The Color Full 100

LOVED your Word centuriothon! I also love occasional immersion in color galaxies, so I am offering you, in kind, the first 100 words of color association descriptives that i could freely extract from my brain (mostly right side), in 100 minutes, without mention or attachment of a primary or secondary color name. In atonement for sneaking in a few double words, I offer a few more words past the 100 mark. SCROLL DOWN BELOW, PLEASE.

Was fun on a lazy Saturday afternoon! Somehow, it made me hungry, too...

Love,

jeneric Jerry (Lyons)

THE COLOR FULL 100:

___________________

01-ivory

fire engine

cardinal

gold

silver

snow

charcoal

puce

aquamarine

10-bice

ochre

sienna

apple

caramel

chartreuse

fuscia

shrimp

lobster

oyster shell

20-coal

umber

sulphur

jade

pearl

jasper

moss

cream

cranberry

aquamarine

30-grape

cadium

carmine

alizarin

ultramarine

cerulean

paynes gray

umber

lemon

lime

40-naples

cobalt

beige

flesh

blonde

cantalope

margarine

amber

rose

scarlet

50-peach

walnut

hayfield

cucumber

dusk

azure

blood

clover

iron

rust

60-bamboo

camel

raven

ruby

cranberry

persimmon

flame

soot

pewter

canary

70-slate

cherry

bone

coral

turquoise

ebony

vermillion

smoke

mustard

bronze

80-tea

mint

rhododedrun

basalt

onyx

molten

limestone

avacado

sepia

fawn

90-emerald

turquoise

leather

brunette

hazel

tangerine

mustard

grass

corn

lava

100-robin egg

rouge

chocolate

coffee

midnight

Gerald Lyons

100

for Ana-Maurine Lara

La tarde que beo caer sobre mi rostro

wraps you in serpentine prayer.

The Body, luminous Palimpsest

of the Divine, struggles for

peace, surprise, possibility.

Family. Joy.

Epicurean site of faith,

enigmatic Temple of the Conjurer

summoning patience from summer’s

sleeping sombras (! Hola Neko!)

Effusive with hope, I go to you,

believe the prestidigitation of vespers:

Oh, pulse of the alma,

organic candle of The Beloved,

transmogrify me,

lost in omphaloskepsis.

Forget delay: Look for grace,

transcendence. Gratitude.

Acceptance. Transition from pride,

Weakness to remember reverence,

labor, the Inquisitive ideal.

Drink in health, hope, unity.

Move toward

Home.

Namaste

Reginald Harris, 2007

Ways to participate

If you want you can send me your stuff - zorashorse@yahoo.com and I'll post it!

1. Ask a stranger to write a word on you. Take a photo.
2. Pick a word out of a book. Write a poem using it.
3. Take five words from the 98 I have received, and write a poem with any combination of them.
4. Take three words from the 98 I have received, and re-arrange their letters to create a new word - completely invented.
5. Take a word that particularly strikes you and write a poem describing why.
6. Cut and paste any of the photos to create an image collage or art piece.
7. Make visual art out of the words.

The 100 words (well, 98 really)

Àbújà

brachiate

effusive

serpentine

prayer

Ran-anim hi

plegaria

weakness

carro

remember

believe

Hey how are you

Hi

patience

possibility

munkah

cooperate

gratitude

love

pride

summer

la glace

luv

malt

a-na

sleeping

labor

sombras

grace

tervyn

transition

reverence

hope

delay

transcendence

love

palimpsest

prestidigitation

vesper

epicurean

site

enigmatic

orgasm

temple

conjurer

bake

acceptance

faith

loser

shaft

beloved

possibilities

home

[dog’s paw print]

summon

Gezla

cancer

alligator

unity

divine

abalone

me

look

peace

transmogrify

joy

oremi

divine

family

omphaloskepsis

Mexica

go

ideal

namaste

inquisitive

forget

drink

joy

move

health

fuerza

nerf

struggle

malaika

wahalla

organic

la tarde que beo caer sobre mi rostro

candle

surprise

MADD

pulse

alma

love

Vick

luminous

Hola!

Mo bá Hánnàh pàde nínú yàrá kòmpútà

I wrote a note to myself: GET A WORD!!! And so, as I sat in the computer room at the Center for African & African American Studies at UT, I jumped to do it. I turned to the woman sitting next to me. She was quietly placing an electronic clock back in her bag. Bunmi is her name. I sat with marker in hand.

"Hi...I'm doing a writing project."

She looked at me inquisitively - as an odd sort of specimen that somehow brought the landscape into focus. She smiled and agreed to write something. With pen in hand, she asked me my name, and then proceeded to write a phrase out on paper.

"Well, actually, if you could write a word on me. On my arm, if you'd like."

"On you? Oh dear."

She thought again and then rolled her chair closer to me.

"Mo bá Hánnàh pàde nínú yàrá kòmpútà" she wrote, in Yoruba.

"It means `I met Ana in the computer lab' in Yoruba." I couldn't believe it!

"The very first word I received was in Yoruba. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Oshun state, in Nigeria. Who wrote the word?"

"Wura Ogunji. Her family's from Abeokuta."

And so I pulled the blog up on the computer and showed her. Bunmi smiled. Gave me her name and thanked me.

Thank you, Bunmi.

Today's the last day of this project. That means that tomorrow, I will not run around trying to get a word. I will not have to carry a marker in my pocket. My bag. My car. Just in case. I will not be taking a photo and then scanning it in. I will not be approaching a stranger with my stock quote.

Though I'm not routine in any sort of way in any aspect of my life, I did have somewhat of a "ritual" with this project. The ritual of uttering a phrase, collecting a word, capturing it in visual form, transferring that form into something virtual, kinesthetic.

I think I'm going to miss this. Though I have traces of words everywhere in my life: the photos I've collected in a composition notebook (which by the way was supposed to have 100 sheets of paper and only had 98), words that rubbed off onto the walls of my house, my pillow cases, bed sheets, clothes. Words that echo when I run into people and we recall each other through language.

Okay - I'm getting nostalgic. It's time to quit.

I thank everyone who dared to write on me and everyone who didn't, too. I thank all the witnesses who have followed this project to its completion, and have laughed with me at some of my follies. I don't know yet know how this project has changed me, but I know I'm feeling a lot less shy these days. I'm excited to see what people do with the words I have collected. And to watch the project expand in its own sort of way.

The next posting is all of the words that have come into my life in the past 100 days. All of them. Let's see where they go.

Peace. And Love. And Hola. And Possibilities.

Ana-Maurine Lara

The first guy I asked was completely skeptical. He looked over my head and said, "Nah - I've got to go do something." I was like, "Are you sure you don't want to write ONE word? It's day 99 of 100." "Nah."

So then I went up to a woman walking in my direction. She was holding about three different bottles in her hands. Note to self - don't ask people carrying a bunch of things if they're willing to juggle them in one hand to give you a word. But, surprisingly, Melissa was open to considering it.

"Will you write a word? It's the 99th day."

"What is this for?"

"It's just a writing project. Just one word. Tomorrow's the last day." I was begging.

She looked at Wu who was standing to my right.

"Is she serious? Is it true?"

Wu nodded emphatically - "Yeah it's true!"

"Okay."

"So, she took the pen and wrote "Hola!"

Thank you Melissa, for making my 99th day!

It's kind of amazing to be in the presence of someone you admire, and it's quite another when that person (in this case, Daniel) writes "luminous" on your neck and says, "Because that's what you are."

What do I say to that?!

"Thank you." And I smile. Big.


P.S. - That's Wu in the background - she's taken many photos when I can't get the angle right or the auto-photo function to work. Thanks Wu!

I approached these two guys and Obi agreed to write a word. He wrote Vick - his friend's name. Hmm...unless it has some secret meaning, it's the first name (besides Yvette's dog name) that I've gotten. But I don't think it does. Have a secret meaning, I mean.

"Cause I like to keep it positive." Sarah said.

We were sitting out by the railroad track, waiting for the videos to start. It was the opening for the DiverseArts show "Facing East" - photos of East Austin taken in a 48 hour period. Her friend was in the show. I had heard about it and wanted to know who was taking photos and what they were seeing. Sitting on the train tracks, I turned to Vanessa, and she was totally there. Without hesitation she wrote "alma". We talked a little bit then, about the show. About where we're from. And then watched the videos on the outdoor screen.

What an awesome time I had tonight. Sarah Sofia, at all of age 3, was off by the fireplace making art. Her mother, Whitney, Wura, Amanda and I were at Shia's enjoying wine and Tiramisu (off the hook, Shia!) when I asked Whitney if she would write a word on me. She wrote `pulse'. I then ran over and asked the budding artist if she would take my photo. I showed her the Polaroid and how to use it. She immediately suggested

"We should take five photos and then arrange them on the wall."

While I was tempted, I decided two was probably good. I kept one photo and gave her the other so that she could do whatever she wanted with it.

"Pulse."

MADD - for Mothers Against Drunk Driving.

"I know it's an acronym, but it's what I'm doing right now."

She was working on making an 8am presentation on buying motor vehicles when I asked her. I was only up at 8am because I had taken my car in for a brake check. Cars, cars, cars. And MADD.

She was tired, I was tired, but I managed to get a word from Mrs Barnett:

Surprise!

"Candle" is the word today. Which of course makes me think of the Elton John song "Candle in the Wind" which W. sang at dinner. Michelle had just been contemplating candles before I asked her. She was appropriately cynical, though oddly so for folks in Austin - more like what I would expect from East Coasters. She asked me why the word had to be written on my arm. I responded by saying that she could write on my neck or legs if she preferred, that is, if she was interested in writing at all. She agreed - yay!

It's always a tenuous moment when I ask someone to write a word. There's sometimes a slight hesitation, and I'm never sure what it's about. But then people let out their breath, and either agree or disagree. Some folks never betray their emotions in the process. Others beam them.

With only 9 days left, I'm starting to get a little nostalgic - already.

Manuel August 13, 2007

The local laundromat was pumping with activity tonight at 8.30. Several dozen families and men were washing their clothes. I was leaning against the washer, and one guy was looking in my direction. So I decided to ask him. But he was unconvinced. Though curious about the project he was unwilling to write on me. And so was his brother, who was folding all the clothes.

"Estan seguros? Are you sure?"

"No. I don't want to write on you."

Okay.

So I walked outside and Manuel was there, sitting in his pick up truck talking to a friend. I walked up to the truck.

"Hola. Buenas noches. Mira. Soy artista." [Hi - good evening. Look, I'm an artist."]

"Yo tambien." [Me, too.]

"De veras?" [Yeah?]

"Si. Que tipo de artista eres?" [Yes. What kind of artist are you?]

"Escritora. Y usted?" [A writer. How about you?]

"Constructor." [A construction worker]

"Ah pues - sus materiales incluyen madera, cemento..." [Oh - so you're materials are wood, cement...]

"Y foam." [And foam.]

"Que bien. Mis materiales son las palabras, no mas." [Cool. Mine are words. Only words.]

"Ah pues. Y entonces, que esta haciendo ahora?" [Well. So, what are you doing right now?]

"Un proyecto en que le pido a una persona que escribe en mi brazo. Una persona cada dia por cien dias. He completado 90 dias hasta ahora." [A project in which I ask one person to write on my arm. One person each day for 100 days. Today's the 90th day.]

"Pues faltan diez." [You only have 10 days left.]

"Si." [Yes.]

"Y que haces con las palabras?" [What do you do with the words?]

"Pues, despues de que alguien escribe una palabra, tomo una foto." [After someone writes the word, I take a photo of it.]

"Soy alergico a las fotos." [I'm allergic to photos.]

"Yo tambien. Pero no le tomo fotos a las personas. No mas las palabras. Yo tambien soy alergica." [So am I! But I don't take photos of the people. Only the words. I'm also allergic to photos.]

We laughed.

"Y que haces con las fotos?" [What do you do with the photos?]

"Bueno hasta ahora no he hecho nada. Pero pienso hacer algo. Escribir poesia o pedir que las otras personas escriben algo." [Un until now,nothing. But I'm thinking of doing something with them. Write poetry or ask other people to write poetry.]

"Y que palabra escriben?" [What words do people write?]

"Lo que quieren. Puede ser hola o cualquier otra palabra." [Whatever they want. It could be "hola" or any other word.]

"Deja ver...que escribirias con la palabra hola." [Let's see. What would you write with the word "hola"]

"Pues no se...quizas `hola a la noche...'" [I don't know. Maybe "Hola a la noche..."]

"No! Tienes que escribir algo como `Hola al mar, que saluda la arena en la tarde de mis olvidos.'" [No - you have to write something like `Hola al mar..."]

"Eres poeta tambien, pues?! Ven - escribame una palabra." [So you're a poet, too! Come on, write a word on me.]

"Como no." [Sure, why not.]

And so he wrote "La tarde que beo (veo) caer sobre mi rostro." [The afternoon that falls over my face]

"Deveras que eres poeta." [You really are a poet.]

"Bueno..." [Well...]

He then asked me what else I was working on. I told him I'd written a novel. He asked me the title and laughed when I told him.

"Porque la falda? Tiene que ser algo como `Las Mujeres Traiccionadas.' o algo asi. Yo tengo un libro que dice `El Amor Eterno'." [Why skirt? It should be something like "Women Betrayed" or something like that. I have a book titled "Eternal Love".]

"Bueno - quizas la proxima sera una novela de amor." [Well, maybe the next book will be a romance novel.]

"Si. Asi es mejor, no?" [It's better that way, no?]

"De acuerdo." [Sure.]

We introduced ourselves to each other and bid each other good bye. And I have this amazing line of poetry on my arm.

Not a bad way to start the count down to the final 10 days.

Freddie August 12, 2007

Freddie and I were at the club - "Sundays in Paradise" - when I asked him to write a word on me. I danced for a couple of songs before he chose one.

"I had a couple of words in mind." But he chose "organic".

Yay.

"Wahalla!" is a Yoruban word meaning `whatever' or `that's too much bother', according to Ruth - who grew up in Nigeria. We were at the Salon I coordinate here in Austin today, and she asked me how it works - this project - and so I showed her. She wrote "wahalla" on my arm. In the Yoruba dictionary it says, "trouble".

Yesterday, Kiswahili. Today, Yoruba. Very nice. My favorite moment, though, was the hand gesture that goes with "wahalla":

So, today's word has a really, really good story.

About a week ago, Wu received a call for a "grand prize". After we hung up about 10 times, we finally agreed to listen to the phone call that was not a solicitation. Now, keep in mind, my many random jobs over the past 15 years have included phone solicitation (umm yeah - telemarketing) so I have sympathy. But ten times? Anyway, we were finally SUCKERED into going to this "grand prize" event tonight...which the rest of the world knows is a time share sell. Manda had suggested it was a prison round up, but we don't have any warrants out for our arrest, so we weren't too worried `bout that (the state is GANGSTA in Texas). In any case, here we are filling out paperwork for this "grand prize"/time share sales pitch when Carmen Mullen walks up to me and says,

"Are you Ana Lara? From the Dominican Republic? You went to school in..."

and I finished the sentence:

"...Nairobi. Carmen? Carmen?!!"

I have not seen Carmen since we were 10 years old, maybe 11 years old and we were living in Nairobi, Kenya. Last time she saw me I had an unkempt afro and wore really dorky shorts and jellies. I completely recognized her. And, more amazingly - she recognized me.

So, OF COURSE, I had to get a word from her. That is, after we spent 3o minutes yapping about people we knew from back then, and how we both ended up in Austin, Texas. She lives right here in Austin. Where I live. 8868 miles from where we last were when we saw each other. 21 years ago.

And the word? "Malaika" (meaning Angel in Kiswahili) from the song "Nakupenda Malaika" by Fadhili William in 1950s and sung later by Miriam Makeba and most recently by Angelique Kidjo. It was really popular in Nairobi in 1985.

"Malaika, nakupenda Malaika." How fitting that the photo seems to capture it in a heart.

And no, we did not get the time share and no, Carmen isn't in sales, either.

We were playing theatre games for change all night. And then...well, Tyrone and I first met by email over six months ago, but we hadn't met in person. We met on Tuesday night and then tonight I asked Tyrone to write a word on me. The word was "struggle". Fitting in discussions about social justice. I have a t-shirt that reads "Greetings from the struggle." And now, I have it on my neck, too. I didn't get to see the word or know what it was until a friend of mine said it outloud, and now, in the picture.

I walked into Ventana del Soul where David was playing a computer game.

"Umm. We're closed. I'm only here because there's a meeting upstairs."

"Oh. Well, would you like to give me a word?"

"Sure." He said, leaning over the counter.

"Nerf. It's the first word that came to mind."

I smiled, knowing that he and I are of the same generation. Nerf rhymes with Smurf. And is squeezable. Immediate images of Nerf footballs come to mind. Flashing orange and green. Where there ever Nerf Smurfs?

I promptly left the cafe, word on arm, and waited for my friend to arrive. Alas, we were headed elsewhere.

It's another hard to see word, but Adam wrote "fuerza!" on my neck. I didn't see it until the photo came out. I met him at a Theatre Action Project audition. He was wearing a Mechista T-shirt and talked about some great things. I went up to him afterwards and he wrote "Fuerza".
Gracias.

She was handing out coupons for Kotex and Viva paper towels. I took one and asked her to write on my arm.

"Oh. Okay."

Connie wrote "Dios es amor"

She returned the marker with a huge grin. I thanked her and moved on, coupons in hand. Words on my arm.

I was standing in line...at the check out. I swear I don't always go to the supermarket to get a word, but I just happened to be there yesterday getting the ingredients for a sancocho. Sancocho is a stew - I make it with lots of roots and meats and seasonings. Mark was standing behind me and so I asked him if he'd like to write a word.

"Okay."

and he wrote "Health".

"Thank you." I said.

"Yes. So you're a writer?"

"Umhmm. Fiction and poetry."

"That's very nice."

"I enjoy it."

I paused to look at the Star headline. Supposedly Brad Pitt is suggesting to Angelina that she go to rehab for her weight loss problem? What? Mark was checking me out from head to toe - I'm sure because I have this mohawk and have just asked him to write on my arm. So, I turned to him and asked:

"Where are you from?"

"I'm from here, but I grew up in West Africa."

"Oh - I grew up in Nairobi."

"I hear Nairobi is very nice."

"I enjoyed it, but you know I was growing up there."

"Yes. I've wanted to go to Nairobi but haven't had the opportunity."

"I've wanted to go to West Africa, but haven't had the opportunity either."

"Yes."

The woman behind the check out was finished ringing up all the ingredients.

"Have a nice night."

"You, too."

Czarina's in town visiting. I asked her to write a word on me this morning and she asked if she could have a minute to think.

10 hours later, we got back to business. I asked her again.

"Yes! It's a simple word."

"That's cool."

"I want to write it on your waist."

I got the correct side of my shirt up and she wrote "MOVE" in big letters. Right on my waist.

Very cool. She's into dancing and movement and movements...Then she said

"It felt so familiar to write that word. And then I realized I used to make posters with that word all the time."

Cellular memory. Translated. Onto the body

Tonight I was at the Macondo reading at the Esperanza Center. A great group of Macondo writers read their stuff. Joy Harjo played her sax and read her poems and the world looked new again. I have her book "A Map to the Next World", which I read. A lot. And so I went up to her and asked her to sign it. And then, I asked her if she wanted to write a word on me. She looked at me kinda like "is that really what's going on?", but agreed to do it after I showed her "drink" on my right arm. I mean - I just met her. Just like I meet people on the street. Only the set up is different:

Young author/Joy Harjo
Random person coming up to author's table/Author sitting behind table
Writing in books/Writing on bodies

I'm not one who is usually star struck. Half the time I'm sticking my foot way into my mouth and don't even realize that I'm supposed to be star struck. But...I have to admit...I was a little star struck. I mean, really, all I wanted to do was kick back and have some cold water and a great conversation. But it was a reading (refer back to set up discussion above).

So anyway. She agrees to write a word, and she rights "joy" on my left arm.

"Kinda obvious, I know. But hey."

"Yeah - that's awesome. Thanks!"

Awkward moment.

"It was great to meet you. Thanks again."

"Sure."

And onto the next person. I wandered into the crowd, watched from afar for a minute and then Wura and I wandered downstairs to the exhibit where she had spotted this really great piece titled "Willie Ninja (Hot)" by J. Garrett Marmando. And I knew. This was where the photo had to take place. Hot.

Oh - yeah - I also finally went out and bought some Polaroid film. FINALLY.

Andy August 2, 2007

So, I came home early and was resting. I figured I would go out into the street and find someone by the bus stop or in the neighborhood. But I was so rested, that I didn't get out until 2.30am when my friend L. called - locked out of her apartment and needing a place to stay. So, I hauled my butt out of bed and drove over to pick her up, sharpie in hand.

And, how incredible is this, just as I pulled up to get her, Andy was walking by. We don't know where Andy was going or coming from at that hour, but that's irrelevant. He was perfectly content to walk up the hill by himself at 2.30 in the morning. And I mean - what was I doing? So, I stopped him.

"Excuse me!" my voice boomed through the dark.

He turned and stared.

"Would you like to write a word on my arm?" No introduction, no "Hi, I'm a writer..." It was 2.30am, people.

"Sure. Hmm..." He took the sharpie from my hand.

"What word shall I write? I know - drink. Like what it says on your T-shirt."

My T-shirt, which is well broken in, says `Drink Cultura'. You know how those T-shirts riffing off of commercial brands were HUGE in the 90s and early 00s. Yup. That's mine (I also used to have one that read "All Temperature Queer" but I got rid of it when it faded); old, worn in and still one of my faves.

So we stood in the half light of the street lamp and Andy wrote "drink" on my arm. I thanked him and he smiled.

"Sure!" and stridently disappeared into the night.

Meanwhile, L. was working on getting her bike into the trunk of the car. Eventually, she did. It all worked out perfectly.

Derek August 1, 2007

"Cause I always forget things." Awesome word, Derek.

I needed to forget a few things today. You know when you have those days? Today was one. I needed to forget that moment when I leaned down under a metal bin and then stood straight up and bumped my head. And I needed to forget a couple of really awful comments that I heard floating in the air.

A word like forget makes me feel philisophical. Like what do we choose to forget and remember? As a people, cultures and societies, what do we forget and remember? What has been forgotten and what does our memory hold despite what's been omitted?

I remember (ha! see - memory in process) this sub-plot in Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver, when the main character (I forgot her name and have had to go look it up) Codi Noline remembers having seen her mother's death. But everyone, all the adults in her life, insist on telling her that she was not there that day. Because I don't want to ruin the story, I won't say what happens, but let's just say: her memory of her mother's death becomes critical to revealing truths about her life that she had been unaware of.

And how do we quantify or qualify memory? Where does truth really lie?

See - it does make me feel philisophical. And, I need to go sleep some more. So, I'm off to dream - and hopefully, remember my dreams.