KingPen Chronicles

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2007-02-27T05:10:00.000-08:00

2006-07-28T21:26:00.000-07:00

2006-07-26T19:42:00.000-07:00

#33 Natural Allies

2006-04-17T10:18:00.000-07:00

The recent protests about immigration gives African-Americans an opportunity reinforce our natural alliance with Latinos. It would be shameful if we chose to remain silent on the issue and allow the mainstream media to pit America's largest minority groups against each other.

It's very tempting to join the chorus of voices that decry the behavior of the younger protesters. Most were informed of the protests via text message, email or some other electronic communication method. Many who were interviewed didn't seem to have a clear idea about what the focus of the protests were. Critics point at that ignorance to the "facts" of the issue as reason to write off the protests.

Other critics site the display of Mexican or Salvadoran flags as insulting to American sensibilities. They say that if "those people" wanted "Americans" to listen they should have had an American flag.

Debate abounds about the coulda/woulda/shouldas of the protests yet few of those debating have any solution. That isn't surprising because the issue is huge and touches so many other areas. Immigration policy directly effects education, health care, insurance, housing, jobs and security/terrorism. In fact, because America is a country of immigrants, the issue cuts straight to the character of this country. What will America be in the 21st century? Will this country stand for inclusion or isolation? Where should the Black community stand on the issue or should we just keep quiet because it isn't about us?

Those who would rather we stayed out of the debate or join the choir of isolationism point out that many immigrants, specifically Latinos, directly compete with Blacks for jobs. They say that if illegals are not heavily regulated and routinely deported they will push Black people out of jobs. What they fail to point out is that many, if not most, of the jobs that illegal immigrants get are menial and in many cases the illegals are paid lower than minimum wage under the table. Where is the competition for that? How many Americans, regardless of race, are looking for below minimum wage pay-at-will positions? The answer is few if any.

American media concentrates on the illegal Latino population without mentioning that there are illegal immigrants from every country in the world here. There are millions from Europe but they are invisible to the big media radar because Latino immigrants are easy to sensationalize and criminalize.

They do not mention the tens of thousands of European immigrants are not only welcomed into America but are subsidized. Yet they are quick to pit Black and Brown against one another in fights for jobs that neither really wants. Hawkish border watchers arm themselves against the tide of people infiltrating the country saying the illegals are pressuring already over pressured social services, educational systems and health care providers. They do not mention that the people who come here illegally from Central America are fleeing economic conditions that make poverty the norm and all they want to do is make a living. The hawks also fail to mention that those conditions are influenced by America who is notorious for exploiting its southern neighbors.

Few acknowledge that if there were no jobs or opportunity for illegals they wouldn't risk their lives to get here. However, America and American business exploit illegal populations without shame and act as though its hands are clean.

It would be very convenient for Black people to just join the majority and thumb our collective noses at immigration protesters. This is our country after all--isn't it? We were born here and America is our home--right? Illegal immigrants are intruders and interlopers competing for what's rightfully ours--aren't they? It would be great if it was that easy but it isn't.

Unlike any other immigrant group in the US African-Americans didn't voluntarily come to America. Our ancestors were stolen, beaten, renamed and forced to work. Since our arrival we have struggled to maintain and improve our situation. Only with legislation that we pushed through using organization, protest, debate and sweat was our citizenship solidified. Many within our community would still argue that even with legislation we still occupy a precarious position in American society.

Although never legally enslaved by the American government Latinos have a long history within America. Much of the southwest used to be Mexico. American expansion and war turned what used to be Mexican territory into Arizona, California, New Mexico, Nevada and other states. At times laws similar to Jim Crow used to exclude or discriminate against Latinos where their populations were significant. Latinos, like Blacks, are beaten by police, taken to jail in huge numbers, marginalized and isolated by society and searching for solutions to poverty, crime, education, health care and overall discrimination. Blacks and Latinos are more like peas in a pod than competitors. The only thing that really separates us is language because our situations are nearly identical.

What is significant now is that Latinos may be on the verge of a mass movement because of immigration policy. Many Hispanic-Americans are only 2nd or 3rd generation Americans whose parents or grandparents may have come into the country illegally. Many have family in Central America whom they love and communicate with. Others personally know or are related to illegal immigrants directly.

Like all people Latinos want the best for their families and friends and naturally provide shelter and help to people they know or are related to. The government may criminalize these relationships, break up families, or react in the most repressive way possible and implement mass deportations. We cannot say what will happen but if we stand on the eve of a Latino Rights Movement it will surely be influenced by the Civil Rights Movement. If we are to insure justice for all it would be wise for Black people to become informed about the issue and offer what support we can.

If we simply join the mainstream and decry the problem while accusing Latinos of being wrong for protesting we join the ranks of those who decried Civil Rights and whites who said that Blacks should ‘stay in their place’ and accept dehumanization.

There is no clear solution to the immigration debate. It would, however, be a mistake for black people to side with the majority without thinking the issue through. It would be a larger mistake to allow ourselves to be led into the majority opinion because "we" speak English and "they" speak Spanish. If we entertain an Us vs. Them mentality then WE all lose and the fat cats at the top will laugh all the way to the ba

#32 Confidence

2006-03-26T20:08:00.000-08:00

IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR HEAD
WHEN ALL THOSE ABOUT YOU
ARE LOSING THEIRS AND BLAMING
IT ON YOU
--Rudyard Kipling’s IF

Confidence. That’s what needs to be restored in the 21st century. The confidence to live life one on ones own terms and do what needs to be done to overcome whatever obstacles stand in ones way. You see, Black people have a confidence problem. Believe me, I’m not saying that we suffer from a collective case of low self-esteem, I am saying that we have taken the representation of our history too seriously. I think that if you were to survey the majority of African-Americans about our history in this nation and our accomplishments as a people, few would be able to name many highlights. Few would consider the overall struggle of Blacks as even 50% successful. Few would be able to talk about much more than slavery and/or the Civil Rights Movement.

On the other side of that coin many, if not most would, be able to quote the litany of statistical information that says that Black folks are underemployed, over-incarcerated, doped up, violent, endangered, diseased, impoverished, overweight, under-educated and generally in dire circumstances. Now, I’m not a psychologist but it seems to me that if anyone concentrates on the negative aspects of his/her existence then it is hard, if not impossible, to overcome those circumstances.

So much of this life boils down to what individuals think and how that affects their actions. If all you think about yourself is negative then the outcomes in your life will be negative. In essence you rob yourself of the confidence to struggle because you believe that struggle is ultimately in vain and you can’t win. Black folks have a confidence problem.

It’s simple really. What one believes in one will act out. We as a people believe in circumstances that have plagued us. We believe in the notion that we begin life less fortunate than others simply because we are born black. We believe that the system itself is designed to hold us back, hamper our efforts and impede our progress. But if ones beliefs about life and circumstances all point to a diminished capacity to achieve, then the idea of achievement becomes ridiculous. It becomes hard to even think that anything will change because there are no examples of change and ones outlook becomes cynical and movement toward anything positive becomes stunted. Confidence not only disappears but it becomes questionable whether or not it even existed.

I don’t mean to suggest that all of the woes of the Black community can be solved with heightened self-confidence because that would be too simplistic of an answer to even consider. I am saying that none of the problems that we have can even begin to be addressed unless we possess the confidence to believe that we can affect change on both an individual and collective level. Therefore, the question becomes how do we build both individual and collective confidence?

I believe that the individual is the key to the collective, if the individual changes then the collective changes. We are all part of a whole and what one of us does affects the lives of those who surround us. Black history is full of positive examples of achievement in every area of human endeavor and individuals who seek to build their confidence to overcome must first look at those examples and find belief. We must teach ourselves to believe in ourselves by rejecting the mass misrepresentation of who we are and our potential and investigating the truth.

Malcolm X once said, “History is best qualified to reward our research.” And in so saying gave regular people the key to changing. He rose from the same, if not worse, circumstances that many of us face to become an icon of leadership, self-education, morality and single-minded dedication. With little formal education, a criminal background and a history of bad decisions he changed his life and grew confident that the same change was possible for all of his people. I have a special affinity for history and earned a degree in it.

My own studies have shown me that we as a people have always possessed the power to change our circumstances and overcome in the face of adversity. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t made mistakes, or been afraid or believed that struggle is in vain. It does mean that when those mistakes happen, or I feel fear or struggling seems stupid, I have a store of knowledge to counteract the negativity. I can point to the positive within the negative and continue to fight.

Confidence can’t be restored overnight. And it can never be restored without a willingness to seek it out. I suggest that those who see the need for reinvigoration of community confidence begin with themselves and take a hard look at how they view life and how that view has affected their lives. Investigate your true history and then ask the hard questions about what you think about yourself, your heritage and your aspirations in the face of adversity. I suggest that everyone read and then re-read “The Autobiography of Malcolm X as a textbook for change and confidence.

Keep it real and shed the fake strut of false confidence and begin to build a will backed by sincere belief in self and in community. When you notice the holes in your armor take time to repair those holes and in doing so make us, our people, whole again.

#31 Tom Joyner, Oprah, Refugees, the Goverment and What It All Means for Real

2006-03-07T12:41:00.000-08:00

I was listening to the Tom Joyner Morning Show and something he said got me to thinking. He was talking about how Oprah Winfrey can get dozens of houses built and furnished for Hurricane Katrina refugees by donating $10 million of her own money and asking other people to give at whatever level they could. She even set up a special area dedicated to helping refugees on her website. Of course there is some kind of management of the monies she's donated and the money she's collecting and clearly the managment is effective because only weeks after the announcement there is a community built and people with homes. Oprah is a business woman and media icon and if she got things done so effectivly what is wrong with the government? Joyner went on to say that with the infinite resouces and reach of the goverment they haven't been as effective and there is much less tangible result from thier efforts. Hundreds of millions of dollars have been donated yet scores of empty trailers sit in fields and refugees get the run around while their real needs are not met.

As with all things on a radio show Tom and the crew soon moved on to another subject and I was left to ponder the subject. What Oprah's effectivness juxtaposed against the government's ineffectivness says to me is that the people have always done a better job taken care of themselves or depending upon other private citizens than they ever have when they depended upon the government. Be it long term or short term hoping that the government will make everything all right is delusional. There are too many examples of government efforts going wrong or government policies working against the welfare of people. See housing projects, Native reservations, welfare programs, standardized testing and healthcare if you don't believe me. Oprah's donation puts the exclaimation mark on the situation. She is a woman with means and she's using a substantial amount to support the needs of people who are truly in jepordy. She stepped up to the plate and is doing what she can and what she's guided to do. She is in the tradition of Booker T. Washington who started Tuskeegee University, W.E.B. Dubois who co-founded the NAACP. Seeing a need all three of them stepped up to the plate and did what they could. History will tell us Oprah's impact but that's not the point. The point is that in a time of need Oprah is doing what we should all be doing. She's stepping up. It's not about sound bites or good press. Oprah has tons of that already. I believe that she announced her contribution to serve as an example and to get more help.

Hurricane Katrina is the latest in a history of issues and events that remind us that the power structure is on the wrong side of doin' the right thing way too much. To many politicians are busy talking about blame and trying to use the situation for political currancy than pushing aid through for the refugees. The president of the New Orleans City Council even had the gaul to say that only workers are welcome back in the city. His comments are reminicient of jim crow politicians that pushed through laws that made black unemployment criminally punishable. He has since his original comments recanted much of the language he used but he still holds fast to the spirit. And these are the types of people who supposedly represent the citizenry.

The bottom line of it all is that people need to help each other because waiting on an agency or government help will leave the thirsty with sand in their mouths. People in need should accept any help that's offered but they shouldn't hold their breath thinking that governmental help will solve the problem. Goverment has a responsibility it is failing. It is not taking care of the people when the people have no where to turn in a time of need. How much red tape is there to get funding and supplies to American refugees. I would bet that funding Iraqi rebuilding and other war oriented efforts hasn't gotten half of the scrutiny and debate as the sustainance of American citizens driven from their homes by natural catastrope. (As a side note: in the aftermath of the hurricane a friend emailed me pictures of refugees riding in the back of open flatbeds while animals traveled in air conditioned busses. What does that say about priorities?)

Katrina lays bare all of the inconsistancy, beauty and confusion of class and race in America. When the storm initially hit and there was the outcry and outpouring of support Kanye West said that the president didn't like Black people and that's why things were so fucked up. I don't know how specifically Bush doesn't like Black people but it's clear he doesn't give a gottdamn about poor people. Not enough government officials truly care about the welfare of people in lower tax brackets. If they did there wouldn't be all of this confusion. Until they get their heads out of their collective asses it will be up to the efforts of private citizens and competent organizations to help refugees. When Americans looked at Americans on TV going through the tragedy and aftermath of the hurricane America responded. Since that initial response the fur has begun to fly, fingers have been pointed, hearings have been held and people have been fired. The government machine rolls on. Meanwhile everyone displaced faces an uncertain future where insurance is looking for excuses not to pay and the government doesn't know who or what to pay and when they do they seem to mess up one way or another.

Instead of indulging in the debate or the finger pointing everyone should follow Oprah's example and give/do what they can. All we have is ourselves after all.

# 30 Striver's Row, the Underground Railroad and What the Fuck is Wrong with 21st century Black People

2006-02-22T15:07:00.000-08:00

There is a legendary neighborhood in Harlem called Strivers Row. For a large part of the 20th century this neighborhood was populated by Black people that were on the cutting edge. Doctors, lawyers, celebrities, politicians and other luminaries lived there. It was one of the most beautiful all-Black neighborhoods in the country. It still exists, although no longer all Black, but few outside of New York have ever heard of it. I would even bet that if you don't live in Harlem few New Yorkers know it exists (but that's speculation) The name Strivers Row came from the fact that everyone living there was striving to be their best and to make the most out of America. They established a community built classic brownstone homes and went for it. All of Harlem knew that those living on the Row were examples of what we can do when we STRIVE. Although Strivers Row was an exclusive neighborhood many of it's residents were involved in the overall struggle for the social, economic and political freedom of Blacks in the US. Not only did they strive--they gave back and even if they didn't realize it their very presence was an inspiration to Harlem and the rest of Black America.
The Underground Railroad was the network of safe houses and individuals who enabled many slaves to escape from the south to freedom as far north as Canada. Its most famous conductor was Harriet Tubman who transported hundreds of slaves freedomward and never lost any of them. Harriet was narcoleptic, meaning that she would go to sleep at any time. Her dedication was so strong that even that disability didn't stop her. She had a mission and through whatever difficulty she completed that mission over and over again. Many of the freed slaves went on to help the efforts of the Underground Railroad and risked their new found freedom to support the network that got them free.
At the risk of seeming scattered I mentioned the above examples to reinforce one point. Black people have lost something in the last 3 decades. The precious item that is our minds. We have lost our minds since 1968. TBlack people coming together to build and populate an affluent neighborhood from nothing and then support that neighborhood and inspire those around them wouldn't happen today. Blacks as a people coming together to help free one another en masse wouldn't happen either. I'm not saying that we no longer have strivers or freedom fighters because we do. Our strivers and freedom fighters are fragmented in the 21st century and the masses have sold out.
I don't want to make this into a rant or a session of whining but damnmmmmmmmm! When I look at us as a people I get scared for our future. We have either undervalued, given up or forgotten the tools that have helped us historically. The only tactic we remember is marching and singing. I hate to say it but it's true. If faced with real repression, discrimination or government opposition the majority of the black community would just crumble under the pressure and look for the second coming of MLK. What's worse is that we don't even realize that we're in trouble. Most of us just go along and get along. The neighborhoods that used to house our business districts are decimated. Much of our media is either owned by entities outside of our community or simply ineffective. We don't challenge shit unless the government is trying to take away an entitlement program. Think about it, how much press have we generated and how much noise do we make when the government threatens welfare and like programs? You would think that some one came into our homes and punched us in the nose, slapped our mama's and spit on us. Now I'm being facetious but at the same time I'm serious. We watch television, smoke blunts and dream of lottery winnings or reparations while the public education system falters and breaks churning out children that can hardly read and are not prepared to persue much more than unskilled jobs that are disappearing. Our families break down and instead of trying to fix them and ourselves we indulge in debate about "down-low brothas" and whatever the fuck was on Jerry Springer today. We have rich history but we spend our time reading the likes of Zane or watching booty videos. We're tore up from the floor up as a community but we don't reflect, strive or fight as a community. we just find the latest pacifier and suck to our hearts content.
Most of us who are making money or have gotten over the hump want nothing to do with the less fortunate of the community. The black middle class although hanging on by a string doesn't even understand that where the least of us go, we all will go-sooner or later. We aren't a cohesive community anymore. We don't support each other and it hurts us all. I am not going to deny that there are those who are striving and giving back but we are so few, so fragmented and so tired it gets hard to carry on. My compliments go out to all of our strivers and freedom fighters because instead of having to fight the white man they have to fight the community they want to serve. Struggle on strugglers--I'm with you

#29 What Gives Me the Right?

2006-02-10T08:38:00.000-08:00

What gives me the right to say the things I say? What gives me the right to make observations that people may or may not want to hear? Who the fuck am I to point fingers and pick scabs? The only things that give me the right are GOD and my damn self. May sound foul to some but it's the truth.

I am a writer and I have opinions. I write those opinions in this blog and wherever people will print what I write. Hell, sometimes I just write to be writing because there are things on my mind and on my heart and I let those things out. I have said it before and I'll say it until the day I die: I don't write for acolades or prestige. I don't write to please anyone. I write because if I don't write I'll go crazy! I don't claim to be a leader or to represent anyone except for myself. If people read it and like it that's fine. If people read it and hate it that's fine too. Individual opinions are just that--individual. Just like individual assholes--everybody has one and most stink--even mine. Kiss me or diss me--I don't give a fuck, and that's real.
I have writing heroes. I admire the likes of Langston Hughes, James Baldwin, Mark Twain, Chester Himes, Iceburg Slim, Donald Goines, Octavia Butler, Stephen King, Walter Mosely, Ralph Ellison, Zora Neale Hurston and numerous others. What all of my writing icons have in common is that they write or wrote what they write or wrote and never apologize for it. At the end of the day it is what it is, was what it was and will be whatever it will be.

I've been writing since I was 12 and few people have noticed--but I kept writing because that's what I do. At this moment in time a few people are taking notice. Some like what I write and some don't but what the hell am I going to do--change, switch or get on my knees and suck some dick for praise? Fuck some praise. I never picked up a pen to get praise and I can't let praise change who I am or what I do. I am a writer bitch and I'll die with a pen in my hand! If you don't like it, blame God and my parents because they made me. I will be who and what I am until I'm gone and I don't regret shit. I sleep well and I don't run from my reflection. If I say it I mean it. If I change my mind, I'll let you know. I'm not infalible and will never claim to be. I'll be what I'll be. Nuff said!

#28 Welcome Back?

2005-11-27T09:02:00.000-08:00

The last few months have been a trip--as in tripped out, and a journey into myself. I have had to destroy everything so that I can build. I quit my job, gave up the print addition of my magazine and put the online addition on the shelf, I moved to St. Louis and finally I burned the bridge between myself and a woman that I thought I would marry. And when I say burned the bridge I really mean that I blew it to oblivion and we no longer speak at all. The life that I had is gone and the new one, though still developing, is on shaky legs--but I'm still standing.
I had gotten to a point that if I did not destroy what was I could not move forward. I look at my life as though it was an overgrown forest that needed a good burn to grow. So I set the bitch on fire. Now, amidst ashes, I have no regret. Thought the ground is burnt it isn't barren. The strongest trees have survived and new seeds are struggling to break ground. As with all new things, those seeds are fragile, tender and vunerable but the roots are driving deep into furtile soil and there is enough sun, rain and manure to ensure growth. I won't waste too much time waxing philisophic but I will qualify the metaphor by saying that in this new life there is enough good, bad and general bullshit for me to make the most out of this new situation.
What has struck me the most and has been the source of both peace and frustration is that I am alone. All alone. Though I know a few people and have made some good connections I am far from an insider. People aren't lining up to help me build this new life. Of course there is the support and guidance of the elders in my family--especially mother, but the work, decisions and the journey are mine alone. DuHHHH!---But the aloneness is a good thing. I have spent a decade of my life trying to be there for other people and not persuing my purpose and dreams full time. Well time is all I have and at 33 I don't intend on wasting anymore on building other people or supporting their dreams and compensating for their shortfalls. I have no hard feelings toward anyone. Even though it may seem resentful when I say I walked away and destroyed the life I had I'm not. I am thankful for every experience I have had. Though I may have ignored my own needs to help people or involve myself in others' endevours I know that I made choices. I wasn't forced. In a lot of ways I see now that all of the time I spent in other folks' business was a way for me to avoid my own. I was scared to fly like an eagle so I clucked with chickens for a long time. Fear and uncertainty are deadly addictions and I was a fiend. But what was-was, what is-is and life moves forward. I am moving with life now and doing what needs to be done for me. Who else will? Nuff said!

#27 Riding the Waves

2005-06-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

It has been a month since I posted anything here. It hasn't been because I haven't had anything to say. Its been because I've been riding the waves. Nah, I don't surf nor do I live on a river--I'm not even talking about water. The waves I'm riding are waves of life--just like the rest of us.
I'm not going to whine or cry because there is no reason to. And if I seem cryptic, that's cool because I'm writing for me and not for anyone else so I'm the only one that has to know what the fuck I'm talking about. Suffice it to say I'm just growing and learning.
I've decided to move to St. Louis and live. Columbia is dead to me. It's been dead for some time. My magazine is the bright spot but I can manage that via telephone and computer. What is lacking in Columbia is the juice of life. I've lived here on and off for 20 years. I've written from here, gone to school here and taught here. I've done all that I want to do here and it's time to go. I have no regrets. I don't feel like I've wasted time but I can't afford to spend any more time here. I could go on and on, but why. Simplicity is always best.
I will continue writing, ranting and saying my piece in this blog. It will just be from a different location.
Wish me luck.

#26 Just A Ramble: 'Cause I Deserve To

2005-05-18T07:11:00.000-07:00

What's really going on? At 32 I am beginning to understand why the 30's are so much better than the 20's. I'm still young enough to do anything that I want to do, but I'm old enough not to want to do just anything. Even though this is just a ramble I'm not going to digress into self-congratulations and patting myself on the back. I'm just in a space where I'm taking time to taste the fresh breaths I'm blessed to be able to take. I have a lot of work ahead of me but that's fine. What is life if it isn't some kind of work?

I'm not saying that I'm defined by my job or that anyone should be. What I'm saying is that living is made good by working to live well. Not materialistically well but wholistically and especially spiritually well. Living in and striving toward the "light" is not simple, easy or a game, but rather it's a lifelong journey. The goal is not heaven(in my opinion). Actually there is no goal for this life because ultimatly we all end up dead. That is not fatalistic, it's just fact. There is no human being that has survived life and walked as an immortal upon the earth. Even Jesus, whom many believed rose from the dead didn't stay here. The journey is what matters. The lessons learned on the road with its myriad potholes, blockages, slopes and plateaus are the real point of life. Learning to navigate through those obstacles is the point of living.

Throughout life we'll set goals and hopefully we will achieve them. If we don't we must learn that the goal itself was just something to show us a more worthy goal. We can only fail by refusing to learn. Living takes care of itself. We breathe automaticlly. Our heart pumps unconsiously. We experience things whether we want to or not because it's impossible to cut off our senses(generally). The meat of life is in the how and the marrow of our existance is in the why. Our hows and whys change constantly, just like paths through the wilderness. Being on the right path or at least looking for it is more important than what's at the end of it.

There are so many times in my 20's that I achieved some goal only to feel empty. Once gotten the object of my desire never seemed to matter that much. What my 30's are teaching me is that the journey is what matters most. As I set new goals and work earnestly to achieve them I'm taking time to enjoy and pay attention to the journey. I've fallen in potholes, hit walls and gotten just plain lost enough to have developed some skill in avoiding those things. When I don't I'm able to overcome them with less difficulty. Thank God!

I'm a happier person in my 30's than I was in my 20's. All of the adolecent angst has burned itself off. Adolescent angst, although sometimes righteous, is usually unfocused and potentially destructive. It doesn't have enough wisdom behind it. Its like a forest fire. Immaturity and impulsivness are its fuel and its wind is a stupidity that twentysomethings seem to be the masters of. I'm not saying this out of arrogance. I'm saying it out of experience. I was one of the dumbest of the twentysomethings so I should know. Now that angst seems to be transforming itself. There are things that make me angry. There are things that I speak and write about because they concern me but I'm no longer being consumed by any fires. I finally understand the meaning of Rudyard Kipling's poem If. I see things as they are and act accordingly. If that's too esoteric for you, too bad. It is what it is.

#25 What's Really Important

2005-05-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

I am not an apocalypse predictor, a holy roller, or one of the many Americans that becomes hysterical about the declining state of the world or this country. Those people are motivated by fear and although I know fear can be a healthy thing and keep one alive it can also induce paralysis of body, spirit and good sense. That being said, I believe that fear is the American public morning meal and constant companion. It's also a great selling point, which is probably why fear is so ubiquitous in this society. This great nation is full of "fraidy cats" who watch the news for two things: the latest disaster and the which celebrity did what. Both the disaster and the celebrity are the fodder for water cooler conversation and the excuse to spend countless hours in front of TV sets which dispense more of the same.

What's really disturbing is that the public doesn't want to do much about the fear, at least in the long term. Americans want to panic and then have the government handle it. We don't care how the government handles it they just want to have a sense that someone official is thinking about it to. The catch is that whatever is done can't really impose on anyone or anything or even make a difference. Take the social security issue. The fear is that the money will run out and the elderly will be left without a safety net. The public, led by the media, went into a frenzy (or at least that's what the TV says) and the president and congress began a vigorous debate and campaign of one-upsmanship on which can save social security. The public soon gets sick of the debate and listen to the media for the new fear because the government is taking too long with the social security thing. The end result is that nothing changes and it doesn't matter anyway because in their heart of hearts everyone knows that social security payments won't support anybody anyway. If you don't believe me ask the nearest 75 year old working at Wal-Mart--surely you don't think people who are 75 take jobs like that just to get out of the house. They need the money b/c social security doesn't cut it.

The war scares people to, but not enough to make most do anything substantial about it. There are daily updates about bombings that reinforce the fear but it's an abstract distraction to most. Real life child murders or sniper killings or kidnapped brides (who incidentally turn out to be premeditated drama queens) are more striking and fear inducing. The American chorus of fear leaps off of the TV. Every centimeter of an issue is research and reported ad nauseum until I'm nauseous and anyone with an iota of consciousness wants to join me as I praise the nearest porcelain god with offerings of my regurgitated last meal. But the police get called in, press conferences are held, the man on the street gets to say how scared he is, parents escort their children to school and Americans hold each other just a little bit tighter at night while they watch the latest edition of American Idol, America's Next Top Model or Making of the Band 498.(Diddy sure is smart)

Meanwhile the things we probably should be scared about are nothing but faint blips on the outer edges of our mental radar screens. Education is in the toilet, global warming does exist, gas prices, unemployment and the cost of living are all rising uncontrollably (and that shit doesn't seem to be slowing down), corporations are on welfare and bale out on pension packages, our food is toxic, our children are fat&lazy&undisciplined just like many of their parents, Microsoft is a monopoly and neither the Democrats or the Republicans are really interested in much more than staying in office and lining their pockets. Even though those are generalizations that reflect my opinions they aren't untrue and they point to the heart of the problem. It isn't that the crime spree of the moment or the shock story aren't valid points of interest. It isn't that people don't have the right to their personal obsessions or fears. It isn't even to say that some of the drivel on the TV isn't entertaining or that the shock crime of the moment isn't disturbing but they are transitory. What scares me is that there seems to be little will in this country to truly address issues that concern us all. We have become a band-aid society. We think if something gets on the news someone will do something and we slap a band-aid over our conscience, divert our counciousness and hope for the best.

It would be funny if it wasn't true. I am very happy not to have children and with the world the way it is in general and America the way it is specifically I have no desire to.

#24 Children Don't Need Special Education, Children Need Standards

2005-04-26T08:15:00.000-07:00

I work with elementary age children. My title is Student Advocate but my job is to supervise children who have made bad decisions and been sent out of the room. You could call me a glorified detention supervisor and that would be true, but it wouldn't be the whole truth. The biggest part of my job is helping children take responsibility for their actions and realize better choices and how to make them. The standard speech I give to my first time visitors tells them just that but I add that I will always tell them the truth and I will hold them to the same standard. If they don't understand what that means when I say it they surely understand by the time they leave. When I say that I expect for them to tell the truth I mean the whole truth. Whatever the action was that landed them in my room they have to be truthful about it, tell me what happened and take responsibility for their actions. I don't allow them to tell me what anyone else did or how anyone was doing the same thing and didn't get into trouble. I do not allow them to say anyone or anything made them do anything and I refuse to even entertain the idea that their predicament is anyone's fault but their own. I tell them that they are the only ones in control of their bodies, minds and mouths and that nothing just "happens".

As you may imagine I tell these children that much of what they say to me is not good enough or that their responses are inadequate and/or incomplete. When I hear them tell me a lie or a half-truth I tell them so and that they need to be honest. When they refuse to take responsibility I refuse to talk to them until they are ready to be honest. When they try to deflect blame or only tell half truths about any situtation, I put the focus squarly back on them. As far as I'm concerned they can sit and stew if they don't want to be all the way real about anything they have done to be sent to me. Whining, crying and any variety of fit is always met with stoicism and the message that the only acceptable attitude/action/paradigms in my classroom are honesty, respect and responsibility. Until they can accept and act from those standards they will be with me all day and we'll repeat the lessons the next day if necessary.

The children generally understand my standards and eventually even the most upset or uncooperative students are able to calm themselves down and take responsibility for their choices. After claiming their bad choice they have to outline alternative choices and list to whom they need to apologize. Talking about their choice with their teacher is the last thing to do. If they can't own up to their choice or want to deny what we aready know is the truth the process stops and we start again only when they think their ready. Sometimes the process is quick and sometimes it's arduous but it usually works. What's unfortunate is that many of them come back because of another incident. We begin the process again and work through it but the process and the processor (me) are always consistant.

Even though it isn't easy for most of the students that come to me I know that they appreciate the consistancy and the discipline I give to them. And that's not all that I do. I show my students a rounded person so I give out high-fives in the hallways, compliment them when they do a good job, tell them I'm proud of them when they do something that makes me proud, tell them to walk in straight lines, ask about their good and bad days, shepard them to their buses and all the other things that a responsible staff member at an elementary school should do. It isn't always a walk in the park. I get frustrated and my kids get frustrated but we stay honest and consistant. That makes all of the difference. Because of honesty and consistancy I've been able to forge relationships with a lot of students and very few in the school don't know my name or my expectations.

I've worked in education for a few years. I used to teach middle school and in all of that time I have found that approaching students honestly and expecting them to be at their best has always been the best approach. If you set high standards, kids aim for them and many make it. Young people want guidance and direction. They want to respect someone and to be given chances to earn respect. No one is perfect. Students and teachers share human flaws. I have found that being honest even about the flaws allows kids to more easily trust the things I tell them. These kids know that I'm a person who is willing to be a person, not just an authority figure sent to make their lives uncomfortable for no reason. If I make them uncomfortable it's for a reason--usually because they're being dishonest. In an uncertain world they know that I say what I mean and keep my promises.

Experience with teachers has led me to form some generalizations. They are not always true but unfortunatly they are true often enough to count. Many educators put up a facade to their students. They feign perfection and act as if life has never presented them with problems. Children know that's a lie and that's why they refuse to relate to so many teachers. Teachers play favorites, can be petty and immature and get very frustrated but they act like they don't. Teachers pay lip service to diversity, closing the achievement gap, helping all students succeed and holding all students to the same standards. Teachers respond to standardized tests by teaching to them and coaching classes through in the hopes to cook the numbers upwards. To many teachers don't see students as people. Fewer still see them as children begging for guidance and understanding in a cold world. Teachers don't recognize or acknowledge their own prejudices so it's impossible for them to mitagate them. Teachers tie their ego into their job instead of concentrating on what's best for kids. They follow trends instead of good sense and it's children who suffer. I could say much more but I won't because I feel myself slipping off of the point.

What children need from teachers, parents and all adult authority figures are standards. All the 21st century techniques and theories about behavior and psycho/socio babble are not helping children become productive and well rounded adults. There is enough blame to go around but the bottom of the thing is that kids can only be what they are made to be. In this society they are not expected to trust themselves or streatch themselves for anything. Parents want to be friends with their children or explain to them the psychology of their upbringing. No one understands how to say no and stick to it. Kids need to be denied. They need to understand delayed gratification and they need to understand how to take responsibility. No one is born knowing these things and no one can know them unless they are taught.

I am neither a conservative or a liberal. I am a realist. Ideology does little to solve problems. Action solves problems. In a society that is rife with them, I don't believe in excuses. I believe in standards and realistic goals. If you set a standard or a goal you strive toward it until it's met or achieved. If either is scaled back it must be because it is unrealistic in the short term. In that case you re-evaluate and take the steps necessary to get where you have aimmed to get. I don't know what made this nation forget that but it has and the results are tragic.

# 23 Keep the Music Free

2005-04-19T11:41:00.000-07:00

I think that the current Supreme Court case arguing against peer-to-peer file sharing and seeking its regulation is ridiculous. It shows the sheer greed of the entertainment industry and their desire to so strictly control media distribution that innovation dies and competition is stifled to the point that only those with the blessing of the corporate leviathans ever get exposure. Let’s face it; the “industry” isn’t interested in art. They are interested in money. They could give a fuck less whether or not someone has talent. If they can package them and sell them they’ll do it. If the artist suffers or the product is sub-par, so what, just as long as it sells—at least for a while the industry is satisfied.

I don’t want to drop into a diatribe about corporations killing creativity though. I want to talk about the case and what’s real. I grew up on hip-hop music and learned to love it when it was on the fringes. I remember being 9 and 10 years old and laying awake nights listening to the radio trying to catch the songs I loved to record them. DJ commentary and all, those were the first mix tapes. If you could get the LP and your parents had the right system you could make tapes straight from the record player, static and all. I remember hearing groups like Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Run-DMC, Kurtis Blow and Whodini for the first time from these home-made mix-tapes. Everybody had them. And with the explosion of Boom Boxes (we just called them Boxes) and breakdancing we would pass around music through what would today be called piracy.

This so called piracy is what fed the popularity of hip-hop and without it Midwestern kids like me would never have been exposed. We had no equivalent to New York’s Hot 97 fm. We had no other contact to the culture except for the tapes, and a few pirate DJ’s with underground radio shows. Thank god for those because they gave me an eye into the outside world through music. I don’t think I bought a record until I was 12 or 13 years old but I always had music. Somebody would make a tape and if it was fresh(slang for cool circa 1987) I’d dub it. There was always access to a dual deck tape player. Blammmm-it was done, no muss no fuss no federal court case. How things change.

I also don’t understand the angst of the recording artists. They complain about being ripped off but the record companies only give them pennies per record they sell. Their most lucrative hustles from everything I understand are their shows and other endorsements. They do get paid when their record is played on the radio but if I buy a CD they get like 5 cents one time (and they say it’s people burning CD’s that cost them money—wake up and smell the ink on your contract.) It seems to me that the more accessible music is the more likely people will come and see performers do what they should be doing—perform. Maybe there are so many strictly studio performers or lazy entertainers or do nothing cult personalities out there that the money generated by record sales is all they can really count on. Maybe if they did a tour no one would come or if peer-to-peer file sharing got the blessing of the court people would realize that only 2-4 songs on most of these 25 track records are even worth listening to.
Time will tell and I hope with all my heart that the entertainment industry loses it’s case and sharing is validated. Drew Clark wrote a great article about it. Check it out and think about the damn thing.

#22 Peace Be Still

2005-04-18T14:08:00.000-07:00

My mother has given me a lot of advice in my life and most of it has been good. Of all the things she's ever told me the thing that I return to time and time again is her admonishment to be quiet, stay still and listen for the small voice from inside that never leads me astray. My mother told me when I was 17 and about to go to college that she'd taken me as far as she could. She was my mother, but I didn't belong to her. She saw herself as the caretaker to God's property (no relation to Kirk Franklin-who by the way has a gospel workout tape,praise Jesus and pass the Atkins). As proprietor she had to teach me how to make good decisions, but ultimatly she couldn't make me do anything. Her job was to demonstrate the reality of consequence. Once grown, however, she couldn't , nor would she try, to guide my life. "Your decisions are yours. I raised you to be a man now you have to be one."

She has stayed true to her word. Mother is always there for me as emotional support and cheerleader, but she hasn't tried to tell me what to do since I was 17. She does tell me when she thinks I'm way off base or totally wrong but she never tries to impose her view. When I feel mixed up, confussed or like an unholy weight is bearing down she always says, "Peace. Be still and things will come to you. That's harder than it sounds sometimes but it's always right. When I have followed that advice things fell into place. When I don't take time to listen, or when I act contrary to what the small still voice says I go wrong. I don't remember any situation I've been in that has worked out because I got stressed out. I can, however, name many times that quiet introspection and faithful patience have shown me the way.

I look around at the children that I work with and it's easy to see that the concept of quiet reflection and listening to their inner selves is a foriegn concept. So many of them are caught up into instant gratification that any situation requiring patience, stillness or introspection makes them angry, upset and confused. I'm sure there are psycho/social/economic reasons for that but I'm not a psychologist, a sociologist or an economic theorist. All I know is what I see and interpret. It's clear that these children are surrounded by stressed out adults who don't know how to cope. Some of the children are abused as a result, others are neglected but all of them have the idea of life being a diversion and deep thought being a waste of time.

I wish I could make my mother into all of their mothers so she could advise and teach them to be still and at peace. I tell people all the time that it's impossible to talk and listen at the same time. That's true with whatever concept one has of god, and people tend to talk so much they drown out the sound of creation. Thank God that I can still hear and I thank my mother to for it's listening that will make all of the difference.

#21 Nigger: America's Favorite Pastime

2005-04-13T11:34:00.000-07:00

"A rose by any other name..."
Shakespeare

"You can only be destroyed by believing you are what the white world calls a nigger."
James Baldwin

The word nigger and it's ebonic equivalent nigga are bones of contention in the mental framework of Black people and America at large. Seen as unforgivable slur if spoken by anyone but Blacks but when we (Black folks) use it, no one bats an eyelash. If anything its called a term of endearment and I know Black people that identify themselves as NIGGA's, are happy to be niggas and think nigga is a nationality. There are occasional uproars by so-called leaders, discussions and moments of publicized angst from the African-American upper class but on the ground in everyday language nigga comes out of black mouths faster than water moves across a hot greased skillet. I have met several Black people that detest and dont use the word but I've met vastly more who use it in their everyday speech. If the Black folks who don't use the word were questioned I would bet that they have used it before and I know that they have heard it used in everyday language by other Black people.

Is this what they think about you.....

......or what you think about yourself?

I know that white people use the word nigger. I have too many white friends who tell me so. Sometimes they use it as a slur but not always. The feeling that I get from the whites that tell me about other whites that use nigger when referring to Black people negatively is that they consider them ignorant and stupid. The problem is that those same whites don't challenge their friends when the word is whipped out. Ironically Black people don't challenge one another when we hear the word either. (Are we seeing a pattern yet?) Since rap music has become the nation's popular music and whites listen to it heavily, they have also started saying nigga. I had a discussion with a white dude who laid it on the line and said that he calls his close friends 'his niggas' and why shouldn't he. His point was that rappers throw the word around like clowns throwing candy at a parade. Our conversation went something like this:

White Guy: If it's so offensive, the rappers shouldn't say it. And if they can say it why shouldn't I?

Me: The rappers are black.

White Guy: So?

Me: Since we were slaves we have the right....

White Guy: You were never a slave. The rapper was never a slave. What does slavery have to do with it?

Me: Uhh? (automatic dropping into the argument that black people using the word nigga is different than nigger...blah blah blah)

After my explanation, which I refuse to go into here because it's beginning to sound stupid even to me, the white dude looked at me unconvinced and I stopped being offended at the thought of him calling his close friends 'his niggas'. I can't be one of 'his niggas' because hearing that come out of white peoples mouths directed at me just doesn't feel right. In fact, it would feel dirty. And he might get hit in the mouth.

The point is that the survival of the word nigger or nigga,(does the derivation even matter?), used to be in the hands of Black people. Since we saw fit to use it, it grew. As a thing grows it expands and now, even though we may hate it (and I'm not sure we do), nigga is everywhere. Black people didn't strangle the world after slavery and stick it back down the massa's throat during reconstruction. Instead we continued to use it and even call it a term of endearment. Now we have to deal with it coming out of everybody's mouth. But that's not exactly true. My mother told me that she rarely heard the word when she was growing up and that her father hated it and didn't allow it said in his presence. She said that the worst scolding she ever saw her brother get what when he called their older sister "nigger". I can't remember any of my grandparents using the word. So it seems that even if we didn't banish the word totally after slavery we didn't throw it around and identify with it either. This mass self-identification is relatively new.

If you think about it, it's simultaneously ridiculous and insidious. The word nigger originated with Middle Passage slavery. It was a way to dehumanized Black people and make it easier to transform them into slaves. Instead of being called men or women, the stolen people were called nigger(s). I would guess nigger was one of the first words many slave understood because it was what they were called by their captors. Nigger became the new identifier and Black people were forced to wear it like a collar around our collective throats. I believe that the label got accepted and identified with and that's why it survived. The problem with it is that its origins are in dehumanization.

Black people saying that we claim the word and it's a term of endearment is equivalent to having a steaming pile of shit in your kitchen. You see it, clean it up w/ a dry mop and then put the mop in the closet without rinsing it off. Suddenly you wonder why your house stinks. What's worse is that the word seems to be an addiction for Black people. As one of the addicted I know. The word nigga has fallen out of my life more times than I can count but that's going to stop.

While I was researching this post I searched google for images of nigger. It blew my mind. At the time of my search there were over 2100 images. Everything from the sickening cartoon I used above to Aunt Jemima to Bill Cosby. I found a racist site that had the cartoon I used and it pissed me off so much I didn't know what to do except for write. But it made me realize that the word nigger is not cute, it is not a term of endearment it is a hate word and a word designed to make me and my people less than human. It is a word that denigrates humanity and I have to let it go.

I cannot regulate what anyone else says or does but I have to give up the words nigger, nigga or any derivative of the two. It's a foul thing to say. It may take a minute but I'll burn it out of my vocabulary. That's the only right thing to do.

#20 If It Ain't One Thang It's A-Muthafuckin'-nother

2005-04-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

Murphy's Law is always in effect. Amongst Black folks in America the saying goes: If it ain't one thang it's a-muthafuckin'-nother, meaning if it can happen it will happen so get ready for the shit to hit the fan. I've had a day like that today. It all started out well. I woke up early, exercised and watched the 5-Deadly Venoms, which is one of my all time favorites. I got to work ok and picked up a paper because there was an article about my magazine in it. Everything was cool until I had some of the most rowdy kids come to my room. I handle disipline cases at an elementary school and today the kids went crazy. I used to not think that kids need to be medicated-and in general I still believe that-but some of them need their pills-------seriously.

All of that cooled down by 2 o'clock or so but I was still uneasy. I expected that my magazine's website would be up by today. Of course--it wasn't. I checked once an hour-every hour and the shit was still parked at godaddy.com. I emailed the webdude, called him and sat on pins and needles all day. When I got a hold of him he wanted me to forward him some emails. The ones I knew I forwarded yesterday. But it turns out that even though he got them I hadn't even got the one he needed. So, I have spent the last hour on the phone between him and the hosting service finding out that some dumbass didn't follow up my hosting order and it will be 24-48 more hours before the site is up. Ain't that a bitch. It just goes to show that if it can get fucked up it will get fucked up.

The moral to the story is that as soon as I found out it was all fucked up, I didn't get mad. Hell it is what it is. No energy will be wasted on what I can't do anything about and at least I have a website to worry about. By the time anyone reads this it should be up, so check us out and I hope you enjoy.

#19 Freedom is Not Free

2005-04-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

When a person places the proper value on freedom, there is nothing under the sun that he will not do to acquire that freedom. Whenever you hear a man saying he wants freedom, but in the next breath he is going to tell you what he won't do to get it, or what he doesn't believe in doing in order to get it, he doesn't believe in freedom. A man who believes in freedom will do anything under the sun to acquire . . . or preserve his freedom-----Malcolm X

I believe that there are only two types of people: slaves and freemen. Which you are depends totally and completely on what you do and how you conduct your life. It has nothing to do with what you say you are or portray yourself to be. It has nothing to do with the money in your pocket and the material goods you may or may not have. It cannot be bought, sold, traded or taught and can only be aquired through struggle. Freedom is a choice that has to be made and acted upon consistantly. Enslavement must be accepted to exist in one's life. Slavery and freedom aren't mutually exclusive and can be measured in degrees but one is always dominant. You can be free in one aspect of your life and a slave in another. However, a freeman that recognizes areas of enslavement in his life does what's needed to become free. Both slavery and freedom come with a price. If we chose freedom it has to be cultivated, nurtured and expanded--life must be lived. Choosing enslavement costs the opportunity for anything you may want in life. Slaves don't make decisions and take actions, they are put into situations and forced to react.

Every morning we wake up and greet life we have to choose whether or not to be enslaved or free. This may sound esoteric but it isn't. It is the truth regardless of our experiences, our race, our religion, creed, self-image or anything else that makes us an individual. The decision to be enslaved or free is one that we make everyday. It guides everything else that we do and shapes our lives. The choice may be conscious or unconscious but it gets made and that decision becomes the foundation of our lives. It dictates what we will do, how we will react and the level of our relationships with other people, ourselves and whatever we percieve to be the power greater than ourselves.

The acceptance of enslavement gives us a life framed by dependance. Freedom is independance. Enslavement is making excuses and freedom is taking responsability. Freedom is doing what needs to be done even when it's difficult. Enslavement is looking at how other people messed up your life and wallowing in how hard "they" have made it for you. Freedom is forgetting about all the "they's", looking at self and figuring out what needs to happen to move forward.

To truly be free is to actively examine life and change as necessary. The change is the hardest thing to do. We have all been slaves to something in our lives and slavemasters don't give up their property without a fight. The wild shit is that the fight is within us and all we have to do is act on the decision to be free and we will be free. It's that simple. However, simplicity and ease are two different things. Follow through can be a bitch. When one does follow through, the floodgates open. The more you look at life and take control of it, the more you see in need of control. It's at this point you find out what you're made of. A truly free man gets it done, especially when it's uncomfortable. And when more pops up to do, he just does what's necessary. Free people aren't perfect by any means. Free people struggle with their freedom because it's not an easy thing. It takes attention and diligence and determination. More than anything it takes honesty and most people don't like being honest. It's easier to blame, whine, cry, bitch & moan than to straighten your backbone and do--regardless of the limitations or the hardships. Freemen learn life's greatest lesson daily--this existance is a gift to be appreciated and used because it isn't promised and it's going to end.

Slaves only see the hardships. Slaves see their chains and cling to them even though they hate them. The chains of excuses, blaming, backbiting, infighting, selfishness, following others, irresponsibility, dreaming and never acting, thinking and never doing, dependancy and anything that anyone attributes to their "CAN'T", keep slaves enslaved. Slaves lean on excuses and point fingers but they never--NEVER, look inward and stand up for self. That takes more than they are willing to give. That takes responsibility.

No one is perfect and as I said before slavery and freedom aren't mutually exclusive, but one is always dominant. When we look at our lives we know that there are different facets and degrees. As dynamic beings we change. We must steer that change and pay the price to be as free as we can be every day of our lives.

#18 Say It Loud: Still Black and Proud

2005-04-01T08:17:00.000-08:00

In the introduction to this blog I specifically call myself Black as opposed to African-American but I don't explain what that means. Many people might say that there isn't a difference, but there is a distinct difference. Actually there are several differences. The differences between Blacks, African-Americans, Niggas, Negroes and AfriKans is another essay all by itself. I'll just clarify why no "identifier" suits me except for being Black(notice the capitalization)

I was born Black. My parents were ex-revolutionaries who embodied the "Black is Beautiful" ethos. They didn't wear berets and give black power salutes every five minutes but there was an appreciation for "Blackness" that permeated our home. There were paintings of and by black people, books that explored varied subjects but centered on Black people and above all there was a palpable feeling that being Black was being blessed. Regardless of where my parents were, they were proud to be who they were, and they understood that unlike negro, colored or the other monikers given to the descendents of slaves in America, black was an identity chosen by black people, not assigned by whites. Black, a traditionally negative word/description was snatched out of the universe and worn on the lapel of anyone that was "conscious". By referring to themselves as Black people they forced the world to recognize that those who had been slaves weren't slaves anymore. The word was instantly upended and what was seen as negative became a positive. Black was a declaration of being and the upturning of a negative perception into a positive identity. I was born into that identity. I don't think anyone I grew up near even used the words colored or negro. That shit was as foreign to me as white people tellin' my father what to do in his own house and that never happened.

In 1984, Jesse "Baby-Daddy" Jackson made a rousing speech at the Democratic Convention. I don't know what he talked about but I do know that was the birth of the phrase African-American. I didn't like that shit from the moment I heard it. It sounded generic and weak to me. Even though people, black people, started using it and it began to creep into the popular lexicon, the term African-American(for the purpose of time and space I'll use A-A for short) seemed like a step backwards. There was Jesse on the podium smilin' and grinnin' and starting a popular debate among people about this new hyphenated phrase. I guess he thought that the crack epidemic, unemployment and the teen pregnancy rate weren't that important, or at least not as important as a racial name change. Thanks Jesse for setting a standard for us all--grinnin bastard.

Black is universal, ubiquitous, powerful and infinite. African-American is...well, hyphenated and that's the best I can say. As a descriptor it's as accurate as any of the racial/ethnic hyphenations. It's problem is in it's narrowness. Even though it's an accurate description of slave descendents in the US it cuts us off from the rest of the diaspora. Although it may be an accurate description it is a narrow definition for our people and I hardly ever use it. What's worse is that it confuses children. If you don't think so I challenge you to get a picture of Nelson Mandela show it to anyone born after 1984 and ask his ethnicity. At least 8 out of 10 respondents will call Mandela African-American. I've done it and it's scary. What that tells me is that the A-A designation is worse than generic. No Black person from the continent wants to be A-A in the first place and that description robs them of their history and places them in a pot they don't belong in.

It could be argued that Black is generic too and it is but there is one vital difference. Black is flexible and inclusive. Nelson Mandela will never be African-American, but he'll be Black forever. Some could say that being A-A is a way to claim and combine the unique perspectives and history that produced and shaped black people in the US. I do believe that may have been one of the points Jesse was trying to make. The reason I don't buy it personally is that the whole western hemisphere was covered with stolen Africans and their decendents. There is no country on this side of the Atlantic that was not touched by slavery and there is no country that does not have the marks of the slave trade all over it. Even Canada, who abolished slavery and slave trading relativly early, still feels its effects because slaves would run there to be free. The history of black slavery is not just the history of the civil war, abolitionists, Frederick Douglas et. al., and reconstruction. It isn't a story just told in English either. Blacks in the USA are just a part of a larger story. It is a story of 4 continents, dozens of countries, untold numbers of African ethnic groups, and culture that still binds us together.

I don't get offended when I hear A-A, nor do I correct people when they say it. My position isn't to re-evangelize the term Black and make everyone follow my lead. No-that's Jesse Jackson's job and he has kids to feed. My preference is personal and internal. I am an American citizen-and always will be, but that's not all I am. I am smart enough to know that there are cultural connections that I share with Black people all over the world. Our specific histories may be different but we all spring from the same well. I am a child of Africa and America but just jamming those words together does nothing to make me more of either. I'm Black in America, in Europe, in Africa, in Asia and if I went to Antarctica I'd still be Black--and Black people understand.

#17 Me and Baby Brother

2005-03-23T12:20:00.000-08:00

I have 1 brother, Eric. Eric's been in prison for 3 years and he'll be there for 13 more. That sucks! My brother is my truest friend. He is my secret keeper. He is one of the most important people in my life and I love him. Not being able to see him or talk to him or hang out with him and just be brotherly is the sorest spot in my life. There is nothing more that I want than for E to be free, but I know that won't happen until I'm 45 and he's 40. Being separated from my brother doesn't lessen the love that we have for each other. Our separation is a lesson in what love and brotherhood really are.

I'm an emotional and vocal person. My feelings are usually readable, and if they aren't I'm quick to share. Sometimes I talk just to hear my own voice. Eric is the opposite. He doesn't waste too many words and talks when he has something to say. You have to know him to know how he feels because there is no guarantee he'll tell you. Those differences have always made our relationship strong. Before he got locked up I'd rant and rave, bitch and spit about whatever was on my mind at the time. I'd fuss at Eric b/c he's my brother and regardless of my blabbing he always stayed calm and kept a smile waiting on the edges of his mouth. Regardless of my tantrum he always knew what I meant and how to take my shit. Best believe we'd argue and fight and all the things that brothers do, but we havealways been there for each other. We still are, regardless of his incarceration. Eric knows me, I know him and we take care of each other even now.

I'm thinking about this and writing it down because through the walls, the distance and his lack of freedom, my brother still supports me. We haven't talked on the phone in months but we write each other. Not as frequently as either one of us prefers but we both procrastinate about writing letters. I think we would and should write more, but picking up the pen to write a letter is the starkest reminder of where he is and that he won't be home for more than a decade. The only reason we don't talk on the phone is b/c we used to talk so regularly that my phonebill skyrocketed and I cut it off. The letter I got from E, a couple of days ago shows how tigtly wrapped both of us are.

I was sitting in my apartment feeling down about several things. My rent got hiked, I had no money, I was more than a little lonely and my head was spinning. I was thinking about how was I going to make my life work without capital and the answers I was feeding myself weren't cutting it anymore. I felt like giving up and just going to find a different job that would lift me out of my personal quagmire. I was having a personal pity party and then something told me to go get my mail. I went and I was rewarded with a letter form E.

E was talking about the things that were going on in the prision. He left his job in diatary because other inmates wanted to use him to hustle. (My brother tells me that working in a prison dietary center-read kitchen- can be an inside track to money) He doesn't want to be involved in any hustle in the pen because hustling is what got him there in the first place. Even though he's dodging bullets and temtation in prison the tone of the letter wasn't about anything negative. Instead he used his time and ink looking forward to the future. He asked about the magazine and how he could contribute writing and he asked about the details of my life I'd told him about in previous letters. Throughout the letter there were admonishments toward me to keep my head up, stay focused and carry out my plans. There was no whining, no feeling sorry for himself, no blame and none of the begging and finger pointing one might expect from the imprisoned. With every sentence my brother affirmed that he may be in prison, but prison will never be in him. He was upbeat in spite of circumstances. That is manhood, personhood and humanity at it's best. That's my brother!

Eric's letters are always uplifting because he is an uplifting person. Being in prison can't be a cakewalk but Eric is walking the path because that's where his journey took him. Was it an avoidable situation--of course, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that he has met that situation with grace, strength and hope. While I have used much of the time and space for this blog to complain, whine or voice my dissatisfaction with my situation, my brother has a real situation to deal with. All of my fears have come to the surface and I'm navigating through them but compared with what Eric has to face daily my problems are miniscule. The bumps in my road are just that--bumps. Eric faces a too real wall standing in the way of his freedom and that hasn't stopped him from living, wishing and forward thinking. What lessons he teaches without even trying.

I hope to honor my brother by not complaining so much and living more. Thanks E.

#16 Why I Write part 2: Purgatory

2005-03-18T07:45:00.000-08:00

I went to a catholic elementary school and I always wondered what the fuck purgatory was. Now, at 32, I understand purgatory because I live there. Caught between heaven and hell, I exist in suspension. I feel both the upward pull of angels and demons dragging me down. Whether or not I am saved or damned depends upon my choices. No, I don't want to continually fixate on the difficulties in my life because I believe that whatever you focus on becomes larger. I have enough hardship and I don’t need any extra, but my life is my life and right now I'm looking at what's fucked up.

I did what I was supposed to. I made good grades. I don't have a police record. I went to and graduated from an accredited university. I pledged a prestigious fraternity. I served in the military. I love my mother. I've selflessly helped people. But have also been cavalier with money. I haven't always planned for the future. I've survived day to day and now my days are cold and more than a little lonely. I have $5 and some change to my name. That's not mentioning the $7 and change that I have in the bank that I can't get to. I have a quarter tank of gas and 13 more days in the month. By all accounts-I'm fucked and the hold the devil has on me seems to be getting stronger. It feels like the pavement of purgatory is slanted and slippery, and I'm sliding south.

That’s only half of the truth. I also know that falling will only happen if I let go of hope and surrender. I've never been good at surrendering when my back is against a wall. I have always found a way to fight. I haven't always won but I always took swings at the enemy--even when I was losing. Victory depends on perspective and I do know this. Even though I slip on the slope, I’m still climbing. I own my own magazine. It's mine and even if it fails I know how to start another one. I have writers that are writing for free because I asked them to and they believe in the magazine. The website being developed for the magazine is being done for far less than it should cost because a web designer heard me speak and offered the services of his company. I know that I walked into a poetry slam last week and won. I know I just met a guitarist that makes my words sound fantastic because he approaches playing just like I approach poetry. I met him because I chose to help my daddy when I really didn't want to. I didn't think I'd get any benefit from helping Pops, but I did. That's why I still cling to my dreams and continue to approach life with an open heart; even though my heart is repeatedly ripped out of my chest and flayed on the spit of indifference and coldness for it's own sake. There are still blessings and a reason to look toward heaven.

I've thought about suicide before. Never seriously enough to make plans. I've just let the thought of ceasing to exist flutter through my mind long enough to let myself know that nothing is bad enough to make me stop living. I'm not willing to not see what a new day may bring. It always gets better---ALWAYS. It always will get better because I refuse to stop. It is in my moments of despair that I have learned the most. It has been during the times of my worst trial and hardship that I surprise myself and make it better, just by hanging on. The act of straightening my back and focusing on the reality that I want my life to be helps me to know that I will get there. I know that if I continue I will break through. When I do it will be because I was able to survive, and mediate the bad times. Taking responsibility for my life makes it truly my life. If I don't I give my life over to everything that wants to see it destroyed.

Despair is easy. Wallowing in self-pity is easy. Stopping is easy. I have never understood easy. It doesn't compute for me. Nothing in the passed decade has been easy. I don't even expect ease, or gratitude or appreciation anymore. I won't say that I haven’t received all three at some time or another. I will say that they have come far and few in between. So I don't write, or spit poetry, or work with kids or endure indifference because of what anyone wants. I do those things because of what I want. There is so much that I want out of life. So many places that I want to see and so many things I want to do that I can't stop or compromise my integrity for less than what I know I deserve. It's just that remembering that I deserve the best gets hard when the bills come due and leave my account in the negative. I know that I have the strength to do what I must do to get what and where I want to get. That takes strength.

That strength comes from understanding that I am not alone. I'm not the only one in purgatory. There are a lot of us. I just tend to be louder and shout my woes,hopes and triumphs in ways that aren't the norm. I write. A pen and a pad or a keyboard and a screen keep me sane. They help me hold to my center and continue when things seem to be crumbling. My voice is valid. What I say and what I think about matter, even when no one is listening but God. If I struggle for the rest of my life and never get noticed I will leave this, my writings, as my testament. I am alive. Through joy, sorrow, triumph and defeat my struggle is a reflection of all of us who struggle in silence. So when the way is made I know it will be made because I refuse to settle for the abyss of life in purgatory. I've been to hell and escaped more than once. Even now, I feel the devil stalking me and waiting for me to falter. I refuse to. I will not get caught up in the struggle, give up and give in to oblivion. Too many people do. I hold on to hope.

I feel like I'm writing for those lost souls who gave up and gave in to the world. There are so many people that settle, give up their dreams and never live before they die. They think that death is being in a box and being planted 6 feet deep. Too many people can't dream longer than 5 years after they get out of high school. The world closes in and starts to demand things. The bills, the job, the kids, the money(or lack of), the car and more than anything else, keeping up the appearance of living lost dreams and doing what we think people will admire keep us in purgatory’s prison. People struggling to meet those demands don't realize how precious life really is. Then there they are, the walking dead. Zombies caught in a matrix that doesn't let them truly taste the juices of their lives. They are dead long before the first clump of dirt drops on their coffins and don't even know it. They still have dreams but those dreams are stillborn because they don't honor or pursue them. At best they just spin their wheels. Television and intoxication are easier than scratching their way up a vertical slope toward what they know their lives should be. They settle for being hollow eyes and fat bodies behind Wal-Mart shopping carts buying microwavable food in bulk. Their dreams become ether because life doesn't seem to allow for dreaming.

I write what I write because I have had the same hollow eyes so I know what they see. I just refused to accept that vision. I refused to let go of the dream. I've held it until it became something I could sink canine teeth into and shake into being. So I write for them because they won't or can't bear to. I look at the mess of life and write what I see. Hell is hot and heaven is hard but purgatory is both. The only way out is to dream and then work.

Spoken Word #2 FRUSTRATED WISDOM

2005-03-15T18:06:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favorite pieces. Enjoy!

#15 C.R.E.A.M

2005-03-15T13:28:00.000-08:00

Piss poor planning equals piss poor performance. That sums up the difference between success and failure. Looking at all of my triumphs and defeats I can see that it holds true in every aspect of my life. From business to romance to everything in between, I have been successful when I have had a plan and executed. I have failed when I didn't plan. Of course there are exceptions, but the rule is generally true. If I have succeeded without planning it has been because I had some kind of advantage that I was able to exploit. When I have planned and failed it has been because of unforeseen, unplanned or unaccounted for factors. The plan wasn't good enough. At this point in my life I have to take the lessons I have learned from defeat and triumph and use them to expand myself, my life and my ambitions. By all necessary means.

Life is strategic and tactical warfare. Short term and long term planning are what make the difference in how far we go. We are all masters of the tactical short term planning that gets us through day to day. What people need is to be as proficient at long term strategic planning and implementation of life. I know this sounds heartless--and it is. To truly do well in life we have to look at it dispassionately and make the hard choices. Emotions never leave us and they shouldn't. However, emotions cannot be the guide for daily decisions. If we lead with the emotions we leave out the intellect, which makes and executes our plans. It also doesn't take the spirit into account leaving us without that guide. For me, today, I'll be looking more dispassionately at things, making appropriate plans and following through.

The first step is getting my money right. We live in America and in America, regardless of what political party is in power, cash rules! Withouth money or access to it life is a bitch. NO-I'm not saying that money is the most important thing but if you don't have any in America you are powerless. I can hear the choruses of those who disagree but I'd ask them a direct question: "Is existing and maintaining in America easier with or without money?"

It would be great to live in a world where people didn't use money. A place where people provide for everyone and live in perpetual peace would be utopia. But utopia doesn't exist. Machievelli said, and paraphrase, --"It is a mistake to operate as if we lived in the world we wish existed, we must deal with the world as it is. Money is important. Actually it is essential to our existance. So why not get it?

I believe that I have a lot to do in my life. I have a lot of people to touch and a lot to accomplish. But I'm not Jesus, or Buddha or any other selfless prophet. I'm a man, a simple human being, and I like having money in my pocket more than I like being broke. Broke is a bitch with teeth and she's bitten me on several occasions. But she hasn't broken me or pumped enough venom into my system to paralyze me or make me believe that she belongs in my life. She doesn't scare me either. I'm familiar enough with her to know she needs to go. So a big part of my current objectives center around getting her out of my life-permanently.

It would be great to win the lottery, or have a long lost uncle give me millions. But I don't play lotto and my uncles have there own money problems. It's all up to me. I have the talent, the drive and the ambition to pull myself up. All of us do.

#14 An Observation About Blogs

2005-03-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

Blogging is fun! I truly do enjoy writing down my thoughts, poems and ideas for everyone (or maybe no one) to see. A week after I began blogging I bought a book about it and that has been very helpful. I've started looking at a lot of blogs as well. Blogs come in every type of stripe. There are as many types of blogs as there are people blogging. One of the more interesting blogs I've found in my wonderings is called "The Diary of an Affair". In it this woman talks about her relationship with a married man and the reasons she stays in it. Wild--absolutly wild. Another notable is called "Negro Please", which is chock full of information about the bloggers life and interests. It was the first "black" blog I saw and I was happy not to be alone. There are millions of blogs and I'll review them periodically but not now.

The first blog I ever looked at is entitled "MoorishGirl". It is supertight. Looking at it let's you know all of the things that can be done with this kind of format. But for every blog like MoorishGirl there are 10,000 shitty ones. As I venture off into the world of blogging I refuse to be one of the shitty ones. As I learn things will change and develop. I already have audio on this site and I'm working on video. Within the next couple of months this whole blog will be stunning. Mark my words and try to keep up.

#13 Can I Live?

2005-03-11T09:31:00.000-08:00

Life is more than just work., or at least it should be. Life should be the challenge and triumph of mountain climbing. The world tells us to not worry about the mountain just work hard and it'll all work out. That's a lie, but I bought it, just like most people bought it. I started working during my junior year in high school after I turned 16. I started at college dining hall but by the time I was a senior I had another job. I started working at a movie theater. I never quit the 1st job, I just kept both of them. Since then I've worked hard but it never seemed to work out. I kept at least 2 jobs throughout college. I even had 2 jobs while I was pledging my fraternity (I kept a 3.1 gpa as well). I had 4 jobs once and I've never been scared of hard work. What I've discovered after all that work was that I wasn't getting anything I wanted except for a little money. And even though I thought that was the point, I found out that all those jobs were killing my spirit.
After I left the army and got on my feet I went from job to job making ends meet and surviving day to day. I didn't think about it at the time but all I was doing was surviving.

I got so caught up in survival mode that I forgot that survival is a human instinct that shouldn't be something we think about. Humans should be concerned with thriving. I couldn't see the forest for the trees. All I could see right after leaving the military was making my car note and finding a place to stay (Both of which presented problems but that's another story). What I didn't realize at the time was that although I never stopped dreaming, I stopped streatching and trying to achieve. I was so used to working that going to work became a purpose in and of itself. I didn't save shit either. As money came in--it went out and even though I was young I can't blame my irresponsibility on immaturity. I think that I was trying to fade into nothing and die. Not death in the physical sense, but I know that I wanted to disappear. The easiest way to do that is by just going to work and surviving.

I'm no longer in the early spring of my life. I am in mid-summer and it's hot outside. Surviving is no longer sufficient. It's time to thrive, it's time to climb the mountain. The difference is a change in focus, attitude and action. This is true for anyone who wants to change their lives.

I spent years just focused on getting by. The result was that I got by. I didn't get ahead. I didn't get over the hump. I didn't think about thriving or growing my life, so I didn't do either one. That's the lesson I've been learning. Life becomes what we focus on. I dreamed of all kinds of shit while I was in survival mode. Cars, homes, money and fame were the subjects of some of my favorite dreams. When I was done dreaming though, I went back to work and got about the business of survival. Now that I understand that survival will take care of itself(so to speak) I am focusing on broadening my life and thriving. As I change my focus I see things in my life changing and I am being pushed (sometimes dragged) out of my comfort zone. The state of controlled discomfort for the purpose of improving is the essence of a fulfilling life. Can I Live? I intend to do so for the rest of my time here, on earth. I'll be more than just a human being. I'll be a human be-ing

#12 Forward by Faith

2005-03-07T14:27:00.000-08:00

I'm not a religious guy at all. I haven't attended a church service since 2001. By Christian standards I'm probably headed to hell with a pair of gasoline draws on. I drink, I smoke, I've fornication-and enjoyed it, I've been contentious and stubborn, I'm can be selfish and I really do like having money(that is when I have it), in short by any standard of the word I am a sinner. There, I've said it, but I'm in the same boat, God knows, as the rest of the world. We're all wrong. I mean no harm and I trust the judgment of the universe to dole out whatever I deserve when my life here is over but I don't live my life according to the strictures of any religion. I claim no organization of faith nor do I feel compelled to believe the claims of any preacher, priest, pastor or any other so-called representative of God on Earth. I'm not compelled to disbelieve or dismiss what church folks say either. I respect peoples' views and leave it at that.

What I'm saying is that I'm not working to get into heaven. I'm not working to get into hell either. I'm just working to do what my soul says is correct. I believe that there is existence after this life. I believe that their is an organizing intelligence or supreme being. And I believe that everyone on this planet has a purpose. I think if I follow that inner inclination I can't go wrong--if I'm really listening. It's complex and I'm sure I'll revisit the subject but the short version is that I want to do what is right (at least most of the time) not because of judgment and consequence but because it's right and I know it's right. What good would I really be doing if I was tallying my positives and negatives and laying odds on a trip through the pearly gates? That's bogus.
Faith exists independently of religion and I follow faith.

All of that may sound Zen or Buddhist or zenbuddhist, and I have been learning about Bubbhism lately, but that has nothing to do with my views on religion. My view has been shaped by my life. Organized religion has never been my favorite thing. I went to St. James, a catholic elementary school, and as a result had enough religious tradition rammed down my throat to gag on it. We went to mass every day. During Lent we'd do the stations of the cross every day. It was very regimented but I enjoyed my time in catholic school. Being told indirectly that not being baptized insured I'd be b-b-q'ed in hell scared me but time on the playground put that fear far in the back of my mind.

My grandmother was a southern baptist and when she took me to church it was understood that if I decided to "act a fool" she'd be god's avenging angel and my ass would pay the cost. But it was hard not to laugh when I watched my Grandfather asleep in the choir behind the preacher, waking up only to stand and sing. GranDaddy slept with his mouth open and I never understood how he could lean so far over in his chair and not fall over.

My mother started going to church after divorcing my father. She's not really a church community person either even though she is very spiritual so our attendance was always scattered. I didn't mind because going to a black Baptist church is an all day affair and god knows my tween and later teen brain didn't want to be stuck in church for 3-4 hours every Sunday. What mother did do was pray openly and often. She wasn't a holy roller that forced me and my brother to spend hours on our knees in mock supplication to the image of a savior. She wasn't loud or boisterous with prayer but I always knew when she was talking to god. Through that quiet faith she never complained to us or bitched about what wasn't possible, like so many of today's parent. My mother just let us know everything would be ok. Although she didn't say it often, she demonstrated the idea that God didn't bring us this far to drop us off--so let's just push forward. Through her faith I always knew things would work out.

Mother's sister, my aunt Zarol, went to Catholic church faithfully. She went to the early services because Catholics aren't usually as long winded as baptists and Z was a busy person. She did a lot of work for her church but more importantly she did a lot of community work, demonstrating her beliefs instead of just spouting religion.

My beliefs are grounded in that quiet knowing and the demonstrations that I saw. My family never locked God into the church. Divine energy permeated life and that is what guides me now.
As I move forward now I hold on to those examples. Life can be a bitch. It gets hard and dark and lonely. When it does I don't normally run to be in a church. I keep church in me, get quiet and listen for and to the voice of the creator to teach and guide me into what and where I'm supposed to do and be. I'm not saying I always do what I'm instructed to do either. When I don't do what my soul says life shows me that should--meaning shit hits the fan. On the flipside, when I do what I know and sense is right everything works out.

PERSONAL SALVATION
Copyright 2003
J.Bailey

I write these verses like psalms
to clean the filth from my palms
cuz I know I'm still kinda dirty
the reverend and church never served me
so I use these words to redeem and resurrect my soul
and until I get old I'll never trust a preacher
to be my teacher
on matters of my spirit

The righteous talk to much fear shit that I'm just
not with it at all
and if I fall
it's all because I'm feeling hunted
somewhat stunted
but with my head held to the sky

I pray to the Most High ask why
is it that
these churches don't reach out
most preachers don't speak out
and my people get beat out of the
little change that rattles at the bottom of
their pockets
I can't stop it
there are so many tricks that put people in pits
of dispair
no one seems to care
and I wonder if my vice for smoke
reflects the lost hopes of children
robbed by false prophets

They line their pockets every Sunday
claiming it's for the building fund
then I get shunned because I can't stand church
It hurts to see people herded like cattle
but since I'm in a battle to save myself
I put those thoughts on the shelf
leave them alone and let them go

But given these days and times
God stays on my mind
and I realize that I'm
the anti-preacher
a poetic teacher and
a creature they can't figure out
words crash out of my mouth
like thunder
through the rain I maintain
pouring pain out of my heart

Cursed from the start but blessed with this art
I continue to climb the rope towards heaven
wondering if unleavened bread and dimestore wine
win souls precious time in the presence of the Lord
Will God ignore my pleas for salvation
because I reject frustration and religious domination in a church

The hurts from my past make me think
I can't last and I choke on the words
when I try to pray
so when judgement day comes
will I dwell in the slums of hell
a soul that fell because it questioned to much
feeling the clutches of the enemy reach for my neck

Runnin' toward something I ain't there yet
life don't seem fair yet
no one seems to care
YET
I keep on struggling
and formulation plans
feeling His hands touch my life
my termoil and strife are eased
from above
and though I question
I still feel God’s love

Spoken Word #1 "Who Am I"

2005-03-06T12:10:00.000-08:00

This is my first audiopost. The poem is called Who Am I and it's one of my favorite pieces to perform. It's a hot piece so I hope you enjoy.

#11 Why I Write part 1

2005-03-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

I've written on everything; notepads, journals, napkins, business cards, my hand, cardboard box tops, reciepts, walls, the edges and back of bills, envelopes, the inside blank pages of books, and anything else I could get a hold of when I've needed to write. If it can take ink or pencil lead I'm sure at some time or another I've used it. The larger truth is that at those times I'm being used as well. I don't write on all of those things because I want to. I write on them because I have to. The muse, or in my case, muses make me do it, and for the last 20 years, I've been a slave to their whims.

the evil muse

My muses are heartless bastards that don't care what I'm doing, who I'm with or what my plans are when one of them decides to lay some words on me. Actully they don't just lay them on me, they slap me in the face with them and then dance on my head until I write. I've been pulled over on the sides of highways because the muses thought that a road trip was just the time to give me a poem or and idea. Fuckers! But I love them for it.
What I'm saying is that writing isn't a choice to me--it's an imperative. I was born to do it and if I didn't write, I'd die. Up to now I've written in virtual obsurity but in some ways that doesn't bother me because I don't write for other people. I write things that I'd like to read, or things that need to get out and I'm the avenue they chose to use. I write because when I don't write my life seems darker somehow. I write because not writing is un-natural (meaning at odds with my nature).
I believe that there is something that everyone on this planet is meant to do. Writing is my thing. Speaking and teaching are my things to but both of those are offshoots of my writing. Since we are put here to serve a purpose the only way to truly be fulfilled is to do it without question. That's why I'm at the mercy of my muses. But the truth is that they have never steered me wrong. Some of my best writing has happened, or at least begun, on miscellaneous pieces of paper.
I don't claim that history will call me a great writer. There's no guarantee that history will remember me. But the creator watches and he makes a way when we serve our purpose. My life has, will have and has had difficulty, but when I write those things melt away. I won't claim divine inspiration or guidance but as I think about it, aren't all good inspirations and true guides from the spot in the universe we call divine? When given something to do by something greater than you makes whatever that is important.
I look at Van Gogh, an artist that never made any real money painting, and I understand why he kept painting. If he'd stopped painting because of hardship or the fact that he wasn't getting payed the world would have been robbed of that master's expression and art. I think about Tupac Shakur who produced enough as an artist that he's had more albums released after he died than when he was alive. Now I don't want to die before I get noticed or payed or appreciated but notice, payment and appreciation aren't why I write. Like Van Gogh and Shakur I am driven to do it.
I write because it's the right thing to do. I don't live to write---I write to live. If I didn't I'd be dead-even if I still drew breath.

#10 Paradox #1 Sex, Love and the 30's

2005-03-04T08:14:00.000-08:00

My life is a series of paradoxes that I'll be exploring from time to time. Right now I want some pussy. If any women read that they may consider it crude but so what! Sex is great. Hot, wet, good-n-gushy pussy is one of my favorite things in life. Any man that says different is probably gay. Even preachers love pussy. But I digress. I don't give a fuck what anybody else likes. I know what I like and right now-today-I am in the mood for some sweet. Therein lies the paradox. I'm picky, and AIDS is not a joke. I've had one night stands, fuckin' friends, and flings and as fun as it can be, sex without love gets boring and seems crude. Now I'm not going to sit here and lie--if an attractive woman fell into the web right now--she'd get hit. But I have to admit that sex mixed with love is really what the whole thing is about. It's relativly easy to find a woman that will fuck. Black, white, short, tall, skinny or fat there are plenty of willing women who will do the damn thing, but sometimes the damn thing just isn't enough.

I have always been a man that looked for a spark. I see attractive women but if I don't feel it, I don't feel it. I'm not just going to persue a woman because I know I can get some. Unless I get "that feeling" I'm usually content just to converse, maybe trade numbers and not even trip. What worries me is that the older I get the fewer sparks I see, and the fewer "that feelings" I feel. Hopefully that's mostly a function of location. Being in the midwest I understand that the supply of women that I really dig is extremly limited. When I move to California I'm sure that my outlook will change. Until then, I'm left to ponder.

Purhaps it's just that I'm getting older and my male biological clock is in my ears. They say that women have a nesting instinct but men do to. There is nothing like family. I come from a strong family full of good women and I know that I want my own family and a good woman that can be my friend, my lover and my partner for life. I know that sounds mushy, but it's true. Men and women balance one another. Fucking does not bring balance. I remember one-night stands that after all of the sweat, moans and screams of ecstacy seemed like a waste of time. Yeah I said it. After I busted a nut all I wanted to do was be away from the woman that gave it to me. I used to think that was weird, but I know it's not. It's just the truth. I have some good friends that have felt the same way. But there have also been the times that I accepted gettin' some as just that and I was very happy about the damn thang. Like I said, however, gettin' the damn thang can be a damnable thing and sex just for it's own sake gets boring.

As my life and outlook change and I grow I see clearly. I know that this is an issue I'll have to deal with until I find a woman that satisfies me emotionally, spiritually, mentally as well as sexually. Sex is, however, a strong impulse that I truly--did I mention truly(with every atom of my being) enjoy. It is what it is.

And now---a poem that reflects my present mood

Horny
J. Bailey
Copyright 2005

My, My, My
I'm watching you walk by
thinking'
Damn I want some of you
I want to do things to you that may be considered illegal in some states
I want to sink every millimeter of my tongue inside of you
to see if I can taste your soul
Is that too bold?
Would you be surprised if I told you I wanted to ride the waves of your wetness
Palm your pussy
Isolate your clit between my fingertips and stroke it just the way you like
Lick you so well you mistake me for a dyke
But I'm all man
Using hot hands and warm oils I'd massage every inch of your beautiful ass
Take you to task and run the tip of this black dick
between
your cheeks
and then tease the folds of your pussy until
you beg me to stick it in
But I'll decide when
You have to appreciate this dick
So I'll let you give it a kiss
and listen to you moan while it's in your mouth
It's not like I turned you out
We both know you love to suck it
Fuck it--
we're both grown & we do what we do
And just like you do me--
Girl you know I love to do you
So now's the time for 69
You take me to the edge and I push you over
again and again and again
your cum is so sweet to taste
I love to rub my face all over the right spots
It's so hot steam rises from sheets that we didn't bother turning down
Covers get in the way and we both need room to work
My dick's so hard it hurts
Curved to the left it time to tests the depth of your wetness
I want to make sure you feel it so I take my time sinking into you
My chest against your breasts
Legs pushed up, your knees try to touch your shoulders
And I ease every inch in
Balanced on tip toes and flat palms so I can get in
Find out how I fit in
I don't know when I've had better
Like a hot knife on butter, we do more than cut
we melt together
a perfect fit
When we fuck like this
we become the definition of that freak shit

#9 Inspiration and Innovation

2005-03-03T13:41:00.000-08:00

These are two of my favorite pieces--enjoy

11/17/03
By J.Bailey
Copyright 2003

I woke up this morning with no more words in my heart
&
my soul died a little bit because it missed the spark

There is magic when poetry starts
Emptiness when it ends

My words bent like fishhooks in fish mouths
They were arrows sent into souls
I’d speak and they’d enfold like warm blankets
Secrets kept too long and unleashed
I knew the meaning of purpose
I knew what intravenous drips of lightning felt like
I knew it all…
When I had words

When I gave words to the breath of life
They returned the substance of joy and I lived

When I felt them slip away I mourned their passing
Mourned them like a mother mourns a stillborn child
Remembering tomorrow’s memories left undone
Mourned like we mourn lost love
Bitter at the momentary sweetness of ecstacy
Merciless in its briefness
Mourned like convicts mourn their freedom
With resignation, tangy-tart-sour hope and the patience that only time can heal

Then I cried in the depths of my being because I didn’t know if
This silence was just a temporary migration of my muse
-gone for a moment but intent to return after my heart thawed and the long winter of loneliness subsided-
Or
If this silence was a mass muse migration
An exodus meant to confuse and confound and kill my spirit

I could not decide which it was

So I picked up my pen and wrote anyway

Innovation
Copyright 2004
J.Bailey

I don’t mind being on the outside looking in
I was meant to be there
Beating against the doors of the halls of acceptance
Outside of propriety
Outside of expectation
Outside of the edifice of how things should be

Knockin’ ‘til I cain’t knock no more
Kickin’ an’ screamin’ an’ spittin’ ‘til
My mouth dries up and my breath fails

Not for one second hoping that the doors fly open and all the pretty successful muthafuckas look at me and recognize my brilliance with open arms and glittering teeth

Vampire teeth glitter too
Dracula has to hug you
If he is to suck your blood

Nah—I don’t beat &
Scream & cry
So that I can get in
I don’t do in

I just want the door to open
just enough
So I can piss on the floor of acceptability

I want the door 2 open because I wanna see
The streaming multitudes that don’t have
The fists to beat, or the knuckles to knock, or the voice to demand
Invade and tear up the house of acceptability

I wanna see them tear down the thick curtains
Ravage the furniture and write on the walls
I wanna see muddy boots make tracks on buffed marble floors

I want them to run up the stairs to poetry’s bedroom so they can wake it up
Kick it’s ass and set it free
I want to see disrespectful legions of street poets w/o 1-man shows or tv promos
Armed with notebooks ripping the clothes off of the muse and leave the bitch naked
And cold
So cold that all of the volumes of all the poetic authorities look better as kindling than they do as books

And when the door closes again and the unacceptable findz a home in the House of Acceptability I’ll start knockin’ on the fuckin’ door again
Innovation knows no rest

#8 Computer literacy is a must--a lesson in focus and attention

2005-03-03T11:11:00.000-08:00

Man, damn! Beginning this blog has made me pay more attention to the hows and whys of maintaining it. I am a writer but to be honest I'd rather use a pen and a pad than to deal with the computer. There is however reality. A pen and a pad are good for personal writing and rough drafting but editing and putting words in final form must be done on a computer. (*NOTE I don't own a computer right now---I can blog and fuck around on the net and even run my business b/c I have hustle--check the technique biooooooooooooootch) Computers can be our friends or our nemeses. Computers are machines that can transform lives or hold people transfixed by the images, games or infinity of information they put at our fingertips. I've always liked them but they have never been a necessity for me. Hell, I just started to regularly use email a couple of years ago and I looked at computers as diversions. I wasn't being short-sighted and believing that they were a passing fad, I just refused to become another screenwatcher. TV is bad enough but a screen that can take me anywhere at any time could become a serious addiction. So, even though I like computers I have stayed willfully ignorant of them. I can do basic shit but until now I've had neither the necessity nor the inclination to do much more.
this blog has changed a lot. I just spent 2 days figuring out how to post pictures and I'm still not exactly sure. The lesson is about focus. Because now I am focusing on being computer and net literate it's coming-slowly, but it's coming.
I swear that I went around in circles trying to post my profile picture. It literally to hours over two days to make it happen. But it's done. All the while I was trying and failing I was cursing to myself and planning a letter writing campaign that would petition the gods of computers and the 'net to make instructions make sense. Finally I just decided to look closely at the instructions and the answer became clear. I almost felt foolish. I say almost because upon reflections the directions weren't as clear as they could be, but they were clear enough if you do more than skim them. When attention and focus change, results change. I could go on and on but you get the point.

2005-03-03T09:51:00.000-08:00

J.Bailey

2005-03-02T09:21:00.000-08:00

Just me and my dawg~!

#5 The Truth About Kids: thoughts on education

2005-03-02T07:59:00.000-08:00

I work with kids. Black kids, white kids, asian kids, latino kids and any combination thereof, and I am finding out a lot about who I am and what the future may hold through my work. I taught middle school social studies for two years and I can say unequivically that children are great and terrible at the same time. The underlying truth is that children, in so many ways, are exactly what the adults around them make them. What's fucked up is that so many adults in general and parents in particular don't do what is necessary to help kids achieve or even strive for their potential. I may be beating a dead-horse but damn so many children have no where to turn for guidance and encouragement that it's no wonder that they turn to other things like gangs, drugs, sex, tv, food, video games, and friends that are just as confused as they are, for help that none of those things can give. The nuclear family model has exploded and what remains is confusion about and somtimes avoidance of parental responsibility. On the flipside at school, teachers don't have, and many times don't even want, the tools necessary to relate to children from the post-nuclear family era.
I don't claim to have any of the answers but I can tell you what I think. These thoughts, although just opinion, are based on my time in the classroom as a teacher and from being an astute people watcher. As I write this levels upon layers of the problem shoot through my mind. There are psycological, sociological, economic, ethical, political, cultural and a myriad of different lenses to look at this problem through. Children themselves can be blamed as well as teachers, parents, churches and whevere one feels like putting the crosshairs on but I think that the bottom of the problem centers around 3 areas, love, honesty and responsibility.
If all who say they are concerned with the welfare of children approach the situation with love, honesty and responsibility a lot of the bullshit would evaporate. If parents used those lenses regardless of hardship children would understand what wasn't acceptable and fall in line with the parent. If teachers used those lenses they would look at every child individually and do what it takes to draw the best out of students.
I know this all sounds simplistic but it's all culled from my experiences. Because I have been able to forge relationships with many of the kids at the school I work at I see each and every one of them as a person and I give them my all.

#4 Poetry

2005-03-01T07:09:00.000-08:00

I am a poet. I have written poetry for 20 years and I perform poetry whenever possible. I have hosted slams, won slams, participated in readings and all of that shit. I love both the written and the spoken word. I have archives and archives of things that I've written. I've written so many poems that sometimes I read them and don't remember when I wrote them. I'm good to. The thing about poetry is that it's better when it's shared. I intend to use this blog to share my poetry as well as my thoughts. So the following are a few pieces that I thought might be interesting for the interested. Enjoy.

CHANGE
J. Bailey
copyright 2005 (If anyone knows how to place a copyright symbol in text here please let me know)

I don’t wanna write the same poem anymore
I wanna look for new words too go with a new state of mind
I wanna dream lines that don’t even rhyme
Spend time with pen in hand feelin’ glad I was born
But sometimes I mourn the day I took on human form
Strange spirit won’t conform to the norm
Facing storms I forget the sky is blue
So many gray days piled in my past I don’t know what to do
&
the same poem puts itself down on the paper

I can’t seem to help it—
Even though I prefer different words
I can only write what I feel
life more surreal than Dali
outside objectively looking at me through
another’s eyes I’d see a study in confused insanity
when all I want is to be free from this funky rut I’m in

so I write

but the same poem keeps coming out

I wrote that piece because I was feeling stuck in my writing. I kept hearing the same types of poems at readings and I found myself revisiting subjects in my own work and just saying the same thing over and over. I figured that I might as well capture that feeling.

Freestyle?
J.Bailey
copyright 2005

I hardly ever freestyle cuz my style ain't free
it costs to live every second that I live as me
the roots of my family tree are anchored in the dirt produced by lynched corpses not simple geneology
blood spilled
mother's cried
and little boys straightened their backs and dried their eyes b/c daddy's not coming home

So how could my style be free?
Great gran-mamma was a Cherokee and her grandfather's feet
had to bleed on the trail to Oklahoma from Tennessee
even after that great Red nation cooperated with the Government and didn't flee
they were hounded and killed
How can my style be free?

It's been payed for in blood a thousend times
and even if I write a thousend rhymes
none of them will be free
they are the cream rising to the top of struggle
and
their cost can never be calculated

That piece is an historical reflection. Like many Black people and Americans in general my ancestry is a hodge-podge of different peoples. The African is obvious, but I also have Cherokee, Scot, Jew and other different peoples that are represented in my family tree. Personally, I consider myself Black but that doesn't stop me from acknowledging the other parts of my ancestry. This poem was a reflection of that.

Freeflow #1
J.Bailey
copyright 2005

I used to let poems just hit melike thunderbolts from God
stricken and electrified by words that resonate in my soul
Possessed by verses I couldn't control I would flow-
life blood spilled on paper carried by a heart that felt heavy in my chest
with no rest or relief I would pour myself onto pages
searching for cryptic answers in the shapes of letters formed into words
and written in the hopes that
someone, somewhere, sometime
would see and understand
and give them meaning
so
I would know
that
poetic insanity
is a blessing

This piece is just what the title implies. I just let the muse free to flow and that's what came out. I like it b/c it captures the dynamism of poetry.

#3 Sometimes it takes me a minute, but I usually figure it out

2005-03-01T06:16:00.000-08:00

Day 2 of this blog. This is an interesting process. I don't know exactly how to manipulate everything but I am learning. It's a good thing to deal with a problem and to figure it out. Honestly it isn't that it's a problem it's a project. I like that better. This blog is a freedom project. The more I do and figure out about it the better.
My life is in project mode to. I went to a car dealership yesterday and they turned me down flat. Man my credit sucks. It's deplorable, embarrassing and disgusting. I made it that way though, so I can't be mad. I just have to pick up the mess, no matter how long it takes. Looking at it though it seems like I'll die trying. I know that isn't the truth but that doesn't stop me from being scared of really looking at my debts and figuring out how to get out from under them. I have to do it. I have to do it for my own piece of mind. I have to do it because if I don't I'll always be broke. I have to do it b/c I want a family one day and they don't deserve to suffer b/c I was irresponsible with my money. I must do it because I deserve to be free.

#2 Poetry: February 25th (a dedication to Josephine-my Grandmother)

2005-02-28T07:21:00.000-08:00

February, 25th
(a dedication to Josephine)
copyright 2005 J.Bailey

I look at the faces of children and see your essence behind their smiles
I can’t believe it’s been 4 years
Things have moved so quickly since I last drank from your fountain
Stealing sips of your substance by sneaking drips of every glass of water you ever drank in my presence
You are cracker-jacks and hot water cornbread
You are Nashville, California, Germany and finally St. Louis
You are smooth black skin and wavy hair and silver hairpins
And breakfast every morning
You are a smile as calm as the sea
Wisdom framed by the horizon
You are the tears of joy after a life lived with no regrets
And even though I am crying as I write this
I feel no sadness in my remembrance of you
How could I be sad when you have only returned to God

I celebrate this day
It is the anniversary of your reunion with your best Friend/Love/Husband
Bryant was the undisputed head of his family
But you were its backbone, its engine
&
the axis tilting it toward the sun of love
You understood that inspired respect lasts longer than anything received through demands
That a quiet mind, a knowing look and enduring faith that all expectations and needs will be met is enough to raise children who have centers that will hold even after you must go

Now that you are gone we travel on knowing we are not alone
Neither are you
You never were
Born into roaring 20’s
A teenager in the Depression
Wife and mother during WW2
Through the Harlem Renaissance, the UNIA, segregation, Brown v. Board, Langston Hughes, Civil Rights Movements, Vietnam, Presidential assassinations, before-during-after MLK, Malcolm X, Vietnam, disco, the NAACP, bellbottoms, legal lynchings, afros, jerry curls, the Motown sound, riots in Watts, Chicago, Miami, South Central, the Black Panther Party, Tennessee State University, the internet, radio to TV to cable TV to MTV/BET and your favorite shopping channel, your children’s marriages and divorces, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, the too soon deaths of your husband and your first born—you stood and lived and loved and radiated the infinity of existence
With nothing less than grace, elegance and class

In a time of my own trouble I asked you how it was that you did it
How was it that you stayed calm when life became a convergence of circling vultures
You said “I just hold on to faith—and know”
My mother repeated the wisdom when she told me that
During lean times she’d supplied the needs of two children, bought a house and took care of some folks that should have been taking care of themselves through faith alone
And that it was you, her mother, that taught her that knowing is absolute and never falters
When you believe there is no room for doubt
So as I discover my own faith I find your face looking back at me
Saying
I told you
Truth is truth

That was your best gift to me
So today I celebrate your life
I am grateful that I spring from your fountain and revel in the knowing that
No matter how far my branches spread
You are the depth of my taproots

We love you Mother

I forgot to mention in my first post that I am a writer, poet, teacher and spoken word artist. The preceeding poem was written last friday. It was the forth anniversary of my grandmother's death. I love you still mama.
Jason

#1 Welcome to My Life: The World in 1 hand a Pile of Shit in the Other:

2005-02-28T06:48:00.000-08:00

What's up folks--if anyone chooses to read this--if not what's up to me. Do ya like my title? It's the realest analogy for my life, hell life in general, that I could think up. It represents the dichotomy of being and the choices that we make. We can grasp the world or feel shit drip between our fingers. Well my friends, I'm pretty finished smelling the shit. At 32 I've come to understand that it's all about the choices that we make. I conciously choose to streach myself. That's what this blog is about--concious choice and love of self.

I didn't know what a blog was 6 months ago and I consider myself a writer. Being a good writer doesn't you're not ignorant of some things. Besides, I was concentrating on the pile of poo I was holding on to. I spent so much time involved in the wrong shit, so to speak, that I forgot about the world. To make a long story short I have been focused on the wrong shit since I left college and now my focus has changed. I want to feel like I wasted a lot of time but I don't feel that way. I believe that everything in my past has brought me to this point and right now I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

That's not to say that I don't realize my shortcomings or that I won't admit that I could have been proactive 5 years ago. I know all of that and I acknowledge it, but I can't dwell on it. This is a new day, a new now and a new moment that is full of possibility. I don't intend on letting moments pass me by anymore.
What's really deep is that I don't even care what people think. I understand that what I think is what's important. I hope people look at, read, understand, respect and respond to this blog but I know that isn't the most important thing. The most important thing is that I get it out truthfully and mark my existance with a contribution. This is just a part of it.

Back to the analogy of the world in one hand and shit in the other--Well my philosophy leads me to think that putting my hands together is my best bet. Philisophically the world represents my present and future. It is the possibility of greatness. The shit is my past. It is all of the things that I've concentrated on instead of paying attention to the world. It's the mess I thought life was. By putting my hands together I complete myself. I can't deny the past but I have to accept and understand it to have a full present and future. The shit is just fertilizer that helps my growth in my world.
J.Bailey the KingPen