Tag Archives: apathy

“I simply feel that the kids in their 20’s today try to model their lives on the surfaces of people and ideas that simply appeal to their basic desires and fashionable politics. They are flags in the wind. They have no real convictions or substance, and they are easily manipulated – but so is everyone else. Regardless of age. But if the youth are so innovative today — what have they given us besides social media and a ‘hip’ corporate culture that breeds apathy? It’s Orwellian. I mean, we’re all Boxers at the end of the day, really – or the best of us are. Some of us are Clovers. And a few of us are Benjamins. That’s me. I know for a fact that life will never improve or change. And I accept that. But I don’t have to accept my misery on the inevitable journey to the grave.”                                                                                                                                                                                                  — St. Claire Mulligan, Tremors

..On the Inevitable Journey to the Grave

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A Thanksgiving Nightmare: a clip from “As an Act of Protest”

On Thanksgiving day, Cairo Medina (Che Ayende) visits author/Professor Walker Eastman (Ward Nixon) in an attempt to gain solace and understanding as he is descending into madness due to the police brutality and institutionalized racism around him. Eastman has prompted Cairo to take an interest in “Black alliance” and work with other African-Americans to improve their political situation in the West — but only when it is convenient for him. Although both characters give a strong argument, this memorably expressionistic scene is at once absurd and moving due to its acknowledgment that colonization & capitalism has succeeded in destroying the black community at large.

Made with an uncompromising passion, Dennis Leroy Kangalee’s powerfully strange film was an artistic response to the police murder of Amadou Diallo by the NYPD in 1999.

Made with the sweaty thrust of a political punk or hip-hop record, this “cinematic tone poem” was misunderstood by most establishment critics (‘too angry”, and not “hopeful” enough) and was the antithesis of a Hollywood Production, but found a life outside of America and within avant-garde and more politically progressive circles.

— Notes from Donald Griffith’s 2004-2005 Tanz Theater-Black International Cinema Festival program, Berlin & Paris Edition.

NOTE: This footage was re-assembled from various bootlegs and we’ve tried hard to retain the original sound, however difficult.

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“What Happened to the Brother on the Block? (The NY Horror Vol.1)” – Spoken Word Recording

“What happened to the brother on the block? He turned into a Starbucks!”

Inspired by the Twilight Zone, the comedy of Pryor & Mooney, Theater of the Absurd, & the Folkways Spoken Word Recordings, this darkly-poetic satire about corporate-friendly gentrification in “21st Century Urbana” was recorded in one take in May 2010 and was mixed by Isaiah Singer, who applied spare musical arrangements and sound effects to support the “surreal midnight vulnerability” of Kangalee’s reading. The result is a perfect introduction to Dennis LeRoy Kangalee’s dramatic spoken word and fiction.  It was the first installment in a series detailing the gross bizarre suburbanization of NYC and, of course, led to his theatrical realization of “Gentrified Minds(The NY Horror Vol.2)” which includes an abridged version of this story via his now abandoned persona, the ‘Nomad Junkie’. .

Read an excerpt of the original story here.

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Kitty Genovese

Anger is just rage with an ‘N’ to soften the blow.

Always look out for someone who cherishes books & then burns them.

first noticed the lack of outrage in the summer of ‘04
the year Republicans blew through NY like a shark in water
looking back over my shoulder
through the pinched elbow of time,
i can see it was merely a habit i had noticed,
a conscious “putting-down”
a fear of “letting loose”
elements of souls
not saved.
We have no anger. We have Facebook.

they have pathologized everything that is normal.
mtv created our generation
a holocaust of chic-violent-racist-woman hating nation
gave a boat of idiots who were weaned on Star Wars – cheapness & trash,
pimps & prostitutes,
& Lexus-wet dreams
& made sure they were dried like corpses
& believed in like rain

rage is of a past era
so we’re accused of romanticizing the human ‘error’
of civil rights
cause we’d rather crack open the skull of a depraved man
who refuses to give his seat to a woman
rather than call my black brother a nigger
or my white sister a bitch—
so we’re branded “Dinosaurs”
& my head aches & my teeth ache & i wonder where my son is, what my daughter could be —
They’ll have no anger. They’ll have Facebook.

take some responsibility
stop blaming your kids
you don’t hate anything cause you don’t love anything
you don’t love cause you’re consumed with fear
you say you hate your landlord but you give him all your money
you say you hate the war but you’re glad it’s bright & sunny
you won’t give to a man without a job
but you’ll pay your taxes so Uncle Sam can maim and rob!
eat your pizza & shut up
we’ll join you if you’re ready to sweep —
we’re not preachers
we’re cleaners
sent to take out
the morning trash

everything is personal cause there is no business
just opportunity for the rich to get richer while you defend them.

Call me when the guilty decide to bleed.

We have sewed the seeds of Kitty Genovese.

*

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A Broken Man

i’m a broken man, not all there in the head
sometimes i feel free only to discover the valise i bought
was the spine of another man’s pants —
purchased with love, out of his very first paycheck

and i should have felt something,
i should have mourned
for my greed and my cheap reasoning
that i deserved a shroud on my back
more than he deserved to walk
but i am a broken man
i can not get my own legs back
i can not recognize where i am at
i am a broken man like teeth pulled apart
maybe no gaps in my smile,
but —
holes
in my heart.

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“I must accept the punishment, all sentences have their terms. Their limits. Those limits are not negotiated -They are endured. Like beatings from an authority other than your Ten-year-old’s perception of Mom and Dad. The truth is that I must have something in my life which is not right – otherwise I’d have no reason to complain. And I need that reason, God, I need that reason. I need to feel useful somehow, cause I’ve got nothing else holding me together except the frustration with my life’s circumstances, my frightening scenarios, and my excessive and constant guilt – which brings forth nothing and only fosters self-loathing and deterioration. You may do something but it never clinches the shame that hangs over you and gnaws at your brain.

Guilt is the mysterious painful lining along the corner of your periphery; hanging itself, doing a balancing act on the razor’s edge. The clean side of everything you tried to keep fresh. Anything sterile will soon be eaten up. Even Hamlet’s mousetrap – it vomits before it unfolds…but neatly nestled within its unsavory corners: tiny pieces of me.”

“I must accept …

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