Wednesday
2009 lovesex quandry
my dilemma -
intimacy in 2009 obliges a level of dialogue
however the conversation to many connotes a level of commitment
before those lines/shapes/squiggles have necessarily been drawn
though i have left some such marks in your back...
so, how to broach or approach this conversation
without the misinterpretation/accusation
that this wom/hu/man wants to lock you down?
because i truly don't give a fuck what we are doing or where this is going
i do not need a label or a drawer or a sweater with a letter or a ring
all i really want is to pin you down
with my body, my mouth on your mouth, our limbs entangled
(at times, not all the time, but sometimes)
(in this case, in addition to our friendship)
in this present moment. today.
remembering tomorrow is a new day.
knowing neither can commit to feeling the same way
tomorrow as we do today.
truth is 2009 obliges
a mutual understanding for
reciprocal esteem of both mind and body
some sense from both parties of
truth and trust in the 'thing'
particularly that neither is
the unsuspecting third party
to danger or deceit,
can you feel me?
'cos baby, i can easily risk my heart
but my self-respect and physical health
are much too dear to me,
and much more so than the idea of 'we'.
Tuesday
my very best poem
i only want to give you my very best poem
i don't want to share any old poem
only my very best poem
i've skimmed several pages, all disparate,
review different files, flipped through every weathered notebooks
searching for that one very best poem
for you
and no one poem
feels just right
is quite right
for this occasion
for you
so i skirt the stage
remain in my seat
purse my lips
and hold this feeling in
this fretting, this distressing
that none of my poetry
is good enough to me
for you
sorry.
i miss you
the sun is shining
i look upon these broad white mountains and
i miss you
moments we've shared
too few
distance our physical bodies
i wonder
do i even really know you
could i?
will i ever?
will you?
if we spend a lifetime together
and in your presence
what will i feel
will distance still
push me away from you
intangible distance
the words i cannot articulate
instead i'll just say
i love you
i love you
i love you
always have
even before
i knew you
even before
i knew what it was
to miss you
Sunday
alixa and naima - climbing poetree presents hurricane season
bk, nyc - recession and art
in brooklyn last week i encountered many artists and noted a theory buzzin about the community of visual artists, musicians, dancers, producers, designers, etc. and the current economic crisis (all americans can chat bout these days)
the recession will engender more quality art and community arts by diminishing the pressure of market art imperatives and allowing the artist to focus more intensely on the process and the intention. no longer a money game, art can become about expression for other people.
question is, when are curators and gallery owners gettin on board?
i am a killer
i must confess
i shot down our love
i am the python
that swallowed our love whole
and went to sleep
i stifled our love
i smothered our love
i stabbed at
the slight possibility
of love
between us
then watched our love
bleed out
in silence
wrapped in my
cold flexed fingers
i squeezed the
life from our love
a seed planted
and germinated
fledgling
i smashed it
drowned it
obliterated it
-
a giant unaware of
her own strength
swatted in self preservation
and tore down
the sky
then sat up
suddenly
sadly
surprised
hardly knew how or why
-
and still
i don't know
if i hurt
your pride
or some real
deeper
feeling
deeper
inside
beyond the reaches of ego
beyond the reaches of your
mind
and now we sit
six feet above
our love
'friends'
we talk across
the dirt mound
neither mention
'love'
while secretly
i bring flowers
and wonder
how to resurrect
the love
i know I murdered.
trying to work it out
i am so turned around, mixed up, headspun right now.
my mother calls my lifestyle 'bohemian' - i reel. don't know what to feel. how to explain this intense place called growing. coming to some knowing. some sense of direction. through exploration and reflection.
over the past year my close friend has found me 'heavy' then 'lighter' now 'restless'
over the past year i am bless to have been immersed in community arts as a result of an opportunity to manage a space (no quickbooks, no incorporation, no personal income) that has truly enriched my everyday experience, connected me to artists i respect, exposed the hustle of grants and independent artistry in a busy gritty money mongering tdot city and allowed me to develop myself as an artists first a writer writing to publish now a writer writing to perform, to paint, to make muzak and installations and yes, publish. but also to heal, to share and to learn.
i have learned i can facilitate a workshop, collaborate to curate an art show, mediate dialogue on arts and issues, plan programming and much more. but still...
in my pockets are precious plans i hide while i try to manage the biz bit of this amazing project including w.i. sea - an international magazine, a cerebreal jourey from head to heart - a guided journaling activity, heartbeart - a chapbook and more... wrapped up in these plans or around them rather, cradling them in place, is a fear - a very real frightful concern:
the desire to share and publish is fused with the fear of the 'how' - the connect between the articulation and the action - do i pursue more academic credentials? when i do not want to perpetuate the idea grad studies and academia are necessary (as the are elitist and exclusive and a publishing pissing contest?) why don't i follow those examples i have encountered this past year of renegade guerrilla artists on a serious grind, walking that tightrope for funding and pushing their projects hardhardhard.
what greater fear lurks beneath fretting over the 'how'?
why do i fight focusing on my own projects in my pocket? why is it so easy for me to commit to another person's project one hundred percent? why can i wake up early for class but not for myself?
i am so afraid. i am in serious debt. my head hurts.
everything is nebulous and in the air and this may be over in july and that may not go down in september and this opportunity in june might pass me by but what will happen regardless?
what is the foundational purpose?
new plan - stop planning. forget the hows, whens, wheres and just focus on the why. put the why into action and forget the rest. for now.
thanks.
Thursday
i wish to articulate a bridge
i am perplexed and saddened by the seeming inability to draw connections (and thereby nurture compassion) across complexions - this feels to me like a dilemma of grave consequence as my female friends who are not of color are having beautiful mixed babies by men of culture, of cultures of the african diaspora. i fear that if i cannot clearly connect across color with these women, then what day of angry disconnect awaits them, in relation to their children?
"you don't understand me ma! you can never understand my experience! i am black. you are white." period.
to feel/fear one cannot communicate conditions across color inhibits dialogue and the possibility (not for unity but) for real change through cooperation. audre lorde wrote of the richness that differences make, the richness, not the hate, nor the distance. the richness in difference will bring us to new solutions (that humanity needs desperately but often does not seek.)
nehal notes the differences between performing black and owning black. black as in black consciousness not that amorphous BET-NBA black blob. to perform is to portray pride to people in the everyday, an ability grown out of a genuine place of inward reflection and self-knowing e.g. the owning. performing is the outside action and owning the inside understanding. i could list other ethnic identities that appear outwardly differently in different people as genuine pride of or striations away from 'stereotypes' across communities all owning their origins that invariably vary but note that 'white' is the norm, is the over-riding desirable state, is the other to a person of color - more often the amorphous blob often trying to lend itself to culture failing either by destroying or disingenuously uplifting or outright theft. is there no room for the heartfelt appreciation of traditions of people different than you, is that wish to learn more about, dress like the people of, play music of a place, an origin, that you cannot locate in your composition?
is there no room for francesca to play kalimba? i cannot countenance this. i must build a bridge.
another level of reality cloud the issue for me: 'looking' of 'x' identity, the perception peice. when a person self identifies as 'of color' but outwardly face, skin and features 'pass' as 'white' or other - how authentic can your identity be when you are perceived as better than that blacker-than-you-being therefore denying that complex set of oppressions that string together the days in dark communities? how can those fair skinned offspring of interracial families maintain his or her ethnic identity in a world that does not respect them as a part of neither side of the family tree? how much to we need to 'see' to believe?
i seek the opportunity to connect across culture with integrity, wanting that for my friends' mixed pickney and equally wishing to affirm friendships i keep. i feel that conditions exist across colors and in the details of the experience are opportunities for dialogue, for caring comparison and connectivity across differences without calling 'sameness' similarity ... quite. mirroring instead of othering says sandra amarie of moja tea gallery.
i say we should all poke out our eyes. moses responds 'then we would judge by voice and odor.' i wish to shed a tear for that othering instinct inside, wish to draw it out of me in that same sigh, wish to expel the impetus to tell you how 'you' are different from 'i'.
i say white mothers of mixed babies, don't antagonize your child with the idea that 'we're the same'.
i say white women don't call 'gender' and say you understand racism and systematic discrimination against (in)visible min(maj)orities.
i say white heteronormative men walk with a level of assurance and affirmation (a result of pervasive patriarchy, capitalism and racism) that women and people of culture simply cannot for the world in this world has not taught us this - we look for grey, seek compromise, learn to accommodate. our labour (from mothering to slaving for pennies a day) has no value inside the market but the world could not continue without us. but sometimes i feel that pedestal built of privilege is a prison all its own and there are no steel bars between he and i, no, there is a steel wall and you cannot really see me and i do not really know you because you in fact have never been compelled to show the real real you.
cry me a river.
black babies eat mud pies because of your privilege and black grandmothers bury their daughters to care for their children because of your injust aid - see how i connect the two?
what to do. what to do. what to do.
how to articulate
an authentic bridge
across color
if i cannot
i fear
all is lost
intergenerationally
between
child and mother
i know
meaningful
connections
permit
cooperation
between privilege
class can transcend color
for money can buy your way
out of oppression
out of identifying with
'your people'
i sense like class
there exist
connections between conditions
across color
and these
can create that bridge
tell me how this can be done?
d'bi says to see the places where you are an oppressor, a witness of oppression and a victim of oppression.
let's start here - shall we give it a try?
i will and will let you know how it goes...
Friday
wanting and not wanting
thick
ness
con
sumes
so still
still
throbbing
pulsating
vibrating
immersed
in
choices
how
to
breathe
?
Monday
it was NOT written
a premise:
we have gone so far idolizing progress irrationally that we are now looking to explain this state
a fear:
we look to attribute our technological folly and excessive injustice to religious truths
a recommendation:
we take responsibility for our present state and look to resolve, undo and change without hoping that our mess was predetermined by some being bigger than us
Thursday
prose poetry
i adore thick heavy prose, packed with descriptive language and intangible imagery and alot of alliteration so that the words don't come easy. rather they oblige the reader to slow their reading and expend energy to enunciate each syllable, allowing a moment to meditate on wordsound. wordsoundpower.
the root of love for rastas
my mother, a soft, round west indian south asian woman, loved tosh. from the cassette player weaving in and out of bhajans, steelpan, and symphony orchestras were his reggae riddims and sweet voice, dark and deep and textured with pain yet smooth - like some tossed wave beaten black rock. above the statistics textbooks and caribbean lit in her ofice was his face, eyes peeping behind locks, smoke escaping from his lips. i thought him god-like.
my auntie joy had the spot in montreal in the seventies, where activists and artists crashed and buzzed and laughed and cried and never paid rent. one day, joy returned to find the house reeking of ganja. knowing she was on rcmp radar for traffickings us illegals into canada, she demanded to know who was in her house smoking reefer so - a friend pointed downstairs silently and brought her index to her lips - who could cause such reverence and quiet in this lively household? at the bottom of the stairs sat one peter tosh, whose quiet presence was so powerful, my auntie joy (no stranger to confrontation) held her tongue and continued to bring him fresh coffee (he refused food) until he departed. he strummed his guitar and sang, spoke very little.
to this day, i love a ras. not certain if its its a smell or memory or timbre of voice or rejection of norms and babylon shitstem or a combination or all these. but i know tosh, tosh, tosh, peter tosh is the root.
love meditation
since sunday
i have focused
consciously
on love
take in
send out
love
with breathe
sending messages
across frequencies
to say i love you
to those entering my mind
in this meditation
funny
i was reminded
next next saturday
couples celebrate love
in a formal way
and i laughed
cos alone
i'm in love
with everyone
these days
Tuesday
to write
i want to write a scream
rip, roar and tear
i want to write a sob
one wet streak
i want to write peace
steady exhale
i want to write love
wrap you in my skin
and mouth
and blood
Wednesday
Tuesday
honor your growth
light refraction
a flicker
and i'm new
still the same
always was
just the layers
peeled away
now the sculpture
once under stone
grounded in change
Monday
brilliance abounds
this is ian kamau
this is boonaa and waleed aka the kings of kush, video by che
they both performed at the mikey smith festival in dec '09 - giving their time and sharing their stories - at the anitAFRIKA! dub theatre
love the new works by the good peoples doin it all for community, expression, freedom of imagination, identity, you and me...
holy happens all around,
blessings, ase, give thanks - it's a new year.
all the best to the blogsphere, eyes on screens, hearts at a distance - lovelovelove.
now, i'm not the festive type, though i do like clean slates and peaceful pious persons and the other day the two collided... parkdale, my hood, is home to several churches of all denominations and in the same day of early '09 i passed quiet groups of young monks in white and blue as well as orange and red, all passing beads through teir fingers and prayers over tongues and i thought to myself, "how lovely."
the snow continued to fall silently on their garb, on me, the sidewalk i trodded upon but i couldn't shake the buzzing feeling that sometimes loving god and your god's people can be a heinous horrid affair - gaza in this moment.
let's love a little more. take a moment to this about it... and while we are hushed in reflection may the lord have mercy on us all. i mean all.
Thursday
mikey smith raw works festival at anitafrika dub theatre
from tuesday december 16 to saturday december 20, come engage in a revolushunary afrikan model of theatre featuring works-in-progress. each evening is comprised of workshop readings and q & a by adt! resident artists and performances by local storytellers including saidah baba talibah, da original one, ania, sedina fiati and ian kamau. the five day festival celebrates the end of the first term of the 2008-2009 season culminating in a ritual-based ceremony of drummers, dancers, poets, vocalists, djs, dancing and great vibes.
tues dec 16 doors 7pm *pwyc suggested $10*
resident raw works & talk back sessions 8pm
:: jamilah malika
:: liza paul
feature storyteller 9pm
:: saidah baba talibah
:: dbi young with live house band rakesh tewari and ian de souza
open mic 9:30pm (contact village@anitafrika.com)
wed dec 17 doors 7pm *pwyc suggested $10*
resident raw works & talk back sessions 8pm
:: natalyn tremblay
:: kim crosby
feature storyteller 9pm
:: ian kamau
thurs dec 18 doors 7pm *pwyc suggested $10*
~bcurrent raiz'n nite~
raw works & talk back sessions 8pm
:: tanya pillay
:: rhoddy richardson aka i am that i am
feature storyteller 9pm
:: sedina fiati
fri dec 19 doors 7pm *pwyc suggested $10*
resident raw works & talk back sessions 8pm
:: colanthony humphries
:: sketch ensemble
feature storyteller 9pm
:: ania
:: sea blackwalker
:: aya dance collective
sat dec 20 doors 7pm *pwyc suggested $15*
:: drummers & dancers ritual closing ceremony 8pm
feature storytellers 9pm
:: da original one
:: d'bi young
:: akinoah
jam down session 10:30pm
:: dj el machetero
photography by moses kofi 'not so far from home'
mural by victor manzo 'love and revolushun'
come and support art in process, art for social change, art for life - bring fresh ideas and give us your feedback and don't forget to tell your friends!
much love,
adt! collective
www.anitafrika.com
416 434 1823 village@anitafrika.com
stories that you like
i've recently realized that my maternal family, mother and aunts, have a deep penchant or significant preference or uncommon affectation towards sad stories with unhappy endings and misbegotten intentions and tortured souls and regret and so on.
i am troubled.
growing up, the constant occupation with tragic news headlines or sad stories from neighbors, loved ones, (or hated ones, even better) never struck me as strange...
but now, now, when i receive calls of suchs news, relayed with a casual, satisfied knowingness but a touch of precarious fear nonetheless, i am struck by their frequency and the twisted joy in their delivery...
rought down on me with the heavy, weighted 'truths,' of people facing their mortality, 'jammie, one thing ma ah go tell yuh, one thing is don't waste yuh life!'
even romantic pragmatic cliches drop like lead, 'yuh know 'what happens to a dream deffered'?' langston would reel, would he not?
i do.
i find i prefer happy stories, novels that end with a sense of completion, films that allude to the continued existence of scenes, tales that teach but do not torture their characters... some sense of closure without impending doom.
i wonder what that means? what generational shift or change in geography, citizenship, class has created this rupture? what could be done to change their obsession? if it should change? if i am merely young and naive and age will transform my desire for a happy ending into a bitter realization of its impossibility?
Friday
question to the universe
why aren't reproductive responsabilities more equally distributed across genders?
does the monthly cycle, gestation, labour, birth and breastfeeding imply that nature trusts women over men?
or the inverse?
(shudder)
Monday
a moratorium
today is monday
i declare a moratorium on men this monday
i will call it 'no more men monday.'
on this day, i solemnly vow
to discontinue sex with men
temporarily
(this is attempt number two -
hoping there won't be a number three)
to free my mind of 'it' as a necessity
of 'it' as a distraction, a preoccupation, a potential
tragedy.
but men only.
apologies.
note to self
another year is passing...
don't be so hard on yourself this time,
be easy,
there's so much more to come.
if you don't forgive yourself -
others will not.
remember to schedule more
and make a budget next time
everything can be undone
and rebuilt again.
don't regret -
you can change it.
you're not dead yet -
nightmares can be resolved.
i won't stand for shame.
i will stand for truth -
truth for healing. only healing.
no more truth for hurting. no more.
you can't know what was
'a waste'
until the very end.
even then,
to call it a waste
would show a severe lack of
humility
for if you are humble enough to see
nothing was ever wasted
if it was given a try at all.
remember what's important
important technique - life mapping - begin last year, chart all meaningful events and connections to following occurrences, culminate in potential forward movements
important questions - what have i learned? a new lesson? was it a re-learning? an un-learning?
important ideas - compassion and mindfulness. accountability and integrity. time is always.
time
time passes
time flies
time seems to zip on by
brings changes
makes for growing
leads you to the self
not tomorrow's
or yesterday's
but now's
self
can't wonder bout
future/past
self
can only know
nowself
that's time
just now
no more
then gone
so stay
present
and don't fret
time knows
what we don't
Thursday
the moon,
the moon hang fat and low the other day when i finally emerged from my bed, bundled up and left the house. i promptly blamed her for my senseless, constant, recent (but familiar) anxiety, 'ah, it's you... my dear, from the window i couldn't see you but now the evening has brought your xray image, a light bright white vision of fine lines and shadows, translucent and out of place in dusk sky.' the day was a write-off, considered too long and began too late, spent paralyzed in reflection - i know this day. this day follows me, peeps from around a corner... then pounces early in the morning without warning. this day is full of questions and wonder, not curious, nor hopeful, but more leery and apprehensive in nature. the questions and wonder are met with easy justifications and explanations - my mind is an expert, an old hand, no amateur here, i know my way around this maze of made up interpretation, defense, analysis and some pretense. i trod to the center, scale the wall with ease and sit atop it quite comfortably, my eyes perusing the twisted paths and the locked gate on the horizon ... in the mist. i sit here often and look out... i look out, pull my collar up against the cold and breathe until i'm dizzy. inhale, count to seven, exhale, count to seven.until my lighthead takes on the weight of a brick, sends me veering slight left, no right, and down.
the street is much too busy to look out from my perch. people are passing, talking, commenting, laughing - jostling, bustling, hustling. it's going to be winter soon. i'll be here. when that snow comes. i'll be here. i've chosen to. or the staying chose me. i'm not sure now. but i'll be here. when the sun returns, i'll be here. i've committed. in my own mind. and it's good. i'll be busy. But what happens when the moon returns?
dis-connect
sometimes you gotta feel
far flung and
detached to
see how to get in,
get back
on track
again.
and moreover,
if you even want to.
Tuesday
NUIT BLANCHE - a BUST
so unless you attended a scotiabank funded thereby city sanctioned event, you were harangued by police who so audaciously shut down public parties put on by real people for people to access in tha street (where people be, duh!) - tha police decided that during a purportedly ' city wide art thingy' (actual marketed tagline) but in effect it was a nuit blanche zone-wide art thing and turned out that regular people could not participate independent of corporate sponsorship by jammin out in front of or inside their homes and/or establishments.
my trajectory for the evening -
- styrofoam ones and times neue roman UHAUL show at the lower kensington 11:30pm set- no 1. of 4 stops in the streets of this city - COPS SHUT US DOWN.
- musicbox live installation with five featured musicians and installations by five artists inside - 12pm COPS SHUT US DOWN (amazingly for a noise complaint -at 12pm in kensington - in 'the area' although we had been shut down for almost 45 mins to give some sound respite to our friends in the UHAUL)
- rolly's garage jam - 3am party going strong - we're thinking til the 6am nuit blanche official end, but no, wait - screech, that's five cop cars and 6 bike cops rolling up to... SHUT US DOWN.
but here's something real unforgettable - the u-haul, wat a stellar idea fella, beauty clip
not interested
please don't push a product
please don't upsell the sale
please don't promo some improvement
i don't buy it
i won't buy it
i wouldn't even if i had the cash
but broke means
i'm not interested
just breathe
stop processing a moment
just breathe
cease the nonstop todos
just breathe
end the endless follow up
just breathe
the priority
becomes
apparent
when you
just breathe
Friday
friend,
oh friend,
friend,
i miss you -
i sense the
distance
but
moreover
i worry
about you
sometimes
at times
i fret that
you are
unhappy
see,
i worry
sometimes
that you are
not being
true
to you
or even
the possibility of
something new
for you
but these thoughts
are so much
less important
(and so much
more subjective)
than the fact that,
friend,
i miss you -
lawd,
i miss your
face
and
laughter
mostly
laughter
see,
i don't want to ask
but
when will i see you?
no,
i'm
not
so
busy
that one time
i fell asleep -
i'm so sorry
because
truly
i miss you
like 'crazy'
like alot
like i miss
myself
when life
becomes
'busy'
truly,
i must miss
myself
with yourself
mostly
when
we laugh
also
when
we chat
bout you
and me
and
endless
possibilities
so
come over
or
call me
cos friend,
i miss you
much
love
Wednesday
finance figures fall furiously
so what does it mean?
when media references the great depression?
when bush bails out billion dollar banks?
i imagine rats scurrying
or
liquid money riverbeds sucked dry
or
copper coins spilled through cracks
into pockets?
for cash can't quite disappear
science equations make that much clear -
but really,
bush has bailed out
banks with bad karma
commercial turn speculative
straight speculate about rates
that aren't their business
about figures that aren't their affair -
now 4 million
low income
home owners
working poor
soon on the street
with more to come
to be joined by slick haired men in suits?
oh no, the government came to their rescue
bailed them out with buckets of money
filled the holes in the bottoms of their steamships
but not you and me,
not 'the people'
our canoes stay tipsy
but 'the money'?
save the money!
the people will fend for themselves.
and we will.
damn the bank
damn bush
damn money
all speculation
no reparations
no consequences
all jumpin fences
what foolishness...
wait, how'd we get into this mess?
wrong question -
more important,
who got us into this mess?
why, the bank -
then why'd they get bailed out?
and why not the people?
why not you and me?
what did we do to deserve this frenzy
spinning out of our control
driving us from our homes
wreaking havoc on our economy
but we don't figure in the rescue plan -
cause the government prefers to save the bank
how?
to buy back their debt with taxpayers money.
our money
the people's money.
fine then,
take our money
but at least give us a say
cos, the banks are the ones that got us here in the first place -
these times show they can't be trusted with our money,
nor the rates.
so give us a say
c'mon give us a say
i say -
give us a SAY!
troy davis died on death row last night,
think again.
Tuesday
do you ever just not know?
i don't quite know.
i really have nothing to say -
and really and truly
you ought not listen to me anyway...
but sometimes we start things
without knowing where things go
but i value curiosity
(fuck the 'cat' - it will not kill me)
if we just take things slow
and allow things to grow
and see where they flow
we can begin to know
at least that's what i believe
so i won't fret bout it just yet
cause i know i don't need to know yet
the relevance will become clear to me
like water settled,
once murky
murky's not so bad
don't let it get you down
cos murky's full of learning
sift through murky
find sure ground
hold time close
but let it pass
let life happen
lay down and be glad
cos we don't need to know just yet
the knowing will come
i can feel it -
and besides
it feels good too
to not know just yet,
not quite yet.
Monday
do not befriend the market, heed taalam's words
thank you taalam acey for this succinct and eloquent analysis -
terry lynn - new video
she is terry lynn.
the album is kingston logic.
the single is system.
deal with it, star, she nah easy. big up to tha rickards bros on direction. respect.
my dear blogsphere,
i went away for a while -
i missed you.
i don't know why i stayed away so long -
i missed you.
i'm going to try and get back up because -
i missed you.
really, i didn't mean to go
a tizzydizzy of life had me do so
things have cleared a little
(in my mind at least)
i sense this page was a beginning
now i will accept all the offererings
this life continues to give me,
each day is a blessing.
i am humbled when i apologize -
people are so good and forgiving
i am surprised when i am open -
all the thing you wish for can happen
when you really start living
something you care deeply about
and believe in...
and i want to keep sharing
with you
because
truly
this blog was a real beginning.
bisous, blogsphere -
je t'aime.
Friday
adrian hayles aka dj sawtay, parkdale in progress
art blooms in parkdale,
artists of multi mediums
lurk among
the miscreants
the misfits
in these mean streets,
their gifts
bless our sight
helps our eyes to see
all the world
is free to be
or do or say
or scream
at you and me.
check 'the havenots' by adrian hayles (thanks sofree!)
Wednesday
d'bi young anitafrika - dub poet
please forward the clip to 5 minutes to hear my favorite poem by this brilliant black poet artist performer community activist womban mother sister friend. please visit us this week for the story tellers groundings conference at the new anitAFRIKA! dub theatre in liberty village TO.
game is my middle name
Tuesday
an honor, a privilege and a blessing -
grâce a l'univers
quel honneur
je te jure
c'est immesurable
comment je suis
heureuse
simplicité
intégrité
consensus
je savais
mais je connais pas
et
je sentais
mas je vivais pas
cette sorte de vie
ce type d’attitude
cars je travaillais
mon p’tit bulot
mais je n'ai jamais exprimé
ma raison d’etre
et alors
a ce moment
je vous remerci
Saturday
whew
it occured to me today -
nobody knows more
about me
than me
(so no more listening to
anybody's presumptions
bout who i am or oughta be)
parkdale - PD, parkdizzy, tha hood
how i love my neighborhood!
we are industrious and scavengers
we are outcasts, artists, madmen
we are poor with a few rich too
and we are more resourceful than you
when the parade or a show bring the city our way
we piece off our lawns for you to park (ten bucks flat rate)
and stock up on water and beer to sell to you that day
still when you visit, you turn up your nose at our
aging housing
murmuring alleys
graffiti'd scenery
and the
fumbling
stumbling
addicts
mumbling
edicts
on the plight of
gentrification
but we feel the breeze from the lake
and our liquor store is open very late
and we eat thai, vitenamese, jamaican, trini, guyanese, iranian -
any kinda food
and we got open mic night and all kindsa nightlife too
all i'm sayin is stop hatin
stop disrespecting my community
cos parkdale has more culture
than alla TO's bougie streets
money
what is more arbitrary than money?
prices are never fixed
include overhead and other inputs
like labour (but who decides the fee?)
exclude environmental externalities
live in limbo with
such ephemeral phenomena as
supply and demand
inflation
interest
credit rates
slight of hand
illusion
tricky business
'ceterus parabis'
'they' say
but all other things are not equal
yes, hard work "pays"
but not always in money
still some people make a lot of money
but ain't it funny -
when you got big money
you don't really need to spend it -
honey,
you get swag, line bypass, VIP
free drinks, they all want you so
"buddy, it's on me!"
but when you ain't got no money
lord help you
(and me)
cos ain't nothing like tryna dig from out that hole
tryna get free
cos financial freedom is very far from free
it is in many circumstances very close to futile
out of reach, unattainable, costly to achieve
for he, she, you, me
for eighty per cent of all a' we
you can find money and money can find you
good or bad luck can bring you money
inheritance, insurance settlement, gambling, stocks, lottery,
but you can beg for money and never get it too
not for lack of trying - money can easily evade you
but
you can make money selling your soul, your body, your mind
you can make money killing, stealing, hurting, fighting
you can make money lying, conning, scamming, conniving
oil spills make money
cancer makes money
even money makes money
but mummies don't make money just being mummies
so you can't make money loving,
can you?
i'm going to give it a try
put love in to everything i do
and if i make money
the love would have been part of the reason too
and if i don't make money
i won't hang my head in shame
cos i know money is seriously arbitrary
i will not let it
-money-
make me.
Friday
Saturday
fixate
i fixate on the sex
to suppress other fears
i fixate on the sex
as you are not near
and if you were here
i would continue to
fixate on the sex
to distract from your
departure
inevitable
and when you leave
i will
fixate on the sex
to forget that
other feeling
i feel now
always
in the pit
in the back
in the hidden place
i love you
least i think i do
tried so hard
not to
love you
so i think
i fixate on the sex
in case i truly do
love you
(what a shame
i have separated
the two)
Thursday
the genesis of this blog
please feel free to send your comments
this page changes form and focus
content and cadence
direction and perception
often/daily/seamlessly
sometimes real people say real things in real places
in reference to this page
i make disclaimers, i say, "you know, hey, it's just my lil' blog, eh?"
"the poems there are brain burps and heart hiccups and
likely need revision and likely require some reworking and
there is no sense
to
it
all
... just a flurry of feeling and little bits of love and media for sharing
and thank you so much for reading"
i make this disclaimer because what goes up here is not so rare
its what we all share
in common
i just post them
often
so thank you kindly for visiting
apologies if you didn't get what you were expecting
but we never do
it would be too easy
not at all like reality
so come and take freely what you like
it's here for you
from me to you
if there's something you'd like that you do not find
please advise
perhaps we can direct you to another site?
Wednesday
how to tell people they sound racist - jay smooth
i check a bright young fella's site and online mag often - today i pulled this clip of jay smooth (radio host and blogger) to share with you.
jay explains a few helpful tips for a conversation we have all had, wanted to have, avoided having, etc.
thunderheist - jerk it
thunderheist is primo grade a canadiana - isis of TO (emcee) and grahmzilla (on beats) of beau montreal combined to form this phat duo - check the video (in which neither appear)
Youtube Note "The video is the work of That Go, that is Noel Paul and Stefan Moore, two students graduate at the DXArts, the Center for Digital Arts at the University of Washington in Seattle. By the way, an animal wrangler on set made sure that the rooster was not abused." - No Fat Clips!!! Website of Authors http://www.that-go.net/
mindstate shift moment
to any reader,
my apologies for the momentary
pause...
i am re-discombobulating my senses, my cells, myself
i am re-orienting, re-thinking, flip
flopping
stay or go
or just simmer,
i mean simma,
i really mean percolate
on this
everything
anything
right now
for a moment
Monday
wedding march
i am off to a wedding this morning, a quick word before i jump in the shower -
congratulations, i commend you.
we grew up in a different time
divorce rates high,
sex ed in school,
feminism in the curriculum too...
but still, my peers
suffer the very best in
cognitive dissonance
and slip on rings, take vows, make babies
at ages as young as our parents
did
in the woods, on the beach, by the lake
less church, less walls
a ceremony that makes sense
(and costs fewer cents)
for you and yours
with friends about
to wish you well
in spite of what we learned to believe
and disbelieve
as children, as young people
as the selves we have become
we continue to marry and breed
in spite of what we learned to believe
and disbelieve
Thursday
last day at the firm
today is my last day
here
i do not fear
but i am overly aware
there is no
immediate
evidence
there is no
incontrovertible
proof
(yet)
that i have
made
the right/wrong
decision
to date
yet
i
breathe
d'bi.young anitafrika dub theatre opening tonight 7pm 62 fraser avenue (parkdale)
if you live in toronto and love dub, then you know the dub poets collective ... if you know the dub poets collective, then you know lillian allen... if you know lillian allen, then you know d'bi young.
well d'bi young has returned from the UK theatre run of Da Kink.
and she has returned with a vengeance; last night i saw her perform to a small room of OCAD students. her words assault the mic. rythem follows her cadence. no music but her voice carries the beat. while her bangles punctuate the verse. she is a brilliant dub poet sharing words and stories about struggle and love. on stage, she is a sight to be seen and to be heard. the city is glad to have her back i feel for -
d'bi is opening the anitaAFRIKA! dub theatre at 62 fraser avenue (king and dufferin) -
parkdale big up! if i may speak on our behalf, we over-ostracized parkdalians are honored and ecstatic that dbi is bringing a radical, community artspace to our humble hood -
come out tonigth at 7pm to support the launch party of the first storyteller.groundings.fest slated to run Aug 19-24th, 2008
Live Performances and DJsbidding marketplace * raffles * henna body art * kissing booth * donations welcomed
anitAFRIKA dub theatre welcomes you to its new home in west toronto adt! is a radical arts initiative founded by d'bi young during her mentorhsip with dubb aatist visionary ahdri zhina mandiela, based on seven principles of dubpoetry and dubtheatre, used as mediums of social change through storytelling. This fundraising event is meant to gather resources for the company's inaugural storyteller.groundings.fest.
62 fraser avenue - parkdale- liberty village - one block south of King - two blocks east of dufferin. for more info www.anitafrika.com 416.434.1823. groundings@dbiyoung.net
nouveau riche band - new ep - free money
Download the new, first, two years in the making EP from the nouveau riche band.
nouveau riche is based outta philly and lyrically fronted by soon-to-blow singer/songwriter nikki jean and established illadelplh emcee Dice Raw (of the Roots). you can watch nikki jean's endearing daily blog to get to the minute updates on her new album deal (to be produced by sam hollander - exclusively) as well as nouveau riche news.
it's rock, it's roll, they got mad soul, bit a hip hop, but a bit more original style. check 'em out.
i'd love to see them live - if you hear of any shows, please let me know!
here's a clip of nouveau riche opening for spankrock (also philly-based, also worth lending an ear!)
Wednesday
still loving KJ
the mixtape is below, but i must also post this video from keziah jones - the track is technically dated, but the content is stunner:
beauty real, beauty drawn, beauty feel, beauty born, beauty sing, beauty dance, beauty fly, beauty stance, beauty style, beauty flow, beauty high, beauty low...
remember, debut album from keziah jones 'nigerian wood' coming september 2008.
new mix - diplo vs. santogold
i am going to download this and drop it onto my ipod cos me dun kno' dis mix ah de fiya!!!
course you know diplo, but do you know santi white, aka santogold?
you ought to - she's luverly and amongst my favorite artists who does/can/will not "sing" a la american idol fake gold standards - santogold is a fierce new addition to a community of artists that just plain know better than to pander to reactionary industry expectations about genres or marketability or "it" factor foolishness. her eponymous album dropped earlier this year, 3rd single comin in august, keep your eyes peeled and your ears... husked? hmmm...
listen for it is all i'm saying - talent raw and tasty as sashimi. check her out - there's my fav track below.
big up. respect. luv da mix diplo - thx.
International call for delegates - Ignite the Americas forum September 15-21st
Sharing a message from Che Kothari photographer and co-founder of manifesto & earkwaks:
Peace. If you didn't know already, I wanted to let you all know of this opportunity for a youth arts policy forum, IGNITE THE AMERICAS (www.ignitetheamericas.ca), a working forum that we are planning and delivering in Toronto, Canada through the Canadian Government and under the auspices of the OAS.
In September we will be bringing together a group of 68 delegates from across the Americas to work on three main outcomes:
1. Policy recommendations for the OAS (Organization of American States) Culture Ministerial meeting in Barbados in November.
2. The Development of a Pan-American network of young people using arts for social change and community development. This network will include not only NGO organizations but also individual artists, socially conscious businesses etc.
3. The creation of Tool Kits for other young people who are interested in creating a project or socially responsible business in their communities throughout the Americas.The dates for this forum are September 15th-21st.
Besides what will be a really cool and productive working session there is the Manifesto festival running parallel to IGNITE THE AMERICAS.Right now we are trying to identify the best possible delegates from each country across the Americas (including of course the Caribbean but, excluding however Cuba).We have funding to bring up 2 people from each country. We will cover all of their costs (flights, accommodation, per diems) should they be successful in becoming one of our delegates.Right now we are trying to spread the word so any help you can give in sending out the above link (I will include it again at the end of this message) to your networks would be MUCH appreciated.You guys should apply yourself as well.The application is available in English, French, Spanish & Portuguese. With respect, Peace, CK.
visit http://www.ignitetheamericas.ca & download an informational deck for more in depth details
Tuesday
a warning to man
listen man,
do not lie to your woman
do not lie to your woman
'specially 'bout that sex
when you
where you
who you
sex
'cos word spreads
contagious as STDs
transmitted orally
time, chance and womens' sense
will inevitably unspin
your web
and when word spreads
then you will regret
but worse yet
'cos you one man lie
women moan and cry
(and learn to believe)
"oh man, why do all men lie?"
postscript:
listen woman,
you know
you knew
all along
artist alert - keziah jones
shortly before keziah jones drops his debut album in September entitled 'nigeria wood', fairtilizer drops this/his wicked NY vs. Lagos mix - ENJOY! i do...
sorry friend, what to do
exhale
breathe deep
the mood has passed
shoulders lower
now can relax
the mood has passed
smile returned
thank god she's back
the mood has passed
please repeat what you said before
i missed it
please excuse what i said before
i've fixed it
rather it sorted itself out
while i impatiently waited it out
sorry if you took a hit...
Monday
sorry, another candidate has more direct experience with policy...
everything is all up in the air,
floating just above my head,
just out of my reach,
blurry and hot to the touch it seems
everything is hovering above me
moving slow then quick then slow
i can't seem to pace my flow
accordingly
too late, no wait, now too early
everything is not going as planned
but should i really tell you this?
truth is
the shit is out of hand
out of my hands rather
outside of my control
and i'm
out of dough
out of 'in'
out and out
time to begin again
no plans this time
no expectations
no path to follow
no game to win
stupid degree
false sense of security
stupid job
false sense of security
drop them all
false sense of security
watch me fall
time to begin again
shit makes no sense at all
Friday
news from democracynow.org
~
Private LaVena Johnson's parents continue to call for an investigation into their daughter's death July 19, 2005 in Balad, Iraq. The military claim she committed suicide and pointed to an M-16 wound they describe as self inflicted; Private Johnson's other wounds include a broken nose, two front teeth knocked out, one eye was concave from pressure or force, her gloves were burned onto her hands and acid was poured over her genitals. In addition, the bullet wound was too small for an M-16 and on the wrong side of her head (she was right handed and the bullet was on the left temple.) Read more here and sign the petition here. Watch her parents on the news here.
Thursday
Tuesday
a jihad for love by parvez sharma
i just went to see a jihad for love, a film six years in the making by parvez sharma (film maker's blog). filmed in 12 countries and nine languages, this is the first film about homosexuality in islam - spoken from a devout muslim perspective - fantastic, moving, beautifully shot (though he never used a tripod, filmed in secret with a handheld camera, even spliced footage with tourist style clips to fool customs.)
the transcendent experience across these countries was relayed through the stories of different but similar characters of diverse cultural backgrounds; each man or woman just wants to love Allah and themselves and someone of the same sex but it is a personal struggle, a jihad, and a community's struggle - gay and lesbian muslims in non-secular muslim states wish to be accepted within the islamic community that continues suppress/demonize and criminalize/punish them - an islamic community under attack from the western world - a western world they must flee to as refugees to escape persecution, prison and/or death.
sorry for sorry
i am a mess
i cannot tell you this
i hope you find me attractive
as opposed to
desperate and plaintive
i wish you were here
but then i would fear
i'd push you away
i'd tell you not to stay
i'd make up some excuse
then string up my noose
and hang myself again
Monday
lessons from rock tha bells in TO,
if i learned anything yesterday at rock the bells it is one must to organize and plan a twelve hour event with your attendees in mind at all times, this means
- ensure sufficient bathrooms are available and cleaned regularly
- reduce line-ups as much as possible (e.g. DO NOT make a thirsty, hungry, tired person wait in line to get a ticket to wait in line again)
- stagger stack shows on two stages if necessary to avoid frustrating wait times
- visit the venue you've booked prior and evaluate it for light, seating possibilities and general atmosphere (i found that airport hangers are not as conducive to concerts as they are to raves for example)
- allow ins and outs, ESPECIALLY if the show runs longer than six hours
- conveniently provide attendees with ample food and water (3$ lukewarm tap water after waiting two lines is unacceptable as is pizza pizza stink permeating your entire venue)
- employ quality sound engineers
- USE COMMON SENSE
if the above guidelines are not observed the result is simple and largely unavoidable:
if doesn't matter how much concert goers respect the artists they will leave remembering how poorly planned and organized the event was as opposed to remembering how great each half hour set was.
because de la was fantastic; pharcyde performed like they never broke up; mos basically threw down a helluva reggae set; rakim endured major technical difficulties and finished his set; nas was hype; q tip was full of energy and tribe was tribe - whole and superb.
Thursday
care bears on fire -
you're probably thinking, 'wha?' yes, that's right, they are a band called care bears on fire - all three members are in grade 7 and they kick major rockn'roll backside. least i think so. i think they are testament to a new generation of parents; the other day i saw a young dad fly by on his bike after his kid, they were both in helmets but no shirts busy blazing down the sidewalk and i thought to myself, 'this is a dad who is going to give his son tips on how to graffiti without getting caught."
the three members of care bears on fire must have pretty cool parents to have started a band in early elementary, re-grouped (lost a member & changed the name,) and set out to forge a path in never-done-before-land, writing and composing original music and gaining rockn'roll notoriety before their teens. i am well impressed with their first single, "everybody else," check it out -
love beware
i dreamed
my love's death
love beware
love, watch out!
no, no, no
it's too late
i hear the shots
together we drop
i want to live
in love
with you
but i fear
for you love
for i have seen
you die
in my arms
in my dream
you lay lifeless
as i scream
love beware
your death
woke me up
this morning
Wednesday
international dance craze,
during a quick jaunt to NYC in april, my cool french friend raved about a new dance the kids be killin' all over france called tectonik. i nabbed the video below from this blog - it's a short doc on the origins of the dance, as well as a quick how-to. but as i see it, just flail, swing and propell your arms to the beat and you've got the electro down pat. below that is a clip all the way from korea. dance puppet dance...
omar ahmed khadr - canadian in custody
the footage shows omar khadr at 16 years old in an interrogation room with some (cold) canadian inquisitors and the clip has had notable airtime in the past three days. filmed in Feb 2003, the film has sparked some outrage in the Canadian public but PM Harper is not interested in taking up the case.
one moment keeps running over and over in my mind: at one point omar sputters, "I have lost my eyes. I have lost my feet. everything." immediately the callous voice of his interrogator points out what appears obvious to him, "no, you still have your eyes and your feet are there at the end of your legs" his tone is flat and blasé - i find him most horrid and disgusting but perhaps it is merely a 'sign of the times'?
no, it is not so.
two nights ago I watched the battle of algiers, 1966 and a few nights prior i watched la haine, 1995. both films portray the captor-captive dynamic in war (on different scales) that exists always in all power struggles. both films show the inhumanity that breeds in interrogation rooms. both films explore the hatred that lives between detained and free agents (often it is born long before their time, but they carry, nurture, grow it and make sure to pass the hate on.) still, after seeing this specific real life clip so many times, i continue to hear a few voices battling out the idea in my mind... it seems i have yet to come to terms... while omar sits in his cell, i am still trying to come to terms - how absurd.
(voice 1 earnest and frantic) "he's Canadian!"
(voice 2 cool and aloof) "Canadian and brown in the wrong place at the wrong time boils down to brown and suspicious - brown and suspicious equals terrorist these days kiddo"
(voice 3 tentative and fearful) "so if i'm a canadian caught in a firefight and accused of throwing something, that's it, i'm detained indefinitely, tortured and ignored?"
(voice 1 aghast) "no, impossible, that's can't be!"
(voice 2 unforgiving) "well, would you like to deny reality, deny the footage you see"
(voice 1 alarmed) "but he's obviously distressed and severely traumatized! why don't they do something"
(voice 2 sensible and calm) "do what my dear? do what? you heard them - they obviously don't care - that video was shot over five years ago, got leaked and now we're concerned - the man is now 21 years old and still in custody."
(voice 3 quiet and sad) "...i couldn't figure out if he said 'help me' or 'kill me'"
(voice 1 full of sorrow and sympathy) "oh that clip is just awful... his poor mother"
(voice 2 exasperated) "whatever man, at least his family knows where he is; there are blackhole detention centers worldwide with guys whose families believe they're dead or worse yet their mothers fear them "missing" when in actual fact these guys are completely off our radar, these guys are being submitted to god knows what - i mean seriously, only god knows..."
i have lost my eyes
i have lost my feet
everything
i lost my right eye
in the firefight
i lost my feet
once they detained me
since my 'capture'
they have taken
my freedom, my hope, my sanity
i
lost
everything
the war is not canada's
this was is america's
a war against my father, brothers, uncles,
a war against my family
i
lost
everything
these unjust authorities
take us from our land
americans have since
forgotten afghanistan
i
lost
everything
first they accused my father
now they torture me
the war still goes on
we die, they die, we die, but i
i
lost
everything
soldiers attacked my home
soldiers killed my family
soldiers shot me in the chest
soldiers now detain me
i
lost
everything
"help me"
"kill me"
"mother"
i
lost
everything
Tuesday
hot n' bothered
over this fella - Leon Jean-Marie - debut album 'bring it on' out now; imma cop that.
Monday
it's easier
it's easier to see others than to look at yourself
well, that goes both ways *sshole, don't it?
turns out jailers are prisoners too (listen)
so why end by telling me what to do?
it's easier to tell a lost soul what to do
because they look up and down, left and right
in the end they end up checking you too
but it is not easier to take a look at yourself
a good hard look - bet it's not so easy
but i would not presume to tell you what to do
too easy, dearie, much too easy to do.
tell your heart
"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity." Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.
Yet Fatima feels complete fulfilment upon finding her treasure, Santiago. She does not leave the oasis in pursuit of her Personal Legend, in search of her dreams. Instead she bids a teary goodbye and patiently awaits her love's return, sending kisses on the wind to travel through the Soul of the World and find his lips. Is it so? Why? Why not?
Fatima ought to read "Women who Run with Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes PhD. I am.
write me
write me
a long letter
a love song
a long love letter song
start slow
soft sweet salty
falsetto
feel so high
so good i want to die
butterflies riff
guilty crescendo
breakup breakdown
crashbangkaboom
drum
solo
sincerely
good bye
yours
truly
Friday
fear and doubt - a story in parts - 2
her mother used to say, "chile', you don't like hard things," and she wondered if she was right. she sat up abruptly racked with the fear that her mother had condemned her to a life of easy outs. she looked out onto the cool serene lake for answers it seemed and laughed at herself softly thinking, 'watch how i give myself an out for taking outs!' she breathed deep and stood up in one motion, catching herself slightly surprised at her body for making such a sound, swift movement.
he stood up from the bench slowly surveying the leaves rustling in the trees, children and parents, grass in patterns of patches and began to head home. he looked down, his hands were dry, soft but dry and empty. he was thinking about writing a letter; he wasn't sure to whom but that wasn't important, it was the letter that counted or the things he could write down in it rather. as he walked, he felt in his pocket for a pen, took it out and wrote the following words onto his palm: 'purpose, identity, worry, happy'.
they crossed paths at the light. she thought, 'how odd, this man is meditating on the back of his hand.' he felt her eyes and looked up to find them staring back at him. he was startled with his mouth open slightly but she liked his face anyway. she smiled to herself but he caught it even though her eyes changed their focus almost immediately. 'how beautiful,' he thought.
short film by galen summer, 'martin the tailor'
the score, the shots, the character, the message - beauty.
(and thanks to first for posting for me to find.)
Martin the Tailor from Ed David on Vimeo.
Thursday
respect tabi bonney,
born in lome, togo and raised in washington, d.c., emcee tabi bonney is producing good works in fashion, film, and music. respect to an artist representing where he comes from, reviving the dc music scene and generally bringing a fresh and tasty product to tha people - thank you.
tabi (son of itadi bonney, afrofunk legend) dreamed of filming a video in the country of his birth so to hail in his second album, 'Dope meet Fresh... Fresh meet Superstar' Team Bonney and Cool Kids Forever Films traveled to West Africa to shoot the first single, 'so cool, so fly' -
work
it's great to have a job
(but not when it's not where you want to be)
it's fine to hate your job
(but remember you gotta get from a to b)
it's fantastic to quit your job
(as long as you can feel what you need,
and see what that looks like
and sense how it will feel
so that you will know for certain
when you finally reach.)
Wednesday
fear and doubt - a story in parts - 1
he feared that everything had been done before. he was afraid but the fear was comforting at times. the fear allowed him to feel less guilty about the static routine his life had become. "i needn't try that, it's already been done," he thought to himself, holding the finality close against him, warm and comforting as a cup of tea. the thought was the mug that held the tea and the tea was the feeling - much too hot - insulated to protect his heart he imagined. he kicked out at the dirt under the park bench and squinted at sunlight dancing through tree leaves. he heard his own breathing under the sounds of the park and listened to children play. he noticed they either skidded down the slide to stop abruptly or fly out into the sand. he felt like the little girl in pigtails and pink nail polish whose hands flew out to the sides just short of the break where plastic became air and pressed against the red tubing. at the same time she raised her knees so her bare sweaty feet would fight the gravity that sent her down in the first place. she sat looking out into the playground from the tunnel. 'children see too much' he thought as she caught his eyes. he flinched, looked down at the patchy grass and felt depressed. he was at the bottom of his red tube.
she sighed hard and felt as though she sent her expelled breath clear across the lake. she twisted the blanket beneath her between her fingers and closed her eyes tight. "what am i going to do now" she thought to herself, not a question, more reprimand than possibility, not at all open-ended as questions ought to be. she wanted to lay back and lift up onto the wind like her breath. 'inhale' the worries her head fought with her heart over and 'exhale' them out into the atmosphere. 'oh, if it were only so easy,' she thought and placed one hand over her chest and another across her forehead in the hopes her hands could quell the fury flying between the two. but her head wouldn't let her heart be, her head bombarded her heart with questions that were really accusations covered in a facetious film of curiosity (her heart could tell.) her head rang out with worried what ifs that all boiled down to missed opportunity. What if she should have pursued piano - damn her childish fears of the royal conservatory exams that kept her from returning to write the exam that fifth time. What if her limbs were meant for dance and she was keeping them from their true purpose - she cursed the insecurity that kept her in the back row of jazz class far from the mirror her own shape obscured by other bodies. What if she had been a more active student and survived not three but four internships or taken not two but five languages or tried to run the school paper instead of spin records hiding in away with music at the school radio? What if, what if, what if, whutiph, whutiph, whutiph... Her head was running away with her heart in the back seat, dictating the road to take and gaining speed. To focus she tricked her brain into slowing and stretching by pulling her hair from the roots at her neck, then tugging her ears out to each side and rubbing her temples round n' round. She sighed again and imagined herself floating up onto the air out into the atmostphere.
Tuesday
Jay Electronica - please take a few moments to process
sounds like a tragic hip hop opera,
like universal secrets shrouded in beats in rhymes in bytes,
like what comes after the darkest hour edging in like sunlight -
Monday
But remember that if the struggle were to resort to violence, it will lose vision, beauty and imagination. Most dangerous of all, it will marginalize and eventually victimize women. And a political struggle that does not have women at the heart of it, above it, below it and within it is no struggle at all.
- Arundhati Roy. Learn more about the film here.
Sunday
weekend wind down
the weekend has come to a close... one symbolic tear rolls down my cheek - it was a good one.
breaks, beats and culture on saturday and afrofest on sunday, a jam-packed weekend, literally, packed full of jams, vibes, good times and oneness all around. the harbourfront was fullupapeople yesterday, as was queen's park today - respect toronto, you showed love. sometimes you meanmug through the whole show or screwface all up in the event, but some weekends you come out in droves and smile and applaud, and when you do toronto, when you come out and support and celebrate it is most memorable, most enjoyable.
so thank you toronto, thank you organizers, artists, vendors and supporters alike for a fantastic weekend.
