am i my brotha's keeper?

“I believe in the brotherhood of all men, but I don't believe in wasting brotherhood on anyone who doesn't want to practice it with me. Brotherhood is a two-way street.” - Malcolm X

One of my closest boys, my brotha, prides himself on keeping it real. Real for him is saying whatever, whenever, in whatever loud ghetto ass way he chooses to say it. His ability to disrupt the room with wild outrageous outbursts empowers him. It's his way of owning the room, and making sure the attention never drifts too far way from him. Amongst select company, or when we're kicking it around the crib, those antics are generally considered funny. We all know how he is, we accept it, we enjoy it.

Then there are other times. Say there's a huge get together at the house. Suddenly the range of people isn't just the fellas anymore. It's family members, elders, small children, religious folk, quiet people, loud people, those who cuss and drink, and those who look down on those who do. In this situation, my friend tends to polarize the room. The loud over the top loose lipped comments tend to not go over so well with the religious minded or the parents of small kids in the room. When they become agitated, I become agitated.

Enter me, the host, the guy who has to keep everyone in the room comfortable. In situations like this, my loyalty is to the collective, not the individual. So my first comment to my brotha is always very friendly. "You tripping son, chill out, you see all these kids around here". I laugh it off and go about my business. You tend to give your brotha the benefit of the doubt the first couple of times. But when people I enjoy, start grabbing their coats heading for the door, cause ONE brotha can't constrain himself, it's not time for them to go home. It's time for my BROTHA to go home. You see, part of being a brotha is about respecting your brotha enough to make sure he's successful, at any and everything he does. So although your personal mantra is to always "keep it real", at his party, you recognize the situation for what it is, and you show constraint. And if you're ever to visit your brotha's job, where he makes his money, instead of showing your ass, you show constraint. Because being a brotha isn't just about supporting me, it's about not sabotaging me. It's not a selfish act, it's selfless, and often requires sacrifice. It often requires the kind of sacrifice Reverend Jeremiah Wright just wasn't willing to make for Barack Obama.

"Yesterday I think he caricatured himself… That made me angry, but also made me sad." - sen. barack obama (speaking on rev. jeremiah wright's press conference)

According to people I know in Chicago, although Rev. Jeremiah Wright prayed for Sen. Barack Obama and his family upon him making the decision to run for president, he was not in Springfield when Barack made the announcement. Why? Supposedly, he was uninvited. Word is, Reverend Wright has felt slighted ever since. I can understand the kind of personal jolt of disappointment that comes with being asked NOT to be a part of something. But then, I also expect a man of Rev. Wright's experience, and knowledge of black history to understand the BIGGER picture. As an elder in the tradition, you can't discount his struggle or his right to speak his mind. He owes Barack Obama nothing. But he does owe the black collective everything, including the chance to seize the moment and in some way validate all those years of struggle. We aren't here to run for president, just to run this time. We're here to win, and there's a way you have to go about that.

As a black man, I understand that wanting Barack to win means he can't lead with the black issue. It means he has to frame race in an inclusive national conversation that doesn't alienate his huge pool of much needed white voters. It means Barack has to mean all things to all people, therefore, he can't JUST mean what we need him to mean to blacks. With that understanding comes the trust, that although Barack has to show duality, he won't lose sight of our issues. And although he can't speak out against America the way we can, he does understand where we're coming from, and is dedicated to doing something about it. Black people know and have accepted this paradox. We also know and understand that Rev. Wright has the right to speak out publicly, the way we do privately. But not at the expense of our brotha. And after all the turmoil the "chickens coming home to roost" comments caused, comments Sen. Obama denounced but seemed to give Rev. Wright the benefit of the doubt for, Wright's decision to go public for three days, can only be described with one word. Sabotage.

It would appear there is a huge ploy set in motion to keep the black community split, to keep our attention off REAL ISSUES, while we take sides as to which of our brothas we'll support. I refuse to choose. Rev. Wright is our brotha. I can even say I tend to agree with about 80% of the things he says. In the context of race, American has failed black people from its inception. And as blacks, we should never lose sight of this. And until America stops failing us, we should continue to speak out, lash out, and make sure America is held accountable. We also must keep our eyes on the prize.

Sen. Barack Obama is our brotha too. And never have we had a man who truly understands our culture, and our issues, so close to becoming the president. It's a once in a lifetime chance and we cannot afford to let this opportunity pass us by. Sen. Obama has infused energy into a new generation because he's not bringing the baggage of the civil rights era, so his message seems fresh, and isn't disregarded as antiquated. He's also not leading with the kind of militant rants that disenfranchise white voters. So he's embraced, even in places like Idaho. It appears Barack is a new species of black leader, one that has the support of a lot of different people, yet still needs the support of us.

Barack's campaign is far more diverse than any party I've ever thrown. And as the host, his loyalty is and should be to the collective, not the individual. It's crunch time, and the longer Rev. Wright hangs around, the more people we'll see grabbing their coats and heading for the door. So sorry Rev. Wright, my brotha, love you like a play cousin on my momma's side. But much like my boy who gets drunk and talks too much sh*t at the party, your ass has got to go too. One luv.

question 4 the day

"a riot is the language of the unheard" - MLK

SO WHY DIDN'T NYC RIOT?

for whom the bell tolls

(the late Sean Bell, pictured with family, was unarmed when shot 50 times by three NYPD cops, yet those three officers were acquitted of the shooting)

"O, what men dare do! What men may do! What men daily do, not knowing what they do!" - william shakespeare

They've always done it. They did it at Jackson State. They did it to Deandre Brunston. They did it to Amidou Diallo. They did it to people whose names we will never know. And now they have done it to Sean Bell. THEY SHOT HIM. PUT ON ANOTHER BULLSHIT TRIAL. AND ACQUITTED ANOTHER GROUP OF OVER EARNEST POLICE OFFICERS. (Let's not even talk about those who call themselves prosecutors) This story is so familiar and so repetitive, it's damn near ordinary. The names even run together after awhile. Sean Bell? Don't you mean Ron Pettaway III? Oh, you mean Patrick M. Dorismond? It's deja vu to the ultimate extreme. The NYPD and the court system have failed us yet again. Yet, I'll be damned if it doesn't garner the same response from me each time. Hurt, frustration, infuriation.

What did Sean Bell really do that was so wrong? He went out the night before he was to be married. He went club and bar hopping. He got drunk. He started talking sh*t to some other drunk guy. And he left. That's an American birth right. Don't believe me? Go to any bar anywhere in the country tonight and you'll find thousands of Sean Bells. Matter of fact, go to any sporting event, any concert, any place where tons of people gather and you'll find a Sean Bell. Sean Bell, by his actions the night of his death, measured against American norms, was being ordinary. So why does this ordinary American's story end tragically at the hands of police, when so many others like him don't?

The crime element of these United States has been reduced to but one face, the face of the black male. My face. My father's face. My uncles'/cousins'/best friends' face. Put that face in a rural setting, or suburban setting and he MAY fall through the cracks. But put that face in an urban center, and he becomes the focus of police attention. Over zealous cops, some scared, some racist, some both, continue to shoot unarmed black men in this country at an extremely alarming rate. Not just that, but they are getting away with it in the name of James Crow Jr.'s so called preventative crime tactics. It doesn't take being play cousins with a rocket scientist to realize the plight at hand. But it might to understand why we aren't doing anything about it.

Nationally, black men aged 15-29 die at a higher rate than any other age group except men 85 years of age and older. Yet there is no outcry. No preventative measures are being taken by the government to decrease this staggering mortality rate. Sadder still, our own people don't even seem to care. Unfortunately, this is not one of those issues where you can just worry about raising your kids. You better be worrying about who is or isn't raising the next man's kids as well. Raising your young black son well is not good enough. Do that and he might almost grow up to be someone. Almost. It's not good enough to hope he'll learn to navigate his neighborhood well enough to become a man. It's not good enough to hope he'll find a good women to marry. Because even if he does all that, you still have to worry. You still have to worry that the night before he's to be married, the very men paid to protect him, won't be the one's gunning him down.

"we accept the reality of the world with which we're presented" - (from the movie The Truman Show)

I believe in the power of the written word and the spoken word. I also believe in the power of the fist, the rock, the match, and the gun. All their power is derived from us. Our bravery or lack there of, determines what can or can't be considered a weapon. Well collectively we may as well be weaponless, because we aren't fighting back. Hell, we ain't even making any noise. Voices ain't screaming. Pens ain't yelling. Rocks and fist ain't being thrown. And as many guns as we have plaguing our community, not one has been fired to bring attention to the situation at hand. Not only are we not bringing attention to the problems, we seem to have passively determined there is no solution. Maybe you've been too desensitized to care if black men die anymore. Maybe police unlawfully shooting people and getting away with it in court doesn't even ruffle your feathers anymore. Maybe you'd just rather live in your own quiet passive little word. Cool. Just remember, the stats don't lie. According to the stats, it's only a matter of time before a young black man in the prime of his life is killed in your family; at the hands of another black man, or police. And when it happens, and you're ready to scream, and you're ready to get angry, and you're ready for other people to stand up and be angry with you, I'll have but one response. What did you do when they killed Sean Bell and got away with it? One luv.

baracky

freestyle friday (a cold one)

looked around
and saw very few innovators
a few malcolm wannabes, panther imitators
a bunch of "i marched with king" type preacher players
struggle leachers, ole outdated teaching sayers
my generation offered up a hip hop mayor
i saw very little change, just a lot of gators
dead strippers and a shiny red Navigator
a sex scandal via two-way Sky pager
my people staring at the dark night sky scared
developing patella tendonitis saying prayers
"amazing grace" is
how sweet, i dunno
i just hear it being low hummed from black faces
unemployment lines long, employers cut wages
street crews form and prosper, they pack gages
white rock is the cash crop
sell it and you get caught
state cases lead to over packed cages
as for me, i'm a corporate cotton picking nikka
too much sense to run up in a bank and pull a trigger
too much love to sell out with thoughts of getting richer
i'm bonafide, i'd never euthanize my black pride
so what i do is work a 9 to 5
i politic with the real, and drop squad those out their mind
land lines are like land mines, i tell no lies
i'm Loch Ness-like, hiding out from f.b. eyes
keep your soul on ice, the enemy's slick
ask Pac, tell Barack to get a vest quick
the world is cursed, even though i'm blessed i feel hexed
i call my crew, get some brews, and i quench my thirst
i kinda feel numb
so i sip suds and build with my friends at the crib as we blast drums
no pills, no crack
none of that son
just an elevated mind
and a cold one

understanding black suspicion

"The government gives them the drugs, builds bigger prisons, passes a three-strike law and then wants us to sing ‘God Bless America.’ No, no, no, God damn America, that’s in the Bible for killing innocent people. God damn America for treating our citizens as less than human. God damn America for as long as she acts like she is God and she is supreme.” - rev. jeremiah wright

To understand black suspicion you must understand where it comes from. Mine was born out of the kind of parlor talk you hear in old shotgun homes in the deep South. In the summer evenings at my grandparents' homes, after we'd eaten dinner, when the wind would begin to stir up and cool things down, the old folks would become reflective. They'd look out the window over the horizon and begin to hum hymns. These folks were from an era where children spoke only when spoken to, so when they eventually started to talk amongst themselves, you either found your way outside, or you did like me and got still, quickly. As they talked, I'd lean back and slowly begin to inhale their stories; first hand accounts of things too unimaginable to ever forget. They would matter of factly speak of lynchings, decapitations, cross burnings, home burnings, people burnings, cold blooded murders, men falsely accused of rape and murder, chain gangs, cheated sharecroppers, and some even held passed down stories about slavery. These elders didn't just know the stories, they knew the names and faces that went with them. They knew plot, and subplot. Like what became of that family of six after the father was killed for trying to form a local farmer's union. They knew America in a way my young eyes and ears had yet to see. They knew American the untold.

The echoes of those stories lived forever in my ears. As a young Cub Scout, when we'd start every meeting staring at the flag saying the pledge of allegiance, I couldn't help but feel a bit removed. "Why are we worshipping that flag", I thought. More importantly I'd ask myself, "what exactly does this American flag stand for?" In my young mind, the white stars stood for white people. The red was for blood. And the blue? I figured the blue must be synonymous with all the people with the blues. I definitely saw my share of those people. Sure, something about Carl Lewis winning a gold medal and running around a track holding an American flag made me proud as a young person. Not so much because he was from America, but more so because he had succeeded in spite of America.

In my mind, there were two Americas. My block, my home, my friends and family, my community, that was my America. That's the one I loved. It wasn't perfect, but it was honest, and I always knew where I stood. That America gave me more joy than I could ever imagine. It's also where I saw the loss of freedom, the pain of injustice, and the embarrassment of inequality. My American had an easily accessible history, that was constantly given to me orally, by people who knew it all too well.

Then there was the other America, the one that stood for freedom, justice, and equality. The one that went to war too often, eliminated anyone perceived as a threat, held deep dark secrets, and always appeared to try to keep certain people down. The face of that America didn't look like mine, and that America told different stories, or different versions of the ones I had already heard. I didn't trust that America. In fact, I was fearful of it, and in some ways even hated it. Trying to understand the complexity of how to balance these two polarizing notions proved a bit much for my young mind to wrap itself around. All I know is as I grew older, I grew more skeptical, forever searching for the truth that lied beneath; no matter how sinister, conniving, and self serving that truth was.



“For God’s sake, learn to look beneath the surface…. And remember, you don’t have to be a complete fool in order to succeed. Play the game, but don’t believe in it—that much you owe yourself…. Play the game, but play it your own way—part of the time at least. Play the game, but raise the ante….Learn how it operates, learn how you operate….You might even beat the game….” (an excerpt from Ralph Ellison's "The Invisible Man")

Racism definitely played a huge part in my skepticism. It's one thing to hear stories about how "wicked" the country is, it's another thing entirely to live it first hand. I had severe asthma as a child. It'd flare up when it was bright and sunny, or when it was cold and wet. And it always seemed to flare up when we were in rural settings. I still remember falling ill once in Macon, MS., my mom's hometown. We were there visiting one summer and out of the blue, my chest got tight and I started having difficulty breathing. My folks did what they'd always do when I got sick, took me to the closest place for treatment. This particular time, it just happened to be a private hospital, about five minutes away. Upon entering the hospital through the front doors, we were quickly told to "go 'round back". So we did. We followed the sidewalk around the back to find to our surprise, a colored waiting room. It felt like some Twilight Zone sh*t. Suddenly my folks looked sicker than me. We immediately left, and drove to nearby Columbus. I struggled breathing during that entire thirty minute car drive, until I eventually received medical treatment I should have been able to get much earlier. The year was 1980.

I am simply an accumulation of all my experiences. The good, the bad, and the aunt Ester ugly. The black experience is extremely diverse, encompassing all economic and education levels, yet, you can't deny it's rooted in but one history. And that alarming, continuously repetitive history, is directly responsible for my current opinions. I've seen too much to trust my country, so I don't. Nor should I. Yes, I have a good job, I have no convictions on my record, and for all sense and purposes, I'm living the American dream. But just because I'm sitting at the table does not mean I have to "drink the Kool-Aid." I've seen people who drank the Kool-Aid shipped back from overseas in pine boxes. I've seen some exiled from corporate America while others went from fame and glory (Michael Vick) to being shipped off to prison. Why? Because having a warped perception about who and what America is, is dangerous. It's self maiming. It's injurious and malignant. Too many of us are confusing things being different, for things being better. And there's tons of evidence that this is simply not the case. That's why I can't help but to scan the crowds every time I see Barack Obama walking into a sea of people. I know our history. So my black suspicion has me forever fearful of the sound of a lone gun shot, a martyred black leader laying in a pool of blood, chaos abruptly breaking out in the streets, all while some unlikely assassin is quickly passed off as the killer.

No, I don't think some idiot named Lee Harvey Oswald killed president Kennedy. Nor do I think some country bumpkin named James Earl Ray killed Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I don't think the lunar landing proceeded microwave popcorn, Atari, and the internet. I don't think AIDS originated from somebody having sex with a monkey. And I definitely don't think some guy in the middle of the desert with little more than a video camera, named Bin Laden, master minded the 9-11 tragedy. What I do believe is, it's easier for America to vilify those who speak out about their suspicions than it is for America to give meaningful explanations. See Reverend Jeremiah Wright.

When black suspicion appears on television or radio, it comes with the tag, black militant, or black power enthusiast. When it appears in newspapers or books it comes with the tag black liberal, or ex-patriot. And when it appears on record, the artist who created those records are labeled as radical, or simply, sensational. So I put my black suspicion into a blog, where it will surely become lost in an endless sea of bloggers. And when these words finally do happen to wash up on the sandy beach of your mind, before you put your label on me, I just want you to know something. I'm not crazy, I don't hate white people, and I'm not some conspiracy theorist. I'm simply a man, with a healthy mind, and a black experience. The country wants us to believe it's one thing, and I genuinely believe it's something else. Greatest country in the world? Okay, maybe. But at whose expense? Via the demise of whose religion, culture, or existence? I've already seen that kind of "greatness" at the expense of my own people, native Americans, and now illegal aliens. This is why I'm suspicious. Too many falsely convicted felons look like me. Too many unarmed martyrs look like me. Too many poverty stricken neighborhoods, full of people, who look like me. And too many war torn countries full of people who don't look so different than me. Unfortunately, these are the situations America lies to us about. The fact that I can see a truth other than the one American gives us, and you can't, doesn't mean anything's wrong with me. However, it may mean something's very wrong with you. One luv.

once upon a time in detroit

(Jay-Electronica, considered by many to be,"the next great emcee")

Once upon a time in Detroit, where the manhole steam oozes from below the ground like there's something volcanic below, there was music. And during the summer nights of 2002, it seemed to fill the downtown streets as if it were coming from everywhere. From every car, bar, dance club, strip club, and stage, there was music. But one crew of music makers in particular seemed to have their eyes on destiny. Every Thursday night at Marilyn's on Monroe St., you could find a special group of people performing, hanging out together, and dreaming about the future. The cast of characters included two ambitious brothers by the name of Johnny and Jemal, who were like two future music moguls. They were always talking about "where this thing could go". There was a band, Ebrahim, Brandon (the prodigy), Mark (the professor), Bamm, and a long haired rock guitarist, who's name I can't quite remember. There were two singers. One with a neo-soul aesthetic, Ms. Stacy Berret. The other, was a caribbean-born singer/producer, who went by the name of Cello Da Black Pearl. There were poets, my crew, 3rd Eye Open. Righteous, Reyonna, Tiffanni, Omari, and me, hardCore. And there was this really laid back engineer/producer who always made sure the sound was on point, Michael Chavarria. We called him Chav. We had it all. Johnny and Jemal's equipment and foresight. Talented musicians and producers. And a growing love for each other. We had everything, except an emcee.

That fall, 3rd Eye Open started working on an album at the house Johnny built, the "Sound Asylum". It was literally a house in the middle of the hood on Detroit's northwest side. We hung out at the studio a lot, but spent a limited amount of time in the booth. The activity level at the house was crazy. Tons of people were recording there, all hours of the day and night, and many a time, we simply didn't get in. As our album progressed slowly, one day we go to the house for a session, and there's this guy there. He introduced himself as Je'Ri. For months, Johnny had been talking about needing an emcee to complete his vision. His vision was this self contained group of artists that included singers, producers, a band, poets, and an emcee, that could go out and tour together. As he talked about the need of finding an emcee, he would always mention this guy who he called "the god emcee". Unfortunately, he was out of touch with the guy, didn't know where he was, or how to get back up with him. Turns out, Je'Ri, aka Jay Electronica, was the emcee Johnny had been speaking so highly of for months.

Three days after meeting Jay Electronica, we go back to the studio for a session, and to my surprise, dude has on the same clothes he was wearing the night we met him. Turns out he hadn't been to sleep either . What had he been doing for three days and nights? Making music. We found him sitting at the control booth, bottom of his white socks black, hair on his head looking as if it were on a comb/pick/brush strike. You also got the feeling if he were to lift his arms, funk would have crept out from beneath his tee-shirt with enough intensity to make James Brown proud. See, Jay was one those kind of dudes. He was different. He didn't look or act like a cliche rapper. Dude was mad humble, always smiling, always had jokes, extremely polite, and was never afraid to let the conversation drift towards the deeper side of things. Although I had been hearing about his mic prowess for a while, I had no idea he was a talented producer as well. As we joked with him about needing a shower ASAP, one of his tracks blasted through the speakers, and man, the beat was blazing. One problem. He only let us hear the instrumental of the track, no vocals. We begged him to let us hear it, but to no avail. That night, I knew at the very least, our rich family of musicians had just gotten better. If nothing else, Jay had proven to me he was an above average producer. But as we left the studio that night, I also walked away skeptical thinking, "a shy god emcee?"

Out of everybody working on projects at the Sound Asylum, my crew was the first to finish a project. We finished up our album "And Then There Was..." produced primarily by Cello Da Black Pearl, mixed and engineered by Chav. We pressed it up, and had a huge album release party at the Charles H. Wright museum. We put in the footwork to promote it, and pre-sold 700 hundred of our albums. Jay was there that night. Stacy, the singer, opened for us. Cello performed as well. And we did a two set performance accompanied by the band. Jay was the only one who didn't perform, and we definitely wanted him to, but he declined. Turns out, Jay Electronic wasn't a shy emcee, he was a perfectionist. Eventually, he did play me his stuff, and although he wasn't on the current level he's on, I was still blown away by his voice. (I still have a copy of 9 to 10 tracks he had worked on during that period) All his tracks voiced a high level of consciousness. And I'm not talking in some pseudo pro black kind of way. I'm talking about music that reminded you you were human; that you had a heart, that you mattered. It was something....fresh. Jay would leave to go shop his demo. And a few months later, came back to work on some more tracks. One day I was at the studio, still high from how well Detroit was receiving our album, and gloating because we were working on a spoken word mixtape. We were grinding. Jay and I talked and eventually took a trip over to Mosque No. 1 to get a fish sandwich. Unfortunately the kitchen was closed that day. I dropped him back off at the studio, and he begged me to let him borrow my Robin Harris "Be Be Kids" cd. I did. He got out the ride, and bid farewell in his usual manner, "peace brotha". I reciprocated and drove away. That was the last time I saw Jay Electronica. It was fall 2003.

In the years since, the vision Johnny and Jemal had kind of fell apart, at least in regards to the cast we started with. Stacey and the band continued to perform together for a few years, but eventually went their separate ways. I see the band members around town, doing their things separately. Cello Da Black Pearl produced our cd, along with his first solo project, "Imported". He now lives in Atlanta, where he continues to make music. My crew 3rd Eye Open, has been lucky enough to travel the nation performing at colleges and universities, including the Chevy booth at the Essence Music Festival two years in a row. However, we've slowed down a great deal over the last two years. I guess, life happens. We're currently in the studio looking to resurface with the release of a follow up album this year, "And It Don't Stop". And then there's Jay Electronica and Chav. Those two are still together making music. The most unsuspecting of the whole lot seem to be the only ones truly on the verge of breaking through. Jay's rhyme style has matured, and Chav has this uncanny ability to sculpt the music with very progressive mixes and arrangements that add color and depth to each track. Jay released a suite of songs entitled "Act I: Eternal Sunshine" on his myspace page that has gained him instant validation to a whole cast of new listeners. There's also a "Style Wars" EP floating around the net, along with quite a few underground videos for his music on youtube. Not only that, he's officially rolling with the big boys now. Erykha Badu, Just Blaze, Nas and the Okay Player family, just to name a few. I've been quietly rooting for him in the shadows, becoming more and more impressed by the work he's releasing. To hell with being understated, his music is certified dope! Some of the most encouraging stuff I've heard lately. But after reading about a recent performance of his, I knew it was finally time to pen something on my man Jay. A friend of mine went to that show. She called me and said, "although I love everything I have heard from him, I was underwhelmed with his show." A god emcee who can't perform? It seems Jay has some people underestimating him the way I did that day in the studio. I made that mistake once, and know better than to ever doubt Mr. Electronica again.

It appears my "what could have been" story about a certain Detroit music clique has turned more into a "what will be" story about Jay Electronica. As anticipation for more new music from him continues to grow, hopefully, a day is coming soon when we'll have an official album of his to enjoy, critique and (crosses fingers) compare to the greats. That's why I'm proud of Jay. That's why I'm proud of each artist I shared time with in that Detroit studio. We all still represent a small part of a vision for Detroit. Ultimately, if any of us make it, we all do. And right now, I don't see any of us quite as close to leaving our stamp on the game, as Jay Electronica (and Chav). Good luck brotha! One luv.

(Jay if you're reading this, can a brotha get his Robin Harris cd back!!!! lol)

"soft peter"

"The Matrix is everywhere. It is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work... when you go to church... when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth." - morpheus

I was talking to my old man recently about his Army years. He was a member of the 82nd Airborne division at Fort Bragg during the Vietnam war. In fact, he had orders to go to Vietnam. But a drunken driver broad-sided him in a pretty serious collision less than 48 hours before he shipped out; leaving him with a broken collar bone and concussion, ultimately keeping him out of the war. He fulfilled his two year commitment to the Army by jumping out of airplanes and training, you know, life on an Army base. Recently when he was reminiscing on those days, he shared something with me I had never heard before. He was telling me about how they'd start each day with 5 mile runs in Army boots. Then they'd eat. They'd do field drills. Then they'd eat. They'd run some more, do more drills, man their posts, etc. Then they'd eat. A barrack full of testosterone driven men, outside of a few skirmishes, getting along pretty well and sleeping in close proximity of each other every night, with no problems? What's wrong with this picture? My old man said, it was pretty common knowledge that every time they ate, something was being slipped into their food. Most thought it was being put into the potatoes since potatoes were served at every meal. It was a little substance the soldiers referred to as "soft peter". Let's just say, "soft peter" kept their nature down. No sexual frustration meant fewer fights. And most importantly, it meant the barracks that houses all those men at night, felt more like a male dorm, than a prison block.

This got me to thinking. If this is a common practice of the Army, what kind of "soft peter" is the government slipping to the masses? No, I'm not implying they are literally putting something in our food (i'm also not saying they aren't). But maybe instead of trying to keep our nature down, they have a vested interest in keeping our anger repressed. Think about your family and friends. There is a war going on RIGHT NOW. How often do you hear them complain about it, or even talk about it for that matter? Now, on the flip side. How often do you hear them talk about their favorite tv show? The finale of American Idol? Their favorite sports team? Or what they bought on sale at the mall? People, we are being distracted. We're being fed a daily dose of "soft peter" in the form of television entertainment and news half truths. American culture has allowed a handful of people to enjoy a manufactured existence called fame and celebrity. That carrot is dangled in front of us every day, slowly hypnotizing us into living vicariously through people whose lifestyles, for all sense and purposes aren't even real. And the allure is so strong, that most people would much rather tune into Entertainment Tonight, than the evening world news report. Why? Out of sight, out of mind. Which makes me think, maybe it's time we start taking a closer look at what's really going on.



"Either war is obsolete or men are." - R. Buckminster Fuller

War is brutally ugly. It's mere presence is so startling, that even if it forces you to look away, it begs an emotional response, an investment of thought. So far 4,000 U.S. men and women have died in Iraq. And that's doesn't even count those who died in Afghanistan. But that's only part of the story my friend. Soldiers from other nations, who are apart of the Iraqi Coalition have died there too. So have Iraqi soldiers, along with innocent men, women, and children. But every day, our news outlets give our ugly war a makeover. Instead of amputees and body bags, we see images of healthy soldiers or a president sitting behind a desk talking about "progress". We see the story about the healthy soldier reuniting with his family in a nearby airport. But we never see the guy who lost his legs, in that moment when his family sees him for the first time. And we never see the guy with the nervous twitch who has the bad nightmares, whose family feels like they don't know him anymore, and aren't safe around him. Sure, we know how much money the war has cost America. But we'll never be able to measure how much it's damaged the reputation of our country, or the lives of families on both sides of the Atlantic ocean. Even sadder, so few of us have seen the ugly side of this current war, that although the war has been going on for five plus years, most of us have yet to make a sizeable emotional or intellectual investment. Well my friends, it's time we do.

Something is in our food. It's in our music. It's in our television programs. It was put there by our government to dupe us. To keep us distracted and passive. Everything from Britney Spears on the front of grocery aisle magazines to 50 Cent and his latest beef rants. Even the gas prices and fading economy are designed to make our living experience so arduous, that we'll choose to escape that reality, any time we can. And thoughts about the government, and unjust wars, will be pushed into places so far in the back of our minds, that they will cease to no longer matter. My advice. Stop eating what they're feeding you so willingly. Digest something different. Something real. With any luck, your numbed senses will become acute again. And when they do, you'll start to see and experience the world, free from the affects of "soft peter". Then you'll get mad. Mad enough to organize. Mad enough to demand a change. Maybe even mad enough to strategically create a resistance to force a change. Now that's the kind of world I want to live in. One luv.

dating: the survival game

“At such moments, you realize that you and the other are, in fact, one. It's a big realization. Survival is the second law of life. The first is that we are all one.” - Joseph Campbell

Dating is a dirty dirty game. I'm not saying you'll need to develop super powers to make it, but make no mistake, it's rough out there and survival is key. And survival means having a survival code. Below are my rules that help me survive the game, where the getters get, and the naive get got. Enjoy.

(by the way, these rules were written from a male's perspective, but for the most part, they hold true for women as well)

1. EVERYBODY HAS SOMEBODY.

No one is truly alone. Everyone has someone in their life. Sometimes it's not the person they want in their life, but everyone has someone. Upon meeting someone new, ask them if they have a boyfriend/girlfriend, and they'll most likely tell you, no; which may be true. But it doesn't mean they don't have "somebody". Maybe it's somebody they are trying to get rid of. Maybe it's somebody they can call when they want to go out for a movie or dinner. Maybe it's the booty call somebody, or the friends with benefits somebody. Or maybe it's somebody they're trying to get, or somebody trying to get them. Just remember, just because someone says they are single, and is spending time with you, never think you're the only one, because everybody has somebody.


2. THAT "FRIEND" AIN'T JUST A FRIEND

Is there such thing as a platonic friend? Yes, I have a few. However, most women (and some guys) DON'T. What most women call "friends", are exes, or homie/lover/friends. It's without fail. If he's calling and texting early in the morning, or late at night, that's not a friend, that's a "friend". You know, the one she meets for breakfast or lunch all the time, that guy she has an emotional reaction to when he calls like, "geez, what does he want?". She'll never in a hundred years admit to it. But they have been together. Therefore, always protect your feelings. When dating someone, assume that friend that is closer than close, has truly been closer than close. Long term it will protect you from being shocked, or feeling misled when the truth does surface.


3. YOUR FEELINGS COME FIRST

If you're good people, like myself, it's easy to do what good people do, put other's feelings before your own. If you feel yourself trying to get in someone else's head, wondering how they are feeling, STOP! Don't do that. That kind of stuff comes down the line once you're IN a relationship. But when you're dating, your feelings come first. If you don't like something, don't deal with it. If you train yourself to NOT listen to your likes and dislikes, you'll end up in a deep relationship with someone you didn't really want to be with in the first place.

4. PAY ATTENTION TO PATTERNS.

When you're getting to know someone, you'll notice people are very true to their patterns, when they are telling the truth. When their patterns switch up, that's when they are doing something shady. For example, I know from years of experience, when women are digging a guy, they share more information than they have to. You'll be on the phone with her, and she'll click over, then she'll click back and say..."that was just my friend Nicole". Or maybe it's, "that was just Mom". Then one day the phone will click, and she'll click back and won't say anything. Guess what, that other dude just called. Then it's "hey, let me take this call". And when she calls back, she will most certainly make no mention of that call. Yeah, that was "the other guy". How do you deal with that? Reciprocity. I'm not saying play games, I'm saying share no more information than is being shared. Click over, or even get off the phone so you can "take this call" as well. It's simple, do unto others, but don't get done by others being shady with how they do unto you.

5. BEWARE OF BUSY PEOPLE.

Busy people are cool to meet, difficult to get to know, and even harder to maintain something with. Why? Because most busy people use busy to their advantage. We all have jobs and responsibilities. We all have family and friends and try our best to manage our time and maintain those relationships. But don't fall for the okie-doke. After people establish they are a "busy" person, they tend to use busy like it's a huge curtain they can disappear behind to do who or what they really want to be doing. "Sorry I haven't hit you up in a week, I've been busy". Or how about this one, "I meant to shoot you an email, but I was too busy". The truth is, I'm a busy person too, so yeah, I know how it is to be running a thousand miles per hours in all directions. But, I also know people make time for things they really want to make time for. It takes 10 seconds to write an email or send a text message. Takes an even shorter amount of time to dial a number. So when people don't answer your emails, don't answer your texts, or don't return your phone calls because they 're busy--that's the perfect time to get busy kicking rocks. Either they are truly too busy for you (doubt it), or they are busy pursuing who they'd really rather be with. That's cool too, it's all in the game. But never get caught chasing somebody who ain't chasing you back.

6. KEEP IT REAL

There is no excuse for dating someone under false pretenses. Be bluntly honest always. "Look, I enjoy kicking it with you, but I still want to date other people". Just like that, expectations are maintained. You'd be surprised how easily it is to clear the air and prevent a bunch of drama, just by keeping it real. Unfortunately, most people NEVER keep it real. So even if you are honest enough to put it all out there, don't expect the person you're dating to do the same. A lot of people are just programmed to be sneaky--to keep a little truth for themselves. But if you choose to go that route, don't think the other person is Boo-Boo the fool. They know. They probably just don't care, or aren't speaking on it because they're doing their thing on the side too. It's all in the game I guess. But why play those games? Even after you know you like someone, that doesn't mean you ONLY like them. Embrace the process of getting to know someone, and don't invest solely into one person until you know that's what they are really trying to do with you as well.

7. STAY COOL FOOL

Your emotions are valuable, don't waste them. Don't allow yourself to be baited into silly arguments or mind f*cks. You can not blame someone for not being, or not acting like you want them to. You can only blame yourself for continuing to deal with it. So do yourself a favor, don't play this game with emotions. Keep your poker face on until you reach a much deeper point with that person where you feel like you can truly trust them. Then and only then should you think about revealing the deeper layers of you.

8. END IT THE WAY YOU STARTED IT

We put so much care and energy into how we begin situations. We go out of our way to be kind, courteous, and charismatic. We display a level of humanity that tells someone we're good people. So why do we become people who don't give a f*ck when it's time for things to end? Things happen. People make mistakes, and so do we. But the world is small, so don't burn bridges. We invite people into our lives putting our best feet forward, so don't go showing your ass when it's time to kick them to the curb. Maintain that kindness. Maintain that honesty. And be compassionate. This is a person you may never have to see again, or it may be someone you have to still see every day. Either way, the last thing you want is someone with negative energy towards you floating around in the world. When you end it on a good note, your name, stays your name. You don't have to worry about it being tarnished. Besides, there's this little thing called Karma that has a way of coming for you when you least expect it.

Aight, that's all I have for you. Use it or don't use it, that's on you. Just understand, sometimes the game is actually more checkers than chess. Sometimes the game is not about capturing "the queen" or "the king". Sometimes, the game is about survival--not about getting, more about not getting got. Navigate the board correctly, avoid the traps, and just like that, even you, a simple piece on the board, can get to be The King. One luv.

enough, kwame!

"Busted is what you see!" - Kwame Kilpatrick

Black men, black men, black men. Damn, we can't win. It's bad enough the local news starts with the whole scary black man image every night, something along the lines of; armed black male suspect at large. But lately even the NATIONAL news is leading with a "black man gone wrong" story. And no, I'm not talking about Pacman "make it rain" Jones or Michael "shoot'em in the head or drown'em" Vick. I'm not even talking about (insert rapper name here) with his umpteenth drug possession or gun charge. At least with those black men, when they make the news, even if it's surprising, it's not exactly shocking. And your rational mind can easily wrap itself around the fact that those black men may just be young and dumb. So when you walk into your neighborhood barber shop, you don't feel so bad laughing about their situations when you jokingly say, "the cornrolls made him do it!" But what about when the black man under scrutiny has no excuse? When he comes from a good family, is well educated and from a very early age, has been groomed to be, somebody. When THAT black man gets in trouble and disappoints us REPEATEDLY, over a period of years, it's a much tougher pill to swallow. And when he smugly tries to act as if he can tell us any ole thing like we're dummies, or that the office of mayor is his birth right, that's when the brothaly thing to do, is not to be a sympathizer. The brothaly thing to do is light his ass up the way we would anyone else trying to bamboozle us.

I'm all for the brotha-brotha love thing. I know how it is. We're all functionally trying to make our way out of our own dysfunction, and as a black man, no matter who you are, there tends to be a lot of dysfunction. So when outsiders try to tear us down, we should all attempt to stand up for each other, especially when we begin to rise to levels of power and notoriety. I'm not saying I condone the actions of black men who do wrong. I'm saying I accept apologies, and give people the same kind of second chances I'd hope to get if I made a some major mistakes in my life. No, it really isn't easy being a black man in America, that's why I root for my brothas; that's why I rooted for Kwame. He was elected mayor of Detroit a few years after I arrived here. At the time, I thought Detroit was a pretty damn progressive city to give a young black man the top spot. I thought it said a lot about the people here, and what kind of energy they were hoping to infuse the city with. Instead of going with candidates far older, and with more of a traditional approach, they went with the prodigy, the guy they viewed as the future of Detroit. Well, a zillion scandals later, if Kwame is the future of Detroit, what a bleek pernicious future that is. Since he's been in office, despite being responsible for a slight facelift of downtown Detroit, the majority of his stay has been one minor misstep after another, culminating in a few major ones.

Arrogance is a powerful substance. When applied in heavy enough doses, it actually has the uncanny ability to make people think their shit does not stink. And when you're in that delusional state, not only do you shit privately, you shit openly, boldly, and carelessly. Why not? If you're so convinced your shit doesn't stink, it only makes sense to think it won't stink to other people as well, right? Well, Detroit recently got another huge whiff of Kwame's shit, and let's just say, it's not as minty fresh as ole boy seemed to think it was. Yesterday Kwame Kilpatrick was indicted on 8 counts of felony charges, including perjury, obstruction of justice, and office misconduct. But none of this comes as a shot in the dark, more like a money shot in the dark. That's right, I'm referring to his textual eruptions, with his chief of staff, Christine Beaty. The same Christine Beaty he lied about sleeping with under oath, in a civil case that cost Detroit over 9 million dollars. 9 million dollars for a civil case that started with an alleged party, dead strippers, and unlawfully firing deputy chief Gary Brown. See, because I support my brotha, I can forgive my brotha. But I know my brotha knows better, because I know better. And what's obvious to me is, what's best for Detroit, is something, or somebody, who can do the job better, than my brotha.

What's next for brotha Kwame? Besides trying to stay out of prison--oh yeah, he still has to do that little thing called running the city of Detroit. How you juggle both full time boggles my mind, but our brotha is convinced he can do it. Just yesterday he smugly looked into cameras saying "I'll be exonerated 100%". Who knows, maybe he will in a court of law. But in the court of brothaly opinion, I'm done with him. I think he is guilty of not keeping it real, lying repeatedly, and continually not living up to the high personal standard we set for him. I'm not here to judge his personal life. And even with the situations he may have gotten himself into, I still rooted for him to correct those mistakes. But when you represent a city, and your image, the image of a black man, becomes THE image of the city, you owe that city and all of the people in it the highest standard of excellence. After all, you were groomed for that high standard of excellence Kwame. And when you make a mistake, you show contrition, real honest heartfelt, your grandmama just shamed you contrition. You don't blame the white media. You don't blame the suburbs. You don't blame anyone. You just own up to your part in the mistake, and keep it moving, like a real brotha should. You meet and greet people with open arms, and you go to work hard, every day. In the end, you prove community excellence outweighs missteps and personal shortcomings. That's how a real brotha would have done it; how brotha Kwame SHOULD have done it. But he didn't. So now brothas like me, who rooted for him are left with four simple heartfelt words for our brotha. Enough, brotha Kwame, enough. One luv.

welcome my man darrell to the net,

nigganalysis

the tiger years

(the Columns and Jesse Hall @ The University of Missouri-Columbia)

"one day it'll all make sense" - common

In college, I was somebody...I barely remember now. This nonchalant, too cool for school guy. His overall outlook on life is fuzzy to me, but I definitely used to be him. He wore bright white tennis shoes, kept a gold herringbone chain gripped loosely around his neck, and made sure he had the cleanest/shiniest car on campus hands down. Always waxed, Black Magic always on the tires. That kind of sh*t actually mattered to him. He was kind of quiet, never the rah-rah type, but if you got to know him, you'd be like "ole boy is cool people." And if I showed you pictures of him back then, you'd be like, "yeah man, that's you". But the truth is, nah, that's not me, that's him. See, in the twelve years since I graduated, I've changed. Not like Winter into Spring. More like night into a brand new day. In fact, I've changed so much that, although I remember most of what I did in college, I really have a hard time remembering who I was. I remember laughing a lot, but was I laughing with people, or at people? I remember being low key, but was it because I was in my own world, or because didn't care to be in your world? And for all those people I passed on the yard every day who I locked eyes with briefly without having any exchange, was it because I wasn't on their radar, or because they weren't on mine? I'll probably never know those answers. The interesting part is that I'm even asking myself these questions. Recently, for the first time in ages, I was confronted with my college days...my Tiger years. And it has me rexamining how I remember myself, as well as how others remember me.

Two weeks ago, I'm at work chillin. Phone rings. I answer. "Corey, go to this website!". Umm, hello to you too homie. It was my girl Naomi sounding like she was going to jump through my phone and type out the URL for me. I must admit, I was skeptical. University of Missouri Black Alumni website? Hmmm. In theory, it was a great idea, a place to reunite old friends and serve as a networking tool for old alums. But would people really participate and share, or would they sign up and never put any energy into growing the site? Or better yet, would it be like back in the day, everybdy all cliqued up in their own little circles, never fully embracing the opportunity to explore this small community? Surprisingly, everyone seemed to jump right in, head first.

There's something pretty cathartic about getting to say hello to people again. Or just seeing what they've become. I can honestly say I'm happy to find out what successful family and business people my classmates have become. Graduating was like turning my back on everything I've ever known and climbing a mountain in search of a better life. And finding this site was like reaching the top of that mountain only to find everything and everyone I thought I had left behind, sitting right there at the top. I guess we all chose to move in different directions, yet in our own ways, we all made it. Putting oceans between you and your past reminds you life isn't so much about the destination, but the journey. And I definitely respect my classmates journey, as well as my own. We all went through tremendous hardships, sacrifices, and loss to get here, but nonetheless, we're here. That's why I can cruise the website clean, no longer mad at anyone who ever wronged me back in the day. It's also why I can relink with those I considered friends and embrace those I never really got to know with open arms. The truth is, I'm different, and so are they. None of us can probably remember who we were back in the day, or all the trivial stuff that happened. And for many, they simply don't want to. And that's cool. Because who we are today, is all that really matters.

During my time on the website, I've smiled, laughed, and enjoyed revisiting old places that live as dusty memories in my mind. Whether it's seeing the face of an old crush who will never know I secretly liked her as much as I did, or finding out some former knucklehead is the father of three, it really is just good to see people after all this time. Reading people's comments, and listening to them share memories of me has also helped me understand something important. I might not remember who I was back in the day, but they do. And according to them, I wasn't so drastically flawed after all. By their accounts I was funny, charismatic, and brought a lot of joy into people's lives. Yeah, it feels good to have matured to the point where I can look back at myself with the wisdom of an old owl perched high above in a tree. But it also feels good to realize that even when I was young and dumb, in the quietest most insecure stage of my life, when I was making tons of mistakes--at my essence, I was good people. That's something to be proud of. I mos def like who I am today, but thanks to my alumni website, I've also learned, I got love for who I used to be as well. Funny, suddenly it all makes sense.

One luv.

MLK (the martyr)

"Any real change implies the breakup of the world as one has always known it, the loss of all that gave one an identity, the end of safety. And at such a moment, unable to see and not daring to imagine what the future will now bring forth, one clings to what one knew, or dreamed that one possessed. Yet, it is only when a man is able, without bitterness or self-pity, to surrender a dream he has long cherished or a privilege he has long possessed that he is set free — he has set himself free — for higher dreams, for greater privileges."

- james baldwin

barack and hillary: a lesson in music

"Our goal is to have a country that's not divided by race. And my impression, as I travel around the country, is that that's the kind of country that most people want, as well, and that we all have prejudice, we all have certain suspicions or stereotypes about people who are different from us, whether it's religious or racial or ethnic, but what I think I found in the American people, I think there's a core decency there, where if they take the time, if they get the time to know individuals, then they want to judge those individuals by their character." - barack obama

The beauty of Barack Obama, in many ways, is very much what made Prince such a powerful and intriguing figure. No, with brotha Barack there's no lace, no four inch pumps, or endless parade of light skin singer/sluts. But what Barack does have in common with his purple badness is an image and sound that appeals to white America, while maintaining a certain level of authenticity with black America. If you go back to the height of Prince's career, he was able to win over black people without ever overtly catering to them. Prince made music, that happened to be black. But he never made black music. Prince's music always seemed to stretch the box of the typical black radio station format rather than fit perfectly into it. In fact, he created the Time and Vanity 6 as a way for him to do black music, because his solo stuff wasn't specific enough. Also, Prince made us think of the greats, Jimmy, James Brown, Jackie Wilson. Their voices all existed within his. In many ways, Prince always felt like the one we had been waiting for. The guy who could outsing the singers, out dance the dancers, and get as nasty on a guitar as any white boy in a rock band. Enter Barack Obama, like Prince, he has a mixed hertitage. His skin says he's black, his genes say he's very much something else as well. He has a smoothness about him that no one else seems to have. He can out talk the talkers, out common man the politicians, and still be a politician without leaving the common feeling left out. And he seems like the next great. Like a person of the same ilk as Malcolm, Martin, and JFK. His journey feels, predestined if you will. See, these aspirational type figures appeal to the idealism of white America , especially when they don't directly take on the topics of race. Prince was on some flower child unity sh*t, and Barack is on that everybody aboard, today's the perfect day to make a change thing. They seem to transcend race, without ever compromising their blackness. It would appear, on the surface at least, that Barack and Prince are somewhat the same brotha. The right sound, coupled with the right face, at just the right time.



Maybe Hillary Clinton is Teena Marie to Barack's Prince. You know, the white singer who gets black acceptance because she can hit the high notes. But can she? Or does she simply get a pass cause her husband Bill (Rick James), hit all the right notes and made it easier for people to except her as his protege? So far, it's yet to be seen. But lately, whenever you see Hillary Clinton, she's standing in front of a black choir, in front of a black audience, or in front of some non secular black leaders. It's like Teena coming out on stage for the first time standing in front of Rick's band. Even before she hits the first note, nobody is questioning her because of the people standing behind her. Hmmm. After taking New Hampshire, maybe Hillary is proving she can hit a note or two. And unlike Teena Marie who ONLY had a black following, Hillary appeals even more so to whites. Okay, so let's rethink this. Maybe Hillary is actualy more like Christina Aguillera, a white pop queen lusting to show black folks she can get down and dirty too. Either way, you get the point. Ultimately, black people will definitely support a white girl who can sang, and they'll also stand up in droves for someone they feel is the second coming. I think who gets the Deomorcratic nod will be less about who has the best album, and more about who can drop the hotter singles, Prince or Christina? Based on the last batch of singles by these two, I'd say this political race is still very much up for grabs. One luv.

youtube videos of the year

I love youtube.com! It's where you can find your favorite cinematic moments, hip hop videos, the latest dance craze, or some random weird video. Well, I've probably watched thousands of youtube.com videos this year, so I thought I'd post my ten favorite. Feel free to post some of your favorite stuff in the comments. Peace.

10) Crank Dat Jumprope

There were tons of crank dat dances this year, but this one is by far my favorite. These little dudes are creative as hell.



9) Deadly Adventures Internet Gangsta Edition

This is so timely and so true. lol



8) Flea Market Montgomery

You gotta respect my man's gangsta, local tv commercials will never be the same again.



7) Unforgiveable

This young man got issues! This is what happens when a little brotha starts playing "I wanna be a pimp."



6) The N-Word

The n-word was a hot topic this year, and this was a humorous take on the whole situation.



5) Sensual Seduction

Doggy Dogg is a fool for this one....sit back and enjoy!



4) Looking Ass Nikkuh!

This has to be the most ingnit-est song I ever heard...but it's kind of funny and brilliant in its own way. lol



3) Pay Roll Da Pimp vs. Ice T

"I see you got your Halloween hand strong." Enough said. lol Unfortunately it's not embedded.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=2Yv3qcLERJs

2) Penis Power

This sista is wild and scorned and a little crazy. But don't sleep ladies, you might learn something.



1) "Oh, You Mad Cause I'm Stylin On You"

Before you say this to somebody, get your weight up! Ouch!

from me to you

peace family.

this year was a tough year, but a good year.

it was challenging in a way that reminded me, none of us gets through this thing alone. we need each other. you all represent a piece of me, no matter how tiny or how large; from lifelong fixtures, to distant acquaintances, my every day circle, to budding new friendships.

despite the distance, frequency with which we talk or see each other, or even our fall-ins or fall-outs, i value you all equally.

each phone call, email, text, drink, bite to eat, and smile was invaluable, and you’ll never know just how much it meant to me.

thank you.

so, instead of celebrating unnecessary gift giving this time of year, let’s celebrate the road traveled.

the uphill climbs, the obstacles we overcame, the people we lost along the way, and the ones we’re grateful to still have with us.

let’s celebrate unforeseen blessings, and new beginnings.

let’s celebrate the challenge to get better, love harder, forgive quicker, and live longer.

let’s celebrate the fact that we’re still here, and that there’s still time to say the unsaid.

let’s celebrate peace and abundance in the world, while being mindful of all those at war, and all those stranded in poverty.

let’s celebrate wisely and safely. because in ‘08, i look forward to moving forward with each one of you.

happy holidays, peace.

zeitgeist

WATCH THIS MOVIE.

MAKE YOUR FAMILY WATCH IT.

MAKE YOUR FRIENDS WATCH IT.

THEN, LET'S TAKE BACK THE WORLD TODAY.

ZEITGEIST

bang...

the world spins and people die like when a gun revolves
i guess life’s a murder mystery that goes unsolved
cheating death with every sun i watch rise to the crest
steady beats of broken flesh resonate in my chest
am i an angel with unseen wings, am i death
a righteous life, an evil demon, or the last man left
i’m writing for right, i sip long, at night i zone
then type songs to fight those who siding with wrong
from intuition and spidey senses, my body twitches
rarely believe, therefore i’m rarely deceived
i achieved a certain stance cause i’m hard and enhanced
started naive and grew now i’m raw and advanced
when i trance, i see bloody white sheets and gauze
forensic labs, and killers who evade the laws
this life’s a murder plot and we’re all involved
the world spins and people die like when a gun revolves

dear diary

dear diary,

remember when i used to talk to you about how i couldn't cry? remember when i used to tell you about how i'd lay in bed and try my hardest to squeeze some form of relief from my eyes, only to fall asleep on my dry pillow? remember when i used to pretend that not crying was a good thing, and would puff out my chest as i told people that i had only cried ONE time since i was thirteen? well, let's just say i'm not that guy anymore. i've cried twice this year already, which is more than i have in the past twenty one years. maybe all the years of holding in my emotions is starting to catch up with me. maybe this has been an unusually difficult year. or maybe i've finally reached a point in my life where i'm truly comfortable with letting go.

i think my heart used to be bigger, no, really. i know for a fact, at one time it held more love, more kindness, more forgiveness. not that it isn't still filled with all those stellar attributes, but somehow it feels smaller, and maybe a little less concerned. maybe my heart is the total sum of everything i love, and every time i lose a loved one, to death, or a failed relationship, maybe i also lose a small piece of me. over a period of time, all those loses have left me with a much smaller heart. so how do i overcome this small heart affliction? well, if i'm lucky, i can make my heart bigger. i can find new things to care about. i can invite new people into my life, and i can take a chance all over again. the bigger a heart gets, the more painful it feels when loss is experienced. this is why so many people lust rather than love. it's also why it's easier to let a good thing slip through your fingers, than give effort to keeping it. ultimately, it's the FEAR and PAIN that keeps people running in the wrong directions. i for one am done being one of those people.

reciprocity. in a perfect world, if i reciprocated what people gave me, i'd be happy. unfortunately, most people tend to give you way less than you feel you deserve. in this scenario, reciprocating means you start giving less as well. suddenly, no one is giving anything, which means no more relationship. the reality is most relationships ARE NOT built on reciprocity. most are built on one person giving a little more than the other, and tolerating what that person isn't willing to give. this notion is the basis for what i call the "star theory". the star theory is simple, in 95% of all relationships, if we're honest, we'll have to admit, one person is the star. and the star, no matter how great they may treat you, is unable to reciprocate the same level of love and interest being thrust upon them. this is why i believe in 95% of all relationships, one person is with the person of their dreams, and the other person feels, there MAY be someone out there who's better. only in 5% of all relationships do i believe both parties, if given a choice to pick who they have vs. who's out there, would pick each other again. so why's everyone picking the wrong people? maybe love is like black jack. conventional wisdom says if you're dealt an 18, you hold. you don't risk going for 21 because you may crap out an lose the 18. the pain of being in and out of bad relationships even causes some people to fear losing a 16, 15, or 14. once again, FEAR and PAIN become the weapons that keep us from the happiness we truly desire.

so where does this all leave me? it leaves me a work in progress. as much as i know about women and relationships, it's obvious i haven't even begun to know enough. i am a recent divorcee, which means for all of my theory, i'm a failure. but that doesn't make me want to throw a pity party for myself, quite the contrary. it makes me live life urgently, like a gun is pointed at my head and every decision depends on my survival. i live in the moment, i don't put things off, i try to say what i feel when i feel it, because i now know how precious time is. i also know how precious people are. there is no excuse for not investing in people in this life. "thank you" goes a long way. so does "i'm sorry". so does "i love you". so does "thinking of you". so do phone calls, emails, and text messages. and holding hands, kissing, making love, and doing whatever you must to make someone feel confident and wanted. i've made this promise to myself, if i like someone, i'll tell'em. if i love someone, i'll show'em. but i will not settle for excuses, or those who can't reciprocate what it is i'm trying to give. you can't hate a person for not giving you what you derserve, but you can hate yourself for sticking around to deal with it. so from here on out, what i feel is the only truth, and if someone doesn't make me feel good, i don't need them. i can deal with things not working out. i've promised myself, in the future i won't be afraid to shed tears, or take a chance on someone in order to make my heart become a little bigger than it already is. the truth is obvious. i am not who i was yesterday. i am different. i am better.

- hardCore

the "nigga" police

"why do i call myself a nigga you ask me/cause police always wanna harrass me" - mc ren

So, it's Saturday night. You're chilling out with friends watching college football at a local bar. Drinking, laughing, basically kicking it! There's lots of loud conversation and horseplay. Somewhere during the discourse you or one of your friends does the unimaginable; YOU SAY THE WORD "NIGGA". Suddenly everyone in the bar stops talking. We start to hear police sirens in the distance. Growing closer, and closer, and closer! Tires squeal. Sirens stop. Sound of two car doors slamming. Red and blue lights spinning light up the dark parking lot. The front door flies open. Two middle aged men bust into the bar, guns drawn. Their names, Rev. Al Sharpton & Rev. Jesse Jackson. They run up on the culprit and yell FREEZE! They read him his rights, hancuff him, and drag him away to "Being A Bad Nigga Prison". What you've just witnessed is a sign of the times. And clearly illustrates what most would love to see happen, any and every time you use the word..."nigga".

At the heart of the "nigga" debate is a growing and ever widening generation gap. On one side you have the civil rights generation. These are the people who marched and fought against blantant racist and the word "nigger". They were hosed down, bitten by dogs, spit on, and were dehumanized for the sake of one cause, ending racism. For them, to embrace the word "nigga" or "nigger" on any level is beyond taking a step back, it's to demean their work and their movement. On the other hand you have the hip hop generation, who politically have no movement. Not only that, but hip hop generally embraces "nigga" as every day slang, a term of endearment, and a way of saying they are the people of the struggle; the have nots, the forgotten, the voiceless. For hip hop, "nigger" is not even part of the conversation, because it has that little relevance in their daily lives. Yet, the word "nigga" seems to hold a rawness or rebelliousness that fits right in with the expressive nature of hip hop. Over the past year, it seems like every other week, said rapper is defending "nigga" and freedom of expression, while people like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are holding mock burials to rid the world of the word altogether. Ultimately, both sides may have a point.

Sesquicentenial. This is a word that we'll see in the news a lot in the coming years, it means 150. That's right, in 2015, black people in America will celebrate their sesquicentenial, 150 years free from slavery. When I think about all the progress that has been made in that time, and all the racism that sill exist, it really puts into perspective just how short amount of time has truly passed. We're basically talking about four generations of people. That's all! No wonder "nigga" is still a hot topic, it should be, but so should the real problem, slavery. Slavery is the untold secret of our country. It's barely discussed in our history books. And the little that is discussed is condensed into some Black History Month tribute. Whereas every major city in America has a holocaust museum, where mandatory class field trips take students to learn about the Jewish plight, the same can not be said for the African-American holocaust. Slavery is skimmed over in our country because it makes too many people uncomfortable. White people don't want to be reminded of their wicked ancestors. And black people, who have never really accepted the horrors of our past, want to distance themselves as far away from those painful memories as possible. Our only constant reminder slavery even happened today, is "nigger" and "nigga". And for that alone, I say thank God for the n-word.

"i'm just telling you, it's uncomfortable to me. i don't like it when black people say it to me, i really don't no more" - richard pryor

If the "n" word stings, hurts, or makes you uncomfortable, good! It should. Because slavery stung, hurt, and was beyond uncomfortable. And the racism that is alive today still stings, hurts, and is beyond uncomfortable as well. But guess what Al and Jesse, it goes far beyond the word "nigger". If that word was never said again in life, we'd still hear it in the gun blasts every time a racist cop shot an unarmed black man. We'd hear it in the slam of the gavel every time a falsely convicted black person was sent to prison. And we'd hear it if we deciphered the words when corporate America justifies their lack of minority employees by saying "there just aren't enough qualified black candidates". You see, "nigger" is the fever that proceeds the flu. In other words, it's simply a symptom of a greater problem, racism and ignorance. And just like the flu, each year racism and ignorance advances and comes back stronger. Although it may keep many of the same old symptoms, it does develop new ones. So "nigger" is simply the sypmtom of racism recognized and watched by the the Civil Rights generation. While "nigga" isn't necessarily viewed as a symptom of racism or even ignorance by hip hoppers. Instead they see things like unfair hiring practices, discriminatory hair and dress codes, and racial profiling by police as the symptoms to watch for. And many even believe "nigga" is a part of the cure. Some would argue, by saying the word, although you can't change its history, you can definitely take away the power it holds today. And uh, if you haven't guessed it, those people would definitely not be Rev. Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson.

Queensbridge rapper Nas will weigh in on the debate in December with his instantly controversial titled cd "Nigger".

So what does it all mean? It simply means, WE AIN'T THERE YET! We have not arrived black people. Racism is still real, and people died to end it. So yes, I'm as pissed off as Al or Jesse when I hear a 12 year old screaming out to his friend with a big ole loud NIGGAAAAAA! There are also times when I'm blazay blah about it when hanging out with the homies, "what up my nigga!" Some months I create a "nigga-free" zone and refuse to say the word, or play music with the word in it. Other months I'm saying it and playing it so much, I feel like Paul Mooney and can actually see it making my teeth whiter. But at least I'm happy to say this is a black debate. For white people the rules are and have been very clear for a long time. Say the word if you choose, but beware of the consequences. See KKKramer. All I know is, if we all knew our history and got more active to end racism, maybe the word would mean a little more to us. And if the world we're living in today was truly a better place, maybe the word would have no real significance in these days and times. But on both counts, WE AIN'T THERE YET. And since I'm bound to say "nigga" a few more times in my life, I got one thing to say to all you folks dropping a dime on me to the "nigga" police... stop snitching NIGGAS!!! One luv.

freestyle friday

like a doc before making incisions
a skilled hand and a vision
i pray, ether germs and aim with precision
write with my wisdom
my mission is to gain what i’m missing
strain when i train
it hurts
but i never complain
it seems sex is just division of legs
my intentions
to delve deep within and find different dimensions
beauty i hate, why
cause it creates suspicion
love’s ascension is stopped
and it ends in dissention
i try and relax
instead all i feel is the tension
in my mind it’s like
brown vs. the school system
so i
stay in my lane outta sight from the lames
sippin good
lighting long nag champas with flames
my knees stay callused from prayers
and meditating for change
inside i burn but my eyes never melt from the pain....