Art Basel Miami 2015

I’m no hypebeast. I don’t mind being terribly behind on trends. I don’t need up-to-the-minute updates. I like to think that I could live off the grid if necessary. I’m the type of person that likes to wait for the hype to settle, like dust after a storm. I don’t want other people’s opinions to spoil experiences for me. I haven’t seen a single episode of Game of Thrones, and I don’t care! Yeah, I’m THAT person. I CAN wait to vet all your movie and music suggestions and be 3-4 years behind, 3-4 years from now.

In the spirit of having just watched all the Harry Potter movies, I present to you my overview of Art Basel Miami 2015!

For an extended weekend (12/3 – 12/6) artists and observers flock the city of Miami to host and attend an array of art-focused events. The jewel of this weekend is the maze of instillations housed at the Miami Beach Convention Center. Millions of peices, prices, and people of interest get  together to sample the labor fruit salad of countless aspiring and established artists.

Thursday night I attended Swizz Beatz’s Casa Bacardi House Party. Each night featured a different lineup and I was fortunate enough to attend the opening night with Alicia Keys.It was SENSATIONAL! Hot – and unbeknownst to me outdoors – but sensational! I saw Saun Ross, Sevyn Streeter, Beyonce’s stylist Ty Hunter and Angela Simmons! I was at arms length but couldn’t manage to say anything. Poot.

Friday night I attended this…

 It too, was sensational. I love virtually any opportunity to enjoy the company of other carribeans. Put that with art and food trucks; it’s my idea of cultural overload! Wining. Wukkin’ up. Works of art. I bumped into a few friends and IG celebs. I MET ESTELLE!

Saturday was a mashup. I met up with friend and stylist Wise Kouture and took the convention center by force!She made a vlog!  Here’s the link! 

After that we went to the Yeelen Gallery for an event that showcased the works of black female artists and highlighted many of the socio-economic perils we face.

 I met Tico Armand (IG:@iamtico) a model, style icon, and just generally phenomenal black woman!

The weekend was moving. I felt so many feels.

I made a vid!

In parting I leave you with this… Free art!


Roze Goes (Née Nancy)

Footer new

Freedom Fighter

Who will fight for me? With balled fists and hoarse throats? For my restless spirit, my tired smile. Who will wake every morning and tend to my bruised heart; whispering reassurances across its weakened valves, pushing blood to my cold fingers and toes. Who everyday remind me of what I deserve; spinning a fairy tale web of my prince over the horizon? Who will issue me my badges of honor for fighting valiantly through every heartbreak? Who will work tirelessly to put together my sharp jigsaw puzzle pieces with darting eyes and bloodied fingers? I will; quietly and reluctantly. Trying hard to forget that this isn’t the first time. I would rather leave them broken and irreparable. If stay brokenhearted there can be no heart to break. I paint the picket signs and hang the barbed wire you crawled through to get here. I refill the moat with unimaginable bloodthirsty beasts. An inevitable enterprise, an exercise in futility. I undo myself each night. Unlock the doors and crack the windows, let you in every time. Faceless invader with big hands and kind smile. Rob me. Take everything. My love is not for me. A renewable resource. My threshold so high that I sweeten my tears with coffee. I will fight, and I will lose. perforated armor and empty grenades. I will fight for me, and I will lose with all my heart.

Are You Happy?

I am not unhappy. Moderately depressed from time to time, yes, but not UNhappy. I don’t shun smiles or darken my windows with black velvet curtains while considering tattooing on my eyeliner (although that would save me time). I just refuse to lie. There’s nothing wrong with being unhappy, so turn your smile upside down if that’s what you feel. Don’t Disney Channel censure yourself  with glittery duct tape to make others comfortable. Forget FUCK others! Smart people are often unhappy, or find fewer moments to smile, but the moments in between are GOLDEN! I would have made a terrible cheerleader, I’m certain of it. But I still could have tried. I still should have gone to a tryout and maybe I wouldn’t have been a completely horrible base; perhaps an awkwardly tall flyer. Or maybe the petite blonds at my high school would have made fun of my frizzly brown hair. Maybe I would have cried. But I’ll never know now, because smart people don’t take unnecessary risks. They don’t open themselves to fresh hurts. We just keep picking at old scabs; sojourning nightly to cemeteries to exhume fresh skeletons to populate our closets. But I take heart in my real smiles, my true laughs that start deep in the earth’s core and travel up my feet. They shake my insides, tingle my spine, and come orgasming out of my mouth. THOSE are the best. I am not unhappy. I just happen to spend 6/10 of most days deep in contemplation, turning and turning over the mechanisms of this world, terrified by its possibilities.  Living lies that are not my own  and experiencing an algorithm of emotions. This phrase alone is incalculable. I start as a prisoner in my bed, shackled by my tears, and wardened by Netflix, then suddenly I’m free. Pardoned by a selfish ray of Shawshank Redemption. I am not unhappy. Happiness isn’t two monochromatic poles, it’s a spectrum.You’re just thinking about it wrong.  At any moment I can live on any of the 50 shades of archipelago grey  in between. I am not UNhappy. Or happy. At least not all the time. Does that answer your question?

Good Morning!

What sunrise would look like if you lived on Pride Rock… I guess.

I do some of my foggiest thinking this time of day. Still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep lurking in my periphery. Fiercely clinging to the whimsy of dreams I only half remember. Today I am catapulted into positivity by an otherwise unrecognizable well-rested and well-read Roze. John Legend can say it better than I.

On the flip-side, so can Phil Wade. (hopefully this will help you shake the sleepies) Start at 2:20!

This morning I read Job chapter 35 and a few pages from a book called “How to Be Happy Dammit: A Cynic’s Guide to Spiritual Happiness“.  Go check it out, it’s full of all kinds of sarcastic motivation; complete with anecdotes and examples. If Oprah says it’s legit then your opinion is not needed.

Also, I’m wondering when my alarm clock decided to turn over a new leaf? It’s not the same loud annoying ratchet alarm clock it used to be. It used to feel like a hammer against my skill when I was a freshman, now it’s a soft polite knock at the foot of my bed. Maybe I’m growing up. Maybe I want to get up and start my day; conquer a few worlds, enslave foreign lands and pillage them for their natural resources. (No, wait that was Avatar)

I have an idea for new alarm clocks. When the preset time arrives, your alarm clock should blare a motivational playlist you created while shouting inspirational messages. [plays “Good Morning” by John Legend while screaming “YOU LOOK REALLY TALL TODAY!!!”]

Welp, anywho, these are just ideas. Here’s some of my morning playlist (DONT JUDGE ME!):

alarm clocks and eye boogers,


Oh and this man with the sexy accent makes some good points (while eerily looking like Harry Potter)

Woke Up in Tears…

Clutching hard to these lasts fragments of a dream like a fistful of glitter in the wind. Cheeks red and eyes puffy, face still sticky and tear-stained. I’m trying to pinpoint it. This morning I feel like a collage of vacation photos; space-fillers for an actual memory, actual feelings. I feel like big kool-aid smiles fixed in waxy Polaroids, of family reunions I didn’t attend. I feel like a drifter in my own life; stopping occasionally to observe others feeling, appreciating and living theirs. Standing in the face of my own honesty, the abyss looks into me. I just keep singing my version this one lil’ Drake line (Doing it Wrong) “Cry if you need to, but I can’t stay to hear you, it’d be the wrong thing to do. Cause you say ‘I love you.’ and I’ll end up lying, and say I love you too.” I don’t feel like something is missing. I feel missing. But not important enough to trouble your milk cartons, to annoy you with Facebook posts of a young girl missing, but too old to be lost.  Have you seen me? Yes, I’m sure you have. But I haven’t… not for a while.

Can I Have an Aaliyah Moment?

Can I come over? Come over… to see you tonight? Nights like these make me wish I had a single bed. That other side ain’t nothin but mockery. To press my forehead up to yours. Sappy eskimo kisses. Inhale kisses on your collarbone and exhale a warm embrace with hands wandering my thighs. And we’ll breathe like that every night; slow and easy.

Poem for a Poet

I used to think you were so expressive, so abstract, so prosaic. I could hardly meet your gaze on those few opportunities when we did speak. All those things made me admire you. Now I hold my own and realize that you’re all those things but you’re also a flawed, beautiful, work in progress like me. And it’s those things that make me desire you.