Mem'ry of Freedom

Last night I bathed in the new memory of freedom. It happened when I got word that another one of ours had fallen…only to rise again in the consciousness and spirits of those who were effected by his life. For the first time I truly wondered what would be my legacy…have I committed and commuted the path of sincerity and sacrifice for a greater cause or had I been nothing more than a conch shell screaming manufactured nothings that carry less than a water pail with holes in it?

I had to be still for the first time, so that I could grapple and negotiate that answer(s). As I traversed my thoughts I saw my stifled maturity stumbling in my relationships past and of late. I saw my broken promises stained with tears and petrified from abandonment. I saw my insecurities laughing at my self-sabotage and negligence. Wandering down this road I was flooded with shame, because it has taken me this long to acknowledge, act and accomplish anything less than remote.


I still question my purpose, but I’m comforted, reinforced and inspired by the spirit of one who has walked, stumbled and resisted the pathology resulting from the same oppression that has been responsible for my underdeveloped coherence. He has inspired me to no longer resist in ways that are safe, but to risk that which is only material in the first place. What is money when you cannot spend it freely? What is flesh if you cannot encounter the world authentically? What are words if your love cannot be conveyed sincerely? And what is freedom if it does not truly mean to be free anyway?

May your and my spirit find each other again, until then I will I continue the work you have started and carry on with the strength and wisdom you have imparted. Vicotoria Acerta! Somos companeros, siempre….

Firestorm

I stand…alone in the preceding calm moments before the firestorm. Taking last opportunities to be open and absorbent…it may never be after this. That’s the possibility and that is enough to make me question my own strength. I knew it was only a matter of time…its like realizing there is only so much air left… so you just take your time…trying not to panic…but being as still as possible to enjoy and honor what it is you have. I felt the heat of the storm approaching…I seen it resting in the horizon…building…preparing to occupy and ravish the next space….to leave nothing more than ash ,debris and decay…maybe purified spirits. I know the potential….and I acknowledge my feelings, as well as your emotions…its terrifying and uncomforting…but necessary all the same.

I stand in conviction …self-assured…with secure thoughts that if there is no more…it was miraculous and righteous. That it was the highest expression of God and that no one can ever erase these moments from existence.

But I stand…confused and as if I have been given notice…using every ounce of my emotional strength not to break down and give in to the mounting weight of the unknown…the possible void. It is a pivotal moment…our equinox…and I respect its importance even as I prepare to face darts of fire. ..I want wholeness for you…I want solace and comfort for you…and growth…and ice cream. I’m so scared right now that I want to close up and run. Denounce what I feel…lie to myself and remember how easy it used to be. I see the storm coming and I think in a solar language that reveals my truth…that I must confront this storm…even at the likelihood of death. There is nothing romantic about it…but empowering. I proclaim ownership in this… bold and daring, I welcome the outcome, because it is to be, no matter my futile efforts. I just need one last moment…maybe I won’t get it… maybe you’ll fade into someone else’s dream and I’ll walk with only memories.

I can smell the firestorm… the stench of open wounds, the fragrance of overburned body oils…the odor of the future… and its poignancy is unbearable, but I remain positioned in the understanding of your needs…I open my arms…with my body defenseless and receptive to the unforgiving temperature…waiting to be devoured…as darts ablaze penetrate my skin…my bones…my veins and muscles…I stand accepting the pain…surrounded by the storm…the fire torments and eats my already punctured skin…I feel my body’s weakness emerging…but I continue to stand with the conviction of a born again Christian or converted Muslim…I know the storm can only last for so long…but how much can I endure…that I don’t know…I will stand until there is no more of me left to stand or until the storm is gone.

Either way…I can say I kissed her…I seen her…I hugged her…I touched her face…I gave myself to her…I learned how to “be” from her…I trusted her…I was loyal to her…I tasted her…I shared with her…I appreciated her…I reminded her…she reminded me…maybe I’m taking it too far…but I’m prepared… for whatever…in the eye of the firestorm I find the sweetest thoughts of you. I stand soaked in flames embracing the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced in my life and it is ….the greatest feeling…. in the world.

Esperando

O céu está nebulado e a tua beleza esta a partir-me o coracao,
mas, nunca te abandonarei. Quero que voce fique comigo para sempre.
Podemos beijar quando voce quiser …e so dizer. Estou esperando...

The sky is cloudy and your beauty is breaking my heart,
But, I will never abandon you. I want you to stay with me forever.
We will kiss whenever you wish…just tell me. I am waiting…

Our Garden

My inner obsessions with your imaginative way of existing is seducing me…reproducing an infallible experience that seems imprecise but that is the very spirit of your giving…and that’s why I love your patchwork. It is perfect in its emotion…balanced, real and diverse.

In my adoration, my mouth waters for tastes of you. Searching for that ever-so familiar vibration…blend-scented touches that you occasionally open yourself to. You pulled back the blinds on your window so I could look in…and I feel so inspired. Your creativity reaches me even when the reception isn’t clear or the messages not intended for me.

I’ve been blessed with god’s eyes to see-- you in ways that are alien to you, but have become natural to me. That’s how I can explain those blind pieces-- those fine pieces-- those portions of the high priestess ‘to be,’ in living color and stained glass. You have breathed into me another side of life that was violently absent. Even in your caption, you read like a prayer. And I absorb those captioned clouds as they pass by. Those puffy and beautiful clouds that remind us of marshmallows, cotton candy and powdered sugar…everything indulgent and delightful, but full of sincerity because they have the potential to rain. I’ve seen the storms produced in pre and post-sweet tooth to find elements of your artistry encrypted in water. Sobering and rescuing in its presentation…I still create time to fondle your craftswomanship. Arousing the moment and saying fuck atonement because this time there were no mistakes made… only cookie-flaked songs played --that deliver salvation…all of this in one lady.

Because of this, I have a gift to give. Here are two flowers for you…put them next to where you sleep. Pretend one is my heart…the other my mind. I blossomed to speak to you…remind you of your godessiness, of your promises-- to yourself, of your ability to touch others and feel in challenging ways…hear my petals beat and my stamen speak as your imagination leaks into to my being, erasing that ceiling of limitation…replacing it with the guarantee of life abundantly… balancing the grit and sensuality… uncovering the rewards of an ancestral, romantic scene and reliving that. Poor and pocketless we enjoy the wealth of our affection…its inconsistency…its intensity…its confusingly-natured harmony…its lessons and religious following.

We are a cult classic… a personal habit that became a community practice…we are what it looks like to have romantic integrity and internal access. This is our contribution, our ode to the life process. Illustrating to those near and dear---abroad and don’t give a fuck about—how exquisite and obnoxious…difficult and problemless lovers can be. Now they can’t say they don’t know. Now we can’t say that we don’t know. We just can continue to embrace/nurture what we can…and grow…water the garden.

Holes In My Pockets

I’m scared to put my keys in my pockets,
‘cause I might lose’em.

But if I could get you to sew’em up then
I’ll be good, I’ll have trust again in my pockets.

I don’t want to put my peppermints in my pockets cause I
Might drop’em and my breath won’t be fresh when I see you.

I want it to be fresh so when I tell you “I miss you,”
You’ll remember how those words smell.

But I gotta get you to sew my shit up!
So my pockets won’t hiccup and give up that memory.

I don’t dare put my cell phone in my pocket
‘cause it my fall and break, then how the fuck am I going to talk to you?

Or make dinner arrangements with you,
or set a time for us to rendezvous on our sacred Sundays?
So we can pray (have conversation),

sing hymns(I woke up this mornin’ wit’ my mind...)

and say to God, as we lay, this is a reflection of him/her…

I refuse to put your heart in my pocket
because I want to hold it next to mine
so that there are no more illusions in rhyme—bear witness
these are the “shining times.”

Where devotion is illuminated, shade is eradicated
and the true needs of our relationship are no longer placated, but “sewn.”

We’ve grown and we need to sew these pockets,
so we can reap the gifts the cosmos has been waiting to give us---us alone.
No more holes. Let us sew.

The Sample

My heart beats thoughts of you…thoughts that are burned in the skyline of coincidence. Pregnant thoughts of feeling that are waiting to be ushered into existence, to be told to spirits in the flesh the world over: mo gba ti e, te siento, nimekunoki videadly, yene konjo
I have visions of our commerce—visions that we burst into conjugate dust!, as we discuss us in the future-past tense, in the unhidden vastness of attraction.

Snapshots of you are played in amphitheater-like moments of my dreams, without seams but connected like fiends-- chasing that high that is insatiable.

I pray for you-- to visit me every night.

The in and outsight that comes with your presence is profound, like the time when I discovered sound and began to dance like no one was watching. Like the time I decided detoxing was not just for winos and crackheads, but was a process to facilitate that moment of truth that we all dread. I have been fed…

And I have always said, “I love the rhythm of life.” It is multivariate, empty and full, balanced like gas and ice—the price… of Ma’at is not conceptual, but its reality is perpetual. This is the product of a sample. One touch- two words-provocative tastes and smells that dwell and resonate for centuries passed and to come.

All because of a sample…the idea that nature’s ointment has acted as the catalyst for ample-- expression, drama, karma and maturation is inconceivable; but believable, because here we lay in the unsettling space of feeble and secure relation.

I remain patient, with unfettered impressions of our next life. Waiting to be married to another sample.

Due to high demand i am going to re-release portions of Mesha Moments for the viewing pleasure of those who peruse...

**stay sucka free, ride on them vampires.
fidel.

America, America....you bitch! How much longer will the world stand by as you vanquish, batter and pillage the oppressed? Because you don't have an interest in securing democracy....only tyranocracy.

In light of the 4th its seems evident that much more. Threatening to dispose every country other than your own of terrorism, neo-slavery, and good ol' fashion sophisticated pimpin'. You like to beat your women, coerce them into compromising, demand the dividend and then call them harlots after you have put them in jail for prostitution. How Platonian is that? De pwa, de mezi (two weights, two measures: double standards!). It is the American way! Bastions of organized gangs called democrats and republicans vilify the needy and protect the greedy. We can see the slavocracy, field niggas ain't track stars and find ways to resist. persist. and exist outside the physical repression.

Long live the freedom fighters who stand up to the Gooch and his compatriots of perfunctoriness! Beat they ass when they least expectin it!

**stay sucka free, ride on them vampires!

What to The Slave is the Fourth of July?

Upon looking at what today is, i really felt the need to make a statement. However, i wanted to contextualize my commentary with a quote...immediately what came to mind was Frederick Douglass' speech on the 4th of July, circa 1852. After review, i said to myself..."fuck it, put the whole damn thang up there!" So, please excuse the length, but dig the strength as Brother Douglas leaves us some timeless words to meditate on.

Fellow citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here today? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us? ...

What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass-fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy-a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States at this very hour...

Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the monarchies and despotisms- of the Old World, travel through South America, search out every abuse, and when you have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the everyday practices of this nation, and you will say with me that, for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival...

complete speech: douglassarchives.org/doug_a10.htm

the sufferhead manifesto

"We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame.....We build our temples for tomorrow, strong as we know how and we stand on top the mountain, free within ourselves." ~Langston Hughes

who is the whore of black creative expression? where is the resistance?
where are the impending cries of the smoke laden opposition, the dialectic deference to the slave? the blood has nothin' more but empty regeneration, the newness it is dying...

to stay safe is to submit your will and freedom to the superstructure that has forced the aggression. we are compelled and in need to make space for it is not given by any means, under or overstood. rapid indigestion from the snap music and commercial airplay, i find the culture at an impasse. when will we interface with the new voice, who will find the elements to succeed the sound that has reshaped the world and made America rich?...Again, "off the backs of Blacks."

the noise sounds a lot like that fuckin' owl lickin' that Tootsie roll pop...simple, disenchanting, and irrelevant. the avant-garde of the black cultural poetic is buried deep beneath the pervasive material of vampires and devils. unconscientious ethnic suicide...sings in the music unlike a heroine induced Lady Day relating to Lester Young so romanctically, soulful and honest.

But, keep on lying brotha', the truth has her own quartet and will dedicate a song to yo' ass. celebrating your deceit and betrayal. hustle some mo' to get yo' high right, then stop finga-fuckin' the spirit that birthed your genius or pay the price, experience the fury of a paranormal world scorned.

we, the original sufferheads call to question, in unorthodox fashion the diseases of this corporate plantation that continues to kill our children and cultural tapestry. psycho-lobotamists at work all the while we lay dispassionately donating our blood and mind to the financial reinforcement of the diametrical other. illegal listening and theft leave the hood vulnerable like a hooker tryin to get money on the side...suckin' dick for sardines and peanut butter to feed her little sista' .

the music has to begin to reflect the dysfunction of acquiescence and cultivate the new soul, the emancipated voice of rhythmic liberationisms inside life affirming blues notes. abandon the bankrupt cultural despots of this oppressive wilderness and embrace the heaven of inspired exploration, see God in bringing forth the authentic and impactful...how real is your voice?

R.I.P. Jay Dee (J Dilla)

"Once upon time...they called me a terrorist too!"

It is not amazing to me anymore how much spins under the radar, but when you have several former members of the Black Panther Party held in contempt and jailed for refusing to testify before a San Francisco grand jury investigating a police shooting that took place in 1971! and nobody knows about it or responds, there is a serious problem in our community. This situation (as it has yet to be fully resolved) is still present and warrants a response/support from those of us at all interested in justice, human rights and our own personal freedom(s). Let's take the time to become more aware of the issues that affect us and our own, because its easy to not feel whats happening, but it is all fundamentally interconnected. The residual(s) will find its way to your life sooner than later if it is not confronted now. Do the knowledge...

**stay sucka free, ride on them vampires!

www.sfbayview.com/041906/onceuponatime041906.shtml

Jesus Christ is a Dixie Nigga (re:verb)

if Jesus Christ rolled up on my G-mama porch tomorrow she would say,
"Nigga please!" Because that highly publicized memory of the man has been painted as pink as them priests Dan Brown is pissed off about in the Da Vinci Code.

if Jesus dropped by the Abyssinian Baptist Church this Sunday
Deacon Jones would kick that nigga's ass right after devotion for
propagatin such protracted blasphemy. because, the 2nd comin is gonna look a whole lot more like Malcolm-Jamal Warner than Matthew McConaughey, but Deacon Jones don't give a damn!
"my Lord and Savior ain't no nigga!"

if Jesus tried to tell George W. Bush why he ain't goin to the upper-room
he would put that nigga in jail in Guantanamo Bay real fast, because "this man is evil and we must fight against terror." They would beat that nigga like the rest of the Al-Queda POWs, like those Black Panthers detained in New Orleans circa '74, like all those other said "terrorists" throughout history that fought for something this country didn't believe in.

if Jesus was walkin' through the Fillmore District in San Francisco he would hear mo' "nigga's" than an episode of the Boondocks cartoon. And he would start preachin and teachin' on that same corner Common was talkin bout. Galvanizing the poor and disenfranchised to move toward a brighter day. And they would kill that nigga...again. For being a threat to national security.

Thoughts of an Educated Field Nigga
(respect to Frank Marshall Davis)

**stay sucka free, ride on them vampires!

the 4400

my imagination is dry right now,
but i want to write/right.
i need to write/right... the self-imposed abduction
is the impetus for such thoughts.
searchin' outside of myself for the answers
that lie comfortably inside, correspondin' exquisitely
with the subconscious in need of more space to reside

the future has captured my responsibility
and obliges me to communicate to the now
the corner. the so-called foreigner. the dilapidated zoos
that we call our communities all cry out for our attention
but we stand still...stale. like the heroes and heroines of past,
we leave nothin' more than inspiration behind,
what's left after we can longer relate?

i've found my abilities, all these years suppressed
by the distraction that we call life
i have identified the enemy, the politic is clear.
i am now lookin' for my comrades to construct tomorrow,
armed with weapons that can longer be compromised
by aggression and manipulation
so that we can create a world that will save our children
a world that allows us to be...out of love and justice

time has delivered the message, no more fuckery
no more bitches and niggas or dick-suckin' crackheads
that hell below which curtis said we'll go has pervaded our reality involuntarily.
impregnating the season, these new moments with liberation

who will remind the world of our humanity? the 4400. the we that is unconsciously, subconsciously, consciously strugglin' to be free.

Poundcake Pimp!

WIll somebody please take the liberty of slappin the shit out of Bill Cosby with a sock full of quarters!?! i'm growin' tired of his hypercritically, hypocritic and unjust ramblings about poor urban (read:Black) culture. the elder has a good heart, but his misguided attempt to teach to the truth to youth is bout as pitiful as Dubya Bush trying to deny his criminal negligence on the part of Black folks in New Orleans. Can somebody please tell dead prez Uncle Bill needs an anthem....until then, his ass is on BlackWatch! Stay tuned.....

p.s. who the hell be stealin' poundcake?!?!www.blackcommentator.com/188/188_cosby_hill.html