It’s called Worry in Reverse.

Before I explain how to worry in reverse, I want to talk a little bit about worry. We all do it, and I used to be a top offender. It’s amazing how much time we humans seem to waste on an activity that changes nothing but how emotionally tortured we are about life.

Not to mention the possibility that, if our theories about the Law of Attraction are on-target at all, we could actually actively be making things worse by observing them in a negative light.

But Law of Attraction aside, what exactly does worry get us? I used to think, preparation for the worst and elimination of surprises. But never in life has the absolute worst thing I could imagine happened. Even when things went wrong, they didn’t go as badly as I pictured.

Worry just changes our mood. And think about it, even if it’s not true that your mood has bearing on the outcome of events, you’re losing two things whenever you get into a bad mood that could be avoided.

1. The potential joy of the moment.
2. Perspective.

Who wants to give away joy needlessly? Not me. Life is too short. By the time we start to get the hang of things, it’s time to pack up and ascend.

And perspective may not seem like a big deal. But don’t you always make better choices, see things more clearly, and find better opportunities for success when your mood is better?

The fact is, we have complete governance over our thoughts, if we chose to - easier said than done, but it’s still a choice.

Worry is reverse is simply taking the habit of worry and pondering a positive outcome to the problem instead. In the next, shorter article, I’ll go over some easy steps on how to do this.

Both on Friday and on Sunday the last weekend in August, we went to a restaurant called Habana, which is located on 6th Street, in downtown Austin, where all kinds of partying happens. Exact location: 709 6th Street, Austin TX.

The first time we went, I had the Chicken Fricassee, which is an entree featuring Chicken of course, stewed in a tomato sauce. I have to tell you, as an African I have my own recipe of Chicken stewed in a tomato sauce that every last one of the friends I’ve made it for adores.

So when I say it was Delicious, I’m in no way exaggerating. It takes a lot for me to even admit someone else’s stewed chicken was good, not to mention outstanding, so if you want a healthy dish that’s also tasty and different, try that. It was well spiced without being overwhelming.

With the Chicken Fricassee came spanish rice and potatos. The potatos I didn’t expect, but they were still quite delicious. I asked that it be served with a side of Maduros, which is what they call their disk of thickly sliced, ripe fried plantains. This pulled the meal together for me, so I’m quite surprised they don’t actually serve them together.

A side consisted of an entire plantain, from the looks of it, which is quite filling. I had to take most of my food home with me.

Also interesting were their drink selections and the decor. I’ve never been to Cuba, but the inside of the establishment was quite convincing, that’s it in the picture above I’ve lived in a couple of different tropical places and from that standpoint, it gave off the right feel.

This palm tree ceiling fan was also quite charming - though as hot as it was, I wish they’d turn it on!

Palm Tree Fan - Habana's

Again, I’m not some fancy restaurant critic, this is from my own impressions.

The service on Friday afternoon was quite good as well. That’s a bit surprising because that’s one of the busier nights on that side of town.

Sadly, on Sunday that was not the case. I decided to have something different, since I knew I’d be writing about it. Some of my food choices were a mistake. As was, perhaps, the time of day we chose to come by. We got a slightly dizzy waitress who was instrumental in screwing up the experience for us.

To start, we both got drinks and appetizers. I had the absolutely perfect Habanatini. It’s Mango juice and rum basically. If you like Mango juice it’s quite tasty and awesome.

Where we truly went tragically wrong were the “Thinly Sliced Fried Plantain Chips”, which on their menu are called Mariquitas. Especially at the price of $4.25, if you like traditional plantain chips, avoid them at all costs. They were not thinly sliced, nor were they at the stage in which you make plantains into chips. They weren’t cooked all the way through, and tasted like bad banana chips.

If you like plantain chips, you’re better off buying the ones in the green bag from the Latin American or African store. You know the ones I mean.

And I hate banana chips.

I’ll spare you the rest of the sad issues, as I am pretty sure I didn’t like the rest of the meal because I was trying something new that I didn’t like. It seems like it was a perfectly prepared something that I didn’t really want.

And yet.

The experience and ambiance of the restaurant made up for even our silly minded waitress. Enough so that I’m willing to try Havana again…

When you folks come to visit me during SXSW, we’ll have all sorts of fun eatery hopping at the places in this category.

photo credit: me-2007

Want a free link? It may not bring you much Google juice yet, but it would be a DoFollow link and without publicizing this blog I’m getting about 40 visitors a day.

And eventually I’ll get around to telling folks about it.

I’m gonna give out blog links to the top 25 non-spammers who leave comments this month. Not just on this site, on ALL my blogs.

Aren’t you glad you read this? And… commented? Hint, hint.

Not familiar with New York? Let me help you get from under that gigantic rock!

Ok, that’s better.

Stateside or not, love her or hate her, if you watch any junk TV at all, you should be aware of a character commonly known as New York, aka Tiffany Patterson. She is outrageous, outspoken, loud, dramatic, occasionally down right obnoxious, lovably anserine, and just, well. New York.

Now she may seem like some kind of ghetto-fab hood rat if you’re not paying attention, and just judging her on her demeanor. You shouldn’t. Once you get past all of that, you can see a good person. How good?

Would you date a little person? I’m ashamed to say that’s one circumstance where I would judge based on looks. I’m short and I can’t marry another shorter person. If I had a whole bunch of tall genes I’d consider it.

New York had some dating shows and she had the chance to immediately get rid of the height-challenged individual, and didn’t. She got to know him and decided after that. In this case, she’s better than me.

How many times do you judge other people’s culture… but then circle back around to give it another go? How often do people attempt to learn about other people, find out they’re doing wrong, and then try it another way?

If you still don’t get what the fuss is after watching the video above, don’t worry, I’ve got more. I tell you, I despised her at first, and tuned in just to laugh at her. But she seriously grew on me.

She’ll eventually say, sometimes all loud and wrong, something you were probably thinking but think it’s impolite to say. She’ll eventually charm you with her sincerity in wanting to be more, do more, and find real love.

Give her a chance, she’ll grow on you too. Until then, she’s at least worth a good-natured laugh or two.

[via TechCrunch]

That is This Week’s New Crack.

photo credit: dotbenjamin

I used to enter Def Poetry Jam’s monthly contest every now and again when the forums were up. This was from, I think, the fourth time I won, the 6th time I entered.

virginal lips dipped into that sugar kiss-
unfamiliar aromas transgressing the sphere of your unfamiliar,
central to the spin of synergy that is effervescent to the mind state of creation’s inception.
when rotating off the paralysis in apparition’s wake,
fabrication of thoughts you have evaporate,
and you see the Light.
clarity besets your fresh inspection,
connection constructing concrete-
a place to build.

but first.

how do you reincarnate,
knowing that to elevate you must disintegrate even the ashes of what incarcerates?
if you’re the ship
how do you break the bottle you reside within?
what happens after the divorce from seminal sin?
especially when you know you’re not buoyant…
at least not yet.

soon you will learn that the how is immaterial
you’ll generate the muscles that need to be fashioned
out of the might of your why.
because regardless?
the skyscrapers of falsification Must fall,
bearing true witness to those nearest in proximity to blessings’ essence…
and it can all begin here…

if you let it.

honesty would penetrate your self paralysis
and Glory would cradle you in its arms,
protecting you from the future you fear Truth would uncover.

so by whatever means deemed,
reject the imagination of attrition that so captures you
in a counterfeit macrocosm of lies.
don’t just tell the Truth
live it.
Open Your Eyes.

drink of me.

yours am i to partake of, lips to kiss, arms to hold.
i’m lost in the ocean of you, salty snippets of paradise plastered wetly to me at night…
you, so dear to me, it almost scares me to speak of this origin inside me
the beginning of love.

lain, so prone to new possibilities of life, produced the secret to my new impregnation
full i am, with you. my soul hangs low to the ground dressed to the nines with abandon
nourishment neglected in the face of my attempts at denial
framed logic in questions
how
why
now?

you are always present in my mind’s palace of pleasure
where each jewel is a glowing thought of your magnificence
i lay here impregnated with so much love struggling to come out
wondering if this birth of you within is celebrated too soon
am i premature in my wanderings, wondering if i can grasp
my own answers to your newness and pull them through.

only emotion can answer the inquiries of this idle mind
…for all the answers lie within you
genius of art scripted oiled melodied symphonied…
…for all the answers lie within you
visions of divinitity as apparition, haunting all my nows with your eternal eyes
…for all the answers lie within you
aroma of strength wafting towards me, wrapping me in your truth
…for all the answers lie within you
mind made for molecules to meander into meaning and manuver miracles
….yes… all the answers to why i could love you
….yes… all the answers to the hows and whens
lie within my inspiration
you.
and who would not be powerless
in the face of that merciless glory?

so.
drink of me.

silk lined sensuality seals this echo where i kneel
ironically
in prayer
casting light to shine on you in your life’s bondage

…never written anniversaries of my heart before
…never opened this particular door
but now
somehow
you scatter enlightenment
where radiance has never been.

and yet here i am
shining like the inception of pure light
floating like raindrops to the ground in spring
embracing earth with all its devotion
appearing to construct the future foundation on which we exist
on which
we
exist…

and it is here that i lay
wrapped in the majesty of your beauty
swimming in the most complete sensation i’ve ever felt
plugged into your soul
in a place where a we could exist
painted flushed by this bliss
offering you something no one has ever had…
complete trusting dedication
and possession of my soul…
so please, drink
my waters for you are eternal.
and i seek to quench your thirst for forever.

photo credit: wizardofozgurl

how it seems inside the thought
how it feels inside the moment

like a mirage in this desert

surreal.
come here, he said

first there was smoke between us
then air
then
smoke blended into tongues
erasing thin boundries
and as the emissions from what was lit
fell into the arms of the night
as it disappeared
nothing was between us

at all.

we crossed a line we can’t re-construct
self conquered.
the wavy lines of our heat
makes it appear
alternately
perfect or wrong.

and i need the morning to come
so i can see by the light of another sun
what this is when the brightness dims….

photo credit: Jinhan

pen kisses my thoughts of you to paper
love rhymes their child and ours
the product of both of our emotions
merging in my mind with expressions to float to you
on the backs of lilies.

it creates such heavenly art
that tears me in two as i seek this destiny
to be one with you
to be one with your mind
i want to travel in the galaxy between your ears
the infinite knowledge of so many years before we were born
into this plane of material things that get in the way of the moments
when i truly exist
those moments when

fingers caress my thoughts of you on keyboards
kneading love as artistic creation’s confection
the result of both of our feelings
reeling in the breeze of our elegant epiphany shared

a love divinely manifested

in a world we re-created with new iriese beholding
beauty re-birthing new linguistics
to portray such a height of supreme radiance
that cycles my tears into smiles and back again…
emotion too deep to be contained in one expression
sensations too real to be confined by convention
i need to make myself into many of your life’s jewels
become treasure for you to taste anew daily
to submit to the will of your happiness
to master the ability of commanding your tranquilty

with these words
i’ve thee fed
over and over
and over
again
in so many modes
they are all formed for you to know
the boundless extent of the affair your love
is having with my life
the ceaseless scope of my adulation
for your brilliant mind, and dazzling spirit,
as well as admiration for the house it has chosen
to spin in such stunning awe across this earth.

and i create this romance between words
they unfold this miracle of love
and no matter who reads them
only you will know their true meaning
as they exist only as mirrors to our own
for you to behold our heaven
from the vantage
of how lovely i’d like to make our existence together
for you.

My life is a little rocky now, but when it settles down to a place where I can have predictable peace in the mornings, I’ll start writing four a day for you again. For me too.

You’ll find this poem on page 133 of Bum Rush the Page (The Def Poetry Jam book), published under my pen name in . Don’t forget to look up my bio in the back.

photo credit: jepoirrier

and

i was Born.

i imagine mama smiled and cried
at the woes and joys of bearing female fruit

her tears fell into my mind like rain
watered the seeds she planted there
pain
pride
beauty
wisdom.

i know she loved me strong
cuz
i evolved into the next version of her.

her smile warms the fibers of my being
where cotton grows in my guilty memory
stained with strains of indigo.

the sunshine reflected in her eyes
shines on my soul,
making more alive
and as i grow older
i am Born
again and again.

photo credit: kennymatic

The countdown to my retirement is less than 7 days. When that change takes place, a bunch of stuff is going to change here. First of all I’ll be incorporating some lifestream-ish posting, so there will be more frequent updates, though brief.

I’ll also be writing a lot more poetry. Don’t hurt me.

And this is officially my depository for all things Tinu in general. Stuff from Tinu =Tinu Stuff. kthxbai

photo credit: petja2008

Sometimes, okay three time since we’ve been together, which has only been about 16 weeks since we’ve been back together but feels like the happiest year of my life, I get so frustrated with him that I want to pull out all my hair and make him eat it.

Granted. But I’ve never met anyone who I was with almost 24 hours a day who I didn’t eventually feel like that about.

However, if I’m being honest with myself, the real problem is that I’m scared that this relationship will somehow change or get broken in a way that I won’t like or can’t be fixed.

Because…. well, I know love isn’t supposed to be based on what someone does for you, but rather, who they are. I love who he is, as a whole picture, so let’s skip that part and look at this list in terms of “bonuses”:

• He does my laundry. This is important to someone who is routinely too physically ill to do laundry.
• He “waits on me hand and foot” - his words. And “enjoys it” - his words.
• He always wants to know what I think and what I want to eat.
• He listens politely even when I know I’m being an insufferable bore and can’t stop myself from talking.
• When he comes to bed at night he holds me in the dark and gently nudges me into sharing myself.
• When he comes to bed at night he holds me and tells me everything that is on his mind and in his heart.
• He tells me he loves me every day.
• He doesn’t believe he deserves me.
• He doesn’t believe that I don’t believe that I deserve him.
• The three times we’ve fought has been because he was frustrated about wanting to make me happy. Or happier.
• The first time I told him I couldn’t sleep, he stayed up with me, until I realized that he was staying awake to keep me company.
• He opens doors for me.
• No matter where he is or who he is with when we talk on the phone, before he hangs up he tells me that he loves me.
• Whenever I’m in a not-great mood, he tries to make it better, even if there’s really nothing he can do to make it better, even if I tell him that and he is met with my unholy bitchiness as a result.
• I told him about the abuse in my childhood and he listened and for once was completely on my side.
• He supports everything I do in every possible way.
• He gets mad if I have a nightmare and don’t wake him up.
• At any hour, on any day, no matter where I am on the planet, or how tired he is not telling me he is, he goes to the store to get anything I ever think I want.
• He remembers the brand, style and size of every single one of my toiletries, including my deodorant, for these types of trips.
• He remembers exactly what I like as far as food, and tries to make sure I get served precisely what I would like.
• He’s a supremely satisfying lover who lets me take charge when I like to, and has plenty of sex with me, as often as I like.
• He makes me laugh, all day long, every single day.

I could go on with that list forever.

And sometimes I have huge raging mountainous doubts about having pledged the rest of my life to him. Like dear-God, he’s a Limbaugh Republican.

Who doesn’t vote. But still, he thinks someone I believe is a hypocritical douche is worthy of listening to in his car on Fridays. He says things like “leftist agenda”. Out loud, where sane people can hear him.

And then lives his life as if he were a Democrat. Which is equally scary, since I’m kinda mad at them too.

And yeah, then there’s all the kids he has. Some day I’ll tell you how many and you still won’t believe me. But I love his kids. And I want a house full of them and I’m just too old to have the number I’d like, safely, especially with my medical issues.

Plus he completely loses control of his emotions and screams like a maniac when we disagree. Who doesn’t do that, though? The guys I date seem to think volume makes their points more right.

Anyway. The point is that Even If those were these huge parts of our every day life, rather than rare derailments upon which we go back on course….

Even if I didn’t have that feeling I have about him and with him in these I-can-feel-your-emotions-in-m-body type of soulmate love happenstances…

Even if this somehow, one day, tragically derailed…

All of the wonderful little things about him are so very worth enduring anything. And as I’ve told him so many times, which he fervently seems to think is not true, as long as when I go to bed at night, he’s there with me for 15 minutes of chatting and snuggling, I’m pretty much going to be a happy camper.

All this other stuff is gravy. Great gravy that is spoiling me rotten for any other man on earth.

But. Still.

photo credit: jaroslavd

It was at the start of the ill times I had in ‘07. The cause was a complication of my condition that I won’t bore you with. The result was that I was having trouble breathing.

I remember waking up in bed, and struggling to breathe. And sitting up. I could feel my throat closing. I did the test I’d been taught at some point by a nurse - trying to swallow. Then I realized I couldn’t.

And I understood why allergic reactions and asthmatics are taught to go directly to the hospital.

If I didn’t figure out how to combat this feeling, I would die. Quickly.

When you can’t breathe, you can’t speak. That’s why the first step of the Heimlich maneuver is to ask the other person if they’re okay. If they nod, it’s safe to say they might not be. I usually keep responding until they say verbalize. My friends hate it, but the one time it saved someone’s life was reason enough to annoy the people I love.

I couldn’t breathe deeply enough to power a call for help. A friend was in the next room. If I can make enough breath to call out, I’ll survive, I remember thinking when things got hazy.

I shook my head to fight off the darkness. Did Not help the fact that I could barely breathe.

My life didn’t flash before my eyes when I almost blacked out. I wasn’t afraid.

I was seized with desperation. Not quite fear. I remember wanting desperately to be able to Fight.

This is the part where I recommend meditation to Everyone who has never tried it. Immediately, I went into some kind of meditative stance. Everything was clear. Time slowed down. My body went calm and it was instantly, but very slightly, easier to breathe than it had been when panic tensed me up.

I took the slowest, deepest, most painful breath of my life. I let it out really slowly too. Breathing regularly was impossible, and breathing slowly, when my lungs burned with the need for air, was agonizing, but necessary.

I didn’t have enough room for a regular breath.

I had no idea why I needed it to be so slow and measured at the time, but was relieved that it worked incredibly well. For the next five minutes, a time that seemed like an hour, I kept taking those breaths, eventually realizing that since I didn’t have enough room in my throat to take a regular breath, if I just slowed my breaths down, I’d live.

Finally I had enough breath to call for help.

I’m remembering this day for many reasons. Mostly to embed in my heart the feelings of not wanting to die. The desperate clarity. The aching lust for my next breath.

I’ve been depressed lately. Occasional suicidal thoughts. I dismissed them as pre-retirement jitters but now I know the cause. I must write. Every day. Sometimes in places where no one will look, or hear. But I must.

It’s not a choice for me, and I’d forgotten that.

Writing out my feelings is my daily slow deep painful breath. and if I do it more often, it will be easier to let it flow. My spiritual throat will relax and open. And I’ll be whole again.

photo credit: wotthe7734

A struggle I would constantly have with learning to create good realities is getting stuck thinking about things that I don’t want to florish.

And of course, that’s what I would get, the things I don’t want, because I was calling them to me by thinking of them constantly.

I’ve recently found that in addition to worry in reverse (which I’ll describe another day), singing out loud stops my brain from thinking, and heightens my mood. I follow that up with repetition aloud of phrases.

What phrases? Doesn’t much matter as long as it’s positive.

I like to repeat the conditions that I would like to appear, for example, “They’re going to say yes to my quote.” or “This will be a fun meeting.” (I know. I didn’t think fun and meeting belonged in the same sentence either! But it’s actually possible.)

Or I focus on what I’d like to create next and say my thoughts out loud. Another good one is spelling words backwards out loud.

All of these things make it much harder to think of things you don’t want. Don’t make it harder than it is - all you need to do is take your mind off the things you’re worried about.