"The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others."
Friedrich Nietzsche
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It's not that deep. But it's far from superficial.
About Me
- Rosalind Christine Lloyd
- New York, New York, United States
- I started this blog as a showcase for my writing and my process but also to provide my personal perspective on life, love and politics. My genre is contemporary fiction, avoiding predictable, suffocating labels such as chick-lit, black lit, romance, etc. although I don't mind my work being called "alternative." My writing career started over 15 years ago. I worked primarily as a freelance journalist for independent lifestyle publications. But organically, I knew my writing life had more of a creative spirit. So an erotic piece written under a pseudonym for a politically racy, San Francisco based publication jumpstarted this outlet. Today, my short stories are featured in over 15 erotic anthologies.
EROTIC EXCERPTS (Just a Sample)
Reviews
Twitter Updates
These are a few of my Favorite Links
- The Passions Tumblr Blog
- The Passions of Lust Noir
- LUST NOIR at Erotic New York City
- My Facebook Page
- Rainbow Blak
- Erotic New York City
- Charlie Vázquez: Queer Latino Esoteric
- My Feet Only Walk Forward: Brandon Lacy Campos
- Rachel Kramer Bussel: Cupcakes Take the Cake
- Nathan James: Author and Activist
- Chuma Spirit Magazine
- Nakia Henry
- Bully Bloggers
- Tranifesto
Black Poli Blogs
Cultural Blogs
Widgetbox Blog Network: GLBT
Queer Blogs
Righteous Blogs
Craft Blogs
Music Review for 4daSoul by Rosalind Christine Lloyd: Joyful by AYO
Review: Joyful by Ayo
Her light falsetto bounces against a discreetly folksy, acoustic guitar riff. It wraps itself around the rhythm with a lusty innocence. A bongo softly keeps time. Underneath is a cosmopolitan vibe that happens to be distinctly bohemian yet uniquely original. It's that right amount of musically affecting, neosoulful, hippy chic that's perfect to play at your next roof-top party. Just imagine: it's a hot summer night. Tea lights flicker against a moonlit sky. The aroma of grilled jerk intertwined with Nag Champa is thick in the air. The mojitos/Patron/Red Stripe is bountiful. The crowd is eclectically beautiful, visually and spiritually. The mood is tight. Ayo's Joyful is playing in the background against the festive hum. Her sound is the type that will provoke you to stop in mid-conversation and ask, referring to the music, "who is that?" She is Joy Olasunmibo Ogunmakin, better known as Ayo (the Nigerian translation of Joy). Ayo has called the mélange of influences that is her sound, "regg-afro-folk." I would liberally add a healthy dose of soul in the mix to describe the divine offerings from this singer/songwriter. You haven't heard anything exactly like her before, but if you were to toss her comparisons into a musical blender, add Sade, Lauren Hill, Tracy Chapman, Erykah Badu, Joan Armatrading, Corinne Anne Bailey with just a touch of Minnie Rippleton to the recipe, you might be pretty close. A musical and media sensation abroad, the buzz has already begun for this sultry songstress. Initially released in 2006 in Europe, Joyful reached critical success in France where she achieved double platinum status with near similar results in her native Germany as well as in Italy and Switzerland. It was released in the States in late 2007. Born to a gypsy Mother and Nigerian father, her cultural roots are richly apparent in the work as you feel yourself being globally transported through Africa, Europe, the Caribbean and even the southern United States. Think of Joyful as a musical vacation and Ayo as your ambassador. It's definitely a fly journey into love in all its many splendid and often painful forms. Speaking of love, Ayo explores this four letter word unabashedly, acknowledging its often challenging trappings. "Down on My Knees," the first single released is a solid introduction. Begging for someone's love never sounded so sweet and yet so raw and so naked at the same time. In "How many times," Ayo tells her moody lover, "how many times I go to sleep, I saw you dying in my dreams?" Her voice cleverly belies the real pain her message is conveying. In "And it's suppose to be Love," she suggests you "body slam your lover up against the wall, fill them with regret," to a light, bouncy reggae beat. You find yourself questioning the innuendo as you feel yourself moving slow and sensually to the music. It's that kind of melodious brilliance that makes Joyful a must have in your musical library. I'm looking forward to the release of her second album, Gravity at Last, scheduled for Fall 2008. I get the feeling the future will be beyond joyful for this promising new artist.
www.myspace.com/ayo
Her light falsetto bounces against a discreetly folksy, acoustic guitar riff. It wraps itself around the rhythm with a lusty innocence. A bongo softly keeps time. Underneath is a cosmopolitan vibe that happens to be distinctly bohemian yet uniquely original. It's that right amount of musically affecting, neosoulful, hippy chic that's perfect to play at your next roof-top party. Just imagine: it's a hot summer night. Tea lights flicker against a moonlit sky. The aroma of grilled jerk intertwined with Nag Champa is thick in the air. The mojitos/Patron/Red Stripe is bountiful. The crowd is eclectically beautiful, visually and spiritually. The mood is tight. Ayo's Joyful is playing in the background against the festive hum. Her sound is the type that will provoke you to stop in mid-conversation and ask, referring to the music, "who is that?" She is Joy Olasunmibo Ogunmakin, better known as Ayo (the Nigerian translation of Joy). Ayo has called the mélange of influences that is her sound, "regg-afro-folk." I would liberally add a healthy dose of soul in the mix to describe the divine offerings from this singer/songwriter. You haven't heard anything exactly like her before, but if you were to toss her comparisons into a musical blender, add Sade, Lauren Hill, Tracy Chapman, Erykah Badu, Joan Armatrading, Corinne Anne Bailey with just a touch of Minnie Rippleton to the recipe, you might be pretty close. A musical and media sensation abroad, the buzz has already begun for this sultry songstress. Initially released in 2006 in Europe, Joyful reached critical success in France where she achieved double platinum status with near similar results in her native Germany as well as in Italy and Switzerland. It was released in the States in late 2007. Born to a gypsy Mother and Nigerian father, her cultural roots are richly apparent in the work as you feel yourself being globally transported through Africa, Europe, the Caribbean and even the southern United States. Think of Joyful as a musical vacation and Ayo as your ambassador. It's definitely a fly journey into love in all its many splendid and often painful forms. Speaking of love, Ayo explores this four letter word unabashedly, acknowledging its often challenging trappings. "Down on My Knees," the first single released is a solid introduction. Begging for someone's love never sounded so sweet and yet so raw and so naked at the same time. In "How many times," Ayo tells her moody lover, "how many times I go to sleep, I saw you dying in my dreams?" Her voice cleverly belies the real pain her message is conveying. In "And it's suppose to be Love," she suggests you "body slam your lover up against the wall, fill them with regret," to a light, bouncy reggae beat. You find yourself questioning the innuendo as you feel yourself moving slow and sensually to the music. It's that kind of melodious brilliance that makes Joyful a must have in your musical library. I'm looking forward to the release of her second album, Gravity at Last, scheduled for Fall 2008. I get the feeling the future will be beyond joyful for this promising new artist.
www.myspace.com/ayo
Music Review for 4daSoul by Rosalind Christine Lloyd: Once Again by John Legend
Review: Once Again by John Legend
John Legend’s highly anticipated second release Once Again is a better than respectable return to the music scene. It’s almost a period piece that reaches back into certain roots of soul music mood sampling from your parents and grand parents crates. It makes you wonder, how can a young brother reach back and reinvent a sound so connected with a certain era and make it fresh again? Get it, again??
Flashback to 2001. I’m at SOB’s feeding my pseudo black rock fix for headliner Res. What stood out most about that evening was the opening act – this brother did a set on keyboards whose performance even then was both elegant and understated. There was something about Legend that was not shamelessly obvious. It was likely the voice: velvety smooth, with an underlying potency; like a nicely aged single malt scotch that doesn’t busy itself with competing with the Cosmpolitan’s and the Hennessey’s of the world. Legend made a lasting impression even then.
Eight years later, with Once Again, the studio release singles like “Save Room,” “Heaven,” “Another Again,” and “PDA” is everything you want in Legend. Solid works with their own identity, the velvet balladeer adding his hallmark vocal twist. Overall it feels and sounds like lounge/psychedelic soul. “Save Room,” in particular, reminds me of Burt Bacharach and Liberace on a Viagra and steroid cocktail all rolled up into one suave, cool-like-that package. You can almost see the classy candelabra all ablaze atop of his grand piano, John rocking a polyester shirt wide open with a fat gold chain and medallion hanging low while tickling the ivories like he was born to do it. He’s got the understated sexy down, a voice that could melt ice caps. It’s a sound that doesn’t mind pushing the limits a little, in a fickle music scene where artists often fear taking creative risks. But my favorites on this work is probably not with the status quo. In “Slow Dance,” Legend’s silky delivery is magical against the background doo-wop-esque vocals. “Each Day Is Better,” also has that 60-ish vibe working for it channeling maybe the 4 Tops and Sam Cooke. With the concept of “again” being the theme, the single “Again,” moves me like only Legend can, expressing his romantic inability to resist that irresistible love, as he sings “accusations fly like bullets do,” his piano work flying, painting an intricate musical picture that assures us that any pleasure is worth all the pain. It’s clearly a matter of taste if you are willing to fine tune yourself to a somewhat sophisticated effort like Legend has offered with Once Again, a welcomed addition in today’s soulful R&B hemisphere.
# # #
John Legend’s highly anticipated second release Once Again is a better than respectable return to the music scene. It’s almost a period piece that reaches back into certain roots of soul music mood sampling from your parents and grand parents crates. It makes you wonder, how can a young brother reach back and reinvent a sound so connected with a certain era and make it fresh again? Get it, again??
Flashback to 2001. I’m at SOB’s feeding my pseudo black rock fix for headliner Res. What stood out most about that evening was the opening act – this brother did a set on keyboards whose performance even then was both elegant and understated. There was something about Legend that was not shamelessly obvious. It was likely the voice: velvety smooth, with an underlying potency; like a nicely aged single malt scotch that doesn’t busy itself with competing with the Cosmpolitan’s and the Hennessey’s of the world. Legend made a lasting impression even then.
Eight years later, with Once Again, the studio release singles like “Save Room,” “Heaven,” “Another Again,” and “PDA” is everything you want in Legend. Solid works with their own identity, the velvet balladeer adding his hallmark vocal twist. Overall it feels and sounds like lounge/psychedelic soul. “Save Room,” in particular, reminds me of Burt Bacharach and Liberace on a Viagra and steroid cocktail all rolled up into one suave, cool-like-that package. You can almost see the classy candelabra all ablaze atop of his grand piano, John rocking a polyester shirt wide open with a fat gold chain and medallion hanging low while tickling the ivories like he was born to do it. He’s got the understated sexy down, a voice that could melt ice caps. It’s a sound that doesn’t mind pushing the limits a little, in a fickle music scene where artists often fear taking creative risks. But my favorites on this work is probably not with the status quo. In “Slow Dance,” Legend’s silky delivery is magical against the background doo-wop-esque vocals. “Each Day Is Better,” also has that 60-ish vibe working for it channeling maybe the 4 Tops and Sam Cooke. With the concept of “again” being the theme, the single “Again,” moves me like only Legend can, expressing his romantic inability to resist that irresistible love, as he sings “accusations fly like bullets do,” his piano work flying, painting an intricate musical picture that assures us that any pleasure is worth all the pain. It’s clearly a matter of taste if you are willing to fine tune yourself to a somewhat sophisticated effort like Legend has offered with Once Again, a welcomed addition in today’s soulful R&B hemisphere.
# # #
Live Music Review for 4daSoul by Rosalind Christine Lloyd
Review: Monet LIVE at Symphony Space
Her fiery highlights were blown out like dancing rays of sunshine. Monet was positively glowing. Draped in an elegant, long flowing sheer piece that resembled a robe, it was like she was a high priestess preparing to hold her own personal version of a neo soul-jazz-vigil for a select few, for a scintillating one hundred and ten minutes. You got the sense that something was beginning to unfold within her. The possibilities for the evening seemed endless by the way she embraced her audience, her band and her own life and this infectious energy set the tone for a special summer evening at Symphony Space in New York City. The moment she touched the stage, Monet was warmed up. You could tell. Her chakras were radiating great energy and the crowd was ready to receive some of the harmonious blessings she was about to serve.
A consummate professional, Monet pulled together an ensemble of independent artists who are talented in their own right. The band was obviously feeling the crowd, feeling themselves, feeling the mood and feeling Monet. The way they eased into each other effortlessly was the epitome of sheer musical synchronicity. Accompanying her were her musical director Randy Wilson on keyboards, the quintessential Jeff (Family Stand) Smith on sax, the impeccable Mike Hammond on vocals, Chris Eddleton on drums and Calvin Jones on bass; both extraordinary. Tarrah Reynolds (a stunning, yet quiet volcano) was on board as guest violinist/guest vocals and the remarkable and infectious Maya Azucena on guest vocals rounded out the roster. Maybe it was something in the air but this band was cohesively on point, from the opening number to the very end of the show.
Essence, Monet’s debut effort was in full affect. Her instrumental pieces, “Vibacious” and “Spirit,” did what they were meant to do and then some with the horn and flute sections just exploding. Monet’s signature flute work is unquestionably one of her strengths. It flutters, leaps, dips, soars and undulates. And when fused with Jeff Smith’s blazing sax – both numbers became even more powerful when you’re up close to the action.
When Mike and Monet launched into “ooo ooo oh oh ooo ooo oh oh….” the pulse of the room quickened as their voices intertwined cooing softly but persuasively, “it’s a rainy night and there’s no place I’d rather be that with you. You told me, u love me, so here I am. You told me, You need me, let’s start again.” The slightest dissonance in your relationship will call for you to throw this joint on and all might be forgiven…at least for the night. Monet made you feel it’s alright to have a blip on the radar in your relationship and go back and try to make it right. And judging by her smooth delivery, you really feel this artist’s experiences in a live performance. The painful euphoria spread like pure joy all over her. And Hammond was right there, his vocals mingling with Monet’s in a playful chorus that made it no less intense.
But it was the new material introduced in the middle of the show that night, showcased for her most loyal fans that were the highlight of the evening. It was an astoundingly exciting prelude to what we can expect when Awakening is released in January 2009.
Her fiery highlights were blown out like dancing rays of sunshine. Monet was positively glowing. Draped in an elegant, long flowing sheer piece that resembled a robe, it was like she was a high priestess preparing to hold her own personal version of a neo soul-jazz-vigil for a select few, for a scintillating one hundred and ten minutes. You got the sense that something was beginning to unfold within her. The possibilities for the evening seemed endless by the way she embraced her audience, her band and her own life and this infectious energy set the tone for a special summer evening at Symphony Space in New York City. The moment she touched the stage, Monet was warmed up. You could tell. Her chakras were radiating great energy and the crowd was ready to receive some of the harmonious blessings she was about to serve.
A consummate professional, Monet pulled together an ensemble of independent artists who are talented in their own right. The band was obviously feeling the crowd, feeling themselves, feeling the mood and feeling Monet. The way they eased into each other effortlessly was the epitome of sheer musical synchronicity. Accompanying her were her musical director Randy Wilson on keyboards, the quintessential Jeff (Family Stand) Smith on sax, the impeccable Mike Hammond on vocals, Chris Eddleton on drums and Calvin Jones on bass; both extraordinary. Tarrah Reynolds (a stunning, yet quiet volcano) was on board as guest violinist/guest vocals and the remarkable and infectious Maya Azucena on guest vocals rounded out the roster. Maybe it was something in the air but this band was cohesively on point, from the opening number to the very end of the show.
Essence, Monet’s debut effort was in full affect. Her instrumental pieces, “Vibacious” and “Spirit,” did what they were meant to do and then some with the horn and flute sections just exploding. Monet’s signature flute work is unquestionably one of her strengths. It flutters, leaps, dips, soars and undulates. And when fused with Jeff Smith’s blazing sax – both numbers became even more powerful when you’re up close to the action.
When Mike and Monet launched into “ooo ooo oh oh ooo ooo oh oh….” the pulse of the room quickened as their voices intertwined cooing softly but persuasively, “it’s a rainy night and there’s no place I’d rather be that with you. You told me, u love me, so here I am. You told me, You need me, let’s start again.” The slightest dissonance in your relationship will call for you to throw this joint on and all might be forgiven…at least for the night. Monet made you feel it’s alright to have a blip on the radar in your relationship and go back and try to make it right. And judging by her smooth delivery, you really feel this artist’s experiences in a live performance. The painful euphoria spread like pure joy all over her. And Hammond was right there, his vocals mingling with Monet’s in a playful chorus that made it no less intense.
But it was the new material introduced in the middle of the show that night, showcased for her most loyal fans that were the highlight of the evening. It was an astoundingly exciting prelude to what we can expect when Awakening is released in January 2009.
The Collection: List of my Erotic Shorts
“subway 4 play.” Pillowtalk II. Alyson Publications. Editor, Leslea Newman. Spring, 2000.
“deflower.” Hot & Bothered II. Arsenal Pulp Press. Editor, Karen X. Tulchinsky. Winter, 2000.
“In Harm’s Way.” Skin Deep. Alyson Publications. Editor, Nicole Foster. Winter, 2000.
“Spears & Arrows.” Set in Stone. Alyson Publications. Editor, Angela Brown. Fall, 2000.
“In Harm’s Way.” Faster Pussycat. Alyson Publications. Editor, Tammy Stone. Winter, 2001.
“deflower.” Best American Erotica. Simon and Schuster. Editor, Susie Bright. Spring, 2001.
“The Art of Running.” Body Check. Alyson Publications. Editor, Nicole Foster. Fall, 2001.
“razor.” Hot & Bothered III. Arsenal Pulp Press. Editor, Karen X. Tulinksky Fall, 2001.
“Cop-Out.” Bedroom Eyes. Alyson Publications. Editor, Leslea Newman, Spring, 2002
“Cop-Out.” Best Lesbian Erotica. Cleis Publications. Editor, Tristan Taormino. Winter, 2002.
“subway 4 play.” Electric 2. Best Lesbian Erotica. Editor, Nicole Foster. Spring, 2003.
“kim.” Up All Night. Editor, Rachel Kramer Bussell. Winter, 2003.
“Lip Service.” Hot Lesbian Erotica. Editor, Tristan Taormino. Spring, 2005.
“Cop-Out.” Best Lesbian Bondage. Cleis Press. Editor, Tristan Taormino. Fall 2007.
“
“Soror Sister.” Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories. Cleis Press. Editor, Rachel Kramer Bussell. Summer 2009.
"COP-OUT." SHE LETS ME: Best Butch/Femme Erotica. Cleis Press. Editor, Tristan Taormino, 2010.
"deflower." Best of Panic Series. Fireking Press. Editor, Charlie Vazquez, 2010.
POETRY
something about an unmade bed.
by rosalind christine lloyd
There’s something about an unmade bed,
Unrealistic platitudes, feelings left unsaid.
You surprised me with certain revelations that cluttered your head.
Made you lose all your intellectual /emotional cred.
Dead.
Never less than friends,
Never really more.
Ambiguous moments that never seem to end,
Wavering emotions moving to and fro.
*
A Room at the Inn.
Twin windows draped in heavy linen.
A lonely, dusty room, hopeless and dull,
A space of open canvas, with room enough to lull.
Memories of a large, uninviting bed.
Lifeless, musty pillows, a cracked sconce overhead.
Boney mattress covered in cheap chenille.
A little jarring what clandestine ideas reveal.
Anchored by an ancient thriftstore headboard.
The scenarios that are dreamed of when minds are idle and bored.
Midday light reaching in,
The flash of naked sunlight on your skin.
The rush of your kisses drown me with fear,
My dear, my dear, my friend, my dear.
Hungry, quickening caresses,
Raspy whispers assault my ears.
Unreconciled agreements never to confess
Reassuring euphoric, madness quiets all fears.
Your scent soaked fraying, graying sheets.
Remembering the gall of consenting heart beats.
Pressed tightly together,
Within the thickness of a sweaty unrest.
*
Memories of Venetian canals,
The cynicism of your crooked smile.
Proseco soaked minds, numbing inhibitions.
More stolen, drunken kisses, displaying an awkward exhibition.
The warmth of your touch,
Try not to think about it too much.
The violence of your vagueness,
Crushing intensity against my breast.
Must remember to breathe, within the wilderness,
Of your suffocating, nomadic quest.
Uninviting,
Unenlightening,
Unenchanting,
Unforgiving.
Wet regrets,
Must forget,
Empty space,
Must erase.
You handing out such an ambiguous invitation.
Would never dream you possessed the expectation.
Fallen victim to lust mutation,
Lying to myself, calling it consensual, sensual salvation.
Between friends, one would never make that assumption.
To consider that type of breach, to ever think to function,
As if things never happened.
And to think I took the bait.
Self hate.
Cheap thrills.
Wretched, bitter pill.
You stomped trepidatiously on my consensual heart.
Without me, there was no way that you could play that part.
Never said goodbye,
Never said goodbye,
Never said goodbye,
You never said goodbye.
But of course, you did,
In that thing you do, mindlessly sordid
There’s something about an unmade bed,
Unrealistic platitudes, feelings left unsaid.
by rosalind christine lloyd
There’s something about an unmade bed,
Unrealistic platitudes, feelings left unsaid.
You surprised me with certain revelations that cluttered your head.
Made you lose all your intellectual /emotional cred.
Dead.
Never less than friends,
Never really more.
Ambiguous moments that never seem to end,
Wavering emotions moving to and fro.
*
A Room at the Inn.
Twin windows draped in heavy linen.
A lonely, dusty room, hopeless and dull,
A space of open canvas, with room enough to lull.
Memories of a large, uninviting bed.
Lifeless, musty pillows, a cracked sconce overhead.
Boney mattress covered in cheap chenille.
A little jarring what clandestine ideas reveal.
Anchored by an ancient thriftstore headboard.
The scenarios that are dreamed of when minds are idle and bored.
Midday light reaching in,
The flash of naked sunlight on your skin.
The rush of your kisses drown me with fear,
My dear, my dear, my friend, my dear.
Hungry, quickening caresses,
Raspy whispers assault my ears.
Unreconciled agreements never to confess
Reassuring euphoric, madness quiets all fears.
Your scent soaked fraying, graying sheets.
Remembering the gall of consenting heart beats.
Pressed tightly together,
Within the thickness of a sweaty unrest.
*
Memories of Venetian canals,
The cynicism of your crooked smile.
Proseco soaked minds, numbing inhibitions.
More stolen, drunken kisses, displaying an awkward exhibition.
The warmth of your touch,
Try not to think about it too much.
The violence of your vagueness,
Crushing intensity against my breast.
Must remember to breathe, within the wilderness,
Of your suffocating, nomadic quest.
Uninviting,
Unenlightening,
Unenchanting,
Unforgiving.
Wet regrets,
Must forget,
Empty space,
Must erase.
You handing out such an ambiguous invitation.
Would never dream you possessed the expectation.
Fallen victim to lust mutation,
Lying to myself, calling it consensual, sensual salvation.
Between friends, one would never make that assumption.
To consider that type of breach, to ever think to function,
As if things never happened.
And to think I took the bait.
Self hate.
Cheap thrills.
Wretched, bitter pill.
You stomped trepidatiously on my consensual heart.
Without me, there was no way that you could play that part.
Never said goodbye,
Never said goodbye,
Never said goodbye,
You never said goodbye.
But of course, you did,
In that thing you do, mindlessly sordid
There’s something about an unmade bed,
Unrealistic platitudes, feelings left unsaid.
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