Tuesday, December 4, 2007


Re: flirt w/ cute Irish guys, and Idriss Stelley Foundation / mesha's "last?"wishes, and secret self indulging eulogy !

dear Phil.

Dude U a hoot !

You are the first message I opened this am, laughing, 1 day short of the fatidic big 60...

I feel like 247 yr old , but when I look in the mirror at everything going south, it makes me giggle...
I love the folds and creases, the softness of the aging body, every tell tale of the ol' Woman Warrior's sagging saga, yet I wonder: what happened? the mind hardly feels like 15 1/2 yr old !

When I was 7, my grandma died. I was always intimidated by Mami Josephine, she never smiled, probably did love me. Grandma-Courage the stoic scolder, a least in my Tomboyish candid mind.

"The Japanese" as we called her, duie to her long jet black hair with just a few twirling white threads on her temples, she would keep coming back in my young nightmares, fierceless on a carriage driven by 4 mad black horses, sternly staring at me from her 4'8'' body frame,
and I would terrifyingly yell "Go Away!" in my sleep !...
So in a very last dream she finally laughed and replied:
"Ma petite Minouche, You will die on your 60th B-day, choking on your cake" and never came back.

The countdown has been steadily on for 43 years, coming to terms tomorrow.

Will the ol' diabetic, "revovered" alcoholic indulge in a dreamy final piece of sponge cake drowning in dark Jamaican rum while puffing on a Newport ?

Maybe... my brain is so programmed to die sometime tomorrow that I might just croak regardless...
I will probably enjoy, in the last gasp, hearing the Fat Lady Sing ! LOL

So just in case: .
I wish no funeral, no wake, no stinky flowers, no frivolous expenses or hoopla of any kind, since I regretfully would not be able to attend and reap the fruits of the Winter harvest.

My body is to go to the morgue, will probably stay on ice for 2 weeks as customary with unclaimed deceased indigents, then cremated anonymously among all other SF famous unknown and my ashes discreetly disposed of at the public dump, along with unclaimed fellownates.

No funeral mass for "KKKhrist"' 's sake LOL

If my dear friends and associates, (maybe along with Europeans brothers and cousins on a final american trip? Again, not to worry, since I would not see it...) wish to gather at my ol' time fave Baker's Beach or "Potlluck" with my Lesbitarian possee,
and remember good times, so be it.

If not, I'll be kind and skip the black horse&carriage/dreadful guilt trip dream deal, promise !
Y'all Be Merry and Live on !
No need to further burden their souls,

Mine, on the other hand, is getting real tired. 5 months of a terrible bout of shingles ravaged the ol' bod who never recovered stamina or muscular strength this year, and keeps giving out.

2 nights ago I dreamt that:

There was an electrical storm and rain shower raging in my bedroom, Idriss was sitting with me on my bed , on which dead leaves were madly spinning.
Then, without transition, we were holding each other looking down by the Sphynx River,
"Ma ! Looka here!": excitedly exclaimed Idriss pointing at the bodies of our countless ancestors,
softly drifting amidst the black waters, some rotting, some thin clusters of glimmering polished bones, others a mere transparent shadowy outline, humming in unisson...
While the River was overwhelmingly whispering an archaic song that twirled back and forth from earth to sky in a myriad od endless glittering tornado-like columns, in wich all planetary languages were blended into one, yet crystal clear in its lyrics:

"Welcome back !
go in,
go out,
go back,
welcome back, welcome back !
go out,
go in,
go back,
welcome back !"....

Idriss was roaring with a laughter that exploded me out of the dream, sweating and laughing along with him

I woke up in sheer pre-christian awe, in the room still bathed in fragments of Idriss' laughter, and still get a wonderous shiver mixed with joyful anticipation and a twinge / pang of fear in my belly while reminiscing for the past 48 hours.

Will I flirt with Irish girls on the "other side"?

Nah, Unlikely. Unless maybe BLACK Irish, if they still look rubenesque enough to spike my ghostly interest LOL.

Uh, is there Paradise for Retired ol' Lesbitarians afflicted " Sexual BedDeath" Syndrome?

I left NO will, don't own shit by now, poor as hell, except,

(with the help of my wonderful friend Siri Margerin of UFPJ,( to call the European family at 011-33-14-630-OO50 en langue française)

for a few gold pieces going to youngsters in my biological family (Audrey OLivetti and Lea Siad)
A Pradier clay statuette of a satyre holding a terrified naked (Irish? Nah) woman belonging to my Mom going to my fave niece Nicole Delattre,
Idriss collection of comic books to my cousin Jacques Travers and his son Frederic,
Idriss' Freedom/Bob Marley Flag to my grand niece Alex,

my dead mother, auntie and sister's jeweled pillbox also will be shipped to them.
All the radio equipement goes to station manager Fernando Venceramos, bless his Freedom Fighter's fierce heart.
All other Idriss Stelley Foundation's stuff goes to Goodwill.

and my wholehearted wishes of prosperity, Unity, Love and Glorious Health to all of them as a whole, have nothing else worth enough to be left to cherish among my enormous rat packing junk.

My sole anxiety and lingering intense sadness clings to the potential fate of my 2 kitties Aziz and Kya Ferocity,and Idriss' aging dog Nanok,
and my devoted homecare attendant and dear Mexican friend Remigio, who will be quickly evicted within a month from my basement apartment , from my house embezzled by trusted "friends" last November where we still reside with the animals.

And that's the truth, Ruth, and my Final "will" of an Answer, Million bucks or not, rain or shine (or miraculous snow for the occasion) hypothetical tomorrow ! (and self indulging Eulogy for the SF Bayview!)

Oh and I never did a Durable Power of Attorney, shame on me.
No dragging boring agony Peuleeeezzzz, just plentiful IV hydration and mucho liberal morphine drip,
and Do Not Resuscitate code after 3 days if intubated, let me go por favor, kindly Gracias Dokta !

Yet there is an crucial Police Commission meeting tomorrow at 5:30pm... yet, latest savage brutalization by Bayview PD of a BVHP Sister who works with POWER and her teenage nephew.

Be There,
or "Square" (MOI? LOL),
or Repent foreva in purgatory Ol' mesha gurl...

and remorsely haunt City HELL room 400 (ir its through crimnling ruins after the Apocalyps for centuries to come
currently whispering in the elevators in Spanish & Frrrrrrrrrench, for upcoming historical touristic thrills' sake:
"hear yee hear yee fellow visitors, always remember to faithfully attend Ur SF Police Commission hearings please, or fear Da Wrath of Idriss' Muthah for Eternity !"

On a not so much further serious note, feel rather curious about tomorrow.
Would I die at 11 pm, like Idriss and my Mom who made the transition at 92, 7 months before my son?

I helplessly aged 20 years in health and looks in the past 6 years since Idriss was executed by SFPD, die to mental anguish, physical pain and exhaustion, illness, sleep deprivation, working 14 to 18 hours a day, no days off, no staff...
Associates abound, still every second in tyhe Struggle, gnawing solitude without my Angel Idriss at my side.

It was been excrutiating, challenging, exhiralating, infuriating, powerful and crazy making all at once,
Laughable mini Don Quijote of sorts fighting the windmills of La Mancha for eternity...

A big part of me yearns to dive enthusiastically into the Sphynx and join Idriss and my ancestors,

while it would be...
quite a hoot to defeat the half century long scenario tomorrow,
and wake up...
feeling like an irremediably ol' foooooooooool in the am.

Either way is cool with me, fo' real !

Something hilarious just happened. I received a call on ISF Crisis Line, and talked with a man who was increasingly leary on the phone, repeating
"Uh, are you the Black Newspaper?"
"Sorry but...Uh, is you name Mesha???"

After a few minutes of insane interaction, after I warned:
"Can't talk to you right now Stokes, I am sending my final wishes to Phil Berg, and CC'ed you on the mail",
and cracking crazy jokes, and gay inuendos on the phone with assumingly my dearest playson Carl Stokes Jr., I finally got it...

Dr David, from Alcatraz Redemption Program, Globalpeacefoundation.org, who I met briefly once last year, and sounds EXACTLY like Stokes Jr., son of illustrous Detroit's first Black Mayor in the US, was calling me, asking to do an article on his organization's exciting upcoming event in the SF Bayview Black National newspaper !

The wonders of PTSD and sleep deprivation...
"Did you think I was deranged, Dr. David?"
"Hum.... somewhat", the good Dokta hesitantly replied without the faintest chuckle,
"But we all have our moments sometimes" he added generously...
(or diplomatically? He may worry about what kind of indiosyncratic article I may write on his foundation by now LOL)

Well been good chatting with you on this glorious rainy morning
Mr. to be Congresssman Phil Berg. Have a wonderful day !
I am sending my anticipated "Xmas" Wishes to my biological family today,
"just in case".

At any rate, on doom's day mañana.
hit or miss,
I will ponder to cherish your friendhip,
huge heart, passion,
terrifying intelligence and culture,
and roaring Jewish sense of humor,

in spite of our historical semantic and philosophical animated jousts & often irreconciliable divergences,

U the Gay Libertarian,
Moi Da Revolutionary Lesbitarian

joined at the intellectual hip and fervent visionaries of Social Justice !

My warmest wishes of success in defeating the Infamous Madame Pelosi, Mr. CA Congress Candidate !

Huge Hug and (maybe) later, my precious friend,
see ya here or beyond !

(415) 595-8251

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