The setting: A backyard party at Yvette's in North Austin.
The players: Lots of people, including Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano and Ana-Maurine Lara.

There was this cute party where I learned how to make micheladas (thanks to Orlando) and where a small group of us got into a very passionate discussion on Latin@ LGBT politics, family, land, art and the role of artists in social change. In the midst of this, Lorenzo asked how the writing project was going. I asked him if he'd write a word. He said yes.

He wrote "possibilities" - and said, "That's the closest thing I have to religion. The idea that all is possible. " It was a very (meta) physical discussion there for a moment. Including the idea that our language, and our frameworks limit what we can imagine. How's that for a philosophical question?

How cool is that? And, then I ask, does the word become a possibility? The moment? The ink left on skin? At what level does possibility break down between time and space? And what does this all have to do with art? And being an artist? Everything, dahling. Everything.

Note the cool blue sharpie color. It's the same color Yosenio used to write the word on my arm. Note this right now: I didn't know his rationale for the word before choosing this color. He's passing through town, and this morning, standing in the sunlight by the side of his car, pen in hand, he explained to me the rationale behind the word:

"I've been thinking about this word for awhile. I was thinking about the branding of slaves, and how in the Holocaust, peoples' arms were marked by numbers tattoed on the skin. And I wanted to choose a word that is respectful of your history and that also shows that I have a relationship to you and your body, but not one of colonization or ownership in the way that our bodies have been owned."

Breath.

"And did you know that Auschwitz was the only camp that used numbers? And they had different colors that might have indicated the location from which people were snatched. And..."

"And you looked all this up?"

"Yes. I did some research, because I wanted the word to be a reclamation. To turn something negative into positive. A way to show love and companionship and to turn this history on its head."

And so he chose, "beloved".

Today's word is "shaft". That is such a malleable word. It also signifies a million different things in my mind, none of which I'll go into now - with the exception of that 70s on-screen lothario - Shaft. Replayed by Samuel Jackson in 2000.

Still the man?

I am on DAY 50 of this project. If you weren't ever an athlete this metaphor might not make sense. But if you were, I know you'll feel. And I used to be an athlete - a long, long long time ago as Andre 3000 says. And I used to swim the 500 yard freestyle. And right around halfway, I would be staring at the bottom of the pool cursing myself and my coach for this race. But also knowing I couldn't give up either.

I'm at the halfway point people. And I'm feeling lazy about it. Today, I went through the various rationales - "I'm feeling kinda under the weather." "Well, 50's pretty good." "Word. Photo. Scan. Blog. Word. Photo. Scan. Blog. Word. Photo." you get the idea.

But no - I think it's that I hadn't gotten my word of the day yet. Today I got "loser". Yeah baby! Someone brave enough to put down the first word that came to their head.

Now, loser is one of those words that we always toss around so casually. "He's such a loser." "I feel like a loser." "Loser." "Don't be such a loser." But words hurt, people. Afterall, it's not like we also go around saying: "She's such a winner." "I feel like a winner today." "Winner." "Don't be such a winner." If someone went around saying that, we'd all be like "What a freaking loser."

It was a rainy day...

and i was at the library once again. When I went up to Meghan and asked her if she wanted to write on me. I felt kinda bad since she was sitting minding her own business, when I accosted her, really, but she was game. She wrote "faith" on my arm.

Girl - I hear it's what you have when there's no hope left. A cynic told me that one.

Oh - and that funky spirit in the picture/polaroid getting stuck on the roller thing happened again. It's bright pink when it first happens. But then it turns black. It's pretty both ways.

Dulani and I met up at Mary's Ice Cream Shoppe on W 4th Street for a quick minute - well, it as more like 60 minutes. Thanks for the word "acceptance" D! (BTW - Isn't it crazy how the sign for Jones Street is 100 times clearer than the word? go photo skills)

Myronn and I were on the train together for about 9 hours. We were heading back to NYC from the Cave Canem retreat. Oh we were having a good time. Sharing stories from our travels and stories from the subway. Talking about poetry and teaching. At one moment - I think it's when we pulled into Newark, I turned to Myronn and asked him if he wanted to write a word on me. He was shocked. Cause of course, I forgot I hadn't told him about the project until that moment. But, he said he'd do it anyway. So, as the train rumbled up the tracks to NYC, Myronn skillfully wrote "bake" on my arm.

Myronn Hardy July 1, 2007

That's skills, Myronn - to write on a moving train. Now, if you see the wiggles, it's cause the train was moving and bumping.

And I love that word - "bake". Effectively mysterious.