Two Men (abridged)

Two black men are adjoined lying sole to sole. And we ask ourselves how are they connected? The invisible hand picks them both up by the feet. They remain in a straight line, adjacent to one another. Using his pointer finger and his thumb, the invisible hand turns them perpendicular to the Earth's surface so that the man on the bottom is now standing on his head and the man on top is standing atop the upside down man's feet.

We turn out the lights and illuminate their bodies. Something strange occurs. Like sand rushing from one side of the hourglass to the other, we can see life rush from the man on top to the man on the bottom. It is an incredible sight to behold. Life ekes at times; ebbs and flows at others, but for the most part, there remains a steady stream of palpability racing through the soles of their feet.

21 years later, this phase of the experiment concludes. There is no immediately known reason why these men are adjoined or inextricably intertwined; they have formed an atypical bond reminiscent of organisms centuries past. You’d have to trace the history of black man back to Africa prior to the Diaspora to find a bond this strong. It is tough, it is battled tested, it has lasted the years.

A closer look into their DNA reveals the bond. It turns out that the man on the bottom is the man on the top's son. While this may just be a guess, a study was conducted to understand just why this father and son were connected in such a way. You see, the father needed to stay atop his son to teach him reverence for his elders. They had to be connected at the soles, to prove they must walk this road called life together. It was important for the son to be upside down, in order to learn how to exist even when life is topsy-turvy. It was important that they shared this experience together as father and son. Bonded. 21 years.

Phase 2 begins. The invisible hand, with its pointer finger and thumb, once again grabs them by the soles of their feet and turns them 180 degrees. The lights were once again flipped off and the father and son's bodies, once again illuminated. The results were astounding. Life flowed faster and was more plentiful from the son, in to the father. It was incredible because more life flowed than it appeared was humanly possible for the father to hold. Yet the son never slowed his flowing and the father never quit his accepting. You see, 21 years later, the son was, in fact, giving back to the father all that the father had given him, but tenfold.

Phase 2 of this experiment went on for 40 years. All the while, the son never stopped flowing. As the experiment wore on, the father, though tired and weary from having to be cropped up on his head and neck, never tired from having his son sit atop his legacy as a man; his legacy as a black man. Though the signs of fatigue were strong, the spirit remained very strong. Sole to sole, they would continue this journey together until the very end.

The moral of the story?

Fathers, be there for your children. Muddy roads are still roads and turbulent seas are still seas. When the road is long but steady and the sea is wide but calm, we seem to know how to maintain. When the times get rough, you should especially be there to teach your kids how to survive, navigate and surmount those difficult terrains. A child, no matter the age from 10 years old to 40 years old will always grow to appreciate the advantages you have given them and the life lessons you have taught them. Your labors, once harvested, will show and equip them to manage the same. I don't know this firsthand, but I have a hunch this would be true. And I plan on proving this theory when I have children of my own.

A 'sigh' moment - A

Today, I submitted forms for my new work ID to be given us when we move to our new building. The form, much like many we've all filled out, asked for an emergency contact number. Well I always put down the same phone number for that.

The security person processing my form took a look at the number then took a look at me and asked me, "What number is this?"

Without hesitation I answered, "Oh, that's my sister's mobile number."

(blank stare)

"It’s a US number."

(blank stare)

"I always use that number. I'm here alone; there is no one in India to call. . .in. . .case. . .of. . .an. . .emergency."

"Oh. Okay, Sah."

(sigh)

A Thousand Deaths

And so I’ve died a thousand deaths. One for each lie I've been told, knew about it and accepted it anyway. And I'm ok with that. Because some deaths spawn growth; like skin cells.

I don't doubt my intelligence. And I don't have to walk around telling everyone how intelligent I am to breathe it true. The instinctive replication of my life's values will do that automatically. My mere desire to exist beyond that of something that breathes is the answer to my query on the importance of life over death. Or is it that I care more about death over life? I use one up to get to the other, so that just might be it. But I’m nosey. I must see where it is I’m going. So I ask myself if it is possible to die and then experience life thereafter? Not physically, insomuch as I know it, but perhaps spiritually. And so I look forward to each death that recreates me.

The triumvirate solicitation of knowledge, experience and innate senses justifies my thousand deaths, so long as I never die them again. For repetitious mistakes made that way will surely lead to death; if not death of body, then definitely a fate far worse: Death of spirit. It is the equivalent of keeping a man alive after sentencing him to life for murder. You are dead while living because the hope of furthering your growth is dead. No amount of milk, which strengthens bones, fiber which strengthens the heart or books which strengthen the mind will help you live past the fate of a dying spirit. It is the building block to life, far beyond our physical bodies; Spirit must remain a growing entity.

And yet to die is to be free. Free from earthly bondage, wrapped tight around our legs like the pants we must wear everyday to work. Wrapped tight around our heads like the hats we wear to keep us from feeling the strength of the sun. Natural wonders may one day wonder how unnatural we have become as we move further and further away from nature, and closer and closer to technology. The air we breathe may one day have to be downloaded first. Then on that day when computers crash, we may all suffer death.

A thousand deaths. Yes, a thousand deaths indeed are upon us like droplets of water in a shower. There used to be a time when we walked around and the only pieces of metal we needed with us were keys and coins. Now we walk around looking like metallic robots. Soldiers of fortune; or perhaps, soldiers of minimum wage, as it were. Instant access to people, money, work and the digital overworld. We have virtually killed off our ability to memorize by committing birthdays, addresses and phone numbers to virtual memory.

So what’s left? We’re suffering weaker minds and weaker bodies. There is a third component we speak of in this trifurcate: There is our soul. Are we at least strengthening our souls? Dear God, let us at least be strengthening our souls. Capitalism pulls at our existence like G-force, pulling us away from the source that binds us all; our souls. Oh goodness. What have we done? You see, as long as you keep your soul intact, you can die a thousand deaths and still live. You can be born again with each new lesson. You can be born again with each new development of self. Anything but the soul can grow weaker!

I immediately regret to say that one soulless death supersedes that of a thousand deaths with soul intact. We must all stop, turn around and soldier back to the source less we be dead forever.

A normal person might answer. . .

"Nothing." Or perhaps, "Oh. I was just thinking about what I'm going to do this weekend."

Not me. When asked the question, "What are you doing?," like my boy Billy Joel, "I go to extremes."

My friend re-shared this with me as it was a comment to her question on her blog. I thought I would share it with you all so that you can see firsthand how clinically insane I am and/or on the verge of writing a really interesting book:

JayGee said...

Right now I'm trying to concentrate on doing work, but these visions of myself in a kung fu outfit with nunchucks and chinese slippers keep coming into my head.

In this vision, I'm a secret agent for the Nation of Islam and my mission is to ensure global domination under one religion led by this 5 percenter named Jamaal that I know from one-two-fifth who used to sell me my frankinsense & Myr.

So here I am walking towards Grand Central Station with Jamaal and all of a sudden, George Bush rolls up on me with a home made pea shooter. Classic style too, with the top of the gallon of milk container cut off, the ballon with baby powder in the bottom and a sack of 69 cent green peas stashed in his back pocket.

He takes a shot at me. I duck out of the way Matrix style. But George Bush is quick with his so he takes another shot and catches me in the kneecap. I'm stunned but not hurt, because I was trained by Bruce Lee's illegitimate half-negro brother, Brother Lee. As I'm leaning back up, Fat Joe pops out from behind a car and starts singing his signature song from the summer of 2005. I hear him scream out "rock away" but hear nothing else, because I must maintain focus.

While I'm down, George Bush takes a shot at Jamaal. He doesn't realize that Jamaal has the "soul power" invisible shield force which activates whenever he puts on a black glove and pumps his black fist into the air.

I gain my barings and lunge at George Bush catching him 'cross the jaw using a standing thrust kick (quite impossible to do in the mortal world, I might add). He's thrown back. I take the split second I have while he's disoriented to give him an Ay-u-kick, a move I learned by playing Streetfighter the video game, way too many times as a young teen.

George Bush is on the verge of death, and everyone can tell because if you look closely at his feet, there's a meter glowing red and showing that he has 10% vitality left. He's smart though. He runs into a Popeye's chicken and shoves a leg and biscuit down his throat. Immediately, his strength is back up to 35%.

I have only one chance at ending this. As he begins to aim his pea shooter at Jamaal again, I scream out, "I saw Bin Laden around the corner making out with your daughter."

"Not again!!", he screams. He puts the pea shooter down and starts running around the corner. The next day, I took my uniform to the dry cleaners and had tea for lunch because my stomach was feeling a bit queasy. That's the end of my story.

After I thought about that, I read your blog. Ate some cheese toast. Told Jyoti how much nann to order for tonight's meal and here I am.

Phew. . .glad I got that off my chest.

Venting 101: Customer Service in India

Not everyone is going to like everything about everyone or every place, right?

I found something that I absolutely abhor about India: Customer service takes a long time explaining to you ish they cannot do. If someone is advising you about what they cannot do, you want them to just say it quickly so that you can move on and find someone who can, right? I mean, who needs a dissertation on inefficacy? Not me.

Invariably I always end up hanging up before we can say our goodbyes or being extremely curt and then saying goodbye. Anybody calling with credit card inquiries in the States should know what I'm talking about.

My apologies, I had to get that off my chest. I'll go back to being poetic now.

The One That Got Away

Hey there. How ya been? That's good to hear.

Look, I have something that I need to get off my chest. And I don't want to beat around the bush; Lord knows I did enough of that when there was the true potential for dating.

I Love you. And I'm hurtin real bad right now because I know I let a good thing get away and there is and was no justification for it. Know that I don't blame you one iota for the way things turned out between us; and truth be told, I have no room to complain, because even though you're not in my life the way I would like you to be NOW, you're still in my life as a really good friend.

Hah, I put emphasis on the word "now" because if I was focused THEN, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Instead we'd be sitting on our couch in our house or apartment, smiling at one another and listening to good R&B music; you know the kind that you like to listen to and that you put me back on to remind me of how good Love must've used to be, because the music is still so good. What's that word you use to describe it? Ah, yeah, that's right; timeless. Man, I miss hearing the way you enunciate that word with a lisp.

Well, at any rate, I let too much time pass along. And understand when I say that it affected us both. Saying "no" to you was what allowed me to be an adolescent longer than I should have. The consequence of my actions is that I’m older and alone. And some days, I feel like a person at the airport looking for their lost luggage. Because I know now I come with even more baggage, just not quite sure what it is. Back when we were kickin’ it, I knew exactly what and where my baggage was; now it’s just. . .it’s. . .it’s just. . .(sigh)

It took me some time, but I have finally been able to move on. What once consumed me. . .all of me, has faded a bit and has become a painting on the wall of my house rather than my house. I know I may be confusing you a bit. Let me see if I can explain: All this time, I still imagined that there was a chance for us to get together; you know, the right way. My desire to get with you and right my wrongs, was all-consuming. And it clouded my thoughts every day. Getting with you became all that I could think about. You were my house.

And then one day, my heart just. . .let it go. I came to the realization that getting together would never happen and that I should just be contented with our friendship; truth is, it is a really great friendship and I know that. So through the strength of my memory, I will never forget the story of “us.” The painting. And there is nothing wrong with that. However, a rearrangement of my house was in order. And I think I got it right this time.

The thing that disturbs me most is knowing that you can only be a painting. And that one day, you’ll have a house and I’ll have a house and our friendship can’t be as strong as it is now. That’s life. I just wanted to let you know that I will always Love you. Ha, I know. . .it sounds corny like I’m bitin’ off that Whitney Houston song. But it’s very true. Love and friendships go hand and hand, just as much as Love and being a couple.

My Love for you is so strong, that I truly wish you only the best; even if that best cannot be with me. Well, I think that’s all I wanted to say. I don’t think I told you anything you didn’t know already, but I wanted to be able to say it out in the open loud enough for my inner self to hear. The fact that it is now said, will register with me some relief. Take care of yourself, and I’ll talk to you later.

What? What’s that? Ahhh, yes. I Love you too!!

----------------------------------------------------

Just so everyone knows, this piece is about no one in particular. Most men have had the unfortunate experience of seeing a good Woman, get away; I’m no different. For me it’s probably been several. Like all of the rest of my writings, what makes this piece true and not so fictional is that it comes out of me, so it must be a part of me. No need quibbling over what’s fantasy or just fancy. It is and I am.

As I get older, I find myself challenging myself more on the notion of being an adult and adulthood. It’s more than just getting older; it’s growing wiser. And bottling up the same old feelings I did when I was younger is a sign of stunted growth. I don’t want that for myself.

They say writing releases you from certain emotional responsibilities that we carry around as burdens. Until one day, you let it go. I hope that is true. For some, it’s time to just hang those pictures up on the wall and move into a new, more true house.

Practicing B

Love is moving, she mounts a beautiful attack
Against the weak and unsuspecting, behind the devil's back

And she brings her right hand man, Vulnerability
And they ride the horse of Hope, now you have all three

And they're coming straight for you, it’s a heart attack
And it has you under its spell, arrests your cardiac

So get out of the way or else you'll be overtaken
No soldier will be left unloved; your former life is now forsaken

By the God of impulse, you don't stand a chance
You must accept Love, grab her by the romance

Implicate yourself in ways you never imagined
You'll only have more now than what you had then

Cogitation 101: Feb 16th, 2007

Friday, 16th February 2007 @ 10:56am, I got my first true glimpse of the Indian Ocean against the coastline. Its hitting me hard for a couple reasons:

1. What have I done so right in my life that has brought me to this beautiful place so far away from home?
2. I am driving down the coastline of Sri Lanka where the Tsunami hit and decimated life a little over 2 years ago. Right now as we drive from town to town headed to Galle, I see nothing but life and living.

Existence, when contemplated, is truly amazing.

Practicing A

I walked past the rice paddies in to the dark
And reminded myself why I used to talk
But I can't say a word cuz I know my heart
Won't let me speak to a world of lies

I keep treading life like a piranha stalks
Leaving trails of dust amongst the flying hawks
On air, land and sea is where my body balks
Clogged in a system that drowns dry eyes

Never say never unless you never say never again
A loss is a loss, but if there's a lesson, it’s a win
If I say it over and over then maybe it'll form a trend
But I can't promise there'll be no lows; only highs

The matriarch of the patriarch knows it best
As seasons change nor do we get any rest
Nothing to do but stand tall and stick out your chest
Because each day, like the sun, we must rise

I promise

I promised myself that I would be a doctor one day
Until I let reality tell me that I'd never make it that way

I promised myself that I would become a better person
But I dropped that guarantee when change started to hurt some

My New Year's resolution was to lose some weight
But I made that promise in august; 4 months later it would dissipate

I promised a friend that I would be there when she needs me
Her boyfriend broke her heart and she complained she didn't see me

I promised my boy I'd be on time for his wedding
Yes the train made me late, but my absence was telling

What's a promise anyway, a question some of you may ask
It's your word that you will do what it takes to complete a task

I have lost the trust of too many to make promises again
My credibility shot, it’s no wonder I have lost them

I promise this will affect you, if you don't turn this behavior around
I trust that you find this advice to be sound

Nature's Lessons - A

I took an unobstructed picture of the Indian Ocean and am now convinced that the straightest line the world will ever show/know is created from where the view of the ocean ends and the view of the sky begins. How beautiful!

Questions

And so maybe a view of the world through the eyes of an adult is not so bad. Maybe there is a way to avoid being cynical, overly critical and a doubting Thomas. Maybe there is a way to trust anyone and everyone; trust that like you, they have options both good and bad and have the free will (though not necessarily the free right) to exercise any of those options whenever they so please. Maybe there is a way to remove the protective coat of fear away from our bodies and our faces to see the world for what it is and accept it for what it is.

What is it, you ask?

Well now, that question can be answered in a myriad of ways. None of which I plan on tackling in this piece. But let us say for instance that in this world, there are two distinct roads: There is hope and there is despair. And amidst this hope and despair lie our pasts, our present and our futures. Within hope and despair lies judgment. Did I do enough? Will I do enough? Within these judgments lie the very actions that we all partake in on a daily basis. Some are ritualistic in nature and predictable, some are non-predictable. And among these actions are the inevitability of unpredictability and its degree of probability.

What does that mean?

That means that whilst we traverse our daily lives believing, hoping desiring the best, sometimes the worst has a way of coming into the equation. From the worst, come options; how we choose to handle the worse. No one ever complains about how we handle the best. It’s the best! What’s to handle when dealing with the benefit, the glory and/or the self-aggrandizement life offers you?

It is the worse that we must confront and learn how to manage. When despair comes over us, how do we handle the emotions that circumvent our being during the moment? And I say moment, because nothing lasts forever. The good doesn’t last forever, nor does the bad. In managing the bad, we must figure out a way to overcome the self-loathing. The self-loathing is what we project on others and causes us to lash out. It shows lack of trust, first with yourself, second, with the world that revolves around you, whatever that world or your perception of that world may be.

That brings me back to my original statement. What if we accepted the fact that despair is just a natural part of this world? And when confronted with despair, we must figure out a way to turn it positive. Now I, like you, know what despair can do to you. Many times, our reactions to despair are spot on. I’ve always been a proponent of the negative emotion, because how could we know and/or celebrate the positive emotion if we don’t know what its counterpart feels like? Happiness can only be known with the existence of sadness. Courage can only be celebrated through the absence of fear. Joy does not know itself unless holding hands with its buddy pain.

Negative emotions are necessary. Despair is necessary. How can we accept that it will exist, even if we do all the ‘right’ in the world?

How can we stop ourselves from turning into a detriment to ourselves and to society?

How can we harness the power of despair and make it a powerful motivator to pass on something positive to the next person? Pass on a lesson of how to stave off the despair that you yourself have just experienced. And do this as oppose to pass on something negative?

What if despair and sorrow were just reminders of what life could be like if we succumbed to false advertisement that our lives are pits of happiness we just crawl into and never leave? So we prepare ourselves to only handle the happy times, but stumble and fall when things are going wrong. Early death brings about despair and some will die early. It is inevitable. Probability shakes the dice and places the odds. How can we accept this?

How can we accept that change is constant and unrelenting? It doesn’t ask if you’re ok with change before it acts. Change happens and it’s up to you to be able to deal. When change is good, like hitting the lottery, becoming a millionaire and never having to work again in your life, we’re okay. What about when change is desperate?

I do not know the answers to these questions. I don’t need them right now. These are questions that come into my head every now and again that I wanted to put on paper. Why, in a world that, on any given day, can be 50% good and 50% evil, do we let ourselves fall victim to the evil? If feeling good makes us feel great, then why not get out of the realm of feeling bad as quickly as possible? Why perpetuate its handicraft? Why move its sinew to greater heights? Why be interested in its power and how it can make the next person feel equally as bad as you do? Knowing full well that all at once you’ve just become the fodder for unpredictability in someone else’s life? And all of this because we’ve become mentally inept at dealing with despair?

Just my thoughts.

An Ode to BET

I skeet hot sauce, all over chickenhead bitches
I's a paycheck from broke, but I sing about my riches
I hate being black, but I bet you'll never knowz it
Won't see my nappy hair, 'cuz ere'day I cornrollz it

Got time on my hands to make up dance moves aplenty
And find new ways to say ig'nant words dif'rently
I am a big, bad joke, but my rhymes will always last
My history? Psss, whateva!! All'em old folks can kiss my ass

I may be labeled a rapper, but I also like to sing
Have sex with other women, though you see my wedding ring
My pimped out house, Byoy I'm as big as it can gets
So when you want to feel degraded, come on hyere and gitcho fix

I'm ya neighborhood rap star, dat's who I be
It's a damn shame you can't avoid us on tv
we infiltrate your world reppin' ere'thang you see
When white people see you, they believe you is me (Ha Ha)

I do things better, than anyone has ever done it
I wipe my ass wit green toilet tissha made a hunneds
I still smoke weed 'cuz I ain't high as I can git
Ain't registered to vote, but Byoy I swears I's legit

But you watch me and you pay me, so I guess it's all good
You tell all ya folks you lud da way I rep da hood
So don't blame me when you don't get dat promotion
It's prob'ly 'cuz da boss heard ya talk like me at da luncheon

I don't want to be dis, but dis is how I pay da bills
I can make more money if I been back and forth to jails
You may think my shit stink, but I got a remedy for dat
Its called "fuck you, N***a!!" and I sell it by da track

I'm ya neighborhood rap star, dat's who I be
It's a damn shame you can't avoid us on tv
we infiltrate your world reppin' ere'thang you see
When white people see you, they believe you is me (Ha Ha)


Many of you have never seen me write like this or think like this, but I had to give my interpretation of what I see whenever I see a music video on BET. You have these shows with little kids in the audience jumping and screaming when their favorite, extremely ignorant video comes on. The artists from the videos are interviewed and they lounge on a couch with no posture, sounding as dumb as possible. And right in the middle of it all is zero message. . .zero learning. And each year, the knowledge imparted gets less and less, the vocabulary gets worse and worse and all our progress collectively adds to nothing. Because on the one station that may have an opportunity to continuously portray us positively, it does the polar opposite; as if the local news and our own actions were not bad enough.

And a part of me doesn't want to blame these artists because capitalism asks and suggests that we become rich anyway we can; the mere message that the haves are rich and the have nots are minorities is ever present in almost everything we do. Classicism has become the new racism and its proving itself to be very effective. Teenagers walk the streets afraid to sound intelligent because they'll probably be ostracized. When does it end? Where is the relief?

At some point, someone has to be held accountable.

Boycott BET

Human Orientation & Love

The orientation of human ethos is in such a state of disrepair that it is uncertain to me, if it will ever become fixed. Malady, deception and manipulation have begun to overwhelm forgiveness, compassion and Love. Love, such a simple yet oft used word. They say the more you use a word, the more you understand it. In the case of the word, 'Love,' I feel the opposite occurring. We have used the word 'Love' so often in times when we don't Love someone or something that we have rendered the word free of its own mystical power.

The very tool which is our tongue has grown sharp edges and is used more to cut than to lick and heal wounds. Communication has been transformed into soulless words generally used to bark orders and lie about mistakes rather than connect us. We can’t no more understand the value of a kind word than that of a dollar because with each passing year, the price of both drops. And it sickens me to try and understand how and why we have done this to one another. There’s no one else here on planet Earth, but us. So please do understand that all of our faults are created within an enclosed ecosystem designed for our very existence. With well cuddled ecosystems, useless things die off; it is the nature of evolution. As things die off, what remains grows stronger and more useful.

We, as a people, have forgotten how to evolutionize. So instead, we’re forced to spend way too much time thinking about ways to revolutionize that which should just die off and go away. Things like bigoted treatment, inequality and indecency. Instead, we’ve managed to kill off Love, and feelings. And for what reason? So that we can oversimplify our lives? Because someone developed a way to create love and emotion using HTML code, we have given up on its utility; Bringing new meaning to the term, “Computer Love,” once again further alleviating human’s of their humanistic functions.

I’m perplexed by all this “ease” we’ve created for ourselves. We don’t even know how to communicate because our voices move slower than an Internet connection. Who has the time? I have the time. We don’t need more hours in the day. We need more “day” in our hours. If 50% of the time we’re awake is spent in front of a computer screen, it’s no wonder we confuse the brightness of the screen with daylight. Of course we lose control of managing our time spent awake. That must be it, because we certainly aren’t sleeping longer.

95% of my friends, whom I no longer get to see often, are now 2 dimensional square boxes on my computer screen who blink orange to let me know that they’ve said something to me. And if I pay them no attention at all and go to do something else, well, my computer will give a quick ding to let me know my friend has said something to me. Conversation? Is that what it should be called? Sounds more like a primitive form of call and response to me. And why bother to remember anything anymore. I doubt my mind can hold 120GB worth of data. In fact, I know it can’t because every day, I go on my computer and find something that I did not know was there. And I’m only using about 60GBs at this point; 35 of which is iTunes!! But I digress.

My point is this. If we don’t put feelings and emotion back into our interaction, we’re going to be a lost civilization, if you can call us that. Storing all of our thoughts and memories on computers, never writing anything down anymore. Always warring and feuding, be it neighbor, family member or country. We cannot continue believing that we can mentally create love when it should be something so deep inside of us, that our intellect knows no road to it. It just exists and emanates within and without us; words never quite doing it justice. And in that way we allow ourselves to become vessels for the creation of beauty. Ohhhh, what a day that would be if ever it were to come into fruition. On that day, I do believe, I would die of Love, in Love.

My Boo

As is usual, today I sat at my desk and did work while listening to my iPod. I was listening to one of the playlists that I put together with a lot of 80s/90s good music that sends us back to that time and place we WANT to remember so well.

The song, My Boo came on from the Ghost Town DJs. The song is over 5 minutes long. About 2 minutes into the song, I felt a tear come to my eye. That just proves, we don’t always have full control of our feelings and bodily functions. Because the part of my brain that controls memory made a tear fall.

You see, this song brings back a WHOLE bunch of memories. Memories that are locked away and enclosed in the deeper recesses of my mind. Memories that I can call upon when I’m feeling sad or things are not going so well and I need to bring myself to a time when all was right with the world. That’s what type of song, My Boo is. Sounds silly I know, but let me explain.

Attached to the memory of this song is, youth. It reminds me of when I was 18. The end of my freshman year, in fact. This was one of the hottest songs playing in the South where I attended school. If I close my eyes and listen to this song, landscapes shroud my mental space like a falling piece of lace. And in place come the sprawling manicured lawns of Duke University. The late night study sessions that included study breaks over coffee as we began to mimic adults. Sweaty gymnasiums with folks from as far away as 2 hours, joining us for what turned out to be a well attended party. Myrtle Beach. Fraternity brothers and too cute girls. Practicing party walks.

This song takes me back to the time I was in the Underground with other football players (much older than me for college standards) and Grant Hill came back to the school after his first year as a Detroit Piston and was buying all of the football and basketball players drinks; we were all sectioned off behind the DJ where no one else was allowed, but girls of course. And we all started dancing and being young, all at the same time. That was just another unbelievable experience that I can now recall due to the remembrance of that song. Youth.

Attached to my youth was ignorance. Not ignorance of mind, but ignorance of experiences. Prior to moving to North Carolina, I refused to listen to any music that wasn’t from NY. What did that mean? That meant during that time period, whenever music would come on that wasn’t either NY rap or reggae, I wouldn’t dance to it, so I would leave the dance floor no matter how much fun I was having. You see, in the mid-90s, most mainstream dance music was coming from the Northeast. . .at least for a Northeasterner, that is. There was a time I didn’t like Outkast. Not because I didn’t like their lyrics; I didn’t know their lyrics. Not because I didn’t like what they represented; I didn’t know that either. I didn’t like Outkast because they weren’t from New York. Ignorance.

This song takes me back to the very first time I tried to dance to “Booty Shake.” We were at Myrtle Beach and everyone was on the dance floor having a good time. I was dancing with this freshman named Carmen who was a soccer player and smart as anything I’ve ever known (she was at Duke on a full ride). Well, an Uncle Luke song started to come on and everyone got hype. . .everyone but me. I started to call it quits and do my usual of walking off the dance floor, but then got upset with myself. Why was I making myself leave the dance floor? Quite the opposite was occurring. The booty shake song came on and the dance floor started to get more crowded.

I grabbed Carmen by the hand, who was from ATL and knew how to dance and went deeper onto the dance floor (to hide myself from the on-lookers on the side of the dance floor). I began to dance like I’d never danced before. At the time, every song from NY to LA, for that matter, could be danced to. . .nay, SHOULD be danced to using a slow head bob and maybe a raised hand or two. Not booty shake. Speed up EU’s, “The Butt” song from Spike Lee’s School Daze and you have the picture I’m trying to paint for you. Prior to going down south, never had I seen music make men move like that. You’re accustomed to seeing women gyrate, but not men. Even Kid n’ Play had nothing on some of the things I saw.

An Uncle Luke song was playing and I had to figure out how to dance to it. So I did what I thought made sense. I started boggling fast as hell!! And for a minute, I thought I was doing the same thing as everyone else. Then Tootsie Roll came on. I thought to myself, “I can move my legs like that.” I was doing it!! To the left, to the left (okay, here I go). To the right, to the right. (okay, let’s go back) To the front, to the front (hope you’re moving in front of me). To the back, to the back. (hope I don’t step back and bust my you know what). Now dip, Baby, dip. Come on, Now!! (I can definitely Dip!) I made it through 2 songs. Then the very next song was My Boo; the slow version of this dance genre, which was still 5 times faster than any other form of dance.

I can remember mimicking other male dancers on the floor. And on more than one occasion I saw men turn their backs to women and dance with their butts pressed up against the front of the woman. Huh!!! What’s the point of doing that? It seemed so odd to me, but I decided that if I was going to blend in that I should try it too. Carmen seemed to get excited about it when I turned around and that made me feel a bit more awkward. But we were all having fun. My Boo.

I have to laugh at myself now. What a memory; let me go hit repeat.

Planted Nations (version 1, this will change some day)

When it comes to the anatomy of my legume,
I’d say I’m bout as crescent as the first quarter moon.
Hide 75% of myself behind the enemy’s womb
The other 25% is seen by the sunlight’s zoom

Guided through the eve of existence in the dead of night
I prostate my efforts to explore new biblical heights
Confronted by fear, on mercurial wings, I take flight
My mind may be vicious and though carnivorous, it won’t bite

So my plan is to take my unborn seeds and save them
Travel all across this world’s landscape my brain’s pavin’
Building life and love upon these planted nations
An army of branches, leaves and trees create new safe havens

Injurious plots of dark rocks, hot tops and hard knocks
Leaves my fruit looking bruised and punctured, but it won’t rot
And though I may walk the land in soaked socks from the rain drops
It’s okay, because I’ll suffer the ills if my mental keys will open locks

So I vow to myself to sow my brain’s seeds wherever I go
Feed these nations with my feelings and thoughts a la mode
Cover up my tracks so no one can see my less traveled road
Sanguinely clandestine as I traverse planting deep each load

An ode to the Outdated

Hey there, buddy! How ya been. I know it’s been a minute since I last checked in. I didn't realize I'd run into you this time on when, I was on my way to catch up with some new shit then, I stumble past some memories of when we were friends. I can't believe how time has passed since we were hangin. I know we lost touch the moment my life began. But like much weather when it changes it was because of the wind.

I know it seems a lie, but I can confirm that it’s not. I started chillin’ with a different crowd and so it was I got, caught up in being grown away from situations too hot, like fire boiling stew we were in the same lil pot. Like that time we got drunk and woke up on two small cots, in prison and our folks had to come bail us out. I vowed I’d never be caught slippin’ again or else I’d rot, in this same old neighborhood, well at least that’s what I thought.

Well, I settled in a crib, took some time to be alone. Worked on my independence to make my younger self feel grown. Started buildin a career cuz life's haul is extremely long. But it pains me to come back and see the same shit's goin on. So I roam and avoid the place that seems all wrong. But here I find myself back in it as if I can’t move along. It’s pitiful how we cling ourselves to pasts too strong, rather than let go and just move forward on this earth we’re upon.

But at the same time, perhaps now I kinda do feel relieved. Knowing I struggled at the right time puts my mind at ease. That maybe there's some justice when forced to concentrate on making cheese, to pay for a better life and a home where you own the set of keys. That was my ultimate goal and it was myself I wanted to appease. So forgive me for leaving before saying goodbye; for that I beg you please.

I'm sorry that I've found you in this predicament. Where you're forced to lie about how your wasted years have been spent. I know you needed more time than others, but I don't want to hear you vent. About how life threw us a curveball which somehow was clearly meant, to be smacked back into the field of play but now I see you bent, out of the way, refused to play and now you hold the monkey’s wrench, that fell into your muddled plans and now like metal in cement, time has made it hard to move and harder for your past transgressions to repent.

Oh well, that's how life is sometimes; it’s not always fair and sound. It’s been nice seeing you again this way while gingerly passing through town. I promise to catch you back up in life; you know, see you on the rebound. Perhaps then we can talk about some things that seem slightly more profound. And when that happens, I'm sure we'll discuss the positive roads that you've found. ‘Til then keep your head up, all is not lost, once it’s yourself you’ve found.

I'll be sure to tell John that I saw you in town and how we both related, in the old neighborhood, just shooting the breeze, I'm sure he'll be so elated. To know that there's no hard feelings between us as we all found our separate challenge and faced it. To know that you're okay and we're all cool and that no one is hated. Take care of yourself and now I must bid you adieu, our time belated. May God be with you and bless your path my friend, my dear outdated.

Memories Don't Live Like People Do - C

"Just two dope boyz in a Cadillac! ! !"

Well, with the exception of that being a really hype song by Outkast on their ATLiens CD, the phrase has past significance to me personally.

During my sophomore year at Duke, I can remember going to hear Dr. John Hope Franklin speak at a gathering in the Duke Museum on East Campus. At the time, Dr. Franklin was huge at Duke. He was the Professor Emeritus of History. In the Perkins library, in the upstairs reading room, a portrait of him had recently been hoisted to the walls amongst all of the other distinguished fellows to cross the sanctified halls of Duke. He was the only Black-American to have done so. I don't know if that fact still remains; my guess is yes. Amongst many other things, he was also a special advocate on race relations during the Clinton administration.

Also, he was becoming one of my heroes. In my mind, he hadn't quite reached where Arthur Ashe's persona or Ralph Ellison's Black-owned candor had stood for me, but he was surreptitiously approaching them as I began to learn more about this man. As a pre-requisite to joining the illustrious ranks of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Incorporated, an interest member is expected to read From Slavery To Freedom, Dr. Franklin's prize winning historical chronicling black history from the Diaspora to modern day. At the time, I had no idea of the impact the book would have on me. Not so much because of what was enclosed within the pages; history is history. But the level of dedication put to task by such a young man (the first edition was published when Dr. Franklin was but 32 years old) was astonishing to even conceptualize let alone see firsthand. Additionally, it put into context for me, in a way previously never done, my link and connection to history, time and lineage of man. I digress. Back to the Museum.

After Dr. Franklin finished his discussion, I walked up to him amongst the many other audience participants and introduced myself.

Jaramogi: Hello, Dr. Franklin. My name is Jaramogi Adams. I am Vice President of the Kappa Omicron Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. here at Duke University. I know that you're a member of the fraternity and wanted to forge a relationship with you especially since we have you so close by. I was wondering if it may be possible to meet with you and perhaps have lunch and talk.

Dr. Franklin: Well, I'm in the phonebook. Just look me up.

That was all he said. This was at the end of my sophomore year. I spent the summer at home in New York interning for American Express and partying like the fraternal newbie I was. But upon returning to Duke, it was back to business. One of the first things I did was to look up Dr. Franklin in the phonebook. I composed myself, reminded myself to remain audible and keep consistent with my reasons for contacting him (I had problems with speaking audibly in my younger days, mostly due to shyness).

I dialed the number. After about 3 rings, someone answered. I was surprised to hear Dr. Franklin's voice on the other end of the phone. I don't know who else I expected to answer, but I wasn't expecting him. The beginning of my script called for me asking to speak to Dr. Franklin. 2 seconds into the phone call and I was already off step. A slight pause.

J: Hello, may I speak to Dr. Franklin? (Because, you know, even if you know who it is on the other end of the phone, it's still respectful to ask for your intended receiver.)

Dr. F: Speaking.

(Slight pause but I remembered my pre-instructions to the call and continued on)

J: Hello, my name is Jaramogi Adams. I met you briefly in the spring semester. You gave a talk on your perceptions of the racial climate amongst top tier schools and I approached you at the end to ask if I could meet with you. I am a member of the Alpha Phi Alpha chapter here at Duke.

Dr. F: Yes, I remember you.

J: (Slight pause) Well, yes, I was wondering if perhaps you had time to have lunch. I would thoroughly enjoy the opportunity to sit down and meet with you (in my mind I thought, if he says 'yes', I'll have to come up with things to keep him interested in talking to me for at least an hour. A bit of nervousness at the prospect settled in).

Dr. F: Ok, let's do lunch. I can meet you next Wednesday at the West Campus circle in front of the Chapel.

J: Sounds like a plan (Yes, those were my favorite words to use as a response even back then). From there we can walk to one of the lunch halls.

Dr. F: No, I'll be driving. I'll pick you up. Look for a walnut colored Cadillac. 12:30pm, ok?

J: (Longer than a slight pause) Sounds like a plan.

Dr. F: See you then.

J: Yes. Goodbye and have a nice day.

Dr. F: You too.

(That's it? That's all it took to meet the world renowned historian, Dr. Brother John Hope Franklin? The past President of the American Historical Association? Winner of the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2005? A man whose name has been forever stamped into the fabric of Duke University's history with the John Hope Franklin Center for Interdisciplinary & International Studies erected in his honor, while he is still alive? I won't say I was disappointed, but a part of me wanted to work harder for it. I was young and naïve though and hindsight tells me that I'm glad he made it so easy.

Wednesday had arrived and I had not spoken to Dr. Franklin since our agreement to meet for lunch. But he said meet him at the West Campus circle in front of the Chapel at 12:30pm and that's what I intended to do. I got back to my dorm from class and jumped into the shower. I had ironed a dress shirt, tie and slacks the night before. I slipped into these articles, grabbed a folder with something to write with, just in case (habit) and walked out of the dorm.

12:25

12:28

12:30

12:32

12:35

All came and went. For a 20 year old, each passing minute seemed an eternity. It was hot and people were passing by in shorts, t-shirts and flip flops looking at me funny, because to them, I just looked like a student in a hot suit waiting at the bus stop, for nothing in particular.

12:37 came and so did a walnut-colored Cadillac. He pulled up to the bus stop and I walked over to the car. The door lock clicked open and I got in. It was Dr. Franklin. I do not believe I can accurately capture my excitement at that moment. Suddenly, it had occurred to me that during the course of Dr. Franklin's morning, he checked his calendar and it read something like:

12:30pm – drive to the West Campus bus stop and pick up Jaramogi for lunch. Make reservations prior to picking him up.

As the author of this text, I'm not sure if I should report to you how I felt or how I acted. I felt elation. I acted as if this happened to me daily. Such contrasting forces between feelings and actions can leave you feeling dizzy at times. But I was able to use humility to counter-balance the loftiness of my ego, thereby rendering my dizziness. . .slight. Additionally, I can remember feeling pleased with myself for having dressed in a suit and a tie because Dr. Franklin was dressed in the same. This was one little correct step that took the edge off what could have been an overbearing experience had I shown up in jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt. In his eyes, I could tell that he was pleased with my decision, as well.

Dr. F: How are you doing? (In his 80s but handshake firm as a 30 year old)

J: Well, thank you. (I said in what I thought was my best in the heat of the moment, action hero voice. However, I was glad he started the conversation. I honestly think he did it because perhaps he could tell I was nervous).

5 minutes into the drive. . .just 5 minutes of relating and I felt like I was talking to a Grandfather. It was so amazing. He spoke to me like a son who had matured into a man. And so while understanding the age and experience difference, he kept in mind that it was important that he treated me like his equal.

Side Note: Ladies, if you're reading this, understand that one of the most crucial periods in a young man's life is that transition from boy to man. And it takes a hell of a lot of work from mother to father, from teacher to mentor, from girlfriend to society at large, to help make that transition as comfortable for him, as possible. It is the difference between him becoming a man confidently and always second-guessing his adult decisions. Understand that I say this, not to undermine gender equality, but as a message: If it is a man you want and a man you wish to see, then you must treat all men, who were once boys, like men. I say this also knowing that respect is earned, not given. But the same must not hold true for the initial "benefit of the doubt." While it will not always work, I believe the results will be better than they are today wherein men stay boys for far longer than their age, experience and life lessons should allow. Getting older does not make you a man. Who you are, how you have developed and how you are respected are what can make you a man. Again, I digress.

Dr. Franklin belonged to an eating club in Chapel Hill, NC, home of the dreaded and most hated Tar Heels!! He parked and we walked into this building and took the elevator to the top floor which had to be at least 25-stories high. In case you're wondering, 25-stories are very high for the Research Triangle Park (RTP) area.

We were seated and brought menus. There was a gentleman with a colleague sitting a couple tables away from us. Dr. Franklin and the gentleman spoke for a few moments and then Dr. Franklin returned his attention back to our table. "That's Julius Chambers, Chancellor of North Carolina Central. He's also an Alpha." Both facts I knew. He had only been named Chancellor a few years prior. But I would never have expected to be sitting a couple tables away from him having lunch. Maya Angelou. Dr. John Hope Franklin. Julius Chambers. Hmmmm. Let's see how this sounds: I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings of a time passed From Slavery To Freedom because through the LDF, I helped fight for Race & Equity in the courtroom and won. Well, at least that's my take on the tandem of individuals. Author. Historian. Lawyer. Each one has given contributions through their professions; each one has also taken precious time to be an educator.

My chance meetings with great influences on the building and telling of black history were growing.

The experience was very overwhelming to say the least, but I believe I handled it like a pro. Dr. Franklin made it very easy for me. I didn't have to continuously ask him questions like it was an interview. And he seemed well within his element imparting advice to a young fella from Brooklyn, NY who somehow made his way down to Duke University, some could argue, in a way building up to this very moment in time. If "necessity" is indeed the mother of invention, then "encouragement" must be her younger sister because most roads, you will always find, have never been travelled alone. Though the path from point A to point B is straight when told, there are many guided directions and signs along the way making sure you do stay on that very path. That is to say, it was not necessary that I be where I was, sitting in the same room with Dr. Franklin and Julius Chambers, but it was encouragement from my family and teachers that I'm sure helped to get me there. On that day, humility in tow, I was walking with Kings, but never did I lose my common touch.

And so what was Dr. Franklin's biggest piece of advice to me? "Always document your life. You never know when you'll be called upon to tell a story of the world you've experienced. I wished I had started documenting my life when I was your age. It would have made it easier to write my autobiography (this would not be the last time I heard of his autobiography. Stay tuned)."

The conversation continued. He talked about everything under the sun and at most times, seemed to prefer to have such a rabid listener. I was every bit of that. It was an exciting time for me. You often hear these stories of well known leaders, having brushes with other well known leaders when they were young. For Dr. Franklin, perhaps it was working with Brother Thurgood Marshall on the NAACP Legal Defense team in the 50s. Not to say that my life's intentions will ever lead me to be a historian, but I do like telling non-fictional stories about things I have seen and things I have experienced. So you never know.

We wrapped up lunch and Dr. Franklin drove me back to campus. I hopped out of his car as we shot parting words at each other.

Dr. F: Keep in touch!!

Maybe he says that to everyone. But then again, maybe he doesn't. I promised myself to keep in touch.

I had one other lunch with Dr. Franklin at the same location the following semester and figured to make it a bi-yearly occurrence. My plans were thwarted when Dr. Franklin was elected to President Clinton's cabinet as chief advisor on One America in the 21st Century: The President's Initiative on Race. From that point during his summer appointment through my senior year, Dr. Franklin was not in Durham much at all.

In December of 2005, my fraternity celebrated its 30th year of existence. My relationship with Dr. Franklin still intact, I was able to get him to be our guest speaker of honor for this occasion. A month prior to this event, Dr. Franklin had released his autobiography entitled, Mirror to America. It was the same autobiography he'd referenced almost a decade ago over lunch when talking to a 20 year old kid.

It’s funny that these memories flood into my mind every time I hear that timeless classic by Outkast, "Just Two Dope Boyz in a Cadillac."

Memories.