When I hear you howl|
I hear you inside me|
I hear you ghosts talking

about yesterday’s melody|
You dream about yesterday’s fatuus
slow as today’s coming close
as me meeting sunrise’s dust|

Has already been done|

So much so I’m walking
for my turns of nothing
but nothing never keeps
never coming getting
getting even with nothing
but my two tacos, just
a hole that hungers
that permeates a want
that thinks about getting closer|

And when I get closer|
I watch what will tip me over
running over, in a splendorous lie|
If you can, if you will, I dare the mirage|

Calypso Sally live on the interwebs tomorrow night!

Live tomorrow, Wednesday, August 31 at 8:00pm, I, Calypso Sally, will be spinning some dope tunes on Washington Heights Free Radio (WHFR) Broad Strokes. It’s gonna be a boombastic-tellyuh-fantastic night, since I’ll be flooding WHFR’s stream with the freshest hip-hop tracks, showcasing women rappers (even when they’re not categorized as such). I think they’re real, and have the ovaries to play by their own rules. As scandalous as it will get, they have a message of not being afraid to take on the status-quo in their own ways of expressing, class conscious, feminist, genderqueer aesthetics…

Anywhoo, for those of you that don’t know,  I have a radio show called Broad Strokes, and it streams live off the web every last Wednesday of the month. My dj name is Calypso Sally, but I don’t just play Kaiso, lol.

I try to play a broad range of genres, stretching from indie rock, pop, alternative, noise rock, hip hop, reggae, dance hall, metal, calypso, funk etc.  It’s sort of a mixed bag.  I also have live acoustic performances.

Check out the live in studio session of Holy Moly! this past June, HERE.

These guys are mad talented, and really down to earth folks. Their tunes make me want to stomp my feet and drink some gin, and as you will discover from the broadcast, I don’t like gin, hee, hee. I can’t wait for their record to drop!

Bringing you stories, live events, and much more, WHFR tries and remains independent of any corporate sponsorship.  So, if you like what WHFR is doing, you can donate by contacting them at info@whfr.org.  DIY forever baby!

Broad Strokes’s Schedule:

  • September 28th, Calypso Sally spins, the first women, fronting and/or backing bands.
  • October 26th, Teletextile plays live acoustic set at WHFR’s studio.
  • November 30th, a first listen/live interview of the west coast band, Let Fall The Sparrow.

If you’re in a band or you know a band and or singer/song writer that would like to do a show, contact me at: roarplanet@gmail.com.

I’m in Trouble!

If anything, what tonight has taught me is that I depend too much on an unreliable device, and most frightening of all is that my memory isn’t as sharp as it use to be.

I wanted to say it’s because I’ve gotten lazy, which is possible, but when you’re kinda both a visual/audio person it is sort of suspect, especially when most things today entertain both simultaneously without having a huge satellite dish on your roof (as a kid I always thought that the peeps who had huge satellite dishes were either trying to communicate with the dead and/or aliens) you just need to know how to work a damn handheld device (yeah, that sounds dirty).

I googled memory loss, because I freaked out that I couldn’t remember an address I saw in my email enough times that even a five year old would remember (okay maybe not a five year old, but whatever).

And of course smoking cigarettes came up, and of course I suddenly hear the stern warnings of my doctor who refuses to call me X, but prefers XYZ which just adds to the sternness of her tone because the only person who called me XYZ was my mom, and it usually meant I was in trouble. Which reminds me of this song by Turbo Fruits, but I’m totally detouring by association because I’m hooked on cigarettes, and I don’t want to deal. Also I’m very bored, which means I blah, blah, blah, and smoke some more. Maybe I should take-up a sport… Ugh.


I’m a part of your syntactic voice
that speaks to you when you’re
alone and wanting a God to save you.

I’m a part of your sentence
that brawls a branch you crawl on for
survival, the one you call onto
when each and everyone forgot
your name, building your totems.

I’m a part of your debt
that you forgot existed
and want to bury with gold
want to repay me with sterile isolation.

I’m a part of your secrets
that beckons me near afraid
you’re the intruder in the dark
that grew apart from me.


We were brave
letting in a thought
letting in a memory
of your face we touched
let an idea be entirety
dance in front of us…

analyze this softness
one you can’t predict…

Fire Outs!

Don’t you remember the first time
oh but I reminisce when we didn’t know
what we were doing, but doing it anyway.

What happened?
Did the fire burn out?
Even as I carry a cause
so burns a joyousness.

When I look at you
as I speak in tongues
when we’re together

it hurts surrendering
to the vanishing pitch
mixtapes with our own voices

thoughts gathering together
it hurts surrendering to waves
crashing in, to an exuberant boom
promise of a spark extinguishing.

Grain of Sand

Strands of hair, blowing in your face: own your way
reflect your cyclosis directions, a translation wanting
to mend, it twist and bends to a surrendering shoot
tell me where last you’ve cast your spell
tell me who last uprooted your growth
whip your ends into an eventual murmur
trembles, typify…


lips taste of a soft invitation
after all lips are begging of a request
to kiss you there, there, and here
where you least expect it, where you
want to be touched most of all
where you are center center
and the spotlight makes you come
as you’re electric with each strand of
hair that stands up, now with a tremble
you want more, but can’t bear your wail
being exposed, in front of your armor
a culture of selves pirouetting a levity
jigsaws into place, a pattern that is unseasoned
one that burns with desire, one that is swept up.


Be Rid of You

You can keep your sentiments
and all your love attachments.

You can keep your loneliness too
because I have my own.

You can keep everything that draws your face
or expects you coming through the door

I’m going to free myself of you, all of you
I will free myself of you and all your things

that lingers alone and anticipates
when I don’t need them anymore

I will free myself, free myself
free myself from you!


not flowers with their imagined hearts
not tending to exploding boobs on a brutish hand
not fabricating in my favorite telenovela
all made-up like an ironic trophy wife
does nothing but make me
miss all the sex…

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
before you claim your discovery
covering your stems, trampling your pieces
filling them with the sum of this sickle tree.

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
so I can feel by some miracle
I can feel like I can touch you

before we’re both filled with this fruitless mirage
this purposeful pursuit for the world’s perfection
where everything seen is judged whole.