Antiquated Post-Modernist Bedlam (or a cog without a wheel)

head out of here

2010-03-02T18:35:00.001-05:00

this site is going to be abondoned for the flash and shiny features of Tumblr......
come follow me.....

www.poeticartifacts.tumblr.com

courtesy of omni........

2010-03-02T14:37:00.000-05:00

rant: why idol worship will ruin poetry

im like, wildly put-off by the celebritizing of poets in my community. while i encourage people and poets to reach out to poets who inspire them and thank them and communicate with them how their work has touched their lives…

i get a really uncomfortable sense of a burdgeoning idol worship developing. as youth slam becomes more wide-spread and those poets come into college and encounter poets who they themsevles watched on youtube or wherever growing up, i see more and more young poets fawning over these “slam celebrities”. While i appreciate the contributions of the “big names”, im fairly repulsed by the attitude that shaking their hands or sharing a car with them is meaningfull or important.

i hope, and encourage my own poets i coach to not look UP to these poets beyond their poems. To not idolize. Dont act like your life is complete because you shared a cab with anis or rachel or buddy or anyone. And if any of those sorts of people treat you like your less than, well…fuck them. fuck them in their asses. roughly.

the community is the most important thing we have, and when our young poets get into this groupie mentality, treating their peers and fellow poets like superstars to whome they can only bow in the glow of their radiant light, we create a shitty, imbalanced community. all those “famous” poets who won alot of stuff. they’re your equals. dont incite this madness. treat them like you would treat your own teammates or classmates. but latching on to a notable slam poet for handshakes and praise is like…gross to me.

im glad youve been inspired, tell them that. but not like youre talking to someone who is half-deity. that shit is stupid. be your own poet. impress yourself. do not judge your life by how many times you can share a car ride with derrick brown.

they are important to our success. but no more than you.

my high school experience.

2010-01-18T12:03:00.000-05:00

None of us were creators then
Only destroyers
Leaving empty space in our wake.
Running backwards
Thinking that what we saw
Was us,
Rushing towards oblivion

Ethos pt. 1

2010-01-12T19:17:00.002-05:00

There was a café in Richmond,
that force fed starving artists
amazing food and love,
the way we starving artists
feed the world creativity.
Without asking.
Without expecting anything in return.
And with a noble sense of obligation

Jen and Sarah,
were the couple who owned it.
they taught to me what it meant
to be revolutionary.
Some of their proceeds went to programs
for needle exchanges
or helping underage girls
get safe abortions
if they couldn’t tell their parents.

The types of programs
that make conservatives
blow steam out their ears.
and head out on the warpath.

They did it quietly.
Happily.
Not wanting to offend any clientele
that might object
to their patronage
funding such fringe causes.
But someone had to do it they said.
Why not them?

Not to mention,
their coffee was amazing.

It may have been the only place
ever in my life,
where I would strike up
conversations with complete strangers.
And I did every day,
since I was there for hours on end.
A safe haven for vagrant artists,
vagabonds,
and various free thinkers.

Before I went on tour for a month
with Joseph,
Ethos cafe held a fundraiser for us.
It was all their friends
that showed up

Jen and Sarah hadn’t slept yet.
They were up all nite
making T-shirts for us to sell
at shows.

They had us perform
and passed a hat.

People who struggle
to make rent every month
threw money into that hat
after Jen’s speech,
about how people who try
to really follow their dreams
need everyone else around them
to struggle a little more,
voluntarily,
while they wait for
their opportunity
to take the leap.

And whenever they chose
to take that leap,
Ethos would be right there
to pass a hat
and do whatever it took
to see them off right.

All I Know is Humor.

2010-01-12T17:53:00.001-05:00

She said it was happening again

My read resting in her lap
as she scratched and massaged
my freshly shaved scalp.

She noticed the other day,
too much long red hair in the drain.
The doctors still seem confused,
but think its a rare form of lupus.
Her body, aimlessly waging war against itself

‘there might be one advantage’
I tell her lazily as the opium of her fingers
work themselves into my system
‘I can finally return all this
head massaging that you give me’

I swear,
I felt her smile through those fingers

Honey Badgers for Anxiety

2010-01-05T23:47:00.001-05:00

We were at a Thai restaurant
In Austin, Tx
A few fellow poets
And the girl I was dating
A guitar player

She would open for hard rock bands
Just her,
An acoustic guitar,
And the songs she wrote
Rocking the venue

But this night,
She had one of her anxiety attacks
Right after we ordered.
She was outside,
Sitting balled up
Leaning back against the building
World around her spinning
Breath caught and pressed
By boulders

I sat with her,
Told jokes,
And recounted
Scene for scene
A documentary on my favorite animal,

The honey badger.

Considered the most tenacious
Animal on the planet,
It attacks lions, and poisonous snakes
Without a care.

But it gets its name,
From its love of honey.
And the reckless abandon
With which it dives into
Underground hives
Being stung thousands of times
Just to pull out the
Sweet sweet honeycomb

Maybe that is like
Working through an anxiety attack.
Knowing the honeycomb,
The ability to take a
deep, sweet,
Breath of air
Is worth getting stung
By shortness of breath,
And vertigo.
So you don’t ever
give up trying

The whole time I talked,
I kept a hand on her belly,
Made her focus on breathing.
Trying to keep it slow and deliberate
Eventually we stood up
as everyone filed out of the restaurant

We missed dinner.

A couple weeks later
There was a package in the mail
A stuffed animal,
An official honey badger
I had no idea
That they even made those

It must have been much
Harder to obtain
Than my stories were
That eased her anxiety

And receiving it eased mine,
Concerned about
How much I actually helped.

Apparently,
Honey badgers
Work better
Than Effexor or Zoloft

But like all anxiety meds,
The side effects can be brutal.

Biting and clawing,
Resulting in excessive bleeding

Sitting in a metal-smithing studio

2010-01-03T20:40:00.000-05:00

Sitting in a metal-smithing studio

Surrounded by a wide array
Of unfamiliar instruments,
Numerous tools with
Slight variations,
Each waiting silently
For their moment
To make a vocal mark
On the world
Through the delicate hands
Of an artist.

It makes me wonder,
How complex is my art?

Substituting a pen
For a pencil,
Paper for a keyboard-
Would that make a
Discernable difference
In the outcome of this poem?

Never will someone say

‘I loved your poem,
Did you usea ballpoint pen?
Or a number 2 pencil?’

Writing and performing poems
Does not hold evidence
Of the medium used
In the precious moments of conception
There is no need to switch between
Lead and ink
mid-poem
In order to fine tune these metaphors
With the proper hue and texture

So how complex
Is this act of expression?

late in high school, and my year off......

2009-12-30T15:34:00.002-05:00

......were spent keeping soberness at bay
during daylight hours
And trying to drown it at night
Only to wake the next day
And try again.
i'm still not sure
what my grudge was
with sobriety.
but i'm still
pretty sure
it deserved it.

Daggers

2009-12-29T22:14:00.001-05:00

As my fingers caressed the small of her back.
I still remember
not just what she said,
but how she said it.

‘Why are you touching me like this?’

She told me from the get go
that she doesn’t use the word ‘love’
I told her it was overrated anyway

Oxycoton and heroin
Taught her feelings,
And I had become another hangover

She consumed me,
Anytime she felt lonely and bored
a common void bonding us together
But only at the edges
we spent our time fighting or fucking
To grab, poke, stab, bite, yell
At something outside ourselves.

Even our cold shoulders
Were loud, defiant
And jagged

But there were quiet moments,
In bed,
With cigarette smoke and sweat
Her tracing my tattoos
over and over.
My lips,
speaking slow
Gently touching
Old bruises,
More ancient than either of us felt

that was when she got
Demanding.
Each word carefully
Sharpened into a
Barbed and accurate dagger

‘Why do you touch me like that?’
Her voice slicing the space between us
Eyes begging for the answer.
I would smile, confused
And say, because these
are beautiful moments

thinking that
Our violence,
For a moment,
Together……
Could be all love is

Reminding her
softly of this emptiness
The way she reminded me
Through daggers of words
That pierced my insecurity

These serene moments are tiny scars
Wondering if I touched her like that…
With delicate daggers on my fingertips
Just to remind each other of the voids
we were seeking to destroy

Salvation Incorporated. - Eric Victorino

2009-12-29T14:46:00.003-05:00

total poet crush on this guy right here.......

"I dont think
people who believe in god
are stupid.
plenty of very
intelligent people
have faith.
some of them
have even read the bible.
i've read it.
and i think its a great story
its a fucking best-seller
for Christ's sake."

excerpt from a great fucking book......

2009-12-16T10:41:00.002-05:00

"i hope this book enters into the mix, bringing academics, performers, and all who care about a society in a postmodern, postindustrial world together, dropping some knowledge and breaking down some barriers. i hope, too, that it does something to dispel the pernicious notion that rappers are somehow non- or anti-intellectual, or that in describing the crises facing urban American and the world they are somehow glamorizing or advocating the conditions of which they testify. On the academic side, i hope that no one will any longer be able to think of music or poetry in the late twentieth century without assigning rappers a primary place, both out of an awareness of the urgency of their message, as well as on account of the tremendous poetic power and variety of their expression. and for rappers themselves, and everyone in the vast and growing hip-hop nation, i hope this book will help make evident the mulitiple connections between hip-hop's insurrectionary knowledges and the historical and societal forces against which they are posed, and in so doing expand and strengthen the depth of our determination to 'fight the powers that be'."
-Russell A. Potter
Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism

2009-12-13T17:41:00.001-05:00

"I love quantum physics so much.... I just think I'd be calmed by the solar flares."

A friend on wanting to see the Northern Lights

Paroled Fable Thieves Intro piece (TJ & Kristen Tomanocy)

2009-12-07T10:24:00.001-05:00

We live in this house of language
This cathedral
of oratory masters.
this castle of tradition
dug with fricatives and dipthongs
poured meaning through these sounds in order to cement stories
My bones never mortared themselves
for Aristotle's corinthian mantle foundation
but they hold up the rafters
while hinged lungs from the past sing back and forth
with every door we open and close in the hallway
my tongue drags along the doorknobs
wanting to taste every story with these words
starving for the ferment of cellared ancestry
I taste the spilled blood like iron in the hinges
my shins hold up the dinner table
plattered with a history of every noble hearts evocation
so listen
when you live in a house created by the
howls of human need, extending the limb of language,
a lost tongue in a shadowed cave of a mouth
you feel the echoes of your next door neighbors
So stop sitting down
stand
Raise a primordial scream like a battering ram
because the labored breath of
these creators is rattling through us.
demanding to be heard
We can own this.
Read this.
Channel this.
Lyric this.
Love this.
The words of our people typewrite themselves
through our toes on this hardwood floor.
write this. write this. write this.
Move like you have been given
the chance to construct stolen sonnets,
we are nothing but thieves in this mountain of crumpled pages
oragami masters
adding new folds from our own experiences
delivered through our breath as a gift
to decorate anothers barren dwellings
Because when you inherit this beautiful, ancient
temple of a house
all you can do
is listen to it.

Un-Friended by my grandfather!!!!!

2009-12-02T21:33:00.005-05:00

My grandfather, also a writer, sent me this after i posted the link to the first anthology of the Intangibles "Static: and Other Lungless Things" on his facebook page.

Awesome!
if you want to see what i posted on his page to elicit such a response, visit here http://poetcd.com/index.php?item=285

Upcoming shows........

2009-11-29T00:15:00.004-05:00

Tuesday, Dec 8th
Binghamton, NY
the Premier of .........

De Saussure’s concept of ‘Parole’ deals with concrete, actual instances of a language and is not concerned with grammar, syntax, and rule. As torchbearers of the oral tradition, we acknowledge the embodiment of the story in its moment, concerned with being over meaning, making each performance unique. Nothing new can be said, but it can be presented in new ways, and is; Every time something is performed.

2009-11-28T13:34:00.001-05:00

Closing Paragraph from my undergrad philosophy thesis on archaeological theory....

2009-11-21T21:26:00.001-05:00

My only concern as we set out on our path of self-discovery through the past, inching forwards towards a more comprehensive understanding of our beginnings is that we will exhaust our data, our ability to find and excavate new sites before we can reach a honed and accepted method of archaeological discourse. A place where different fields of thought, theories, and data will all work collectively in critically tying together the threads of our past into a tapestry of learning and achievement. We should view Archaeology as archaeology. Borrowing from other fields as seen fit in the course in inquiry, and acknowledging new methods that can be checked and appropriated in a proper place with regards to our biases will enrich all of our endeavors.

Eros and Arson

2009-11-19T15:10:00.000-05:00

I watched her gently pull a camel non-filter out of a half empty pack as if she was an archaeologist, uncovering some ancient relic to be viewed by mankind for the first time in millennia.

Delicately placed it between clenched front teeth and grinned as I leaned forward with my lighter.
She leaned back away from the flame, paused, and said with a gleam in her eye,

“lets just burn the whole fucking thing”, one eyebrow slightly raised in a challenging manner

“what,” I said, “this bar?”

She leaned forward again, kissed her cigarette to the flame I held never breaking eye contact, inhaled, took an infinite second to savor it, and shook her head, wild mane of brunette hair sweeping over her shoulders as she exhaled.

“all of it,” she said, “you, me, us, the system, all of it”

I smiled back slightly, quietly wishing it was the bar she wished to engulf in her fire.
The ease with which all of this alcohol would ignite and spread made it an acceptable thought process, something within my realm of possibility.

We were silent for a few thoughtful drags of our cigarettes, my free hand gently massaging her stocking covered thigh, sliding under the hem of her skirt.

I suppose it was too late to turn back.

Yes, we were already prisoners of this world… but here, with only us in this closed bar, we were defying labels, redefining intimacy, love, passion, and comfort without conscious attention to our actions and repercussions.

But I never thought myself capable of destroying these socially cemented notions that chart our course in the world. I only checked them like a jacket at the door when we stole time alone here, never forgetting to collect them again as I left.

Our cigarettes finished, she stood, stepped over and pressed her body into mine, seeing if the friction of our heat could melt us, could spark raging infernos that would reduce society around us to ash,
and her lips gently caressed my neck as she whispered,

“this is whats real, and it can never be burned or destroyed”

And I watched her saunter out the door, back into the world, no baggage of labels to pick up as she set off to set the world ablaze.

understanding perception and beauty and art

2009-10-31T16:02:00.001-04:00

http://bitsofwisdom.org/2009/10/21/interesting/perception/

YOU WANT TO GO TO THERE!!!!

2009-10-30T19:45:00.002-04:00

another road trip story....... of a different vein

2009-10-10T11:36:00.001-04:00

Road trips with Bryan Lee

old short story

2009-10-09T09:13:00.001-04:00

just published an old short story, give a read.......
its a hoot!

http://authspot.com/short-stories/why-i-can%E2%80%99t-go-to-canada/

why I write not type

2009-09-23T12:21:00.000-04:00

Sometimes sitting down and typing feels alien ot me. The keys are never punched in the right order, constant backspaces and retypes are here that you will never even know about. Instead I will leave all of them in plain sight for you to reall yobsever what I am talking about, although I suppose iwill at least strike through the misplaced words and nonsensicsal retypes that would help to make this a more readable projecet. I even catch myhself automatically backspacing and trtyping before I have a chance to allow them to be solidified inot reality and notn just a momentary blip of my mistake to be covered up and disguised like a blemish on the face of a model minutes before a shoot.

Bar Napkin Scrawl circa 2005 Ricmond, VA

2009-09-23T12:18:00.000-04:00

Eternal Recurrence

2009-09-17T23:32:00.000-04:00

If you are reading this, upon completion of this thought process do me a favor.... sit still, breathe real slow, and try to imagine yourself not existing. An atheists death i suppose, just picture one minute you thinking and feeling and seeing, and the next just blinked out. How difficult is it to imagine oneself Not Existing. Yourself in the first person sense gone. It seems overwhelming to try and imagine. Sometimes when my mood strikes a particular combination of things (tiredness i believe being one of them), i can feel like i'm standing on the edge of that abyss of existing/not existing. Only for a moment or two, then its gone.

During that moment however, i'm filled with a powerful feeling, one of recognition, a sense of understanding almost. It's as if i have teetered on that ledge before and quickly backtrack my process of living and end up here again. Those of you that know me understand my fascination with Nietzsche. One of his ideas crops up here, that of eternal recurrence. If your life does flash before your eyes, like some people say, i guess that would be it. If you truly do get a flash of life right before your eyes that only lasts a moment of 'real time', it would still feel like your life being lived over again. Every minute of it. Horrible, painful and mundane, fun and excrutiating. Nietzsche says that one should model their life over this idea that you have to relive every second of your existence eternally.

Now some astronomers and the like would say that given enough time and space, everything that could happen, has, and then all thats left (given there is still an infinite amount of time) gets repeated over and over again, a sort of cosmic re-run. What makes us so arrogant as to think that this is the first run through? Is it possible that we have all gone through these motions before? My typing, your reading, just another lap around the same track. Well hopefully, the first and original go round you have read this (or something similar, i won't presuppose the arrogance that my writing is the catlyst for where i am going with this) and changed afew things to make the reliving as enjoyable as possible. However, just in case this is the first go round, you (and I as well) should make a few adjustments to ensure that we can have a more enjoyable eternal recurrance.

And if not, if all of this is nonsense and you find it trite and irritating, just picture not existing. Or come as close as you can. Maybe you'll get that tingling little sensation that you have done this before.

Laughter

2009-09-06T18:30:00.000-04:00

I feel that laughter is one of the (if not THE most) essential characteristics of the human condition. If you are not of this belief and feel affronted by the fact that i place laughter this high on my list, then please, carry on about your miserable, dreary life. However, if you are of the regard that there may be some truth to aforementioned statement, then please, join me in this venture into the mysterious origins of the human consciousness and laughter.

Many times within the poetry slam community, i have heard different versions of the 'stay away from funny poems', or 'bring the darkness' (a mantra i have grown to absolutley despise), or just people who do not have one shred of humor or lightheartedness in any of their material. Even a horrible cynical or sarcastic comment counts for me as humor, and is appreciated. Once, I remember in Texas for nationals, a poet (I believe from Texas), did a poem about how he can't laugh anymore (he might have been referring to poetry, i hope actually, as admitting that you can no longer laugh is the most dismal and slow of deaths and also draws a bit of bitter angst towards that person from myself) because of his job dealing with kids who have been abused. One of the poets i was with turned to me after that poem and said that from that point on in the bout, no one would be able to do a funny poem.

I scoffed (well i'm not sure if i scoffed really, but that is how i am going to recount this bit of personal history), and said that was exactly why there needed to be funny poem. To show the absurdity and stupidity of the earlier poem. Those are the kids that need laughter the most. There is no nobler goal than to swallow the pain and senseless violence in the world while returning nothing but a smile and chuckle of laughter to acknowledge the duality of all things in the universe. To only be willing to witness and take part in the travesties of human nature, no matter how golden paved the intentions are, is only a lonesome highway to the depths of a personal hell. So enough of this, and on to the laughter (which is far overdue in this writing exercise i know, but you may skip to the end for one my favorite jokes if you like, i'll wait)!!

Laughter has been called many things, none of which (that my limited experience has brought upon me) seem to be completely false, and also i might add, none of which seem completely true (in the sense of being a primary factor above all others). Some of my favorite explainations were along the lines of pshychology, but in a very amusing manner. The first one i wish to bring up was 'the secret in laughter is a return to nature'. I'm not sure how well founded this is, as mother nature would be a strange model to emulate our silly giggles and grins to (in a cynical or sarcastic sense, well maybe even in an ironic sense i can understand this as the basis for humor), yet it places laughter in a position older than speech and conscious thought, which i like.

A more eloquent and more obviouslly pshychological approach is that laughter is "the result of suddenly released repression, the physical sign of subconscious satisfaction". Another dandy idea, and in many cases would seem to carry a bucketfull of water, but again, it doesnt quite strike my sensibilities (maybe it does yours though? please leave me some comments telling me what you believe about the glorious joy of laughing).

I will keep it simple (if that is even in the realm of possiblility for myself), in that laughter is the soul, running an old tin cup across the iron prison bars of the body, remembering what it was like to be free. It makes us human, allows us to dance on the tips of razor sharp truths, and kiss the blunt end of reality when it delivers sledgehammer blows to the face. So i will leave you with a bad joke that i love (are there really any other kinds of jokes to love really?), and hope if you dont laugh at the joke, you will laugh at the idea that i think it is so grand a one.

Why is it that people never hear rabbits having sex?

cotton balls.

Salinger, Myself, and Writing

2009-09-05T10:43:00.001-04:00

If I've never told you, J.D. Salinger is quite possibly my favorite author. Of course most peoples initial reaction is 'oh Catcher In The Rye'. Not my favorite of his works. Personally it doesn't hold the same pinache and gusto contained within Raise High the Roofbeam Carpenters, or my absolute favorite Seymour-An Introduction.

His chaotic parenthetical whimsy of oration (i see this particular writing style as much more relating to actual speech than a stale page) is a thing of splendor. I like to think I myself relate to this style, partially from the uncanny ability to spend endless hours recounting stories that branch out in tangents and become their own roots, whose shoots never quite blossom before new seeds fall and take root on their own (yes, i tend to ramble and lose the main track of my argument or story). They way in which Salinger addresses the reader (like i myself have taken on here), is inspired. He brings up the amusing question of how can an author know who his audience is? The reverse is easy. So to you few readers (as i highly doubt i have some inordinately large reading base like some of the intangibles) I, like Salinger, apologize for this long winded and verbose explanation that a better poet would be able to state quite simply.

What i am trying to get at, is the reason that poetry is difficult for me. It is difficult for the same reason that 3 day trips for fun become a burden. I simply have no idea how to pack. A visual image, a thought, a smell, are things that i cannot simply compose in a line like many of the great poets i know. I have to wander around it, through it, cradle it gently (or roughly, depending on my mood), to relate it to everything i know (or as much as i can possibly stand, which is most likely a little bit more than what you would be able to tolerate yourself as the reader). So Poetry becomes a task of taking off layers and layers to reach some sort of primordial essence that will transcend the brevity of description and magically (in the very best of conditions, which is usually our goal isn't it?) add those layers again once the reader (or listener i suppose) allows themselves to be affected by this prose. This skill i am lacking (as should be apparent by this writing which for better or worse seems to be my natural style). So for those of you readers (if any of you are still there even) who made it through this, i appreciate it, and will be making more of these journeys around the peripherals of my psyche instead of what many would consider prose in order to sort out and alleviate this incessant chattering (whether its aloud, or simply in my head).

My problem with Psuedo-science

2009-09-02T21:49:00.000-04:00

It's actually not what you think. My problem is the term itself. Science has gained such a stranglehold on western knowledge in the last 200 years that now any other system of knowledge and belief (especially ones that are considerably older) are deemed childish, fraudulent and laughable. You know those crazy fundamentalist evangelical Christians that preach all madness, that they know the only true way? yea, throw a lab coat and a pocket protector on one, and you got a scientist. They are belligerent and racist. Any indigenous peoples are silly and misinformed about the world they inhabit because they don't have science. Many scientists believe that science is the only lens in which to view the world, its dogmatic, and personally i find it sad.

Last time i checked, astrology did not directly result in the depleting of our ozone layer. Alchemy had no part in the mass industrialization of Europe, leading to the genocide of native peoples and the raping of fertile lands for resources around the globe to feed this monstrous (yet invisible) giant we call science. Why? Well because the priests.... i mean scientists tell us that we need to advance our knowledge so we can understand the world and make it better! What has gotten better in the last 200 years? menial comforts, length of life, health and travel. Yet we've lost our habitat, the natural wonders of our planet, and some of its marvelous creatures as well. But guess what, we STILL all die. Don't worry though, the preachers..... i mean scientists say they can fix that. And if you try and look to stars for answers, they'll laugh until the toxic fumes of their breath blocks out everything glorious around us.

new article i published..... quitting smoking

2009-08-30T15:25:00.000-04:00

My newly published article......

Captain Nemo (based off of 20,000 leagues under the sea by Jules Verne)

2009-08-30T15:22:00.000-04:00

He rose from a small hatch of iron
to be struck with a fierce saltwater breeze
standing inches above the water line
and scanned the horizon

a lone ship's mast could barely be made out on the horizon
he sneered at the vessel
wanting to laugh contemptuously at the poor ship
and the poor souls within it, held by the mercy of the sea,
trapped by the colors of the flag that swayed atop the little ship

he climbed back into the hatch, sealed the door
and ship began to dive.
to his domain.
a truly existential world of him,
and the seemingly infinite deep.
A playground and research area
free from the oppression of everything human.

A man of no nation, but one with struggle
His past pain guarded with the same steel plates that protect
His crew from the pressures of the ocean

The first post-industrial westerner
to live a completely green existence
he makes your hybrids look like toxic waste dumps
Everything he and his ship needs provided for
by the ocean he hides in.

The maniacal zeal of exploration
And advancement for everything deemed great
For a race he no longer wanted a part of
Yet couldn’t ignore

I understand his contempt
Often wish to disappear under an ocean of solitude
Leave behind the violence and anger
Plaguing our civilizations

This will not help though
And we need all the great minds we can muster
But he already knows that
And he does not want to do an injustice to mankind
And leave his lessons in the depths of his mind and sea

turning away from humanity and man
does not make him separate
does not strip the sinew and fiber of
his soul away leaving a more educated being
and his going under, does not necessitate
rising above man and our shortcomings

his ambition and zeal impress all who have witnessed it
his knowledge and vision scatter any thoughts of insanity
but his fear, and resentment,
his distain and contempt...

that is what will lead him under
and in the end will be his going over

Must See Site!!!!!

2009-08-22T22:59:00.001-04:00

quite possible the most genius thing EVER.

i especially like the cain and abel one.........

best sandwich ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-08-22T12:06:00.000-04:00

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM KFC knows what it's doing.......

print these stickers, and put them on other peoples books!!!!

2009-08-11T22:27:00.000-04:00

i love this

Dia and Corin, this one's for you guys.

2009-08-10T19:02:00.000-04:00

hahahahahaa

2009-08-10T18:25:00.000-04:00

shamelessly hoping for a repost on Kristens blog.....

2009-08-07T13:33:00.000-04:00

Here is why i picked these pics for her potential repost........ no makeup

2009-08-07T13:23:00.001-04:00

good comedic quotes........

2009-08-07T13:06:00.001-04:00

there are some real gems here

sometimes i really love art

2009-08-06T13:21:00.001-04:00

this is friggin awesome

Dia....... especially you will like this
and make sure you scroll across the opening page, its a long mural of this guys work

Basky Vs. Bristol Museum

2009-08-06T12:26:00.001-04:00

hahahhahaa

2009-08-06T11:43:00.000-04:00

2009-08-06T10:47:00.001-04:00

For Omni:

Kurt Vonnegut inspirational posters..........

2009-07-22T10:49:00.000-04:00

This is crazy, cool, inspiring, and just beautiful....

gotta love earth......

pit bulls and breedism.......

2009-07-17T08:23:00.000-04:00

new article i wrote on pit bulls

too easy

2009-07-07T09:38:00.001-04:00

my response the this article about choosing facebook over myspace being equivalent to 'white flight' from the ghetto's and essentially making facebook users racist

my revelations from court.......

2009-07-03T14:08:00.000-04:00

after going to court at the end of tour........
here's my synopsis of the american legal system

new poem

2009-07-02T12:52:00.000-04:00

check out my poem here....
its about my wonderful bus ride after tour, which was a result of being arrested and having my license confiscated.

celebrating Al Franken; much more than just a democrat senate win

2009-07-02T10:40:00.001-04:00

check out my new lil article.....

Yea Al Franken!!

new post.......

2009-06-30T15:28:00.001-04:00

if you got a few seconds........ and you do if you are reading this......

go read this and show me some love.... or criticism

http://www.socyberty.com/Gay-&-Lesbians/A-Quick-Word-on-Gay-Marriage-and-the-10-Commandments.834991

UPDATE/support

2009-06-29T22:33:00.000-04:00

ok so i have been trying out a site that publishes material for me, and i would like yall to help me out by checking it out.

this is the first snippet i threw together......

http://newsflavor.com/opinions/tarnishing-the-legend-of-mj/

it wont be poetry, or personal things for the most part, itll be my thoughts on social issues surrounding us these days. i may be a windbag in person sometimes, but my writing is pretty short and concise. so take a gander, leave a comment, make me feel like a real author. thanks yall.

shadows

2009-06-26T08:45:00.001-04:00

one thing i never accounted for was my shadow. how can this two dimensional patch of shade ever cause me harm? yet here i am, trying desperately to get away from it. I tell myself that it is high noon, and that warmth envelops me, but i can see the suns long rays cast eerie mirrors down upon the places i used to say were most familiar. they have an ominous tone now,and strange elixir of feelings is swirled up within me, trying to discern threat from illusion in my psyche.
i considered sitting in total darkness waiting this spell out, but i was afraid of what the shadows can do when not fettered to their orignal, to their real, counterpart. Who would be the one to say which is real? which is original then? so i stay with the lights on, clutching thoughts way past the logical reasoning portion of the show, and speculate wildly. madly. incessantly. i wait for the shadows to drag me away, but they never flinch from their fun house mimicking.

Part of my conclusion from my undergraduate thesis on archaeological theory...........

2009-06-22T13:05:00.000-04:00

As time progresses, and we continue to check and reference established theories with new methods of critique, scientific advances, and more data from other sources, we will see how well theories can stand when put in relation to the world around us. We will always have to go back and check the work done before us because every time we look at it, we gaze from a different viewpoint, and its important to keep looking at a theory because we continue to see it in a new light that will either further support it, or raise questions that need to be addressed.
My only concern as we set out on our path of self-discovery through the past, inching forwards towards a more comprehensive understanding of our beginnings is that we will exhaust our data, our ability to find and excavate new sites before we can reach a honed and accepted method of archaeological discourse. A place where different fields of thought, theories and data will all work collectively in critically tying together the threads of our past into a tapestry of learning and achievement. We should view Archaeology as archaeology. Borrowing from other fields as seen fit in the course in inquiry, and acknowledging new methods that can be checked and appropriated a proper place without bias.

Meeting with Nietzsche

2009-06-20T12:13:00.000-04:00

Primordial stone structures rise out of the ground like the most stubborn weeds in a steadily maintained garden. These buildings, not painted like the bright tiger lily’s and daffodils just a couple blocks east, were a reminder of antiquity of man. The stones themselves, rings, visibly announcing their age. I opened a tall arched door of one building and went up the steps to room with the only lit window in the place.

A small lamp burned dimly in the corner of the cramped desk. Hunched over a series of papers his hand feverishly dashed back and forth across parchment, pen swirling in a constant battle with his brains commands, and the fingers responses. As his left swept a heavily inked page over to reveal a new challenge, his right released the pen, tried to stretch out and relax like the dirt encrusted hands of a three card molly dealer on street corner, but was unable to extend very far.
His hands were old and worn. Not in the calloused way, strengthened and protected from years of hard labor. These hands were worn from holding a pen for too long, from the emptiness that hand carried around otherwise, never knowing the feel of another in a mutual interlocked grasp. No jewelry adorned any of fingers above the swollen and gnarled knuckles he fumbled with every day. I’ve heard it said that one can see the soul through the eyes, but his hands were the doorway to his soul.

“did the sight of these buildings when you were little, force your hand to write like this?” I asked him.

“Well it would take a lot of force to have a hand leave a mark on this building, it’s made of heavy stone.” With an incredulous look on his face, he turned back down to the desk and paper, the pen and struggle. His body language gave off the impression of someone annoyed with a disturbance of his solitude. Breaking his focus on the tug of war with the pen was a grave offense, one not to be forgiven easily. I proceeded down stairs and out to the street without another word, and headed east towards the daffodils and tiger lily’s.

2009-06-18T19:04:00.000-04:00

This is Coy Dog. he kicks some serious ass.

and the song is from my man Bamboo Mc, his new album Woodgrain is out now!!!!!

stagnation

2009-06-14T11:02:00.000-04:00

if i sit down in the morning and write one page of my thesis, i feel accomplished.... and then waste my day with other things. However, this doesnt even happen most days. I can talk about my thesis for hours, including many of the citations and elaborate on theoretical backgrounds without missing a beat. There is something about the act of writing that drags me down though. I've been acting recently like the keys on my laptop will give me a rash if I touch it too long. Even this blog has been dormant, no dumping of psychological shit into an accesible online medium for people. Of course there is a myriad list of excuses i could drudge up and parade around for no purpose other than for an 'ad hoc' justification of my laziness.
So here's to scraping that little bit of mold off the cheese, and then enjoying some crackers and cheddar. You know its fine, but you're still paranoid about not getting all the nasty mold of it, and so it leaves a strange taste in your mouth, even if its only in your head.

2009-05-12T13:08:00.000-04:00

let's briefly describe what happened here in the dale a few days ago

MAHYEM.
this is video from one of my good friends, who sat in her living room and caught this during our 'meso-cyclone'. picture this happening everywhere in the area i live. it happened on friday, parts of town are just starting to get their power back (which does not include myself and carmen, we will most likely go another day or two without).

Look! its Jimmytheloch!!!

2009-05-08T12:24:00.001-04:00

Lines that lost their Poems (Or that i was too lazy to write)

2009-05-07T22:23:00.001-04:00

1. if poetry can be called the map of the mind
then i would like to lay out and geographically define
my valleys and mountains evolution over time

my valleys I've learned well
ancient floodplains of overwhelming emotion
that has sculpted and shaped the landscape of my actions
eternally leaving behind scars
that millions of thoughts from now
will resemble the surface of mars.

2. pulses of laughter are the soul
running an old tin cup
across the iron prison bars of the body
remembering what it was like to be free

3. I used to be able to say that I've never fallen face-first for a woman,
although my elbows and hands were scraped and scarred
from catching myself all the time
and so I thank you
I've never been so happy to lose teeth and bloody my nose

4. I used to go to a coffee shop that force-fed starving artists
the way we force our art into the world
without being asked, and without expecting thanks....
Thank you Ethos Cafe- Richmond, VA

5. Reminiscing in dead languages
lost like a modern day pagan is
praying up to the moon's gleam
just a pale reflection of what it really used to be

6. When i read Nietzsche, 'Holy Shit!'
is what comes to mind
both as an exclamation, and a description
I'm sure he would have it no other way

the first video blog

2009-04-23T17:09:00.000-04:00

since i have been posting so many videos, i figure i should just do a video blog.....

awesomness and laziness

2009-04-21T14:24:00.000-04:00

i am feeling lazy, hence the video posts recently. so here is a break from poetry....

oh, and as a side note, if i ever got just one wish from a genie, it would be the ability to do this here.............

more amazing poetry

2009-04-20T09:13:00.001-04:00

Lauren Whitehead, graduate of U of Michigan at Ann Arbor. A woman i am proud to have shared a stage with, and have spent some quality time with. this is utterly mindblowing. learn something today.............. check this out.

2009-04-19T16:03:00.000-04:00

i stopped into burger king today for a whopper junior to hold me over for the afternoon and got confused.

i think this is because burger king is confused. they have free wi-fi now. because i know so many of us would go to BK to eat and just wish that they would have internet access so we could stay all day long, thank got they got on that.

they have happy hour now? for soda?? seriously? thats your marketing ploy... happy hour?

To the big wigs of BK:
you are not a coffee shop. Not a nice hangout spot for the afternoon while we blog all day (as i am doing now from a coffee shop) and leave smelling like deep fried food and grease.
you are not a bar. you do not serve alcohol and therefore cannot make it a "happy" hour.
So please cancel your plans to have acoustic open mic nite, you are a fast food joint. that is it. and that is ok, we will still love you and patron your establishment.

your customers.

spend some time in the other room

2009-04-15T18:19:00.001-04:00

this may be one of the nasiest team pieces i've ever seen. ever.

as someone struggling with both academia and my creative outlets, this poem resonates with me in ways that make my skin crawl and get all goosebumpy.

from the poets of WASH U (in St. Louis) at the 2009 CUPSI, i present to you 'the other room'

2009-04-15T17:53:00.000-04:00

For those of you that have no idea what im doing after leaving NY to head to the midwest for grad school, i present you with my thesis question(s)/statement. for those that care its from a linguistic anthropology standpoint, basically orienting myself within the interaction between language and culture.

What functions do poetry slams serve in indexing relations to marginalized groups while building a sense of community? In what ways do poets manipulate and utilize different paralinguistic features and performative tools to engage an audience? How do these events serve to educate the public, specifically the younger generation about social issues, interpersonal relations, identity and the nature of poetry itself? These questions will form the basis for gaining an understanding of the cultural phenomenon that is poetry slam, or more descriptively, competitive performance poetry.

god of science

2009-04-15T12:18:00.001-04:00

i brought up a point in my archaeological theory class today that i wish to expand upon. Class discussion focused on who owns the rites to tell the story, and preserve the remains of native american cultures. Many people claim that science, in the name of greater understanding of all humans should be able to catalog and analyze artifacts, human remains, and other assorted features found in the archaeological record.

This is contested by many tribes and organizations. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGRPA) was a major act of federal legislation (passed in 1990) that limits what american (traditionally white) archaeologists have to do with cultural artifacts and human remains. It gives native groups a voice in deciding what gets done with the remnants of their ancestors and their culture. Some natives are not very hospitable to archaeologists and scientists for good reason. The founder of american anthropology Franz Boas, a pillar of anthropological ideals who fought hard against scientific racism, would go to tribal burial grounds at nite, dig up graves, take the skulls and then sell them illegally to museums and other research institutes in the name of science. This was a major epidemic of western scientists feeling that they owned the rights to anything that would help advance the scientific understanding of people and the world, without caring about the people who it affected.

This is where i draw the parallel of science and religion. Western science is the new religion. Its dogma, any other view of the world is misguided and silly. Science can explain things better and more accurately, giving them the authority to usurp other peoples views and belongings because they possess the true methods of understanding the world. When i brought this up, a student tells me that there are religious scientists, so my analogy is false. I bring up the fact that there are Buddhist Christians, and his only response, partially joking, is that maybe buddhism isnt a religion then.

Scientists are like fundamentalist christians in many regards. They do not challenge the assumptions and the box that their cosmology was created in. They claim greater evidence because you can 'see' and 'test' what they pronounce as fact. It is a different epistemological approach to knowledge, but much of philosophy (especially philosophy of science) shows how unstable many scientific foundations are. A.F. Chalmers is an excellent example of this, his book "What is this thing called Science?" was hugely influential in helping me understand the codified and dogmatic ideologies that permeate what is understood (or misunderstood) as to how science works better than religion.

Im not knocking science, i use it all the time, am fascinated by it. But i also understand its shortcomings and how it can be used to justify ideological and political ends, like racism. For example, in the 1930's the most predominate school of science in the US was eugenics. No one spoke against it, even though today it is a black mark upon the history of science. Forced lobotomies, sterilization, and other atrocities were committed here for the sake of keeping 'morons' or genetically inferior people from reproducing. This also included unacceptable moral behavior!!!! my great grandmother on my fathers side got married when she got pregnant with her third kid, not because she wanted a husband, but because a single women with more than two kids was morally deviant, and would be institutionalized so she couldnt pass on these assumed genetic behavioral traits!!!!! This was the same science that Hitler directly used to support his Aryan movement in the mid 30's and 40's.

Any system of knowledge has flaws. any system of knowledge tries to exert authority over world views in order to maintain is status as being 'truth'. This causes even the most noble of intentions to have ghastly and dark applications in the name of what is good. Science is no better than religion, its just another mask to be worn for justification of the status quo.

haiku

2009-04-14T12:44:00.000-04:00

A smile all day

electronic residue

from your AM call

words are easily

the only thing i think about

when i am awake

the difference between

postmodernists and myself

is that i exist

things i learned on tour............

2009-04-14T10:04:00.000-04:00

some new insights after tour.......... a la Omni (updates coming)

1. Jail, just as shitty as you can imagine

2. Jail food, waaaaay worse than you can imagine

3. geoffery dahmers mother is a saint

dahmer's mother

4. brittany spears is a damn good mother too

Brittany as a mom

5. Bamboo, Zev, and B-Nice can work a fucking hip hop show

6. It's good to have a kick ass tattoo artist who will post bail for you

7. Joseph LMS will be one of the godparents for my first child

8. Everything is better when Carmen is around

9. Naomi can do a fantastic Bukowski impression

10. The intangibles know how to fucking party (well, i knew this, but i needed to reiterate)

Streets of Snow and Ghosts

2009-04-14T10:02:00.001-04:00

i walked this way many times before. never noticing anything besides the mundane residences and run down park, its basketball court covered in fault lines, and old chain link fence appearing as if it wants to lie down on the job. with the snow and ice draped over everything right now, it seems even less distinct. As we walked our dogs down this street together, myself on my way home, her to the store for smokes, i see what she sees. there is nothing mundane here. houses have stories, long standing memories regardless of the residents, monuments whose meaning was supplemented long after their creation, and one of many families who had left it before now. memories of scars like the faults on the basketball court. if you squint just right, you can still the wisps of smoke from virgin lunged camel investigations.
there is something to be said about a guide who can show you ghosts. only the best storytellers can still keep skeptics from snapping their contempt. but if you just listen to the stories, and then feel the past, you can understand your self relative to where you really are. not someplace that didn't exist before you. not someplace that is lacking in any way shape or form from where your ghosts dwell. just an acknowledgment of what we consider haunted, resides everywhere.

Hip Hop and Academia pt 2: Fetishizing "black authenticity" (special appearance by poetry slams!!)

2009-04-09T13:43:00.000-04:00

so after reading a few articles today, i realized that some academics would say that i listen to hip hop, participate in poetry slams, and have a non-white girlfriend because i have a fetish for black masculinity. in fact, Susan Somers-Willet, a poet who i have seen perform before, claims in her article that black males win all the poetry slams because a predominantly white audience is fetishizing the 'authentic' black experience. really? your going to reduce not only any black male poets to this presentation of authenticity, but reduce the audience to an over-generalized homogeneous group masturbating at the thought of hearing about the black male struggle?

let's ignore the fact that the most successful slam poets, regardless of style, gender, race or what have you are TALENTED WRITERS, lets ignore their ability to convey a point to an audience and leave them with a euphoric feeling of teleportation to places other than the performance space. lets just say that it's all a fetish. at least i have an excuse for not winning poetry slams all the time. it's not because i lose to better writers and performers, its because my black experience isnt authentic enough for the audience.

Another author, Ward Keeler, who i actually like and agree with on many levels, does say some more or less boneheaded things about hip hop. The reason young males love hip hop (regardless of race) is impotence. or fear of impotence, or percieved impotence. wow. ok, now lets use the reflexive methodology that permeated the social sciences in the 70's and 80's by trying to address the implicit biases of the author...... by using the word 'impotence' 20 times in your article, what does that say about you? could this article be a way of justifying some form of your impotence? hmmmm. i wont go so far as to make that claim. Things are usually much more complex than a one to one cause to effect ratio (especially for a large cultural entity like hip hop).

now, i do believe that there are elements of validity in both the statements i just railed against. however, when you allow it to become the spotlight, or downright ignore other elements, you sound dogmatic, pedantic, and generally ingnorant. At least give some greater understanding of the other systems, views, and ideas that help generate the greater whole. Then i wont have to spend time writing shit like this so i dont explode.

criminals and artists

2009-04-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

so my road trip for tour started at 5:15 pm from carbondale. A 3 hour train ride to Champane-Urbana, and caught my bus to indianapolis running with my bags flagging down the driver, as amtrak did not decide to inform the bus to wait for a few of us.

Saint Peace picks me up from the bus station at midnight, where we proceed to go to his friends house who is coming on tour with us. she is passed out drunk when we arrive. Peace and a friend spend the next hour trying to wake her up and get her to pack.

we leave indy at 230am, and make great time. i take over driving at 8am, and when we are just an hour and a half away from oneonta, i get pulled over.

the cop comes back to the car and has me get out, where he proceeds to cuff me and throw me in the back without telling me why. this cop, younger than me was not being an asshole, but just not being polite either. i panic immediately when i realize that he is listening to rush limbaugh in his squad car. apparently, i owed the dmv 20 dollars for a licsense fee, and therefore was suspended. i was brought to the next town to see an old alcoholic judge who told me he was going to read me rights, and then did not do so.

i was then brought back to the other town, and processed into the county jail. we're talking psyche evaluation, stripping naked and putting on a jumpsuit, the whole nine yards. I was given a bin with extra 'clothes', another 2xl jumpsuit and size 12 shoes (im a size 9 for the record). i was put into a cell where i just sat there, not really wanting to wander around and mingle with the general population.

while all this is going on, Joseph LMS was finally convinced that we were not pulling an april fools joke, and proceeded to raise my bail money. thank you to Jason sexton, my tatoo artist from the golden lotus, and Jason knowles, my old boss for putting up the cash. Joseph then catches a ride to the jail, almost 2 hours away with my old boss to get me out of lock up.

the food was worse than anything ive ever seen in my life. i spent too long trying to figure out what something was, im not positive, but i think they were green beans, just not really green, or bean looking.

i ended up walking into the show in oneonta 15 minutes before it ended to a standing ovation, as my plight was explained constantly through the nite.

i fucking love my friends and the good people around me. it shows me that i do leave an impact on people, as they are willing to go out of their way to help me, just as i would for many of you fine people.

2009-03-30T10:51:00.000-04:00

INTANGIBLES TOUR BEGINS THIS WEEK

www.intangiblecollective.com

thats where you get your info.

2009-03-30T10:50:00.001-04:00

I made a cup of jasmine tea this morning, hoping it would bring you back a little closer to me. the fragrance and warmth of the cup in my hands was a poor substitute, but it will have to do for now.

In the sprit of Omni's Blog

2009-03-22T16:45:00.000-04:00

Just because you are able to have an opinion.....
doesnt mean you should.

that is all

a lil something for omni

2009-02-27T08:37:00.000-05:00

As one of Oneonta's archrivals (our primary nemesis i believe may be appropriate) in the poetry slam scene, Omni likes to to talk alot of shit, example here- listen to omni rant....
He coached the New Paltz team (his alma mater, at least i think he graduated, and wasnt told to leave) to a victory in regionals over oneonta last week. This has of course been followed with much gloating and ridiculousness, including him 'going nuclear' on Oneonta, via some weird website (maybe thats the only way he can be certain to win every time...........)

we have always had a james bond/villain-esque relationship. mortal enemies, yet civil and resectful of each other. we can sit down for dinner together, comment on each others skill with flattery, and then try to throw the other one into a tank full of piranahhs. but in this instance, he appears to believe that he won regionals......... not four other fantastic poets who he 'coached', by most likely telling them how to rant like a homeless man with a carboard sign proclaiming the second coming of christ. and honestly, the last time i competed against omni, it looked something like the picture posted here.

Omni, i love you. i cover your poems more than anyone else in our collaborative, and not just beause they are whimsical rants that dont take much range to pull off.

and if anyone wants a good satirical commenting on todays society, i strongly recommend you read his blog.

Hip Hop and Academia- what the "fuck" pt 1: vocabulary an the quotation fetish

2009-02-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

i have been reading a lot of academic writing on hip hop recently in order to help with my thesis. Since there is not such a sizeable body of literature on poetry slams and spoken word, i am turning to hip hop to look at how it is viewed and analyzed by academia, too see if i can find any parallels or major divisions betweeen slam and hip hop. The emphasis will be placed on the educational aspects of each, and how they can be utilized by teachers (or just mentors in general) as effective tools to engage students, whether this be for opening dialouge into racism, poverty, oppression, alienation, rebellion, history, and even poetry itself. What i have found so far in the hip hop literature is astounding to me.

As i read an article by Derek Pardue, i cringed. a lot. lets start by his choice of vocabulary, in refering to members of hip hop culture as "hip hoppers". seriously? now i know a lot of MC's personally, i've been listening to hip hop for better or worse for close to 20 years and this term has never been uttered as part of the ingroup lexicon that i know of. and i'm a language geek, i love new vocabulary and slang, so i probably would have noticed.

Most of the articles i am reading are written by anthropologists. Cultural anthropologists tend to name things within other cultures using an emic viewpoint; this simply means that the words, ideas and understandings are represented from that cultures point of view. There should not be invented names by observers for culture specific practices, ideas, and in group identifications. Yet here we are.

Secondly, there seems to be a fetish for "quotations" in the works i have read. Hip Hop tends to be on the front edge of cultural euphamisms and slang, things that are not highly accepted in an academic sense for writing. This results in the authors saying things like this:

.......organized themselves into groups called "posses". (Pardue 2004, p.414)

Hip Hoppers usually refer to all this as "b-boy" or "b-girl" activities ("B" refers to "Break", as break became the umbrella term to refer to all forms of street dance). (Pardue 2004, p.413)

and one of the most ridiculous ones from Pardue would have to be:

To change the system requires a kind of violence that disrupts, or, in common talk "revolutionizes" normal social relations. Hip-Hoppers articulate this sentiment by taking on individual or group names with "crime" or "violence". More commonly, rap groups and hip-hop cultural posses mark their "criminality" nominally in opposition or relation to "the system" (Pardue 2004, p. 417).

unfortunately, Pardue is not the only one caught up in this strange way of elucidating hip hop culture in a what comes across as a condescending paternality. "look at the cute way they pronouce words, awwwww". A book by Russell Potter titled Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip-Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism, has a great title and showed some promise. Until i read the table of contents. Chapter one is called "Gettin' Present as an Art: A Signifyin(g) Hipstory of Hip-hop". If i were to write an article about the Hopi tribe in the southwest U.S., and called it a brief Hopistory of the southwest, i would be laughed out of the department.

So now it seems this blog is going to become my sounding board for trying to figure out why this happens to hip hop when academics try to understand it. Also, could it be that anthropologists really misunderstand many cultures in this same way, and no one really notices beacuse those culture groups may not have representatives in the academic community? Stay tuned for part two... Hip Hop and Academia- what the "fuck" pt.2: Hip Hop and its 4 "elements", no wait 5, er 7, no its 9

In this Post:
-Pardue, Derek (2004). "Writing in the Margins": Brazilian Hip-Hop as an Educational Project. Anthropology and Education Quarterly. 35(4):pp 411-432

-Potter, Russell (1995). Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip-Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Cynicism rules!

2009-02-15T03:18:00.000-05:00

let no man speak for themselves
let no one stand up for what they believe in
sarcasm is what we need, not action!!!
as long as we are equipped with cyncism then no one can touch us!
while i'm typing this blog.....
im gonna smoke a bowl,
eat a ham sandwich,
smoke a cigarette,
and talk about how we need to save things....
you know, like dolphins, or the earth, or time...

i mean seriously, i only played video games for 4 hours today!
we need to have more time to do nothing.
to kill nazi's and fight virtual terrorists, or zombies!

And for those that dont know,
facebook makes us better people
my lil greenhouse alone produces enough oxygen
to supply us for years with delicious air..........
facebook is like the new bumper sticker.........
look at my activism!!!!
LOOK AT IT!!!!
while i sit here and comment on everyone's status
because my friends are so intriguing
that we all need to know if they are drinking coffee
or waiting for warmer weather.
or binge drinking.

now if youll excuse me, i have to get back to being
'big brother' to all my friends (and some who arent),
and being the emperor of a virtual world.

2009-02-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

one of the best drugs in this entire floating blue spec of rock swirling around the milky way would have to be the first few days of nice weather after winter. it's a natural aphrodisiac, an airy bouyancy seems to fill the spirits of all the living creatures you would experience in your encounters outdoors. and you have to be outdoors. after getting cabin fever for a few months of bitter cold and nasty precipitation, how can you not want to run around outside? It's funny that both carmen and corin told me about (while celebrating) Imbole just days before i actually feel the effects of this pagan holiday. Its a celebration for the awakening of the earth from the slumber of winter, and its glorious. its something that should be celebrated.

i could never live in a place with no seasons. winters can suck, but that feeling of the first few weeks of spring is just so amazing that it makes the horrid weather bearable. every woman looks so much more attractive (whether its the less clothes and more skin thing is a possibility, but i'm not sure how much of a factor), the trees are starting to bud and bloom, and that electric energy of warmth really permeates everything. so i am going to stop typing here and go outside to celebrate. most likely with some herb and my dog and a frisbee (he rocks at frisbee). you should be doing the same (unless of course you are currently residing in a place where winters grip holds on just a little bit longer, but fret not, soon it's frigid fingers will relax and recede for a few months).

i'll walk you home

2009-02-06T01:49:00.000-05:00

running marathons are no joke.

the true symbol of determination and strength

the ability to transcend past the point when the body says stop
and just keep moving.

but what happens when you reach the finish and collapse?
spent, sweating, aching, mentally letting go for a moment
unable to pick yourself up until there is rest

what if no one can give you a ride home at the end of the race?
and youre forced to drag yourself back to comfort
well i too have just finished one of these marathons........
and ill Walk With you as long as you need me to.

a brief word on evolution

2009-02-05T13:59:00.000-05:00

as an anthropologist, even the cultural/linguistic variety i deal a lot with evolution and evolutionary theory. I recently saw somewhere that roughly half of the american population when asked, believed that the human race in modern form is only around 10,000 years old. solid evidence indicates that the americas were beginning to have human habitation at least 14,000 years ago. Modern humans have been around for at least 150,000 years- and that is a safe estimate.

one thing that any biologist will tell you though is that its not that cut and dry. how we go about defining a species alone is incredibly complex, and heated debates still go on to this day. Just the science alone is a headache, and takes lots of effort to sort through. But this is not the only issue that arises. the things i have the hardest time with in evolutionary theory are very similar to the problems i have with organized religion. its not the concepts, or the data, or a refusal to believe, but being aware of individual biases and what certain goals are, and the shortcuts and underhanded manipulation of data to support oneself for personal gain. there was a find once in africa i believe, that was claimed to be a new type of early hominoid- the bone that was found was actually discovered to be a whale clavicle!!! personal attacks through academic papers are not uncommon, and in some instances the norm. Individual prestige and the quest to keep finding money in order to do research becomes so predominant that the actual science itself is placed in the background sometimes.

This of course happens everywhere. Joseph Smith, the founder of the mormon religion not only believed that Native Americans were a lost tribe of Israel, but him and many others (including archaeologists) actually planted tablets of hebrew writing in burial sites to be 'discovered' as evidence of their claims.

i guess the lesson here is to go learn for yourself. Data does not tell us anything in its raw form. It is only through diligent observation, synthesizing many fields of research, understanding ones motivations and biases (or the researcher you are looking at, including me), and slowly building up interpretations that we can begin to piece things together. we also have to be ready accept and defend the truth we have today, but be prepared to call it falsehood tomorrow in light of new evidence (i believe that was a Clarence Darrow quote).

and go watch chimpanzees. they are funny. and as my roommate corin suggested, we should just label them another species of homo sapiens, thats how human they act sometimes.

How video games got me good grades and saved my life

2009-02-04T12:26:00.000-05:00

ok, so aside from the already pronounced literature on the advantages that video game players have over non-players have with regards to peripheral attention, deciphering complex visual cues, increased logic and problem solving abilites, as well as better hand to eye coordination (as documented by Green and Bavelier for example), there are other advantages. These conditions have directly benefited myself.

i did well on a test last week on human prehistory (the times before written records), because of Sid Meir's Civilization series. i know much of the intuitive scientific progress of cultures, as well as specific cities in some sort of chronological order due to this game. Two questions on my quiz...... what is considered the first major city, and what is the largest settlement we know about in north america, were both things i knew from the game (oh, and for the record... question 1- the sumerian city of Urok, and question 2- Cahokia, a settlement right here in southern illinois), and benefited my grade.

Also, the game Gran Tourismo, a very detailed driving game taught me how to drive rear wheel drive cars. my Jeep Wrangler was a rear wheel drive, and my first experience actually driving one. Anyone who has experienced this knows that how you handle sliding, and in general control the vehicle are markedly different between front and rear wheel drive. On a snowy mountain pass in Pennsylvania, i was in between a guardrail, which overlooked a very steep ravine, and a tractor trailer when i lost control of the jeep ( i know this could have been avoided if i was in 4-wheel drive at the time, but we are not dealing in hypotheticals here). I knew how to counter-turn the slide (which is the opposite way of handling a slide in a front wheel drive) because of this video game. i had used rear wheel drive in it, and for the life of me couldnt keep control of the car. When i finally figured it out, it was no real problem. I implemented this video game experience while driving and managed to control the slide safely in between the two obstacles that could have resulted in death (ask Joseph LMS, one of the possible fatalities had i not played video games).

so never knock video games people. they save lives and entertain.

the Natoleon Effect

2009-02-02T10:37:00.001-05:00

having lunch with a friend and photographer yesterday and discussing my poetry album, i had an epiphany (or she did i suppose, i just rode the thought process all the way through to the other end). The idea, title, and all that associated biz of the CD comes down to a phrase i would like to coin here..... the Natoleon Effect:

A conscious effort to organize and intersect the creative and enlightened energies of a particular temporal-spatial location. With the end result being a greater center of concentrated artistic energy whose ripples are felt both in space and time long past the point of conception.

This is essentially the foundation of the slam fam, the intangibles, the just poets, MetaLingua Franca, and the other creative endeavors that i have tried to cultivate since my later undergraduate days. it may not have been conscious at first, but has now become so. So this is the idea behind my spoken word cd. meaning it wont be a lot of just me. because really, who wants to listen only to me? i usually dont most of the time.

This is how people starting buying pet rocks.....

2009-02-02T06:49:00.000-05:00

so after years of wondering why in the hell people invest so much time in blogs, i will stop. The overwhelming cynicism that filled my cerebral cavity upon hearing 'yea, i wrote about that in my blog today' will be quelled and quieted now. Originally, i used to think, why the fuck would someone read your blog? To be honest i feel the same way about starting mine now. Sure i have a few friends that would delight about hearing my whimsical rants about daily nonsense sprinkled with the occasional gem of poetic displays (and i do mean occasional), but really? an online journal (i've never liked the word diary- one its too close in appearance to dairy (not that i have a problem with dairy, i love cheese), and two, it sounds like something a 12 year old school girl secretly writes about her crushes in until the asshole of her class finds it and spreads it around the school, crushing her already fragile hold on the goodwill and kindness of humanity) just seems to embody the dementia of this cultures current state........ mainly that we all want to be famous. like Chuck Pahalnuik said in fight club (the author of the book, yes i know brad pitt was great, but it was chucks writing)-- we are just starting to realize that the most of us will never be famous, and we're pretty pissed off about it (or something to that effect).
so here we all are trying to cling to something in the hopes that it lasts longer than we do. still indulging in that minuscule possibility that someone will read this and say 'wow, we need to give that person money to do this'. And then there is me. i embody these mentionings above as well, but i also succumbed to peer pressure from the all poets, writers, musicians, and artists i work with to have one. so like my title suggests, this is why people starting buying pet rocks. everyone else was, we (by 'we', i refer to 'I' in the present case) felt it was silly to do so, but still got conned into it, and then actually got into it.
so to the few people who actually will read this, couldnt you just go read some already established classic literature? i mean if you read this and didnt know that fight club was a book, i highly suggest you read that instead. or if you did know it was a book (insert back-patting here), go read the rest of his stuff, he is phenomenal. and if you really are that cool that you have read all his books, go read vonnegut, or nietzsche, lovecraft, kerouac, bowles- something that has substance. because this blog probably wont always succeed in that. if you do keep reading- thanks i suppose. i hope i can entertain and.... well lets just start there for now shall we?