Monstah Blacks 911 Memorial/Shaken and Stirred, Un-Natural Disaster! by Reginald Crump

Humor-The 7th Phase of my Emotions! 

Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 23:18:46 

In today's episode of, Shaken and Stirred, Un-Natural Disaster! I managed to make it to work, 45 minutes late because the trains are still out of control! It took another 40 minutes to get from pier 40 Houston St. (where  the staff was meeting) to the office's of Battery Park City Parks Conservancy. We had to prove ourselves at several security check (military and police officer's). “No really, I am wonder Woman and I am hear to save the nation, see I have my red, white, and blue costume in my bag “! “These are my silver bracelets”! 

Granted, I was a bit nervous about prancing near buildings that look as though something had taken a giant bite out of them. It is like nothing I've ever seen before, and don't care if I never see it again. It's very Mad Max Thunder Dome. Once I was surrounded by my co-workers I felt O. K. 

So there we all are, trotting up the Esplanade which is located just opposite from where The Twin Towers use to touch the friendly skies. I don't know how many of you are familiar with Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory (my favorite film), but I want you to take a moment to think, Oompah Loompah. And I'm not sure of the correct spelling, but that's beside the point. The point is, the entire staff of Battery Park City Park Conservancy looked like they were about to burst into the Oompah Loompah song to stir up a sea of chocolate and a meadow of marshmallows. Who can make the sunrise and sprinkle it with Dew? It was so sweet! Bright Yellow safety suits with electric blue and yellow gloves. Goggles and a grey and pink respirator mask to top it off. Absolutely Dashing! Oh! I can't forget the rubber fireman boots my supervisor scored for me! I want to give props to the costume designer who came up with the safety gear for our crew! 

On a more serious note, our job today was to clear away as much soot, paper, trash and fiberglass as possible, from the soil, in and around the bushes, flowers and plants. Also saved a lot of earthworms who were gasping for air underneath a 2 inch thick coating of post traumatic disaster Goock and Schluck! This was not an easy job. I found myself drawn into the lives of people that I don't know, won’t ever know, but still somehow connected to them for that small moment, discovering a piece of their lives, being saddened by every minute. Torn photos, business cards, hand written letters, referrals, Chinese carry out menu's, you know? Stuff like that. (laughter goes here!) I was not sure I would make it through the day without feeling like o.k. I can't take anymore of this. But, I was a trooper and I made it through. As a mater of fact. I felt better being down there knowing that somehow I was making a difference. It's all looking a little better than before, the grass is still green, the sun was shining, the Hudson river is still wet and cold. The only problem is, we are no longer in the shadow of The Twin Towers, The World Trade Center! Peace and Love 

Monstah Black, Humor - The 7th phase of my emotions - Monday Sept. 17th 2001

Beyond The Surgical Story by Reginald Crump

It’s been since August 9th, 2017 since I last blogged about my knee surgery.

That seems like worlds away right now. But not so far away on those rainy, cold, days when I’m reminded that doing an across the floor knee slide is no longer in my repertoire. 


I have managed to maintain enough strength to get my ass on stage.

I swim around through my fluid movements that surprisingly enough people still like to see me do them.

So I do.

I have to be completely up front and honest though. My super deep desire for dancing to the point of turning myself inside out as if no one is watching has not been truly inspired in a long time.

I’m talking about being inspired in the way that you were inspired the first time you saw a dance performance that made you go home, stay up all night drinking Mountain Dew and then throw yourself around on carpeted floors until you thought you’d achieved what you saw a on stage or film.

That type of inspiration has not happened on this side of the dance floor in a really long time. 
I know that in part it’s because of my own fear.

Fear of injury.

Fear is debilitating. It will hold you back and lock you up inside of an existence that will have you forgetting about what it means to live.

It will hide you away and have you regretting on your death bed, wishing that you’d just reached a little harder to experience those things you’d always wanted to but we’re afraid to reach for.

Fear can be defeated.

But, sometimes that fear is also allowing you to maintain some form of your common sense.

For example last night I was once again inspired to dance my ass off to the point of self destruction/self combustion.

The kind of dancing where you loose control. Where you are no longer guided by your mind but guided by the way your body feels. That’s the best kind of dancing.

When the thoughts can no longer be seen in your eyes and the viewer can see your soul and your heart through every minuscule articulation in your body. 

That’s the place I wanted to be in last night after I watched the 11:30 viewing of a breathtaking, psychological, horror, dance, experimental film directed, written and Co-edited by the brilliant Gasper Noe. 

It’s choreographed beautifully by Nina McNeely and stars the incredible actress, dancer, choreographer Sofia Boutella as Selva.
It is a horror film so it’s not for the faint at heart but I still recommend it, if you like roller coaster rides like do.

It’s awesome! 

It’s about 20, French, urban dancers (all incredibly talented, fierce, balls to the walls dancers) who convene for a 3 day long rehearsal in a studio in the forest.

After rehearsal they have their own dance party and there is a large bowl of deliciously yummy, mysterious, sangria involved. 


See it for yourselves.

While you’re doing that I’m going to continue to pray for reverse aging in my joints and limbs so that I’m ready to blow out my 100th birthday party when it comes.

See you on the dance floor. Maniacs.

LoVe MoNsTaH

Oh and by the way the continuation of my knee surgery shenanigans can be witnessed in my Move videos Move 001 through about Move 030

on instagram/monstahblack


From August 2017 to 2019 I had to let go of that surgery storytelling in order to move beyond what I was imagining as my limitiations.

image by Wesley

image by Wesley

The Surgical Story - Merry Christmas - Merry Life by Reginald Crump

For the very first time ever, in all of these years of our knowing each other, Manchild and I are seeing each other on the very day that Jesus was born. Our first Christmas together. At least the last couple of hours of Christmas Day.

The night after Santa's arrival.

What a Christmas present. Yaaaaaass Gawd!

If I didn't have these plastic vines running from the machine into my veins, I'd be doing somersaults in my designer, backless, hospital gown right now.

I'd be balancing on the edge of the flat screen TV that's hanging precariously from the wall.

I'd be doing my best rendition of 1976 Olympic Gold Medalist, Romanian born, Nadia Elena Comaneci. My technique would be flawless.

It happened!!!

I had an idea.

But... I'm still surprised!

This moment is something I'll never forget.

Let's face it. One of the reasons we felt it necessary to sign the legal document for our commitment/marriage, was for this exact reason. Without it, we had no legal rights to visit each other if hospitalized.

Imagine that.

No really. Take some time to meditate on that.

You done?

You spend your life together, in peace and love and the government has the right to say whether or not you can visit each other in the hospital. Someone else can decide whether or not a person has the right to not serve you based on their "religious" beliefs. What kind of god wants to condemn people who aim to empower, inspire, uplift and spread peace and love globally?

If you need a minute to meditate on that. Take your time.

What God wants their followers to condemn that?

Is the problem behind the terms themselves?

Decades of standing behind the term "ho-mo-sex-u-a-li-tea?"

Is it binding? I feel bound. Limiting as a Hu-man Be-ing?

It gives you no choice but to think sexual act. Simply because... "sex" is in the word.

"Words get in the way of my mind, when I'm trying to move my ass to the beat."

Well, what about "homo-emotionality?"

May not sound as fun to some, but... it happens.

When relations are based on emotions rather than a physical act.

When it's not based on lust or instant orgasm.

A skin to skin dance that bible slingers parading on televised pulpits can't help but imagining and in return condemn. Do they envision the love between same genders resembling scenes from the film Caligula directed by Tito Brass and Bob Guccione?

Are there minds crowded with images of bodies doused in oil? Slithering amongst snakes? Flames towering over heads? Naked bodies nursing each other with drugs, alcohol and pleasure. Sounds fun, right? (smile)

Well there is an emotional element to same gender love that doesn't necessarily embody what conservatives fear most within themselves.

Manchild leans over the hospital bed to give me a kiss and a hug as the nurse pulls the reclining chair closer to the hospital bed, prepares it with a blanket and asks him to make himself comfortable. He reclines and we begin our night of chatting about all of the craziness that has occurred in the previous week. We chat like cackling pre-teens, in bobby socks and dresses by a fire place, until my pupils bid a farewell to the night and my lashes bring the scene to a close.

Merry Christmas - Merry Life

The Surgical Story by Reginald Crump

I take a break from singing my creepy, melodic tune, to flip through the TV Channels. I hope to find something other than HGTV to focus my attention on.

No such luck.

HGTV it is.

I re-adjust my hospital bed and request my bedside potty to be changed. Urgh :(.

Dinner arrives.

I sort through the choices on the plate and "zero" in on the healthier selection provided, which leaves me with the "vegetables" and canned "ginger ale." (Note "zero" healthier selection).

Out of frustration I dive into the "meat" vowing to eat healthy once I'm released. I keep my fingers crossed that my next vital check doesn't reveal high blood pressure because of the meal plan I'm provided in this situation.











Eventually I drift off to sleep.


It's been a relatively quiet day in the hospital.

At least on my floor.

The rhythm of pitter patter of walking feet on the shiny hospital hallway floor become distinct.

I here in the distance someone approaching the nurses station outside my door.

They ask a question. Slowly the pitter patter approaches my door.

I lay in bed.

Eyes closed.

Focused only on the sound of each step.

Eventually a hand begins to push the door open.

Through the slits, no wider than the thin button holes on your favorite cardigan, I barely open eyes.

Peaking toward the direction of the door, to my surprise a smile conquers my face. My cheeks pull the creases of my lips toward my ears like curtains in a brand new theater opening for the first time. My pearly brights take center stage.

The Surgical Story by Reginald Crump

The Dr. continued with how I'd be given instructions, along with a demonstration of how to remove 2 inches of gauze, daily from the inside of the wound and cut it off.

I'd have to do this myself, by someone in my family or have a nurse visit until the gauze was completely withdrawn, in order for the wound to heal correctly. The nurse would be included for 3 days but nothing more without an additional fee.

I shrank down deeper into my bed.

Becoming one with it.

Knowing that what he described to me, had to be one of the most painful and difficult things to ever have to do to yourself. Although I know there are much harder things to do. I've seen it in horrifically thrilling movies like Saw or... you get the picture.

Anyway, I knew that on Monday morning I needed to time the pain meds just right so that when that demonstration took place I was already on cloud nine and mesmerized by the gapping hole in leg.

Christmas Day slides into early evening and just as I'm about to drift off to sleep the visits begin. To my surprise I look up and at the door is one of my best friends Rita and my parents. Apparently they pulled into the parking lot at the same time. Now my sad Christmas Day was turning into a jolly, happy Christmas and I was thrilled to have them sit with me for a few hours to laugh. Laugh a lot.

It's so weird to be in a hospital bed and have people show up to visit you. There are so many conflicting elements. The rest can be good, but it's still challenging. But, for the person hospitalized (I'm sure this varies from person to person/situation to situation) it really makes a difference to have that outside human contact because that hospital situation plays with your mind. It plays with your mind. It - plays - with - your - mind.

The routine visit from the nurses asking you for your name and date of birth before they check your vitals is a mind f*c@ within itself. Partially because you are a number within the system. I get it, I get it. They don't want to get the numbers wrong and I don't want them to either. Mixing up the medications or assigning the wrong surgery would be "absolutely dreadful."

I continue to Kiki with my parents and Rita as HGTV plays in the background. My parents leave and Rita stays for a little bit longer, so we continue to laugh at inside gossip and situations that we felt we couldn't talk about with "grown ups" around.

As we get deeper into evening Rita heads home to spend the rest of Christmas with her family and I of course sink back into GarageBand land A-flat to B-sharp. Now playing with vocals over my track in a pinch, I start repeating melodies. After a while I realize that an outside ear in Newport News, Virginia may not understand my level of experimentation. I notice that some of the nurses start checking in on me to make sure I'm ok. After all, I'm heavily medicated. I could very possibly sound like I'm losing my mind to their ears and eyes (imagining what I look like in the monitor as I flail and articulate my arms and develop limited movement phrases).

But, what they don't realize is that this is what I do in general with my time, with no medication or substances. Even when I'm not confined to a hospital bed. Trust me, there is nothing wrong with my head. If you only knew. If you only knew.

I settle for a bit as thoughts of being strapped to the bed begin to enter my mind.

The Surgical Story by Reginald Crump

June 5th, 4:30 am 2017

I lay awake as rain creates sonic patterns outside my window.

The rising sun inspires a hint of blue.

The promising dawn of sky.

My toss.

My turn.

Reminiscent of what kept me awake almost 7 months ago.

I flex, straighten and point the foot of my left leg, sending energy out of my toes as I point them toward the ceiling. Eager to show how grateful I am for every moment of strength it has given me within the past month. How the tone has once again replaced the lifelessness that crept in when I was one with my hospital bed.

Lighting strikes the morning sky.

I revert back to Christmas Day of 2017.

The morning conversations by cell phone.

The pressing of the buzzer for the nurse to return with additional doses of pain relievers. Catching the pain just moments before it reached the level of excruciating.

The quietness of the hospital hallways. Everyone home with their families.

Parents surrounded by wasted, Christmas wrapping paper on carpeted floors. Noisy toys that you'd wished you'd forgotten to buy batteries for.

Following my sonic frenzy with my cell phone’s GarageBand, I had a visit from the Dr's. I think it was 1 or 2, possibly 3pm. Each giving me the update on what was found, the prediction of my recovery and the step by step instructions/discipline that it would take once I'm released from the hospital. How Monday morning I’d have a visit from the x, y and z showing me how daily, I am to take care of my wound.

My wound.

 My wound, basically left open with the exception of a single stitch. A stitch holding the the flaps of skin, somewhat in place, just enough to keep it from being completely wide open.

The Surgical Story by Reginald Crump

Christmas Day 2016.

I'd never imagined that I'd be spending it like this. Alone in a hospital room miles away from family and friends.

This is just a reminder to be careful what you wish for. Be careful what you dream of and be careful what you allow your mind to focus on. Admittedly for whatever reason, somewhere around October 2016 my curiosity peaked around the idea of Christmas alone in New York City. The idea of it began to seem kind of romantic and magical. Like the world of a classic film. Snow falling, alone in an empty city. Everyone away and only strangers pass you on lonely sidewalks with the song of Christmas bells in their hearts. An empty restaurant and bar. Me, sitting, quietly, staring into space, luxuriating on what a sensitive artist I am (insert a slight smile). No phone ringing. No commitments. No conflicts. Only time to reside inside of your own mind, mentally and emotionally preparing to ring in the new year. Inside of those places are where good art is born. So they say.

Well, certainly that all sounded fantastic and magical. It's also something that my husband would absolutely not approve of. He'd insist that if I wasn't going to travel to Williamsburg on a crowded train filled with anxious travelers, then I'd have to be on a crowded train to Maryland to spend it with him and my mother in law. Which also sounds like a wonderful idea. He absolutely hates the idea of me spending a holiday alone. He feels that it would be an ultimate sadness rather than a rejoicing moment of solitude. It's not that I don't want to be around people, I'm just curious about the nostalgia of it all.

Well, that's where my mind was and somehow God translated it to this. Me alone in a hospital bed far away from everyone. The lord works in mysterious ways. When he wants you to slow down he really knows how to pick em.

Do you suppose he could have just sent me a txt message with a warning first?

Something like "sit your ass down, take some time for yourself, stop scheduling one thing after the other. Just because you can do many things it doesn't mean you have to do them all at once, take a long break or I'm gonna do something you'll regret."

I would have listened to that. A txt from God saying, "yo, you trippin, chill bitch!"

Yeah, I suppose it's important for me to honor both sides of my personality whichloves being surrounded by people/on stage people pleaser and loves being a loner, sitting in a dark corner with sharpies and crayons. That's the balance of my Leo and Scorpio energy. Sun shine paired with the depths of the darkest ocean.

This is why Manchild and I balance each other out so well. He definitely is the positive light between the two of us. It's reflected in his songwriting. I tend to lean toward the melancholy and dark. But yet, we are still "Cosmic Twins Riding On The Same Vibration.

I pull out my phone and begin to compose a track using the A-flat to B-sharp. Thank god for modern day conveniences.

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