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.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 08, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 01, 2007
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.
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.
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