Catching Hell and Making Lemonade

Confessions of an Urban Shaman

(Black Mirror, season 2, episode 2)

“Help me please! I’m a human being!”

This then is the mistake we make, affording ones self the illusion of humanity.

No doubt I’m not the only person to watch this episode and draw some disturbing parallels. I immediately fell back on an episode of Prison Break, the scene where Adina Porter’s character Leticia is murdered by an FBI agent (of state). I couldn’t watch another minute afterwards, but was instead propelled further towards dissecting how anti-blackness is subtly rubbed into our wounds at every turn.

Consider also how not so subtly our efforts at moving towards spiritual, economic and physical liberation is placed on a similar plane as facism. In particular when there are so many black women on the front lines, making strides, building networks, bringing down statues, visibly not giving two fucks about Eurocentric ideals surrounding decorum. So anytime I gain…

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An Alien Bearing Witness

I was going to write an article today about Trans and disability Ally credit and Ally cookies, but right now it is more important to me to boost IBPOC voices regarding what is going on in Charlottesville and the country at large.

Confessions of an Urban Shaman

I gather stones from the river, rejoin the protesters at the corner of Reason and Futility. We stand transfigured as inmates scream for cool water, mothers file civil suits in hopes of reclaiming the bones of their children. Dreamers reach tired fingers through the gate, seeking human touch. Humanity pleas for a return to normalcy. In the heat of morning we disavow the hatred attempting to supplant sanity.

The dead gather often in my dreams, or after an evening sip from my chalice, reaffirming my purpose. Not human, unspoken, seeking a place outside of the house, embraced by the storm, loved by self.

Across the way the machinations of Euro nationalist leadership and the media are used in tangent thus unreason becomes the norm. Every small distraction verifies the lie and angles us away from a solution, solidarity or a truth. Foot soldiers protected and coddled by the State advance…

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Chapter and Verse: An NRG Variant

A powerful piece in response to the state sanctioned murders of Philandro Castile and Charleena Lyles, by my beloved nesting partner and bestfriend.

Confessions of an Urban Shaman

This past weekend was a mixture of sweet conquest and bitter fruit.

While allowing myself to finally feel comfortable discussing my amorphous sexuality, the State continued to dole out various abuses to the psyche and spirits of the People.

I pumped my fist when Philando Castile’s mother expressed her rage and indignation at a system that has continued to fail the People no matter the blantant guilt of the offender.

And many of my friends also expressed their rage via social media. Not only because of the verdict but because of the verbal poplocking exhibited by their white liberal friends. Faux shock, grief, pat, pat, pat, and I was so sure THAT cop would be convicted.

Oh, you mean like Michael Slager, who was also caught on camera committing murder?

Jason Van Dyke, Timothy Loehmann?

Muthafucka please. So long as the system that enslaved us is still in place no…

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Bodies, Space and Spectrum IV: Unfiltered


All our different coming out stories are important. This is beginning of Milton Goosby’s journey of self knowledge told in raw, honest, prose.

Confessions of an Urban Shaman

A storm rumbled belligerently in the distance as I stood on my porch. My partner urged me to go on despite my hesitation.

I knew I’d suffer the next day from lack of sleep. But everyday woes had begun to pile up on me. Listless, my mind wandering, wanting…

[Even now, the sense that I don’t quite belong to a community will sometimes affect my ability to communicate. I retreat, I read, write. And in general, grown folks blues.]

Determination won over any misgivings I had about fickle weather.

It cost me.

The storm unleashed as I was four blocks from the spot. Wind, rain and hail battered my already tired soul as I sought shelter under a weak awning at the transit station. I thought about giving up, giving in, going home to a hot bath and dry clothes. Snuggling my partner and our children. Enjoying delicious homemade Teryaki…

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Found at Sea…Again

Worn down

Blanketed in a soft, downy, envelope of exhaustion

Eviscerated for your viewing pleasure

Pain in small electric spurts

“I’m just so tired”

I whisper to myself or someone else

I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t so depleted

I’d be angry if I had the energy

I’d be something


Existing is all I have for the time being

Words worn threadbare and confused

Darting in and out of usefulness

Survival mode

Or something

I think

I think

I think

I can’t think right now

On the Subject of Stimming

I have different sorts of stimming, basically every strong emotion has a set of sensory habits associated with it for me. There is happy stimming like the flappy hands hop hop hop of walking into a comic book store or used book store, sadness stims  that comfort me when I am down, maintenance life stims that just become part of my daily landscape half of those I would probably not even be able to name, and anxiety stimming… I’m sure there are even more of them that I don’t have a name for or have not thought about right at this moment. 

This is about one way that I personally anxiety stim. 

It always starts out half craving and half nervous twist in the back of my mind. The hunger builds an unfulfillment anxiety fire in the pit of my stomach. As I ease down into the near scaldingly hot bath I’ve drawn, a soothing wave envelops me…for a heartbeat

Sometimes the heartbeat stretches out into a minute



It never lasts, the anxiety starts to build again sooner rather than later. A nerve jangling energy in my feet and calves, a bone deep itch that pushes into the bottoms of my feet, pointing my toes, stiffening my legs, propelling me up and out of the hot water. 


For a moment

Until the cycle reverses, the need building to be covered with steaming hot water again. 

That single breath of relief until the need to push myself up and out of the water takes over. 

Over and over 

Layering moments of anxiety and relief like an elaborate pastry dough

Eventually the water grows cool

I am no longer magnetized


*bonus rough draft written in the actual bath with toddler art additions

Love Letters to the Edge of Our Infinity

There is an entire galaxy here hammered out of aluminum and previously loved plastic bottles

Bringing the brunt of my impotent rage to bear on empty air


Broken dreams and disaster breath

They spread cold, oily, fingers through my hair

Over my twitching, vulnerable skin

Laid bare. 





There is a whole glittering city here built on brown skin

blood and bone of the marginalized. 

It whispers bittersweet nothings

Comforting lies

It asks us to turn away our tear stained faces. 

Our rage fists, tightly knotted, gnarled

It asks us to forgive it the bloody finger tips of those it purposefully forgot.  

Keep them on your lips. 

Eyes open to these atrocities
















A litany that could stretch from the birth of the universe until it takes its final quivering breath

Emptied of life and hope

My body like gossamer wings alone, delicate, fragile

I will lay down with you if you will have me

The one-two thump of my quiet heart added to yours

I have hope that intertwined we shall remain stronger

Spider silk 

Soul strong

I will be your shield if you need me 

I will be your heart when you are bleeding 

If you indicate with word or gesture that consent is given freely

We will tap out in lover’s code 

in the deep of midnight

all the ways we shall strengthen each other. 

Fury feeding

Love exponential

I will lay myself bare and invite you in

Just stay alive my loves

Just keep breathing