wanting and not wanting

thick
ness
con
sumes

so still
still
throbbing
pulsating
vibrating

immersed
in
choices

how
to
breathe
?

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

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

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

i don't wanna die

black merda website

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

new canadian film :: nurse fighter boy

www.nursefighterboy.ca

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...

question

do i still love you desperately?

or is that regret that pierces my heart so deeply?

my friend's papa's new film

Disfarmer: A Portrait of America - Trailer 2:30 mins. from Dennis Mohr on Vimeo.

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.

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.

all proceeds support anitafrika! dub theatre 2009 programming!

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?

the odds are

what are the odds
that you find
someone you like

who likes you?

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)

times neue roman -

go to the times neue roman myspace

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.