[Die]urnal

And the memory calls back. You saying-

"If I come in while you're sleeping, don't get up on my account."

But it was inevitable. You are so like the sun,

And I, a mere man, diurnal to the last.

Dying to earn.

So I rise up when your face sets it's light on my side of the globe.

And I will only rest once it's gone.

All through the week, the light you give me- I work it away,

Only enjoying it at weeks end.

When you come, and quicken me, then once again,

My week begins,

Until I'm weak again.

Work is an art, and mine imitates death,

Because life does.

So many little deaths,

Trying to get it right with nightly practice.

My own was wordless and without motion,

Under a warmth of blankets pressed down like hair,

The layers echo patterns outward from my body,

Tartan, Paisley, Kente, and a patchwork that tells the story I'm to dream that night.

They cover my head,

So I close my eyes.

In that moment I know nothing but the darkness,

And it is peace.

After Thought

They were a mass, milling about on a marked, plotted field of green.
This mass, black, surrounded by fashioned stones- some polished- large enough to take notice of,
They are still no Stonehenge.

But we fool ourselves into believing the lie of our immortality.

The black mass, a Black mass,
Celebrating a Black life.
All this black on Black, for a life that was Black,
And there's nothing wrong with that.

It was a full life, colorful-
But mostly Black. It wasn't choice.
It was circumstance.

Movements through that life,
So tied to a color,
Possibilities for that life,
Limited by an 'other'.

That life made a mark,
So they do, in the green.
And like those before, they choose stone for this commemoration.

They say 'This will last,"
While I think 'Maybe longer than you.'
I've seen stones crushed to powder.
What does that do for a legacy?

To build a rock on death.
To mark that instead of life.
I don't want to see her gravestone.
I want to see the birth stone.

And I want it to be...
Black.


Note from me: I often find myself thinking about the disparate views on what it means to be Black. Not in an introspective way. I'm almost positive it has no meaning, not in any inherent sense. It only means something once someone like myself interacts with another person. Reactions will differ infinitely given an infinite amount of subjective experiences. It's something I'd like to term 'Black Relativity.' I propose that 'Blackness' only has meaning relative to the degree of reaction from the individual(s) with whom a Black person is interacting.
If I don't respond in a way that renders what someone's sense of 'Blackness' is as null, then I've had to either confirm or deny that sense. That is to say, 'Blackness' needs a *viewer, someone who- cued by a person's complection- is ready to make judgments ranging from an abstract idea like What it means to be inside black/brown skin to a specific idea like What her/his favorite music genre is. If we must interact for that sense to have worth, then when we are not interacting that sense is rendered null. Brings a new meaning the Black Death, doesn't it?

Osama Bin Laid to Rest

I was watching the news with my man Amon last night, when he asked me "Is this who we are, as a country?" He asked in response to videos of Americans celebrating Osama Bin Laden's death. I'm curious to know what my friends think about these feelings sweeping the country. I've seen celebrations on T.V. Singing in front of the White House, cheering in stadiums. You'd think we won a war. But can you blame anyone for feeling satisfied about our government delivering on a promise to take down a known terrorist. Hell, I'm still waiting for some folks to die. If I waited for their minds to change I'd be dead myself before that happened.

I'm not a huge proponent of war, but I've benefited from it. Though, someone always does. But in a larger, historical sense, the Revolutionary War resulted in the the formation of the United States. The Civil War allowed my ancestors greater freedoms. World War II took the Nazis to task, and I don't know anyone who thinks that was a bad decision. Surely we can be happy Hitler's dead, right? So what is the distancing from relief about Bin Laden's demise?

Oh. The 'What/Who comes next' effect. Yea, I'm wondering too. I felt the same way after Mubarak resigned. But I recall Egyptians being pretty hopeful. Perhaps against the Arab world's muted response, our American exuberance seems out of place. Is the fear then that we'll be looked on poorly as a nation? Perhaps. But if so...whats new?

So...what is the big deal? How are we at war this long yet upset for feeling better through someones death? I'm sure no one was thinking that taking out Al Quaeda was going to involve 'time out' corners and handshakes. People say "Support the troops!" all the time. You know the troops are killing people, right? And sometimes- get this- they accidentally kill civilians! But they're saluted! Veterans can't get taken care of when they're back in the USA, but damnit, we thank them when they're dressed up at the airport! It's the American way.

And so is war.

Let's not mix our emotions any more than we already do. This was a big goal. Maybe the ten year gap in goal setting and achievement has caused some to forget. There is nothing wrong with placing this in the proper historical framework and feeling good about this. I'm not saying go out and have a theme party! And by no means should MARCHING BANDS be involved, Glen Beck! But can't we breathe a sigh of relief that this man is gone. For goodness sake, after ten years, haven't we been waiting to exhale?

Moment of Reflection

I have done what I am born to do;

Love and be loved.

I sent it out.

I got it back.

I sang a song of Power,

And its melody was Energy.

I turned my thoughts to joy and goodness,

And my thoughts turned my life around.

Potent Quotables

"I'm amazed at the instruments of Fate. Some people will never realize that though they may wound, they may also heal. The same bee that stings also pollinates."

-January 18th