Thursday, April 16, 2015

The Nataraj Mundunga Part IV


The Drake picked up more of a partner and it's time to meet Natarsha last major character and get the ole narrative a rolling.

The Mundunga

We aren’t raped in battle.
We either come out the other end with our foes spirits in our service or we leave to join our ancestors.
So, what is this person doing inside me shaking me awake?
What is with his hue?
He’s not wearing a paint people like my sister’s and I imbue with knowledge and power why is he so pale?
I remember now the glance.
There was a rock one that had a very powerful charm attached to it because it went through not just my own but my sister’s defenses, several of whom have the power of scores of ancestors behind them,
Something, one, all, very powerful put me here wherever this is.

The rocking it’s more than this man inside me we’re on a ship.
I look left to a warrior laid out chained feet and hands and I ask him.

“Brother where we are what is this place?”

He was just a baby barely old enough to have his penis cut in the tradition of the male conspiracy we women were not a part of, but he was old enough to recognize what was happening to me and what I was if not who.

“A ship Mundunga” he grunted through broken teeth
“We lost we’re headed across the middle passage”
“We’re all fucked just like you”

A very concise report of our position for someone who had probably only been in a few battles if any, he did know enough to use the title of my position, but he didn’t know if I were healer or mover.

I whisper the syllables that make the vibration that make the wood of this place embrace the water with the love absent from the thing that is performing on my tied up body right now. 

The water on a molecular level no longer recognizes the 99% of the wood that is not just air and as I embrace the idea, the ship we’re on with 30 of these White things I sense and 400 defeated warriors I feel in various stages of disrepair, dives for the bottom of the sea like a raptor bird after a very fat rabbit.

I look left and the young warrior is smiling

“Thank you Mundunga” he mouths

It was the least I can do how we got in this position, defeated broken with me here just.

“Intolerable” I mouth.

The thing on top of me him I have clasped in my legs like a crab. I’m watching him scream out the bubbles of his life, but I’m not done with him even as his lifeless penis is done with me.

I think at him with much intent

“Welcome to eternity”

With the last thoughts on this plane of existence I show him what’s in store for him for we are Mundunga we are in contact with what is was and will be, he will go in service of those to come and until then he’s going to service the ancestors.  They hold games that last millennia just torturing the souls of people that cross over with the vibration I’m imparting to him now.

Oh look it’s hitting him now game on.

I’ll make sure to ask him about it if it hurts in the next world.

When I’m sure I’ve seen the warriors I should of protected in battle over the trial of the water I’ve started I’ll go myself.

I think of the ancestors my direct line of warrior sisters and sages. Will those behind me hear my stories? Will they accept me?

Will I get to play when I get there or will they reject me or put me through another trial, Oh our Creator will I be forced to come back to live another life on Earth even having achieved Mundunga.

The ship has been on the bottom some time now.

The time for daydreams of what will happen are over and its time to face what will with the dignity of not just my office but my ancestors.

My warriors are asleep forever to this plane and at last I can think the words that make the vibrations that end this understanding of time.

The Scientist

The only person who calls me Algebra consistently is Motherdear my Grandmother who the rest of the family calls “Muhdear” but if I were the type of brother to say it like that I wouldn’t have marched across the floor in the 10th grade to bow before Chris the prettiest girl ever and say.

“Milady wouldst thou care to dance”

Loud enough to make sure the laughter and the teasing sent me to the library the last two years in High School, I thought I was being so cool, but that was OK, if I were to be honest I’d say I fell in love with Tolkien before I fell in love with girls and I was and am far better with him than I ever was with them.

My name is Dr. Algebra Perry Davis III and says my title please at 27 they don’t give em away in Cracker Jack boxes and I’m proud.
I asked Motherdear once why the men in my family were named Algebra she told me in her Alabama patois she hits me for trying to imitate that they wanted us to be “smaht lil niggas” she can call me anything she wants including any flavor of nigger and besides whoever named us knew what they were doing.

When the nice White lady sat and tested me she didn’t understand what I meant by I can see functions and numbers. I think now she was shocked a 10 year old Black kid could describe what a function was, but she didn’t say it out loud or anything.  

I didn’t mind taking the test again when she didn’t believe the genius it said. I didn’t even mind taking it again for the State and again for someone else. Heck it got me out of class and it was summer. They didn’t let us play for the smog alerts wouldn’t let us outside to play on the concrete grass they didn’t need water the air was too bad.

My first orgasm came when someone showed me a fractal it was so pornographic it told me her name was Chaka and she wore shiny tap pants like the real one.  I still keep the equation next to my bed and before I TMI let me just state that since im going to be calling women “Milady” in the Information Age its nice math makes me happy.


They’re beautiful and loud with their red heads over vibrant green.  They’re wild and free they fly all around Pasadena. Somebody a long time ago brought some in as pets and they escaped. The climate around here must have really been to their liking.  They must be on their 100th generation of freedom and God has let them in from the desert and given them Pasadena as their Israel.

Pasadena was built by the kind of wealth so vast it doesn’t need to wear a watch because it determines who is late.  Let me set the environment for you.  It is linked to Los Angeles by California and the west’s first freeway what we now call the 110 or Arroyo Seco Parkway, but when it was constructed was known as the Pasadena Freeway.

You might wonder how having the first freeway in America means time waits for you, and let me tell you.  They built it purposefully with looping curves and lovely parks surrounding it. No engineer’s straight line efficiencies for these people.  Driving into Pasadena was meant to be an event and one you went to through beautiful environs and narrow lanes.  Consequently when I was a lad growing up just about every school in the San Gabriel Valley had a missing person from the graduating class who went to fast and plunged into the LA River or missed a curve and slammed into a tree. 

The blocks on this street are wicked long and are an artifact of it’s beginnings as one of the Southlands first millionaires row built by easterners one upping each other in their western retreats.  The names on the mansions read like a who’s who of early 20th century mega-money.  Busch had his first gardens Gamble had a mansion that used no metal fasteners, Wrigley chewed up a huge chunk with a lovely house that’s used as the parade’s headquarters today.

I’m lucky.

The house at the top of Fair Oaks was built like Pasadena was, by money. To actually buy a spot up here like this is way more than my salary or 10 times it can buy.

It has a granny flat I inhabit. The trust that now owns it seemed to die with the old lady whose’ father invented a new way to twist wire hangers. Maybe he was the chemist that made that boom go that much faster. I never hear from them.  I kept meaning to look him up on the net but some new Math article was always more interesting and sometimes scantily dressed.

It began its life after World War I as a horse barn attached to a car’s garage but its location high in the hills of behind Pasadena was choice.
I’ve never had a car and riding a bike downhill to class or downhill to my job was advantageous.
You’re way less tired in the morning when you have to ride your bike around than you are in the evening in hilly Southern California.

“Squawk”, squared even,  from the parrots. It looks in my head like a pointy triangle that calls itself Lenny because I thought of it as squared, and the avian New Israelites wake me from my morning reverie.

I grab my coat, grab my under bike coffee carrier full, and my ultra light racing bike off two hooks on a wall that probably held tack back in the 20’s.

It’s a beautiful day.  Most days are here even when the clouds are cold and grey against the mountains my pad is situated on. I look south and head into Cal Tech where I not only graduated but teach undergraduate mathematics.

Not a bad way to start the day at all.

The Drake

“Don’t tell me Motherfucker I was there” 
Said The Drake in a long distance phone caw to an OverSoul far and near away.
“The Drake threw down all day, fuckin eyeballs, didn’t fuckin have to shake my glass for that sweet eyeball juice to fill my beak, and I got high yes lawd. I was fucked up!” 

“Genghis Khan set out the best feast tha fuck evah!”

“Hey let me hit you back” someone hit a deer, and someone dropped a French fry and a dead fish and someone threw up and spicy Thai food. It’s all so good to The Drake.

Schwartz Malamud one of the few Motherfuckers The Drake can Caw a friend. That nigga was there too at Hurtgen Forest. Oh shit we got high guts all over the place they kept stacking that shit up.  Maybe my nigga had a point the US ARMY puts out some good eats true.

“I know Motherfucker I was there” The Drake Cawed

Hummingbird The Drake stabs it cause the motherfucker thinks he’s so smart.

The Drake is the agent of Karma The Drake was there when those fools made the Dharma. The Drake got a special dispensation from the Creator when he got here The Drake has always been here.

The Drake is all about that Law.

The Drake aint no Lawbird.

Nawl motherfucker that’s so raven, The Drake is that Black sinewy Mandingo Crow joint.
My nigga Schwartz got the Talmud tatted on all his feathers gives no fucks who thinks its wrong.

Caw a nigga bout to go Jay-Z give me a motherfuckin beat.

There is only one Creator man,
Don’t go fucking around making idols and shit worship the One, damn.
Love that creator cause guess what that fool is you
Don’t use God’s name just keep it holy in all you do,
Every tick tock keep tight one day not enough for you,

Honor your before,
Don’t murder motherfuckers out da door,

Don’t cheat motherfucker and you know what I mean
or want the shit that go to a different team,

Prime Directive, Yo
you reap what you sow,
have some fucking integrity and do unto others G.

You’ll know your opponent they gotta wear the colors of their dream
You can’t enslave a soul know what I mean?

“Don’t tell me Motherfucker I was there”


Motherfuckers I hate them more than I hate those fucking hawks they just talk shit never do shit. 
I fly a symphony beating my wings that starts a party in hell.

The Drake would Caw a posse for a hawk maybe see if Schwartz wanna ride shotgun, but for one of those motherfucking little heads below? I could just shit on them or that little nigga on the bike.

The Drake motherfuckers recognize.


“Pops Maxie is hot again” I said into my 2 generations old smartphone
“No I don’t, and I’m on New York Dr., No Pops the freeway part!” to the questions Pops had about the Triple A and why I didn’t ask someone for their hose and some water for my overheating Nissan.

Glancing right I can see good Ole Pasadena High School by looking across a golf course and the idea of the 10 year reunion approaching in a few months filled me with as much loathing as the idea of walking half a mile back and forth to the gas station I can see If I looked in the other direction.

Just when I was about to get up a full funk of steamy Maxie here comes 30 colorful shirts a flight of high speed bicyclists swept by chasing me up on the curb and out of the bike lane. Out of the pack is a man not dressed for a work out but like a Black man that uses Steely Dan to outline the contours of his life.

It took him more time than the racers to get to me, but he did pumping with a look on his face like he didn’t have a care in the world or maybe something was tickling him.

“Algie” I said out loud as I thought I was thinking it.

It was nice as a woman to see someone you know pedaling at you on a lonely piece of street, but even more. He likes me, I can tell.

All women have men who want to like you. My mom’s Black lady ass and the breasts I have to supplement my bra’s engineering with arm crossing when I run make sure to that. I’ve never weighed below 200 (shh no one knows that) in my grown life.

I guess he sees or the wide brown eyes and perfectly oval hair follicles the Korean ladies sell I got from Dadaji. 

Funny I don’t think of getting my hair from my Dad but his. 

Maybe if I had known him better or at all really. 

Algie is getting closer not close enough for conversation but I hear him

“Natarsha Miladay your steed seems parched and dry”

God he’s corny but he’s cute.

He looks at me though I watch him never too long, but I know what he wants.

“Oh parched steel Equiis
I have rode miles her service
Perhaps for a kiss?”

“Haiku and Rennassance fair Algie? You’re so corny” but I smiled and hoped it didn’t hurt his feelings.

The enthusiasm he ripped the liquid carriers off his bike and dove under my hood let me know I hadn’t .

We met as grad students when we were both teaching a seminar to kids at the local City college just a block from Cal Tech. 

He would explain the math in my Astrophysics program like he was watching a movie.  Sometimes he’d get so engrossed it was like he was. I showed him something I had been trying to figure out since my first competition he said it was beautiful and reminded him of Kandinsky and he looked at me in the way that scared me to be alone with him.

We should have met earlier there aren’t that many field medal or Westinghouse winners in the country let alone two minorities kids from the same little cities in the San Gabriel Valley, but somehow he managed not to hear about the time the entire PHS senior class ditched and went to the beach, where I started my period unprepared in the one swim suit that held the girls and none of those bitches would give me a plug.

I got to visit Dad’s family in India in the summer a few times before I was 12 and Dadiji Dad’s Mom passed away. I’d tell her the same joke when I’d get off the long flight from LAX.

“Hi Cube Batman.  NaaNaa, NaaNaa, NaaNaa Batman”
“Yes, Nataraj that is indeed very funny, but I am not your mother’s mother I am your father’s” she’d say in the Indian patois that got me teased when I tried to imitate it in the 6th grade. 

She also called me Nataraj not the Nararsha that was Mom and Dad’s young lover’s compromise, but the Natarj I would have been had Dad not crashed with his Black girlfriend on the 110 freeway 6 months after I got here.

Maybe she wanted me linked to her even though I lived far away.  I don’t know.

Mommy was a song girl I still have tape of her dancing in her USC cheerleader’s getup those tits and ass looked better with the hourglass shape gene cut out by the part of the Sub Continent Dad’s family was from.

I think she would have wanted me to call her Mommy.

Pops calls her that he’d say

“You look like your Mommy doing this” or “Your Mommy sure would eat”
I don’t know I’ve lived 8 years longer than Mommy and he’s way less protective cause Algie is fixing the Nissan and he’s not already here.


Nice day though. the parrots roosting on top of a row of Deodar trees brought in among the many plants not native to Pasadena seems to agree, and Algie is coming to out from under Maxie looking successful.

I don't know i'm having so much fun when I finish maybe I'll produce it for Youtube using legos or something 


  1. I'm thrilled you're having fun writing. That makes it fun to read, too!