the playground

Jubilation!

2010-10-05T22:36:00.000-07:00

TICKET SALES BUTTON:

Reflection Eternal

2009-10-12T15:31:00.001-07:00

They're back.

Talib Kweli + Hi Tek-Reflection Eternal -Back Again-Vid Premiere

Reflection Eternal | MySpace Music Videos

Wallace Thurman, the 'Mediocre Journalist'

2009-10-05T15:20:00.000-07:00

I'm still smitten with the Harlem Reniassaince. Dug Wallace Thurman's "The Blacker the Berry" from my moms library and have been surprisingly engrained in it for the past two days.

Thurman's writing doesn't grab me. Not like Langston's, or Bruce's. His prose is too formal -- the kind of writing that makes you more aware that the writer is trying hard to sound smart instead of letting the characters come to them. It's the kind of writing that's unashamed of its agenda. But for some reason, I can't put this book down.

For me, Wallace Thurman has always been an intriguing character of the Harlem Renaissance for me. For one, he doesn't stand out too much. He as the book agent who attracted some of the New Negro Movement's most iconic figures to Harlem: Langston Hughes, Jessie Fauset, to name a couple. Whereas Langston Hughes may have been the soul, Wallace Thurman was a sort of master orchestrator, the main editorial impetus behind the publication of Fire! and engrossed in a predictably complicated relationship with white money man Carl Van Vecten.

After all that, he ultimately ended up alienated from most of his friends, cut off from Harlem's literary pulse, and dead of alcohol poising by age 34.

There's a scene in the film Brother to Brother that I think captures perfectly Thurman's tortured identity as a writer. In the film, Langston Hughes is irate, pointing out to Richard Bruce Nugent where Wallace had allegedly ripped off chapters of an unpublished manuscript. In Thurman's defense, Nugent basically says, "So What?" Then points to a place in the prose where he suspects Wallace subconsciously let out his insecurities, saying he feared he'd never be more than a "medicore journalist."

For me, it brings up intriguring questions. For lots of writers these days, who usually have to do without fancy arts endowments and, if they're lucky, actually do get jobs as journalists, what price does art play? For instance, I'm great at meeting deadlines. But when it comes to the actual mental and creative energy it takes to come up with a work of fiction, or poetry, I'm often stumped. It's easy to fool yourself into thinking that writing as a job can suffice for the writing you really wanna do.

How much did that figure into Thurman's demise? Into his work?

Aside from the obvious comparisons, Thurman still catches my eye. For one, he was raised in the West, went to USC, and undoubtedly draws on that complicated racial experience in his work. In the book I'm reading now, Thurman uses the Black communities in Boise, Idaho and Los Angeles as the backdrop for the main characters ultimate escape to Harlem. To me, that's fascinating. He veers away from the predictable Negro-from-the-South narrative and comments almost exclusively on how racism has shaped Black Amerca's relationship with itself.

I can feel that. In fact, I think it's a much more apt representation of race for today's racial landscape than the majority of the up-from-slavery narratives of lots of Harlem Renaissance literature.

Juve on New Orleans

2009-10-02T11:08:00.000-07:00

Does anyone remember Juvenile?

Well, he's back in the news with two new singles, and some words on the gentrification of his hometown, New Orleans:

If you g go through the ghettos of New Orleans and you ride around, you'll see stuff being rebuilt. You'll see houses but the problem is who's moving in them. The people who actually lived in those areas are not getting the opportunity to move back in them. So that's why I say it's still messed up in a sense. Not by the naked eye it probably won't look like that but it is still messed up.

Gentleman's Kool-Aid: New iLL-Literacy

2009-09-29T20:58:00.001-07:00

Check out the first track off iLL-Literacy's iB4the1! Download here.

2pac: Academic Research Subject

2009-09-25T20:46:00.000-07:00

Last week I had a talk with a longtime Bay Area high school teacher who incorporates hip-hop pedagogy into this lesson plans. After 18 years in classrooms throughout California and having toured schools in several different countries, he was adamant about one thing: 2pac is the most influential musical icon to young people, hands down.

As a teacher, Pac's influence became especially important for him when it came to translating the lived experiences many young people of color face to ideas in the classroom. According to this teacher, it doesn't matter the classroom or continent, wherever there's a community in struggle, 2pac is the most enduring musical icon for young folks because his music speaks, in a very real way, about struggle.

And it looks like the same can also by said for the ivory tower.

Recently Pac's work was back in the news when his mother, Afeni Shakur, donated over 150 of the slain rapper's writings to Robert W. Woodruff Library at Atlanta University Center. The collection includes rough drafts of raps, poems and a photocopy of the the rapper's original contract with Death Row records.

The library is home to Atlanta's historically Black colleges, including Spelman, Morehouse, Clark Atlanta, and the Morehouse School of Medicine.

I can't think of any other artist of our generation who's had such a profound impact, both culturally and academically. Off the top of my head, there's maybe Thelonious Monk and, later, Billie Holiday. But even then, it took decades for Black music to gain legitamacy as a topic worthy of scholarly research.

So why's 2pac so relevant? Check out this video, which I first peeped over at Colin's blog. It's as relevant today as it was back in '92. At least, I think so.

Cutest Lakers Fan Ever

2009-09-25T17:01:00.001-07:00

Reaching Out to Raider Nation

2009-09-23T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a niners fan by blood. Born and raised in the city, remember the pride of walking to the bus stop before school the day after they won the '94 Super bowl. I love me some 49er football.

But there's something about those Raiders.

Maybe it's because I'm living in Oakland these days. Maybe it's also the anti-displacement work I've been immersed in lately and how much more aware I am of the 49ers complicated place in Bayview's history. But I know I always like to root for the underdog, and let's face it, the 49ers have never really been known as the "people's team."

That claim goes to Oakland, and its football team. No, JaMarcus ain't exactly killing them, Darren McFadden seems to have gotten lost in the Black hole, and Al Davis manages his team about as well as I manage my personal finances. But even with all that drama, the Raiders have got hella fight in them.

How else can you explain their fans' ride-or-die attitude? I'm not saying that I'm on the bandwagon, and I don't think my niner allegiance will ever fully allow me to embrace Raider Nation.

But after this post, it takes me one tiny step closer.

Reading For Colored Girls

2009-09-18T16:03:00.001-07:00

One of the few candid pictures I have of my sister as a teenager is probably from 1989. I like it because it's goofy. She's wearing an oversized yellow t-shirt with her arms crossed, her head tilted to the side and she's sticking out her tongue at whoever's taking the picture. Behind her on the wall is a poster for Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls.

When I was really little, I was drawn to the bright colors that contrasted with the sad look on the mysterious Black woman's face. As I got older, the title's invocation of death drew me in more, made me realize that in a haunting kind of way, all of us are carrying around the baggage of losing someone too soon.

I always thought it was fitting. Long before I knew of the play's significance for Black girls across the country, I knew it would always make me think of my sister.

For some reason, I appreciated the tragic irony of it all: Black girls naive (or strong) enough to smile before they died, and Black girls like me, ten years later, searching their faces for clues about our own futures. I liked the nuance of it, the thought that my sister wasn't just a statistic or a sad story or even a martyr, but a girl who, at 14 or 15, already knew she had to be her own hero.

Despite the everyday evidence I saw around me, the picture showed me that there as something tremendously powerful about being Black and female and that even if it had tragic endings, it was never tragic in and of itself; hell, people wanted to make art out of it.

More than anything, it made me realize that my family's greatest tragedy was also our greatest strength, and that we weren't alone.

Maybe it's that visceral connection that's kept me away from the actual book for so long. To date, I've never actually read Ntozake Shange's work. I've seen and held copies and at times borrowed versions have collected dust on my bookshelf. I've had friends perform it on stage and, like everyone else, rolled my eyes when I heard Tyler Perry was trying to bring it to the big screen.

To be real, I'm afraid to read it. Afraid to be disappointed, maybe. Afraid that I won't see what my sister saw. Afraid that in the hoopla over it being required reading for Black girls many moons over, I won't be in the mental or emotional space to take it in. Afraid that I won't "get it." And, in a lot of ways, afraid because I know it'll never bring me any closer, physically, to my sister.

So, here I go. I'm headed to the library this evening to pick up a copy. My first time actually reading it. Have others read it? What's been your experience?

On Writing

2009-09-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

I hate to admit that I'm lazy when it comes to my creative writing, but I am. I've heard countless times that the only way to improve your writing is to keep writing, and when it comes to journalism, I'm on board.

But when it comes to my creative work, I get blocked. Author Steven Barnes told me this summer that if you spend 10,000 hours doing anything, you'll master it. Me and my VONA peers bought into it, but still struggle.

Here's an interview with John Edgar Wideman. Dude's written like a gazillion books and despite the fact that his fiction is generally regarded by some readers as being hella -- sometimes unyieldingly -- dense, he keeps writing. (Try to ignore the "Fanon" mispronunciation; bet she'd know how to pronounce "Faulkner" though!)

Two REAAAALLY Dope Queer Movies

2009-09-17T17:07:00.000-07:00

Here's the typical queer people of color story line: girl (or boy) falls in love with girl (or boy). First girl (or boy) goes on some long hero's journey toward accepting their "identity" before coming out to their family and being promptly put out on the street. Being queer is like the their biggest, most pressing life issue so when the originally girl (or boy) they fell in love with plays straight and breaks their heart, they either a) kill themselves, b) renounce their queerness and join a gang, or c) make their traditional mother happy by getting pregnant.

The end.

Obviously, the movies I like are a little bit more nuanced than that.

Here are two of my fav's:

Saving Face:
(Try to ignore the croaky white lady lesbian voice in the background)

Despite the fact that I've been on a Lynn Chen kick lately, I really dig this movie. Why? Because it's cute and awkward, which pretty much sums up every queer relationship I've ever seen or heard about. The two Asian American leads play their roles spectacularly. Neither goes through an overt "coming out" phase, and coming out is never positioned as something they have to do outside of their community.

Some of my friends have critique's, though. One said that it has a sadly typical representation of gender and too easily falls into the butch/femme narrative. I think it's more complicated to them. I mean, yes, the two main characters are a ballet dancer and surgeon, BUT I think there's important complexity in each representation. The so-called "butch" character isn't particularly emotionally powerful or sure of herself. The dancer (Chen), on the other hand, is kinda badass and advocates dramatic public displays of affection.

For both characters, family is important. And of course, there's the character of the mom, who turns queerness and acceptance on its head. Love. It.

Quinceañera (2006):

Not only does this film have a nuanced take on queerness, but it's probably one of the most honest and skillful critique's of gentrification I've ever seen. So. Fucking. Dope.

And it was made for only $40,000 in the filmmakers' neighborhood (not sure if they're the ones gentrifying East LA...)

Back to Middle School

2009-09-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

I spent the earlier part of today doing my first in-depth reporting at a middle school in Oakland. I observed a sixth grade math class, and on top of feeling dumb as shit for not remembering a damn thing about algebra (except for PEMDAS: Please Excuse My Dumb Ass Sister).

Lots to observe, of course, but what I couldn't get over was how tiny the kids were. I've been racked by a serious case of nostalgia recently. Maybe it's the fact that hella people from my middle school days have somehow found me on Facebook. But with all the adult pressures of jobs, bills and housing, I've been yearning to get back to when shit was relatively simple: make the basketball team, do my homework, worry about what to wear to school the next day. I know retrospect is a biatch, 'cause in reality I know middle school was filled with bubbling insecurities and the helplessness of seeing friends and fam struggle while feeling powerless to help out.

But what struck me today is looking at the boys (I hope that doesn't read as pervishly as it does in my head). The class was filled with kids of color, and it looked a lot like I remember mine looking, back then I wasn't worried about what white kids might think or how state standards defined me. When I saw the boys in this class, they looked engaged, even excited. Even when you could tell the math was pushing their nerves, they didn't necessarily buck authority.

I remember how much changed for me in middle school, especially in terms of how I viewed race and gender. In sixth grade, two of my best friends were guys. One was Black and Japanese, the other was Chinese, and all we'd talk about was football, Southpark, and Mrs. Vorsanger's science experiments. By the time we hit 8th grade, they weren't friends; the former seemed to understand what it meant to be Black at a San Francisco public school, and the latter only kicked it with the kids in the local Asian Gang. Meanwhile, my awkward ass was giving up on basketball and trying to figure out how to walk comfortably in skin-tight flare jeans. They went to the same high school and, as far as I know, never spoke again.

I know it sounds hella cliche, but when exactly does innocence fade? To my recollection, none of us experienced any dramatic, life-changing encounter that made us look at how we related to one another differently. It was gradual. As far as we knew when were entered middle school, we all had the same dreams.

It seemed like the most profound transformations happened in the boys I knew. Sure, the girls changed too; some played stupid, some got pregnant, some fell off, and some I still kick it with to this day. But it seems like the boys understood intuitively somewhere between sixth and seventh grade that you don't usually earn cred by being smart or kicking it with girls you're not trying to get with.

"... So now I pout like a grown jerk, wishing all I had to do now, was finish homework."

Aaanyway, in typically cheeseball fashion, I'll leave with you with a classic:

Lynn Chen's Pissed

2009-09-15T13:48:00.000-07:00

Lynn Chen, star of the super cute queer film Saving Face, is awesome.

Here she is, promoting her new comedy, White on Rice:

Oh, and she's pretty smart, too.

On Going to Grad School

2009-09-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

Just read the good homie Colin's amazing post and was inspired to write about my education, or lack thereof.

Basically, I'm terrified of school. Terrified of not being in school. Terrified of confronting how I've been institutionalized to expect to be in a classroom every September. And mostly terrified that after all of that socialization -- 17 years, not including summers -- I still don't know shit.

I've been thinking a lot about applying to grad schools recently. Part of it is due to the fact that it's my "fall back plan." But I'd be kidding myself if I didn't admit that I've felt this overwhelming need to theoretically understand the parts of myself I've been running from all these years. For me, school has always been a liberating experience, even in its most demoralizing times. I was always that introverted kid with a book (or documentary) stuck beneath my arm. I absolutely love the process of learning, of being challenged, of feeling like I'm growing.

The problem recently is that I've realized how much of my schooling was bullshit. Most times it didn't challenge me. It royally fucked me up in terms of thinking about race and class and privilege, just in its structure. So there's the practical part of me that looks at school as the most "productive" next step, one that I hope, if approached in the right way, will be liberating and fulfilling and challenging as fuck.

Then there's the other part of me that knows that schools will invariably reinforce all the shit I've always hated anyway: who can speak the loudest, who's the sassiest, who takes up the most space, who uses the most obscure words or can pull some random theorist out of their ass.

But maybe that's just my experience?

And then there's the cynic in me. I hate how competitive school is. I hate how, no matter the program or its intention, it's inevitably set up to make you feel like shit. I have a hard time thinking of myself "studying" the life and death circumstances of me and my communities, especially when it's caught up in my own and other people's insecure bullshit. I have a hard time chatting it up about what conferences I want to attend or papers I want to present. Yes, I know education is a business. It's like a job. And for me, that's exactly the problem.

So the obvious answer is that going to school doesn't mean shit about getting an education. But right now, it's the only reasonable alternative I can think of that would allow me to sit around and read books all day.

...To Be Continued (I'm sure...)

Why Sports Are Always Gender Queer

2009-09-12T18:59:00.000-07:00

Let's face it: sports is perhaps the most prominent arena for challenging conventional gender norms. Unfortunately, in the high profile case of South African runner Caster Semenya, she had no choice in the matter.

The record-setting 18-year-old South African runner became the target of international controversey after the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) forced her to take a gender test. Well, the results were leaked to the press: she "failed", whatever that means. According to them, she's intersex. Read more about the details here.

The details aren't really important. What makes this so intriguing -- and sad -- is that the controversy generally glosses over how sports have always been a site of both intentional and unintentional reisistance to gender norms.

First, there's the blatant homoeroticism of most major male-dominated sports, like wrestling and American football. Although both sports are brutal physical expressions of masculinity, they're also aesthetic and social examples of male bonding. Whether it's the tight uniforms, constant physical contact or on-and-off field comraderie, they all fall somewhere along the line of gender non conformity.

With self-identified women, this is especially true. I'm a life-long basketball nerd who was drawn to the sport at least partially because it allowed me to express an aesthetic queerness that I wasn't quite comfortable doing in other social situations. On top of loving the game, I was also drawn to the baggy clothes that also served as an excuse to get out of rigid gender norms at school. I could comfortably wear sweatpants and hoodies to school without people constantly asking me why I was trying to dress "like a boy." Most times, they'd just shrug their shoulders and say, "Oh, she's on the basketball team, that's cool."

Granted, there's still an huge underlying assumption that most atheltic self-identified women are queer, to some degree. But for the most part, it's socially acceptable. Sports have always provided relatively safe spaces for queer women to bond, interact and take on leadership roles. It's a huge deal to be a confused queer kid and finally feel like you're worth something on the playing field.

Obviously, Semenya's case is different. She self-identifies as a woman. She's being shamelessly humiliated by the international media. She's being forced to confront her gender identity when perhaps, it was never a question for her before.

In a similar case, Indian runner Santhi Soundarajan also failed a gender test back in 2006 and was stripped of her silver medal at the Asian Games. She reportedly attempted suicide because of the controversy back in 2007.

I can't help but feel an overwhelming sadness for what she's going through. Recently, she withdrew from an upcoming race because, according to her coach, "she wasn't feeling well." For someone so young to go through something so humiliating in such a public way, I hope she has the support around her that she needs.

ikeepmoving: Steven Lopez

2009-09-10T12:15:00.000-07:00

steven lopez is another reason to love LA:

On Sade:

Lovers Redux from Steven Lopez on Vimeo.

With Erykah Badu:

Erykah Badu and Artist Steven Lopez collaborate for social change from Steven Lopez on Vimeo.

white queer hipsters astound me.

2009-09-10T12:13:00.001-07:00

i'm sitting in a cafe on 16th and Valencia in San Francisco. There are these two obnoxously loud white queer women taking up HELLA space. do they not realize how loud they are? do they not care? random thoughts.

young lords at 40

2009-08-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

yesterday marked the 40th anniversary celebration of the the young lords party in new york city. colorlines has a piece up on the mujeres of the young lords, via el diario/la prensa:

democracy now also recently ran a dope documentary on the party. check out the first part:

see the rest here, here and here.

DJ Zita: Where My Ladies At?

2009-05-09T19:00:00.001-07:00

Check out my latest interview with DJ Zita on Wiretap:

On political work:

Feminism or gender equality is perhaps most important to me because being a woman in a male-dominated game is a hustle. From club owners/managers to DJs to hip-hop itself, I'm working in a industry that is largely run by men. When you take a glimpse of the big picture, you see men in the highest positions of power running the clubs, running hip-hop, running our country. Hip-hop and the club industry's portrayals of women are also largely negative. I believe that what I represent is a strong, positive female-of-color force in the game of DJ'ing, promoting and hip-hop.

On Everlasting BASS:

Two years ago, I was discouraged by the fact that I was DJ'ing either as the only woman on an otherwise all-male bill, or DJ'ing with a line-up of all women at an event promoted by men. I realized that the only reason this was possible is because women DJs in the Bay did not have solidarity. We few women were all doing our own thing, and I feel that we needed to come together in sisterhood. These disappointing realities are my inspirations for starting B.A.S.S., short for "Bay Area Sistah Sound."

Read the entire interview here.

Sure sure to subscribe to Wiretap's weekly mailing list to get her exclusive new mix: Where My Ladies At: A Tribute to the Queens of True School Hip-Hop.

DJ Zita - WHERE MY LADIES AT? A Tribute to the Queens of True School Hip Hop by DJ Zita

Wax Poetics

2009-05-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

A behind-the-scenes look at one of my all-time favorite mags:

Lost Documentary on James Baldwin's Visit to San Francisco: Take This Hammer (1963)

2009-05-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

There's a recently uncovered PBS documentary on James Baldwin's 1963 visit to San Francisco. Watch the entire thing online.

From Kenyon Farrow:

Take This Hammer, follows author and activist James Baldwin in the spring of 1963, as he’s driven around San Francisco to meet with members of the local African-American community. He is escorted by Youth For Service’s Executive Director Orville Luster and intent on discovering: “The real situation of Negroes in the city, as opposed to the image San Francisco would like to present.”

Money quote: "There is no moral distance … between the facts of life in San Francisco and the facts of life in Birmingham. Someone’s got to tell it like it is. And that’s where it’s at.”

For me, the most interesting part of this documentary wasn't necessarily Baldwin's astute observations or the frank conversations he has with Black residents of the Fillmore and Bayview. It's seeing the fruits of San Francisco urban renewal come into form. Baldwin tours the Fillmore, where some of the 'hoods most notorious projects are in the middle of construction. Crazy to see the despair on people's faces even before they were built; crazier still to see anyone refer to a newly-minted OCP as "marvelous on the outside."

Photos from the film:

Ancient Jigga

2009-05-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

Before cristal, Atlantic Yards and Beyonce, there was Jay-Z speed rapping about Nubians in a high top fade:

Via Te-Nehisi Coates.

====

Anyway, had an interesting discussion with KG on gchat yesterday about Jay-Z's complex endorsement of revolutionary figures. Most notably, I was raving after finally having gotten around to listening to Mike Love's Nigerian Gangster. KG pointed out that that it was ironic that Jay-Z, the unrelenting capitalist, was paired up with Fela Kuti, one of the 20th century's most vehement anti-capitalist, anti-imperialist public figures. It's definitely complex, as is everything in our political and artistic landscape, but ultimately it comes down to the one thing that transcends political allegiances: good music.

Jay-Z is easily one of my favorite rappers of all time, and it has nothing to do with his politics, and everything to do with his honesty. And word play. I don't think that any artist should be burdened with touting the views of anyone but themselves.

And, quite frankly, a lot of underground, so-called "conscious" rap bores me to death. Not only is it preachy and, at times, cheesy as hell, but it's also lyrically stagnant. In his brilliant new book Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop*, CMC English Professor Adam Bradley argues that this point:

"Some rap critics, and a fair number of rap fans, have bemoaned the limited thematic range in mainstream rap in recent years. The culprit they most commonly blame is big business -- the record labels, radio comglomerates, and other commercial forces that treat rap as product rather than poetry. Undoudbtedly, rap's growing commodification plays a significant role in limiting the variety of raps we hear, and yet another answer lies in rap's rhymes themselves. When MC's settle into familiar pairs of rhyme words, they also tend to settle into familiar themes and attitudes. Someone who set out to sound like 50 cent will likely use many of the same rhyme words that 50 cent employs and, as a consequence, end of rapping about the same topics."

I would also extend this analysis to underground hip-hop. There's only so much you can do with the word "revolution" in 16 bars. Stylistically, I think it pays to pay homage not to any one person or experience, but to how complex reality can be, and how no opinion ever stays the same. Not only do you have more to say, but you have more ways to say it. Cee-Lo, Outkast, Weezy, hell, even Eminem, are good examples.

*Nerd Alert: Book of Rhymes is a must-read for any hip-hop head and/or literary dweeb.

2009-04-18T11:38:00.000-07:00

Ill Be In The Sky - B.o.B

detroit's underground resistance

2009-04-03T15:50:00.000-07:00

ah, to be a black girl in the 'hood with a love for techno. 'twas a lonely childhood at times, trying to explain to my basketball friends how eifle 65 and alice deejay ended up in my cd player. but maybe if i had been in detroit, i would've found a place -- or at least, some better techno.

i've heard rumblings about detroit's very black, very queer and oh-so-legendary techno scene for years now. and while i'm super excited to go to the city this summer to check it out first-hand, i'm also trying to get my homework in ahead of time. underground resistance is detroit's premier techno label, where the jazz, funk and rock roots of techno are put on full display.

short documentary:

(hilarious) interview:

favianna rodriguez

2009-04-03T15:25:00.000-07:00

don't you wish you could throw down like this? 'cause i do.

"Pasandola de Avión en Avión" (Going from Plane to Plane)

"Raw"

"Separación"

via favianna. see more images here.

favianna rodriguez is an artist and activist based in oakland, calif. she founded the east side arts alliance in oakland in 1999 and is probably iller than you.

under construction

2009-04-02T17:04:00.001-07:00

don't mind the mess. i'm playing around with a few things, so the site might look a little crazy over the next few days.

Texting Your Way to Love

2009-03-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

So heteronormative. And so, so true:

Intersecting lines will meet at some point

2009-03-17T23:02:00.000-07:00

Girlfriends are not overrated whats overrated is Girlfriends UPN and brunch
and lines and geometry are a little overrated
because they fail to exist in this world
parallel parking can not exist
but we do it anyway
diameters radii
the circumference of her waist
exists
the area between us and the right angle her hips and torso make
maybe I can believe
calculate the distance from her ankle to your face
professor okay Ive come to realize
this world revolves around Math
and Time= distance/speed
time equals distance over speed
I am two kisses away from her making 1 mph circles around her neck
how much time will it take to genuflect and read between the intersecting lines
because mom and dad will eventually meet girlfriends
at some point
how much longer will we wait
girlfriends are not overrated
geometry could
possibly exist here

Learning to Run

2009-03-14T19:22:00.000-07:00

I don't run on sand, really. Mostly, it's because I don't run--not for running's sake, anyway. Only if I'm chasing after something like a ball or a disc. Or a person.

You talked about running on sand like maintaining that solid friendship with an ex. Until now I could only nod along to your words with feigned understanding and false commiserations because I had never tried to do it. Don't get me wrong; I'm friendly with exes--friends, even--but never best friends like before the break-ups. This time is different. This time there is something about that friends'-girl-turned-romantic-interest-turned-girlfriend-turned-ex-turned-who-knows-what that won't allow me to just let go.

I mean, if she and I were honest with each other, or if we took the world's perspective as any kind of reflection of truth, we would say that we are more than just friends. But whatever we are, and regardless of my desire for more, I SO badly want to retain this friendship. I am afraid of what I am leaving myself when she moves out and on, but for the life of me I can't back away from this connection.

We have been through far too much together, and the Universe has said in Her many ways that she and I are meant to be together in some form. We dated through earthquakes, car accidents, flat tires, near deaths, and She showed us that we could move through these things unscathed. For me, though, the biggest sign came after the break-up. The end of my relationship with her knocked me off balance in my friendship with you, and at the time of your accident, I had decided to push her out of my life and to call you for a game of hoops. But She burned this from possibility.

For a while, I have reflected on this gut feeling that she and I are meant to be together. This feeling has been too strong to dismiss or reason away as mere infatuation or fantasy, but now I fear that I am holding onto something that she let go a long time ago. I have held it in my lungs for so long that it trapped some infection last week, and now my body needs to purge it in order to be healthy again.

I wish you were here to talk me through this. I wish you could advise me on what to do. I could really use some Mick and Rocky-style coaching on this one. I don't want to be chasing after anything anymore. I want to run on sand for running's sake and not because I hope that one day this relationship will work out. I don't quite know how to do that and I'm not sure if anyone but you could help me figure it out.

Today, like yesterday, I went to the beach and walked. I have to walk now because my lungs are too weak and my breath too shallowed from illness. While I was there, I remembered the days of sand tunnels, frisbees, and coronas that you and I shared last summer...and I remembered my first night with her. Wet-cold and warm blues and "letting her win" our race down the beach, and magic. She and I have run on sand together once before; I am gearing myself up to run again.

here's the thing about writing a bad review

2009-03-10T17:51:00.000-07:00

it's really easy if you're a hater. and i like to hate. especially when a film/album/person gets a lot of attention in a relatively short amount of time -- slumdog, kanye, hot cheetos. it's not really that i enjoy hating, it's just that once everybody starts telling me how amazing something is, my inner critic starts to rebel and i feel like i need to hate, if only to salvage some part of my individual humanity.

so after all this hoopla over medicine for melancholy, i had to be honest with myself. was i hating because i was truly concerned about the films content? or was my haterade coming from a deeper, more selfish space?

probably both.

i'd first heard about the film at the end of january when it was premiering in brooklyn. by mid-february i'd seen it getting favorable reviews in everything from the fader to post bougie to the san francisco chronicle (front page, even). my inner hater started creeping. slowly at first -- i didn't wanna read the reviews -- but by the time my transplanted white friends were talking about it, hatestronomous was in full blown survival mode.

i had to remind myself: calm down, jay. you have to like this film. it's about san francisco and alternablacks and bikes and fucked up romantic relationships and gentrification. and dammit, it's an indy film, too. not some fucked up commercial shit produced by sean penn and starring larenz tate and rosario dawson (although on second thought that might not be too bad).

in the span of little more than a month, medicine for melancholy went from a little-known niche film about black people and gentrification to one of this year's "it" films, something that the masses -- from brooklyn to boston and beyond -- could identify with on a personal level. and therein lay my problem: i didn't want to identify with something that everyone else could identify with on a personal level. for me, the experience of being born and raised and black in san francisco is uniquely personal. for me, seeing the film was like having of some inner part of myself put on display for everyone else to dissect, and internalize on their own accord. and the thing is about me is, despite putting all my dirty laundry in the blogesphere for everyone to see, i'm an intensely private person when it comes to the things i hold most dear. and i guess this -- whatever this is -- is one of those things.

i guess in that regard, i can relate to desi folks who have a complex appreciation for slumdog millionaire. sure, it's a great story, but there's something endlessly vapid about packaging someone else's pain and identity and marketing it as 'socially conscious' entertainment. it's voyeuristic, it's shameful, it's triggering, and yes -- it's annoying as fuck.

but medicine for melancholy is no slumdog millionaire. in its most basic description, it's an independent film made by a struggling filmmaker living out of a friends parents attic. it explores important troupes, such of race, class and sex, and does so in some rather cliched ways. the narrative never really settles smoothly. in fact, there's an awkwardness to the entire film that works well under the guise of uncomfortable one-night stands, but not so well when it comes to discussing the disappearance of black people from san francisco. the pace of the film is slow and, at times, boring. so is the film sweet? yes. does it provoke important questions? of course. is it groundbreaking? hardly.

that the truth is, in all my anticipation, i was setting myself up to be disappointed.

here's another thing about writing a bad review: opinions --especially mine -- are always bound to change, and are always the subjective fodder of the viewer, who inevitably brings their own biases and baggage to whatever it is they're ripping to shreds.

if melancholy were to be released on video, sure, i'd buy it. i'd watch it a few more times, mull over plotlines and maybe recommend it to a few more friends. but i can't say that i'll ever like it, because the subject matter is too painful to begin with, and too painfully under-explored in the film for me to truly appreciate.

is your relationship occasionally on the rocks?

2009-03-10T17:48:00.000-07:00

notice it. the way you feel when you allow yourself to love her. And be loved by her. notice the way you smile without insecurities clasping onto the ends of your lips. notice how you float and feel weightless next to her. notice how your limbs feel relaxed and your stomach doesn't turn in knots of worry. notice how only the two of you exist, unburdened by the stares of strangers and the admonitions of mothers. remind yourself of this whenever you start to doubt her. remember how amazing it is to live in a moment of love, and to trust that she's living in that moment with you.

Me’shell Ndegeocello --Leviticus: Faggot (1996)

2009-03-06T11:45:00.000-08:00

Dope.

Written for a friend who died from gay-bashing.

Michael Jackson on Ugly Betty

2009-03-04T08:16:00.000-08:00

Just kidding.

But is it just me, or does Ugly Betty's Vanessa Williams strike an uncanny resemblence to Michael Jackson, circa 1987?

Williams:

Jackson:

Ok, maybe not. Just saying. Time for a throwback anyway:

Michael performing Thriller live in 1987:

Memory

2009-02-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

Today smells of
Autumn mulching
Turning over, rotting brown and
Orange. Playgrounds
And asphalt scraping knees. Stings
Crisply like autumn air.
Wet cold like
Dry heat. Like the chill of
Painted brick, like the harmony of
Ducks and of Union
Stations.

Today smells of
May. Of trapped musk and
Library. Samosas.
Fear, love, tears,
Death,
Mourning, healing. Soft
Words flowing smoothly through our silences. Strong
Words bellowing through the shelves of
Revolution. Raw
Words scraping
Away veils of protection. Exposing
Veins
Bleeding into one another like
The Missouri River when it meets the mighty
Mississippi. Like the parched crevices of
LA, and when wood soaks the
Smells of mildew and mold deep into its
Fibers, holds them there in
Memory.

Living in my silence

2009-02-17T10:36:00.000-08:00

there you are
living in my
silence

forest green
shadows
life's eyes
spooked me

i see
what i am
not meant to
see

a word
escaped
from my mouth
floating on
a gasp

did you hear it?

your light
threw a triangle-shaped
scar on my face
one point landing
on the edge
of my downturned
lip
the other on my
nostril
and the last
on my lowered
lashes

a window through
which to
see
a moment

the encounter

between you
and the
end.

I feel robbed

2009-02-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

I feel robbed.
Now I must love Sheri for what she was?
Unreal.
I want her back!!

The thought of more loved ones being stolen away terrifies me.
But there is no anti-theft device.
I feel so powerless.
crushed.
violated.

can you say dayummm?

2009-02-09T16:38:00.000-08:00

Her name is Gerra Gistand and she spits FIRE!!!

Medicine for Melancholy

2009-02-04T11:34:00.000-08:00

I'm giddy with excitment right now. It's not often that black folks are talked about in San Francisco. It's not often that black folks star in a film centered around exploring class identity in San Francisco. Enter Medicine for Melancholy.

From the website:

Medicine for Melancholy is a love story of bikes and one-night stands told through two African-American twenty-somethings dealing with issues of class, identity, and the evolving conundrum of being a minority in rapidly gentrifying San Francisco—a city with the smallest proportional black population of any other major American city.

And it stars bikes! I'm in alternablack heaven.

Thanks to KG for the link!

Buckin up to Soca

2009-02-03T09:44:00.001-08:00

Get this: I think I'm ACTUALLY cracking my way out of a 13-year depression. ACTUALLY. I'm really hoping this isn't some short-lived euphoria, some hormone induced high. Somehow, I don't think it is--because I feel that joy on a spiritual level.

Anyway, in my happier state, I've been listening to a good deal of soca lately. Thought I'd share this Super P jam with y'all.

GOIN DOWN TONIGHT (Grenada Soca 2007) - Super P

It's one of my favorites cuz it's a lovely response to Bomani:

Ah Not Going - Bomani

Anyway, enjoy the soca! And for all the lady lovers out there, I hope y'all are the type who "go down and say they do...."

Blue

2009-02-01T17:28:00.001-08:00

Reason #4,870 on why I'm not black enough: Eifle 65.

Spaceships! Aliens! Techno! Europeans!

But on a related note, blue has subconsciously become my 2009 color. My worn-out addidas classic windbreaker is blue, I have two new blue hoodies (sorry, Kirk), I got a new blue iPod, and my shoes are black and blue. I've never been particularly fond of the color blue, and get annoyed that it's every other person's favorite color by default. But I feel like it describes my year perfectly so far: hopelessly optimistic yet melancholy.

Go blue.

Oscar Grant Update: Bail for Accused Cop

2009-01-31T08:26:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, Johannes Mehserle, the former BART police officer who shot and killed 22-year-old Oscar Grant, was released on bail.

Hundreds protested outside of the bail hearing while police, in customary OPD fashion, reportedly shot rubber bullets into the crowd.

Also at the bail hearing, Mehserle's attorney shed light onto what will likely be the officer's primary legal defense: that he accidently shot Grant with his pistol, intending instead to use his taser. According to this theory, Grant's death is a tragic accident, not a cold-blooded murder.

Mehserle is reported to have given several contradictory statements after the shooting, including the oft-used "I thought he was going for a gun."

The Chronicle reported yesterday that the investigation into Grant's murder has been plagued by errors, many of which point to an attempted cover-up by the officers involved.

Last week, KTVU aired yet another video that shows a different officer viciously punch Grant in the face moments before Meserhele shot him as he lay face down on a BART platform.

The agency recently announced that it will hire an outside agency to investigate if other officers should be charged.

Organizers have called for a mass demonstration outside of Oakland City Hall tonight, January 31, at 6pm.

MIA speaks out on political turmoil in Sri Lanka

2009-01-31T07:54:00.000-08:00

Everybody's favorite browngirl pop star, MIA, recently spoke with Toure about the political upheaval in Sri Lanka:

“The situation is systematic genocide, ethnic cleansing,” she says by phone from L.A. “I want my fans to know I’m not tryin’ to be like Bono. Someone Irish talking about what’s going on in Africa. I actually come from there and the fact is that this is happening now. The war has been going on for a long time, but it stepped into the genocide bracket recently with the new President. I lived in Sri Lanka when the campaign for ethnic cleansing started and if I could stop it and see the end of it in my lifetime that would be amazing. I can’t justify my success otherwise. I can’t justify getting nominated for an Oscar or a Grammy, that to me wouldn’t mean anything if I don’t actually get to speak about this. It’s not like I’m trying to sell records, I’m trying to stop the death of 350,000 people this month.”

Notorious GOC

2009-01-22T22:52:00.000-08:00

It’s still not real to me that you’re gone. I am under the impression that you’re just kinda elsewhere. Like, maybe you went to DC to see Michelle in action. In a few days, I’ll see your name light up on gchat, engage me in a heart-to-heart about the girls we miss, try to get me to play ball on Saturday; I’ll opt for lunch in 10. In a few days, I’ll run into you on the way back from Ackerman, diet coke in one hand, “Natasha” in the other. We’ll exchange stories about our weekends and move past the strain of the last month with such ease—the way we were about to. In a few days, I’ll find your newest post on the playground. One about the law schools that have accepted you, the thrill of building your future. In a few days, you’ll text me about the weekend: “truckstop fri? meet at my place at 10.” I’ll come for the sake of watching you down Long Islands and dance up on the ONE straight girl in the place.

I imagine that this month I’ll be a better brother. I’ll let you drag my sorry ass out of the house. Stop making excuses. I think that this month I’ll finally be ready to just let you see me cry, for fuck’s sake…if I can even find the tears. I’ll snap outa my shit and hit the beach with you. We’ll discuss the merits of chocolate labs to the brink of violence while tossing the disc, drink beers, shoot pool, avoid the 10 pound pets as we browse the sunglasses, sneak into the back alley store for samosas, and head back to my place for chai.

I imagine that this month you’ll be using your Berkley acceptance as a bargaining chip to get more aid from UCLA as I prep for my interview, and we’ll swap knowing glances of desi perfectionism. We’ll toy with the idea of moving in together. Cheaper rent, bigger place with someone we know and trust. I’ll question your taste in music, your singing ability, and you’ll turn it around on me in front of the cute girls so that you look sweet and innocent, I look like a douche, and they shower you with attention for the rest of the night. Sometime this month, we’ll celebrate our successes by taking some spot by storm with our “exotic” looks and mysterious personas—the sly smirks that turn straight girls gay.

It’s tough right now, you know? It’s tough to see your shadows in the Court of Sciences and not hurt from your absence. It’s tough to keep on moving through the routine of 9 to 5s like any of it matters half as much as the relationships we forget to nurture cuz we’re always tryin to handle some other shit.

I want to let go of the pangs of guilt and the what ifs and whys. I want to forgive myself the way you had already forgiven me, free my warnings from culpability, forget that I may have brought you to the place of your accident—holding on to these things obfuscates the vivacity of your spirit.

But it’s damn hard to let go. It’s hard to let go when it doesn’t even feel real. The best I can do is keep waiting for your voice to help guide me out of my foolishness and into your light.

strategies.

2009-01-16T13:14:00.001-08:00

"THE GAME IS ONLY 90 MINUTES. THE SCORE AT THE END OF THE 90 MINUTES DOESN'T ALWAYS REFLECT WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN. THERE ARE TOO MANY MISSED SHOTS, TOO MANY BALLS FUMBLED IN NERVOUSNESS, THE OCCASIONAL BAD CALL. BUT SOMETIMES WE GET SOME ADDITIONAL TIME, A CHANCE TO CHANGE THE SCORE. THIS IS MY 91ST MINUTE."

You're a soccer freak. I'm a basketball nerd. The first time I saw you was at lunch while you were running circles around white boys at the soccer field at CMC. All I saw was you running, your black head scarf trying to keep up. Gave you major props for being everything you were without even speaking a word. We gave each other simple pleasantries until a year later when you sent me a message on Facebook to say that Southland was your favorite book too. Within five minutes and two key strokes we were homies.

A week before 2009 came crashing into my solitude, you suffered third degree burns in a chemical accident at work. As you lay on the floor, or crouched over a chair, or in someone's arms, waiting for an ambulance or death, and the poisons seeped through your skin and desecrated your internal organs, you could only think of one thing: hiding your queerness. After all, burns mean hospitals and hospitals mean families and families mean conversations you're never quite ready to have. So somewhere between the initial accident, the ambulance and the beginning of an indefinite hospital stay, you gave clear instructions with the little speaking ability you had left: hide the beer bottles, Halloween pictures, notes from ex girlfriends. And to the queer colored folks you instructed, who were well-versed in the art of leading double lives, it all seemed second nature. The gulf you built between Karachi and LA would start fading, quickly. And it did. Within days they had flown in from across the Diaspora -- siblings from Canada, parents from Pakistan -- and what they wanted to see was their daughter, their sister. But not you.

But when they got here, they didn't see their sister, or daughter. Or you. They saw a body, swollen and bandaged and burned and bloody to the point where they had to look away. Third degree burns. Neck and abdomen. May never use hands again. No typing, texting, pointing, dialing. And, for the foreseeable future, no more running.

***
I can't remember if you've ever been to Oakland, but it's a strangely beautiful place. I curse about the fucked up roads and infrequent buses, but I'm just a snob from the city and it's cool once you get to know it. Got that generic decadent feel to it like LA, one that whispers 'no one belongs here, so anyone can make a home.' Gets hot for no reason and people seldom walk anywhere. Someone put Christmas lights around the fake lake right next to downtown and it's a tourist attraction. Real nice to read and run by. People smile at you for no reason and even the bougie people are brown and wanna free Mumia.

Last week Oakland burned, like you. People were angry that the cops killed a boy on New Year's. There was a rally a few hours before the fires, where the boy was shot. People were angry, yelling, hurting, healing. Me? I felt detached from it all. Leti and I had had an argument, moms was about to have back surgery and frankly, I wasn't in the mood to get yelled at. So I got there late and stood tentatively toward the back while people talked about fucking up the po-po's or the need for collective strategic actions. I left as the crowd started splitting off into different groups: drumming circles, a march downtown, an open mic.

Three hours later, as Leti and I drove downtown, everything was controlled chaos. Helicopters flew over downtown, placing spotlights on crowds of angry protestors. Some white cameraman had blood all over his face and said they went crazy. SWAT teams blocked off Broadway, lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, looking everybody and nobody dead in the eye. Small clouds of smoke rose from garbage cans where raging infernos had been just a few minutes before.

We drove past. Nothing to gawk at. Crossed the bridge in silence and exited on Octavia Blvd. I looked at my grandmother's old house, where she lived long before there was a Blvd, and wished I could ask her how many riots she had seen. We drove on, and plotted the ways I could sneak Leti into my mom's house while she was asleep to cuddle, play with my dog and watch the news to see what the fuck had just happened in Oakland.

***

Sad how fate and circumstance work. We skated along for three years without knowing each other, on the same campus, with the same people, rolling our eyes at the same dumb shit until after I graduated and you Facebooked me. We broke bread over good books and girls we were too shy to approach when we had the chance. I remember the one time I chilled with you during college, at a Philistines concert somewhere along Pico. We smoked outside in the rain. It was dark, and cold, but weedheads will stop at nothing to smoke away the awkwardness of a new moment. So we stood in a semi-circle and coughed, puffed and passed our way into an self conscious friendship that teetered on the brink of forgettable until you asked me about Southland the next year. The only things I could see in the dark was the light on the end of Salim's blunt and how perfectly curved your fingernails looked when you passed it to me.

***
Since the accident, your health has fluctuated like the moods of Oakland. Last week we made video tributes to you that were awkward and funny because we're awkward and funny. You were alert and breathing, hurt, but pulling through. This week you have a lung infection and can only breathe with the help of a respirator. Now we're making our own little private altars with pictures, candles and good energy, praying that you pull through. You might not ever see what we make, how we pace. We might not ever see you.

***
Are there strategies in soccer? Like, plays, defenses? Stupid question, I know, but I've always imagined soccer to be like basketball with no hands. Are there zone defenses? Presses? Ways to move folks around the field ahead of fate?

Sometimes I wonder if this whole queer thing is a game. It's exciting, melodramatic, tense and when it's over, it's over. Even if the ref's fucked up and everyone knows that the end score isn't right, you can't get back those moments, those mistakes, those triumphs. The game goes on as long as you're willing to play, and then, all of a sudden, something happens. The shot clock runs out. Someone gets hurt, or you just say 'fuck it' and give up.

But here we are, modern kids, queer kids, smart enough to know when to take time outs, when to duck, pass, shoot. But it's not enough. Because right now we're gettin' ran by the Universe. It's the end of the second half, the fourth quarter, and we're tired. Realized that families and expectations and shame really do exist, no matter how stubborn and young and in love we are. Right now, the universe just pulled her star player off the bench and that motherfucka is tall. And fast. Can play the point and box out, moves without the ball and is fuckin ill when she gets it.

***
It's hard for me to write this. Harder for me to imagine you reading it. Impossible to find the right sports analogy to make sense of you laying in a hospital bed and me living in Oakland and why I can give a fuck about either.

You never got to celebrate New Year's, but you haven't missed much. So far, 2009 has begun much like 2008 ended: bloody. You already know about Gaza and I mentioned Oscar Grant and there are others, of course. There always are. But I didn't feel it. Sure, I could march in a protest and donate my Facebook status, but who I am to cry for someone else's children, parents and best friends?

But this year will be a hard one, that's certain. As I write this, both you an my father lay in LA hospital beds. He's got a potentially cancerous crater on his dome that no amount of doctorly stubborness can hide. Crazy how both your passions put you there: the chemicals you spent a lifetime learning about; the medical injustices he's spent a lifetime trying to solve. You're both strangers to me, and yet I feel inextricably linked to your destines.

And people ask me how I feel, and I can't answer. Not in any way that makes sense. I don't feel life changing events until much later, sometimes years. I hold things and watch helplessly as they process themselves through smells, flashbacks and seemingly insurmountable depressions. But that's just us -- the witnesses. We're waiting for you, pulling for you, waiting to talk to you when it's over. And then realizing it never will be.

Marvel set to release gay superhero

2009-01-15T16:19:00.000-08:00

Spiderman creator and former Marvel Comics editor-in-chief Stan Lee is set to unveil the world's first mainstream gay superhero. The Sun reports:

High school basketball star Thom Creed hides his developing superpowers along with his sexuality.

Former Marvel Comics boss Stan, 86 — who also created the Hulk and the X-Men — will unleash the character in an hour-long TV drama being shot in the US.

I peeped the story on Bossip, which is hardly the most queer friendly Black blog on the internets. But bravo to Marvel. Crazy how science fiction seems to be the most permeable site for progressive politics and critiques.

Oakland Winter

2009-01-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

It's been a hot winter in Oakland.

Protests turned violent again last night in downtown as hundreds of people met for a peaceful rally to protest the murder of Oscar Grant. News coverage from the melee shows that the folks who smashed windows and trashed organizer's best hopes for a peaceful event all had the same MO: white, faces covered in bandanas and looking for some shit to get into.

Oaklandite Adriel Luis just dropped a track produced by Jon Reyes that captures the mood perfectly:

download.

Shepard Fairey's Past (and Future)?

2009-01-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

Shepard Fairey is many things: a world-renowned street artist, successful clothing entrepreneur and acclaimed graphic designer. But is he also an obsessive plagarist?

Many of his fellow street artists think so.

He came to fame in the early '90's and has since become one of the most recognizable -- and profitable -- street artists in the world. He's mostly known for his OBEY GIANT street art and a clothing line by the same time. Most recently, he's gained acclaim for his iconic Obama posters:

Fairey eventually struck a deal with the Obama campaign and the posters became official Obama '08 artwork, selling millions of copies and becoming synonymous with Obama's political ascension and the political hopes of a generation.

Unfortunetly, Fairey has a very troubled past in the world of progressive printmaking. Oakland-based printmaker and political activist Favianna Rodgruez recently pointed out that, contrary to his aim to forward social movements in the US and abroad, Fairey's most noticeable artistic trait is plagarism.

In fact, in an article by artist Mark Vallen, co-reasearched by Rogriguez and two other artists, published to coincide with Fairey's Los Angeles solo exhibition in December 2007, numerous examples of Fairey's alleged plagarism come to surface. You be the judge:

[ Left: Political power comes from the barrel of a gun - Artist unknown. 1968. Chinese poster from the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution period. The title of this poster quotes the famous pronouncement made by Mao Tse-Tung. Right: Fairey's plagiarized version titled, Guns and Roses. The Chinese poster's central motif of hands bearing machine guns was plainly digitally scanned without any alteration. Fairey, or his assistants, then applied a modified sun-burst background, placed clip-art roses in the gun barrels, and released the imitation in 2006 as a supposed original work.]

[ Left: Black Panther - Pirkle Jones. Photograph. 1968. Portrait of an anonymous Panther at a political rally in Oakland, California. The Panther photos of Ruth-Marion Baruch and Pirkle Jones are internationally famous and have long been available in book form. Right: Fairey’s street poster, which neither credits Pirkle Jones nor makes any mention of the Black Panther Party.]

[ Left: Liberate Puerto Rico Now! - Young Lords Party. Silkscreen poster. 1971. Right: Fairey’s rip-off, "Wage Peace: Obey", which neither credits nor makes any mention of the Young Lords Party.]

[ Left: Libertad para Angela Davis (Freedom for Angela Davis) - Félix Beltrán, Cuba, 1971. Original silk-screen print created by Beltrán in solidarity with Angela Davis when she was a political prisoner in the US. Right: Fairey’s plundered version as a street poster, which neither credits Beltrán nor identifies Angela Davis.]

Justice for Oscar Grant

2009-01-06T12:10:00.000-08:00

Here's a terrible way to start off the New Year --

Oscar Grant III, an unarmed 22-year-old black man, was shot and killed early on New Year's morning by an officer from the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) police force in Oakland.

The murder occurred just after 2 am at the Fruitvale BART station. Apparently, trains headed toward the East Bay were stopped so officers could respond to a reported fight on one of the trains. A group of young men of color were handcuffed -- without incident -- and berated by police. In the video, Grant is not one of the men handcuffed.

What makes this so shocking is that the entire incident was caught on tape. In the video posted below, Grant is seen cooperating with officers as they tackle him to the ground. While Grant lays on his stomach, an officer sitting on top of him -- for no apparent reason -- pulls out of a gun and shoots him in the back. Grant was taken to a local hospital where he was later pronounced dead.

(The shooting occurs at 2:34)

{$media.0.html}

Based on a report that cites an eyewitness account and sources close to the investigation, the officer may have accidently shot Grant, mistaking his firearm for a taser gun.

According to another reported eye witness, Grant was heard pleading for his life shortly before he was shot, saying, "Please don't tase me, please don't shoot me, I have a daughter."

BART police are still investigating, the officer involved has yet to be named publicly and Grant's family is in the beginning stages of filing a multi-million dollar civil suit.

In the mean time, here are five things you can do help:

Digg the story so that the national media can pick up on it.

Contact BART Director Carole Ward Allen and demand that 1) the officers involved be taken off duty without pay and charged and fully prosecuted; 2) there be an independent investigation of the shooting that includes a review of training and hiring practices; and 3) BART establish an independent residents’ review board for the police Call her at 510-464-6095 or email the BART Directors at BoardofDirectors@bart.gov

Call the BART police to complain about the officers’ conduct and demand immediate action: Internal Affairs: Sergeant David Chlebowski 510.464.7029,dchlebo@bart.gov; Chief of Police: Gary Gee 510.464.7022, ggee@bart.gov

Call them toll free at 877.679.7000 and press the last four digits of the phone number you wish to reach.

Talk it up on your blogs, networks and talk radio shows (call Michael Baisden 877-6BADBOY or Rev. Al, etc. to get this on the national radar)

Stay tuned for other actions, protests, etc., especially if you are in the Bay.

h/t to RaceWire for the action points.
Read more.

this racism is killing me

2008-12-25T22:27:00.000-08:00

This video made my Christmas:

(warning: video and sound are out of sync, but it's still so worth it.)

Take that white women in elevators!

FREEBIES: erykah vs. jill (devil's pie mixtape)

2008-12-25T09:54:00.000-08:00

Devil's Pie, a bi-weekly party at San Francisco's Namu Bar formerly hosted by DJ Phatrick, got some new ish in time for the holidays:

download.

Treat yourself.

Changes in '09

2008-12-24T10:12:00.001-08:00

What up Playground readers,

The idea of change in 2009 means a lot of different things -- a new presidential administration, frigid new weather patterns and, for some of us, new blogs. Over the past few months, you've probably noticed that our posts have been dwindling. Sometimes we've just been busy, but I think we generally have felt like we needed a change, new spaces and forums to voice our ideas and opinions. Blogging with a group of dope ass queer folks and people of color has been a really a great experience. This is by no means a permanent goodbye, but just a note on what we're up to in other parts of our nerdy, blogespheric lives.

GOC started her own blog, The 91st Minute.

I've started my own project, Roses and Machetes.

We'll repost frequently on this blog, but try to take the time to check out our new projects. We're hella thankful for the folks who've been consistent readers and helped us grow as writers -- shout outs to Colin and The Cheddar Box who make us feel like people actually read this!

A more detailed update is coming up soon, but till then --

Happy Holidays, sntches!

Peace,
J

hip hop president, maybe not.

2008-12-24T09:16:00.000-08:00

Hip Hop activist and writer Rosa Clemente just penned an insightful article on the dangers of calling Obama the first 'hip hop president:"

"...I have always followed a rule: never allow someone to become your priority while you become his or her option. For President Elect Barack Obama and the entire Democrat Party leadership in this country, the Hip Hop generation has never been a priority, we have always been an option and that option is used mostly to get out the vote during elections. Efforts like Vote or Die, Generation Vote, Rock the Vote, Respect my Vote, do not empower a generation - they are catchy slogans emblazoned on pretty white tees that offer empty rhetoric. At the end of the day, those G.O.T.V. efforts become guaranteed votes for the Democratic Party and often fail to educate their followers about candidates that run outside of the two-party system."

Paki girl band

2008-12-21T11:11:00.000-08:00

Cross posted from The 91st Minute

This is how I know I haven't been home in too long.

When BBC news beats me to the scope about the first popular all girl band in Pakistan. Zeb and Haniya, they told me, have taken the Pakistani male-dominated scene by storm!

A lil background, they are referring to fusion-ish soft rock Urdu language music scene in Pakistan that I think aptly reflects the silent moderate majority, particularly in the urban areas. This scene has produced peeps like Atif Aslam, Noorie et al. who are quite a hit, not just in Pakistan but South-Asia and South-Asian diaspora's (so almost everywhere). The lyrics are beautiful and poetic, the vocals pretty dam good and a few guitar riffs that make me wanna actually jump up and down, rocker girl style (hah!)

So anyway, kinda distressed that I was so out of it that I had missed the Zeb and Haniya story for 5 MONTHS! I spent all last night listening to their album, watching the videos and reading stuff. My conclusion: I think the vocals are good, some really cool riffs, and the reaction to them has blown me away!

Check out this you tube video of them rocking a crowd out (sound is a lil sketchy):

I spent most of my young adult life going to concerts like these, and ill be damned if I ever thought two young, kurta donning women would be getting this kind of a reception. Not cause I doubt the music ability, but more cause I was skeptical of the ability of young Pakistani youth (men in particular) to appreciate it. Thank you for proving my skepticism wrong!

Ok now to the songs. Here is a link where you can stream the album. I would recommend Paimana Bitte, Chup and Aitebar even if you can't follow Urdu. If you can, hear most of the album.

And can I say I kinda love some of their lyrics. They are still singing about love and relationships, but their lyrics are down right fiery!

Watch this video of Aitebar. The couple on screen dance through their relationship and the video ends with the girl shutting the dude out. The lyrics at the end? "raat thi teri/tu yeh din ab hai mera" i.e. "The night was yours/ but the day is mine now"
And skip to the end of the video, the eye contact between the woman and Zeb and Haniya who are singing from the side through out the video, that look. We know that look. You go girl! lol

One last mention, the song "Rona Chor diya" or "I have stopped crying." My favorite line:

"ab to bas mai hi khabar hoon/ gardish main hoon/ rahguzar hoon/toofaan hoon main/ tera darr hoon" which roughly translate into "now only I'm the news/ I'm the revolution/I am walking on my own path/ I'm a storm/ I am your fear"

Ok THIS is the last mention, the song Chup! Chup is basically a semi curt/forceful way of telling someone to stop talking. Shut up if you will. In this song they are talking about the flirtation, eye contact etc that can sometimes go on painfully forever between two people attracted to each other. What do Zeb and Haniya have to say? "shhh Chup" enough with all this flirtation and suggestion. lets get on with it! WORD.

sold.

2008-12-18T16:11:00.000-08:00

Political punditry and promises of change be damned! This is what it really takes to win over the American populace:

More.

Take a slightly dorky light skinded dude, throw him a fedora and tell him to hold a cigarette like a doobie. That's my president.

via adrizzle.

sold.

2008-12-18T16:05:00.000-08:00

Political punditry and promises of change be damned! This is what it really takes to win over the American populace:

Take a slightly dorky light skinded dude, throw him a fedora and tell him to hold a cigarette like a doobie. That's my president.

via adrizzle.

More.

scraper bikes meet wiretaps

2008-12-15T16:30:00.000-08:00

If you're already in Oakland, the Scraper Bike Movement is already old news, but it's nonetheless an interesting take on youth-led movements against violence in the Bay. For those who aren't familiar, I recently caught up with Champ, the Scraper Bike King, for a sit-down and entry-level article on WireTap. Dude is hella insightful. Peep game:

It's a Wednesday afternoon, and in the administrative offices of East Oakland's Edward Shands Adult School, Tyrone "Champ" Stevenson is talking the finer points of legal patents. He's two weeks shy of his twentieth birthday, but already has a budding business to look after.

Stevenson invented "scraper bikes," and for the past two years, they've been seen almost everywhere in Oakland. The classic scraper bike is a small BMX frame with larger, 10-speed wheels decorated with foil, colorful tape wound between the spokes of the tires and elaborate custom paint jobs. Particularly ambitious folks can get high-quality speaker systems installed.

As the self-proclaimed Scraper Bike King, Stevenson coined the name "scraper bikes" because they were modeled after "scrapers" -- late-'80s model sedans tricked out with oversized rims, custom paint jobs and sound systems that came to fame during the rise of the Bay Area "hyphy" music movement. The bikes were a less expensive, do-it-yourself alternative that didn't require a driver's license.

But the "scraper bike movement" -- as it's called among riders and admirers -- isn't just a colorful way to get noticed. Stevenson describes it as a deliberate effort to meld artistry and entrepreneurship to develop skills and opportunities for young people in Oakland.

scraper bikes meet wiretaps

2008-12-15T16:20:00.000-08:00

It's a Wednesday afternoon, and in the administrative offices of East Oakland's Edward Shands Adult School, Tyrone "Champ" Stevenson is talking the finer points of legal patents. He's two weeks shy of his twentieth birthday, but already has a budding business to look after.

Stevenson invented "scraper bikes," and for the past two years, they've been seen almost everywhere in Oakland. The classic scraper bike is a small BMX frame with larger, 10-speed wheels decorated with foil, colorful tape wound between the spokes of the tires and elaborate custom paint jobs. Particularly ambitious folks can get high-quality speaker systems installed.

As the self-proclaimed Scraper Bike King, Stevenson coined the name "scraper bikes" because they were modeled after "scrapers" -- late-'80s model sedans tricked out with oversized rims, custom paint jobs and sound systems that came to fame during the rise of the Bay Area "hyphy" music movement. The bikes were a less expensive, do-it-yourself alternative that didn't require a driver's license.

But the "scraper bike movement" -- as it's called among riders and admirers -- isn't just a colorful way to get noticed. Stevenson describes it as a deliberate effort to meld artistry and entrepreneurship to develop skills and opportunities for young people in Oakland.

Bye Bye Bush

2008-12-14T19:09:00.000-08:00

An appropriate farewell from an Iraqi journalist for Bush:

Too bad he missed. Bush has quick reflexes though, ill give him that. Next time aim just a little lower.

Guilty Pleasures...

2008-12-08T15:23:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry. I know it's old. I know there's probably some kinda critique I should be serving up here, but I just don't want to. I friggin love this ridiculous song and I'm only slightly ashamed to confess my desire to learn the dance.

how not to make black friends

2008-12-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

Dear white gay marriage activists (and their allies):

When an overwhelming number of Black folks in the sometimes-liberal state of California voted in favor of a gay marriage ban, and you began to riot against said Black folks (and their allies), activists of color had one simple -- albeit tedious -- suggestion: invest the time, energy and resources to help queer folks of color organize their own communities. While I know that adding a racial justice lens to your framework might seem soo 1992, for many queer folks of color, it's a matter of life and death. Not to mention that adding a racial justice lens might also help ease racial tensions and allow both sides to work in their own self-interest.

But this isn't exactly what activists of color had in mind:

In fact, it's, like, the opposite. Just in case you weren't paying attention, co-opting the language and spirit of the civil rights movement and using troublesome terms like "new black" and "last great civil rights struggle" are downright inflammatory, not to mention blatant signs of cultural appropriation. Kinda like Madonna in Vogue.

Instead of reaching back in history for a historical precedent, you might want to articulate the ways in which the current struggle for gay marriage is directly related to the livelihoods of communities of color. Surely, you musn't think that communities of color, and Black ones in particular, don't already know and love their ~~funny-acting~~ queer cousins, daughters, sons and choir directors. Also think about the fact that historically, legal marriage in the Black community hasn't exactly been fostered by the interests of white privilege.

I sincerely hope that we can use this as a 'learning moment' that opens up constructive dialogue. If not, you can kiss "Gay Marriage in 2010" goodbye, too.

Sincerely,
Jamilah

how not to make black friends

2008-12-07T08:42:00.000-08:00

Dear white gay marriage activists (and their allies):

When an overwhelming number of Black folks in the sometimes-liberal state of California voted in favor of a gay marriage ban, and you began to riot against said Black folks (and their allies), activists of color had one simple -- albeit timely -- suggestion: invest the time, energy and resources to help queer folks of color organize their own communities. While I know that adding a racial justice lens to your framework might seem soo 1992, for many queer folks of color, it's a matter of life and death. Not to mention that adding a racial justice lens might also help ease racial tensions and allow both sides to work in their own self-interest.

But this isn't exactly what activists of color had in mind:

In fact, it's, like, the opposite. Just in case you weren't paying attention, co-opting the language and spirit of the civil rights movement and using troublesome terms like "new black" and "last great civil rights struggle" are downright inflammatory, not to mention blatant signs of cultural appropriation. Kinda like Madonna in Vogue.

Instead of reaching back in history for a historical precedent, you might want to articulate the ways in which the current struggle for gay marriage is directly related to the livelihoods of communities of color. Surely, you musn't think that communities of color, and Black ones in particular, don't already know and love their ~~funny-acting~~ queer cousins, daughters, sons and choir directors. Also think about the fact that historically, legal marriage in the Black community hasn't exactly been fostered by the interests of white privilege.

I sincerely hope that we can use this as a 'learning moment' that opens up constructive dialogue. If not, you can kiss "Gay Marriage in 2010" goodbye, too.

Sincerely,
Jamilah

Black Snake Moan

2008-12-06T22:21:00.000-08:00

Two reasons to watch for Talib Kweli's latest project, Idle Warship:Res and Graph Nobel.

The two genre-bending female artists have revolutionized music (at least for me) over the past decade. First, there was Philly-based Res' hit record How I Do (Geffen, 2001) which was exclusively written by Graph and "discovered" by Santogold. Then there's the fact that both women have struggled through industry bullshit to keep putting out good music. Even though How I Do was critically acclaimed enough to become an indie hit, it suffered from label mismanagement and didn't get proper marketing or radio airplay. Last spring, Res released her second album, the self-written Black.Girls.Rock, through the online music service Scocap on her myspace page.

After moving from her hometown of Toronto to Los Angeles, Graph has been in the studio with everyone from Dr. Dre to MobbDeep, but still hasn't been able to release her own album. Instead, she teases her fans with some of her best music that's only available through live streams on Imeem, like these goodies I've been fawning over for almost a year:

Something to Die 4 - Graph Nobel

Buisness Or Pleasure - Graph Nobel

Different - Graph Nobel

So while it's still weird as hell to see Kweli in a sexually explicit club joint like Black Snake Moan, it's fucking great for Black music that three artists are redefining the boundaries of rock, hip-hip and soul. Not to mention that the publicity is going to great for Graph and Res:

Idle Warship "Black Snake Moan" from The ICU on Vimeo.

Prop 8: The Musical

2008-12-06T16:44:00.000-08:00

Starring Jack Black & Co.

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Now that Hollywood is in line with the mainstream gay agenda, it's only a matter of ~~decades and consistent community-led organizing strategies~~ time before the uber conservative Black evangelical preachers jump on board.

FREEBIES: jay-z & fela kuti: nigerian gangster

2008-12-06T16:17:00.000-08:00

since jay's last two albums have already been mashed up with practically every conceivable musical legend, it was only a matter of time before dj mike love's Nigerian Gangster took the internets by storm:

download.

FREEBIES: dahlak: commencement mixtape

2008-12-06T13:23:00.000-08:00

this is wayy late, but i've gotta post some good shit on the new blog.

fresh off their natural electricity tour with the hi-life's, ill-lit's dahlak released commencement: a kanye west tribute about a month ago. check it:

download.

FREEBIES: goodnight, goodnight: cunninlynguists & maroon 5

2008-12-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

kno, of cunninlynguists, just dropped it.

download.

katt williams is hilarious

2008-12-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

yo

2008-12-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

test

Toni Morrison on Paradise

2008-12-05T16:01:00.000-08:00

I'm a nerd. We know this. And there's nothing that gets my nerdar in hyperdrive like a good literary analysis given by Toni Morrison. Whether it's Pulitzer Prize-winning novels or critically acclaimed academic texts, she blows my mind.

Here's Morrison in an interview on the Charlie Rose Show back in 1997, talking about her novel Paradise:

Bay + LA luvin!

2008-11-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

Here's a sweet melody for us el-ayes and bay-bays.

Brought to you by the Grouch.

Spread the love!

The Grouch ft. Murs - The Bay To L.A. -

10th Annual Day of Remembrance

2008-11-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

Today is the 10th annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. I especially want to urge those of you who have been organizing for same-sex marriage in recent weeks to attend your local DOR event tonight...Because it's a question of solidarity. Because it's a question of intersecting identities.

Because I've got your back and I need to know that you've got mine.

DOR is about honoring the lives of the community members we lost in the past year at the hands of hate and transphobia. It's about celebrating their lives and acknowledging their deaths.

Today, I am 12 days away from beginning hormone therapy, and I feel a tremendous sense of displacement. In addition to the 23 years of work it's taken to get to this point, I've spent the last several months coming out to family and friends about my plans and process, assuaging people's fears about "who I will become" once more testosterone enters my system, about whether all of this is really necessary, about whether I'm bringing a stigma upon myself that could easily be avoided.

About whether I will be safe.

It's a real, legitimate fear--this worry over safety. And while there's something very real about the fear-induced hate towards visibly trans bodies, this body of mine has never felt safe. It's felt wrong, it's felt weighed down, it's felt surreal-ly unknown, it's felt painful as hell, it's felt numb, it's felt bigger than I can handle, it's felt freakishly foreign, it's even felt like the excruciating trade-off for dual insights.

But it's never felt safe.

And yet, I've made it work for me. I've dwelled here for 23 years, and I've made it work. Now that I'm finally taking a stand for myself and owning my right to feel at home in my skin, I feel displaced.

I think it's because this entire process involves so much uprooting. It involves tearing up foundations that really weren't ever doing much service to anyone, and in so doing, risking the possibility that a new framework may never be laid. This is the case with body, with family, and with community.

With body, I am letting go of what I've made work for so long, and I'm banking on the fact that the visions of self I hold in my mind's eye are about to manifest. With my family, I am letting go of the need for their approval and understanding, putting faith in the hope that they will come around as time progresses. With community, I am letting go of my pre-op, pre-t trans identity, of my woman of color public hologram (which depends heavily on the light, angle, and context in which I'm viewed). I'm leaping out and hoping that I will find a healthy trans masculinity and a community of folks with whom I can have a healthy, growing relationship.

This journey is a scary one, but the risks are not really new. At worst, I am opening myself up to ridicule, alienation, hate, and death. At best, though, I have a shot at freedom; I have a chance to finally be able to breathe.

Hands ...

2008-11-19T08:01:00.000-08:00

Don't tell my scientist boss, but I believe that you can tell a lot about a person by examining their hands. I obviously understand that the lines on our palms were formed when we curled up our fists in a womb for 9 ish months. And I don't entirely subscribe to the old South-Asian adage about our "kismet" or fate being written in the curves of those lines. The pre-written "kismet" is used as a crutch too often to accept unacceptable status-quo's. But there are stories in the texture and wrinkles on the skin, the frayed edges around the cuticles,how the hands rest when they are trying to give off a put-on sense of confidence ... there's just something about hands.

This musing about hands was sparked by a facebook note posted by one of my boos and it struck a chord. And it took me back to one of my favourite spoken word performances by Sarah Kay. Enjoy!

Pedestals and Pillars: For Women of Color (with help from Nikki Giovanni’s “Hands: For Mother’s Day)

We of the unacceptably and exceptionally strong take pride in the strength of our hands…and our hearts, our minds, our souls our wills….we are on pedestals and have fashioned ourselves as pillars…yet while so visible…so iconic…we are not whole…we have not healed…we cannot model…so what to do when you are of pillars and on pedestals and the base is damaged?

I yield from women whose hands are Black and rough…whose hands deserve more than to touch fire, and ice, and needles…whose hands are holding…but whose arms grow weary…whose hands are holding…but who is holding them back…when you’re on a pedestal…too much weight when you lean over to pull those you hold up… will pull you down…and what could stop that…hands don’t tell lies...you cannot hide the cracked, burned, dry hands that have too much to hold…we have to save our hands…and you have to hold our hands…who holds us up

Idle hands create devil’s work…not for us…idle hands mean emptiness…idle hands means not loving enough…idle hands means there is someone who we love…who needs these hands to hold and we are not…idle hands are failure…and if we fail…if we fall…we crush those who we hold…that is why words like rest, self, slow, self, health, self…are not unheard but misunderstood…because we have come to be defined by our hands..and that definition built for us the pedestals and of us the pillars…our hands…like our strength…is our pride…and our flaw

Whatever is not quite well about us will also not quite go away…so…of course…we use our hands to push away rather than to pull closer…we separate ourselves and our hands from the ones we hold…from each other…it is lonely and harsh on top of pedestals and at the peak of pillars…

Not always quite sure what it is we need…too in tune to our hands that hold…are holding…that caress…are caressing…that carry…are carrying…that we forget to soak them, and to soothe them, to rest them…we cannot use our hands, we cannot sit on pedestals, we cannot be pillars…if you allow us to forget…that we need…that we deserve…that we are loved…that is for you, for we, for us…so that we will always be on pedestals, and always be pillars, and always have unacceptably and exceptionally hands…

Alice Walker's open letter to President Elect Barack Obama

2008-11-11T09:22:00.000-08:00

This was a beautiful letter, and if you can take the time to listen to her read it on Democracy Now, it is well worth it. Otherwise the full text is below.

Alice Walker reads her letter on Democracy Now

November 5th, 2008

Dear Brother Obama,

You have no idea, really, of how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, North America is a different place. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and of the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, previously only sung about.

I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.

I would further advise you not to take on other people's enemies. Most damage that others do to us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely. However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, "hate the sin, but love the sinner." There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people's spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.

A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

In Peace and Joy,
Alice Walker

Wassup 2008

2008-10-30T15:03:00.000-07:00

HELLO! FINALLY!

2008-10-14T13:05:00.000-07:00

I'm not a huge fan of Campbell Brown, but she does get it right every now and then.

HELLO! She is one of the first pundits or just mainstream media personalities to speak on this truth.

Barack Obama will eat your children

2008-10-14T07:38:00.000-07:00

And turn the country Muslim, which is almost the worst thing ever, except that he also conspires on behalf of a radical organization called the Black Community.

via adrizzle

And now, a message from John McCain on his suspect allegiance to the Black Community:

via ill doctrine

Uh oh, Ye.

2008-10-10T10:52:00.001-07:00

Kanye West debuted his new video for Love Lockdown on Ellen this week. And some diehard Kanye fans aren't pleased.

The reason? In the video, Kanye juxtaposes a modernist white background against representations of African warriors, percussionists and nude women. Loin clothes and spears, galore.

See the video:

And then, my friend Salim's response:

So, let's hear it. Did Kanye cross the line this time? Is this just art for art's sake? Or is he making a subtle artistic critique?

John McCain: That One Bigot

2008-10-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

Via Adrizzle.

I HEART WANDA SYKES

2008-10-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

You must watch it till the end, hilarious.

This is a year old, but hilarious, and germane! Wanda is stressing a point that we all seem to make, the social institution of politics, appropriates culture. These issues are not inherently political, they are human, we make them political.

The Lady Tigra-Black First Lady

2008-10-08T22:12:00.000-07:00

In the midst of this weeks political tension, heres a cutesy song with good intentions, and no-brainer lyrics. go bobble-head hip-hop!

At the Show: The Lady Tigra [Obama-rama in Spaceland] - "First Black, First Lady" from Spaceland Recordings on Vimeo.

Politics As Usual

2008-10-05T12:18:00.000-07:00

So i was doing my usual morning routine, looking at Rod Online 2.0, NY TIMES, Huffington Post, etc. and Rod had highlighted a NY TIMES article on Queer Black and Latino Families in the Bronx for the direct link to the NY TIMES article, click HERE

I thought it was a beautiful article, the mainstream news organizations surprise us sometimes with some beautiful, positive features on queer people of color. Like Washington Post's story on the 15 year old, out and proud young Black man Saro Harvey

Per usual, i got excited and sent it to my family and friends. Evidently, I have mixed up my sisters email with someone else, some man. So after a few months of him receiving these randoms emails that i decide to share with my family, he decides to respond:

"Please remove me from your email list. I think you are sending these by mistake. I don't know who you are and I don't agree with your politics.
Thank you"

Being a loud, out, and sometimes flamboyant young gay man from Oakland I have learned over the years that my view on the world is not often that popular. Being pro choice, pro reparations, socialist leaning, and all of the other "highly charged political stances" are, for a lack of a better word, too political. To truly celebrate diversity and the recognition of positive queer families, especially queer families of color is, in fact, very political. For him to say "I don't like your politics" is ignorant, however, valid using the rather tenuous yet popular vernacular of America. Issues like equal rights, anti discrimination, and universal health care, are political issues. They are not seen human rights, that are innately unalienable.

Malcolm X called for expanding our notion of civil rights to be considered Human Rights. These rights are not to be given to us by state and federal governments, but demanded by the people, and are inherent in OUR humanity. They have always been political issues, but we will not have justice if they continue to. 40 years later, discourse is still suggesting that these issues are solely political rights, something the state grants us, and ultimately "voters" should decide. Its not unpatriotic or undemocratic to acknowledge human rights for all of America's citizens. It is not right for anyone to make the decision one these issues. But What dialogue is required for people to start talking about these issues as human rights?

sigh.

Economic Car Crashes

2008-10-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

Great commentary on Wiretap from writer Anika Brown on the new bailout plan:

While everyone on Capitol Hill is patting themselves on the back and both presidential candidates are claiming the role of our knight in shining armor, the big question is: what changed? What revisions were made to change the minds of the 200+ politicians who deemed the plan un-American?

Did they increase the direct benefits to their constituents? Maybe extend a little help to the 9.4 million people who are unemployed? Change the bankruptcy laws to protect all those houses on Main Street from going into foreclosure?

Of course not.

Unlike President Roosevelt, who was under more pressure and facing a nation in even greater despair, Congress didn’t use this opportunity to reform an inherently corrupt system. Instead, they packed the rescue bill with earmarks so off the wall it’s almost funny. Two of my favorites are a $2 million tax break to wooden arrow manufacturers in Oregon and $192 million rebate for rum producers in the Caribbean.

Forget lipstick on a pig. They brought a band-aid to a car crash.

Thoughts About Last Night's Debate?

2008-10-03T06:28:00.000-07:00

who is DOWN???

2008-10-01T23:18:00.000-07:00

So I have a knack for finding these off the wall things, and I thought I'd share in my glory with this one:

happening this Saturday y'all. Lets go, whose with me?

Bronx Zoo@ La Cita

"Conceived as a Saturday afternoon cocktail party with art activities, Ghettogloss gallery launched its Bronx Zoo summer series in June at the delightfully dancy downtown La Cita bar. But with each successive Saturday, the hot spot's back patio has been steadily transformed into a bona fide art class, as aspiring students grab sketch pads and draw models sporting lingerie and ape masks. Flavorpill's own Shana Nys Dambrot curates a show at Ghettogloss in mid-November, composed of the finest zoological artworks."

June 28 – Nov 1

Saturdays (3:30–8pm)

La Cita (336 S. Hill St)
213.687.7111

Go 'Head Crazy White Girl

2008-09-30T08:26:00.000-07:00

I like her. She's weird, her video is strange, but the beat is cute.

A Trilli

2008-09-29T15:16:00.000-07:00

Whoops. There goes the economy.

Here's what Rebel Diaz has to say:

Get angry, get very angry!

2008-09-29T07:29:00.000-07:00

So apparently, Muslim children are getting gassed in Mosques ... guess where? United States of freedom fuckin America.

Here's a story about it over on Daily Kos. I am not sure exactly how this movie that it is being linked to is tied into McCain supporters, but I am too pissed to do the research right about now.

An excerpt:

"She told me that the gas was sprayed into the room where the babies and children were being kept while their mothers prayed together their Ramadan prayers. Panicked mothers ran for their babies, crying for their children so they could flee from the gas that was burning their eyes and throats and lungs. She grabbed her youngest in her arms and grabbed the hand of her other daughter, moving with the others to exit the building and the irritating substance there.

"The paramedic said the young one was in shock, and gave her oxygen to help her breathe. The child couldn't stop sobbing."

Sick. Just sick.

Economics and Annoying Smart Guys

2008-09-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I googled "Economics and Dummies" and repeatedly beat myself over the head for never taking an econ class in college. And while I didn't really care about all this economic meltdown talk a few weeks ago because I don't own a home, well, now my bank is bankrupt and shit is real, daughter.

Via ill doctrine.

p.s. My google search got me a helpful little introductory economics guide, if you're interested.

"They're taking our jobs!"

2008-09-26T13:47:00.000-07:00

I've heard the above refrain more than a few times from white and Black alike.

Welp, they're right!

Via Of America.

What's for breakfast?

2008-09-24T15:59:00.000-07:00

We don't speak the same language.

She talks endlessly about Gloria Anzaldua and Lilia Downs. I try to front like Weezy changed my perspective on rap, and worry that I'm being different to be different.

I've worried aloud at how hers is a mangled language, an uncertain language filled with insecurities and held hostage by silence, but it's hers, nonetheless.

And I don't know what language I want to speak. What role I want to play. Do I really want to watch her cook dinner? Or should I break our little gendered binary and throw down on the only thing I really know how -- grits with eggs, bacon and toast?

Too many calories. No balance. Water doesn't make up for it all.

She talks academic and I daydream. She daydreams and I ask what's wrong.

Maybe I'm afraid of the silence? The silence that I grab by the neck and project my insecurities from: you're too boring, too Black, too guy-ish, too short, too skinny. Eventually my well-timed jokes won't be funny anymore. Every new friend she meets won't be an exciting excavation into my past. It'll just be.

Sure, we've been infatuated with one another for months. But once the ordinary kicks in, what happens? She cooks dinner, I cook breakfast. Go to sleep cuddled in each other's arms, wake up facing opposite ends of the bed. Time our showers perfectly. Make toast while she does her make up. Live my life for eight hours, plus two to commute. Then come back to and do it all again.

Free Music: People Under the Stairs, Fun DMC

2008-09-23T10:31:00.000-07:00

People Under the Stairs is one of my most favoritest groups ever. So when I found out that they have a new album dropping on September 30, I was like, word.

Then I got hold of their new mixtape:
Download Funner Than Leather.

More at XLR8R.
Shout out to ForwardEver

====

Now allow me to nerd out with some of my favorites:

Out Da Club:
People Under The Stairs - Out Da Club - People Under The Stairs

LA Song:
The L.A. Song - People Under The Stairs

Eat Street:
Eat Street - People Under the Stairs

Acid Raindrops:

San Francisco Knights:

==========
Interviews:

Australian TV Interview:

And then, this:

Live in the studio working on their last album, Stepfather:

Thes on the mpc:

FREE MUSIC: TI Feat. Justin Timberlake, Dead & Gone

2008-09-19T13:41:00.000-07:00

I spent the night at my mom's house and woke up craving Justin Timberlake. Maybe it was revisiting my adolescence, or my guilty conscience. Who knows. After searching through my stacks of cheesy Millennium pop music, including, but certainly not limited to: two Blackstreet Boys albums, Britney Spears, 98 degrees and Lou Bega, I found my old copy of Justified. But it was scratched!

I probably shouldn't own up to this shit on the internets.

Never to fear, Justin is a grown ass man now, doing big things with little rappers. His new track with TI called "Dead & Gone" for TI's upcoming album Paper Trail is that fire.

Dead & Gone:
Listen and Download.

Via Fader.

Obama: A New Day

2008-09-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

Justin Bua's official endorsement of Obama:

Read more.

Just one more addition to the Obama-inspired arts movement.

Izza Kizza says hello

2008-09-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

As mentioned before, we dig Izza Kizza.

Here's his video:

Izza Kizza -Hello from Izza Kizza on Vimeo.

Weezy does it.

2008-09-12T13:29:00.000-07:00

Lil Wayne, "My Life" (Fallen Soilders Remix) by Demarco:

Listen. (Right click to download)

Via Fader

Hip Hop Republican

2008-09-08T15:20:00.001-07:00

If there's one thing I respect most about Barack Obama, it's his partisanship. When I first heard "there's not a liberal America or a conservative America, there's the United States of America", I don't think I understood the significance of a presidential nominee so openly and proudly baiting bipartisanship on a national stage (now let's talk about how much of that has to do with him being a Black candidate...).

Frankly, I couldn't do it. And I've got plenty of problems with the Democratic party. But conservatives? Black conservatives? I'm good.

And now, there's Hip Hop Republican?

I've been scouring the site for almost half an hour, looking at their "proud" biographies and blog posts.

After taking a look at their declaration of -- whatever it is they're declaring, I'm still confused:

A “Hip Hop Republican” is not an Uncle Tom, sellout, or race traitor that would trade the best interests of the Black community for the scraps off of the proverbial political table.

Right.

It means that YUPpies and BUPpies (Young Urban Professionals and Black Urban Professionals, respectively) must take advantage of the current tax climate and invest their capital into private endeavors that will create wealth and opportunities (i.e., legacy and employment) for our communities. In a society that embraces social Darwinism, only the strongest survive. We must invest time and money into our communities to become stronger.

Oh, right!

Republicans? I can deal with. Black people? I can [try] to deal with them too. Young folks? I'm there. But a Black Republican who uses hip-hop as their agent of social deform? Can't do it.

I make no claims to owning hip-hop or the its representation to strangers. All I know is what it's meant to me, growing up as a Black girl from a working class home in the city. But this angers me most because it's using the moniker of hip-hop to impose a doctrine that has literally killed millions of young Black people in urban cities. Gun control? Access to high quality public education? Stable, unionized jobs with benefits? These are just some basic issues that no Republican platform has ever pushed, nor seen as important to the development of the country.

If the Republican party were to stick to an agenda that says "We're acting in the interests of our own wealth", I'd be fine. But to front like you're working on behalf of millions of working folks is a crude and dangerous misrepresentation.

Listen, and you be the judge:

Oh, and FYI: American Solutions, the conservative organization that's funding these folks to get the word out, was started by Newt Gingrich. And we all know how friendly he's been to Black People.

9/16/08 Correction: American Solutions does not fund Hip Hop Republican.

Dream Girl(s) (3)

2008-09-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

I apparently dream about girls a lot. I'm about to share another one with y'all.

This morning, I had this dream about a Trinity--the Mother (my mother), the Queen (my ex) and the Goddess (the woman I'm dating), morphed into one. One being with whom I have been dangerously vulnerable.

I know, I know, most people hate hearing about dreams-- especially when they're all non-specific and random, like "and then you said something I don't remember, and then you turned into a unicorn and pranced off into a field of blue watermelons, and stepped on one and it became a shoe for your unicorn hoof. What do you think it means??" Well, I'm writing about my dream anyway, so BACK OFF! Ehem. sorry. where was I?

Right. The Trinity. Here's what happened:

The Goddess and I were laying on my bed, my head resting in her lap, talking about nothing in particular. She commented on something and I responded with a gentle tease. And then she asked--"why were you such a loser growing up?"... The body was of the Goddess, but with the voice of the Mother, dripping with a venomous disdain for the person I've become. Though hurt, I received the words openly. I tried to answer honestly.

"Well, I was struggling to find home in my own body," I say. Raw from the rub of once again exposing old wounds to her (all three Hers, the Trinity), I turned over, hung my head over the edge of the bed, and watched my hands claw into the chalky earth below. I coated my fingertips in white, and I fathomed that this action could assuage the pain that swelled in my body.

Then the Goddess reached out to me. She was tender, caring, extending herself as a container to help hold my pain. In this moment, she walked the line between the Goddess and the Queen. And then, suddenly, she switched over...insisted that I sit properly supported, lest I injure myself. When I resisted her attempts to move me, the Queen broke. Fitful sobs of anger and pain burst from her heaving chest, and I, still open towards her, still honest, still loving, did my best to soothe away her hurt. Then, without warning, she morphed again--the Mother pushed me off, pushed me down, and spat disgust on my stomach, and then the Goddess pulled back her hair and swirled the disgust with her tongue, seeking sex where words had failed us.

I pushed her off. "I can't," I told her earnestly, "my body hurts." I sought compassion in her eyes (the Trinity), but they burned with anger. And suddenly, I knew that I had made a terrible mistake, that I had left lessons unlearned with the Mother, with the Queen, and that I had recreated that toxicity with the Goddess; I had once again entrusted my spirit to someone who would not/ could not hold it.

My openness filled quickly, suffocated each breath like sand pouring into my lungs, and I had to get away from Her. I slammed the bathroom door, fearing violence from the Trinity, and my own cries woke me--from vivid dreams to vivid pain.

There are too many layers of explanation that can follow. Indeed, I've been turning the sequence of events, the faces, the scents, the feelings of each moment over and over in my head since terror shook me awake. It was only much later--after arriving at work and sifting through the tasks that had piled up since Friday--that I realized the significance of today.

Today would be the three-year anniversary of the first time I kissed the Queen ("would be," were we still together). In many ways, this date marks the moment in which I gathered enough courage to stand strong in my manhood, and to demand to be seen. It's a signpost in my shift from "genderqueer" to "trans"--a shift that has fundamentally altered my relationship with the Mother. Despite countless efforts from both of us, she can't quite seem to feel and reciprocate the earnest love and tenderness I hold for her, because today, the Mother is still preoccupied with the concern that, in being myself, I am making a terrible mistake. And today, I am talking to the Goddess. I'm finding myself dropping more parts of me into her open recepticle, despite myself, even before I feel quite ready to trust again. I fear the safety and joy that I feel with the Goddess because, in the recent past, such feelings have been followed by the pain of rejection--by the Mother, by the Queen.

And what's deeper than this Trinity manifesting in my dream on the 3rd, the would-be 3-year anniversary of that first kiss? I know the Queen is feeling "3", too.

2008-09-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

I came out to my parents

Thru Telekinesis

Thru Prayer

LORD HEAR OUR PRAYERS

Everyone is praying for me

Because the deacon asks them to

So,

Sister Margaret

(Over There)

Is clutching a rosary in her wrinkled hands

And Brother Doug

(First Pew, Center)

Is clapping and praying

And Sister Eva May

(the one SCREAMING hallelujah)

Is praying that I find a man

QUICK

And mom is tossing her head back

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

And every homosexual thought

That runs thru my head

Twist the nails deeper into his flesh

So,

Im wondering

How many Our Fathers

Hail Marys

And Glory Bes must I mumble

To be saved

From their indignation

When I walk her down the aisle

dbrown 2008

DNC Coverage: Fear and Loathing in Denver

2008-08-25T18:16:00.000-07:00

I'm headed to Denver tomorrow morning for the Democratic National Convention. I'm excited to see folks, to see the shows and get a first-hand glimpse of the Democratic Machine. But in all honesty, I'm afraid.

Almost everyone is telling me how honored I should be to go to such a historic event. And no doubt, I'm humbled, privileged and flattered. But the Obama game, which I've never quite gotten into on the fanatic level that most folks around me have, is losing me.

Obama's recent selection of Joe Biden as his Vice Presidential running mate kinda sealed the deal for me. Biden might not be a bad guy. In fact, I don't know too much about his policies, his history in the senate, or his outlook for America. My lack of enthnusiasm is in part due to the fact that he's the antithesis of the Obama hype -- old, white and with a penchant to say racist shit. Like I've said many times before, the father the campaign rolls along, the more Obama looks like the new blackface of the political establishment.And Obama, because of necessity, has bad to brand his messages of hop and change in much the same way

A few months ago I spoke briefly to a well-respected, seasoned hip-hop journalist about his analysis of multicultalism and race in America. I'm probably taking his analysis way out of context, but his take went something like this: first the demographics change, then then culture changes, and slowly but surely, the political establishment changes. But change doesn't mean progress. Latinos are the fastest growing racial group in America, and already outnumber whites in the state of California. Yet immigration debates have reached an all-time high, and migrant workers continue to be imprisoned, deported and killed. From TJ Crawford to Soledad O'Brien in network newsrooms to Tyra Banks, Diddy, and the ever-so-classy New York, people of color are everywhere in popular culture. But when New York walks the streets of LA asking anyone she thinks might be Asian about Japanese culture, can you really call that progress?

And now there's Obama. Maybe I'm just severely uninformed. Or maybe I'm just a cynic. But putting a Black face on a white establishment just doesn't seem all that progressive to me. Groundbreaking? For sure. He's one of the most charismatic leaders in our nation's collective history. On par, if not far superior, to the allure of JFK.

And his campaign has been genius, the perfect combination of grassroots organizing, political and cultural branding, and the ever-so-important cool. He's changed the hip-hop game in ways that not even Jay-Z could fathom. He's an internationally bred, post Civil Rights baby who's Ivy League educated and listens to Jay-Z. Needless to say, hip-hop heads, mixed kids, Jack and Jill-type Black folks, most white liberals and baby boomer Black folks are all in his corner.

And according to the stats, I guess I should be too.

But as I get ready to leave for Denver, more than anything, I'm afraid. Afraid that the convention that will be like shopping at Wal-Mart during a 50% off sale -- oversaturated but with little substance. Afraid that I'll see the media cameras, the parties and the delegates and feel horribly out of place. Afraid that we've traded critical consciousness for political idealism. Afraid that we're confusing "change" with "progress."

Or maybe I'm just one of those oft-studied urban youths with street allegiances, hood cynicism and a college degree too insecure to plant one foot sternly in either world.

Stay tuned.

Next up: Cynthia McKinney, Rosa Clemente and the Obama Movement.

GOOD SHIT: NNEKA

2008-08-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Let's face it: we all judge a book by its cover, and an album by its cover art. So it was that, coupled with the praise of Drizzle, that led me check out German-based, Nigerian singer Nneka. And yo, I've gotta admit -- shit's on point:

death - nneka
Heartbeat

Nneka - Heartbeat (New)
by wonderful-life1989

Africans

NNEKA - Africans - MyVideo
Walking

Nneka - Walking
by FourMusic

The Uncomfortable Truth

Download (and pay) for the album here.

Shamlessly tooken from Adrizzle.