Sunday, March 6, 2011

Tuesday Note: BackPack Daddy

'When you have kids, your dreams don’t go away, they just have to change a little bit.'

D.C. , cousin

Doors can be portals

True story, True story

Gateways to the immortal

More glory, more glory

Good-bye is what I taught him

I'm sorry, so sorry

Put your bags down, Daddy

Same stories, old stories

Happy Black History Month...again!

And I confess, I do have a history. And it does seem to repeat itself. A broken record of parakeet tunes. Dem’ birds of feather blues, do onto him what was done onto you.

Yep! Daddy is writing the same old stories. Those “we-were-sold” stories. Those we can’t mend our hearts, we forgotten how to sew stories.

Oh Lawdy. Oh Lawdy

Ample supply is not the problem.

see needle
see thread
like laughter
tell a friend
what is woven
is a gem...
you can make anything valuable
when the heart is in the right place

Certain times of day and of life
one needs more “heart”
in the mind
than they do in the chest.
It can really help
to separate
simply ‘Trying’
from doing ‘your best’
Up to you to do the rest
And when the stage lights cut on
And the lens blinks quick
networking nets you down
and the traveling makes you sick

I know where
I’ll be always center stage.
only if I choose to be.
Or i could bless a thousand open mics
A turn the poet,
Into a tragic comedy

His eyes and his smile
give the hunt
for God meaning.
So if I can’t dream it with him,
‘guess it just aint worth dreaming...

- Fin

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Tuesday: Light Recognize Light, Aight?


I 1/2 ass

Cause I’m

scared of my light. scared of my light. scared of my light

Deez days

We shoot or run

Cause we

scared of dat fight... scared of dat fight... scared of dat fight

If black

would eva crack


we’d neva see night... neva see night... neva see night

What’s in you

Is God Potential,


better be bright....better be bright...better be bright

i expect women to walk in the same direction they expect me to walk in


Away is the first thing I learned

I've learned a lot more since then

But I've learned "away" the best

I still see the first one I ever loved

at least her footprints.

they are everywhere like ghosts

haunting the earth

spirits conjured

thru concrete


in the soil

souls celebrating

in a wooded clearing

but always heading away

and now away feels like home, because its more comforting to place your feet in footprints that are already there.

Like running away presents. She gave me the foot prints that led to away

Quick Story:

3 Blind mice collide without aim.

in a room where they all scurry and reach for the light switch.

a tragic comedy. did they forget they were blind?

seeing has never been as easy as an on/off switch.

The old books
read like
a runaway train
with no station
and depending
on which side of the
tracks you're facing,
the Christ accounts can be
a 2nd wind
platform of
never ending destinations
A one way ticket to
whatever you’ve been chasing,
So let your light, vibe bright, By the time your eyes, set right
You realize gravity
Is just figment of our imaginations
No sticks, not seeds
Just pure elevation

Twitter w/o devices... a passport w/o the license...your brain's a vehicle...minus the wireless charges and gas prices.

Fin -

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Tuesday Note: 1st Birthdays and Love Protocols

Motivated by: Kurt Vonnegut, Love, and my super-son Nyo-yo

Stand on the top of the roof,
adjacent to the fiddler
and declare your love for her.

Stay up all night
on the phone with your bestie (i detest this word, btw)
instead of him,
telling her tall tales
with even taller smoke
blowing out of that chimney
you call the latest rage in hairstyles, lending trite declarations of how you loved him more than life itself.

Than whose life? 

If that’s all you got, well then shit.....that's all you've got, baby. I guess that's life.

If we were only as audacious in our loving as we are with our declarations.

Some people say traveling is the best way to experience life. And others declare age is merely a number. I respect upright positions as I always have, but truly i must hurry back to my yoga. I’ve shook hands with toddlers in geography that were still elders in experience. No matter where you rest, you can’t stop the happenings from happening. 

She said I love funny. 

Not funny “Ha, Ha!” but funny like “Hmmmmm...?”

It was never this way, but always that way. She said she was frustrated with the radio and this new thing reminded her of books that held your day hostage, perfectly rolled glaucoma cigarettes, thrift store record players, well worn converse all-stars, and finger cramps from crate diggin. She said it aint no living like easy living. 

She never got the hang of the moonwalk when she was young, but right now she’s all socks and kitchen floors and what-not... and in all honesty the traction of this Day is everything.

It was love back then. The stuff that dreams are made of....fairy dust and angel nectar and bunch of different shit would either give me a stomach ulcer or an astronomical bill from my rip-off of a dental hygienist.

They used to recite Cassanova’s greatest sonnets and there were rare flowers w/ the thorns snipped and tasty chocolates and violets were always blue... 

Why always, blue? 

Violets should be fucking violet. So on behalf of the institution of love, guess what? Violets are going to be freakin Violet. Hold your applause please Ladies and Gents....

He asker her, 

“Why would you ever try to change they we loved?"

Your parents loved, and their parents before them and their parents before them. That matrimony shit was perfect babe, just like love...just like us.

She said, “No dice, Pilgrim.” There is no blueprint for my love, and if they find one, I intend magic marker all over that motherfucker.

They said on their death beds that this oblong crystal snowball of an earth has no room for rebels and renegades that aim to love like reckless, mad love mercenaries. They of the secret love army sect, decending from ropes down into the bush from noisy helicopters with smeared camoflouge on their cheeks toting heart-shaped machetes with banana clips filled with banana pudding and vanilla wafers in the holsters of semi-automatic super soakers. Bang Bang....I shot ya down.

I have a son, not just any brand of son, but a Super-son. His eyes are large and gleam the same way the eyes of those fictional arabic characters in Disney classics do. They fill up often with the salt streams of an irritated heart chakra especially when “Big People” just can’t get this love thing right. Tryna love all in order without physicality, I moved by the fact he is not easily moved.

Some sick joke when it’s you’re first birthday and your Daddy brings you home late to a crowd full of giant strangers and faintly familiars, prodding and poking at you raising the finger 1 at you like a Roman sword in the movie, 300. Happy Friggin BDay indeed, now can you giants  gimme some friggin room, Im a person not a chia pet.

But Simba plays their grown up game, hoping in the meantime someone soon realizes he is a year and 9 months removed from the essence that we all came from and will return to.

When it comes to love, the same ol 2 steps might just 2 steps from where love truly is. Teach the babies should sometimes be “Let the babies teach.”


It’s never really ever finished...this is just where we’ve stopped for now. 

Peace to the heart from the heart

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Tuesdays are for Dilla: A Krispy Kreme Original


I have recently chosen to reduce my emphasis on African history during "Black History month" because I dont think we should be told when to study ourselves, especially when its the month with the shortest number of days. But that's both here and there. There is no month that is not black history month. I dont need the govt/establishments approval or encouragement to learn about what happened before me. The study of not only African, but World History, should be as natural as watching the Super Bowl with one's family. One no more important than either (*wink, wink), but just as "natural".

With that said, I still applaud all the programs and energy surrounding the celebration African life. These stories are not only black history and U.S. history, but World History and Universal history. Anywho, this a little hip-hop history and expression for you today.

J - Dilla hailed from Detroit and was 1/3 of the group Slum Village. Famous for his emceeing and legendary for his production prowess, Jay Dee or Dilla(as he was affectionately referred to) was able to take sampling soul and loop theory(the crux of hip-hop production) to levels unseen. His ease of spirit became as legendary as his tireless work ethic. Many familiar with his story will offer you tales of Dilla making "Donuts," his last musical release, on a hospital bed no less. The music he made resonated with people because of the volumes of emotion encased in his tracks. He made music not only reflective of life, but brought it to life. Dilla is without contest, the best producer to ever do it and has boggled the minds of classical and contemporary musicians alike on numerous occassions. He died in Feb 2006 of an illness related to Lupus and is survived by 2 daughters. Salute to J Dilla, a pillar and titan in hip-hop history. I do not shy away from the word genius in describing him, he is loved and will be missed.  

 do you hear what i say,
‘said i felt what he prayed 
O’ Lord 

and when the beat
dropped to track
Left ya neck snappin back
Good Gawd

squint ya nose
cuz it stinks,
funky drummer
looped n’ synced
So Hard

good spells
on a comeback
we make the spirit contact 
fo’ love


the beat would ask for Dilla to make it
like the Christian would thank Jehovah
for the way he created,
us his own image
diggin in the crates 
painting miracles 
between vinyl
and vaccuums
I bet he heard
forever thru a needle
add a 1/4 cup of sunlight. 
and a gallon full of dumb nice
and the pot overflows 
onto 24 track
that thumps right 
Now, I know he wasn’t God
But the God could relate
Cause they never honor
The alter of the Gods
Til the clock strikes
half past late

In those days
Break beats
Hung on for dear life
Sprained necks 
From heads rocking
off kilter
for the sinners 
Know cause to
From pure friction, no fiction
with hi ends
But the love's
Never filtered 

Ever hear 
God's footsteps
Sampled up, looped up
Sped up then slowed?
In Detroit basements,
Sugar glazed donuts
for the Hip-Hop Soul

SMH...These producers are just mortals
Fast forward
then fear
Wouldnt know God;s voice
if he whispered in their ears
They mad they never seen him
But couldn't see when he was here
The Greatest of All Time
Aroused feelings beyond time
So far to go
But common
To all tribes

And it was B.I.G. that always said...
"you're nobody til
somebody kills you"
Today that feels like truth
But I say,
"you're nobody til dey know
Your Mama
Word to Ms. Voletta
and Ma Dukes."

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

What Revolution Man? Its Pronounced Love....

What is this revolution you speak of....?

Full of Powers to people
And fists raised high
Look like a sea of Dark clouds 
formed in the shape of knuckles 
Squeezing the very tension out of heaven 
at 90 deg Angles 
wings clipped from the shoulder blades of the very last angels
That Dropped....
No wonder it rains red 
And when it rains pours
So now wonder the poor's 
Credit line is drowning in the red
With their very last breath 
They scream....
Fugg your dollars
Fugg your Euros 
Fugg your yen 
matter o' fact
fugg your silver and gold bullion
I was taught at an early age that the blood is the truest currency of freedom. 

And What is this rumor of free?
The Giant in the hills
The gnome in the valley
The nymph at the mouth of a waterfall
The myth that lives in the hearts and minds of well wishers
Well to do. Scared to think. Wish to act
And life can rehearse like a movie
That fires real life bullets 
Instead of blanks

And Bruce Lee said 
Because Action is your flow 
will you allow your well to run dry?
Its now never my nigga, let me know 
Cuz ppl is just spooked these days
And I aint talkin bout the Spook Behind The Door
You tell niggas  to fight for what they believe in
And all of a sudden niggas dont love shit no mo’
Gods transformed into cowards 
Conditioned and literally scared shitless
Cant bear the fact that no one else will act
But all they willing to do is Bear Witness

Sniff sniff
what is that smell?
Where from this foul stench of inaction?
Nigga your breath just stinks
The Chitter chatter and whisperings
of inequities on repeat and 
“its their fault” on shuffle
Of “we” finding reasons
So tell me,
if your reasons were to subside 
would "the struggle" 
still be in season.
Or are you just seasoning the beef. 
A better tasting slow death
That’ll still put your inner divinity to sleep
CHECK IT...This is PSA 
From a True school of a Most Supreme Science 
Melanin and fear don’t occupy the same space Black Man 
Do you smell 
The BBQ'd flesh and tendons of a flock gon astray. 
See royalty kneeling at the foot of a fraud. 
Literally damning themselves as they praise. 

Ask Tyler Perry, he'll tell ya that a family that prays together, stays 2gether

And I learned from a snake named Ty that a family that can’t keep their lips together
fugg around and be slaves forever.

So be careful what you pray for Fam’lay. 

Somethings just need to remain our bidness, Fam’lay.

And everybody who’s interested, aint looking out for ya best interest, Family. 

See we want the same beauty For Colored Girls that we do For Colored Boys. Black males publicly hung out to dry still reminds me of strange fruit. So, i beg you be modest with your pendulum. And if you feel you must push, push for balance.

Everywhere there is unplanned potential is a potential plantation. Seeds in the sod of a well manicured lawn. A picture painted perfect. But did you see the shifty eyes.

A war against our men is our war against us all, just like a war against our women is a war against as all. So don’t let them pit us against each other, w/ foot notes from ol Willie’s letter. Y' kno they just want to see us fall. 

In conlusion

Start a garden. Mentor a child. Learn to build a dwelling from the ground up. Smile at your neighbor. Say what you mean. Do what you say. Fall for someone without trying to get up. Matter o fact, grow flowers on that there ground. Become creative, not only in the way you work. But in the way you love. 

For we are Love Scientists

The spirit is revolt 

The mission is evolve

The instrument is love

And it plays a note of freedom so sweet you can damn near taste it. 

Ssssshhhhhhhh.... This is my favorite part