Tag Archives: hypocrisy

“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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Unseen Portrait

I realized this morning that I could never have met Mandela after he had been released from jail
Because I was not famous

Just another brown face trying to carve out my legacy amidst rejection letters, poorly written poems, and richly dreamt dreams that try to reconcile all of the sins
of irresponsible men in waiting rooms
and the eulogies for all tomorrow’s children
who, further removed from the gray heaven of blood and electric typewriters,
have come to accept a world where folk heroes are not born
but made
by a media conglomerate
who had no interest in freedom or humanity in the first place

I accept tonight that I will never meet the Dalai Lama,
I am not powerful enough
In fact, I am quite weak –
Too weak

And, as some bird in the twilight corner of the sky knows,
The way my sore teeth concede:
A raw nerve never gets a break
It only gets
removed

*

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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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Lying Meat


There is a risk
in knowing
trusting
and believing
the eyes in your head
and the voice in your heart…


…The feeling
that crawls
along the wall of your
spleen
underway
inside your mind
the decay
of a possibility.

that lying meat is proven right with each and every passing day their structures stand and balance the board of the hollow man’s wet-dream
A scoreboard for the insurance man
A loose noose so the stock trader can’t hang himself
(Not that he’d want to/No he’s made the bet against the hands that tied the mesh together/In fact he owns the machine)
All hail the robotic father and forsaken son beaten into the sand of the King Tut exhibition where they’ll teach you to walk like an Egyptian for a special price but think like an Angry Saxon on his way home from the yards teeth tongue and dripping waiting in the mouth
Below there are about a million suckers who’ve reached the end of their lollipop
Each of them a Joe Stack in between the sheets of their mind sheets of the sound sheets of a lonely woolen brain tired of trying and nervous about what it all meant
Rattlesnakes don’t commit suicide,
but sheep know when it is time to raise the b-b-b-baahh…

Not sure where that leaves us

Do we have hope?
(What’s hope – but nope with more hair!)
Hope has been AWOL since 1492 and returned briefly somewhere in between the Beatles and Martin Luther King
NY and Alabama
A porter’s camera and freshly painted theater that still smelled like a barn and had a few drops of sweat left behind by Max Roach or a sari that had just been ripped and was struggling to break free of its curry and dog eared ruffles

O-bomb-a reappraised hope and made off with a hefty sum
Not sure where it exactly got him
But i know for a fact that he sleeps well at night

Glad somebody does


There’s a bleeding termite inside
each of us
what was once sawdust
is now
the backbone
of an African chief
a winded Viking
an Indian sermon
once gazed upon
before the dollar made its move.

*
— from the 2011 chapbook, “Lying Meat & Other Poems Beneath the Oil”

Lying Meat

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