Kisses for Cancer

On August 17, 2013, the 1st Annual Kisses for Cancer Gala was amazing.  Held in the Cellar room of New York’s Pranna Lounge, the warm décor fit perfectly with the solemn moments planned for the night.  Gold curtains and tea light candles lined the tables additionally adorned with the reading materials provided by Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.  Every table represented the following cancers: leukemia, prostate, colon, breast, myeloma, lymphoma, kidney, lung, bone, pancreatic, stomach and childhood. Decorated with candies of that particular color and notecards with the names of victims and statistics associated with that illness, every table had a purpose to educate and honor.  The drink menu also corresponded by color.

Also, wrapped in tiny scrolls were the previews to my first novel, appropriately revealing the chapter describing from the main character’s perspective on what it was like to live with cancer.

At these tables, ladies sat in their highest heels.  Their shimmering dresses were the perfect complements to their handsome dates.  Wall to wall, there were beautiful people – longtime friends reuniting, aunts and uncles chit chatting in the corners, sporadic flashes from the cameras and the DJ playing crowd favorites. Dj AlterEgo, who's only eighteen years old navigated the emotional celebration with classic R&B songs from the 90s from artists like 112 and then new hits from Beyonce.  His older brother, O'Shane the MC even created a special moment to introduce the song "Dance with My Father" by Luther Vandross which is one of my father's favorite songs.  Tearfully, I danced the in the arms of my godfather instead, to which he promised that he would do the same one day at my wedding.

Ironically, held on the same day as my father's passing, Kisses for Cancer was filled with true sentiment and sincerity.  Our guest speaker was a friend and college classmate of mine, Andrew Prince of Temple University, who revealed his own battle with a rare childhood cancer, which he was diagnosed with at 22 years old.  In a room full of his own peers, the startling admission brought everyone to tears.  It revealed that although, most of us are in our twenties, that feeling of being invincible is simply just a feeling.  By no means is anyone invincible, no matter how times, we escape the growing statistics of cancer.

In addition, we honored two mothers, Joy who recently lost her little girl Jada and Nadine, whose child is still fighting.  Briana, being the little fighter she is, was also in attendance but unfortunately was too sick to stay for the duration of the entire event.  Cancer was definitely in the room with almost 200 people.  The atmosphere was overflowing with a need for healing and comfort.  The guests were asked to raise their hand if they've ever encountered cancer and every single person's fingers reached toward the sky.  It was a sad and necessary reminder that there was work that needed to be done.  We also honored the names of people living and deceased that were sent to us by our guests and donators.  That same week, my college roommate and friend of thirteen years, Stacy McDonald lost her battle with liver cancer.  She too was among the name of angels.  

Nearly 200 guests watched in awe as singer, Carvens Lissaint serenaded them with the famous Sam Cooke song, A Change is Gonna Come.  His voice brought chills down the spine of everyone, as it was eerily reminiscent of our purpose and intention.  We were working toward change and we remained hopeful that with our efforts, a change is indeed coming. We danced, cried, spoke and clamored over handmade goodie bags well into the night.  Our female guests tried on different color lipsticks from the Lip Bar, courtesy of Melissa Butler and kissed canvases to signify the cancer they were affected by. Our guests came from all over the east coast came to support, our farthest visitors flying in from North Carolina and Florida.

Shane Lloyd, Bianca Singleton, Malisa Amado, Me & David Holliday

Everyone enjoyed multi-colored cupcakes and cake pops donated by two wonderful bakers - Jenn and Diana respectively.  These adorable pins in the shape of lips were donated by Kristin Logan and they too were in the different colors associated with cancer. Our artwork was photographed and designed by Shane Lloyd and David Holliday.  Their artistry will forever be linked to a cause bigger than we can even imagine.  Shane also photographed the event and David designed the cover for my first novel, She's Your Daughter Too, which was also inspired by my father's battle.  All in all, with well wishes and smiles, Kisses for Cancer was a success.  It did everything it was intended to do and then some.  Easily, it was one of the best nights of my life.  Though, the motivation for the event was sadly inspired by the death of my father, it was the first time in an entire year, I found purpose with my life, the one that was left behind to still be lived.

Ring the Alarm

His phone was like a fire alarm every time she called.  Get out the house, leave everything behind.  Material things turn into memories but your life will turn into a tragic ending if you don't get out in time.  I wish I could have.  I wish I could have ran out without my clothes, without my phone and whatever else I could have bought back easily but it wasn't that simple.  I had no intention of going anywhere.  I was going to stay, naked as the smoke hovered over me, and with each breath getting harder and harder to breathe.  I was going to stay.  It's hard to say why, not because I can't express it but because it feels insane.  I'll try anyway.

We have the type of sex that epic novels are made of, the type of sex that causes war on stretches of land between two territories that shouldn't even realize the other exists.  And it's the chemistry, the way his breath borrows mine to create a soft hum of ecstasy. We are biologically made for one another.  The taste of his skin would never starve me. My teeth sink into him like a lion's jaw into the soft flesh of a terrified zebra.  I mean, we are animals and I notice it even with my eyes closed.  The wetness of it all pouring down on us like rain in the islands, there's an earthquake coming from my pelvis and it feels good.  It feels really good to shake and tremble on the epicenter of his entire being – I live for moments like that so much so that I'm willing to die for them.  In those moments, I'm pretty sure I pray for pregnancy because I feel guilty if the only purpose of it is to feel good.  We can at least make another human being to replace us, as we are surely destroying ourselves with each stroke.  We will become like ancient ruins of Egypt if we keep it up. Once majestic and filled of purpose – soon just a sight to see, a reminder that something beautiful happened here.  I'm trembling even now at the thought of his grip on my shoulder blades and my grip surrounding his manhood in the pouring desires of my soul.  I couldn't leave even if I wanted to.  While everyone else is worried about the house burning down and while everybody's ears are ringing with the alarm, they don't know what we know.  They don't feel what we feel.  We are the fire.  We are necessary and dangerous at the same time.  We burn.  We suffocate one another in the mahogany of our flesh.  We claw in adoration of one another, a long streak of fingerprints indented in our skin.  If only we were that adamant about escaping.  I want to say that I love him, but love doesn't seem strong enough.  I want to tell you that I dream him, but dreams don't seem real enough.  I want to tell you that I need him, but necessity is not the same as addiction.  I breathe him, even if he's all smoke.   I touch him, even if he's all flame and I burn from the inside out because the alarm is not scary enough.  It's not loud enough.  It's not frightening enough for me to climb off of him.  I would rather die never having told this story than to live and not have a story at all.

I tripped over her shoes when I was walking in and my only consolation was that I would not trip over them upon my exit.  I knew this because I was sure, I would never leave.  Ring the alarm, we're staying.

rhyme

look closely, I lost my happy weight

nothing but bones left and half eaten cake

nothing crazier than the man who made you feel ugly

tell you to come over and stay late

i used to love him till it hurt

loved him till it felt like work

no pay, no vacation

nothing but sick days and faking

sat at my desk with false hope and real tears

more hickeys than passion 

those lonely nights add up to lonely years

everybody keeps reminding me i'm skinny

yeah, i lost 200 pounds of man

dark beard, skin like henny

lightheaded with woe 

getting high from the low

passing him in the street like i don't love that n..gga, so!?

kept frontin like i aint pray for him at night

like i aint call his name to the sky

grabbed a star from the moon 

just to bring me some light 

they don't tell you that love makes you mad 

they don't tell you that with all the love out there, there's nothing like the one you could have had

they don't tell you that

cuz nobody wants to tell you he ain't coming back

Pulling the Trigger

There's this thing about pain.  It's addicting and it wears clothes that makes it look like love.  I know.  Even pain fills out the lonely pockets, tears are better than nothing right?  At least you're feeling something.  Even it's raw and twisting, pain lets you know that you're still there.  Within an inch of your own death, you're just glad to be feeling something.

Being mad at him means he's still there.  For a while you think you're glorifying his presence, but really you're lighting fireworks for the pain.  You welcome it home with open arms.  You throw a party for your own suicide.

It's like a gunshot.  It burns and stays stuck in a piece of flesh you never even paid attention to before.  At first you're in shock; the warm feeling, the leaking feeling - it gets your attention.  Seeing your fingers covered in blood makes you queasy.  You rub it to make sure you're not imagining things.  You realize that it's real.  You're hurt.  You're wounded and you need help.  But that can take a few days, weeks even, maybe months.  Some of you let the bullet stay there and rot inside of you.  By then, the pain becomes normal.  That twinge, the twisting, the discomfort - that becomes part of your routine.   You forget what a day without pain is like.  You are in a constant state of distress.  It makes you cranky.  You're not your usual beautiful self because you're uncomfortable; because you spend so much time pretending that you're ok that you can't be anything else.

Healing seems impossible.  The thought of it seems like a mountain you're not strong enough to climb, not with the wounds you have, not with the kind of pain you endure daily. Healing is beyond the statute of your limitations. 

The first step is to take the bullet out.  Open the wound and remove the obstruction.  It will be messy, you will lose parts of yourself - blood, flesh, and maybe some confidence.  It will humble you.  Put the tattered pieces of metal in a safe place, probably somewhere you don't have to see it every day.  You will come back to it later, trust me.  It's not over though.  Not only do you have to remove the bullet, you have to remove yourself from the path of those inflicting things.  Think back to where you got shot.  Seriously, close your eyes and recall the day you got hit.  Smell the air, look down at your feet, feel the air flow across the back of your neck, listen to the sounds of voices in passing cars and dribbling basketballs.  Do you remember what you were wearing?  Do you remember the way you styled your hair?  Think about it up until the second you got shot, then open your eyes.  Look at yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that you will not return to that place without an armor.  Do not go back until you're strong enough to be an opponent and not just a victim. 

In the meantime, start the healing.  And I don't want to lie to you.  The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from.  The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from.  The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. It's hard to walk again.  Teaching yourself to do the very things you've taken for granted is not easy.  It's discouraging and sometimes you just want to quit.  Being in pain will seem easier than being productive. But the truth is, and it's a hard truth - pain and joy cannot occupy the same house.  So make a decision, do you want to endure pain or create joy?  Do you want to live with what happened to you or truly overcome it?  Stop seeking reprimand from the person who pulled the trigger.  There's no justice like joy.

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For everyone who already has, thank you!  Can't wait to see you!

The UABBQ

Lately, I've been writing on topics completely outside of my comfort zone.  A few weeks ago, I was asked to cover a BBQ.  Now, most people would think, "Who would want to write for a BBQ? Why would a BBQ even need a writer?  Is it really that interesting to write an entire story on?"  But this opportunity wasn't for any regular BBQ. 

This was the UABBQ, thrown by 21 men, all alum from the University at Albany.  This year was the third installment of the consistently growing event filled with free food, liquor, music, goodies and beautiful people.  Just 72 hours after posting the date, 1000 people sent in their RSVPs!  Still, think it's a regular BBQ?  Over the course of the last few weeks, I've conducted 21 interviews, written four articles and currently am preparing to post nearly 40 full interviews as a bonus to the final RECAP.  But that's just behind the scenes.  

What I can't fully describe is actually being in the middle of nearly 2000 people on a hot summer day with music, macaroni and cheese and memories that will last me a lifetime. It's something you just have to see for yourself.  

Octavious Wilder of #TheCommittee presents to you the trailer for the #UABBQ.

He forgot my eyes were hazel

Sometimes I wished him out of my dreams
Haunted by his smile
Curling my body to the words I wished he'd say
I buried the apologies I never thought I'd hear from his lips
We were obituaries now
Words that once had life in them and are now sad reminders of rotting flesh
I remember thinking to myself, God if you can just watch over him for me
If I had three prayers in my pocket, I saved two for him
The last one I kept just in case the first two didn't work
I wanted him to come back
And heal me
Kinda put his hands on the broken promises and put his lips to the tears he left behind
I wanted him to play back my voicemails and see if he could hear me pleading for his return in just a sad hello
There were so many things I wanted to say but only kisses could replace strange words
Only two dancing tongues could express the kind of pain I dared not speak into the universe

I thought to myself why would I let him get a placeholder so pretty
And I kinda tortured myself for being so ugly when I was there
Those are the kind of moments that novels come from 
Where miracles happen and songs come belting out of wombs that once carried babies of parents who no longer loved each other
So sometimes I wished him out of my dreams
I begged God to take him away from me
I would have rather mourned a dead man than to love one who didn't love me anymore
It's exhausting
That kind of unconditional is tiring
It makes it hard to breathe and yet you have to because you don't want the first time he comes back, to see you in a casket
God, I loved him 
And when we woke up, tangled in awkward moments 
He remembered how hazel my eyes were 
and for a second, I think he loved me again.

To the Creatives

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

Steve Jobs

Your Questions Answered

Have you subscribed to TassikaLloydPR@gmail.com yet?!  If not, hurry up.  Send in your full name, mailing address and any questions you have regarding my first novel! 

Catch up here to get some insight on the main character.

1. Is this a coming of age story? And is it loosely based on the author's own experiences?

The entire story is a longitudinal observation of a young woman over the span of 10+ years so she definitely comes into her age and prompts other women to do the same.  She also serves as a guide for women coming into their own age.  We have several "comings" in our lifetime but I think this story addresses the primary one - the delicate stage between puberty and what we find out later to be 'senseless passion.'  That's a rough spot to navigate  and because that's where the book takes place, it's safe to say, this is definitely a coming of age story.

Everything that comes from me is based on my experiences, but that doesn't always make it my story.  That sounds crazy but think of it this way, the things I've done or said - those are mine.  But the things that I've seen or heard from others don't necessarily belong to me but that's still an experience.  The book itself is based on my world and doesn't always include my personal participation in it.  It could have been my homegirl or her boyfriend but I think it's almost a compliment when people think everything is based on me because that means I've done my job as a writer.  I've made it so real that it sounds like I'm recalling a memory instead of just throwing some arbitrary thoughts together.  I wish I could take the credit for living a life worth writing a tell-all for but I can only take the credit for being creative.

3.  When is the book going to be finished?

It's finished my love.

3. Do we have a release date for Dylan yet?

Yes!

4. When is the novel being released?

On Dylan's birthday.

5. How much is the book?

I have absolutely no idea.  What do you think is a reasonable price?

6. What is the process in ordering it?

These are really good questions.  That's up to the publisher though.  From what I hear, the goal is to make it available on its own website as well as other websites that offer E-books.  I guess it all depends on where the consumers want to buy it.  And I mean there's always the possibility that I'll pop up in your neighborhood and surprise people with the opportunity to purchase it on sight.  Keep your fingers crossed!

7.  Is Dylan and her story based off a real life situation or person?

Yes and no.  Dylan is a completely fictional character so she's not based on any one person.  I literally constructed a woman I would want to have a drink with or go get my nails done with.  Her story is based on several things and people.  Her story is really a culmination of the important (and very real) topics relevant to womanhood - loss, love, betrayal, faith, family, etc.  Ooh, I'm giving too much away, but yes and no.  

8. What inspired you to write a novel?

You.

9. Is it a self help book?

I get this question a lot and I giggle every time.  I always want to say no because when I think of self help, those instructional books like "How to get a man in 10 days, step 1..." come to mind.  But it's time to say yes.  It is a self help book in that it helps you face yourself and the decisions you make as a friend, a partner, and most obviously a human being.  I think people will find themselves reading and relating to subsequently ask themselves, how could I do it differently the next time?  More than help, it's a healing narrative.  The intention to help and guide is there.  It's definitely the motive.

10.  What's one thing you hope I will learn from reading your book?

How to love others from a place of purpose instead of possession.

Ripe with Discomfort

He wanted to just be comfortable.  I told him, love is outside of the comfort zone.  It was as if he wanted to sketch Sunday sunsets with his fingertips, while rocking back and forth on our porch.  Maybe he wanted to drive the minivan to our son's soccer games and go apple picking in the fall.  Those things sound comfortable, they even sound beautiful.  Maybe one day, I will do them all, maybe I won't do any of them.  They sound like comfortable things, like tamed waves and bridled horses.  They sound like fair weather and perfect body temperatures - all beautiful and necessary things but it doesn't seem that my love operates that way.  

My love is fever.  It is a boastful, crashing wave that slams into the shore for more abuse. The salt and the sand mixing into the grainy gray areas called "feelings we just don't know what to do with."  My flaws be the jellyfish.  Sometimes they sting, but most of the time, you just enjoy seeing them up close. 

I am the tug and pull of the ocean, you know, kinda arching my back to the moon, glistening under its light and sh.t.  Yes, touch me like that there.  Pull my hair like that.  Yank my head back to find my mouth on top of yours.  Let the horses run full stampede into your chest.  That's what your heartbeat sounds like in my head.  You take up so much room in soul, I have no appetite for the scrumptious, just the necessary.  When I take the time to describe what loving you feels like, none of that sounds comfortable.  It doesn't sound easy like Saturday morning pancakes.  I want to push you to greatness and I want you to pull me from the depths of myself.  I want to fill in the rest of your sleeve because I want to be the only person who remembers what your naked looks like.  I want you to peel my tattoos off because you want to see the scars I was hiding under them so bad.  I mean, this just doesn't seem comfortable.  It doesn't seem easy but for you, I would move out of my comfort zone.  Rip the lease up, pay a ridiculous amount of rent just to live on the edge of your love, on the cusp of my own sanity and on the line where Heaven begins to descend onto Earth.  I want to live there and love you there for an uncomfortable eternity.  But you want to be comfortable and that's the one thing I do not have to offer you.