the is iz

the ground is shaking
you shook
the epicenter is you
the sun is gone
the sky is black
you still thinking it's blue
the weed is bad
the brew is weak
niggas sniffing on glue
the cows are mad
the pigs are sick
chickens claiming the flu
guess what, Rosa Parks is dead
Coretta Scott too
uncovering evidence and clues
but we burying Proof
when broke
i often dream about what i would do
with a check for 50 mill
dave cut his in two
they saying detroit is bad
like every where else ain't
saying africa is starved
like every where else can't
lost for words
i find myself listening more
got a flow
but lately the kid don't care to pour
pain is exciting
trying to heal makes me a bore
the masses are sleep
why wake'em
why not let'em all snore
i say i'm done
yet and still the kid writes more
a genius or lame
will somebody tally the score
you get oscars for being black
and boned on the floor
you get shit for being black and blown to bits in a war
3 dollar gas
2 dollar niggas robbing for mo'
i've ran out of prayers
north pole about to run out of snow
from mitchcon, ameritech, and dte
to state farm, blue cross, and sbc
they screaming "only ten dollars" and i paid the fee
for an unmixed and unmastered burned cd
is it shame on them for selling it
or shame on me
for backing negligence
intelligence, i hope it's in me
what you got, an incurable STD
cancer or AIDS
prognosis got you afraid
wallgreens, the biggest drug dealer i know
even nancy reagan's hooked
i told her, "just say no"
waking up to the sun used to be the bomb
now it's feeling played out like blackplanet.com
the flesh is prison
an inmate, i do time slow
scratching days off the wall like i'm ready to go......

back in the day moment #27

When I was a kid, if you wanted to know the exact time and temperature, you had to dial a number. How crazy is that!!! I remember how it would go down. A storm would come through and the lights would go off. Not long, just long enough to mess all the clocks up in the house. So my folks would tell me or my sister to, "call time". Now, I was like every other little kid. I could tell you what time it was just by what was on TV. It was pretty easy for me to turn to Different Strokes, and figure out, since they had gotten to the "message" part of the show, that meant it was roughly about seven minutes to the top of the hour. My logic didn't work for my folks. They wanted the exact time. Mind you, this was before cable tv, and that station with the program guide that always posts the correct time. This was before everybody had a cell phone, or a laptop that kept the exact time for you. This was back when wind up wrist watches were the norm, and everybody's wrist was about 5 minutes off from the next man's. So what did we do? We "called time". The time number was usually a number to a bank or a local tv station. When you called, you got an automated voice that told you the exact time and temperature. I remember having the number memorized, so I guess that means we must have been resetting our clocks a lot. I know I'm not the only one who remembers doing this. Anyway, "calling time", back in the day moment #27. One luv.

revolutionaries' day

Happy birthday Malcolm X.

Happy anniversary Last Poets.

Happy anniversary 3rd Eye Open.

The revolutionary spirt of Malcolm lives on!

writing revolution

"i don't wanna write this down,
wanna tell you how i feel right now" - mos def

Nobody wants to write anything down anymore, or so it seems. I know I'm guilty. The only time I use a pen these days is when I'm confronted with a bill from a company that doesn't have online billing. In which case, I have to physically write out a check, including my signature, which now resembles something the creators of the Palmer Method would never recognize as their teachings. A pen is as foreign in my hand as a good idea is in the head of emperor Bush. But that's another story. It seems we are in the midst of a writing revolution my friends. One which has more people than ever writing, although, nobody seems to be physically writing.

The last time I wrote a letter? Hmmm. I think it was in '97. It was one of those, "you gonna lose your booty privileges if I don't get a love letter", love letters. Before that, I think it was '88. And maybe one in '87. In my entire life I've probably written less than 5 letters by hand. In each one, my writing style was somewhat formal. I even remember looking up examples of a letter before writing them. How things have changed. Nobody looks up an example of an email before you send one, because all that formal crap has been thrown out the door. On the average day, I send off a hundred electric (e) mails easy. Some are just phrases. Others, one line sentences. While others are long and thought out, consisting of several paragraphs of edited copy. We've all become masters of this new form of writing. Tone of voice is the one thing we've all learned to be careful of with emails. Jokes don't always come off as jokes. And sarcastic statements tend to sit there flat on the page, making the sender seem less like a person with charisma, and more like an a**-hole. So in our quest to communicate as clear as possible, we created emoticons like (lol) and (rofl). These emoticons allow us to convey complex emotions without explanation. This is especially affective in modes of communication with quicker response times like, two-ways, text messages, and instant messenger. I don't think people today have more to say than people of past eras, but technology has bridged the distance gap that makes us feel alone and distant. So not only does everybody have some device or form of staying in touch with his fellow man, we all have plenty to say-- I mean, write.

The blog world is the biggest example of the enormity and regularity with which people are writing these days. Some of these blogs are maintained by people whose full time job is do nothing but blog. In other words, these are people who do nothing all day but WRITE. Writing has become a past time that is considered, FUN. The only thing better than reading a provocative blog is responding, provocatively. We all have thoughts and opinions. Before these opinions went unsaid, unshared, and unheard. because the only uniformed way of sharing them was the editorial page of a newspaper. But now the physical ease with which we type on a keyboard invites us all to join in on the conversation. Typing, although a skill, isn't as painful as writing by hand. In grade school I had a callus on the middle finger of my writing hand from writing with pencils. I hated the feeling, which made me hate writing. Even typing on a type writer back in the day was painful. But as technology improves, we are finally able to communicate through the written form, at a rate much closer to the speed at which we think.

Technology isn't the only reason we're writing more. Lifestyle is important. And the hip hop lifestyle begs us to write like no other. The emcee is the most celebrated aspect of hip hop culture. Few people want to be the b-boy, the graph artist, the dj. But everybody wants to be the emcee, why? Maybe it's because the essence of emceeing is writing, and everyone feels they too can write. When I was a kid, we all had little rhymes and stuff that we did for fun. Well, today, it continues but on a whole other level. Kids aren't writing for fun, they are writing to get rich, as a way out of the hood. The degree of intensity with which young people write now is so different from back then. Everybody has a rhyme. Some are better than others but everybody has one. I have a little cousin who is quiet who I never would have thought of as the type of little kids I'm talking about. But sure enough, at a family gathering, I look over in the corner, and guess who's busting a self written rhyme? She is. When I thought about it, it made me smile. We perceive the youth of this country as fat spoiled kids whose brains are eroding as they watch TV and play PlayStation all day. Yeah, that is true for some. But many others are spending their spare time writing. No, it's not always with a pad and a pen. Often times it's on a computer. But they're still trying to unlock new ways of conveying their thoughts and emotions. They are creating witty rhymes as a means of exercising their brains. Today, writing it down means typing it in. And tomorrow, it may mean speaking into a device that types it for us. Whatever the case, not only is technology and lifestyle revolutionizing what we write, when we write, and where we write. It's also revolutionizing HOW we write it. One luv.

so what

I will return to the blog world next week. Peace.

crazy

10 biggest lies about us

1. The Tale Of Tarzan

This is the belief that African people were totally uncivilized until whites came in and conquered them. False.

2. Free Whites, Black Slaves

20 Africans landed at Jamestown, Virginia, in August 1619, a year before the arrival of the Mayflower. They were free. When the pilgrims arrived, they came with indentured servants, i.e. white slaves. Some of the first whites were slaves.

3. The Immaculate White Creation

The belief that America was the exclusive creation of Europeans. Africans were actually the first explorers of America. When
the first Spanish and French explorers entered America, they noted that Africans were living among the Indians.

4. Sambo in Wonderland

Although the shiftless shuck and jive Sambo image has been exploited, most slaves responded to slavery with tremendous resistance, often resorting to the ultimate rebellion, suicide.

5. The Great Emancipator

The Emancipation Proclamation did not free the slaves, nor was it intended to. That document was written in a way that it left 95% of the slaves in bondage. Our people were actually freed by the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which was ratified on December 18,1865.

6. The Black Family Myth

Believe it or not, according to plantation records, most blacks during slavery grew up with a mother and a father. In fact, all the way through Jim Crow, census reports show the black family was every bit as stable as those in White America. This dispels the myth that the majority of our people came from families ripped apart by slavery.

7. The Missing Economic Gene

There is an overwhelming belief that there is no black business tradition. By the American Revolution, there were scores of prominent Black business leaders, including Samuel Fraunces, owner of New York' s Fraunces's Tavern, the favorite watering hole of George Washington, and James Forten, who employed 40 workers, Black and White, in his Philadelphia sail factory.

8. Fairy tale of White Generosity

The majority of black slaves reached freedom because of internal giving within the race, not white generosity. By 1831 there were more than 43 Black benevolent or mutual aid societies in Philadelphia alone, runned by free blacks.

9. Crabs in a Barrel

We have been generalized as a people who continually try to pull each other down. False. In every era of our history, you'll see prominent black leaders and businessmen who had full support of the people.

10. Myth of the Absent Black Worker

We have been labeled as a lazy people. However, the wealth of this country was founded on what Abraham Lincoln called "the 250 years of unrequited toil" of Black men and women.


(paraphrased from: Bennett, Lerone Jr, 10 biggest lies about black history. , Ebony, 05-01-2001, pp 86.)

a moment of silence

1973 - 2006



The entire 3rd Eye Open family sends our deepest regrets and sympathies to the family of Deshaun "Proof" Holston, D12, the Iron Fist Records Family, and the entire Detroit artist community. Proof's loss comes as a shocking blow to our tight knit circle of Detroit artists. Another unnamed man is also in critical condition following the early morning shooting that claimed Proof's life. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family, as well as our brotha Khalid El-Hakim who was very close friends with Proof. Keep your head up Khalid.

R.I.P. PROOF

blue devils or white devils?

I'm definitely no religious freak, but I've always felt weird about universities who use words like devils and demons in their team names. It always seemed odd and inappropriate to me. What are they really trying to say? Is this some kind of not so subliminal, subliminal message? Should we write it off as nothing, or take it as a compelling statement about that university? Well, how's this for irony, it seems the blue devils, who are actually young white men, have indeed been up to some devilish activities. Not only are there allegations of a rape and sodomy, but now there's an email that graphically discusses torture and murder fantasy. All this from a lacrosse team, at one of the nation's most prestigious, widely celebrated universities.

If FORTY supervised college-aged men, wearing uniforms, working together to win a game, is a TEAM. Then FORTY unsupervised college-aged men, out of uniform, in concert during a criminal activity, is nothing more than a STREET GANG. Make no mistake about it, that many unsupervised college aged men, plus three naked women, is a recipe for disaster. Even if the women in question had been white, from privleged backgrounds, and were also students of Duke University. So one can only imagine how this scenario plays out when the victim in question is black, and alcohol, racism, and white privilege are present. As of now "mums" the word from the lacrosse team. But already many of the seniors from the team, who had accepted jobs, are having those jobs renig on their offers. See, there's more than one way to skin a cat. And I'm sure, it's only a matter of time before members of that team begin to come forward and tell all. But the question still remains, why did "it" happen in the first place?

The alleged victim was black, and also a non-Duke University student, which is very telling. As a black man who attended a university where blacks were less than 2% of the population, I understand that blacks, ON CAMPUS, despite all the drama, stick together. When I was in school, if a sista who attended the university, was raped by a gang of white dudes, in say, a nearby frat house, there would have been hell to pay. The night it happened, there probably would have been a black contingent at that house, looking to take names and ask questions never. The culprits would've had to deal with every black person on campus who knew the victim, or who heard of the racial implications of the event. Because blacks on white university campuses have no one to rely on accept themselves, they self-police. And a lot of this 'self-policing" prevents certain racial situations from happening. But the girl in the Duke scenario was a local, an outsider to the Duke world. She was also a stripper, who probably hadn't made her occupation public knowledge to all of her friends. And she attended an entirely different school. For those guys on that lacrosse team, she didn't represent someone they had to see one a daily basis. Or someone who's boyfriend they might bump into on campus. To them, they were white, powerful Dukies, and she was simply, black and disposable. And that's, why "it" happened.

If this were just about a rape, it'd be disgusting enough. But it's not. It's about the clash of out of towners and locals. White privilege vs. black working class. And university athletics vs. society at large. And the saddest part of all is, it unveils the progressive mask this country hides behind, to reveal the ugly racist face of past generations. If it's possible that "Duke's finest", educated children of privilege, who many would consider the future leaders of this country, are guilty of what they've been accused of, then what does that say for this country's future? May the truth come to light. One.

made (freestyle)

made by god above
a man made to sin
feelings within him
with bullet momentum i pen'em
frown a lot
like i wasn't made for grinning
concerned, i made a serum
an anti-venom
made my fingers curl up
until i made a fist
it made me proud
red black and green ever since
lying buzzards
i made'em foes
one was my closest homie
another was the virgin who wasn't
got a cousin who ain't seen his mother
in about eight years
so i made it like we ain't cousins
made close friends
who rep for life
purchased the best one a ring
then made her my wife
i made mistakes
big red marks on my past
once lied on a friend
and said she gave me some ass
ouch
i was just a lad
it made me mad then
today it still makes me mad
i've made poems
that made me erase the pad
every chapter of my life
ain't meant to be shared
seen cold rain turn to ice
i've even seen hot lights
that made the dopest freeze up on mics
i've laughed
watching movies that the burn man made
i've made love
to slow songs sade laid
no my name ain't special
so i ain't got it made
much like most
i just want to net what i gross
made to teach
i'm yelling skin made with melanin
hardcore
don't mistake my heart for gelatin
no gun just art
and incense of sage
morphing ink into sound
playing back what i made

keep asking

"The great mass of people...will more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a small one." - Adolf Hitler

What really happened on 9-11? I know this isn't the hottest story of the day anymore, but don't let 9-11 become old news my friends. If you do, you won't truly be able to process the events surrounding this wicked war we're fighting, and you'll be duped into accepting the long stream of lies and excuses that continue to filter from the oval office. New York magazine is keeping the issue front and center. This week, their feature article centers on the conspiracies that continue to swirl around the events surrounding September 11th. What's more revealing is, there seems to be an awful lot of truth found in what they are writing off as conspiracies. It's up to us to keep asking questions until we get the whole truth.

DO THE MATH

1) 1,800 degrees The temperature at which hydrocarbon-fueled fires max out. 2,700 degrees The temperature at which steel melts. So how did the towers weaken sufficiently to fall in such a short time--56 minutes in the case of the South Tower?

2) 19 The alleged number of terrorists who ALL were able to trick security in different locations with fake ID's and passports, and get on board airplanes with boxcutters. Plan doing something illegal with nineteen of your closest buddies. I guarantee at least ONE person will get caught.

3) 5 The number of men spotted filming the attacks the morning of 9-11 from a near by park. They were pulled over by cops near Giants Stadium. All were Israelis with ties to Mossad. Was 911 Israel's way of getting the U.S. to support them against their Muslim foes?

4) March 4th, 2001The date "Lone Gunmen", a conspiracy-themed drama on Fox, aired a show about a government plot to crash a remote-controlled 727 into the World Trade Center, as an excuse to raise the military budget. On the show, the government planned to blame the attack on a "tin-pot" dictator", who was "begging to be smart-bombed".

5) September 11th - The date the founding fathers of this nation, who were mostly Masons, opened the Constitutional Convention in 1786. The date accepted amongst theologians and scholars as the accurate birth date of Jesus Christ in 3 b.c.. The date ground was broken to build the Pentagon in 1941. The date Kissinger chose in 1973 to overthrow the Chilean government. The troubled Munich Olympic Games, in which 11 Israelis were killed by terrorists, end on this date in 1972.

6) 0 - The amount of plane debris pulled from the Pentagon attack. How does a 757 crash into a building, yet there is no black box, no wings, no engines...and where are all the bodies?

7) 58 - The number of people assumed to be on Flight 77 that allegedly crashed into the Pentagon. If no plane crashed into the Pentagon, what really happened to all those people?

8) 3 - The number of World Trade Center buildings that collapsed on 9-11. Building 7 wasn't hit by a plane, so why did it also collapse in a calculated way, much like towers 1 and 2?

9) 30 - In 1999, the armed services hit it's lowest recruitment numbers in 30 years. Just after 9-11, a huge recruitment resurgence began, and recruitment numbers were once again being met.

Something foul happened on 9-11. A lot of innocent people died on tv, and our government knows why. Something just as foul happened in New Orleans. Too many accounts of the sounds of bombs going off right before the levies broke, and lots of innocent people died on tv. We can't just accept this people. We have to keep asking....why. One.

negro pleez!!!

"Just seeing the way they performed, it kind of broke my heart though” - terrance howard (speaking about three six mafia's oscar performance of "it's hard out there on a pimp" at the oscars)

NEGRO PLEEZ!!! HOW COME IT WASN'T BREAKING YOUR HEART WHEN YOU WERE SINGING IT IN THE MOVIE?

I guess what disappoints me about Terrance's statement is that he threw Three Six Mafia under the bus when he didn't have to. I totally understand and agree with his decision not to perform the song at the Oscars. It would have been redundant, and a bad look for him, and us. Was it a bad look for us when Three Six Mafia performed it? Mos def, but that's not the point. The point is, he used that song as a vehicle to deliver a performance that garnered him mad kudos. And he embraced those kudos whole heartedly. How can you embrace that song and performance for your benefit, but then distance yourself from it, when the guys who created it perform it? To me, it was unbrotherly. And Terrance comes off as if he's trying to prove to hollywood that that song is beneath him. I just don't understand why he believes it's "art" to embrace pimpin' for a movie, but it's not "art", it's "heartbreaking" when Three Six Mafia embraces pimpin' for a song. On a certain level, for me, seeing Terrance's portrayal of a pimp held up as great acting, was just as "heartbreaking" as Three Six Mafia's performance. So for him to turn around and criticize them is mad hypocritical. How can he diss Three Six Mafia's expression, while standing proudly by his? If that image was so "hearbreaking", he wouldn't have taken the role of a pimp in the first place. But he did, $$$$$$$$$, ching-ching. So I have no problem saying NEGRO PLEEZ!

corporate cotton

"The genius of any slave system is found in the dynamics which isolate slaves from each other, obscure the reality of a common condition, and make united rebellion against the oppressor inconceivable."
- andrea dworkin

Aren't we all just share croppers, on a corporate plantation? I know, the analogy may seem a bit extreme to some, mainly because the terminology brings to mind the painful images of the black holocaust that happened right here in this country. But, there is something to be said about the relationship between you and I, corporate worker, and the corporate giant that employs us. In many ways, the dependent nature of that relationship is very much like the share cropper and the plantation owner. In the beginning, our labor earns us very small amounts of money. Just enough money to make us dependent on the existing system of things. And every day, while on the plantation, we see workers who have been working there longer than us, who are making MORE money than us. This plants the seed in our heads that if we KEEP working there, over a period of time, we too will make MORE money, maybe to the point where we can live comfortably. Meanwhile, we make a little money. So to live the life we really want to live, we use credit cards. This puts us in debt. Our debt makes us even MORE dependent on the plantation. So we invest years of our lives on the plantation, trying to gain seniority, busting our asses to be NOTICED, in hopes of being rewarded monetarily. And often times we are. According to the current standard of things, you have it going on if you make 100 grand and over, own a big foreign luxury car, a house in the suburbs, and are able to take a trip afar once or twice a year. This is the American dream, so to speak. Let's say you finally reach that American dream status where you're making plenty of money on the plantation. Enough money that you're finally able to pay off all your bills, and you're living more comfortably than you've ever lived in your life. The skinny of it all is, you're STILL more dependent than ever on the plantation. You need the plantation to maintain your NEWFOUND lifestyle. And although you're making good money, you are far from being SET for life. Not to mention, although you have put in enough time and learned the system well enough to possibly be able to run your own plantation, you don't have enough MONEY to walk away from your current plantation, to start your own. This my friends, is why way too many American are putting in 40 plus years on a job, picking corporate cotton for the man, without ever putting themselves in a position to BE the man.

America is a place where we define ourselves and each other by what we do. Status even moreso than money, becomes the determining factor that keeps us dependent on the plantation system. Think about it, there are far more people who'd love to be a top notch executive for say, a Microsoft, than there are people who'd like to be the CEO of their own really small business. Here in lies what makes the corporate plantation system so powerful. The mentality of the people! We not only love the plantation owners, we have bought into how powerful they are, and we take pride in saying we work for them. We are sold these notions at univerisities, which are really just training grounds for the plantations I speak of. Hopefully, all of you will get fed up to the point where you're willing to take a chance, or you're financially secure enough to stop picking the man's cotton, and go out, get your own field, and start picking your own. Until then, we're all nothing more than a bunch of yassuh boss'n cotton pickers. *tips hat, smiles, and shuffles along* Peace.

free throws

"Anybody can make a free throw..."
- Coach Collins (Northside Youth Association; St. Louis, circa '82)

The gym went silent. And there I was with the ball. Alone at the free throw line. Tied ballgame. (BOUNCE!) Ten years old. No. 32, like Magic. White leather Converse, like Doc. (BOUNCE!) No time on the clock. I make it, we win. I miss, overtime. (BOUNCE!) I spun the ball in my hands. Bent my knees. Stared at the goal. (RELEASE!) The minute I let it go, I knew. Even though I was ten, I knew. I knew right after the one point some odd second it took that ball, to travel from my hands, to that hoop, I'd be a completely different person. Needless to say, I was.

To this day, I have never cried as hard for anything, as I did losing that game. After going to two overtimes, we lost when my friend Michael missed a free throw that would have sent us to a third one. I don't really remember shaking hands with the opposing team. All I know is, when we finally made it back to the bench, our hearts just exploded, simultaneously, as we sprawled out all over the floor. It wasn't that slow pitiful cry either. It was that loud hurtful cry. The one where your insides convulse repeatedly every few seconds, and you catch chills, but can't catch your breath. It was a sad sight. At first, all the parents gathered around smiling, saying "awwwww", like they thought it was cute that we were crying that hard - halfway amazed kids that young actually cared about something. But after fifteen minutes had passed, we were still there. Crying tears that would flow all the way home.

My forehead rested on the cold frosty window of our car on the ride home. We ended up stopping for a cheeseburger. But I couldn't eat. Hell, I could barely breathe. I spent the rest of the weekend walking around the house with a blanket wrapped around me like I was sick. Actually, I think I pretended to be sick after that. It was the perfect excuse not to talk much, plus it made it easier to hide the heartbreak. My family loved to tease and joke around. Showing too much emotion over something as simple as a game would have made me and easy target. So I stayed in bed a lot over the next few days, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I replayed the moment over and over. I imagined how good it would have felt had I hit that free throw. Everybody would have been screaming my name. Lifting me in the air. "Go Corey, go Corey". Every time that dream got too good, it would evaporate, right before my eyes, until all I saw was our white ceiling. Then Coach Collins's voice from practice would echoed in my head. "Bend your knees. Take your time. Anybody can make a free throw". He always said he wouldn't blame us for things we couldn't control, but free throws? Free throws were the one thing we had total control over, so we had to come through. And I hadn't. That weekend, I promised myself two things. One, I would never cry that hard over anything for the rest of my life. And two, if I was ever put in a similar position, I would not miss that free throw.

Twenty-two years later, and that missed free throw is still a huge source of inspiration for me. See, free throws are bigger than basketball for me, they always were. Free throws are simply opportunities in life, when the ball is in our hands, and we alone, have total control to decide the outcome. Every morning I get my ass out the bed and go to work, that's a made free throw. Every time I tell someone "I love you", that's a made free throw. Every day I eat right, remain a loyal friend or stay on the right track, that's a made free throw. There are so many things in life we have absolutely no control over. So the few times in life we do have an opportunity, to make good on small things, it's important we take our time, bend our knees, and make our free throws. In basketball, when you miss a free throw, you lose a game. In life, a missed free throw leads to lost love, lost income, and unfortunately, sometimes a life is lost. I was lucky enough to learn this lesson at ten. By the way, as far as basketball, I never found myself at the free throw line with no time left and a chance to win the game, ever agin. And no, I've never cried that hard since. But as far as life goes, I find myself on the free throw line every day. Knocking'em down one after another. Like Coach Collins said, anybody can do it, in fact, everybody should. I can't help but think, that every day, I'm making my former coach proud. One luv.

moment of silence

1912 - 2006



"You know, the camera is not meant just to show misery. You can show beauty with it; you can do a lot of things. You can show--with a camera you can show things that you like about the universe, things that you hate about the universe. It's capable of doing both. And I think that after nearly 85 years upon this planet that I have a right after working so hard at showing the desolation and the poverty, to show something beautiful for somebody as well. It's all there, and you've only done half the job if you don't do that. You've not really completed a task. - Gordon Parks



American Gothic - 1946



20 Nurses - 1963



Chain Gang - 1956



Ali - 1966

jobbin'

Jobbin' - actively looking for a job, while having a job; the process of making a power move to put yourself in a much better $$$$ituation.

It's been a minute since I last blogged cause I've been jobbin'. Taking flights, going to interviews, weighing the pros and cons of leaving versus staying. And man, it's been hectic. In the past two weeks I've had some pretty hot and heavy dealings with a couple of companies who made it quite obvious they had a lot of interest in me. Of course they promised me how much better things would be, and how great things would be if I came to work for them. Eventually, we all come to this point on our jobs, when we begin to question, "do these fools really know what they have in me?" And if they do, "why aren't they acting like it?" At that point, I'd advise you all to start jobbin'. For whatever reason, you are always more valuable to the next company than you are to yours. That's power. Problem is, most people are working too hard on their jobs to ever take a moment to stop, look up, and tap into that power.

Nothing reminds your current job of just how valuable you are quite like walking in and dropping off a two weeks notice on that ass. It's one of the most empowering things you'll ever do in life. And shortly afterwards, you'll see them scrambling around as you quickly begin to get treated like the most trusted valued employee in the building. Suddenly they have all these plans, new titles, and new money for you. Yet, in the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder, "where was all of this last week?" In the end, it's all business. The quicker you realize your job doesn't love you, the better. And it's not just your job, it's any job. There are only two types of people to work for in corporate America: the devil you know, and the devil you don't know. The devil you don't know will always look better, when really, he's most likely just as bad, if not worst, than the devil you know. You have history with the devil you know, and most likely, that means you have some major issues with him. But you also know what to expect from him. You know when he's lying, when he's plotting, and when something big is about to go down-- because you've already endured his worst. Ultimately, the words "great job" are an oxymoron. All jobs have drawbacks, but you live, learn, and do what you have to to get paid. For now, I'm done jobbin'. I won't get into what route I chose exactly, mainly because I don't know who reads this page, but it definitely worked out well for me. I encourage you all to do more than just complain about what you hate about your jobs. Ultimately, the only person to blame for your unhappiness is you. Quit bitching, and get out there and start jobbin'.

JOBBIN' TIPS

1) Research the industry and industry trends. See if it's a good time to make a move.

2) Update the resume ASAP.

3) Reach out to friends. Companies tend to interview people who come recommended from someone within a lot faster than they would an average Joe off the street.

4) Take many interviews. Every company has a different need, and the better you fit that need, the more you are probably worth to that company. Give yourself as many options as possible.

5) Negotiate. Stand firm on your salary demands, but don't be stupid. Allow some room to trade off certain perks, for salary.

6) Wait for the official lettter. No job is official until it's in writing. Before you start to celebrate your new job, get it in ink.

7) Resign with class. The corporate community talks. Don't burn bridges on the way out the door. Make your resignation letter very impersonal and to the point.

8) Before you accept a counter office, get it in writing. If your job doesn't want to lose you, they'll come back strong. But hold them to the same expectations as you would a new company. Make them put it in ink, before you assume it's official.

9) If no counter offer comes, or if you decide to leave anyway, make sure you've saved all your files to a zip disc before you resign. Some companies want you off the premises immediately, and won't give you a chance to remove any information from your computer. Remember, you may work on that computer, but it very much belongs to the company.

I hope this helps. Peace.

moment of silence

1947 - 2005



"Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over."
- octavia butler

whus fa dinnuh?

As a kid growing up, what we had for dinner was more than food. It told a story. It gave deep insights about the state of the household. After a while, it became so predictable that just by smelling what we were having for dinner, you knew whether times were good, bad, whether new money was coming in the door, or even someone in the family had just died. Each meal articulate something very specific, and even as a young kid, I quickly learned to decipher the language of our household meals.

BAKED HAM - My folks weren't big ham eaters. So if you smelled ham, somebody was dead, straight up! What followed was an impromtu haircut, a lot of cleaning up, and tons of phone calls to the house. We were either about to have a lot of company, or go to someone's house who already did. We had a few deaths in the family as a kid, and the smell that sticks out to me is ham with pineapples and cheap beers.

BREAKFAST FOR DINNER - Breakfast for dinner meant there were absolutely ZERO groceries in the house. You know that sad sight of opening up the fridge and seeing the back of that mofo. We all know it! So to play it off, my moms would fry some eggs and bologna, bake some biscuits and it would be on. We'd all sit down to the table, passing the jelly for our biscuits, as we washed it down with Pepsi.

SUNDAY DINNER - Sunday dinner was the shit. But the cool thing about it at my house was, it wasn't only served on Sunday. Any time my mother was off from work, I can remember walking home from school and time we stepped onto our street, we could smell the food just oozing out the house. My moms got down on her off days. You could smell fried chicken, candied yams, macaroni and cheese, collard greans, and all kind of other goodies in the air. If you smelled a Sunday dinner, and it wasn't Sunday, my mother was really relaxed, which translated into her going way over the top to please the family.

SUNDAY DINNER ON FRIDAY - A Sunday dinner on Friday meant important guests were coming in from out of town. Either our grandparents or someone they were trying to show off for.

MIKEY D's - At my crib, McDonalds was reward food. I hated going to the doctors as a kid, and since I had asthma real bad when I was younger, that was all the damn time. Mickey D's came after a visit to the doctor's or dentist's office. You leave the doctor's office mad, lips poked out, arm sore from the shot dude just gave you, and fifteen minutes later, you had a shit eating grin on your face as you stuffed a cheeseburger down your throat followed by the cold chaser that was always orange drink!

CHILLI AND HOT DOGS - Chilli and hot dogs meant the first cold Saturday of the winter had arrived. We usually ate off it two to three days.

SALMON CROQUETS - This was one of my favorite meals, but my old man hated it! So if you smelled salmon croquettes, with white rice and gravy, the old man was out of town on business. It also meant I got the lion's share of the dinner. This meal made me feel like a man. So what I was eight. I'd even slide over into his chair to complete the effect!

BAKED BEANS & HOT DOGS - If I smelled this shit, moms was out of town and pops was cooking. To this day, my old man is no chef. In fact, besides some really bad scrambled eggs, this is the only meal I ever saw him cook up as a kid. Sometimes my mother would go out of town for a funeral or something and the rest of us would stay home. Each time, my sister and myself were fed large plates of my old man's specialty. Oh yeah, he had the nerve to serve it up with Ritz crackers on the side. Like it went together or something. We always complained when he cooked it, but I secretly didn't mind the taste at all.

SPAGHETTI OR LASAGNA - This was my mother's way of saying "I will not be cooking for the next three or four days, so eat up." My mother made the biggest pots of spaghetti, and the biggest pans of lasagna. We'd eat on it forever, and never got mad about it cause it was so good.

VIENNA SAUSAGES, POTTED MEAT, & SPAM - Believe it or not, there was a time in my childhood when I cheered when this stuff was served up. If you could get past that nasty ass yellowish meat jelly that hung over the meat like a dark cloud, it was smooth sailing. My folks pushed this on us when they had to go out, and they didn'ty want us messing with the stove. So it was a big box of Premium white crackers and all the canned meat we could eat.

PINTO BEANS & RICE - My pops is a souther dude who don't give a damn about meat, but he loves beans. So this meal meant my old man had to go out of town on business for a while. So moms usually blessed him with one of his favorites.

NECK BONES & BUTTER BEANS - This one meant my old man was just getting back in town from a business trip, and moms wanted to greet him right. If you've never had the pleasure of sucking on a neckbone, consider yourself lucky. It's all kind of weird juice and white stuff that comes out of them bones. At the time it was good. (Now you can understand why I stopped eating pork in '91)

CUBE STEAK & BAKED POTATOS - This was our "let's celebrate" meal. It usually meant some new money had come into the house. A promotion or something like that. We always ate a salad with it. And this was one of the few times we ever had desert with our meal. My folks didn't do desert. Desert for us was usually Jello with fruit cut up in it. But when we had cube steak and potatos, there was usually an apple pie sitting on the stove to go with it.

Q-KING - Back home in St. Louis, there used to be this spot on Kingshighway called BBQ KING. Man it was good. My barber shop was in the vicinity, so after I got my shag trimmed up and lined, (yeah fool, I had a shag growing up, like 82-83) my pops would stop at a pay phone to get my mother and siter's order, and it was always right over to Q-KING's. My favorite was the hot link sandwhich with that white ass Wonder bread with barbeque sauce poured over it until it just melted in your mouth.

PIZZA - If we were eating pizza at my house, throw some confetti in the air and pop open a grape soda, IT'S PAY DAY. Each pay day like clock work, we ate pizza. In other words, every other friday we were eating pizza. Sometimes we ordered it, sometimes we went out to get it. But the mood was always vibrant and happy when pizza was served up.

FRIED BOLOGNA OR GRILLED CHEESE - I grew up in a house were food was always plentiful. So when we started eating too many grilled cheese sandwhiches or fried bologna and crackers back to back, you kinda knew, somebody must be broke.

FEND FO' YA'SELF - Fend for yourself was my mother's "pissed at the world" meal. This was served when my mom, an overworked school teacher, got home tired as hell, and me and my sister had messed the house up real bad. The demand was simple, "clean up the damn house and fend fo' ya'self". If pops was in town, he'd bail us out with White Castles. If he was out on work, we usually ate cereal, and always got in trouble later for "eating up all the breakfast food". Oh well, you gotta eat.

So there it is. And I know I'm not the only one. I'm sure the food served up at your crib as a child held hidden messages too. And if you think back hard enough, you might even remember a few. One luv.

matches made in heaven

What if Harriet Tubman and Nat Turner were buddies? And Medgar, Malcolm, and Martin had joined forces to save black America? Luckily Miles and Coltrane played together. Luther and Anita Baker just never got along. In '92, the Dream Team showed us how it's turns out when it's done right. Bobby and Whitney? We all know that's just wrong. At least there's Will and Jada. Go back to '84, can you imagine Prince and Michael Jackson on the same song? Gamble and Huff stayed together, why not didn't Snoop and Dre? Or Rufus and Chaka Khan? Would Brian McKnight have made Take 6 better? James Brown once fired Rick James from his band, imagine that. You'd have thought Stevie and Ray Charles would have been great friends. Kinda like Reaganomics and crack. Magic had Kareem. What if Jordan had Hakeem? If Carl Lewis and Flo Jo had a child, it'd win every race by a mile. Imagine if the real kings of comedy could have shared the same stage, Pryor, Murphy, Rock, and Chapelle. Would a Deathrow Record reunion today, be more heaven or hell? We still long for Pac and Big. Is there anybody you could pair Jimmy with that would have made him seem more special? Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston never made up. Nas and Jay did, and that's big. Imagine Eric Dickerson or Barry Sanders with Emmit Smith's line. Or Garvey with Oprah's dough. What if the world was ready for a Black Jesus and a black pope, a match made in heaven fa sho!

T4TD: Instead of divide and conquer, let's just conquer, together. Peace.

superman

superman
by hardCore

if i could
i'd dump my darkest secrets
in your lap

just to watch your eyes BULGE and POP
wide open

with surprise, with disappointment , with resentment

as you slowly changed the way you look
and think
of me

but deep down
i've always known

i was never the brotha
you thought you knew

i was the brotha
you wanted to know

when you didn't know nothing
when you wanted to know everything
when you needed to know something
or someone

when you needed a hard laugh
a dry place to cry
a tight hug
an ear

i became that brotha for you
strong
and perfect

i put forth the best of me and hid the rest
now the years are swelling inside my chest

YES!

there is more to me

there are insecurities, regrets, indiscretions
weaknesses
unhappiness
loneliness, evil
sensitivity

even cowardice thinking

feelings i'm dying to share with you
feelings i never wanted to conceal from you
feelings i always wanted to reveal to you
but i can't

cause you never really wanted to know me

you?

you only wanted to know... Superman

© 2002 3rd Eye Open Publishing