As Heritage Streams Through Saxophones and Hi-hats I Contemplate the Breaks

My dad listens to jazz, he really listens, appreciates all the instruments,
nods his head in agreement while the notes play,
grooves with the sharps and flats.
He listens to his jazz, as boom's and bip's re-verb,
Like I read verb from the masters,
study their word choice and tone,
those tones speak to him.
It took me years to discover what it was in his jazz that acceded to my fathers mood.

Those songs that go on too long,
pauses too pregnant with forced emphasis,
like those poems I never finished.
The ones too poetic to mean anything,
phrases phrased to rhyme for rhyme,
a series of
one,
word,
lines,
that stream of words that run on unchecked by comma or semicolon simply to comply with the act of insurrection that all poems should be because poets are rebellious
It's those songs he rejected, skiped over,
didn't mention in his monthly "you should hear."

As I sit and listen to his music, I mean really listen,
I hear those C's, D's, and E flats.
I note the notes that fall, and the ones that don't,
realizing that what my father nods in agreement to,
is how the lines
break.

Ms. Kitt

Many would not consider her a Legend, and many don't even know who she is, or was, but what she was, was legendary. I mean, the first black superhero, or super-vilain rather. Ms. Kitt played Cat Woman in the Original Batman TV series that began in the 60's. I mean she was cool, sexy, intreaging exotic, made every man melt, even if they couldn't admit it to their mainstream white friends around the water cooler the next morning.

Obviously I wasn't around in the 60's and the only thing I know about that Batman series is the reruns that I was able to catch on TV-Land as a pre-teen. I found it to be lame.... I mean really lame, with the huge POW's and BAMMMMM's that would pop up on the screen when the fighting began; the very strange, and close, relationship between the men in tights, Batman and Robin; and all of the "Holy rusted metal, Batman," and "Gee wizz! Here they come!" that came out of the very slack dialogue. But the one thing I remember is that Cat Woman always got away, and always had those Heroes wrapped around her little finger... one word... cool.

But at the time of those re-runs Ms. Kitt was just a lightskined black chick in a mask no face for me, just a voice. Then I saw Boomerang. Again a movie that is under most people's radar, but in the Black Cinema circuit it is a classic. Staring Eddie Murphy, Robin Givens, Halle Berry, and of course Ms. Kitt as Lady Eloise... again she was cool, confident, sexy, even as the aging matriarch, and semi-sexual predator... but she was hilarious. This is the Eartha that I learned to love, watching her in comedic roles, even as the millionaire heiress on Living Single... cool.

Now I'm not claiming to be the biggest fan, or to have her albums, but I do respect the hustle. She was awesome, killing the game on the stage (Paris, Broadway, Off-Broadway, and on tour as a musical artist), and screen (TV and Movies). I mean we are talking about a 70 year old woman who could still do a one handed hand-stand... cool.

So Miss Eartha Kitt you will be missed, well at least by me, and I will be spending the next month renting her movies and downloading her music. I'm going to let her go out with a bang, by gaining at least one more serious admirer, and maybe, just maybe I can learn some of that sexy that came so easy to her, if I can get that down, then maybe I can be cool too.

The Morning After (or November 5th)

In bed

- satisfied

- and exhausted

I lay,

with smile

completely unable

- and unknowing

of how to voice

new thoughts

New answers that went

- unquestioned

In the

days

weeks

months

Before this morning.

Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes

Is there an attack? Maybe one on our possitive Black role models? I think it might be so. Just one day after Chicago's own Bernie Mac passes away, so does singer/song-writer Isaac Hayes. It might not seem like much, just a commedian, just a dude who wrote some songs. But that was one less drug dealer, one less thief, one more notch on the belts of African-Americans, and one more dream for our youth. I don't really understand. I'm not saying that I wish death on anyone, but why is it that the 50 cent's of the world always seem to survive... they always seem to get away clean. I know that it's all written, that Bernie and Isaac had their name in the book way before I understood the entity that is God. I also understand that they died of natural causes, they weren't doing what they shouldn't have been doing. No affairs, no car crash, just working out, or trying to get better. These things I know. What I don't know is what we are going to do when I'm upset about these things, and my younger sister isn't. She doesn't know music past Miley Sirus, and Alicia Keys. She doesn't understand what it means to win a Grammy and an Oscar for music that you did not sample but actually composed; and, although she's seen the Bernie Mac show, and heard of The Original Kings of Comedy, she doesn't know what it meant to Black chicago for Bernie to get a HBO comedy special, or to be on one of the first seasons of Def Comedy Jam. To me it ment a lot. And I want to thank Isaac and Bernie for their contributions. For those who didn't appreciate you before you died, and for those who appreciate you even more now, I want to say thank you. Rest In Peace.

The Waiting Game

I'm waiting for a lot of things... for love, for my life to really start, for a real job. But I guess I'm just like a lot of people, I hate to wait. I often wonder what the big deal is with waiting, and why we are such an instant gratification society. We are always trying to go faster. As soon as we learn to walk, we run, and when that gets tiring we learn how to ride a bike, and that's all good until we can drive. We are always trying to get away from something rapidly, and to something new even quicker.

But sometimes I wish that I could slow down. But T-mobile, student loans, and eating, really doesn't allow that to happen.

My greatest wish? For one of those remotes that Adam Sandler had in Click. But it would have only one button... Pause. And I would definitely take a nap.

A Simple Request

I want to cry,
Be broken into little pieces --
fractions of hindsight my muse.

It is my dream to drown,
In cartons of ice /creamed future --
altered by distrust.

I need my world axis,
To tilt opposing rotation --
stopped to find a new gravitational field.

Why can't I --
be skeptical of motives;
relive past relationships
through current transgressions;
run from my feelings.

What I wouldn't do --
to regret my decisions;
to rehash old arguments;

to be -

absolutely

unequivocally

completely and utterly


miserable

or --

at least


have the opportunity to love.

Growing Up

So exactly when is it that a person "grows up"? I have been asking myself this question for years in relation to graduating from college and living up to my "potential" as a productive member of society, but I never really thought of it in a literal sense until today.

We often ask kids, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" And we get a wide range of responses from doctor, to astronaut, and often inanimate objects and animals that seem cool at the time (like that one commercial on T.V. when the kid said he wanted to be a duck... how cute!). My mother once told me that when I was asked that question as a child my first response was "I want to be God," a statement that is rather ambitious for a 3 year old. I don't know what was going on in my toddler brain that put that unreachable goal falsely in my grasp, but I often wonder, if it was simply to make people feel better.

Maybe growing up is not all it's cracked up to be, maybe it is more than just an age, or a salary, or paying for your own things. I know plenty of kids who make their own money, but can't drive a car, are they grown? Is it simply the ability to take care of yourself? Most would say yes, well what about an unemployed 30 something mooching off of parents, would you call him grown?
I think that adulthood is a state of mind, not a state of "I'm grown, I do what I want." Because as Dennis Quaid's dad in The Rookie says "At some point you have to stop doing what you want to do, and start doing what you are meant to do." Basically adults don't get to do what they want, unless they lucked up on the part of fate that allows that sort of thing. To this day I operate my life by my 3 year old wishes, I try to do what makes others feel better, or by weighing how my decisions effect other people. Does this mean that I'm grown now? Is compassion and consideration the mecca that we are all trying to reach? Is the pinnacle when our decisions make us and everyone else around us happy? If this is the turning point then there are some people who are 50, 60, and 70 year old kids. People who walk around doing what is best for them and not thinking of the consequences of their actions.

This being the case, when do you become too old to grow up? How many times have you heard "well that is just how they are," or "you better get use to it," or "you can't teach an old dog new tricks." When will people realize that being a better person is not a trick? It's not something you do just to save face or to keep up appearances; that not being bad, is not improving, it is simply covering your tracks.

But the scary thing is that it seems the more that we "grow up," the less responsibility we take for mistakes and problems. Do you remember when it was embarrassing to get caught doing something wrong? Yes that cookie tasted good, but if your mom walked in to find your hand in the cookie jar it hurt, not only because she slapped your hand, but because of the look of disappointment in her eyes. We have lost that innocence today ladies and gentlemen. We have lost the ability to blush and feel bad for doing something bad, and to feel good for doing something good.

I for one would not be apposed to living in a world run by 3 year olds. We would all be a bunch of furry animals with red juice stains and an extended nap time. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, sharing would be a bitch, but at least we could look forward to snack-time and learning how to grow up at a decent age, like say... maybe 18.

George Clinton is my Grandfather!

George Clinton might be up there in years, but he's still Funkin' it out! After going to this concert with my friends Carolyn and Rachael I am convinced that I was born in the wrong decade; and after dancing with Mr. Clinton for 15 min. I am also convinced that he might be my long lost grandfather (you know, if I had a third parent that got abducted by "The MotherShip" somewhere around 1979). All I have to say is make my Funk the P-Funk, because I would like to get Funked Up.

New Media...

So, after attending an 8th grade class reunion and realizing how awesome and amazing all of my classmates were, I decided to become a copy cat. A couple of my classmates have these great blogs and I figured, why not jump on-board? So here is my attempt to live a relatively public life, and share my poetry, thoughts, and whatever else makes me tick... hope you enjoy.