Anticipating Act II: Patents of Nobility(The Turn)

As far as I'm concerned, for all intents and purposes, Hip Hop has long began its (commercial)funerary march. Not that there isn't a roster of artists who are challenging the status quo or thinking critically/creatively about how use the art form, but the industry provides the illusion that this is so--and we know perception is reality. Obviously we're not talking about the Talib Kweli's, The Roots, Mos Def's, Common's, Lupe Fiasco's and the Kayne West's who are unafraid to stand alone AND have cache. I'm talking about the others like: K'naan, Amanda Diva, Umi and Krukid who by in large are outside of the the general public's musical margins and are consequentially silenced. This means how we think about expression/existence has been reduced to this monocular perspective. I find that problematic and saddening. Problematic in that it stifles the way in which we dream and (re)invent ourselves. If Young Jeezy, Lil Wayne, 50 cent, T-Pain and Jay-Z are the only accessories* we have for identity and self-concept formation then there are some serious issues. I find it saddening because it is humanistically and artistically negligent to not create access to expression(s) that inspires something more than consumption and material acquisition. Not that I don't understand where those values are coming from or that I question its validity, but in addition to that perspective there have to be options which are just as visible and accessible. That's why I would like to introduce to Jay Electronica.

A fairly obscure m.c. with an underground-cult following, Jay E. is evaporating all notions of what is Hip Hop. His first 'official' offering was Act I: Eternal Sunshine(The Pledge), which is his unconventional attempt to redefine the hip hop track. The content is dense, the delivery is strategic and the production is peculiar, yet hypnotizing. When listening I found that I had to use a different set of ears(and a different part of my mind for that matter) to fully appreciate his approach(it seems more like a suite than a song, all courtesy of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind). Jay Electronica is not for everybody, but he is an example of the possibilities that have yet to be explored. Unfortunately, most of the world will never become acquainted with his work. But I and the rest of the okayplayers will be anticipating his next taste of mind-enthralling inspiration. Here’s to the resurrection(of Hip Hop that is)! Do the knowledge, then act like ya’know!

**Stay Sucka Free!
F. Negro.

* I deliberately use the word accessory, because in no way whatsoever should hip hop be completely responsible for such development, but to ignore its power and presence is simply naive.

[Note to self and those who have been drinking, et al. : I am a thief. Only because I knew you would second guess your offering. I had to take it. It belonged to me, and now...]

I am editing my life ad nauseam,
but while sitting in emotional diffusion
I find you inside this moment.
Reminding me of life’s elegance,
kissing me with your essence.
But you can never know,
because it is in conflict with our existence.

Incandescent is your contribution
colliding with my dysfunction, balancing me along.
But I want to shepherd your imagination to my world
where we can muse and fuse, inculcating the darkness
with wine truths that intoxicate our improper reality.
Recovering the tastes from our past lives together, re: live.
How else can we connect so? There has to be history,
intangible, allusive and celestial as it may be.
Even in our most tenuous of breaths, I am secure
and connected to the purpose of this time phrase.
Hoping to never exhaust the invention of our interface,
I remain open to its spiritual notions.
Unsaid and unheard, but felt and uncurbed.
Even though, you can never know.

I stand present, in defiance of what is unpopular
yet in congruence with Vadzimu’s choreography,
allowing our spirits to be conflated ad infinitum.
Let us share our residuals with the emotionally destitute,
maybe we can replenish the barren and disenchanted.
Or inspire a new calendar of moons for Hyacinth flowers to bloom.
Either way you can never know, because I am a thief.
I have stolen the moment to (re)communicate
that my heart is in your possession.
Hopefully you will be at the next train stop,
still fighting my procrastination.

Anti-Requiem:
Sun Ra’s Space Is the Place

I recently had the distinct pleasure of screening Sun Ra’s Space Is The Place (1974). Populated with layers and layers of philo-spiritual commentary and black liberation imagination, this film constructs a hyper-intelligent musical experience that makes it worth adding to the must-see-list.

Plot Summary: Sun Ra lands his spaceship in Oakland, having been presumed lost in space for a few years. With Black Power on the rise, Ra disembarks and proclaims himself "the alter-destiny." He holds a myth-vs-reality rap session with black inner-city youth at a rec center, threatening "to chain you up and take you with me, like they did you in Africa" if they resist his plea to go to outer space. He duels at cards with The Overseer, a satanic overlord, with the fate of the Black race at stake. Ra wins the right to a world concert, which features great performance footage of the Arkestra. Agents sent by the Overseer attempt to assassinate Ra, but he vanishes, rescues his people, and departs in his spaceship from the exploding planet Earth (The Internet Movie Database).

But the strength of this film note is better understood in the context of Robin D.G. Kelley’s Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical Imagination. In this text amongst other topics, Kelley explores the value of the Afrofuturist/Interstellar Movement initiated by Sun Ra and his “Arkestra” and later joined by Parliament/Funkadelic and the “Mothership Connection”. Both of which indicate and address the protracted need within the Black community to escape the present society for something better, an alter/destiny. Kelley escorts the importance of redefining freedom and provides further examples of those who desired, “to escape the wretchedness of daily life through music” such as: Lee Scratch Perry(The Black Ark Studios), X Clan(Exodus in a pink Cadillac…), Afrika Bambaataa(“Planet Rock,” Soul Sonic Force) and Arrested Development (“break / outta of the country / and into more country”). I find it fascinating(though not surprising) that Black popular culture occupies the seat of radical imagination and resistance and am thankful for Robin D.G. Kelley’s contribution, but where are my other non-academic contemporaries who are thinking critically about these issues? How can we (re)read more recent expressions that possess similar elements of freedom-seeking? I think Sun Ra has a clue: "Equation wise, the first thing to do is to consider time as officially ended. We work on the other side of time. We bring them here, through either isotope teleportation, transmolecularization, or better still, teleport the whole planet here ... through music." Let’s revive Bro. Ra and his imagination. Right on to the real/reel!

**Stay sucka free!

F.Negro

Discovering Rumba*

For the past year and a half I have been exposed to a battery of traditions from the African Diaspora that to date had only been noteworthy pages in the many books that I decided to consume in an effort to expropriate some cultural material/capital. Traditions that have been on the periphery, at best, in the Black(African) experience in the U.S., but are connected in very intimate ways nonetheless.

I'm speaking specifically of the Afro-Cuban cultural palette. Without going into great detail, Cuba has been in conversation with the U.S. since the first slaves arrived in the western hemisphere. Most of which were negotiating this new space by preserving, modifying and syncretizing spiritual systems and social traditions in an attempt to respond to a moral and cultural imperative that urges those with any ethnic foundation(e.g. Yoruba, Carabali, Arara, Bantu-Congo) to maintain those traditions to the best of their ability. We see elements of this throughout the Diaspora whether it shows up in Jazz, Spiritual Baptists, Timba, Reggae, Gaga, Candomble, Cumbia or Zouk.

Lately, I've been deeply exploring the Cuban component of these retentions thanks to the many new acquaintances and companions I've made as a result of my current employment situation. And it has been rewarding in ways that words can't capture! It speaks to a place in my spirit that was severely neglected until now. Prior to my recent contact I knew about Cuba through my spiritual practices and my interest in Latin dance, but never had any direct contact with Black Cubans or those who were custodians and purveyors of Afro-Cuban culture. Amongst other things, I've had the opportunity to learn how to play Bata, which for spiritual reasons has been and will continue to be crucial to my development, but I want to dedicate this blog entry to an expression that has slowly captured my attention: Rumba. Rumba emerged in the 19th century as a secular dance and music among Black Cubans from various ethnic groups, including: the Lucumi (Yoruba), Abakua (Carabali), Arara (Dahomey) and other Bantu related groups. Both sacred and secular traditions of these groups influence Rumba, especially the Abakua and Bantu forms such as Yuka and Makuta. There are three main types of Rumba: Yambu, Guaguanco and Columbia.

But why the hell am I writing about this?! Well, because I feel Rumba has created a space for me to re-imagine life. It challenges pedestrian notions of existence, in that, Rumba with its transnational presence transforms once sterile space(physical, mental, spiritual, political) into a dense, dialectic composite of identity in constant maintenance and (re)construction. Rumba urges me to think about how I relate to myself, which subsequently informs how I relate to the world. This I gather even though I don't fully understand it conceptually, musically or choreographically. Regardless of that I found this message, my discovery, critical and important enough to share. So, if you get a minute explore Rumba. It may touch you as well. But for now, enjoy the clip above. Roman Diaz, Pedrito Martinez and Alfredo Diaz rumbeando for a good friend of mine on her birthday. I thank her for being a crucial conduit in my discovery of Rumba. Gracias Berta!

**Stay sucka free!

F.Negro
*This is a Rumba at Berta Jottar's house celebrating her birthday on Ojo-Obatala. (Williamstown, MA-September 24, 2007)

THE BLUES*
From Jena 6 to San Francisco 8...and Megan Williams

It appears that justice has a propensity for miscarriage when it comes to us(and other historically oppressed peoples for that matter). The elders and da yout' dem. How is it that we sit still while such bullshit parades as reality? Furthermore, how is that we allow such characterizations and injustices to occupy the periphery? And I'm not talking about the simple issues of why isn't this on CNN or Fox, I'm talking about our everyday conversations. We seem to be more "interested" in celebreality and entertainment. If I hear one more reference to the 50 cent-Kanye West soundscan battle I'm gone burn a muthafucka up. I'm serious! I mean other than those two and their respective music companies, who gives a damn who sells the most records? I'm inclined to believe that that information will not significantly impact anybody's life. And someone may retort that the Jena 6(5) and San Francisco 8 cases don't mean shit to them, but I would ask those skeptics to think about how easily that could be them or someone they love. Being falsely criminalized is something that happens daily to Black folks, especially those with something meaningful to say and action to back it up(please click San Francisco 8 link above). But how flagrant it is for these young brothas to even be imprisoned, facing up to 100 years for a fuckin' fight is beyond words. How the fuck do you turn a high school fight into attempted murder?! Asinine. But it is refreshing to see community members, activists, academicians, artists, and students respond to these issues. Because it seems we forget real quick what happens when the world doesn't give a damn about you because of how you look, what you think, where you live, etc(It feels like Katrina happened 50 years ago). But the vanguard is still reminding us and speaking loud about these atrocities, like the Mighty Mos Def on Bill Maher: click here! And to add fuel to the fire, there is the Megan Williams case, where a young sista was tortured and raped in West Virginia. Please click here to learn about this horrific story. It seems that while we have so much to be happy and grateful for, there is much to be upset, pissed off and indignant about. Look folks, while we stay seated the world is happening and instead of sufferin' and shmilin' we need to get up and bust a grape!! Sign a petition, tell a friend, send an email, donate, whatever--just do something! Remember: silence is consent.

Until next time y'all stay sucka free,

F. Negro

*The Black News = The Blews(The Blues)

Test(icular.)
Not a champion, but a professional-I have learned to disengage and run like the best of 'em. I'm tired now, have been for quite some time. Unable to find justifiable reasons anymore, because the hedge of illusion has been removed. Talked to a friend yesterday who told me he was getting married, I aptly replied: "Shut the f@ck up!" Only because I never thought I would see the day that he committed himself to something more than himself and his career. After that conversation I was left numb--thinking about all that I lose sight of much too easily. I wonder about being Him for you and what that would entail. Is that the next step to take? All of this lip service I've given about being loved unconditionally and when those conditions are present I become callous or distant, as if I'm protecting myself. From what I'm inclined to ask, but that wouldn't be authentic nor original. I am a conservative monogamist by chart, however it appears that there are some latent fears that override my inheritance. There is a piece of history that I have yet to fully come to terms with, and it continues to neutralize my passion for risk. Disallowing my heart to discover freedom again *sigh1*.

i want to spend my words wisely, writing for you melodies

that appeal to your sense of sound and sweetness.

discarding your reservations of the unknown.

editing the reality that you have so uncomfortably sewn.

i want to be that renewal that sustains commitment and desire-

that renewal which repopulates your spirit with infants of inspiration...

so that we may grow and develop a family of artists

destined to change this quadrant of the cosmos.

Somehow I'm dissatisfied with the way I breathe these days, the air is absent of your fragrance. What if I see you again so that my asthma can be cured? *sigh2* I often wonder if you have the fortitude to deal with my nonsense and pathology--or are you misinformed about who I am. How can I lie despondent when the architect of hope rests in the balance of our dreams? I can deliberate over those questions no longer. I need to either take the damn exam or walk away a la David Ruffin. Be brave and defy logic, odds, enemies and fuckery.

Re: Birth

So I'm a horrible blogger. I always manage to busy myself with other random projects like: rehearsal, work, sitting on my porch, thinking...you know--life. But I felt compelled today. I am moving closer to 30 and had the opportunity to celebrate my bornday with some beautiful folks--my new extended family. It was a wine and waffle party, inspired by one friend and reimagined by another. I also received some very thoughtful and provocative gifts via snail mail(gotta love that shit!). All of which I want to publicly thank everyone for--rather your contribution was direct or indirect!![Question 1: Are you still in/out my life for the reasons you entered?]

This time of year is always sensitive for me, because (re)birth is a delicate moment in life. It is the period were we (re)enter this space and contribute our concentrated molecules to the socio-spiritual ecology of the planet/universe. The world is altered as a result and subsequent events work to continue the universal balancing. It is an honorable day for most, but for me it can be a bit of tear-jerker. I feel that I'm still reconciling...My need to finish healing my relationship with my biological parents is an issue that is illuminated ever year at this exact time. In fact, this year was the first time that my father EVER told me happy birthday! I'm still not sure how I feel about it...I'll have to get back to you. [Question 2: How do you heal/reconcile that which has produced so much pain?]

There are some that I care about who I didn't hear from and it made me wonder, has the season of our relationship passed? Is it worth broaching the topic? Or am I just overreacting?....truly a reflective day. There was a rush of emotions, traversing the continuum from sad to mad, happy to excited, dispossessed and tenuous--explosive and exhausting yesterday was(in my gangsta Yoda voice). That's why I sat/laid on my couch the WHOLE day. [Question 3: Where is this going?The way I feel about you is undeniable, even though its not always communicated clearly. Sorry, I know I'm fucked up, but I hope you find what you're looking/waiting for. I hope we find it simultaneously]

This year I want to love myself again. I want to love my family & friends more. I want to love HER better. I want to kiss the soil of my fore bearers. I want to remember/be reminded of/pay attention to why I am HERE everyday. I want to have my grits with catfish. I want to continue becoming the man that my grandfather raised me to be, that my father wanted to be, that my brother admires in me. I want to be fearless, passionate and purposeful. And I want to learn how to live the life my ancestors prayed/wished/hoped for me. I just want to BE THANKFUL! I learned that from a Fallen Angel, obrigada.

Until next time--stay sucka free.

F.Negro

Reconciling the Path's Heart, pt. 1


"...Black men in America are being removed from the earth like loose sand in a wind storm..." ~Haki Madhubuti

....I divined for him, casting the Obi Abata, Akorani: A quarrel or difficult situation. Amosun has been fatherless for too long and now the shadow has displaced the sheet of tears once visible by shades of the sun. In the mirror, his stained face conjures memories of the missteps made while negotiating his manhood, pillaging the path. He celebrates the young warriors turned pimps and thugs, while basking in the absence of balanced love. The same balanced love that inspired his conception, that same balance of earth and wind that was once a harness for his strength, but are now weapons for his labyrinth. That charming ambiguity of his used to disarm all who dare to navigate its tangled roads without first acquiring a legend or without leaving three pennies for Latopa--the gatekeeper. He has learned to exploit the insecurities of those intrigued. Through self-discovery he observed that everyone has a void waiting to be plenished and most often welcomes unassuming, yet foreign solutions. This is a skill he inherited from his father. I asked Amosun did he find it ironic that even in his father's absence he managed to adopt the same traits that characterize his forebear, he replied "Irony don't mean shit, why resist your destiny?" He continued, "I'm not here for you to ask them questions, just tell me if it is safe for me to travel to Maputo or not." He wanted to visit a friend who spoke endlessly about the opportunities in Moçambique. The need for financial infrastructure(i.e. money laundering), the beautiful women and the bountiful land, all of which were all attractive enough for him to relocate forever. It also offered a welcomed change to the concrete cage that informed his lifestyle and worldview: Paterson, NJ.

I told him that going to Maputo was not such a wise choice right now, but that he should seek further counsel. He wasn't pleased to hear that, because that meant soliciting the services of Ifalodun Amusan, my father. My father always liked Amosun and treated him as his own son. I'm sure that's one of the main reasons why Amosun became part of the Ile. Being that my father was a babalawo, an olubata and overall a well-respected elder in the community, he functioned as a surrogate father to many of the young Black men in our community. For reasons I could deduce, he was hesitant to seek guidance from my father in this matter because he knew that my father would ask questions that, out of respect, Amosun would be compelled to answer. Instead, he came to me.

He would regularly ask me to divine for him, but my inquiries would routinely be dismissed. According to Amosun friends shouldn't broach such topics and those who do border suspicion. So, normally I would ask without prying, but this circumstance required deliberate thought and action. That being the case, after reading the Obi I pushed the questions and once again he disregarded my inquiry. I urged Amosun to speak with my father, because his situation warranted greater spiritual technology. Since I'm just an apprentice and not fully initiated, my father's the only person in north Jersey who can be of use. Amosun knows this, but doesn't want to be held accountable for his intentions.

What Ever Happened To Billy Ocean?

So, for those who don't know I am an okayplayer, which means I frequent the website founded by The Roots' musical director, Ahmir "?uestlove" Thompson. But more than that, being an okayplayer is a way of life...I'll save that for another entry. Anyway, this is one of my favorite places to peruse and discover new artists, books, movies, etc. They support a host of my most loved artists and their message boards always generate interesting and often comical discussion. Today, I was taking full advantage of the overwhelming amount of idle time I had on my hands and decided to go to okayplayer.com and see what was new. I came across a strand on the message board that said: Billy Ocean. Trini-born and UK's biggest selling Black artist of all time, he is most remembered for his song "Caribbean Queen", which you can find here.
I love that song, my mama played the hell out of that record and "When The Going Gets Tough". What's interesting though is that originally the song was titled European Queen, but Clive Calder(Jive Records) thought it would "sound more exotic and appeal to a wider audience," if Billy was talking about a Caribbean Queen or an African Queen(which was recorded as well)... [silence]...no comment. Either way, I had an image in my mind about what Billy O. looked like. After seeing my mama's beat up Love Zone album cover like 126 times, I had that jheri curl and smile etched into my memory, securing Billy Ocean as the quintessential UK Black pop artist forever, in my mind. What was striking to me about the strand on the okayplayer message board was that someone commented that Billy Ocean was now a Rasta. I froze for a moment and thought about that, tried to imagine Billy as a Rasta....THIS is what is what flash figurizes in my mind when I think Rasta and not that there is anything essential about being a Rasta other than the belief in the principles peculiar to that spiritual system. But....Billy Ocean?!?! It just rocked me. However, it touched me that that brother found solace in this spiritual tradition after being consumed by the commercial music industry machine. It is a testament to our constant evolution as humanoids galavanting the planet in search of something more. Here's to new and life-altering/affirming experiences. Thanks Billy O. !

Emotion Emigrant.

"Now, I dun made up my mind and I won't be moved on dis."

(c) Lazarus, Black Snake Moan.

I need to leave this place(the Republic of Emotionality) only because it makes it impossible to live a productive life. Being purged from someone's life is painful, much more painful than words allow our thoughts to commit to. And what's more, is that voidance reverberates for life encounters to come. It appears that there is a movement developing at this very moment, one of which I never had the foresight to predict or imagine. There is a concerted effort-by those who have occupied my life in some capacity or another- to evacuate and abandon the relationship I have with them. An odd phenomenon. Only because this vacancy calls to question how such an event can happen and not be connected to an elusive message/truth that I'm ignoring about myself. And I'm searching, wondering how I have traversed a path that begets such emotional violence. I feel like I must have been/am a relationship terrorist. That's my only explanation for being removed from the respectful commentary of someone's life. Destroying the lives of those I encounter with malice and blatant disregard for the moral imperative that should govern all human interactions. Maybe I have yet to honestly observe the palpable humanity of those I consider to be close to me. Maybe I have yet to act in that vein, failing to actively honor someone's worth strikes me as being more criminal(thus more punishable) than being ignorant of it.

This reminds me of a piece I wrote called Mr. Unspecial. It came at time that was somewhat similar, in that it was a moment of evacuation. These experiences always manage to organize themselves around extremely imperfect conditions, as if the universe is waiting until you're off balance to catastrophically disrupt/alter your life. While there is infinite value in the growth that is consequential to these episodes, the exhaustion and relationship death are not tangential. In fact, they are unredemptive and impossible to totally recover from.

So in my mind, it is logical to abandon my emotionality for a more rational state of being--read stoic. Why continue to submit yourself to experiences that torture essential aspects of your being--f*ck that, it's insanity. So I'm packing my bags and I'm emigrating to a new emotional(or lack thereof) home. I'm thinking this self-imposed exile will disparage any newcomers, saving my corner of the cosmos from the impending spiritual combustion. The universe has more than enough nebulous matter without the addition of my dysfunctional contribution.

I dream all the time, but I never write'em down. A friend of mine used to always tell me to start a dream journal, but I'm too stubborn...and lazy. I think my dreams are becoming increasingly more insightful, with the intent to inform my life path. I dreamt about my uncle just now(i know, i know napping this late, but i've been in a damn airport for two days!). The thing that stood out the most in the dream was that my uncle's brother was trying to share his perspective on my uncle's life. It always interesting how those around us can have a grossly inaccurate idea of who we are and refuse to hear anything contrary. In that whole dream as my uncle's brother was telling HIS story, my uncle was nodding in disagreement. Like, "how could you have fucked up this story so bad?!" I feel like that sometimes. A lot of times. It is hard to be something outside of the constructs that those around you create and that sometimes we create for ourselves. We want to fulfill the expectation, we want to stick to the script. Because otherwise we are hypocrites, negligent, "not being ourselves" and a list of other stuff. That is a hard life to live, but we do it everyday. We perform our identities, philosophies, worldviews, loves, passions, interests, etc. And when we don't the world is like, " what's wrong? are you ok?" or "who the hell are you?" or "i can't believe you, fuckin' shakara[see Fela]!" This is a stressful life and somehow we always manage to race to increase the number of stress springs in our life. I am on a detox program however. Yep, the poisons have started to ooze out. So, now I want to rewire my mind. You know, upgrade and diversify my life by developing an imagination circuit. I know that sounds a little post de facto, but I think that mechanism is imperative to my life RIGHT NOW. I just finished a book by Kurt Vonnegut(whom I never read) called "A Man Without A Country". It is this witty, satirical and critical compilation of musings from a somewhat disaffected and cynical German-American author. He talks about how we no longer have to develop this imagination circuit because we're handed thoughts, art, and creative expression in a package. So when we see a face, we just see a face. When those with an imagination circuit would see a face, they would see a face with stories. I feel like somebody stole my imagination circuit, so instead of trying to locate the culprit, I'm gonna just build a new one. How ya like them apples? Because I think that circuit is important in helping me discover how I'm gonna love, live and more importantly be free. I can tell you all day what freedom isn't, but I struggle like a brand new mute trying to communicate what I envision freedom to be. I probably couldn't write a simple short story to save my life, because I have learned to rely so heavily on creative/artistic technology(i.e. movies, television), which makes you a lazy thinker. I want to dream newly and not feel like I have to follow a script. I want to embrace my newly discovered identity as an artist and share my gifts so that they may inspire. I want to help imagine>create>produce a world that my great grandchildren and they're contemporaries can live in where they don't have to struggle and fight, but if they do they'll know how to do it creatively and with dignity.... Damn. Gil is speaking so clearly, no oatmeal there.
Until next time,
Stayin' sucka free and dreamin' of freedom at the same time!

Dear Me,

It has been a such a long time since i've been honest with you. So long that i don't think you listen anymore...i wonder if anyone listens anymore though, but that's just because i've been trying to forget...that's another conversation. i just wanted to let you know that i have blood on my hands. blood from the sociopathic murder spree that i've been on the past 3 months. stabbing and strangling the relationships that have meant the most to me.....until irreparable damage has been done-relationship murder in the 1st degree. family, love, friends, career--fuck it, none of it has mattered. just my need to abandon muthafuckas the same way that everyone else has exited my life when it was convenient. i'm tired of being there for everybody....i'm tired of absorbing the poison from everybody else's life. i'm dying inside from the vat of the toxins that resides comfortably in my heart. The vat that has ALL of the shit that the world decided to give to me as a gift. The gift that has been enriching my human journey, helping to calibrate my world perspective. i'm sorry but the world and everybody in it can kiss my ass right about now. and yes Me too, you've been nothing more than a source of stress, attempting to be a voice of reason and balance, forcing me to be everything to everybody. i'm so tired of your childish efforts to impact and love, fight and cry for people who are really not interested in your insignificant thrusts at altering the planet. yeah, i've had enough of that. So, i think it's time for you to find a new address, because you're not welcome here anymore. it's time for me to be a little more selfish and you're impeding the progress. You have official been served. You have 48 hours to get all your shit up outta here; the Cocoa Butter and incense, Cheikh Anta Diop and Edwidge Danticat books, the Steel Pulse and Public Enemy cds, the Ashra Kwesi and John Henrik Clarke videotapes.....yeah, take all that bullshit somewhere else. I'm getting back to basics. Giving a fuck takes way too much energy i find, so this is the most effective course of action. Shouts out to all those who help me make this decision, you know who you are! It has been quite a struggle, but now i'm really free. i don't know what the hell i was talkin' bout before. slave this and that, shit i am going to take my proud place in the realm of Niggadom and call it a life. This is my bona fide goodbye to Me and everybody else who loved and appreciated his ass, that nigga is leaving.

Standing in Ibo Landing

You make me blue. Like the color of my blood before it oxygenizes. And I pass tense to cast my line of confusion because it is too intense to bear. I listen to you. In my dreams of freedom you talk shit like a rogue angel looking for the revenge God wouldn’t grant you the courtesy of exacting. Sometimes I don’t know what you want though, because while I should have knowledge of your thoughts through understanding, I resist the process on some level because I still wonder. My pathological past does not allow my heart to heal; it remains bloodstained from the emotional war that we so uncomfortably bypassed so that we could spoon romantically in the aftermath. Posthumously envisioning this climatic life on the thirteenth moon of Neptune in the hereafter….I remain blue. I freestyled through a pool of paint thinner trying to find the real, but disavowed my reality remains. Inconsistent and hyperfunctional-- I pretend the world around me exists inside of a kaleidoscope of astrological Crayolas, coloring my transition with moods of indigo, sapphire and periwinkle. I have searched for that smile my imagination has constructed so meticulously, but abandoned it has left me in my quest of discovery. I no longer want to live inside of a barren canteen, hoping that one day the water from Bastet’s gourd will rinse away my blue. But I will continue to hope, because it is all that is left after the inspiration is gone. As I stand alone with my thoughts of our beginnings on Ibo Landing.