Existing Gracefully

It’s been approximately two years since I stopped performing my pieces in front of an audience. I got caught up in school; I got caught up in others; I got caught up in a life I do not find pleasing. Now that I feel better than ever, I’ve been wanting to get back into spoken word. Recently a friend linked me to an artist who shares her talent so beautifully that it revived the passion that had lain dormant in me. Through a bit of research I’ve found Dessa (also known as Dessa Darling) is a spoken word artist/rapper/singer/essayist and all around brilliant, sexy piece of ass who was a member of the Minneapolis slam poetry circuit and has been on tour around the US in 2010. I, basically, envy her artistic life.

After several hours of writing and editing and attempting to get this to flow, this is my rough draft. Once I amass a fresh body of work that I feel represents who I am today, I’ll unleash it on whomever is willing to listen:

Existing Gracefully

When I go out
I paint the town red
I remove my doubts
and tear the city to shreds

Because this is how I deal
yes, this is how I heal
yet
you’re in my grasp you hear me gasp you’re nearing death
but I
give you the breath that brings you to life
and yes
you just signed over your life to keeping your neck under my knife

And when you turn around
no, you won’t see me
you’ll see a ghost of me
a hideous visage of the distorted image that you created of me

I know all about your alibis
(and no I don’t keep any spies)
they’re manifested apparitions of the flaws that you’re so desperate to keep hidden
so karma’s a bitch
and every stitch of you
shows every glitch in you
because the moment that broke the spell
was the moment the scales fell
from my eyes I can’t deny that for so long I made up lies
just to make you look better
but I had to learn better
you had me hung from a tether
for so long it was my pleasure
but you grew numb to my sadness
chaos turned into madness
the stress caused my collapse
you didn’t blink or even lapse
from the cycle of dysfunction
that caused so much destruction
of the self and the other
I became like a mother
always gnawing and nagging
over all that was lacking
because I refused to accept
broken promises that should’ve been kept

And now I sit here and think
I was once on the brink
of insanity due to the sanctity that was gone in a blink

But I’m not damaged goods
and I’m quite thankful now
for all that’s been learned
and even all that was burned
I no longer feel spurned
because I no longer yearn
for the upswings that followed the downswings of an unstable soul
a void that could not be filled
someone I couldn’t make whole
so instead I found myself and reclaimed all that was stolen
I’ve experienced rebirth
rejuvenated and reanimated, redeemed and reawakened
detoxed of the poison
from the path I had chosen
no longer coursing my veins
now I’m free of disdain
I no longer feel pain

I will tell you right now
thankfulness yields happiness
so I’m no longer down
and the remedy
for creeping melancholy
is simply being grateful to exist
and existing gracefully.

We need a voice

Could it be Saul Williams’?

To Whom It May Concern:

I’m used to sharing my opinion, but sometimes when it comes to politics, especially in regards to voting, I’m hesitant. This is primarily because my goal has always been to inspire people to think for themselves rather than simply inspire them to think like me. Yet, at the same time I realize the power of example and do my best to be my best whether the spotlight shines or not. I would not plant my faith in any government if I believed that history was entitled to govern the future. What has been was and went. At present, I am slave no more, and my freedom to speak my mind and share it with you is, in itself, an inspiration and a testimony of the beauty of our times. Yet in these times when the creative labor disputes in the film industry, the transformation and disbandment of the music industry, the collapse of our misappropriated economy (while oil profiteers celebrate the biggest year of profit in US corporate history), the ongoing war, the expansion of environmental consciousness, the resurgence of racial hate crimes, and the penalties exacted upon sportsmen who practice brutality off the field, all convene under the heading of NOW, it is essential to draw connections between each spinning record, to note times’ signature, and acknowledge that our world could transform in a drum beat. We are in desperate need of a remix. As a musician and fan of many I have always noted the power of music and art, especially amongst the youth. Before complacency and jadedness take shape, we are alive with dreams and insight into what could become of the world if the old would simply die young and allow new harmony to exist beyond antiquated conceptions of race, nationality, and tradition. We are subject to the world we are born into, without choice nor reverence. The dogma instilled by our social study books and well-meaning parents do little to affirm the truths that we know possible. The future is truly in our hands, yet most feel empty handed and ill-equipped to be the change they wish to see, while others have already been taught to clasp their empty hands in prayer, nod their heads, and surrender their power to the unknown, the angry, the jealous. I do not trust the government, I have no faith in politics. Poetry is president. We are the root of change. Yet, I have even less faith in cynicism. When negative expectations rule our perspective we shift below the radar and become the resin stuck to the tires of the passing tank, whose driver is tired and feels unthanked. He fights for nothing more than rank. We are the root of blame. Cynicism is ammunition pressed against the temple of the imagination daring it to not be. It is an excuse of the unimaginative, a tool of the tool, a weapon of the dreamless and sleep-deprived, it is far, so far, from music. What we need is a song, a melody to inspire the wind to change direction, a hybrid of genre and innovation, something worth the dance. The tar spangled banner that waves low, beneath the surface, is the dancefloor of a generation finding voice to sing. And though every generation has found ways to marry rhythm, none has sampled breakbeat science to distort how freedom rings. History is not King. And the present has offered some promising leaders…For the record, I’m voting for Barack Obama tomorrow. Saul Williams Songkeeper

I’m on Saul Williams’ myspace friend list and he posted that letter as a Bulletin. Anyone who knows me is aware I am often moved by Saul Williams’ works. His recent collaboration with Trent Reznor will hopefully broaden his fanbase. Although I know rhythm and beats are a major focus for Williams’, I hope that his listeners don’t lose themselves in the hard rhythms and heavy beats because his poetry is powerful. I’ve seen how easy it is for individuals to repeat catchy hooks completely unaware of the message it’s sending, whether it’s positive or negative. It’d be a tragedy to have listeners treat his lyrics just like any other beats and hooks they dance to/recite such as “Supersoak dat ho” or “I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie World” glossing over the profound message it’s expressing with a vacuous look in their eyes.

I understand Williams’ letter is about politics, but that’s a subject I’d rather not touch. I registered as a voter last August when I got my driver’s license, but I never got my card in the mail and I haven’t done anything about it. I haven’t done my research and I am not about to vote for a candidate because of how popular he or she is. I also don’t trust myself currently because I am afraid I would vote for someone just because I want to see the first woman or black man sworn in as President. And as badly as I want to see some drastic change in history, having a woman or black man in office doesn’t guarantee real change.

The point of this entry is to put Saul Williams on further display. He is an eloquent writer and a moving speaker who uses his words and rhythms to his benefit. He has a voice that can move the masses. I just hope the message follows suit.

I am so envious of the generation that had Martin Luther King. I desire a great cause to fight for. I want a leader to back. Who will be our next MLK? My vote’s for Saul Williams–no one else has impressed me as much.

(That last link was to Saul Williams’ myspace artist profile.  I recommend Black History Month–particularly 2 minutes into the piece)

And by the way, happy Black History Month

On the Horizon

So, I’ve registered for the Poetry Jam and am awaiting more information from a Tom Taylor.   I went through my usual routine of being charming and witty in e-mail and all I got was something to the effect of “you’ll be receiving further information soon”.   How anticlimactic. 

Perhaps I expect too much from people.  

So, I am faced with two options:  composing two new works or recycling some old.  I have a lot of extra credit to catch up with, along with a midterm exam, and a project to work on in the next two weeks.   If I don’t compose something immaculate during a drunken stupor, I really don’t know what I’m going to do other than reach into my bag of old tricks. 

In case I am not blessed with an epiphany or I just resume creative writing laziness, I will contemplate using these: 

Option 1: 

I thought about you

I thought about you
and the way your fingers grazed my lips
your fingertips
tasted of saline
and the sway of my hips
matched the slow rhythm
of Miles Davis’

I Thought About You
and the way your tongue
Accelerates
positively and negatively
in my mouth.
Your strength berates
my inhibitions
I’m in transition
for a new disposition
and

I thought about you
with your “I’m so cool
without even trying” hair

I’m lain bare
In despair
for pressure
More
pressure
please
I can’t take the lightness
of touch
It is not enough
I’m not asking for it rough
I
just need you
to break through
I
knead
you
hard, not light
Despite
The love that is here
Do not have fear
of Breaking me
I won’t break
I know what I can take
But
I am ready to
test the threshold.

Option 2: 

Dissatisfied

I am not pacified
I am dissatisfied

I watch my finger tremble
from the anxiety inside

I am a careless drifter
I move with the tides

I am a faithless person
all trust denied
I simply can’t abide
with how society’s inclined

So now I decline
what you have to offer
there is a place for me
in some other dimension

I must transcend
this burden of reality
I don’t need a friend
to take with me
they dissatisfy
they cannot pacify

I am alone in life
with all my strife
I am a selfish one
an egocrentric one

My world is I
My world is I

Your time has come
So what if you come undone
Your world is you
Your world is you

We are selfish ones
Always hungry for more
We are not pacified
We are dissatisfied

Option 3:

Formulating Denials

Visiting the inquisitive with my illicit hogwash
Introspective and indulgent
my perspective is tarnished
tainted by the wear and tear
of every day life
painted in coats of flair and dar-ing
and every day strife.
“Give me peace,” I say
but this lease on life, I’ve yet to pay
in full, but every day
it takes its toll
more and more
I’ve begun to abhor
this dungeon I’ll live in forever more

I’m a pimple
on the face of humanity
nothing’s simple
when I’m on the verge of insanity
I’m losing grasp
I may just snap
my syntax has lapsed
I need to be slapped
back into normalcy
but the formality
of reality
is enough to make me retch

I’m a corporate wench
satan’s hench-woman
and I still worship man
denying myself
of mortal health
I’ll remain in this state
seal my fate
until the date mortality meets immortality

I’m tired, yet inspired
and I’ll let this run its course
until I’m absolved
no longer involved
in the iniquities of man

I’m searching for tranquility
possibly unearthing infinity
on this journey to serenity
but I bide my time
never truly crossing the line
because in a hack’s life
nothing is ever really accomplished

Do not be astonished
Even though I lie
I wouldn’t deny
My ability to see glimpses of truth
though my perspective’s skewed
truth is subdued
still alluded to
through the lies you despise

I’ve bought into satan’s franchise
and we’re selling lies
hiring spies
and targeting humanity
this is a tragedy
I take part in
but you’re no victim
you are an assassin
and if you don’t believe that
you’re in denial just like me

USF Poetry Jam

A poetry jam will be held at my university library on October 18 at 7PM and I am contemplating going. Now, if I want to perform, I will have to register by TOMORROW. Do I really want to participate? It would mean providing some original works and speaking before an audience. I have no problem with either, but what of my style? Those poetry jam sorts all tend to have similar styles in the US from what I’ve encountered. They sound like hip hop artists and rappers. Now, that’s not my style. Their focus seems to be to exude energy and “pack a punch”. I’m a big fan of Saul Williams, but I could never properly emulate his style. Even if I could, I would feel like an utter hack.

When I translate text into spoken word, I aim to put listeners in a near trance-like state. It is a dance of words, but my dance doesn’t involve breaking or poplocking, I consider it more of a waltz and mambo. Not solo, but partnered and to be married at all times. Bouncing between passion and elegance, I do not aim to divorce, but sustain fluidity between partners. I don’t care to awaken anyone with a political message, I want to wander about in their heads and slide between the conscious and subconscious. I want to travel their bodies; first covering the entire surface area of their forms then seeping into their pores and grazing over muscles and fats. How bumpy would my ride be, I wonder, or how smooth. I want to find my way through capillaries, veins, and arteries as well as the atria of the heart. The spinal cord would be my elevator to the beloved brain – my final destination. Here is where I hope to leave a bit of myself. And in this place I wish to create a pleasant system of reciprocation where listeners care to provide what I provide them.

I think I might just register for the “Jam”, but I think I’ll suggest everyone close their eyes whilst I read.

Time for a crash-course in guided meditation.