Met ca dans ta bouche.
Politics. Fashion. Poetry. Photography. Books, Sex, Stilettos.

copyright Altheia White 2009


Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Miss Etta, The Bag Lady

Etta lived in an apartment on the eighth floor that never saw the light of day. She kept the curtains closed because, apparently, the sun would hurt her eyes. They might also scatter the zillions of cockroaches roaming freely around, amidst the stacks of open and spilled pepsi bottles, the growing number of strewn plastic bags and paper plates, still greasy with food remnants. Etta was old, and getting older. Her back was hunched and she was slowly losing weight, the way old people do when no one is looking after their diet, and her frizzy grey hair struck out wildly from her wrinkled brown head. She would stare up at me from behind coke bottle glasses, thin body encased in a big brown coat, thin ankles buried deep into ordinary brown shoes, place a tentative veiny brown hand on my arm and ask me how my father was.

My father knew Etta from long ago. I guess. I don't really know. Perhaps he met her one day in the elevator up to our apartment, which was on the second floor. She might have commented on his equally brown skin and blue eyes and they discovered a shared bond in their Jamaican ancestry. And then, quite out of the blue, my father began taking care of Etta. He said, quite decisively one day, that she could no longer go on living in such a pigsty. That her apartment was the cause of the whole building being infested with cockroaches, and she couldn't live that way. So he would go up to the eighth floor and knock on her door and go through her little place like a whirlwind, picking up the bottles and the plates and the bags. Oh, the bags. Etta was a definite bag lady. She collected plastic bags and hid them all over her place. Behind the sofa, in the freezer, under her pillows. Plastic bags were like Aunt Lilly's money, she never knew who was going to take them from her, so she might as well hide them. But no one wanted plastic bags. So they kept filling her apartment with old plastic smell.

One day my father went up to see Etta and threw out around a million plastic bags. I remember Etta crying to my father to leave the bags there, that they contained such important things. I remember standing in the hallway and peering into this dark place where the sun shone in rays through the heavy patchwork curtains and the smell of old sugary pop and old people smell mixed and stewed. My father dismissed Etta's cries without a second thought. Out went the bags, down the garbage chute and forever gone. Sometimes he brought her things to eat - and then I think he ordered meals on wheels for her, to ensure that she would eat. After a while, I dont know what happened to Etta. Did she die? Get moved into an old age home? I dont know.

I know my father always wanted to help her. I think he saw a bit of her in himself, an older person left to her own devices who had slowly gone a little crazy, seeing value in things that had none, collecting things, any things, to give her life a little more meaning - and of course, no one there to stop her. Luckily, my father never had such an attachment to things. Things would come and go, he said. I think he loved his books and his records, and maybe one pair of particularly dandy brown and white suede shoes. But apart from that, things didn't really faze him, didn't cause him to go into anguishing silences if they weren't around.

And for that matter, neither did people. My father was quite happy on his own. I was around, books were around and his jazz records were around, and these were quite enough. Anyone else was a distraction, and not necessarily in a good way. Sometimes he would have coffee with Frank or Dan, and sometimes he would speak to Susan or Cynthia, but other than that, no one was really important enough to concentrate time on. When Cecile was alive, he concentrated most of his time on her. But thats different, I suppose, seeing that she was his love and wife. Because of this, I was always surprised when my father would venture forth and help someone quite out of his normal routine. But he did with Etta. Tried hard to make sure that those last few years on the eighth floor weren't dismal and dark and full of critters running around over ailing limbs. I'm sure Etta appreciated; I know they had roaring laughs from time to time. Perhaps a thought about the Caribbean or a story from Barbados or Jamaica. Something I was unfortunately not privy to, I guess too young to fully understand.

And even if he did throw out all her bags. I'm sure she found some new places to hide them when the apartment was cleaner and he was gone.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

So Clear

When it all comes down, I've been trying to let it ride...
Woke up this morning, sun shining so clear -
everything crystal blue and silver through three years
and back to me, just found out -
White and cold, frigid walks on bridges under towering specters of what would never be...
I've been searching for the strength to tell myself some more things,
no one's coming back for you, not this time-
can you learn to let it go?

When it all comes down, I've let it ride,
smoke signals in shambles in my mind,
and ashes scattered around these thoughts of mine...
Yearly imprisoning reminders that you are gone,
only to wake up in this clearness and feel it all come down - and
with nothing at all on my mind.

So clear....
When it all came down, I've tried to let it ride,
but these times its hard not to sink through -
looking through my memories, all the little things I feel inside,
trying to find out who you were, what you thought, what you really felt for me.
Pieces of a puzzle, I'm trying to find, help me out with a signal,
or let it die,
pieces of this life that are all mine - can you learn to let it go?

All at once, its too late, a heart stops and what more am I to say?
And yet, is that all there is to a human being?
A heart done beating, a heart done for me?
Is that all there is to a loved life?
A heart stopped, a heart done in short time?

Again I feel, betrayed by you - trying to let it ride like we are through,
But overcoming anger is a swift thing, its the pain and memories that
time brings,
and even though, its a new day -
look at all the things that we didn't say.
I found out, through these things -
and
I've learned to let it go sometimes...

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Candy Painted Rainbow

N has begun painting my YSL Tribute platforms. We took a picture, this summer, of one resting in the palm of my hand, the bronze straps shining above the five inch heel. I stole a glance at his half finished work and it is beyond amazing. I've never seen my shoes look so good. Not even on my feet!

Until I can post the finished work, here are Louboutin's latest sparkles. Like springtime candy drops.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Le Petit;

Je n'ai aucune idee comment te repondre.
Comme ca, apres de longues silences,
c'est plutot a elle que tu dois des excuses,
pour avoir eu cette pensee de moi...
Alors je te pose une question:
comment veux-tu que je te repondes?
Douce question, les mots glissent sur ma langue, roulent sur mes levres,
sortent de ma bouche -
les entends-tu?

Je suis eternellement fatiguee par tes betises.
Elles etaient miennes, je te les legues maintenant,
j'en ai fait et tu en as fait, basta! c'est bon maintenant, c'est fini maintenant,
Et ca, depuis longtemps.
Je n'ai ni besoin de tes promesses ni de tes excuses-
que tu grandisses ou non, cela, peu m'importe, et
c'est la nervosite de ta reponse, le temps qui se deroule a tout vitesse
et la distance grandissante entre nous - tout cela
peu m'importe,
et m'importe peu.

Les courants bizarres passent dans l'air qui traverse mon corps.
Je ressens les frissons d'hier et la chaleur d'aujourdhui -
je regarde les yeux verts qui me caressent d'amour, je souris - mais
j'entends tes emotions crier a travers les annees, et je n'en peu plus.
Vas-y, cours! Enfant sauvage, petit, le jeune, tout les noms
qu'elle t'appelle, de sa voix enivrante, allez cours! Mon gars,
mon enfant, l'homme qui mature, l'homme qui tombe en suant
l'homme bebe, l'homme enfant, de ta nature au neant -



ailleurs, souffle le vent.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Dis Moi Ce Qui Est Art?

Elle etait belle, ca j'en suis certaine - je le vois dans ses yeux,
du moins sur ce relief, elle l'est toujours, entre d'autres photos de moi,
tu m'as traduit en image large, pixellee et coloree, mais elle restera aupres de toi,
mon dieu, ces yeux, je n'en reviens pas...
Et voila, elle nous hante, du moins elle me hante, cette beaute de fantome inexistante,
cette personne que je ne connais pas, mais qui tu gardes aupres de toi -
et voila, tu me cri dessus pour des banalites, des je ne sais pas quoi, des cis, des cas...
mais toi -
tu as fouille, tu as mordu, du as detruit ce qui ne valait plus (la peine)
mais elle, cette beaute, tu l'as gardee...
toujours la, aupres de toi.

Haiti Eternal

C'est mon coeur qui se fond en larmes...

Monday, January 11, 2010

One Oak - New York


Its been a while since I've been dancing.
Baby, do you remember the first time we went to Circa?

Let's do that again.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Gently

Yes, she's lost herself again... lets her head sink to her chest and listens to the cacophony of bubbles bursting against her skin, soft little things, popping gently, reminding her she is not asleep - not yet - but still...
Unfold me, she thinks, unfold these crossed limbs and pick me up, let me not waste away down this drain, again, a symphony of wasted years and forgotten whispers ...
Things get, so complicated, she thinks, and looks at these images again, streaming live memories from her unconscious, she wants you to
pick her up, please, from where she lies in this messy heap of hair and skin and tears -
but, not a sound, just be her friend, wrap her in your arms again,
let her see your eyes again, those oceans deep enough to drown in and she has, she is covered in your watery self,
wipe those bubbles from her skin, gently gently, let her sink from within...

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Hello New York!

I have seen the new trailer for Sex and the City part Deux and it is Magnifique in all kinds of ways. Firstly, Le Fashion. Is exquisite. I don't care how out there she is, Sam is rocking Dolce cut out dresses at 50 with a killer body and teetering heels. I hope to do the same. And why not? She's exquisite. They really upped the ante on Miranda's wear as well, her hair is perfectly cut and dyed and her orange silk chemise is divine - a nice touch that brings out her green accented jewlery. Of course Charlotte is pretty in the pastels, carrying her child in her too-white Park Ave apartment. And Carrie, awkward and glamorous with that touch of weird prettiness, what a combination of Louboutins, 5$ dress, computer jeweled necklace and huge gold aviators. LOVE LOVE LOVE. So excited for this movie. So excited to revisit New York AND get flown out to Marrakesh in the same breathe? Too good to be true. Lets hope that I win the lottery from now until May 28th and that way maybe I can make my way to the big city for the premiere. Wouldnt that be fabulous?

Fab U Lous.

Ici pour vos yeux seulement:

oh oui - merci!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Fifth Avenue, NY - I Gave This Woman Money

Posted via web from Through the Looking Glass

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Sexually Gender Based Violence and Women

Reading up for potentially the biggest interview of my life - I pause to think of the cycle of sexual gender based violence and the way it affects so many essential parts of a woman's life. Beginning at the youngest of ages, SGBV can affect the safety of a child going to school, the stigma associated with her being a child of SGBV, of her mother being a victim of a rape, and of the consequential stigma also placed on a mother when she receives a test of positive on her HIV/AIDS prenatal care. From there forward, it raises havoc in even the most seemingly menial tasks: from access to education to access to water, the protection of women doing daily chores at a water well, or tending to land, going to the market. An enabling society of SGBV makes it difficult for women to access any position of power, to be considered as an influence in a community or in a decision making role, because she carries with her a stigma, enabled and unprosecuted by a society that has allowed for such violence to occur, and for the woman to continue being treated as a continually shunned and stigmatized victim. The lack of women in positions of power and decision making role makes it impossible to adequately assess and incorporate the needs and wants of women in a given population into social policies, and the enabling society is allowed to persist.

The simple act of making school a safe place for young girls to go will allow those girls to then grow up and become teachers who will teach in protected schools. This access to education will allow them to not only access different positions of power with the labour market but also be imbued with knowledge of HIV/AIDS and the risky sexual behavior associated with the spread of the disease. With this knowledge and education, this young woman can spread her know how to other young women, and make for herself a living that may or may not benefit other young women. The point is, she is given the opportunity to do so. With her education she can have the possibility to access a position of power, depending on her level of commitment (women accessing politics and decision making roles come across their own obstacles: in the form of male dominated political games, lack of training and financial support, a bad label/representation in the media, persisting gender and familial roles and the burden of the dual job, where a woman is both mother and worker where politics usually does not allow her to be both) and subsequently lobby to bring about change to sex laws, the definition of rape, access to sex education, healthcare and psycho social recovery for SGBV survivors. Her power can lead aid organizations in her community to begin seeing programmes through a gender lense, and attempting to mainstream gender perspectives into the projects. In communities coming out of conflicts, peacebuilding is an essential way to lay the foundations of gender integration and women's rights, sometimes looking into positive rights to ensure that not only are women free of discriminatory actions, but that they can also live in a society that allows them equality with their male counterparts.

SGBV is an essential if not intrinsic part of that equality. Women often times come to represent the purity, the sanctity and the preservation of a culture. An act of SGBV on a woman, especially during war time can come to mean the very destruction of the fabric of a family, a community and the representation of culture embodied in that woman. The shame, humiliation and consequent stigma of such an act indicates the social representation of the act itself. Protecting women against SGBV through actual physical security, incorporating projects and programs that identify gender perspectives and ensure women's rights are taking into consideration, involving women in politics and decision making roles, reinforcing law enforcement and judicial systems to adequately prosecute proponents of SGBV and providing care for the survivors are all ways to make certain that SGBV does not perpetrate itself in an 'enabling' society where an act is committed because there will be no consequence and because women continue to be seen as weaker, more vulnerable and potentially 'less than' their male counterparts.

I am personally quite opposed to the way women are viewed in many developing and eastern/southern nations. Women should have the right to stand as a human being first and foremost, with equal access to education, development, and equality, not as a keeper of the purity and preservation of her culture. This preservation is almost always defined as the purity of the woman herself, so any sexual act outside the one ordained under marriage, is seen as a seen and a dirty mark on what the culture hopes to represent. This high regard to women holds numerous pitfalls. First, it makes women easy targets in wartime, when the SGBV on a woman comes to signify an act towards an entire culture and its people. Secondly, it denies a woman the right to her body, to her sexuality and to her reproductive rights, rights hazily advocated for in CEDAW and at the Beijing Platform in 1995. Thirdly, it usually means that women will come to represent the culture as wives and mothers, denying her right to education and to employment in a job market. The perpetuation of this role for women continually means that although women may be said to be held to such high decree, socialization of that decree results in a woman being treated as unequal to the role of a man. Her duties are her own to perform so that may live up to her standard, and it is the men who will decree what these duties are.

This is a vicious cycle for women that makes them more susceptible to SGBV and therefore more likely to be ostracized from a community and shunned from her family based on such an act. If she is meant to be the holder of a culture's purity and she is unpure, a community will readily shun her and keep the women who have maintained their purity. In all circumstances under this view of a woman, she is at a loss in her rights, her agency and her vocation and becomes an easy target in war times, one only has to look to Darfur and the Congo to see how rape has been used as a weapon of war.

We have made huge strides in looking towards the protection of women against SGBV. Apart from the list I mentioned above, the UN has come up with various resolutions that seek to guarantee this protection. In October 2000, the Resolution 1325 on Women Peace and Security, sought to protect women facing SGBV and incorporate women into peacebuilding to prevent further SGBV enabling societies. Resolution 1820 in 2008 was groundbreaking in the fact that not only did it recognize rape as a weapon of war but declared it a threat to international peace and stability, the leading trigger for initiating humanitarian interventions. This meant that in places like the Congo, the widespread use of rape would have international legal backing on the grounds of passing a resolution allowing for military forces to enter the country. Recently, with the advent of Hilary Clinton as Secretary of State, we have seen another initiative to continuously advocate on behalf of women's rights. With this on the top of her agenda, the UN adopted resolution 1880 which builds on 1325 in that in marks the necessity not only for protection against SGBV but also training for security and peacekeeping forces on gender equality, the review of programs under a gender lens and the positioning of stronger monitoring and evaluation on such programs. In the same breath the Secretary General not only called for the creation of a lead organization that would head women's rights, a three year long advocacy program that finally yielded results, but also the creation of a league of male advocates on behalf of women's rights.

This is something I have been advocating for, for a long time, and yet, as evident as it might appear, so many organizations were not putting it into their projects and programs overseas. With men being the main perpetrators of SGBV and the predominant figures in decision making roles, it is intrinsic to include them in the battle for women's rights. To create societies that uphold women in equality, men need to be included to learn the value and returns on such activity. Recently mullahs in Afghanistan were being schooled on birth control and women's right to her reproductive self, and in peacebuilding, men have always been at the forefront of foundation programs that sought to incorporate women. This piece of the puzzle will also allow for a thorough discussion on the socialization of male violence and anger towards women. If we understand why this occurs in times of peace, perhaps we will be more adept at preventing it in times of conflict.

The biggest obstacles ahead in the battle for women's rights will definitely be the inclusion of women in decision making roles and politics and the protection and prevention of SGBV against women. However, with new international commitment and missing pieces of the struggle being brought into the discussion, this obstacle will hopefully diminish sooner over a shorter period of time.

Scent Notes | Pucci, Guerlain and Alford & Hoff - T Magazine Blog

Posted via web from Through the Looking Glass

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Photoshopped but we still love you Madge!

Posted via web from Through the Looking Glass

Friday, December 4, 2009

Roots, You Amaze Me

I am not a Roots girl. Let me put that out there.
If I had to check a box into what designer I fit under, Roots would not be my first choice. Or second. Or top ten.
But I must say I was pleasantly surprised when I entered the store on Bloor yesterday to discover that Roots, apart from its myriad of identical sweats, which must be comfortable but aren't very interesting to look at, has a wonderful collection of bags. Leather bags. Supple, rippled, checked and rustic leather in beautiful vibrant hues, one of which I can't get enough of.

Olivia will attest that I love all things purple. That deep sultry purple, a Victorian shade of elegance, royalty, sexiness. Yes, purple and I get along. And Roots has translated that into sexy bags under the name 'grape.' Well, no matter. Obviously no one at Roots told head office that grape is lame. But the actual shade is gorgeous. Especially on the leather, which is of amazingly fine quality.

Unfortunately they have yet to include these on their website, so there are no pictures to display. But for those of you that walk by roots and huff with disdain, reconsider: Those bags are perfect fall/winter/spring accessories. Beautifully crafted, supple, and a brilliant shade of... grape.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Ignored

Thanks to http://droombos.posterous.com
Wonderland, you've created.

Posted via web from Through the Looking Glass

FRESHJIVE - PROPAGANDIST :: HOPE IS FADING FAST

Posted via web from Through the Looking Glass

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Real Women Have Muscle

Posted via email from Through the Looking Glass

Sideways

Sideways by Carlos Santana  
Download now or listen on posterous
Carlos Santana - Sideways (f Citizen Cope) [Shaman 09] 1.mp3 (6603 KB)

Posted via email from Through the Looking Glass

Friday, November 27, 2009

Je me lit
et
je vois ses mots.


On passe tous par la.

Waste of Time

There should be a law banning all useless, juvenile, stupid blogging. And when those blogs do pop up, they should be immediately lazered into oblivion.
Pure and utter embarrassment.
Who taught me to be so emotional?
Who made me so angry?
No one was actually worth all that, but I guess in a youth's eyes, anyone worth a moment is worth a lifetime.
Lame.
So lame. Eye rolling lame. Shuddering lame. Unspeakable disgust.
So much time wasted on people undeserving of any kind of mention.
I could have become a great pianist, violinist, mountain climber, book reader, traveller, artist, whatever.
With all that wasted time.
So embarrassed.
Maturity does wonders to a person's writing styles.
Thank You Lord.
It was getting a little strange.
More importantly: SOO much wasted time on the opposite sex.
For sex that was quite the opposite of anything worth mentioning.
Can I offer an explanation, of sorts?
I was young.
Inexperienced.
What did I know? I knew nothing.
Spaces are deleteable.
Times are easily forgotten.