Momma I got dreams, but dreams don't keep the lights on

"My momma told me that this music was cool
All she ever wanted from me was to graduate from school"

I got to see my peoples Little Brother tear it down live in concert for the third time and it seems that the show gets better each time. I literally can play their music 24/7 if needed. They are seriously that good. I'v written about on many a prior occasion because they write from a depth of understanding of struggle discipline, and passion that resonates with me and speaks to my core.

"I was born for a much greater purpose, do you this service"

Their latest album, Get Back, is a straight banger. The beats are strong, the melodies vibrant, the choruses sensible, and the lyrics as witty and sharp as ever. The speak to an underclass of people often misconstrued and typecast. The speak for the conscious brothers that like getting head. The speak for the hood dudes with degrees. They speak for the around the way folks who know there's more to the music than making a dollar.

All my life, I've always paid attention to the lyrics. "Watch what you say," was a common refrain. Thus, it only made sense to also watch everything that comes out of other peoples' mouths. Hip-hop spoke to me in a way like no other human could. It was collection of voices at different stages all interspersed throughout my life. I can recall when I first heard this and first recited that. I remember when I first bought so-and-so and what concerts I attended.

My memory landmarks help to keep me grounded. I knew the gangster rappers, the Native Tongues, and everybody in between. It was no different from the neighborhood. I knew the guy that drove the tricked-out Cherokee with the system. I knew the lady that owned the corner store. Even if it weren't a fully functional community; it was still a community nonetheless.

You'd have the blue collar folks, the white-collar folks, the Section 8 homes, and the regular people all about. It is from such variety and diversity that Phonte and Big Pooh flow about life. The flow about the adversity of not only being music artists that never get full recognition, but as men, fathers, husbands, son, and brothers who have their faults and instead of glorifying them; acknowledge them and work to make themselves into better reflections of their inner beings. It is a constant struggle and a continual journey that will suffer setbacks and obstacles. Yet, after the storms comes the sun.

Here's a sample of a verse from their song, Dreams, that smacked me hard when I first it.

I still go to the crib and see my n!ggas on the corner
Chilling with the pounds on they waist, getting old
Getting round in the face and when I hang with them
They ask me if "The Minstrel Show" means I'm ashamed of them
Well - I can't say that I'm proud, but only saying
Can't say I'm allowed to judge, I'm just glad to see you
Cause truth be told, if my records never sold
And I wasn't raised this bold, n!gga I would probably be you
I've been God blessed with the gift to make music
It took me all over the continent
But still got boys on the block and fam smoking rock
So please, miss me with that conscious shT
I spent many a sleepless night because of it
Until I had to shake that shT off and reach the conclusion
That every now and then you gotta ask yourself
Do you really wanna win or just look good losing?
It's no illusion

The verse's context is eerily similar to some previous blog posts of mine and it has haunted me since I first heard it. I cannot help to think of some people in my life who are distant not only physically, but also mentally and emotionally. I can only offer a prayer for them right now and hope we all live long enough to see each other again. It's a painful thing to deal with but some things just gotta be they way they are I suppose. Dreams is a song that comes off to me like a daily affirmation that you can play every morning as you take a shower and sing the chorus at the top of your lungs. It is a powerful, somber, and reflective look at situations not unlike any normal person. And that's the point. No one is an island. No one is immortal. No one is better than anyone else. And no one is going to truly stop you from achieving your dreams and living them to the fullest other than yourself.

Top of the world screaming, 'FuQ that! Get yours!'

The wheels keep spinning on a brand new thought

Lay down at night and say without shame
Today I was a man, tomorrow I'll be the same
Be a bonfire when others are just a flame
Be a memory when others are just a name

I often find myself consumed with thoughts that overburden my brain. I've always been an inner "what-if" person. I need peace and serenity to maintain my sanity. But as calm, carefree, and nonchalant as I try to be on the outside, my heart is in cardiac arrest any given second as i constantly evaluate life itself. From the urban terrorism that plagues our cities, to personal issues, to family ties; it all makes for an tiring life of wonder, worry, woe, and whoa. Over time, I have learned to make decisions based on fact-based analysis. Just do a quick assessment and bang out an answer or solution. Yet, there are those instances when emotion and/or adrenaline takes over and usurps all authoritative power you may have previously had over your actions.

We all go through the motions. My peoples in Texas are growing through the motions right now. And I'm hurting because they are. My peoples in NYC are hurting right now. And I'm hurting right along. My peoples in Charleston are hurting. It's all the same game. I'm hurting too. My head is thumping. My brain is scattered. My body is weary. I haven't really had a good night's rest in nearly a month. We all take our lumps. Everyone takes one for the team now and then. No amount of ibuprofen can withstand that pain it inflicts.

I performed three pieces the other night and felt really good about the result. It was a cathartic experience. I am a very private person. Always have been and always will be. But there's one caveat. I literally put my life's times in between the paper's lines like Prodigy. I guess I used to visit Queens too much as a child. When I write I find my myself purging all of my emotion onto a blank canvas and then channeling that energy into something else, something new, something different. And that something is never preplanned, structured, or fantasized. But it is always organic, definitive, and from the heart. As much as I seem to be a loud ass to some, others know me as a extreme recluse. I can't call it. I am what am.

I think back to Erykah Badu when she exclaimed how sensitive she was about her shT. I sometimes feel the same way, not in a protective parental way, but in a way that is risk averse to the humiliation, embarrassment, and public critique that could potentially ensue as a result of what was shared. I prefaced my first two pieces by nervously asking the crowd to shut the fuq up. In retrospect, it was not the high road I probably should have taken, but I took it and I do not regret it. Just chalk it up as one of those gut decisions. I heard somebody booing the previous poet and I didn't like that shT. nahmean.

That's why I can't do the shit I used to do no mo'
This world'll try to break you with lies and fables
Make you not even believe in you no mo'
-Little Brother, "When Everything Is New"

But those gut decisions can really do a number on you though, yo. Regrets, second guesses, poor choices, bad data; that shT'll drive you nuts, yo. Gotta take the fractured and tattered shards of manhood I saw as a boy and weld those into a glass masterpiece. A mirror I can look at in the morning without shame. Without pain. Without even a slight strain in my brow. I want to have presence and not merely be an echo in life. I'm still trying to find my way as I continue to grow and evolve. I try to rationalize and make the best decisions I can based on all known factors, but sometimes those irrational formulas that never seem to add up always get in the mix and throw your balanced equations off.

But I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to keep walking tall. Embrace the man I have become, the one I used to be, the one I vowed never to become, and the one I know I can graduate up to. I can only continue to pray and ask for favor in being led the right way. I'll play my position. I guess I'm just not ready to coach yet. Check ball, yo.

God's rain water flow through the same gutter

"Keep your lips stiff. Keep your fist clenched"

i am one
with my
words
yet plagued with
insecurities
so i dug
in my spurs
and sparred with verbs
until
we
were all
on one accord
a single pilot
on this flight
destined for
a crash landing
with no airbags
just gas masks
and heavy luggage

We do for self like ants in a colony

"The police become necessary in human society only at that junction in human society where it is split between those who have and those who ain't got."
-Omali Yeshitela

I am at once puzzled as to why some people overreact and some people do dumb shT. why a police officer would feel it necessary to arrest a pre-teen for throwing a pencil off a school bus bewilders me. And yet I am getting tired of the bone-headed knuckleheads with no fuqing respect.

So the rent always be late; can you relate?
We living in a police state
-Dead Prez, "Police State"

It's an interesting topic to try to dissect when you touch upon the gamut of emotions and feelings towards the "law" that many Black man hold. They range from ambivalence to hate to suspicion to reverence to cynicism to uneasiness to admiration to indifference. A variety of factors and experiences serve as primary causes of this phenomena, yet it is undoubtedly true that most black men do not hold cops in high regard. I wonder if there have been any scientific studies conducted to support or refute this theory.

But I said men; not boys. A boy is mostly raised in the mold of the parental or guardian figures in their daily life, whether they be moms, pops, granny, auntie G, or the state. And the failure of father figures in urban communities to pass the torch has had its deleterious effect on all of us. Some cats cannot even be prompted to hold a conversation about their fathers without the threat of a physical altercation. It's part of the daily frustrations that hassle me, complicate my actions, pepper my words, and stymie my thoughts.

And last but not least, four students on a school bus is such a waste of money and time, but I'll just leave that alone for now. I cannot bear the mental workout that could ensue.

Male Engagement Conference

Boston Public Schools Male Engagement Conference

A workshop for fathers, uncles, grandfathers, brothers and other men in the lives of Boston Public Schools students to learn more about how to help students achieve personal and academic success.

Saturday, November 10, 2007
9:00 AM - 1:00 PM
breakfast begins at 8:15 AM

Lilla Frederick Middle School
270 Columbia Road, Dorchester, MA

Raise my son, no vindication of manhood necessary

"Give me the fortune, keep the fame," said my man Louis
I agreed, know what he mean because we live the truest lie

I am in a happy place. In the zone, as some may say. coasting with an air of productivity while taking it easy and going at it hard all at once. Wearing my heart on my sleeve and trying to give it my all in all that i do.

I asked him why we follow the law of the bluest eye
He looked at me, he thought about it
Was like, "I'm clueless, why?"

If at once we commit ourselves to learning something new everyday, we then find ourselves in the easy position of coming up with many unanswered questions as well. I saw a pretty good play last week at the Boston Center for the Arts (BCA); "Ronan Noone's Brendan." It was funny and serious and quite entertaining. What was most striking was the way it invoked repetition to harness an almost spiritual energy to truly capture the essence of the illusions they were trying to convey in the script. All in all, it was a great play and has rekindled my thirst for seeing more since it had been about a year since I last saw a play.

The question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible
Our morals are out of place and got our lives full of sorrow

At the very same theater, a stage adaptation of Toni Morrison's "The Bluest Eye" is on its way and I need to make my way back down there to check it out. To me, it kind of invokes the same kind of emotional turbulence that "Beloved" did, which w another novel by Morrison. A twisted and sordid tale of values, morals, deception, betrayal, love, perception, reality, and pain. If you noticed, the song I am quoting actually quotes many of the novel's themes and passages throughout its verses and chorus.

And so tomorrow coming later than usual
Waiting on someone to pity us
While we finding beauty in the hideous

I do not consider myself a good storyteller. Somehow, I have managed to skate through life thus far by stumbling over syllables and mangling my words with wandering cadences. Sometimes, I catch myself in the middle of saying something where I've forgotten what I am talking about and I have to do a mini time-out in my brain just to get ish together before I continue my sentence. Sometime it comes across as a 1 to 2 second pause; as though I am gathering thoughts. But really I am trying to figure out what the hell I am talking about. I cannot explain it much better than that. But I say all that to say that I have a true admiration for storytellers and those who have a way with words and can string sentences together with an air of precision. Yet, the craziest part of all of this is that final line is quite possibly the single most often quoted line of prose that I often recite at the drop of dime to convey a thought, counter a debate point, or commence a speech by embellishing the meaning between the lines. And if you get a chance to see Brendan, see if that ain't the case.

It's not like the end of the world.

this is a damn shame.

if Hillary Clinton were to win the presidency, it would be a case of the US mimicking Argentina.

apparently, Big Brother is in full effect because the white House in editing and revising scientific research on global warming and climate change to fit its own agenda.

special shout-out to a great friend and all-around good person, Doctor Ty, for the recent citation of her book on the Dow Jones' MarketWatch site. and it's actually good advice on how to get some more me-time in your day that anyone can follow.

i am a fan of manny Ramirez. Going all the way back to when he had them play Styles P as his theme music. When the Red Sox were down in the ALCS 3-1, he quipped, "We'll go play hard and if things don't come like they're supposed to come, we'll come back next year. . . . If it doesn't happen, who cares? there's always next year. It's not like the end of the world." As you can imagine, the media had a field day, but in the end the made a the major come-up and won it all. But his interpreters, David ortiz and Mike Lowell had his back. "We're playing for our lives, in the sense of this season," he said, "but, come on, man. There's people that have kids in Iraq. You think they care whether the Red Sox or the Indians win? I think that's what he's trying to say." Lowell, who is a cancer survivor, was named the World Series MVP. These dudes are no-joke, kid. Truly, the legends of the Fall.

and lastly, most people who know me also know that i do not drink. it's just a fact of life. and i often find it amusing when someone hears of it and they respond with some retarded comment like "oh my, you might be the only brother i have ever met in my life that doesn't drink." truth be told, that could very well have been true, but really though, son. i'm not some anti-alcohol, you're going to die if you have a sip nut, but i like reason and sensibility. so it just struck me as odd after seeing the umpteenth championship victory party erupt in a showering of champagne once again. for all the talk of responsible drinking, especially directed at college students who tend to celebrate excessively, drink excessively, ad pretty much do everything excessively, i found it a bit of a paradox that the "beer goggles" get donned. BUUUUUUT, you just gotta love Papelbon's energy. He gets me amped like how "Ante Up" almost got me arrested once upon a time on Euclid Avenue in Syracuse, NY (long story).

At least I'm realistic with my biscuit

The song that line came from was called, "Pain;" the Pac joint on the Above The Rim soundtrack.

I am in pain.

Pain from the shame...

...inflicted by the young thugs who took this dude's life at random a few months back
...inflicted by the lack of discipline that saw the families of all three men almost come to blows outside the courts after the arraignment
...inflicted by myself at those times when i chose to not say anything about somebody not minding their language at an inappropriate time
...felt within when i say i love this town yet can be conflicted with its inner demons

Pain from the blame

...cast from within for the regrets i vowed not to regret yet couldn't help
...cast from below for the lack of help offered in times of need
...cast from above for under achieving, over-promising, and not giving 100%

Pain from the name

...cursed with the paradox of tongue and temper
...that rendered ears feeble to the acidic tune of self-hate
...the left hollowed shadows and mammoth footprints on sidewalks

Pain from the rain

...that pitter-patters on the heart whilst reading web comments and posts filled with hate and ignorance.
...that stains streets with the orange-hued blood of rusty gates and chain-linked fences that mirror life's obstacles

but from pain comes strength

get your weight up, B.

Broadcast Yourself

i gave you power
you looked into the tube
turned around and
blamed me for your sins
sought solace in spritual hymns
took back what i stole
the burner was on the hip
girbaud knee pocket had the extra clip
nape of the waist the perfect place
for shell cases and
whistles stirring dogs with silencers
sirens and sermons for heat-seekers
on pavements leaking
painted faces of murals in memory
we both were taught to
take ten paces back
and squeeze
the life
out of life
this life of mine will shine
with no captions
word is bond

failing to plan is a plan for failure

time to fend for myself, jack
so i'mma go for mine
and maybe never come back
-Gangstarr, "The Planet"

twelve years ago i was a young man with a world full of promise and no real plan for the future other than simply to make it happen.

On a frigid Monday morning, I stepped off a charter bus onto the DC streets and breathed new life into my lungs. The four men - both young and old - who posed for a photo-op the day before have never really gathered or shared a hug since then. It is an all too-familiar tale of struggle, strife, stress, and silence.

This week has seen its shares of highs and lows. Another gust of wind to refresh the respiratory passages and chart a new course with those three words. Three words not shared enough amongst men who know the value of togetherness but have no roadmap to happiness other than seeking solace in the face of adversity. no blueprint for success other than wiping away tears not meant to shed prematurely in vain. no guide to redemption without forgiveness and humility.

those ashley shores are still mired in turmoil and those bare souls are still naked to world yet invisible to the heart. and mind. we don't mind the ways we bend over backwards to make ends meet and come-up, but the way we came-up was neither right nor wrong. they say it is what is, but do it gotta be how it is to shake your being to the core? the jury's still out.

so as cold bodies continue to clutter sidewalks like recycle bins, remember your purpose. your people. and your passion. and never let it go.

Some days it ain't sunny but it ain't so hard

"You know the world is out to get him, so why don't you give him a chance?"

Lupe Fiasco's "He Say, She Say" is dumb hot. The chills I felt upon first hearing it reminded me of the first time I heard Little Brother's "All For You." Back then, I said the most innocent of things can touch a nerve. That still rings true. It gets said time and time again in a multitude of ways, but still holds the same weight.

I value thinking before I speak. I place a certain amount of credibility on well-thought-out (or at least attempts at such) words spoken in earnest. And most people do seem to notice. I certainly do. I interviewed way too many people this past 3 months. I should get a certificate or something for all the diplomacy I have shown. lol.

But for real, yo, Jeru Tha Damaja's voice keeps echoing in the back of my brain....

...be just in all your dealings
pay attention and be alert
treat others with the same respect that you yourself are entitled to
be careful and let no man deceive you
for they will try and deceive you
soon, you won't be able to say anything at all
so when you have the voice to say something, say something
because this is for the seeds
it's all for the seeds
remember, the seeds are what grow into the flowers
the flowers are what give us oxygen
so, shine light and water the seeds....

but don't go around here saying any ole damn thing. speak with purpose. walk with poise. be bout it. man the fuq up. there's a funeral in chucktown today for brother malcolm. not even a close kin or muslim, but i said it like that intentionally. he wasn't a leader of many men, but he damn sure could have been.

might have to start running some laps soon.

feeling refreshed and alive and productive.

the only real purpose for this joint was to comment on the hilarity of a comment by one of my students. this week.

the assignment was to take the resume sample I handed out and prepare a written rough draft version of their own for the next class. some don't have one at all and a few of them do. one young lady remarked, "i have one but it needs updating. my resume is 45 years old."

if only she had threw in a "yo, son" in there. i could have died happy just off the strength of that.

plus, i proved to them that their learning is not in vain. i'm teaching technology stuff and then started speaking to them in their own tongue. they got a real kick out of that. shout out to natalie, lucinda, nancy, and sandy.

The anticipation arose as time froze

I stared off the stage with my eyes closed
and dove into the deep cosmos
The impact pushed back, the first five rows
-Black Thought

mad busy and mad bored. all at once.

a part of me was released into the cosmos this weekend. I found my happy place and then it disappeared. But I had plenty of time to sit and reflect and just as much time to keep myself occupied with crowds and noise and festivities. you know, all that chaotic life shT.

for starters, i went to a wedding this weekend. well, technically, i went to a wedding let-out.

sidebar: if you are unfamiliar with what a let-out is, please go to a black club.

The wedding was scheduled for noon. I got there at noon. It had ended 15 minutes earlier. Yes, the exchange of vows was just that. I think they dapped each other up and kept it moving. But much love to my man JW for making that commitment. He's a real good dude whom I admire and respect tremendously. Plus he is one funny dude. His wit and sense of humor in the face of anything is unparalleled. The subsequent cookout and the next day's baby shower only helped to reinforce those sentiments.

On Saturday, I attended the opening reception of an art exhibit at The Gallery at the Piano Factory. The artists, Ekua Holmes and Kim Nielssen, had a wide selection of media ranging from painting to collages to watercolors. Since I consider myself an art collector on the DL, I made sure to add the reception in my new PDA's calendar so that I could attend. It was well worth it. I had seen some of Holmes' work before and feel even stronger about the initial impression I had about a few pieces in particular. But a new piece also caught my eye. It is a watercolor work entitled, Bro' Man, and it made me think of an array of faces worn away by hard lives that have either nurtured or tortured me. Faces that bore the pain of their years with every crease and wrinkle. Seeing the gallery replete with images that looked like me on the wall reinforced my desire to share my family's art. I'll have to try again next year to get that going. I already did my "ask" for this year. But I did enjoy allowing the midget to see the art and make minor observations. I often find myself clueless to what he is thinking at times when I feel other parents have a super sixth sense of predicting their child's actions and thoughts. I'm swinging at strikes right now yo.

But, all hope was not lost. Across the Charles River, Cambridge had it poppin. The HonkFest was taking place as well as OktoberFest. The sounds, the smells (some not too nice n the nostrils), and the scenes made for an enjoyable time. We ventured to all of the stages to hear the varying performances from the Grace Kelly jazz quintet to Housewives on Prozac 9they looked the part) to the Mango Blue latin jazz group, to bands such as the Brass Liberation Orchestra, the What Cheer Brigade, and the March Fourth Marching Band. Many of the bands had an undercurrent them of social justice, which I thought was great, yet indicative of the prevailing social justice scene. And while people of color certainly were not completely absent, the numbers weren't as high as i had hoped they would be. But the samosas were mad good yo.

And lastly, I'm trying to learn some basic kreyol to aide my students in their learning, while also trying to make that learning fun. Any suggestions? I actually have to give a shout-out to the person who put me on to the puzzlemaker site. It just so happens to be that I also owe that person a sincere gesture of gratitude for making the sky smile. Happiness made a come up.

Sinners Have Soul Too. Move Yourself And Save.

About a month ago, i penned a new joint that i was compelled to write because of some recent feelings of dismay and delusion. I had false visions that my life thus far had been in vain because for every forward step there seemed to be a backpedaling going on in my mental.

Yet, it was more like a surreal sense of hopelessness that overpowered my senses when I visited a local high school and ended up taking an errant turn on a small side street. It was a street that literally only amounted to one block. But there were three memorials on it. My face dropped. And it was obvious in the millisecond that it took between me noticing those memorials and making eye contact with those folks who were out on the block that this was not Mayberry.

So I wrote that poem with a fervor in my heart hoping to share it with those willing to listen. But then I decided to append to it an unscripted monologue. It had to be the most nerve-racking performances I have ever done. I almost broke into tears on that microphone. Fear consumed my body and it wasn't because of where I was, but because i knew exactly where I was in life and had an inkling of my next steps but couldn't come to grips with the the blank horizon that colors the daydreams of my people.

I say people generically, but also specifically, for certain folks whom I either come into contact with or know personally. Fast forward to October, and as I head back to work after eating lunch at home, I walk by hordes of students being dismissed from school for the day. The next morning, more tears knock on the heels of my eyelids as I learn about the shooting of an 8th grade-student from that very school the previous night.

Not too long ago, I found a picture of a shooting victim covered with a white sheet and shell casing markers all around and uploaded it. I noted how the phenomenon of these evil streets had clouded my mind since pre-puberty. Too many bad things witnessed by the eyes either cause blindness or bring forth new light. The parked U-Haul truck in the background won the award for understatement of the year. What lurks beneath the surface is often the source of solemn solace. Last night it was over a hundred purple balloons being released into the dark sky as a symbolic gesture of hope and celebration of life as opposed to mourning of a death. But tonight, the right words escaped me as I breathed in short hesitation after the call came in. A mere two weeks ago, I returned home to the steady skies that molded me into the man I am today. I made sure to visit the physical places and spaces that held more meaning than others. yet it is always the unknown that underscores your afterthoughts and leaves you second-guessing when the bad news chirps you.

I got asked recently what my life's goals were and my answer was equally detailed and ambiguous. I had a clear plan and path, and yet it was littered with what ifs, maybes, and possibilities. There is no love or peace in the hearts of men. Simply a spirituality that has to be cultivated and sculpted into a figure of respectability. As I planted a kiss on the midget's forehead tonight, I thought of a well-thought out essay that I could write to focus my mind and could only muster this brain-dump of meandering rambles and strung-together sentences about my life and thoughts. I hope when I do die that I can rest in peace because as happy as I am right now and content with my life there is so much pain that i cannot help but share in that pain as a way to divert my mind from the immediate stresses that hover and try to seek solace by humming that scene from a Color Purple when Shug marched to church and hugged her father. Gos had been done told me something.

Critics will always be critics

"Old Man Can't is dead. I helped bury him."

So said Myers Anderson to his grandson, Clarence Thomas. That quote and other interesting stuff was shared by Supreme Court Justice Thomas in a recent 60 Minutes interview. Very interesting stuff indeed. He is a simultaneously polarizing and extremely intriguing character who begs for dissection and deeper analysis to truly unearth the intricacies, contradictions, and subtleties that make this place called America unique. His gramps' words take me back to some building block stuff I learned a scant 100+ miles north of Savannah. He has this new book, My Grandfather's Son, that is eerie because that is sometimes how I consider myself. I know it's a selfish thing to say in some respects, but justified for the most part. Such is life.

Am i the only person who is bewildered by the irony of the former Charles Street Jail being converted into a luxury hotel? The man interviewed in this article is someone I have met and have seen firsthand how the mistakes of the past should not be the only judgment of what the future holds. Some people really do turn their life around and truly make an positive impact.

this young cat i know did this short documentary and it's pretty dope. much respect. i love seeing heads put their creative energy on full blast. he's an ill lyricist, poet, and activist.

i love this video. and i love me some Styles P. some people will never understand that. some will.

paternal posturing

gone are the traces of my existence that i ecked out in a prior life.

the scars on my wrists are mere faint memories of the pain i self-inflicted in an attempt to cleanse my pores of the disease

i found myself caught up in the ebb and flow of life without ever having taken the time to just chill

and breathe

so now i sit back and reflect upon the days of my youth that helped mold the boy into a man to stand firm on his own two

until i look up at the mirror and see his image in me and then question the truth

who am i to teach if i ain't done learning

Make me wanna leave the city when I can't take a vacation

"It's hard to be patient with no VCR or PlayStation
Knowing your Rockports, somebody may be lacing"
-Common & Q-Tip, "Stolen Moments Pt III"

i took an ill break from blogging for so many reasons, it'd take a couple hundred posts to catch up. so instead, i'll do the quick re-cap and then keep it moving. because the temperature is dropping, the leaves are falling, but the sun is still out.

i did a lot of writing his summer. so much in fact that i think i had been upset when the summer started because i accidentally misplaced a couple of "sheets" of poetry. hola at neverland. so anyways, i went hard at it and came up with some modest stuff to hold me down. that was definitely a highlight; building and breaking bread with my peoples. my fellow poets. and i don't even like to consider myself as such. i'm just a cat that be writing shT that he feels like saying. it's kind of like the approach i take to talking. i like to use measured sentences and think before i speak. i enjoy the process of writing and revising my own words on paper until it sounds exactly how i want it to sound when emitted from the tip of my tongue.

aside from that, i got to do a lot of hanging out - much more than usual - due to an extended break. and that has seen its own dividends as well. music-wise, the pharaoh monch album is fuqin phenomenal. point blank. and i played mucho b-ball, too. but no tan. oh well. i'm mad dark-skinned as it is. lol. but i only had maybe 2 or 3 days off all summer, so i'm kind of drained to start the new school year. i need an energizer and some patron. ha.

in other news, i'm not going to even bother re-hashing all of the old news that has since passed. but i will say that I'm siding with Vick, Bonds, and the Jena 6. My Celtics game schedule will have to step it up a notch from the current 6-8 home games per season, to at least a good dozen with both KG and RayRay in town. but i don't think i'll ever make it to a patriots games. not in my lifetime. that wait is dumb stupid.

An exotic bird, caged wit the rage and the violence of my words

We proceeded on a country road
His mother's eyes withered swoll
Her child was never coming home
Said a prayer for his soul
As the coffin had closed
Committed to the earth below
First seed she would sew
Would be a tree never grown
Shade that was never known
Who controls the Terrordome
The member hearts made of stone
Who love only what they own

throwback. google it.

You plus me, it equals better math

i'm tired, but i'm going live
-DJ Whutevva

that's my dude right there. had to shout him out for this one.

Who Am I

I used to be mother earth
birthing bass riddims
from the pit of my belly
to the tip of my tongue

I wanted to be the haunted waters
at the bottom of the Atlantic
still crying in pain from the
kidnapping of the sun/son

i just might be the gulf stream breeze
that flows to and fro with no
obstacles in my path

I hope to be the throbbing heart of
street scholars overcoming adversity
knowing son this too shall pass

I am the fire
ignited in the belly of the beast
smoldering throughout years of neglect
in full effect
and about to catch wreck

i will be that missing element
that soothes your soul
finishes your sentences
and makes you whole

i am love
i am pain
i am joy
i am rain
i am somebody
i am your daddy
i am god's son
i am a diplomat

i am the blood that flows through your veins
so prick your pores and let's get lifted

when they tried to use her vocab, they sounded sloppy

"You Never Know" by Immortal Technique
If you've never heard of son, let this be your first taste. If you only know about his militant raps, let this be a new perspective. If you still think hip-hop is dead, be easy.

I don't need you to correct my broken English

You wanna be the big fish, you little guppy
Black man can't be no yuppie
-Ice Cube, "True To The Game"

They were aiming for the whites of their eyes
But that was until they came
face-to-face
and realized the features were the same
yet the two-to-five bids that got handed out
like networking mixer business cards
were merely gift certificates
for free lunch vouchers and
half pints of chocolate milk

We don't drink from the same well no more
because all we do is fear our fate and
push away love when it seeks us out
we give strong daps and chest pounds
but you rarely see two brothers hug
though they both may need one

I used to be a devout quasi nympho-atheist
only believing higher spirits were responsible for those times
i felt fucked over-easy like western omelettes
and my misfortune outweighed my misery
my attempts at humility were seemingly honest
but not everyone was convinced of such

so now as the some of the boys become men
and go from chasing fast girls to straight-up
fasting
for health's sake (and for girls)
while some of the boys still are stuck on stupid
remaining in those gerbil cages running in circles and spinning their wheels
digging deeper and deeper
into an entrenched lifestyle of complacency
eying with a hint of disdain the fun-loving neighbors
who drive by on the daily without even as much as a head nod
of acknowledgment

we were taught to bob and weave
but now it's duck and dodge
as voices that were once strong beacons of respect around the way
have become muted shadows of hesitation

grown and sexy versus BYOB
we all used to be down with OPP & BBD
we was even making dollars with EPMD
but half of the crew split with the Hit Squad
The rest seceded with Parrish
the unity perished
crew love was no longer cherished
ladies and gentlemen, it's the young professional versus the young buck
the question of apathy and complacency
the new mental dilemmas that faces the neo-negroe of today

Pain and more pain's the only change I know

A message to my son, it's times in my life
where I stood around to fight when it was better off to run
-Styles P, "Leave A Message"

the perils and promise of masculinity. what is it to truly man up? is it to stand your ground and hold shT down or know when, where, how, and why to pick your battles. it's a topic that has racked my brain for many years. some of my male role models spanned the full spectrum of masculinity, from full-blown gangsters involved in crazy shT to god-like father figures who served as the Mayors of their block*¹ to sensitive types and others who avoided confrontations seemingly at all costs. Styles "Message..." joint is ill in its simplicity. He's leaving you a message as he's asking you to leave one as well. It made me think of how that compared to the new TI and Jay-Z joint called, "Watch What You Say To Me." That whole being masculine and tough without having to really do much posturing debate.

It is an interesting discussion to engage in where the conversation can become so heated that is a microcosm of what is being discussed. we can become so engulfed in defending our own beliefs (turf) that we engage in behaviors that, while they may be face-saving, are also self-effacing and defeating in their naivety and short-sightedness. they say our arms are too short to box with God, so instead we spar with mortals in a fight for dominance and control. we are indirectly taught to grab our nuts, mean-mug, and posture when we want to assert our bravado. it is implied that we have to knuckle up at the slightest disrespect. and some have interpreted the shoot first, ask questions later mantra as akin to getting my shine before you get yours. there's much that could be said about the causes and solutions violence. there is a world or destruction and hate that permeates our daily lives. it's bigger than your block. than your city. your country.

for context, the editorial below was in today's Boston Globe and brought all of these thoughts to my brain.

A call for action on teen violence
By Isaura Mendes | July 6, 2007

I am a mother from the Cape Verdean community in Boston, and I have lost two sons to murder. My older son, Bobby, was stabbed in 1995. Last year, just before Mother's Day, my son Matthew was killed in a drive-by shooting just a few blocks from my home.

The three years after Bobby's death were terrible for me. I was depressed and stayed in my house all the time. Then in 1999 I got involved and became a peace activist. Over the years, I have gone to many funerals, helped hundreds of parents bury their children. It is always hard, but the last couple of weeks have been especially terrible.

Our city has seen so many tragedies, but the death of Liquarry Jefferson was worse than anyone could imagine. An innocent 8-year-old lost his life, an innocent 7-year-old was turned into an accidental killer, and a 15-year-old brother, who may have owned the gun, will have to live with this horror for the rest of his life. Our children are beautiful, but this sickness of violence in our community is destroying them.

I know that Boston Mayor Thomas Menino is angry when he calls for a "war on guns." I want to get rid of the guns, too. I know that the Rev. William E. Dickerson II, is trying to make a point when he calls this 8-year-old "a little warrior," but violent words will not bring us peace.

Our voices are powerful. Our words make a difference. The children listen to what we say and learn from our actions. We have to teach them that love is the answer. Even when they do wrong, we have to correct them with kindness and build them up. We have to keep telling them to stay in school. We have to make opportunities for them so they won't end up in the jails or in the grave.

Six weeks before my son Matthew was killed, he went to England to talk with the young people about peace. While he was there, he found his voice. He said to me, "I'm going back to Boston to speak up for what is right and I won't let anything stop me."

Matthew knew from personal experience how hard it is for the older teens in the neighborhoods. There are so many wonderful summer programs for younger children in Boston, but when they turn 18, they can no longer participate. If they have a CORI (criminal offender record information system) record, there are very few places they can go.

This year in the city of Boston, over 3,000 young people from poor families applied for summer jobs through ABCD, one of the few organizations that serves youth ages 18 to 21 who already have a criminal record. The lottery was held last week and there is only enough money to make jobs for 1,000 of them. That is not right and we have to do something about it.

This Sunday at the Bobby Mendes Peace Legacy 8th Annual Parents and Children's Walk for Peace, we will dedicate a special fund in Matthew's memory. The Matthew Mendes Courage Fund will create training and jobs for young people, especially those ages 18 to 21 who don't know which way to go and are already in trouble with the law.

Our goal is to help every child discover his or her purpose and voice. Our dream is that every young person in Boston who wants a job this summer will have one. This terrible tragedy of Liquarry's death must be a wake-up call for our city. We must all become role models for our children and learn to speak the language of peace. We must join together to take care of all our young people, especially those who are in trouble and in pain. If we can do this, then Liquarry will not have died in vain.

I lost two sons to murder, but I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to take action. Support a program in the community. Reach out to the young people in your neighborhood and let them know that you love them.

Everyone can do something. Everyone has a role to play. With God's help, we will bring peace to the city if we all do our part.

Isaura Mendes is a peace activist and founder of the Bobby Mendes Peace Legacy.

*1: I borrowed that one from K. Gotta give credit where it is due. Good looks.

monday morning briefing

The objective view from the mirror above
was closer to fiction than it appeared
in the media's immortalizd memories of martyrdom

We proudly shunned the cajoling overtures
of the jump-out boys on our award tour
from the south ward of this city of bricks
where they lay five down by and with the trey-

pounds and daps no longer resound like thunder claps
in these midnight blue steel skies
now its caps that got peeled from
former riverfront mill towns to chill town
where we simply stand sentry and catch a glimpse
of ground zero from afar

so our silence is our complicity
at first glance, the simplicity of block corner violence is in its pervasiveness
but after the double-take
it is evidenced by the self-defense mechanisms we use
to shut ourselves down
while we've wasted countless thousands of cuffed wrists
with an iplicit acceptance of this recidivist sense
of upheaval, dismay, and concession
where gin and juice go two for one like jolly ranchers
to suffice as our elixir
and mixed with the reoccurring agony of Watts riots
that pale in comparison to the collective mind-numbing
that decades of banging has brought forth

we used to play on courtyards lined with wood chips
and dotted with pride-colored equipment
but now next to the swings and slides
you can find paraphernalia of a different kind
and the tags that were once abstract poetic works of street artisans
are now illegible ghetto hieroglyphics
devoid of subtle beauty and meaning
backdropped against sand lots
where time passes like silent gas that sneaks up
and chokes the life you of your lungs
and the blocks we posted up on from thursday to sunday
become fodder for monday morning briefings
that come as no surprise
the mastheads may be different
but you can surmise that the headlines are all the same
from richmond to hialeah
dorchester to strawberry mansion
non-grown dark-hued boys had their souls sapped
and muted hymns and belated hallelujahs only served to
temporarily console the emotions of
already-empty-hearted youth
across the country
with no poise
no purpose
and no path to get where they need to be
so we crowd these church pews to mourn and pay homage to
loved ones long lost and simultaneoulsy seek solace in the
comfort of a safe haven
not those cold sidewalks of america's hoods
where they can avoid the same scenes
the same yellow tape
the flasing lights
of yet another barren block riddled with
barricaded windows
and hollow shell souls searching for meaning
searching for reason
as rainy seasons wash away our tears and
the spilled blood of yet another young black male that once dripped
on this very spot where we casually pour something out
and struggle just to get a grip

You know ain't nothing changed but my limp

Ten years from now we'll still be on top
Yo, I thought I told you that we won't stop
-Mase, Puffy, BIG, "Mo Money, Mo Problems"

Just stab me in the neck now. I had planned to write this nice little recollection of the last decade. But then reality tapped me on the chin.

I lie to you not. 10 years to the hour, son. Irony is a mutha.

So peep this. I graduated from high school on June 6th, 1997. It was a great day. A little overcast and a slight drizzle. I had the green hornet at the time and did my little bit of errands and was finally making my way up Spruill Avenue to get to Sterrett Hall in time for the ceremonies. So I'm approaching the Chicora neighborhood and wouldn't you know it; some blue lights start twinkling in the periphery. "Nah," I mumble to myself, "this bum cannot be sweating me." Sure enough, I got pulled over and issued a moving violation. The indiscretion? I didn't have my head lights on in the rain. Now, ain't that some bull?

Fast forward a decade. Different state. Different whip. Different hood. Same ole bull. Only this time, she said I should expect a citation in the mail. Maybe if it was a heinous violation, I wouldn't be so heated. Or maybe if some dude who probably roams Dudley Square on the regular didn't piss on the sidewalk about 2 minutes later after they walked off. I am so pissed right now it ain't even funny. Just straight up messed up my whole demeanor for the rest of the week.

So now, I'll have to save my ten year recap and add a day or two to it refocus my thoughts.

i'm maintaining without mantanning

"People pay for what they do, and still more for what they have allowed themselves to become. And they pay for it very simply; by the lives they lead."
-James A. Baldwin

Apparently, i have 1,928,877, 245 seconds to live beacuse I am scheduled to die on Thursday, July 19th, 2068. That is, of course, according to deathclock. But that sure does beat some of the previous estimates I once believed. It's a wonder what self-esteem can do for a kid. Believe it or not, there used to be a point in time where I didn't think I'd live to see my 21st birthday. It was a persistent fear that hovered over me constantly like the grim reaper with a Champion hoodie and a beeper kept checking up on me every other week. But I never felt as though I was ever destined for success. And I do not consider myself in any way successful right now. It's just a matter of comfort. Material possessions are a little easier to obtain nowadays. And I've never been a fan of paying to go out. But every few weeks or so, I stumble upon life's brick wall of humility and chip my tooth while trying to take a bite out of reality.

So this is just my way of putting some thoughts down once again to keep my mind stimulated, my hopes high, and my energy focused. I come across people of all walks of life on an almost daily basis that offer me a brief, small glimmer into their respective lives. But as a collective, they allow me to see the world through their eyes like the kaleidoscope of potential and promise that it should be. And the reflection is eternal because the mirrors through which i gaze help me to stay grounded as best I can and reinforce the need for me to live up to the promises that I've made and the potential and promise that I pledge not to waste. I've done my share of dumb sT in life. Some of which the world will never hear about. And I will probably do some more though not-as-dumb ish. So I write this as I continue to do what I can for those that can use my help; especally the youth of America and in particular the young black males like me who get typecasted as destined for failure when in fact they just need somebody to hold them down and help steer them in the right direction. Somebody did it for me and I think I turned out aiight. It's only right that I try to do the same. Only when I've done all that I can, can I truly rest in peace.

why they hate our white t-shirts and hats turned backwards

Why die for all my beliefs
I gotta look at my kid
I'd rather smile then cry when he's sleep
That's why

the above photo was taken 2 days later and 2 blocks away from the photo in the previous post.

what we do is more important than what is done to us

peep a few pictures from the 2007 Mother's Day Peace Walk

Those words were penned by Nikki Giovanni in the aftermath of the shootings that recently took place at Virginia Tech. Enough analogies have been made about bloodshed whether it is on inner-city streets, abroad in Iraq, or in mass homicides. But the message is clear; willpower is indeed powerful. Last year, I walked 3-plus miles in torrential rains with a few hundred others who turned out for the annual Mother's Day Walk for Peace. Today, the sun was shining, the sky was a crisp, clear blue and the mood was phenomenal. And the turnout was phenomenal. I was delighted to see so many familiar faces in the crowd supporting the cause. It is moments like this that give me hope and motivate me to wake up each morning with a determination to withstand anything that may come my way. Each day I am more and more amazed and humbled by the presence of people who do great things of much wider depth and significance that I probably will ever imagine. And they do so in small steps with faintly an awareness of how many are impacted by their humility and grace. Happy Mother's Day.

Put the needle to your skin feel reality's heroin

I don't puff blunts so I always got my breath

Inject this into your bloodstream and sit back, relax, and take a walk with me down backstreets and alleys and dirt roads where indigenous churn chill on dusty stoops and overturned milk crates. Feel the pulse of time seem away as your eyes roll into the back of daylight; glazing over like freshly baked donuts with a cup of milk on the side. Cloud Nine Time.

Yo Mona Lisa, could I get a date on Friday
And if you're busy, I wouldn't mind taking
Saturday-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay

Now, from this trance picture yourself awakening to a world full of misery, mayhem, and misfortune. Imagine feeling compelled to do everything and nothing. Wanting to take it all on. And feeling lazy and not wanting to be bothered. Imagine realizing that you've once again missed a potentially good opportunity due to either your haste or your laggardness. How do you best penalize yourself for not talking enough on one hand, while trying to find a way to censor your words because they can be so caustic that some people haven't spoken to you in years because of something that slipped out. Some people's mother told them not to say anything if you didn't have anything nice to say. Mine said that, too. But she also said, "fuq 'em." Verbatim. Imagine trying to explain that.

My own clan is acting up, I blame it on the Phillie blunt
-The Fugees, "Blunted On Reality (Remix)"

Now, imagine suffering from a brain freeze, writer's block, insomnia, and lethargy all at once. Yet, still wanting to play ball for a few hours. Either my body is seriously out-of-sync or I need some trees. I'm going to try and write something new for Tuesday night. If I'm unsuccessful, I may just have to hang it up for a while and find a new hobby. Here's to hoping for a good week.

Burned the flesh with the fire, scars developed from screams

I am continually amazed, awed, and inspired by the creativity energy of Boston's youth. Had a chance to witness several different teens from across the city do their thing. And just so you can enjoy a little taste too, here is a gem for you to enjoy. When I meet this kid, I gotta make sure I dap him up and let him know how much I felt this.

Blood, Whispers, Dreamz Kill By Damien Leach a.k.a Rocky, Boston Student Advisory Committee

Dreams they call nightmares, never influenced
But yet I'm making rebel movements, when ya'll feeling my muzik.
Precious Rhymes, put to waste when they're saying the foolish.
But I could feel, what is real, when I'm dreaming the truest.

What life starts, doesn't alwayz mean what it seems.
Burned the flesh with the fire, scars developed from screams.
Understanding my one nature, when I seen it complete.
Visualizing the same cries, once the blood hit the sheetz.

Put my life on pause, to ask God, what was wrong with me.
Others stay lost, looking for answers through astrology.
I stayed realistic, this generation doesn't think logically
Claimed to be hard, but really soft mentally.

Some call them sins; I simply call them constant memories.
Times in the past, that knock further, my destiny.
It seem them like visions, they later come to mess with me.
To dizzy from anger, cuz these lyrics burn so viciously.

Later come questions, and other feeds of basic therapy.
I tried to stay strong, but my dreams truly be disturbing me.
Camouflage my thoughts, and soldier up for my family.
I have no weaknesses, though these bars show da pain in me.

Living the same visions seems they haunting my soul.
But you could feel my aggression, when you living my flows.
Dreams of those who shot bullet holes, through ya dome.
Too late to connect the line, from ya phone to ya home.

As I lay my heart keepz pumping cold vibrations.
Cornered in the struggle, no way out of escapement.
It's the criminal mind; their thoughts got them feeling so scared,
Which is why my expressions, always bleed from their hatred.

only on my front yard when i get my lawn mowed

i'm in the trash can like I'm Oscar
-The Lox, "We're Back"

Peep these interesting tidbits from the past week

Boston has more of the fastest-growing inner-city companies than all but one other US city. Yet, Dudley Square is still a shell of itself and lacks a vibrant commercial vitality to date. It is a slightly deceptive description when you get into the meat of what the study really revealed, yet it still shows Boston coming in second to Detroit. I happen to be familiar with two of the five companies cited and know that there is much room for more to join their ranks.

Some people think that heads who rock baggy jeans "puts them in a category of not really wanting much out of life." oh word? what study did you commission? the article was good though; it wasn't one-sided. it expounded on the conservative transformation of the baby-boomers who once rebelled against their parents as youth. One girl even said, "I know guys who dress like that and are still in school and get good grades." Go figure.

Someone from Big Sisters had called a friend of mine not long ago saying that they had some job openings. We had a talk maybe two weeks ago about who we knew that would be good candidates. But the talk then shifted to how the work environment is over there and I learned the Bib Brothers has been trying to strong-arm heads. Surprisingly, a recent article dissected the beef and it is eye-opening.

the fruits of my labor ain't bearing no harvest

-Consequence, "Job Song"

babylon come down? maybe. their is change in the winds. we got companies moving from diversity to inclusion. we got universities divesting from Sudan. we got some phenomenal academic-type writing really break down urban violence and its historical context.

money talks in another kind of slang

Cause I can't feel the field n!ggas chains
Though I covered mine, so I uncovered mine in bling
Then I bumped into a bum and covered mine in shame
Then I bumped into a hon and uncovered mine again

Somehow I have managed to do come out decently financially onsidering the money management training and upbringing and childhood that I had. I think back to the days of Durant Ave and that corner store I spent many dollar bills on chips, honey buns, and soda. You know, your regular ho-hum, junk food staples. Somehow, I managed to take the bad examples I had about savings and leveraged that into a thirst for not repeating the cycle of poverty. And I'm still not quit there yet, because my a$s is straight up on the cusp; barely with my head above water due to some unfortunate outcomes, but it's whatever. At least I am not living check-to-check....yet.

It's harder than sitting with a blind man and trying to describe yellow
-Lupe Fiasco, "Theme Music to a Drive-By"

I am proud of what I have been able to do thus far. Paid for seven years of school myself and ended up with less student loan debt than I had feared. Had (not the as tense) paid off all the credit card bills. Just copped the 2nd crib less than three years after graduating. Balling on a budget as usual. Well, more like scrimmaging. I cannot stomach too much flossing for fun. So anyways, I do recognize that I still have much to learn and there is plenty of room for improvement in terms of my financial acumen. I used to have a subscripion to Money magazine and always found each issue to be great. Speaking of which, I think my Black Enterprise subscription also expired. Hmm. Wonder how and when that happened? Oh well. Time to get the game face on and pick up the pace. I copped a couple of books to read to help get me on the right track (hopefully). Plus, the student loan debt does hurt, but I would love to accelerate the pace at which I get rid of it. At one point, I had a pretty good system and plan in place. I need to get back to that and then not only stick with it, but also enhance it. Things have gotten serisouly awry lately. Thus, while I'm gettin my shT togeher I think I'm going to share whatever joints I come across that I feel were worth my time. Starting with these three:

Don't chase equity with a pricey automobile
by Michelle Singletary

Even in sky-high market, buying beats renting
by Scott Burns

Lessons kids can take to the bank
by Michelle Singletary

They are trained to pimp pre-pubescence into adolescent strawberries

felt the need to share this. i may have to read it at some open mic. it's not my own, but speaks to me. feeling it immensely. your thoughts?

In Self-Defense of Hip Hop: Reaiming Rutger's Rifle

Come evening, lonely gunmen wander cracked out concrete streets
prowling empty back alleys and hallways
for prey to satisfy their lust for profit.
It drips liquid cyanide
onto childhood veins;
god be we with those who cross their path
they will turn a women's womb into wishbone
broken
They are trained to pimp pre-pubescence into adolescent strawberries
carve child soldiers out of orphans
like these government giving children guns
and telling them to play god
scenario replayed at checkpoint and
our hoods when we pulled over
and over.
It is no wonder we wander ebony nights
hoodies pulled over our head
hiding our face from the shame ingrained in us at birth
for daring to be beautiful in such an ugly environment.

We of the darker melanin do here by proclaim
we must stop pointing fingers
stop pointing guns
stop pulling triggers
and stop blaming hip-hop for everything.
For any microphones check will reflect
from murder to mayhem
that when it comes to violence on the block
Hip Hop never bombed Beirut or Iraq.
Who built n'orleans and watts
who were the cops who shot Biggie and Pac
Fred Hampton as he slept, Malcolm X in his chest
who designed the tech nine?
whose next in the specs of their Virginia Tech mind?
That may seem politically incorrect
but anger manifests when told to check tongue
yet no one checks textbooks.
For last I looked
Columbus was riding dirty
with thirty conquistadores
way before this art form was ever born.
calling Tainas nappy headed hoes
way before any Imis radio shows
way before any hip hop radio flows
and the only way I know this
is it inscribe onto the inside of the souls that we speak.
Young Afro-Indigenous drum tongue
metamorphous musical Morse code
that we beat through the soles of our feet
cuz we creative like that.
What's your worth?
We are audio Aztec sacrifice in reverse
giving birth to heart beats.
Why you think we dance so well;
every movement
a prayer for serenity
ever rhyme a
teardrop to the divine
to remind us
that life is more
than icing your wrist
more than slicing your wrists.

There is a rift in our consciousness
like continental divide
and conquer
we caught up in chaotic remix
between Columbines and concubines
Wounded Knee and Palestine
blaming the rhyme of an mc
who make the crowd move so well
while the police move to the beat of a beatdown that
Sean Bell knows so well
little Pena knows so well
my brother knows violence so well
it leaves swelling bruises every time baton finds
luck slipping
when he's sleeping in the park
5.0's flows beat him down like breaking bones
and he doesn't even listen to hip hop
he listens to rock

that other art form cursed like
Black Sabbath blamed for Black Sunday
Led Zeppelin and John Lenin
are searching for heaven
as Pink Floyd writes manifestos to
graffiti and future
for the Writings on the Wall

It states:
there is a day coming
beyond migrant fields and mortuaries
when my tongues gun will not again be necessary
to speak in self defense
of our turquoise reality
sunflowers will grow at our feet
the hearts rhythm the only beating we know
our women's names will spoken like divinity
infinity multiplied like timetables
n turntable
I don't want to turn back
tables of time
and bring the old days of hip hop back
but move our people forward
till the only needles and cutting our children know
Are the needles cutting into the grooves of an lp at a dj show
and the violence will finally stop echoing
like shellshock bass from bombs in this Middle East L.A.
stretching from Watts to Iraq
and on that day
we of the darker melanin
will once again be,
like these hip hop streets
like these old school hip hop beats
creative, beautiful
and violence free

m.gonzales- Human Writes Project- Copyright 2007

i spit too much for you to swallow

Follow me home
better have a full tank, money for shoes
What you fools think
-Peedi Crakk, Freeway, Young Chris, Beanie Siegel, "One For"

Found myself reading about Philly's recent violence and drawing my own parallels between what's happening down (shouts to hot chocolatathoughts for the link) there with what's been going on in Boston (and around the country). They had 100 homicides before April. That is nuts. It's odd how if subconsciously we equate crime with reality. Contrasting similar situations serves to validate or null some arguments just because things may pale in comparison. A dozen murders in a month may see an outcry in the Bean, but it could be a typical weekend in the D. Somebody might say, "oh my." I said might.

I did find it ironic that former Philly City Councilor Michael Nutter is calling for Mayor Street to declare a state of emergency. My local heads will recall that Reverend Bruce Wall has been pushing for Mayor Menino to do the very same thing here (and Bob Donovan in Milwaukee). And to top it off, both of them are considering a run for mayor in the next election against the current incumbent. But I have found Wall's posturing to be more about himself in the grander scheme of things. I have seen his passion firsthand and wouldn't want to detract from that community activism, but even the whole notion of being mad because the police commissioner won't meet with him seemed absurd to me. Go where he'll be and say whattup, is the thought that came to me upon first hearing that nonsense.

Someone asked me not long ago when I was going to run for office. I laughed it off. They knew I was working on the homie's campaign and figured they'd put it out there. Not to mention my moms is nuts and she once left a rambling voice mail message saying something to the effect of, "you need to run for office and I'll do all the cooking until you get married." That lady is hilarious. I might have to post a stream of one of her messages. They are cult classics. Just not for the faint of heart though. So anyways, I've been messing with a few people's heads and no when asked that question, I respond by saying that i am going to run for mayor if no one steps up to oppose Menino in the next race. It'll be fun. I think I'm going to have to keep toying with that one for a little bit. Konichiwa, b!tches.

When it rains that's when they shower

all of the debate and commentary and the presidential race got me to thinking about this gem Wyclef dropped a while back. Simply beautiful.

Wyclef Jean, "If I Was President"

If I was President
I'd get elected on Friday
Assassinated on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
If I was president,
If I was president

An old man told me
Instead of spending
Billions on the war
We can use some of that money
In the ghetto
I know some so poor
When it rains that's when they shower
Screaming fight the power
That's when the vulture devours

If I was President
I'd get elected on Friday
Assassinated on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
If I was president,
If I was president,
If I was president,
If I was president

But the radio won't play this
They call it rebel music,
How can you refuse it?,
Children of Moses

If I was President
I'd get elected on Friday
Assassinated on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
If I was president,
If I was president,

Tell the children the truth, the truth
Christopher Columbus didn't discover America
Tell them the truth,
The truth, Yeah
Tell them about Marcus Garvey
Tell the children the truth, yeah
The Truth
Tell them about Martin Luther King
Tell them the truth
The truth
Tell them about JFK

If I was President,
If I was President
I'd get elected on Friday
Assassinated on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
If I was president,
If I was president

chezniki said it best

"The quickest way to effect social change is to make it economically painful for the oppression to continue."

Homegirl sent in a Letter to the Editor and it was published in today's Bay State Banner. The Imus debate continues to rage on, but what she said was on-point and it also led me to think of the following equation for all my math heads out there.

guilty white man + innocent black women = guilty black men

you do the math.

Here is the article/letter in its entirety.

Rethinking racism and activism after the Imus incident

Let’s face it: People like Don Imus, his producer Bernard McGuirk and the high-level executives at MSNBC will never understand that African Americans are people too and that women are human beings.

You cannot change the mind of a racist. It’s like an illness: the core beliefs are ingrained, inbred and passed down generation to generation. You would think after the extreme negative attention given to Michael Richards, Mel Gibson and even Isaiah Washington, Imus would know better — and that if he didn’t, he’d be able to rein himself in long enough to finish the broadcast.

You cannot change people’s beliefs. You can, however, change their behavior, by restricting their freedom (criminal proceeding, jail) and/or their income (termination, unpaid suspension, civil judgment). Some people will never understand why their actions were wrong, but they can be made to understand that they will suffer consequences if they decide to do it again.

Lawsuits, workplace sanctions, termination, threats of bodily harm, sensitivity training — I don’t care why the cab driver stops for me in downtown Boston, so long as he does so, uses the meter and drives me directly to where I tell him to go. At this time, in the United States, this is the best we can hope for.

As for the misogynous language issue: I believe in free speech, but I also believe in free trade. I love rap music, and the foul language in rap music isn’t going to end tomorrow. But I also understand that the record labels are making billions when they sign, promote and make videos for the most violent and misogynous music, while giving short shrift to neo-soul, female, religious and conscious hip-hop.

It’s up to consumers of all races, genders and ages to stop patronizing what offends us. But it doesn’t stop there. We need to actively support the local, independent, conscious and female artists that we do enjoy. Buy their CDs, go to the concert when they come to your area, talk them up on your blog. Positive messengers should eat too.

Also, I couldn’t help but notice that “The Today Show” aired live interviews with Coach C. Vivian Stringer and guard Essence Carson of the Rutgers University women’s basketball team; President Beverly Tatum of Spellman College; Rev. DeForest B. Soaries Jr.; Spike Lee; Whoopi Goldberg; Cornel West and Tavis Smiley. And that was BEFORE Imus was fired.

There were more African American guests on “The Today Show” in one week than there have been all year. Network NBC was clearly trying to separate itself from cable counterpart MSNBC and Imus’ impending fall.

Many of the African American “Today Show” guests spoke of decency, hurt feelings and the history of hate speech against African American women. But Imus would still be on the air if the advertisers hadn’t pulled out. It simply cost too much money for NBC and CBS to not fire him.

Let this be a lesson to all you social activists out there: The quickest way to effect social change is to make it economically painful for the oppression to continue.

Young, Gifted, and Black

Nina Simone's live performance

Gist The Essence

Word.

hip-hop and fatherhood

Sorry, no jokes or videos today, kids. Daniel Beaty's Knock, Knock has me buzzing. I'm interested in breaking bread with any of fellas that have kids. I don't really know any in my peer group, so if you are one or know of one and think we'd vibe, holla. It can be just to shoot the breeze, pick each other's brains, share stories, etc. I just want to connect with other fathers and hear from them. I have found that there isn't much in the way of fatherhood resources. Different perspectives help diversify the brain. This is my attempt to build a support network. I have one underway, but could use some more feedback.

Knock Knock

This is a very moving piece. And he has strong stage presence as well. Dumb powerful.
Shouts to Black Male Appreciation for the link.

half-steppers don't high step without protection

Them goons was hot on ya
MOP, "On The Front Line"

Played a little basketball and football this weekend. Even managed to break my index finger on Saturday. The discoloration is a bit nauseating though. The left one is almost twice the size of the right one. But my keyboarding doesn't seem to be too adversely affected. For now.

If you like music, please check out Choklate. Homegirl does her thing. I am in love with one joint in particular, "Dedicated To Music." Got to see, hear, and witness her perform for the second time in just over a month. Bona fide delight.

The city is proposing new gun legislation that would impose licensing restrictions on gun offenders. drug offenders have such sanctions in place, but i don't see this having any real, tangible impact of violence. half the cats toting probably already have suspended licenses. it's a cotton Flintstones band-aid on a bloody elephant.

Apparently, some professor at sis' alma mater decided to re-enact the Virginia Tech incident as his way of engaging students in debate. The school took issue and dropped him. Now he has a video (is that really a surprise?) up on youtube defending his actions.

And lastly, with all this talk about Imus, am I the only one who read this phrase with an arch in my brow? "Is there still...Southie Pride, given the arrival of ethnically challenged gentry?" Or am I jumping ahead of the game here? Gotta love the Boston Herald.

I don't care I heard the light was fluorescent

ups and downs.

highs and lows.

the ebb and flow of life's joys and pain causes many a smile.

or smirk.

whatever your potion, take time to enjoy the little things.

N!ggas count they [their] ones, but never they [their] blessings.
-Styles P

how are you feeling?

eerie: from the harrowing first-hand account of Garret Evans, who was wounded in the leg

dismay: Jason Whitlock thinks Imus isn't the real bad guy. He seems to hate hip-hop and blame it for everything wrong, yet 4 mafia gangster flicks top his favorite movies list. Yeah, aiight.

delight: Jarrett Carter offers some great commentary On Wit Lost.

amusement: Just Blaze versus Jean Nelson is straight comedy. JustBlazeTV has more so you can see the evolution of the joke.

pride: Saigon continues to do his thing with Abandoned Nation with an open house in Harlem tonight.

focus: came across a video about Project Think Different produced by Presspass TV, both of which are great local youth programs. Which reminds me, somebody better had registered for that GED class before I come a-knocking.

annoyance: i went ahead and requested an extension for my taxes around 11pm last night. and to think, i actually tried to take care of it early this year. But my January plans didn't work out so of course I let ride until now. all my fault though. ugh!

gratitude: shout-out to High School Renewal, the Cloud Place, and the Boston CyberArts Festival.

gold teeth populating the block

We keep growing like hair when you die
Black butterfly on the rose that's preparing to fly
I paint a picture and the color of the orchid is vivid
Whatever, kid, I talk it, I spit it, I walk it, I live it
-Zion I & Talib Kweli, "Temperature"

Temperature is a funky track with the starting refrain, "keep your head up." This week, it's quite appropriate. From the madness that was Virginia Tech massacre. To the monsoon formerly known as the Boston Marathon. And it's only Wednesday. My city has been relatively quiet lately. Quite a few heads have made note of the decrease in crime although the number of homicides has eclipsed recent years past. The Don Imus incident has evolved into a critical analysis of hip-hop music. And I think it is warranted and welcomed. Because this time, it will not be a blind-sided attack on the music with generalities. But that comes with a calculated risk. It's just a microcosm of the local debate with some local heads I've hopped in and out of regarding the inequity between Imus' words and describing him as a cracker. This was after I asked if Lil Wayne gets a pass because he's Black. The other weird thing that I've noticed is how when incidents such as these happen, the proliferation of the original phrase is tossed around a helluva lot; almost too much. Some artists have been saying the right thing all along, and still continue to go unheard, unrecognized, and unheralded. The bad guy gets the girl. Sounds familiar. That's the best quick-and-dirty analogy that came to mind to describe the context. But riddle me this batman; are we going to rope actors, TV shows, movies, and comedians into this debate as well? Doubt it. How'd that old Digital Underground joint go? All the around the world, same song.

Now you're no longer just a face in the crowd

You paid your dues, refuse to lose in this scenario
The rep grows bigga, you're a legend and a hero
-Gangstarr, "The Rep Grows Bigga"

I took this picture last year and came across it tonight. It just had a feel to it that captured my immediate mood so I decided to share. The look on that kid's face was remarkably calm and anxious at once. We often may find ourselves feeling like we're just leaves blowing in the wind, but like that MJ song, you are not alone. Even in the midst of a crowd, we go through daily stress-inducing rituals and challenges that make us stronger. And surprisingly, it's the realization of the power of the outcome of those challenges that takes the most out of us. If only there were a dealing with stress for dummies book out...

Welcome to the desert of the real.

The network is real. I spent some quality time chilling with and catching up with several friends this past. Shared meals, movies, memories, jokes, goals, and daily banter. definitely a good time.

If real is what you can feel, smell, taste and see, then 'real' is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain
-Morpheus

i've known about the Darfur situation for a while now, but now that I have seen Darfur Diaries I think I am going to take a more actively engaged and invested interest on keeping track of ongoing development. Plus, there is a campaign to get my alma mater to divest. Something I might have to get down with. Makes me think of elementary school and the apartheid divestment and ANC news that I followed closely at the time. Deja vu?

You got your hands up and I ain't even stick y'all up

Three cuts in your eyebrows trying to wild out
The game is ours, we'll never foul out
Y'all just better hope we gracefully bow out
-Jay-Z, Amil, Beanie Siegel, "Do It Again"

if you have a drink in your hand right now, please put it down. and swallow. because if you don't you run the risk of spewing whatever it is that you are drinking onto your monitor. you have been warned....

I gotta give props to the heads at OhWord because this is classic stuff right here. You can peep their original post, but I decided to go ahead and keep the party going by downloading the images myself and sharing them with you. No further explanation necessary. Enjoy.

The Official Rhyme Book of Killa Cam’ron Giles

We be taking them chances while we search for the answers

But yet we always romance the street
And fall in love with the hood 'til somebody come blast the heat
Always up to no good, so all of my fam could eat
See in the hood we hungry ... we playing for keeps

since this spot is called Pops' Thoughts, I figured I'd get back into the swing of things by letting you know what's on my mind as of late. in no specific order...

I don't even watch TV or even check for any alternative comedy, but I think I'm going to try and peep the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie. I think the urban legend has rendered it a cult classic already. I'll be sure to bump my MF Doom mixtape on the way there.

Speaking of brouhaha, the Duke case is in the news but very under the radar compared to its media heyday. All charges got dropped and the dust has settled. So was justice served or not? Will we ever know if homegirl cried wolf or if those dudes really ill out on her? We'll never know, but it just goes to show you that no matter the new season, the legacy of Jim Crow still remains. That case - and many other recent ones like it - were indicative of the pervasive history of discrimination, bias, and inequity in this country. The same type of behavior and sentiment that Don Imus has shared with us all for many years, yet for which he is only now getting in hot water.

Imus is a douchebag. I'd be a bit more descriptive and demeaning, but why waste my breath. MSNBC dropped the simulcast. CBS is suspending him (but only after he does some fundraising). Mad sponsors are bouncing. Next! However, I did pose a question on a message board today whether Lil Wayne should get a pass for saying just about the same thing. Food for thought. When will people realize the power of their words?

Mitt Romney is a moron and Mayor earned a big-up from me for sticking it to him. I understand you gotta do what you gotta do to drum up support, but don't sell your soul, fam. Just because the guy had an NRA hat on, you mean to tell me you're going to all-of-a-sudden switch up your story and claim to be a lifelong hunter and avid gun proponent? Especially in light of the plain and painful reality that the capitol city of the state you used to "govern" (from afar) is awash in bloodshed? And has been so for the past three years! And on top of it all, you actually bragged that you used a fucking semiautomatic gun to shoot a muthafuqing rabbit?! Get a life, duke.

My man A sent along this article entitled, Abandoned Homefront, to the crew yesterday and it struck a chord. On one hand, it appears that more and more people are catching on to Chuck Turner's reasoning behind the impact the Iraq occupation has had on municipal budgets. It did make Menino out to be more of a patron saint than I think he deserves, but it does spell out some interesting facts and figures regarding comparative dollar values. Talk about stretch your money. But I'm going to need homeboy to write about walking in these neighborhoods without the mayor. Just sounds like a written photo-op to me.

I see the way we rep the hood, gotta love me
You can take me out the ghetto, but you can't take it from me
-Busta Rhymes, "In The Ghetto"

a bullet a day...

just got back from Columbus and caught up on my daily reads. And tears well in my eyes.

five shootings since Wednesday.

it's almost like a video game. the boston edition of grand theft auto with bodies pilling up like sand bags in advance of a hurricane.

on tuesday, i went to visit a potential client. 3 days later as i ate shrimp cocktails in the confines of hospitality suites, another black male teen lost his life to these streets of no remorse, nor discourse. how do you just shoot someone in the head on a crowded bus and look at yourself in the mirror? back in my slim pocket days, i used to ride the #23 bus route from my crib to school daily. that eerie feeling of numbness keeps lingering.

people say don't talk about it; be about it. but what more marching is going to help. what else is a pep rally going to do? it's approaching a point where even the cats around the way who hold it down and keep it moving are becoming more hesitant and cautious of their surroundings. makes me want to almost pack it up myself and move back home. take the midget away from this land of opportunity, because there's no telling when he gets older if someone will think it is opportune to take his life as well. it's a thought i'd rather not ever have to consider. but i cannot help it. and it is starting to consume my daily thoughts; affecting everything else.

the hood is a tragedy. and the remedy has yet to be figured out.

i'll just try to continue doing the little things i think might help.

If you lack the will to step up then please chill

When I bug out you bound to get snuffed out for fronting
Busy deceiving, achieving nothing

If only I could keep re-using the so much on my mind that I can't recline refrain, life would that much easier. It's been a tough week, fam. Even amidst good cheer and decent daily happenings, I sometimes find myself end up looking back on the past week like what the hell was that about.

It kind of sneaked up on me and kept a low profile until ready to strike. And then - BLAOHW! I caught a cold one on the chin.

On one hand, I got a lot accomplished and conversely, I didn't really do a damn thing this week. Who knows. What I do know is that innate contradictions of mankind have always puzzled me. Naturally, I have my own myriad array of paradoxes and peculiar habits that make me, me. Plus, I have some likes, loves, and lusts, that are definitely in complete contrast to some of my beliefs, values, morals, and sensibilities.

Yet, I like my vices. I bet we all do to some extent. But sometimes, buttons get pushed beyond acceptable terrain.

So recline like a passenger seat Son, relax
As I take you to the max, homeboy you faking jax

Take, for instance, the album cover for Termanology latest mix CD. Yes, you are an ill lyricist. A vivid story-teller. A multisyllabic wordsmith who can concoct some very clever rhyme schemes to match all kinds of beats. Yet, I cannot keep ignoring the gun rap and giving it a pass. I once attended a banquet at the Four Season downtown where Al Sharpton said something akin to the tune of "you can't keep saying you are reflecting reality if that is not your everyday ritual. And if so, also talk about the crust i your eyes and the steps you take to brush your teeth."

Ok, so maybe I embellished the quote a bit but you should get the gist of what I am saying. Stop fronting. And I mean this many ways. There are plenty of a$$hole criminals doing bad, busting their shT, and generally up to no good on a daily basis. Yet, even they have a quote-unquote regular life, where they buy food, play video games, and take a shT just like you and I.

And then there are those who do not tote their (insert gun analog here) on the daily, yet still find it to be a display of their cunning wit when they make-up a new word and accompanying metaphor for shooting someone.

So let's go back to mister packing the mac. With two recent shootings in my city that literally occurred across the street from schools, I see it as unconscionable for this album cover to not only show him toting some steel, but to be hovering over a sprawled out body while he stands in the middle of the street in front of a School Crossing marker. I do think it is a great cover design, yet you be the judge. I usually get annoyed when I read a journalist's misinformed diatribe against my music. They usually miss the point. But there are times when not only do they do get it right, but the hip-hop community also has to flush its own toilet and check itself from within. This is my small part.



You never succeed or progress
Searching for peace through material objects
You go to extremes in the process
Accuse others, when it's you showing your true colors
Busy selling your dreams, but all your cream
Contributes to your lack of self-esteem
-INI & Pete Rock, "Fakin Jax"