mama hips

May 3, 2011

Miguel Migs Colorful You

Filed under: Music, transformation, writing — Tags: , , , — Kim Pacini @ 3:09 am

Right now, I’m listening to Miguel Migs’ Colorful You album. I was introduced to this album when I met my husband, when I was living with my best friend Elmo.  I was twenty seven years old and new things about my ability to thrive on my own were being revealed as I fell magnificently in love with Joe. Mindiscs, camel cigarettes and the Enders Game series are what warm my chakras from this time.

A year or so later, the album reappeared as a frequent listen as I power walked the South Philly neighborhood I lived in when I moved in with Joe. Cut off shorts and a Tshirt, I’d haul my ass past pizza joints, churches, old men on the stoop and hardware stores. Surrender is the jam from then.   Release your love. Come on, how can you not love that when yer striding  and keepin it fit?

The track Soulvibe reminds me of  that first Winter when I had Danae. I would strut throughout my house to this album, my little one strapped to me in the Bijorn as I lifted my legs and spun and twirled my arms around keeping her madly entertained as I danced my way through the winter with a newborn baby. Our bodies become one. I’ve got to touch your soulvibe. Those are some great lyrics to a groovy little beat. Those times were snow and intense, new love.

So it seems that this album’s number is called in the jukebox that houses my life soundtrack during times of rather significant transformation. I like it so much  that when there is nothing left to do but enjoy the moment I return to it to help me do that. As a matter of fact, that is the reason I  chose to listen to it tonight. The sentence, “write about what you love” has been floating across my open eyes these days so tonight, this album was put on without thinking about it and what resulted was a really fantastic thread of connecting to times of the most brilliant transformation.

Gotta love music. Gotta love deep house sexy loungy groovy funky music.

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October 17, 2010

Rolling Around In It

Filed under: writer, writing — Tags: , — Kim Pacini @ 2:06 am

Writing for the sake of writing -painting with words is the one thing I have done instinctually since as long as I can recall. When I daydream of a divine existence it involves being in inspiring scenery while immersing myself in stories, vision and words. Writing is my constant and I love it with an adoration that makes me want to roll around in it naked.

 

October 3, 2010

creativity flowing

Filed under: balance, evolution, parenting, revelation, writing — Kim Pacini @ 2:35 am

what a fucking time. everything is lighting up. ideas are unfolding. the image of a creature, running at top speed through the brush of a forrest, heaving deeply feeling whatever is in the rushing air through every cell of her running body; that whatever becoming what she is running to.  Interesting that I have taken to running lately. I cant get enough of it.

listen to the apparent. running. writing. lights. parenting. family. land. home. what comes from you? What do you have to do? the answer to that is the answer to what to do.

June 15, 2010

Dirty and and tired and loving every second of it.

Just when I think I’ve got this, I don’t. Just when I step out a little on either side to fill in the space I I know I can reach I reach it alright but there is a whole new feeling of discomfort there. Same cycle; I just went from the tense phase to the bugging our stage and now am in the what the fuck stage. Dirty and and tired and loving every second of it.

It’s 8 o’clock at night, I just put Danaë to bed. I am writing this post in the kitchen having just finished packaging tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch for all of us, iPhone in hand to give existence to the flow of words in my head.

Five minutes prior to this, I was living the scene in my movie where I standing in my kitchen at the end of the day, romanced by Ann Peebles in my hips when the music swells compelling me to stop take a deep breath, put my hands over head and let all the exasperation out. The sound of the lady blues: I’m doing what mother after mother after mother has done; work at taking care of their babies. For all of us, its work on some level and for most of us we have had the moment when all we can do is sigh and know its all alright and that bed isn’t too far off.

Fucking hell today took a lot of effort. At one point, I literally didn’t think I could handle another second of exerting energy. Physically drawn to walking out and going to sleep, unable to put a cranky, over awake child to sleep and feeling like I have lost my mom superpowers. But I didn’t, and she went to sleep happy and I got a shower and here I am, clean and tired and leaning on the kitchen counter stealing a moment to write and can’t wait to get to sleep with my love.

June 12, 2010

horscope said it was ok to be a narcissist this week

So Rob Brezny, astrologer to this pagan goddess explains my horoscope this week as:

“If you have long conversations with the image in the mirror this week, I won’t call you a megalomaniacal narcissist. Nor will I make fun of you if you paint 15 self-portraits, or google yourself obsessively, or fill an entire notebook with answers to the question “Who am I, anyway?” In my astrological opinion, this is an excellent time for you to pursue nosy explorations into the mysteries of your core identity. You have cosmic permission to think about yourself with an intensity you might normally devote to a charismatic idol you’re infatuated with.”

I find this timely as I am not sure what the hell I am doing, professionally speaking. I know I want to be in business for myself. I know I want to write.

Am I writer? I can say with some sense of emphatically, yes. After all these years, writing has been a constant activity. So what do I want to do about it. I want to write a book and open a program for girls. Easy enough. So, why don’t I go right to there and stop wasting my time looking to do anything other than that? Well, the thing is that I feel that it is going to happen and so I am not all that concerned about it – my question is to how to get there thoughtfully and in a way that is healthy for us. My first priority is getting money in the door and opening up our lives to allow for scheduling, that is time together, that fits our schedules. Maybe that’s why I’m not bugging out – as much as I want change to happen, I know it is happening at rate that is best for us.

I know all these things I want:

I want this blog to be well developed and thought out and to serve its purpose and marketed with clever mastery of marketing channels and have a community of feminists that begin to bridge a new reality by connecting trough the ways they have made their own choices.  I want to foster that change. I see the goddess coming out strong from me these days, in ways I have never seen before but only stood in awe of. At times, I have caught myself in a window or mirror and am so impressed by what I see looking back. Its in this state, I know I can do anything and I am riding on that most of these days.

I know I have a book in me but I need some direction. Some clear guidance. Should it be about me or of another character. What form would be the best way to present the information? What does one need to be writer? how do I develop my craft? I honsetly feel its as easy an editor. strange.

I would love a selection of wines and good clothing. All sustainable and designed by Sarah. and Betsy Johnson.

I would love land and a garden and flowers and I would love to spend days in it; taking  care of it. I would like a fire pit and a deck an hot tub. I want to sit under the stars every night.I want Danaë to run.

I want to be near the water.

I want to have fun.

Baby is stirring….love.

February 2, 2010

synchronicity

Six months ago I stepped off of the 23 bus at Ridge and Spring Garden streets to escape the feeling wanting hurl that accompanies the block by block stop and go at what has to be an enormous velocity for an hour. that is one long city bus ride but it does give me an hour to read or listen or look or sleep or whatever. I have an hour to settle into the morning’s story; an hour to connect with whatever is going on and its presence in the beginning of the day. breakfast for the mind of sorts. i see young, young girls taking theirs kids to somewhere..daycare?, i see girls their same age going to school. I see the woman they call ghetto booty sometimes – shes a connection of round jiggly bubbles that with a big ass Cheshire cat smile of some sort of bliss who always listens to music and she sings and is moved by the music and its loud and its eccentric as all hell and shes quite an inspiring thing that reminds of different planes of reality. In the murmur, there are phrases like, “one day at a time”, “just got off work”, “he’s locked up” mixed with some laughter, some “heeeyyyy” of familiar faces in passing. the bus is city living. Even though we have one the most poorly managed and inefficient public transit systems ever, i still love public transit.

on that particular day I was re-reading Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, the part about that its only catfish who can predict the coming of an earthquake. when an earthquake is imminent, catfish freak out to the vibrations. other than this extreme reaction by the only species intune with the enormous, low, low internal vibration of the earth no one can accurately predict something as friggin significant as an earthquake. all seismologists can do is predict the probability of a fucking earthquake.

this is what I am reading about when I close my book, step off the bus six blocks early into a morning that predicts spring is on the way. it was grey and raining lightly. my favorite weather. bright green and lush. right before the rain starts, when the air is heavy and wet and something is coming as the wet air hangs, silence. everyone waiting. the clouds are pregnant. and then it rains. birth birth birth  and cleansing and water and introspection. this when I feel most creative, most intune, most aware. and absolutely driven to write. sometimes, i have to. the need is to compelling. if the wet air hangs, sagging lower and lower with weight, that weight is pushing and pushing to come out and words are the only way to do it.

as i step out of the bus, getting my shit situated for my morning walk to the world when i hear dude say from the stoop behind me to whoever on the phone, “why can’t anyone predict the coming of an earthquake?’.

in the next month, my husband lost his job. our car was broken in to. my parents were in a car accident with my baby. we had to borrow money from both our families to pay our bills. every sense of security we might have had was taken away when we looked to the future, the very near future and were not sure we were going to be able to basic things like buy diapers for our daughter or pay or mortgage. but thats not the kicker.

what is fucking triumphant about this whole thing is intention. i/we have aligned myself with my intentions. i have come to evolve in the idea my reasons.  rev-a-fucking-lation! the magnitude of this is massive.

that, my friends, is some synchronicity. and synchronicity is some cosmos speaking shit.

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