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.

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