Little reported in reference to the brouhaha over Dick Cheney giving the commencement speech at BYU this year is the fact that it wasn't BYU's idea. The VP's office asked BYU to invite him to give the speech, figuring that Cheney'd have a compliant audience for all his "last throes" bullsh*t.
Not so, but hardly suprising. Seems the VP's personal planning is on a par with his war planning.
Just for fun, and because it reminded me of a line Dave Chappelle repeated at his birthday show in DC, here's a snip from a piece on the BYU dust-up...
/snip/
But there are also some noteworthy distinctions between the visits of Dick Cheney and Michael Moore. The major issues people seemed to have with Moore (based on the hundreds of messages I received) were, in order: 1) he was too fat and unkempt, 2) he wasn't objective in his films, and 3) he was too harsh a critic of the Bush Administration and the war. In contrast, the concerns with Cheney are 1) his role in sending hundreds of thousands of young people into a tragically unnecessary war, 2) his advocation of torture as a "no-brainer," and 3) his suspect involvement in the Scooter Libby/Valerie Plame affair. Shooting someone in the face is a close fourth.
4.18.2007
4.12.2007
2.13.2007
Get Your Money Right
I came across this honestly; web searching for my consulting gig.
I'm intrigued. My client's got money to put on financial literacy workshops, geared toward the same demographic, planned for the same time the Hip-Hop Summit Action Network's tour stops in DC. If we can pull off a partnership or tag-on to their stuff, cool.
I'm intrigued. My client's got money to put on financial literacy workshops, geared toward the same demographic, planned for the same time the Hip-Hop Summit Action Network's tour stops in DC. If we can pull off a partnership or tag-on to their stuff, cool.
1.25.2007
Barack's balancing act
And so the, ahem, race begins in earnest.
/snip/
Already, that balancing act is causing some strains. Some of Obama's longtime black supporters in Illinois are grumbling about the largely white crowd of advisers who now surround Obama as he gears up his national campaign. "Who does he represent? That is what people are worried about," said Lorenzo Martin, publisher of the Chicago Standard newspapers, a chain of black-oriented weeklies that circulate in the southern suburbs. "When you look and see who is surrounding him, you are not going to see too many brothers. What you see is the liberal left."
What it comes down to in the end is less race than money. Barack Obama can play to any audience he wants, can promise all kinds of "new politics" for a new age - but he's gonna have to raise a boatload of cash to win the Democratic nomination, to say nothing of moving through the general election. At that level, the party affiliation matters less than cash affiliation.
Black, white, whatever... the green is gonna call the shots.
/snip/
Already, that balancing act is causing some strains. Some of Obama's longtime black supporters in Illinois are grumbling about the largely white crowd of advisers who now surround Obama as he gears up his national campaign. "Who does he represent? That is what people are worried about," said Lorenzo Martin, publisher of the Chicago Standard newspapers, a chain of black-oriented weeklies that circulate in the southern suburbs. "When you look and see who is surrounding him, you are not going to see too many brothers. What you see is the liberal left."
What it comes down to in the end is less race than money. Barack Obama can play to any audience he wants, can promise all kinds of "new politics" for a new age - but he's gonna have to raise a boatload of cash to win the Democratic nomination, to say nothing of moving through the general election. At that level, the party affiliation matters less than cash affiliation.
Black, white, whatever... the green is gonna call the shots.
1.18.2007
I like Dan Froomkin
It irks me to no end to hear talk about failure and success absent the reality that we failed from the git-go.
At a book-signing/reading years ago at the now-defunct SisterSpace Books, Nikki Giovanni said, "You have to know what a fool looks like." Here are a few.
At a book-signing/reading years ago at the now-defunct SisterSpace Books, Nikki Giovanni said, "You have to know what a fool looks like." Here are a few.
1.04.2007
via MLK, Jr.
Just heard on the iPod Shuffle... an excerpt from a speech by MLK, Jr. where he quoted William Jennings Bryan
"The truth, crushed to the earth, will rise again."
I, too, shall rise. From being self-crushed.
"The truth, crushed to the earth, will rise again."
I, too, shall rise. From being self-crushed.
12.10.2006
Jingle All the Way 10K
UPDATE: The race folks sent me pics.
I finished my first 10K this morning!
Acumen Solutions Jingle All The Way 10K
Washington, DC December 10, 2006
Official Men's Results
Place Div/Tot Num Name Age Hometown Gun T Net T Pace
317 61/138 851 Jomo Graham 33 WASHINGTON DC 51:20 51:07 8:14
12.06.2006
Talking Truth to Power
On the day the Iraq Study Group report came out, I feel like there's a new strain in the national dialogue.
1. Al Gore(from Think Progress)
2. Barbara Boxer (from AP)
I could go on. The point is, I feel less insane to hear something akin to reason and accountability returning to the discussion of the mess we're all in.
1. Al Gore(from Think Progress)
2. Barbara Boxer (from AP)
I could go on. The point is, I feel less insane to hear something akin to reason and accountability returning to the discussion of the mess we're all in.
A poet I heard about and want to read
Two weeks ago, my poetry workshop at All Souls Church ended. Chris Nealon, a professor at UC Berkeley, introduced us to a number of poets during the five-week course.
Here's one: Nathaniel Mackey.
Mackey recently won the National Book Award for Splay Anthem.
Here's one: Nathaniel Mackey.
Mackey recently won the National Book Award for Splay Anthem.
12.05.2006
Tuesday Morning: Brookland, USA
I started today with a bagel and a muffin. A bit much, but the belly's full. Now it's time for lists and tasks and measurables. Phone calls and e-mails. W-o-r-k.
Where's the poetry in that?
Just for fun, I browsed my Bookmarks for inspiration; procrastination, whatever...
Eureka! Now I'm ready for the mundane. Work, here I come :)
Where's the poetry in that?
Just for fun, I browsed my Bookmarks for inspiration; procrastination, whatever...
Eureka! Now I'm ready for the mundane. Work, here I come :)
12.01.2006
No Joke
Now, I could be snarky about this... but why bother?
The story speaks for itself.
(h/t to Crooks and Liars)
The story speaks for itself.
(h/t to Crooks and Liars)
11.27.2006
Flavor Flav wasn't always on VH1, clownin'
I only have a sec, but I want to get this off my chest.
Flavor Flav wasn't always on VH1, clownin'. As a charter member of Public Enemy, Flav's role was to give the masses someone to identify with while Chuck D was droppin' knowledge.
Before there was Ol' Dirty, there was Flav. Good, bad, ugly, and magnetic.
Check his style and flow on "Too Much Posse" and "Cold Lampin with Flavor" and you'll see what I mean.
Flavor Flav wasn't always on VH1, clownin'. As a charter member of Public Enemy, Flav's role was to give the masses someone to identify with while Chuck D was droppin' knowledge.
Before there was Ol' Dirty, there was Flav. Good, bad, ugly, and magnetic.
Check his style and flow on "Too Much Posse" and "Cold Lampin with Flavor" and you'll see what I mean.
10.14.2006
Back in Cali
It's nice to be back in the Bay Area. My wife and I came out to attend a gala for her organization - which, coincidentally, doubled as her last day working for those folks.
As the Gap Band says, "Celebrate".
We're here for a few more days, then back to DC. Lots of chill time, reading a nice serial novel in Harper's Magazine, digging the in-laws.
Life is good.
My mother-in-law's nice with the digital photos. Tonight she made us some bookmarks with a Thoreau quote ("Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined") laid over a cropped, enlarged flower petal she shot.
Say word.
As the Gap Band says, "Celebrate".
We're here for a few more days, then back to DC. Lots of chill time, reading a nice serial novel in Harper's Magazine, digging the in-laws.
Life is good.
My mother-in-law's nice with the digital photos. Tonight she made us some bookmarks with a Thoreau quote ("Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined") laid over a cropped, enlarged flower petal she shot.
Say word.
9.21.2006
7.06.2006
6.12.2006
5.30.2006
Soy sano
UPDATE: I'm been informed that Babel Fish misinformed me about translating "I'm healthy" into Spanish. Here's what I should have called this post from the start:
Estoy sano
Aah, blessed knowledge. I learned from an invasive, and admittedly not too painful, procedure this morning that I'm in good health. The recent bout with hematuria was likely the result of passing a kidney stone. Dr. Engel performed a cystourethroscopy and assured me that it's okay to get back to life as usual.
Most pressing for me was getting the Diet Coke ban lifted. I was told by the folks at Sibley to stop drinking carbonated drinks until the cause of the hematuria was determined* . I've got 32 12oz. cans of decaffeinated ambrosia from Costco sitting in my Florida den. Say, "Word!" Word, I'm sayin'...
Since I'm happy about my health, I'll try to let go of the irk-edness of missing my first 10K.
*I had a list of no-no's from the Sibley ER experience. Dr. Engel pooh-poohed them as ridiculous and unnecessary. My man! "You need to [go jogging] for your mental health, right?" he asked. Claro que si. "I'm addicted to Diet Coke," he said. Yo, tambien.
UPDATE: I'm been informed that Babel Fish misinformed me about translating "I'm healthy" into Spanish. Here's what I should have called this post from the start:
Estoy sano
Aah, blessed knowledge. I learned from an invasive, and admittedly not too painful, procedure this morning that I'm in good health. The recent bout with hematuria was likely the result of passing a kidney stone. Dr. Engel performed a cystourethroscopy and assured me that it's okay to get back to life as usual.
Most pressing for me was getting the Diet Coke ban lifted. I was told by the folks at Sibley to stop drinking carbonated drinks until the cause of the hematuria was determined* . I've got 32 12oz. cans of decaffeinated ambrosia from Costco sitting in my Florida den. Say, "Word!" Word, I'm sayin'...
Since I'm happy about my health, I'll try to let go of the irk-edness of missing my first 10K.
*I had a list of no-no's from the Sibley ER experience. Dr. Engel pooh-poohed them as ridiculous and unnecessary. My man! "You need to [go jogging] for your mental health, right?" he asked. Claro que si. "I'm addicted to Diet Coke," he said. Yo, tambien.
5.29.2006
My Inner Twenty Year-old
I read Matt Bai's article in yesterday's Sunday Times magazine about the YearlyKos conference. While I read a number of lefty blogs daily, I haven't really contemplated taking my online interest offline.
It's an interesting phenomenon to have a daily "interaction" without ever actually meeting folks. What's the equivalent of "all politics is local" for the blogosphere? How do I make more of my thoughts than comments left anonymously on someone's blog? I spent years doing front-line community work driven by all my political notions, and now that I don't do that work, where do I put my notions into practice?
I want to be an engaged citizen in the enterprise of making society more just and equitable, locally and globally. I'm starting to take an active role in neighborhood dialogues, which feels pretty good. At the same time, I want to look at the broader city (DC's a beautiful, complicated mess) and world (likewise beautiful, complicated, messy) and get in the game.
One of my personal barriers to break through is an overriding cynicism. It's a way to justify apathy and keep disappointment at bay when my utopian sentiments don't win out. Maybe if I start connecting my ideals and action, from the neighborhood to city-wide to global spheres, I'll meet like-minded people and in the process let myself be vulnerable and naive enough to resuscitate my inner twenty year-old.
Updated 05.30.06
I read Matt Bai's article in yesterday's Sunday Times magazine about the YearlyKos conference. While I read a number of lefty blogs daily, I haven't really contemplated taking my online interest offline.
It's an interesting phenomenon to have a daily "interaction" without ever actually meeting folks. What's the equivalent of "all politics is local" for the blogosphere? How do I make more of my thoughts than comments left anonymously on someone's blog? I spent years doing front-line community work driven by all my political notions, and now that I don't do that work, where do I put my notions into practice?
I want to be an engaged citizen in the enterprise of making society more just and equitable, locally and globally. I'm starting to take an active role in neighborhood dialogues, which feels pretty good. At the same time, I want to look at the broader city (DC's a beautiful, complicated mess) and world (likewise beautiful, complicated, messy) and get in the game.
One of my personal barriers to break through is an overriding cynicism. It's a way to justify apathy and keep disappointment at bay when my utopian sentiments don't win out. Maybe if I start connecting my ideals and action, from the neighborhood to city-wide to global spheres, I'll meet like-minded people and in the process let myself be vulnerable and naive enough to resuscitate my inner twenty year-old.
Updated 05.30.06
5.26.2006
Blessed Oblivion
Apparently, I'm pretty damn lucky if in fact I passed a kidney stone obliviously. I was talking to someone this morning whose mother passed three kidney stones while she (my friend, not the mother) was in utero-- possibly a contributing factor to their fractious relationship since her mom had to bear the pain sans drugs.
I'll never know the pains of childbirth. Maybe I've been spared the 3-4 week pain of passing a kidney stone, too.
Apparently, I'm pretty damn lucky if in fact I passed a kidney stone obliviously. I was talking to someone this morning whose mother passed three kidney stones while she (my friend, not the mother) was in utero-- possibly a contributing factor to their fractious relationship since her mom had to bear the pain sans drugs.
I'll never know the pains of childbirth. Maybe I've been spared the 3-4 week pain of passing a kidney stone, too.
Books
I've been trying to read The Known World, by Edward P. Jones, for some time. I'm finding it hard to commit the requisite time and energy to follow a complex narrative these days. Crosswords, the "express" version of the Washignton Post, and the occasional SI or Harper's article are about as much as I can handle.
One day, I hope to get through some of these.
I've been trying to read The Known World, by Edward P. Jones, for some time. I'm finding it hard to commit the requisite time and energy to follow a complex narrative these days. Crosswords, the "express" version of the Washignton Post, and the occasional SI or Harper's article are about as much as I can handle.
One day, I hope to get through some of these.
5.25.2006
5.24.2006
democracy at the end of a barrel
(draft)
let's riddle democracy with bullets
and arm election monitors with geiger
counters to gauge the half-life
of liberty depleted by uranium-coated
ballot boxes. absentee voters still
breathing after the primary assault
can canvass for candidates under
established rules of engagement in
the door to door war to win
the hearts and minds of the people
(draft)
let's riddle democracy with bullets
and arm election monitors with geiger
counters to gauge the half-life
of liberty depleted by uranium-coated
ballot boxes. absentee voters still
breathing after the primary assault
can canvass for candidates under
established rules of engagement in
the door to door war to win
the hearts and minds of the people
4.18.2006
So I've signed up for my first 10K.
Yesterday, I was thinking I'd run it in about an hour, at about a 9:30min/mile pace. Today, I just want to have fun running with my friend, Elissa. Clearly, I'm a smarter man today than I was yesterday.
Oh, in order to lower expectations of a quick finish even further, I'm ditching my Kenyan name during the event and temporarily re-dubbing myself "Bob".
Yesterday, I was thinking I'd run it in about an hour, at about a 9:30min/mile pace. Today, I just want to have fun running with my friend, Elissa. Clearly, I'm a smarter man today than I was yesterday.
Oh, in order to lower expectations of a quick finish even further, I'm ditching my Kenyan name during the event and temporarily re-dubbing myself "Bob".
4.10.2006
4.04.2006
Kismet
I've taken to sitting in a little coffee/cafe spot on U Street, NW. Me and the other self-employed, wi-fi wanderers park ourselves at the few tables near electrical outlets and shamelessly don't buy much more than coffee or a nibbleable morsel in the span of up to six/eight hours.
My "m.o." is to get a Diet Coke and chocolate muffin at about hour number three. The staff doesn't seem to mind. They accomodate us right along with the paying customers. In a way, we're part of the decor, adding a certain digerati quotient that dovetails nicely with the nouveau soul soundscape, passable artwork, and an unrepentant menu that includes pig slicings, grits and chicken-n-waffles prepared by Salvadoran cooks.
Some days are just work. Other days, people drop in and break up the monotony. Last week my brother-in-law posted up for lunch. Today, an acquaintance dropped by and hipped me to the latest issue of Beltway . Lo and behold, after I finished clicking around the site, in walked E. Ethelbert Miller, whose poem I had just finished reading. Kismet. I dig kismet. Especially after a long day at the "office".
I've taken to sitting in a little coffee/cafe spot on U Street, NW. Me and the other self-employed, wi-fi wanderers park ourselves at the few tables near electrical outlets and shamelessly don't buy much more than coffee or a nibbleable morsel in the span of up to six/eight hours.
My "m.o." is to get a Diet Coke and chocolate muffin at about hour number three. The staff doesn't seem to mind. They accomodate us right along with the paying customers. In a way, we're part of the decor, adding a certain digerati quotient that dovetails nicely with the nouveau soul soundscape, passable artwork, and an unrepentant menu that includes pig slicings, grits and chicken-n-waffles prepared by Salvadoran cooks.
Some days are just work. Other days, people drop in and break up the monotony. Last week my brother-in-law posted up for lunch. Today, an acquaintance dropped by and hipped me to the latest issue of Beltway . Lo and behold, after I finished clicking around the site, in walked E. Ethelbert Miller, whose poem I had just finished reading. Kismet. I dig kismet. Especially after a long day at the "office".
3.30.2006
The National Debt Clock
So we're reaching a y2k-type situation with the debt clock in NYC. The deal is this.
I was worrying about the national debt a few years back, but I never imagined things would get to this point-- especially with so many so-called budget hawks controlling the executive and legislative branches of government for the past six years. Silly me (scroll down to #2).
So we're reaching a y2k-type situation with the debt clock in NYC. The deal is this.
I was worrying about the national debt a few years back, but I never imagined things would get to this point-- especially with so many so-called budget hawks controlling the executive and legislative branches of government for the past six years. Silly me (scroll down to #2).
3.16.2006
2.27.2006
2.03.2006
12.11.2005
I woke up to the sad news that Richard Pryor is dead.
His honest comedic take on the craziness of life continues to inspire me. He was, as was Redd Foxx in another way and another era, a great writer. His characters, his subtlety and brashness, came from a brilliant mind that occupied and took us to spaces of imaginative insight.
R.I.P.
His honest comedic take on the craziness of life continues to inspire me. He was, as was Redd Foxx in another way and another era, a great writer. His characters, his subtlety and brashness, came from a brilliant mind that occupied and took us to spaces of imaginative insight.
R.I.P.
11.17.2005
Apologia, anyone?
NYT, art thou not complicit? Judith Miller spewed all the Administration's denials on your front page!
NYT, art thou not complicit? Judith Miller spewed all the Administration's denials on your front page!
11.14.2005
11.03.2005
the way it works is this:
i stop, breathe, take in
workmen digging up streets;
re-routing my path.
i corkscrew through
broken concrete and
tunneled asphalt looking
for a foothold.
--
Okay, I'm buggin'. Here's the poem I'm working on. That other stuff is just chaff.
whites seat from the front, colored from the rear
on a chill night when tens of thousands
exercised the right to shiver, I stood
in a mile-long line with my wife.
friends met us there—not dogs
or hoses, vitriol or spit—as we
honored and cemented
the memory of a woman whose
sitting down spurred uprising.
snaking through streets, parking lots
and the Mall, shuffling and waiting six
hours, sometimes singing spirituals,
parents with children months old
inched toward history. no church
hosts more sacred occasions
than our vigil for Rosa Parks,
trained at Highlander to moot the
sign above the bus driver’s head
written in black and white.
jails lost their power as cells became
crucibles; emboldened ordinary folk
changed from set apart, to set free.
i stop, breathe, take in
workmen digging up streets;
re-routing my path.
i corkscrew through
broken concrete and
tunneled asphalt looking
for a foothold.
--
Okay, I'm buggin'. Here's the poem I'm working on. That other stuff is just chaff.
whites seat from the front, colored from the rear
on a chill night when tens of thousands
exercised the right to shiver, I stood
in a mile-long line with my wife.
friends met us there—not dogs
or hoses, vitriol or spit—as we
honored and cemented
the memory of a woman whose
sitting down spurred uprising.
snaking through streets, parking lots
and the Mall, shuffling and waiting six
hours, sometimes singing spirituals,
parents with children months old
inched toward history. no church
hosts more sacred occasions
than our vigil for Rosa Parks,
trained at Highlander to moot the
sign above the bus driver’s head
written in black and white.
jails lost their power as cells became
crucibles; emboldened ordinary folk
changed from set apart, to set free.
10.30.2005
fine tune-age
Here's another copy of "spit"; still trying to decide where i want to locate the poem. Top two contenders right now are El Salvador and South Africa. (It started out in El Salvador, but I'm open to other possibilities).
spit
they came with
mortars, torches, and death.
papi fled as planned.
his bullet pierced mami’s temple;
blood dripped like her spit down
the soldier’s face. neither flinched.
And.. another death-infused poem for your enjoyment...
I'm in a poetry workshop at the moment. Our last assignment was to write a poem in blank verse. Check it. I went the iambic pentameter route.
needle, vein, death.
a second left and all I want to know
is how the blade felt sliding through your ribs
I carved a turkey with a duller blade
but sharpened this one just for your demise.
I guess that makes you special; mi amor,
in death we reunite; I’ll see you soon.
Here's another copy of "spit"; still trying to decide where i want to locate the poem. Top two contenders right now are El Salvador and South Africa. (It started out in El Salvador, but I'm open to other possibilities).
spit
they came with
mortars, torches, and death.
papi fled as planned.
his bullet pierced mami’s temple;
blood dripped like her spit down
the soldier’s face. neither flinched.
And.. another death-infused poem for your enjoyment...
I'm in a poetry workshop at the moment. Our last assignment was to write a poem in blank verse. Check it. I went the iambic pentameter route.
needle, vein, death.
a second left and all I want to know
is how the blade felt sliding through your ribs
I carved a turkey with a duller blade
but sharpened this one just for your demise.
I guess that makes you special; mi amor,
in death we reunite; I’ll see you soon.
10.10.2005
9.22.2005
Work break WTF? moment of the day
John Aravosis posted this.
Amazing. The leader of the free world? Maybe he is back on the sauce. (Okay, it's from the Enquirer, but check the link in that story).
Anyway, I made up my own quote. To wit:
"When I look at the lives lost to Katrina and the war in Iraq, I think, 'The terrorists wish they could do this. But they can't.' I did it. (Pauses to reach under lectern for a shot of Stoli) I take responsi- sike! Who wrote this sh*t!" (Reaches for another shot).
Far-fetched? Maybe so, maybe no; liquor sometimes does give you a sweaty back.
Okay, I can't actually confirm the alleged drinking or link said allegation to the sweaty back. I just like the picture and wanted to post it on my blog.
John Aravosis posted this.
Amazing. The leader of the free world? Maybe he is back on the sauce. (Okay, it's from the Enquirer, but check the link in that story).
Anyway, I made up my own quote. To wit:
"When I look at the lives lost to Katrina and the war in Iraq, I think, 'The terrorists wish they could do this. But they can't.' I did it. (Pauses to reach under lectern for a shot of Stoli) I take responsi- sike! Who wrote this sh*t!" (Reaches for another shot).
Far-fetched? Maybe so, maybe no; liquor sometimes does give you a sweaty back.
Okay, I can't actually confirm the alleged drinking or link said allegation to the sweaty back. I just like the picture and wanted to post it on my blog.
9.18.2005
Crispy Bacon (Cross-posted here)
There are things that, when done well, need no explication:
a good poem
a funny joke
crispy bacon (for the pork-eaters like my Self).
Frank Rich is crispy bacon, minus the grease and fat.
Jomo
(P.S., Link from NYT-- may require subscription).
There are things that, when done well, need no explication:
a good poem
a funny joke
crispy bacon (for the pork-eaters like my Self).
Frank Rich is crispy bacon, minus the grease and fat.
Jomo
(P.S., Link from NYT-- may require subscription).
9.07.2005
Randy Newman via Aaron Neville
Louisiana 1927
Luckily, my family in Washington Parish is okay. So, too, my kinfolks in Baton Rouge and Hattiesburg, MS.
Praise Be.
Louisiana 1927
Luckily, my family in Washington Parish is okay. So, too, my kinfolks in Baton Rouge and Hattiesburg, MS.
Praise Be.
Katrina
I learned just last Thursday that my "kinfolks" in Angie, La. are okay. But it will be a long time before power is restored and water is available.
Now I hear the Mayor of New Orleans has authorized forced evacuations. I don't know how I feel about that. On the public safety level, I see the point. On the personal liberty standpoint, anyone who made it this far has probably got more sense than the government that was supposed to protect them.
In any event, the money quote from the article above comes from Jefferson Parish President, Aaron Broussard, of Meet the Press fame:
(snip)
Jefferson Parish president Aaron Broussard was even more blunt.
"Bureaucracy has murdered people in the greater New Orleans area," he said on CBS' "Early Show." "Take whatever idiot they have at the top of whatever agency and give me a better idiot. Give me a caring idiot. Give me a sensitive idiot. Just don't give me the same idiot."
Word.
I learned just last Thursday that my "kinfolks" in Angie, La. are okay. But it will be a long time before power is restored and water is available.
Now I hear the Mayor of New Orleans has authorized forced evacuations. I don't know how I feel about that. On the public safety level, I see the point. On the personal liberty standpoint, anyone who made it this far has probably got more sense than the government that was supposed to protect them.
In any event, the money quote from the article above comes from Jefferson Parish President, Aaron Broussard, of Meet the Press fame:
(snip)
Jefferson Parish president Aaron Broussard was even more blunt.
"Bureaucracy has murdered people in the greater New Orleans area," he said on CBS' "Early Show." "Take whatever idiot they have at the top of whatever agency and give me a better idiot. Give me a caring idiot. Give me a sensitive idiot. Just don't give me the same idiot."
Word.
8.21.2005
eyes on the un-claimed prize poem
untitled fragment (screed)
I roll thru streets where
Black Power sits threadbare
in folding chairs propped
against crumbling liquor stores.
revolutionary lore forfeited
by its electees, who: (a) got power
and (b) bullshitted. once (c) keeping the role
trumped all else, (d) patronage raised
its color-blind head; (e) people
showed their true colors (i.e., (f) their ass).
now, (g) what benefits have we reaped
from one of the most amazing
movements in human history? the
meek may well inherit the earth, but
(h) right now they still catch hell
in Detroit, Chicago, D.C.(HIV rate on the rise
for Black women—hello!), Los Angeles,
NYC (Black male unemployment at 50%,
motherfuck!), never mind the plight of
the Black farmer— see (i) Zimbabwe or
(j) anywhere in the United States.
untitled fragment (screed)
I roll thru streets where
Black Power sits threadbare
in folding chairs propped
against crumbling liquor stores.
revolutionary lore forfeited
by its electees, who: (a) got power
and (b) bullshitted. once (c) keeping the role
trumped all else, (d) patronage raised
its color-blind head; (e) people
showed their true colors (i.e., (f) their ass).
now, (g) what benefits have we reaped
from one of the most amazing
movements in human history? the
meek may well inherit the earth, but
(h) right now they still catch hell
in Detroit, Chicago, D.C.(HIV rate on the rise
for Black women—hello!), Los Angeles,
NYC (Black male unemployment at 50%,
motherfuck!), never mind the plight of
the Black farmer— see (i) Zimbabwe or
(j) anywhere in the United States.
7.13.2005
Excuse Me, I'm Not a Book Burner
Ratzinger vs. Harry Potter
So the Vatican's score is:
Against- a work or fiction
For- clerics who sexually molest children
Because God said so.
Got it.
Ratzinger vs. Harry Potter
So the Vatican's score is:
Against- a work or fiction
For- clerics who sexually molest children
Because God said so.
Got it.
7.12.2005
for Grandpa Johnny Will "Shoot Ya" Jones, Sr.
a shotgun house, bedsprings in
every room rusted by crop-raising,
braces for the summerstorm season.
the scrap-dog took cover under
flood-pillar-raised floorboards
soon as the wind started blowing
thunder clouds questioning Grandpa's
zinc roof and caulking this way;
no need: Johnny Will Jones, Sr. built
a house for fifteen children. instead of
setting a price for his family's
labor he gave away early peas, okra,
yams and potatoes like he gave away
a gangrenous leg to war. war his
sons fought, too, before setting out
for worlds un-plowed by part-Whiteness
or Jim-Crowed darkies. wars, his
daughters fought, too, against
his controlling nature and wounds
that may or may not ever heal.
weathered badly, no crops sewn for
a generation, the house still stands
a short drive from the main road
on a gravelly lane named after Grandpa.
summerstorms won't knock it down, long as
we stand as a family. having survived
many wars; we pray he rest in peace.
a shotgun house, bedsprings in
every room rusted by crop-raising,
braces for the summerstorm season.
the scrap-dog took cover under
flood-pillar-raised floorboards
soon as the wind started blowing
thunder clouds questioning Grandpa's
zinc roof and caulking this way;
no need: Johnny Will Jones, Sr. built
a house for fifteen children. instead of
setting a price for his family's
labor he gave away early peas, okra,
yams and potatoes like he gave away
a gangrenous leg to war. war his
sons fought, too, before setting out
for worlds un-plowed by part-Whiteness
or Jim-Crowed darkies. wars, his
daughters fought, too, against
his controlling nature and wounds
that may or may not ever heal.
weathered badly, no crops sewn for
a generation, the house still stands
a short drive from the main road
on a gravelly lane named after Grandpa.
summerstorms won't knock it down, long as
we stand as a family. having survived
many wars; we pray he rest in peace.
6.28.2005
6.27.2005
some haikus from '99 or '00
1.
generations know
survival means: dry season
sweats blood young and old
2.
still pond mirrors moon
footpath marked by lantern ligh
i hold you hold me
3.
why waste mourning for
what was while what should be is
you free to be you
4.
sometimes you just turn
my world west to east, sometimes
i wake up dreaming
5.
we packed memories
tenderly as night fell we
dueted goodbye
6. (for Gil Scott-Heron: 2000)
the pint? it makes it
possible to contemplate
the revolution
1.
generations know
survival means: dry season
sweats blood young and old
2.
still pond mirrors moon
footpath marked by lantern ligh
i hold you hold me
3.
why waste mourning for
what was while what should be is
you free to be you
4.
sometimes you just turn
my world west to east, sometimes
i wake up dreaming
5.
we packed memories
tenderly as night fell we
dueted goodbye
6. (for Gil Scott-Heron: 2000)
the pint? it makes it
possible to contemplate
the revolution
6.18.2005
6.17.2005
I had a "first" today-- two, actually: I read "The Wizard of Oz" on my PDA. It takes a little getting used to, but I think I've warmed up to the idea.
The software came bundled with the Palm OS. Nice features, easy to navigate. I like the idea of taking digital notes as I go, especially since I am loath to skribble in books these days, and all the post-it notes I tack in ruin the aesthetic of the original design.
But how much am I willing to pay for the privilege of sitting in my doctor's waiting room, or on the metro, with my gadget? What's the going rate for convenience?
Being back in Cali for the week gives me time to hash it out.
On the subject of Cali, my state rocked me with a 6.4 mag tectonic shift this evening. Dorothy said, "There's no place like home." Trudat.
The software came bundled with the Palm OS. Nice features, easy to navigate. I like the idea of taking digital notes as I go, especially since I am loath to skribble in books these days, and all the post-it notes I tack in ruin the aesthetic of the original design.
But how much am I willing to pay for the privilege of sitting in my doctor's waiting room, or on the metro, with my gadget? What's the going rate for convenience?
Being back in Cali for the week gives me time to hash it out.
On the subject of Cali, my state rocked me with a 6.4 mag tectonic shift this evening. Dorothy said, "There's no place like home." Trudat.
5.18.2005
5.13.2005
Digital Window Shopping
Time to blog? I think so.
I've been in a blog-reading loop for a few weeks. So much so that I haven't set aside time to write. Guess that's a feature of the blogosphere: digital window shopping galore.
Being in this ether doesn't require much more effort than the ability to click. Real-world window shopping involves a different level of effort-- the actual movement through time and space. Clicking through blogs, I have a sense of the ultimate and encouraging interconnectedness of the Web, but lose that all-important (to me) tactile experience of "fog on glass".
In my junior year of college, I took a class called "Utopian Political Thought". The professor included works by authors who posited "dystopia's" as well-- basically, anti-Edens. I had never considered the genre before, though I had become familiar with it (being Black).
A part of the blogosphere/Web clicking sensation reminds me of a story from that class that I have to dredge up; I believe it's by Borges. Anyway, it's one of those sci-fi tropes where technology performs most functions of daily life except human interaction, so that we become isolated. Isolated, ultimately, from ourselves.
The kicker is, of course, we've isolated ourselves by creating technologies that we hope will bring us closer to one another, make life easier, lighten our load.
Or maybe identity is shifting and I'm in the transition generation. I'm lamenting a loss of something that the next generation may deem quaint. There can be deep and sincere digital bonds, the same way there are shallow and deceptive relationships offline.
I don't know.
Nostalgia's a pendulum that swings non-stop between "what I knew" and "what I hope". When it hits the mid-point, I write-- like now.
Time to blog? I think so.
I've been in a blog-reading loop for a few weeks. So much so that I haven't set aside time to write. Guess that's a feature of the blogosphere: digital window shopping galore.
Being in this ether doesn't require much more effort than the ability to click. Real-world window shopping involves a different level of effort-- the actual movement through time and space. Clicking through blogs, I have a sense of the ultimate and encouraging interconnectedness of the Web, but lose that all-important (to me) tactile experience of "fog on glass".
In my junior year of college, I took a class called "Utopian Political Thought". The professor included works by authors who posited "dystopia's" as well-- basically, anti-Edens. I had never considered the genre before, though I had become familiar with it (being Black).
A part of the blogosphere/Web clicking sensation reminds me of a story from that class that I have to dredge up; I believe it's by Borges. Anyway, it's one of those sci-fi tropes where technology performs most functions of daily life except human interaction, so that we become isolated. Isolated, ultimately, from ourselves.
The kicker is, of course, we've isolated ourselves by creating technologies that we hope will bring us closer to one another, make life easier, lighten our load.
Or maybe identity is shifting and I'm in the transition generation. I'm lamenting a loss of something that the next generation may deem quaint. There can be deep and sincere digital bonds, the same way there are shallow and deceptive relationships offline.
I don't know.
Nostalgia's a pendulum that swings non-stop between "what I knew" and "what I hope". When it hits the mid-point, I write-- like now.
4.26.2005
So, another report that the U.S. rationale for the invasion of Iraq was a bunch of crap. (Note the Orwellian logic used in the last two paragraphs).
According to the Washington Post: "The report, which refuted many of the administration's principal arguments for going to war in Iraq, marked the official end of a two-year weapons hunt led most recently by former U.N. weapons inspector Charles A. Duelfer. The team found that the 1991 Persian Gulf War and subsequent U.N. sanctions had destroyed Iraq's illicit weapons capabilities and that, for the most part, Hussein had not tried to rebuild them. Iraq's ability to produce nuclear arms, which the administration asserted was a grave and gathering threat that required an immediate military response, had "progressively decayed" since 1991. Investigators found no evidence of "concerted efforts to restart the program."
Administration officials have emphasized that, while the survey group uncovered no banned arms, it concluded that Hussein had not given up the goal of someday acquiring them.
Hussein "retained the intent and capability and he intended to resume full-scale WMD efforts once the U.N. sanctions were lifted," Pentagon spokesman Bryan Whitman said yesterday. "Duelfer provides plenty of rationale for why this country went to war in Iraq."
According to the Washington Post: "The report, which refuted many of the administration's principal arguments for going to war in Iraq, marked the official end of a two-year weapons hunt led most recently by former U.N. weapons inspector Charles A. Duelfer. The team found that the 1991 Persian Gulf War and subsequent U.N. sanctions had destroyed Iraq's illicit weapons capabilities and that, for the most part, Hussein had not tried to rebuild them. Iraq's ability to produce nuclear arms, which the administration asserted was a grave and gathering threat that required an immediate military response, had "progressively decayed" since 1991. Investigators found no evidence of "concerted efforts to restart the program."
Administration officials have emphasized that, while the survey group uncovered no banned arms, it concluded that Hussein had not given up the goal of someday acquiring them.
Hussein "retained the intent and capability and he intended to resume full-scale WMD efforts once the U.N. sanctions were lifted," Pentagon spokesman Bryan Whitman said yesterday. "Duelfer provides plenty of rationale for why this country went to war in Iraq."
4.23.2005
4.05.2005
3.30.2005
A late night case of the hiccups has me blogging late into the night.
Here's a historical hiccup featured in my hometown newspaper. Strom Thurmond, the racist fuck, then 23, fathered a child with his family's 16-year old maid. (Question: did the Black mother of this child have a choice to fend off the advances of this man? Was it love, power, or some confabulation of the two?).
I have no sympathy for that racist fuck, no matter what his never-acknowledged daughter says. Fuck him. May he rot in hell forever.
But, God, forgive me for my sins.
Here's a historical hiccup featured in my hometown newspaper. Strom Thurmond, the racist fuck, then 23, fathered a child with his family's 16-year old maid. (Question: did the Black mother of this child have a choice to fend off the advances of this man? Was it love, power, or some confabulation of the two?).
I have no sympathy for that racist fuck, no matter what his never-acknowledged daughter says. Fuck him. May he rot in hell forever.
But, God, forgive me for my sins.
3.29.2005
3.22.2005
synergesis(haikus)
a.
we hung out, twenty-
somethings, days of headiness;
hip as hip can be.
b.
thirty-something crept
up faster than life-changing
decisions to wed.
Found out today that yet another friend-couple has bought a house in our neighborhood. Cool enough for me. We can all be in this debt thing together. No more need to congregate at a renter's crib-- we're all owners now!
Crazy.
a.
we hung out, twenty-
somethings, days of headiness;
hip as hip can be.
b.
thirty-something crept
up faster than life-changing
decisions to wed.
Found out today that yet another friend-couple has bought a house in our neighborhood. Cool enough for me. We can all be in this debt thing together. No more need to congregate at a renter's crib-- we're all owners now!
Crazy.
3.19.2005
Crazy Stuff
#1: Terry Shiavo
The Republican-controlled congress (lower-case "c" intended) has supbpoenaed a brain-dead woman. Visualize success: a brain-dead woman, in those hallowed halls, being interrogated. For background, check out these folks: AP story; the Rude Pundit (3/18/05); and Majikthise (3/9/05).
#2: Steroids
Why the hell do we need anyone in congress (again, lower-case "c" intended) to ask a bunch of jocks whether or not they used steroids? And why confine the testimony to baseball players? No track-and-field folks? No football players? No professional wrestlers?
Since we're so concerned about people's biochemical purity, how 'bout we have hearings on which congressmen use Viagra to shag interns?
#3: My Hometown
San Diego's bishop denied funeral rights to a devout catholic (another lower-case "c", intended) because he ran two gay bars. Nice. Check the story here (3/18/05 posts). Scroll through the comments, too.
#4: Balls Like a Motherf*cker
Paul Wolfowitz to head the World Bank? John Bolton(3/10/05 and 3/9/05 posts) at the UN? Alberto Gonzales at the Dept. of Justice? (As Dave Chapelle would say) "Cunnilingus" Rice at State? (I never liked her at Stanford, either). I won't even bother linking to anything about her.
#5: The Blogosphere
Even though reading blogs gives me more reasons to bang my head against the wall-- thanks, God. Where else would I read about all this crazy stuff?
"5000"
#1: Terry Shiavo
The Republican-controlled congress (lower-case "c" intended) has supbpoenaed a brain-dead woman. Visualize success: a brain-dead woman, in those hallowed halls, being interrogated. For background, check out these folks: AP story; the Rude Pundit (3/18/05); and Majikthise (3/9/05).
#2: Steroids
Why the hell do we need anyone in congress (again, lower-case "c" intended) to ask a bunch of jocks whether or not they used steroids? And why confine the testimony to baseball players? No track-and-field folks? No football players? No professional wrestlers?
Since we're so concerned about people's biochemical purity, how 'bout we have hearings on which congressmen use Viagra to shag interns?
#3: My Hometown
San Diego's bishop denied funeral rights to a devout catholic (another lower-case "c", intended) because he ran two gay bars. Nice. Check the story here (3/18/05 posts). Scroll through the comments, too.
#4: Balls Like a Motherf*cker
Paul Wolfowitz to head the World Bank? John Bolton(3/10/05 and 3/9/05 posts) at the UN? Alberto Gonzales at the Dept. of Justice? (As Dave Chapelle would say) "Cunnilingus" Rice at State? (I never liked her at Stanford, either). I won't even bother linking to anything about her.
#5: The Blogosphere
Even though reading blogs gives me more reasons to bang my head against the wall-- thanks, God. Where else would I read about all this crazy stuff?
"5000"
3.10.2005
Sometimes I just get a jones for Ras Kass.
On another note, I couldn't help shaking my head at the headline of today's Post Express edition-- Battlefield Lebanon: Bush touts gains in Mideast democracy; nearly 500,000 denounce U.S. in Beirut rally".
That's only 430,000 more people than last Monday's rally to get Syria out of Lebanon.
I'll forego sarcasm and just re-state the numbers:
Monday, 70 thousand folks demonstrated against Syria's influence and presence in Lebanon
Tuesday, 500 thousand folks demonstrated against U.S. policies in the Mideast.
"The Bush administration brushed aside anti-American sentiment, saying it was happy to see people peacefully express their views".
I'm not making this up. I'm refraining from sarcasm. My country, the one in which I just bought a house, elected this man to a second term of office.
I find solace in the fact we're a constitutional democracy with Presidential term limits.
On another note, I couldn't help shaking my head at the headline of today's Post Express edition-- Battlefield Lebanon: Bush touts gains in Mideast democracy; nearly 500,000 denounce U.S. in Beirut rally".
That's only 430,000 more people than last Monday's rally to get Syria out of Lebanon.
I'll forego sarcasm and just re-state the numbers:
Monday, 70 thousand folks demonstrated against Syria's influence and presence in Lebanon
Tuesday, 500 thousand folks demonstrated against U.S. policies in the Mideast.
"The Bush administration brushed aside anti-American sentiment, saying it was happy to see people peacefully express their views".
I'm not making this up. I'm refraining from sarcasm. My country, the one in which I just bought a house, elected this man to a second term of office.
I find solace in the fact we're a constitutional democracy with Presidential term limits.
3.07.2005
Two pieces from November 2004
1. (fragment)
I am the Black infant
mortality rate, more elusive
than census data portends
with tallies of death
per capita; I am
death in perpetuity.
breast-fed memories of
wet-nursing master's heir,
weaned at first breath
to hold my tongue and
swallow bitter milk
like it was honey.
2. Augusta(haiku)
inky starlit sky
seeping through Georgia pine, trees
sway rapturously
1. (fragment)
I am the Black infant
mortality rate, more elusive
than census data portends
with tallies of death
per capita; I am
death in perpetuity.
breast-fed memories of
wet-nursing master's heir,
weaned at first breath
to hold my tongue and
swallow bitter milk
like it was honey.
2. Augusta(haiku)
inky starlit sky
seeping through Georgia pine, trees
sway rapturously
3.04.2005
2.23.2005
Been so long since my last post that I almost forgot my login/passord.
Glad to remember.
I spent the past five days in El Salvador. My wife's cousin got married last Saturday. Nos disfrutamos La Misa y La Fiesta, and chilled aggressively.
I spent a lot of time there reading; W. Somerset Maugham's the man, as far as short stories are concerned.
I read a collection of his titled Cakes and Ale. The copy I read was apparently a gift from my mother-in-law to her sister(s), as it bore her inscription from 1968.
Nothing like good literature passed on lovingly. Word is bond.
Glad to remember.
I spent the past five days in El Salvador. My wife's cousin got married last Saturday. Nos disfrutamos La Misa y La Fiesta, and chilled aggressively.
I spent a lot of time there reading; W. Somerset Maugham's the man, as far as short stories are concerned.
I read a collection of his titled Cakes and Ale. The copy I read was apparently a gift from my mother-in-law to her sister(s), as it bore her inscription from 1968.
Nothing like good literature passed on lovingly. Word is bond.
12.08.2004
Late at night, I'm most apt to write. Last night was no exception. I dug out my trusty copy of "The Pocket Muse: Ideas & Inspiration for Writing".
Here's a draft. In the next version, I'll replace the "we" and "ourselves" at the end with something more introspective. That said, I give you...
something about silence
“Write about a noise or a silence that won’t go away”
- Monica Wood
innumerable voices clog my
mind with histories buried alive
I cannot sleep through graveyard
cries, the desperate clawing clamor.
remembrance pricks my
conscience, pries open eyelids
crusted shut with slumber.
swabs clean ears plugged with
cotton promises that God will
deliver us from His evil Creation;
humankind. stuck on this planet
in the stillness of a universe too vast
to comprehend, stuck in consciousness
too minute to comprehend a universe
greater than our God. I, human,
being in this silence, hum a church tune
or invoke the Elder Words scribes
and griots gift generations.
still peace comes to me as it
comes to all in the moment
of accepting, quietly, the inevitable
loneliness we drown out with words
and song, or escape through ritual
myth and legend. we abhor the
smallness of life, elaborately gate
ourselves from real community
until silent stillness compels us
to hum a different tune
Here's a draft. In the next version, I'll replace the "we" and "ourselves" at the end with something more introspective. That said, I give you...
something about silence
“Write about a noise or a silence that won’t go away”
- Monica Wood
innumerable voices clog my
mind with histories buried alive
I cannot sleep through graveyard
cries, the desperate clawing clamor.
remembrance pricks my
conscience, pries open eyelids
crusted shut with slumber.
swabs clean ears plugged with
cotton promises that God will
deliver us from His evil Creation;
humankind. stuck on this planet
in the stillness of a universe too vast
to comprehend, stuck in consciousness
too minute to comprehend a universe
greater than our God. I, human,
being in this silence, hum a church tune
or invoke the Elder Words scribes
and griots gift generations.
still peace comes to me as it
comes to all in the moment
of accepting, quietly, the inevitable
loneliness we drown out with words
and song, or escape through ritual
myth and legend. we abhor the
smallness of life, elaborately gate
ourselves from real community
until silent stillness compels us
to hum a different tune
11.11.2004
post-election haikus
1
my country, full of
liberal, open-minded
voters, will wake up.
2
i feel winter's chill
now, the moon's glow dims toward
horizon-rimed dawn.
3
ohio, buckeye
state. blackeye state. "bull-(connor)!"
...kerry conceded?
4
geographic'ly
a sea of red bound by blue;*
truth book-ending lies
*peep the Nov. 7th post-- and Pascal's analysis
A verse comes to me from somewhere...
"I got so much trouble/**
on my mind-- refuse to lose!/
Here's your ticket/
hear the drummer get wicked"
(Publice Enemy)
**cross-reference: Brother Marley
1
my country, full of
liberal, open-minded
voters, will wake up.
2
i feel winter's chill
now, the moon's glow dims toward
horizon-rimed dawn.
3
ohio, buckeye
state. blackeye state. "bull-(connor)!"
...kerry conceded?
4
geographic'ly
a sea of red bound by blue;*
truth book-ending lies
*peep the Nov. 7th post-- and Pascal's analysis
A verse comes to me from somewhere...
"I got so much trouble/**
on my mind-- refuse to lose!/
Here's your ticket/
hear the drummer get wicked"
(Publice Enemy)
**cross-reference: Brother Marley
11.05.2004
11.03.2004
Yes, I check the Drudge Report headlines...
This one's a gem-- "The Daily Mirror: A large pic of Bush with this caption: “How can 59,054,087 be so dumb!” "
I didn't see the pic despite my best attempts, but I imagine it looks like this.
Setting aside cynicism for a minute at this late hour...
The American people are not dumb. We have created an incredible space for human progress. Unfortunately, like every other system humans create, ours is vulnerable to demagogues who exploit our fears.
I am confident that hope outlives fear, that arrogant power ultimately yields to justice. So, it is for us, the hopeful and justice-loving people, to organize. And once we get power, we must meet the needs of our times with more complexity, maturity, and love* than these (4-syllable curse word)s.
*Too poetic? I hope not. I believe in the "Power of Love", like Luther.
At the same time, I ain't mad at Chuck D: "What we got to say?/ Power to the People!/ No delay/ Make everybody see/ In order to/ fight the powers that be" (from PE's "Fight the Power").
This one's a gem-- "The Daily Mirror: A large pic of Bush with this caption: “How can 59,054,087 be so dumb!” "
I didn't see the pic despite my best attempts, but I imagine it looks like this.
Setting aside cynicism for a minute at this late hour...
The American people are not dumb. We have created an incredible space for human progress. Unfortunately, like every other system humans create, ours is vulnerable to demagogues who exploit our fears.
I am confident that hope outlives fear, that arrogant power ultimately yields to justice. So, it is for us, the hopeful and justice-loving people, to organize. And once we get power, we must meet the needs of our times with more complexity, maturity, and love* than these (4-syllable curse word)s.
*Too poetic? I hope not. I believe in the "Power of Love", like Luther.
At the same time, I ain't mad at Chuck D: "What we got to say?/ Power to the People!/ No delay/ Make everybody see/ In order to/ fight the powers that be" (from PE's "Fight the Power").
James Baldwin
The text from this card, part of a series by Robert Shetterly, reads:
"People who shut their eyes to reality simply invite their own destruction, and anyone who insists on remaining in a state of innocence long after that innocence is dead turns himself into a monster."
10.29.2004
My brother-in-law gits bizzy. Skills enough to make your ear tingle.
Fresh from the Red Bull Music Academy in Rome, he's got a new single, "That's Life".
(P.S., Don't sleep on "In and Out").
who PJ be
Fresh from the Red Bull Music Academy in Rome, he's got a new single, "That's Life".
(P.S., Don't sleep on "In and Out").
who PJ be
Who'd 've thought Eminem would throw a political analysis into the mix?
Check out this article, which includes links to his video for "Mosh."
And don't forget our friends at GNN, who put up their own article on the-- sorry, I'm just buggin' to see this video. For real. I was a teenager when I first got the politico-hiphop bug via KRS-ONE and Public Enemy. It's hard to swallow the fact of Eminem making an overt political statement through music. Even harder to digest the fact that "Mosh" is #1 on MTV's "TRL". Somewhere, Bob Dylan's rewinding a reel-to-reel copy of his song about the time's changing.
(If the above links don't work, go to Launch. Then choose a "videos" search for "Eminem" and pick the "Mosh" result).
Check out this article, which includes links to his video for "Mosh."
And don't forget our friends at GNN, who put up their own article on the-- sorry, I'm just buggin' to see this video. For real. I was a teenager when I first got the politico-hiphop bug via KRS-ONE and Public Enemy. It's hard to swallow the fact of Eminem making an overt political statement through music. Even harder to digest the fact that "Mosh" is #1 on MTV's "TRL". Somewhere, Bob Dylan's rewinding a reel-to-reel copy of his song about the time's changing.
(If the above links don't work, go to Launch. Then choose a "videos" search for "Eminem" and pick the "Mosh" result).
10.28.2004
You make the call: did Bush wear a wire? If yes, his performance in the first debate is even more disturbing.
the fat man swimmeth
A nice poem alongside this picture might take your eyes off the mid-section. But I figure if I have to lug it around, the least you can do is look at it.
Feel my girth.
About those tree trunks in the background... they're coconut trees. This kid climbed up a ladder, chopped down the coconuts with a machete, chopped open the coconuts, and poured us pitchers of fresh "agua de coco"-- which blends quite nicely with some *in.
Fresh agua de coco with *in-- on a sunny day, by the pool, 50 yards from the Pacific Ocean, swinging in the hammock-- is dope enough to make agnostics believe.
a haiku about
agua de coco might look
just like this picture.
10.25.2004
Ashlee Simpson on SNL
I know this is trivial, but there's only so much a sane mind can absorb.
First, she blamed the band.
Now, this...
Puh-leez!!
This excuse is too perfect: (a) she's got a medical condition, so be sympathetic, or you're an un-feeling jerk; and (b) because of the malady, she couldn't sing-- but she went onstage anyway: what a trooper!
It's sad to think of all the talented people who never get a break. Really sad.
I know this is trivial, but there's only so much a sane mind can absorb.
First, she blamed the band.
Now, this...
Puh-leez!!
This excuse is too perfect: (a) she's got a medical condition, so be sympathetic, or you're an un-feeling jerk; and (b) because of the malady, she couldn't sing-- but she went onstage anyway: what a trooper!
It's sad to think of all the talented people who never get a break. Really sad.
El lago de Coatepeque - El Salvador
In August 2004, my wife and I spent a week in El Salvador with her family. One day, her father's folks rented a "microbus" and took me on an 8-hour tour of old ruins, different cities and towns, and (as you might have surmised) to this lake formed in the crater of an inactive volcano.
As the microbus arrived, we were greeted by a local musician. He, along with my wife's aunts and uncles and cousins, regaled us non-singers with an impromptu little concert. Dope.
who i be
Haven't yet figured out how to put the pic next to my profile-- a blatant robbery of Kai's style-- so hold tight. I'll figure it out sooner or later.
10.23.2004
After viewing the video, I feel compelled to make you feel as disgusted as I do:
watch the short Votergate documentary.
The promo script: "Set aside the 15 minutes you'll need to watch this compelling documentary about electronic voting machines. Using interviews and demos with hackers and computer scientists, Votergate presents a picture of the myriad ways machines could change the election outcome. And if you have the choice, make sure to choose a paper ballot on Nov. 2."
I'm not gonna hype the film. My only commentary is what I said to my wife after viewing it: "Two words-- paper ballot. That's all I'm sayin'."
Word is bond.
watch the short Votergate documentary.
The promo script: "Set aside the 15 minutes you'll need to watch this compelling documentary about electronic voting machines. Using interviews and demos with hackers and computer scientists, Votergate presents a picture of the myriad ways machines could change the election outcome. And if you have the choice, make sure to choose a paper ballot on Nov. 2."
I'm not gonna hype the film. My only commentary is what I said to my wife after viewing it: "Two words-- paper ballot. That's all I'm sayin'."
Word is bond.
My man Kai keeps talking about how I should update the blog template to allow for comments and RSS-stuff. Well, that presupposes I (a) have a blog strategy that (b) would benefit from said changes.
As it stands, I don't update the blog enough. Extra functionality won't change things until I change, eh? The watchwords: commitment to content. Is this a start?
I give you my brother-in-law, DJ Eurok. He's just returned from the Red Bull Music Academy in Rome, Italy. I'm digggin' the new tracks he put down while slipped into the boot.
Word, for now.
As it stands, I don't update the blog enough. Extra functionality won't change things until I change, eh? The watchwords: commitment to content. Is this a start?
I give you my brother-in-law, DJ Eurok. He's just returned from the Red Bull Music Academy in Rome, Italy. I'm digggin' the new tracks he put down while slipped into the boot.
Word, for now.
10.08.2004
9.08.2004
"what's at stake"
lies spun about economic indicators
won't pay off your medical bills
or decrease corporate welfare.
despite boundless optimism,
lost jobs don't replace themselves.
'cause election day is nigh
we need to get real, people.
it's not the war on terror: it's your
government that's the issue.
can it protect your freedom
with the Patriot Act? can
it save you by cultivating fear?
little time between work and
picking up the kids to read
the newspaper or voter's guide
but the clock ticks and tocks
toward a reckoning we visit on
the world ignorantly, so stop
look and listen closely, breathe
deeply, and remember the God you
worship created all the universe
not just your piddling country.
don't reduce God to the borders
of your fear-stifled imagination.
lies spun about economic indicators
won't pay off your medical bills
or decrease corporate welfare.
despite boundless optimism,
lost jobs don't replace themselves.
'cause election day is nigh
we need to get real, people.
it's not the war on terror: it's your
government that's the issue.
can it protect your freedom
with the Patriot Act? can
it save you by cultivating fear?
little time between work and
picking up the kids to read
the newspaper or voter's guide
but the clock ticks and tocks
toward a reckoning we visit on
the world ignorantly, so stop
look and listen closely, breathe
deeply, and remember the God you
worship created all the universe
not just your piddling country.
don't reduce God to the borders
of your fear-stifled imagination.
9.01.2004
7.08.2004
Ode to Bill Cosby...
Published on Thursday, July 8, 2004 by the New York Times
The New Cosby Kids
by Barbara Ehrenreich
It was such a dog-bites-man story that I almost skipped right by: Billionaire Bashes Poor Blacks. The only thing that gave this particular story a little piquancy is that the billionaire doing the bashing is black himself. Bill Cosby has been attacking the poor of his race, and especially the youthful poor, for a range of sins, including using bad words, "stealing poundcake," "giggling" and failing to give their children normal names like "Bill." "The lower-economic people," Cosby announced, "are not holding up their end in this deal."
They let me down, too, sometimes — like that girl at Wendy's who gave me sweet iced tea when I had clearly specified unsweetened. She looked a little tired, but, as Cos might point out: How hard can it be to hold a job, go to high school and care for younger siblings in all your spare moments while your parents are at work?
But it's just so 1985 to beat up on the black poor. During the buildup to welfare "reform" in 1996, the comfortable denizens of think spas like the Heritage Foundation routinely excoriated poor black women for being lazy, promiscuous, government-dependent baby machines, not to mention overweight (that poundcake again). As for poor black youth, they were targeted in the 90's as a generation of "superpredators," gang-bangers and thugs.
It's time to start picking on a more up-to-date pariah group for the 21st century, and I'd like to nominate the elderly whites. Filial restraint has so far kept the would-be Social Security privatizers on the right from going after them, but the grounds for doing so are clear. For one thing, there's a startling new wave of "grandpa bandits" terrorizing rural banks. And occasionally some old duffer works himself into a frenzy listening to Cole Porter tunes and drives straight into a crowd of younger folks.
The law-abiding old whites are no prize either. Overwhelmingly, they choose indolence over employment — lounging on park benches, playing canasta — when we all know there are plenty of people-greeter jobs out there. Since it's government money that allows them to live in this degenerate state, we can expect the Heritage Foundation to reveal any day now that some seniors are cashing in their Social Security checks for vodka and Viagra. Just as welfare was said to "cause poverty," the experts may soon announce that Medicare causes baldness and that Social Security is a risk factor for osteoporosis: the correlations are undeniable.
And the menace posed by the elderly can only get worse, as ever more of them sink into debt. What's eating up their nest eggs? In many cases, drugs. How long before the streets are ruled by geezer gangs mugging us to support their insulin and beta-blocker habits?
All right, before the AARP issues a fatwa against me, could we please acknowledge that the demonization of welfare recipients wasn't based on reality either? Contrary to the stereotype, welfare moms in 1996 averaged two children per family, not six, and in surveys always expressed a desire to work, should child care become available. Incidentally, only a minority of them were African-American.
As for the black youth who so exercise Cosby, their pregnancy rates aren't "soaring," as he reportedly claimed; in fact, they're lower than they've been in decades. Ditto with crime rates. And if Cosby's worried about poor grammar and so forth, why isn't he ranting about the Bush 2005 budget, which would end a slew of programs for dropout prevention, recreation and school counseling?
Or, if he's looking for tantrum fodder, what about the fact that a black baby has a 40 percent chance of being born into poverty? You can blame adults for their poverty — if you're mean-spirited enough — but you cannot blame babies, and that's, in effect, what we're talking about here.
As the sociologist Michael Males, who monitors youth-bashing outbreaks, told me: "Younger black America today is struggling admirably against massive disinvestments in schools, terrible unemployment, harsh policing and degrading prejudices, and they're succeeding amazingly well. They deserve respect, not grown-up tantrums."
But it must be fun to beat up on people too young and too poor to fight back, or the elderly rich wouldn't do it. Cranky old rich people: now there's a demographic group that qualifies as a genuine Menace 2 Society.
Published on Thursday, July 8, 2004 by the New York Times
The New Cosby Kids
by Barbara Ehrenreich
It was such a dog-bites-man story that I almost skipped right by: Billionaire Bashes Poor Blacks. The only thing that gave this particular story a little piquancy is that the billionaire doing the bashing is black himself. Bill Cosby has been attacking the poor of his race, and especially the youthful poor, for a range of sins, including using bad words, "stealing poundcake," "giggling" and failing to give their children normal names like "Bill." "The lower-economic people," Cosby announced, "are not holding up their end in this deal."
They let me down, too, sometimes — like that girl at Wendy's who gave me sweet iced tea when I had clearly specified unsweetened. She looked a little tired, but, as Cos might point out: How hard can it be to hold a job, go to high school and care for younger siblings in all your spare moments while your parents are at work?
But it's just so 1985 to beat up on the black poor. During the buildup to welfare "reform" in 1996, the comfortable denizens of think spas like the Heritage Foundation routinely excoriated poor black women for being lazy, promiscuous, government-dependent baby machines, not to mention overweight (that poundcake again). As for poor black youth, they were targeted in the 90's as a generation of "superpredators," gang-bangers and thugs.
It's time to start picking on a more up-to-date pariah group for the 21st century, and I'd like to nominate the elderly whites. Filial restraint has so far kept the would-be Social Security privatizers on the right from going after them, but the grounds for doing so are clear. For one thing, there's a startling new wave of "grandpa bandits" terrorizing rural banks. And occasionally some old duffer works himself into a frenzy listening to Cole Porter tunes and drives straight into a crowd of younger folks.
The law-abiding old whites are no prize either. Overwhelmingly, they choose indolence over employment — lounging on park benches, playing canasta — when we all know there are plenty of people-greeter jobs out there. Since it's government money that allows them to live in this degenerate state, we can expect the Heritage Foundation to reveal any day now that some seniors are cashing in their Social Security checks for vodka and Viagra. Just as welfare was said to "cause poverty," the experts may soon announce that Medicare causes baldness and that Social Security is a risk factor for osteoporosis: the correlations are undeniable.
And the menace posed by the elderly can only get worse, as ever more of them sink into debt. What's eating up their nest eggs? In many cases, drugs. How long before the streets are ruled by geezer gangs mugging us to support their insulin and beta-blocker habits?
All right, before the AARP issues a fatwa against me, could we please acknowledge that the demonization of welfare recipients wasn't based on reality either? Contrary to the stereotype, welfare moms in 1996 averaged two children per family, not six, and in surveys always expressed a desire to work, should child care become available. Incidentally, only a minority of them were African-American.
As for the black youth who so exercise Cosby, their pregnancy rates aren't "soaring," as he reportedly claimed; in fact, they're lower than they've been in decades. Ditto with crime rates. And if Cosby's worried about poor grammar and so forth, why isn't he ranting about the Bush 2005 budget, which would end a slew of programs for dropout prevention, recreation and school counseling?
Or, if he's looking for tantrum fodder, what about the fact that a black baby has a 40 percent chance of being born into poverty? You can blame adults for their poverty — if you're mean-spirited enough — but you cannot blame babies, and that's, in effect, what we're talking about here.
As the sociologist Michael Males, who monitors youth-bashing outbreaks, told me: "Younger black America today is struggling admirably against massive disinvestments in schools, terrible unemployment, harsh policing and degrading prejudices, and they're succeeding amazingly well. They deserve respect, not grown-up tantrums."
But it must be fun to beat up on people too young and too poor to fight back, or the elderly rich wouldn't do it. Cranky old rich people: now there's a demographic group that qualifies as a genuine Menace 2 Society.
7.06.2004
Pablo Neruda (July 12, 1904-September 23, 1973)
I met Pablo Neruda in 1996 at a bookstore in Palo Alto, California. While perusing the poetry section, I skimmed a copy of his "Selected Odes", which I later bought as a birthday present for myself.
It is now 2004, and I have twice given away that book. An editorial in the New York Times reminds me that I need to get a third copy.
Happy (upcoming) Centennial, Pablo!
I met Pablo Neruda in 1996 at a bookstore in Palo Alto, California. While perusing the poetry section, I skimmed a copy of his "Selected Odes", which I later bought as a birthday present for myself.
It is now 2004, and I have twice given away that book. An editorial in the New York Times reminds me that I need to get a third copy.
Happy (upcoming) Centennial, Pablo!
7.02.2004
Big up to Marlon Brando (R.I.P.):
Full Article
"In 1963, Brando marched arm in arm with James Baldwin at the March on Washington. He, along with Paul Newman, went down South with the freedom riders to desegregate inter-State bus lines. In defiance of state law, Native Americans protested the denial of treaty rights by fishing the Puyallup River on March 2, 1964. Inspired by the civil rights movement sit-ins, Brando, Episcopal clergyman John Yaryan from San Francisco, and Puyallup tribal leader Bob Satiacum caught salmon in the Puyallup without state permits. The action was called a fish-in and resulted in Brando's arrest. When Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in 1968, Brando announced that he was bowing out of the lead role of a major film and would now devote himself to the civil rights movement. Brando said "If the vacuum formed by Dr. King's death isn't filled with concern and understanding and a measure of love, then I think we all are really going to be lost.." He gave money and spoke out in defense of the Black Panthers and counted Bobby Seale as a close friend and attended the memorial for slain prison leader George Jackson. Southern theater chains boycotted his films, and Hollywood created what became known as the 'Brando Black List' that shut him out of many big time roles."
Full Article
"In 1963, Brando marched arm in arm with James Baldwin at the March on Washington. He, along with Paul Newman, went down South with the freedom riders to desegregate inter-State bus lines. In defiance of state law, Native Americans protested the denial of treaty rights by fishing the Puyallup River on March 2, 1964. Inspired by the civil rights movement sit-ins, Brando, Episcopal clergyman John Yaryan from San Francisco, and Puyallup tribal leader Bob Satiacum caught salmon in the Puyallup without state permits. The action was called a fish-in and resulted in Brando's arrest. When Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in 1968, Brando announced that he was bowing out of the lead role of a major film and would now devote himself to the civil rights movement. Brando said "If the vacuum formed by Dr. King's death isn't filled with concern and understanding and a measure of love, then I think we all are really going to be lost.." He gave money and spoke out in defense of the Black Panthers and counted Bobby Seale as a close friend and attended the memorial for slain prison leader George Jackson. Southern theater chains boycotted his films, and Hollywood created what became known as the 'Brando Black List' that shut him out of many big time roles."
6.30.2004
If you're not sure which finger and which motion to give someone, check out the Field Guide to the North American Bird.
My man, Mike, did the illustrations. He also laced me and my wife with some artwork.
My man, Mike, did the illustrations. He also laced me and my wife with some artwork.
6.24.2004
Yes, Paul Krugman is at it again. I look forward to his columns.
Check this one out:
Noonday in the Shade
June 22, 2004
By PAUL KRUGMAN
John Ashcroft seems to be neglecting real terrorist threats
to the public because of his ideological biases.
Full Article
I heard about this story a while back, perhaps on AlterNet.
(Reminds me of my friend, Timothea, who predicted the DC snipers were probably driving around in a Cadillac while everyone was on alert for a "white box truck".)
If we continue to think extremist Islamist elements are the problem, we will never solve the problem of extremist elements.
Check this one out:
Noonday in the Shade
June 22, 2004
By PAUL KRUGMAN
John Ashcroft seems to be neglecting real terrorist threats
to the public because of his ideological biases.
Full Article
I heard about this story a while back, perhaps on AlterNet.
(Reminds me of my friend, Timothea, who predicted the DC snipers were probably driving around in a Cadillac while everyone was on alert for a "white box truck".)
If we continue to think extremist Islamist elements are the problem, we will never solve the problem of extremist elements.
6.17.2004
Some days you have to pull out the Jungle Brothers and just deal with the fact you're old, and reminisce about "the good ol' days" of rap.
Nostalgia tends to romanticize, but I know you can make the argument that rap's commercialization was already in full effect by the time the JB's dropped Done by the Forces of Nature. I'll grant you that.
Just don't ask me to stop smiling when I hear "Doin Our Own Thang".
Because that was 1989... "a number/ another summer (git down!)/ sound of a funky drummer/ music hittin ya hard/ cuz i know ya got soul! (brothers and sisters)/" and at age 16, I was diggin' the Native Tongues.
Now, in my old age (31), I've moved from Chuck D on wax to Chuck D on Air America Radio.
"Say word. Word, I'm sayin" (dialogue from Prince Paul's "A Prince Among Thieves").
Nostalgia tends to romanticize, but I know you can make the argument that rap's commercialization was already in full effect by the time the JB's dropped Done by the Forces of Nature. I'll grant you that.
Just don't ask me to stop smiling when I hear "Doin Our Own Thang".
Because that was 1989... "a number/ another summer (git down!)/ sound of a funky drummer/ music hittin ya hard/ cuz i know ya got soul! (brothers and sisters)/" and at age 16, I was diggin' the Native Tongues.
Now, in my old age (31), I've moved from Chuck D on wax to Chuck D on Air America Radio.
"Say word. Word, I'm sayin" (dialogue from Prince Paul's "A Prince Among Thieves").
6.16.2004
Ted Rall's got some cool comics. But what I'm talkin' about today is his op-ed on Ronald Reagan.
"reagan haiku"
sometimes collective
memory lies, erasing
what really happened
I remember my mom working in a battered women's shelter through the reagan years, wondering whether federal funding would be renewed. I remember first seeing homeless people, first hearing of AIDS, never hearing government could be part of the solution. I remember documentaries about the Berkeley free speech movement, accounts of Reagan's naming of names during the McCarthy era. I remember that Reagan negotiated to keep Americans as hostages until he was inaugurated. I remember Central America's death squads, and Negroponte's wink-nod alliance with killers. I remember air traffic controllers/working people getting shafted. I remember a lot more than "the Gipper" or the "Great Communicator". I remember nuclear attack drills in elementary school.
As an adult, I've learned a lot more about his administration than I care to believe America let happen-- but history doesn't lie. The man won two terms. I believe that says more (terrible things) about the American voting public than about Reagan's supposed greatness. Guess we get the rulers we deserve (Jefferson?).
"reagan haiku"
sometimes collective
memory lies, erasing
what really happened
I remember my mom working in a battered women's shelter through the reagan years, wondering whether federal funding would be renewed. I remember first seeing homeless people, first hearing of AIDS, never hearing government could be part of the solution. I remember documentaries about the Berkeley free speech movement, accounts of Reagan's naming of names during the McCarthy era. I remember that Reagan negotiated to keep Americans as hostages until he was inaugurated. I remember Central America's death squads, and Negroponte's wink-nod alliance with killers. I remember air traffic controllers/working people getting shafted. I remember a lot more than "the Gipper" or the "Great Communicator". I remember nuclear attack drills in elementary school.
As an adult, I've learned a lot more about his administration than I care to believe America let happen-- but history doesn't lie. The man won two terms. I believe that says more (terrible things) about the American voting public than about Reagan's supposed greatness. Guess we get the rulers we deserve (Jefferson?).
6.14.2004
Kai's link seems too good to pass up without passing it on...
You also need to get up on Wild Style and Scratch.
I watched "Scratch" on the train from DC to NYC, on my way to my friend's wedding. The X-ecutioners, Scratch Picklz and all the originators put the art form in perspective for those who don't know, and accentuate it for those who do.
Head noddin' acceptable...
You also need to get up on Wild Style and Scratch.
I watched "Scratch" on the train from DC to NYC, on my way to my friend's wedding. The X-ecutioners, Scratch Picklz and all the originators put the art form in perspective for those who don't know, and accentuate it for those who do.
Head noddin' acceptable...
I'm on a listserv for The League of Independent Voters.
Are you?
I have a copy of How to Get Stupid White Men Out of Office.
Do you?
Whatever your choice in November '04-- VOTE!
Are you?
I have a copy of How to Get Stupid White Men Out of Office.
Do you?
Whatever your choice in November '04-- VOTE!
6.08.2004
6.04.2004
Yeah, it's agitprop. So what?
Check out the trailer for Fahrenheit 9/11. Some shit's about to jump off when the film opens, June 25th! Can't wait till next year's Oscar speech.
Remember what Moore said last year? Get ready for more Moore.
(I wish I'd saved the link to an article where Moore said he made this film because he didn't want to leave it up to the Democrats to fuck it up and lose the election. If it weren't after 1am, and I was a teenager, I'd search for it. But for now, I have to say, "Goodnight, Dick".)
Check out the trailer for Fahrenheit 9/11. Some shit's about to jump off when the film opens, June 25th! Can't wait till next year's Oscar speech.
Remember what Moore said last year? Get ready for more Moore.
(I wish I'd saved the link to an article where Moore said he made this film because he didn't want to leave it up to the Democrats to fuck it up and lose the election. If it weren't after 1am, and I was a teenager, I'd search for it. But for now, I have to say, "Goodnight, Dick".)
6.03.2004
mo' betta...
for Pearlie and Johnny Will Jones, Sr.
we listened to cicadas sing that afternoon, sitting on the porch
looking across the road named after Grandpa toward Cousin Huey’s
fields. as the darkening sky thundered, rain and wind cooler than
inside ceiling fans chased humidity off to the swamps, past the
clearing and log camp, around by the Flying Eagle
where you two sold 'shine and fish sandwiches. hard to believe you
ever set foot in a jook joint, but Uncle Charles and Uncle Leroy drove
me and Huey and Spanky past the spot last time we had a reunion.
Up the road, near Bogalusa, we all stood by the tree Grandpa hit
when the Klan ambushed him. Fools thought they could kill a deputized
veteran moonshining farmer easy as that? Imagine if Grandpa had two legs.
almost a century since you married, decades since you passed we Joneses
have become Grahams and Saintens and more, left and returned, fought in
wars, buried our young and old. We no longer work the land, citified and
spread in every direction; but we still depend on those roads to bring us home, on the rain and wind to stave off heat, on those trees to sing with cicadas
on afternoons like the ones we shared before you went home to God
for Pearlie and Johnny Will Jones, Sr.
we listened to cicadas sing that afternoon, sitting on the porch
looking across the road named after Grandpa toward Cousin Huey’s
fields. as the darkening sky thundered, rain and wind cooler than
inside ceiling fans chased humidity off to the swamps, past the
clearing and log camp, around by the Flying Eagle
where you two sold 'shine and fish sandwiches. hard to believe you
ever set foot in a jook joint, but Uncle Charles and Uncle Leroy drove
me and Huey and Spanky past the spot last time we had a reunion.
Up the road, near Bogalusa, we all stood by the tree Grandpa hit
when the Klan ambushed him. Fools thought they could kill a deputized
veteran moonshining farmer easy as that? Imagine if Grandpa had two legs.
almost a century since you married, decades since you passed we Joneses
have become Grahams and Saintens and more, left and returned, fought in
wars, buried our young and old. We no longer work the land, citified and
spread in every direction; but we still depend on those roads to bring us home, on the rain and wind to stave off heat, on those trees to sing with cicadas
on afternoons like the ones we shared before you went home to God
6.02.2004
I don't know where exactly I'm going with this. Any comments? Click the "send props or gripes" link above. Thanks.
for Pearlie Jones
you were here the last time. sitting on the porch, looking
across the road named after grandpa to cousin huey's fields
and the darkening sky. we listened to the
afternoon ricochet between earth and heaven. cicadas
thundered and the rains came cooler than inside
ceiling fans caked with dust.
for Pearlie Jones
you were here the last time. sitting on the porch, looking
across the road named after grandpa to cousin huey's fields
and the darkening sky. we listened to the
afternoon ricochet between earth and heaven. cicadas
thundered and the rains came cooler than inside
ceiling fans caked with dust.
6.01.2004
testimonial
my man knew Un-American
oxymorons better than
they knew themselves
and did not edit
his words in margins
of errant ideology
my man knew Un-American
oxymorons better than
they knew themselves
and did not edit
his words in margins
of errant ideology
5.31.2004
I have a cynical streak mitigated by a sense of humor, as exemplified in this poem by Roque Dalton:
OAS
The President of my country
is called for the moment Colonel Fidel Sanchez Hernandez
But General Somoza, President of Nicaragua,
also is President of my country.
And President Stroessner, President of Paraguay,
is also a little the President of my country, though less
than the President of Honduras, namely
General Lopez Arellano, and more than the President of Haiti,
Monsieur Duvalier.
And the President of the United States is more President of my country
than the President of my country,
that one who, as I said, is for the moment
called Colonel Fidel Sanchez Hernandez.
OAS
The President of my country
is called for the moment Colonel Fidel Sanchez Hernandez
But General Somoza, President of Nicaragua,
also is President of my country.
And President Stroessner, President of Paraguay,
is also a little the President of my country, though less
than the President of Honduras, namely
General Lopez Arellano, and more than the President of Haiti,
Monsieur Duvalier.
And the President of the United States is more President of my country
than the President of my country,
that one who, as I said, is for the moment
called Colonel Fidel Sanchez Hernandez.
5.28.2004
Ta-Nehisi Coates writes with fire, not ink or binary code. I've enjoyed/winced at his stuff for years. So it comes as no surprise that Bill Cosby gets lit up in the Village Voice after waxing ridiculous about "the lower economic people" last week at a gala event commemorating the 50th anniversary of Brown v. Board of Education.
(On background: earlier Coates articles)
(On background: earlier Coates articles)
Here's a nice little story about a movie I won't see for a while (no cable, friends): Something the Lord Made. It's about the first successful open heart surgery, performed by a white surgeon and a black lab technician.
Or, was it Dr. Daniel Hale Willliams who performed the first successful open heart surgery? That's what I always heard, about once a year, usually during Black History Month.
(NOTE: This post was inspired by NPR)
Or, was it Dr. Daniel Hale Willliams who performed the first successful open heart surgery? That's what I always heard, about once a year, usually during Black History Month.
(NOTE: This post was inspired by NPR)
5.27.2004
5.19.2004
There's this big ol' San Diego Experience Map that I brainstormed last year. It includes about a eighty bulleted items in four categories: family, family friends, friends, and memories.
The idea is to write a poem or sketch an idea for each bulleted item. Here's an extended sketch of Mr. Sweet. I'm still undecided whether I'll go with liking or not liking him in the poem. As of this writing, I'm trying to have it both ways.
The Ice Cream Man Cometh
Mr. Sweet lied to us
(used an alias)
gave us candy
our parents said not to eat
rotted out our teeth and made
us go to the dentist
left sticky fingers, wrappers
and stained shirts in his wake
but I still felt sorry for Mr. Sweet
when Papa Joe rolled into the
neighborhood with big fresh hot
glazed chocolate filled donuts
Mr. Sweet was no gentleman, lying as he did to children through an alias of confection. Against our parents’ orders, he contrived to shove candy down our throats, rot our teeth, ruin our appetite for dinner, and to make us spend what little allowance we got on his grab bags, sour balls, and pixie sticks. Mr. Sweet was a menace.
I didn’t feel sorry for Mr. Sweet when Papa Joe rolled into the neighborhood with fresh, glazed donuts and enough candy to make Willy Wonka blanch. We all rushed across the street from Mr. Sweet’s jalopy to crown our new king. A twinge of guilt I failed to stop made me turn and look, let me see Mr. Sweet crying. But I didn’t go back, and now Mr. Sweet is dead.
I’m sorry I ditched you, Mr. Sweet, so I could stand at Papa Joe’s window and smell the fresh donuts that were only really fresh for the first few stops in the neighborhood. And his grab bags cost more for less; I never got army men with a parachutes or whistle-pops, just a lot of pixie sticks and rock hard gum. He didn't remember our names, or make us laugh like you did. I don't need to know your real name to know how nice you were to me, to all of us, before that charlatan lured us away.
The idea is to write a poem or sketch an idea for each bulleted item. Here's an extended sketch of Mr. Sweet. I'm still undecided whether I'll go with liking or not liking him in the poem. As of this writing, I'm trying to have it both ways.
The Ice Cream Man Cometh
Mr. Sweet lied to us
(used an alias)
gave us candy
our parents said not to eat
rotted out our teeth and made
us go to the dentist
left sticky fingers, wrappers
and stained shirts in his wake
but I still felt sorry for Mr. Sweet
when Papa Joe rolled into the
neighborhood with big fresh hot
glazed chocolate filled donuts
Mr. Sweet was no gentleman, lying as he did to children through an alias of confection. Against our parents’ orders, he contrived to shove candy down our throats, rot our teeth, ruin our appetite for dinner, and to make us spend what little allowance we got on his grab bags, sour balls, and pixie sticks. Mr. Sweet was a menace.
I didn’t feel sorry for Mr. Sweet when Papa Joe rolled into the neighborhood with fresh, glazed donuts and enough candy to make Willy Wonka blanch. We all rushed across the street from Mr. Sweet’s jalopy to crown our new king. A twinge of guilt I failed to stop made me turn and look, let me see Mr. Sweet crying. But I didn’t go back, and now Mr. Sweet is dead.
I’m sorry I ditched you, Mr. Sweet, so I could stand at Papa Joe’s window and smell the fresh donuts that were only really fresh for the first few stops in the neighborhood. And his grab bags cost more for less; I never got army men with a parachutes or whistle-pops, just a lot of pixie sticks and rock hard gum. He didn't remember our names, or make us laugh like you did. I don't need to know your real name to know how nice you were to me, to all of us, before that charlatan lured us away.
5.12.2004
5.08.2004
A work in progress...
“untitled”
we have all run away:
from the law in St. Louis to a new name
in the Louisiana bayou;
from the farm to metropoles and military tours
in every war of the 20th Century.
we have all run away:
great-grandpa’s steed; grandpa’s bootleg-mobile;
grandmas from their fathers’ homes,
but never from their children, who could not bear to stay;
shotgun houses turned to kindling
when they ran away:
tired of always running; generations running on empty,
in place, in circles, out of breath;
almost run-down. always running into walls they could feel,
but not touch.
“untitled”
we have all run away:
from the law in St. Louis to a new name
in the Louisiana bayou;
from the farm to metropoles and military tours
in every war of the 20th Century.
we have all run away:
great-grandpa’s steed; grandpa’s bootleg-mobile;
grandmas from their fathers’ homes,
but never from their children, who could not bear to stay;
shotgun houses turned to kindling
when they ran away:
tired of always running; generations running on empty,
in place, in circles, out of breath;
almost run-down. always running into walls they could feel,
but not touch.
3.09.2004
I was sent this link as part of one of those emails you receive at work, that has nothing to do with work, that actually leads to a deviation from work. You know the type.
If you are at work reading this, click on and take a break... 3rd Grade Test.
I haven't gone back and edited the Feb. 17th poem yet. I look at it now and see how sad and resigned I was at the time I wrote it. What I'm searching for, through that poem, is the hope that underlies the momentary loss of hope. It's there, and I'll find it. And I'll write it, too.
Peace.
If you are at work reading this, click on and take a break... 3rd Grade Test.
I haven't gone back and edited the Feb. 17th poem yet. I look at it now and see how sad and resigned I was at the time I wrote it. What I'm searching for, through that poem, is the hope that underlies the momentary loss of hope. It's there, and I'll find it. And I'll write it, too.
Peace.
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