i'm what ghetto kids dream to be not clouded by greenery

Today marks the last day that the address 40 Leon Street in Boston will retain its physical relevance.

In less than twenty-fours hours, the brick walls and inner ironwork of the buidling wil be an emoty cavity of crushed cement and hollow ceilings that once provided respite from the realities of a hectic world that moved a bit too nervoulsy and sinuous for many.

So I dedicate this abbreviated eulogy to the John D. O'Bryant African-American Institute. A place that helped mold me into the man that I am today and will forever hold a dear place in my heart as a testament to the will of determined people passionate about their causes for the greater good. The grass may be greener on the other side, but let's have a few more hours to enjoy the here and now and relish in the beauty that is this physical structure, with a transparent Afro and black fist rising like a phoenix out of the dust that will settle in its place come tomorrow.

Between these walls resided an intangible sense of ownership that epitomized both struggle and progress. fear and optimisim. anxiety and optimism.

From african-american quiz bowls.
to hip-hop rap sessions.
to Red Room open mic nights.
We shared collective smiles, sighs, and setiments.

From Kwanaa celebrations.
to Baccalaureate ceremonies.
to do-ya-stomach-right potlucks.
We shared hearty laughs, tears, and hope.

Some came to chill.
Some came to relax.
Others came through to chillax.
A few of us studied.
A few of us surfed the web or played pool or got haircuts.
Some made new friends. Some grew apart from their homies.

Many grew up before their own eyes and self-corrected along the way.

There were plenty of meetings.
Plenty of parties.
Plenty of all-nighters.
Plenty of arguments and beef.
Plenty of idle time.
And plenty of growth.

Our very own 3-story HBCU at NEU.
No elevator. No wireless. No entry after 11pm.
Unless you still got your key.

Through it all.
We weathered the storm.
From sit-ins to sleep-ins to press conferences to car chases and street riots.
We held it down.
Because the Tute held us down
But it didn't hold us back.

So how do we eulogize an urban landmark with a spirit that exists beyond the realms of mere mortality?

By invoking the souls of those same images of Black pride, power, compassion, love, and determination that adorned the walls.

By blending the varied colors of the diaspora that dotted each floor into a rainbow of righteousness to remind you of your duty to represent.

By never forgetting the legacy of those upon whose shoulders you stand.
Those who sacrificed A averages for respect.
Those who put their values before their worth.
Their needs before their wants.

A brick facade that symbolized much more than just the Black experience at Northeastern.


So with restrained tears and determined resilience we look forward to the future.
Knowing full well it is no longer in vogue for a black cultural center to exists in its totality without simmering in the melting pot that is the diversity broth.
Yet acutely aware of the impact it has had on the collective propsctes of generations of young and old; poor and wealthy; apathetic and militant.

The Institute came to reflect the microcosm of the Black experience that is Boston and society as a whole.

Its importance shall never be forgotten.
Its significance shall never fade or temper.

Its legacy shall forever remain etched in permanent ink on the collective wrists of those who bared their souls for the forward progress of their peoples.

Say word.

(title from verse spit by Edo G on "Movement" collabo with The Foundation)

We can grow as long as my beard does

Even in the midst of attempts to do right, we can go wrong. I'm not much of a fan of wearing my heart on my sleeve. But I'm still learning. Still yearning. Ain't nothing worse than the post-partum feeling of fuqed-up-ness. Maybe I'll get it right one day.

I'm sayin' it a rat's a$$ I couldn't give
Even though you're far away, in my heart you live
So bring your little sweet face closer to me
And look into my eyes and tell me what you see
-Come Closer (remix)

Eviction Notice

This article, entitled "Is Gutierrez ready to rumble," got me to thinking about the similarities that exist between Chicago and Boston. It elaborates a bit on the possibility of the demise of the Daley regime and the prospect of a person of color being squarely at the helm of the city's power structure once the dust settles.

I often find myself reflecting on the veneer of backwards progress that has come to epitomize Boston under the Menino administration. As a matter of fact, we could even throw my hometown up in the mix too, where Joe Riley has been mayor longer than I have been alive. It just baffles me sometimes how some folks can justify progress through sheer domination as opposed to evolution. Any NSBE heads will attest that I am a devout fan of leadership by fire. You're only as good of a leader as your successor. I don't even remember where the original quote came from, but a leader should be judged most by the quality and effectiveness with which s/he trains and develops future leaders.

There was an interesting little snippet in the yesterday's Globe about Boston's current vacancies for police chief, fire chief, and public schools superintendent. And somehow I cannot find it online. But its premise was essentially to highlight what everyone's been saying. Boston is unaffordable and cold and those damn baby-boomers have all the big-time gigs on lock. Um, like, duh, yo. All three cities have unique histories and interconnected legacies, yet the mayoral power structure epitomizes the oft-embarrassing tendency for folks to overstay when it's time to roll out. This is not to say that those in charge have not done anything of significance, but it does paint a telling picture about the need for change every so often so that collective creativity and new thought perspectives are not stymied by a closed network of the same ole people, making the same ole deals, paying more attention to the same ole things, while my hood is in its same ole sorry state of affairs. And I am not fuqing feeling that.

Gutierrez says it succinctly:

"Should I lead this city, I have no interest in my legacy being the number of visitors to a beautiful lakefront park or the year the Olympics came to Chicago. It would be how many more kids graduated, how many quality teachers we hire and how many new schools were built."

Now for all my Beantown folks; think back to how often you see the words, Thomas M. Menino, inscribed all over the place on everyting from signs, to illboards, murals, flyers, etc. Guerilla marketing or urban legend? And can someone tell me why do I appreciate the TV show, Good Times, exponentially more right now than I ever did as a child? Word to Big Bird.

This dirt underneath my fingernails speak for itself

The li'l homie and I are holding each oher down this weekend. We've already had our litle run-ins, but we've made it this far. Plus, it has come to my attention that the gear that I copped for him last weekend at the outlets 'fo cheap' was apparently discarded in this past week's trash. Insert gasface here.

In this jungle, wilderness, we was raised
by the wolves and the scavengers, instincts like a animal
But it toughened us, put a whole lot of thug in us
-Prodigy, "Y.B.E."

So anyways, we had some good breakfast at Mike's, where I haven't been in a while. The grits and pancakes were doing a brother's stomach good. We also hit up a peformance at the Origination Cultural Center in Eggleston Square. The event, Mayllenium, was put together by my man VCR and was hosted by none other than the ill homie Big Brother Sadi, my personal favorite in terms of local poets and a good dude overall. Did I mention he's also an engineer and fellow NU head? Caught the ill freshness that is Miss Letia Larok rocking the mic yet again, linked up with some teens I was checking for (no, not in the R Kelly way), and got blessed with a closing set by Azizi the Poet. Since I never charged her comission for the free marketing strategy provided last summer, I'll just say we're even. Because suffice it to say, she has this one poem entitled, Boston, that resonated with me. It eeriely has a lot of subtle messaging similar to my next to last post. Peep it. And give her material a try if you're into exploring new shT like that. Somebody's gotta support all these young black entrepreneurs. Nahmean. Put your money where your mouth is, dukes.

Boston
By Azizi Carle

Boston the inner city
Color roaming the streets
Plenty of sorrow and pain
If you don’t have the cheese

Crowded streets of people
Thinking this is it
They give us dirt to eat
With no dreams or means
Where’s our motivation

Grab the paper from the Black Muslim
Seven dollars labor mommy
No desire for education teens
Lies, lies, lies, over and over and over again
The same ones, why do we believe them

Camera, lights, action
Let the news in to tape our bad apples
While the viewers ruin the bunch
Dudley street man, you own this block
Named after a slave owners spirit
Hovering over us, making sure our minds stay in
Slaverrrrrrrrrrrry

Bus our children to METCO schools
Black sheep in suburb wonderland
Stick them out like a sore thumb
So maybe they’ll question there own self-identity
So maybe they’ll be corrupted into wearing
Black ties and roll up their sleeves and bare
White souls

But, Boston public schools read old books
Lies, lies, lies, lies over and over and over and over and over again
The same ones, why do we believe them
With screeching black boards with white letters from
Suburb white teachers, who never seen the lights
Of our city streets

The slaves said, “Up north is freedom” Boston
Then second class, now second-class
My man was refused a job, again
Sit anywhere on the bus
Just not on theirs

But what’s truth color of Boston
It’s embedded in our hearts
That we are somebody
So don’t let the project high rise block your sunshine
And don’t let the trash on the streets clutter your mind
Time has always been on our side

But those lies, lies, lies, lies, lies
Over and over and over and over and over and over
And over and over again
The same ones,
Why do we?
Why do we still
Believe them"