/ by she/ life/ a beautiful curse/ amazing/ now/ her praises we sing.
Dedicated to my grandmother, Irene Lujan Primous
She started her new journey 11-5-2013
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