R.I.P. Willie Davis (1940-2010)

Rest in peace, Willie.

[William Henry] Davis, known as “3-Dog” for his uniform number and his speed on the bases, was a key member of outstanding Dodger teams during the 1960s that won World Series titles in 1963 and ’65 and the National League pennant in ’66. He batted .305 or higher for three consecutive seasons beginning in 1969.

And he still has more hits, extra-base hits, triples, runs scored, at-bats and total bases than any Dodger during their years in Los Angeles starting in 1958.

Red.

(write about your favorite color)

Red is the color I want to be.

Red reaches its roots down into the speckles of clay in my skin. So when I wear certain red things, it blends and merges into the message I want to live. My body burns red when I want basic things, like water, like someone to scratch an inaccessible itch, like when something requires overexertion.

Red gets a bad reputation even though its synonyms and modifiers are seductive. Scarlet. Crimson. Rose. Fire engine. Cherry. Apple. Red delicious is the juicy truth and should be the crisp mouthful for the color.

Lips can be red delicious, juicy and fragrant, pouty and curved and open.

Blood is a cool blue when everything is fine and it’s in the body. But once the real stuff starts going down and it’s time to hit the air, blood turns shades of red and brown. Red and brown warnings, puddles, life and cleansing. Earth and lava. Red, red, red.

Revelations of personal life turn people red. Overly abrasive contact turns skin red. A light skinny dip into death brings the red to the surface. Red is the go-to color for regret, for shame, for burning, for sadness, for sensation.

Red fuels propaganda poem and love. Red drumbeats form heartbeats inside the chest. Red: the pulse of everything; red: the color of desire.

I want to be red, yes.

reflection time!

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer. The dictionary, a new word, a voyage, an encounter, a talk on the street, a book, a phrase learned.

– Anais Nin

Periods of redefinition are the most difficult. People start flailing and creating words for things that have always been around. They move and bulldoze over the efforts of other people because they are afraid to sit still, to observe, and to acknowledge the works of those who came before them. They don’t even want to acknowledge the works of those who stand next to them.

Is it natural to fear an idea that to make feminism more inclusive, we need to think of all the entities involved as living beings? Logically, instinctively, the answer would be no. But in practice, the answer sounds like a belabored, protracted “Weelllll…”

And that’s often when I stop listening. The second I hear, “And we need to start putting sugar in our coffee,” in full ignorance of all the sugar cane and coffee bean by-products that have been mixed and blended for a good long while before this person tried it and announced it to the planet, “Hey, this might taste pretty damned good,” I stop listening.

I question anti-essentialism that brandishes a conquistador flag over trodden intellectual and activist soil. I try not to answer my question with obscenities. I avoid news stories that reinforce old stereotypes with recombinations of new technologies to look new. I avoid scholars that reinforce old biases with recombinations of old information to look new.

I am currently doing the very act I indict.