When I think of home,

I think of a place where there’s love everflowing.

I wish I was home.

I wish I was back there with the things I been knowing…

It started with “Love is the message,” episode 6 of Pose. I was crying through Billy Porter’s rendition of “Home,” which he sang to his lover who was dying of AIDs. That entire episode slayed my fucking life. Please stop reading this now and go watch it. I’m serious. It’s On Demand. I binge watched all the episodes until I was caught up.

The  episode after that ended with Electra Abundance and Angel being turned out by their respective sugar daddy/boyfriends and dancing in the peephole cages to Tina Turners “Private Dancer.”

Now,

I think I must have been like 10, 11 when that album came out? Remember, the one of Tina Turner sitting in a regular degular metal chair with a black cat superimposed at her feet?

I-loved-that-song. “Private Dancer” just paints the whole scene like Mama Tina did her research! LOL! It’s a haunting and seductive and lonely but beautiful song. After that episode of Pose, I went and created a playlist of all my favorite Tina Turner songs on Tidal. Then I remembered Annie Lennox. Oh God, Annie Lennox. Man, did she get me through some times.

Cut to last weekend when I went to see Whitney with my mom and dad and my God. All the feelings of what it was like to love Whitney Houston as a teenager just washed over me like monsoon. I remembered everything. I remembered singing her hit songs to my white wall covered with posters in my room. I remember singing songs about heartache I never even experienced yet. It was just that Whitney’s voice could do that, could take you there, could make you want to experience such heartache just so you have to this beautiful voice to lift in song to show for it.

Nothing will ever make me feel like “How Will I Know.” “I Get So Emotional” will always make me think of my very first boyfriend. “I Will Always Love You” and the entire The Bodyguard soundtrack will always go straight to my heart. I don’t care how much Cardi B, Drake (well Drake is different LOL!) or Migos I love and listen too. My music will always be the music of the 80s. “One Moment in Time” will always bring me to my knees. I think sometimes that this is the reason why I avoid the music of the 80s, because I know that just one note and I will be taken back in time, and I may never get anything else done that day. I’m dead serious. I can get shit done with Future and Big Sean or Kendrick Lamar on. But when Tina Turner sings “Beyond the Thunderdome” don’t you know I gotta close my eyes and belt it out? I never in my life even saw that damn Mad Max movie and never intend to, not it’s sequels, remakes, cousins or step-children. But when I listen to that song I feel like I understand all I need to know about it. Tina brought it the fuck on.

I guess I’m starting to age out of caring about keeping up with what’s cool. Who needs that shit when you came up at a time of artists who were legitimate megastars because they were talented as fuck with voices that, as Jackie Morena, the music producer on “The Get Down” were literally were a “public service,” performed actual factual miracles and changed lives?

Sigh…

Man, I can’t think of anyone who could ever step in their shoes, let alone walk in them.

Yikes, I really am sounding like an OG.

Well…I am.

I love singers. I always have. And frankly I miss them. Not the auto tuned, synthesized, sound engineered sound alike singers, but just a Mariah Carey ass diva and a mic with music, some back up singers, a band or orchestra and nothing else, just the power, the mastery, the heart and soul of a ballad that lives on forever.

Oh it’s definitely going to be a memory lane night.

Urban Eve

My feelings are complicated. This whole thing has been surreal.

To say that I lost a friend is a glaring understatement. To say I believe it is even more of a stretch.

I haven’t been counting days or moments since Khalilah’s home going. There are other methods of measurement.

Text messages. Voice messages, Pictures. Email accounts. Social media.

Music…

Drake, The Carters, Nas, so many things I know she would love, that I would want to hear her thoughts about or get her feedback and approval on.

I worked for her. We worked together. Our things were close together. We did Soul Sistah Series together. Sometimes things were too close. It was what it was. We learned as we went.

She wasn’t an easy person and she knew it but her hard won approval was worth  everything. She pushed because she loved.

“Iron sharpens iron” she would say a lot. Arguments weren’t a big deal to her. She wasn’t scared of confrontation. She welcolmed it. It was the only way to grow she would say.

I’ve had so much other stuff going on. Heavy, grown, complicated stuff. Still going on. And all I can do is take everything as it comes and be thankful for everything, the pain, the uncertainty, the regret, the way that light affects my mood, morning showers that cleanse and rebirth me, keeping myself hydrated, taking in things that touch me and stretch my heart, know when to stop holding on to what no longer serves me.

It’s not easy.

Occasionally I will wake up angry, looking for a fight, clenched fists, impatient, ready to push. Sometimes I’m numb, on automatic pilot, didn’t even notice where the day went. Other times I hear the voice inside. I stay connected to what makes me smile, laugh, cry, feel anything. But it’s strange, painful, inconceivable to think that you won’t be around in my future. Not the way you were.

When I’m stalking you across time I stop short at a cliff looking over into infinity. Where did you go? Did you fall? Did you fly? What’s out there? Will you report back? You always shared so much. I honestly expect you to let me know what it’s like wherever you are. But I’m also scared. So maybe I won’t hear. You know me. Perpetually torn.

You know me.

Perpetually seeking…