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.