INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 11

INSIGHT October 2005

www.onefokus.com - 1 -

"To this day I believe we are on planet Earth to live, grow up and do what we can to make this

world a better place for all people to enjoy freedom. ~ Rosa Parks

[ INGREDIENTS ]

[ MIND THOUGHTS ] .........................................1 Atiba Edwards [ POETICS ] ...........................................................2 An Anthem For Georgie

Put It On The map This Time Last Year I Lost You Ghost town Fairies Of Disenchantment A Memory Of Secrets Still Unknown The Ann Arbor Renaissance This Time last Year He, Merriam Webster Season Opener Our Call

[ BLACK BOX ] ......................................................7 Mosh Pit Vagina Monologues [ UNDER THE NEEDLE ].....................................9

Ghostface in Concert Yamamanym

[ THREADS ].........................................................10 Dialogue? [ CUSINE ].............................................................12 Sweet N Crunchy [ I. A.M. ]................................................................12 Lord Blessed

[ COVER ARTWORK ] Front cover: A photo by Leah Yursek

[ MIND THOUGHTS ]

Attention please, this issue is dedicated to the memory and inspirational work of Rosa Parks. She decided to remain seated and her belief in her actions sparked the modern civil-rights movement. Be something in life, whatever it is believe in it and be.

[2] Things that you should know about are: ART-I-FAKTS III will take place this November 12th through the 19th at the Trotter House. ART-I-FAKTS is the art exhibit that we put on which features all forms of art and artists as a means to highlight the importance of diverse talents getting together in a community as well as a way to learn and connect with each other. AIDS Awareness Weeks takes place during the last week of November. In honor of the struggle against AIDS & HIV, F.O.K.U.S. is encouraging students to enter the HEAR ME PROJECT writing contest. Written pieces should be about your vulnerability to AIDS/HIV and can be either fiction or non-fiction, but the characters must be impacted by AIDS/HIV. All entries must be postmarked for November 23rd. Entries are due December 1, 2005. The grand prize is $500. For more information and for a copy of the entry form, visit the website at www.hearmeproject.org. We are also planning a collaborative event with AIDS in Black and Brown: "HEAR ME" - a night of diverse entertainment for AIDS Awareness on December 2, 2005.

As always, we encourage everyone to take some part in F.O.K.U.S. now or you can say that you knew us in the future.

-Atiba

[ CHIEF EDITOR ] Atiba Edwards

[ CONTRIBUTORS ]

Alma Davila-Toro A. Mari Amos Barshad Terra Bogart Atiba Edwards Tami Jackson



Marja Lankinen Rachael Hudak Krystle P. Jones Claire McTaggart Amanda Rudd Sarah Spoon Megan Smith Sydney Streets Lauren A. Whitehead Leah Yurasek

[ POETICS ]

.: An Anthem For Georgie :. ~Marja Lankinen

i will write you a poem so i can set you free i will rhyme the verses soothe the tempo so words will skip free like pebbles on water, like sirens standing on sea of jagged rock releasing the sea from captivity as they sing: let our maiden go. i will write you a story so i can set you free you will be my leading lady - my seaweed tangled mermaid, my bird tethered to a cage - and i will take my pen write down your name to open your cage strip chains of seaweed weighing body down its too heavy to flow now - i will tell your story so everyone can see what they have done to you hear how they cursed you uphold the family name they say, and sacrifice your own. georgiana, it doesnt have to be this way, i promise, i will save you. i will build you a door so i can set you free an exit with no toll door without a hinge so you can walk in walk out but walk because you cannot fly when you are crushed

you cannot jump when you are weighed or see clearly when fathers hands and traditions lungs cut your sight to kill your throat - can you see what I say? georgie, you are beautiful georgie, i believe in you georgie, lets save you together before its too late and you believe fairytales arent real - that jack-be-knimbles as hacked as the crack in humpty dumptys head, that toad princes are as cream as the dreams of happy-ending, that you dont have to be a geisha, you dont have to live a slave or be paid for like property so family can keep a clean name. i will keep you a promise heres what I will do i will tell your story, record your words as anthem, to sing songs at the top of my lungs so one day, youll hate what they have done to you, one day when you refuse this is how it is, and say this is how it could be and flow and flow and fly in the air that can never tame you i promise, i will save you.



.: I Lost You :. ~Megan Smith

Yo escrib este ttulo en ingles para poner separacin entre nosotros.

.: Put It On The Map :. ~ Claire McTaggart

In loud tongue pink letters the Shop sign in the window what window Doesnt matter With windows so stretched and stacked so slammed together like 52 bicycle cards Jumbled street block dressed like black jack First hit Queen of hearts it reads Foxy Nail Salon 4 of Clubs in black block letters Imperial Discount Liquors any angle he arranges them its never 21 how come? Caramel Macchiatos being modeled in LA swiped on those platinum credit cards For the kids in Guatemala whose beans count up nuff sky miles For a birds eye view of farmers Ba dab a do bee bee bat bat ba doo bada do Ellas best to set the mood for sipping black Espressos Sing girl sing so We can sip the high life 2005 in LA there are over 50 2005 in Compton there is 1 Magic Johnson done shook things up again Magic Johnson Do they think that 1s enough? Hey you, hes on 145th and Lennox can you hear him? Wants to know, can you direct him to a bank? Ah lets sit back and shame the 80s for its magic smoking rocks And that fast rapping cat who reads Revelations in ink passages cross those parts of his arms he dont cover up in his white T Sometimes 7 inches just wont let you get the job Couldnt find a b-ball team just say it, that must be why shoulda worked on that jump shot on handshakes, yessirs and smiles 80 million from Nike yes

shame the 80s he learns math from plastic bags Note to mayor of Atlanta: public schools are in need of more basketball teams Us watching TV think thats the way to go Has this already been covered on 60 Minutes? Say now what would our sponsored cities be without KFC and South beach? 50% of female blacks obese and oh these empty white girls With their Cosmo counting carbs till organs only remain But Bootylicious is now in the dictionary billboard bliss bouncing something in the air oh this cultures speedin swift all right girl, you didnt know were makin moves? Hip Hops talking on our pulsing magazines clothes race girls shoes slang sex Christ hood soul gold burbs cars oh dont we love the Black Eyed Peas Pale old woman in the streets dont clutch her purse Tiger Woods Colin Powell P Diddy did it again, Lacoste is common language, is the Polo logo taking steps for civil rights? Ah Langston Hughes and his hymns of golden rivers. He bathed in the Euphrates yes he heard Mississippi singin yes he too sings America yes Im asking, can you too? Sing these sticky cities but first Benzino needs to know What block you rep? Is it 50s Games or Lil Jons? Must not be much if Sway has yet to touch it. Oh look, New Orleans now made the map but first One thing boy I gotta know Can the MTV in me See the MTV in you?

.: Ghost Town :.

~Terra Bogart

In flak, Streams of odious speech Run through my veins My stomach still In the clutch of a poison. My head pressed against my eyes, Throbbing Drifting through unnoticed Squinting at the sun Ego bruised Muscles sore



Glassy eyed And distracted People swarming around me Old friends lacerated Joints and emotions dislocated The day evolves as usual. The nauseating cry of college football the cadence of coolers opening and closing heedlessness persists Buzzing in my ear Flagrancy Or apathy Is breathing in the streets This town is treacherous Lined with tree branches Clogged with illicit Pining and empty wishing Saturated with a feeling of odiousness

I recoil and haunt myself Smudging the ashes of the woman I once was smoke Thick in my eyes isolation and Burning distortion Wading in tainted water Driving out of my head A premonition of revolution And internal silence Resounding stronger Than the cryptic words Of this ghost town.

.: Fairies of Disenchantment :. ~Sarah Poon

Tiara of ashes held firmly in place, Cinderella tip-toed up the splinter-ridden steps, Leaving behind smiling mice and threaded comfort and paying no heed to the shattered fragments and shifting tendons in her ankle.

Broken feet and all, she emerged, welcomed by the dimly lit faces of a grand and ghostly hall. Her two Chinese sisters sat, embalmed by a petrifying silence, crossing and uncrossing their destitute legs. Limping, Cinderella circled them, one hand still clutching her ravaged crown in place. Shards of glass joined the splinters and soot imbedded in her side, reflecting a million different grains of despair but shining in oh so lovely a way. Ankles pinched, feet imploding, Cinderella lurched forward in a final, twisting, flourishing keel and just before landing

managed to peck a kiss onto the cheek of the ivory-powdered woman beside her. Snow White scratched at the spot where the other girls lips had fallen, fingernails pulling away chalk and crushed poison; lead in her disintegrating skin. Mirrors in her fingers, her shoulders, her left eye; she blinks and bleeds a brew of pure white. Another layer. Full red lips mouth (with no sound) a question? The answer pleases, her eyes close again. Another, thicker layer. Conscious drifts, a jar seals and then breaks; and just before waking, the air sucked from her lungs, Snow White managed to fall to her knees and kiss the slim wrist of the bent-forward belle, golden-winged temptress with no feathers to fly. Rapunzel folded her hands into the cusp of her grievous wraith, metal bars hemming her beautiful eyelids and black, round clouds tracing the lines of her scalp. She tied her hair about her in knots, and upon seeing the approaching white horse, tied them tighter still. Walking, running, then gliding into momentum, Rapunzel contorted her bullion-tethered arms like a side-winding serpent



and flung herself from one prison and into the next. The metal bars wound themselves tighter still. The gleaming bricks of the surrounding wall flashed like noxious gold and just before the vicious wings could fall, she graced with restrained lips the craning necks of a dozen daughters, the smoothed-over jaws of a hundred sisters, the eyelids and ankles and foreheads and fingertips of a million different lovers and wives, women and little girls alike. Finally the last little girl awoke, hair askew and lashes batting away at traces of soot. She lifted her eyes, and saw nothing but a broken reflection and a darkly covered window. .: A Memory Of Secrets Still Unkown :.

~Rachael Hudak

I. Watching a Buddhist Nun Eat Sunflower Seeds Sitting on a large flat rock, I am washing my clothes in the cold, low river with a bar of Ivory soap. My fingers are numb, red, fumbling in the water to remove something heavy, stains wrapped around an innocence sitting solemn in this place. After I have washed away sweat, dirt, I wring my clothes over the river and cold water drips to my elbows, soap sliding across my skin. I bend to lay a pair of pants, a skirt, on the dry grass, and when I stand, I see her sitting on the hill between patches of wildflowers and hardened dung. She is sitting, her sleeves pushed back to eat sunflower seeds, a pile of shells at her feet. The folds of her robes swallow her breasts,

her knees, and the sun is shining on her smooth neck and shaven head. She sits, silent, watching the sky and eating the seeds slowly, delicate in this simple movement. Watching her brings me to a place where incense slinks around the corners like a hungry cat, where pictures of the Dalai Lama are hidden in the linings of boots, behind doors and between floorboards, a place where smiles are pressed behind mountains, secrets sewn into the wind. II. The Temple In the cellar of the temple on the hill that sits behind her, padlocked in the dark, are buddhas made of brass, teak, their stomachs ripped open, their eyes gouged and gaping. This pain, so ugly, so foreign, has written itself in the circles underneath her dark eyes, the harsh surface of her hands. I can not pray, or speak in this place. This place where my words are choking, ugly, where my thoughts are shaken by heart beats, by the rise and fall of one syllable, which holds more meaning than my own veins could ever bleed. III. A Place to Lie In my tent at night I lie awake, warm, listening to the wind carrying the soft whispers of prayers on its back.



That day I visited a high mound surrounded by bleached cloth hanging torn on wooden posts, fingers extending outwards to the sky. Walking between them, I fell into a place that I will never understand, a hill where bodies are placed upon the dirt to receive the quiet teachings of the Earth. I step inside this silence, the blessings left in pieces of clothing, old shoes, thick braids of coarse gray hair, things that have been left behind. A horses head lies next to an infants shoe, flies gathering at its eyes, moving slowly across its skin and hair. It stares at me, nostrils flared, it seems to jerk away from my steps and the questions catching at my throat. I stumbled away from the bones scattered on the hill, the dirty clothes, the beaten hats, the animal carcasses rotting in the sand. I pass the nun on the road and something deep in the lines of her forehead, mirrored in her eyes, tells me I will never understand the things hidden behind the prayers, the wooden beads quickly spinning between her fingers. In the morning, I wake to the sun rising and I walk to the river to wash my face. Again, she is sitting on the hill, alone, eating sunflower seeds, turned away from the sun with her back to me. Gong dah, I whisper. Im sorry.

.: The Ann Arbor Renaissance :. ~Marja Lankein

Ive seen the best minds of our university soliloquize like the greatest Shakespearean sonnet ever written

theyve taken the Beats and made them dance Detroit, they come from Chicago, they sing, New York, Atlanta, they come in every treble to the mic they are the poets of our generation. now, i used to read the Beats, used to run along with e.e. but there was more in me waiting for poetry to hit me. (pause) and then i heard them, i heard them cry of destruction of war and Sunday morning cartoons watched them scream for their cities their families and weep for June bugs. i heard them gasp for breath. and as every poet caught it, i held mine knowing the next arm raised would bring a title of emotion over me that could never find words to define it. in the fist that pounded to the beat of their own poetical rhythm, poetry boomed (pause) for Poetry they roused the world. and i woke up. repeating their words as anthem

for i have seen our era come alive THIS IS MY GENERATION these poets, my kings.

*Dedicated to the first slam poet I had ever seen: Molly Raynor. *Credit to Alan Ginsburg whose first line of Howl appears in somewhat altered form as the first line of this poem. Thank you, Alan. I hope you dont mind.

10:24 pm. Friday, September 23, 2005

.: This Time Last Year :. (A letter from Future to Present) ~ Megan Smith

Pick yourself up, querida, do you still not understand? You need to stop digging



lest your hands bleed; the tunnel has long since collapsed. Untangle yourself, my child, can your sore eyes not see it? New colored threads cannot change the tapestrys picture youve woven, and unraveling will leave you in heaps. Step back from the edge, my darling, do you feel how far youre leaning? No matter your reach, no matter how clear in the telescope, hindsight does not allow changes. Put it all to rest, my love, the papers and photos will erode at the current heart who aches to bloom, and I know youve known, and suffered long to feel, so take your beloved hands and your future in them and reach ahead with complete abandon.

.: He, Merriam and Webster :. ~Amanda Ruud

Feminist Function: noun or adjective a person who subscribes to the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes Cunt Function: noun usually obscene : the female pudenda; also : coitus with a woman usually disparaging and obscene: WOMAN Feminist Cunt: the name prescribed to me by the man to whom my heart wrote everyday for two years; by the man I kissed, mid-sentence, on a sidewalk in September as an ambulance passed; by the man whose thick fingers tapped on my door at 5am to see my face before he went home; By the only man I ever loved. He, Merriam and Webster have defined me. I am neat lines of theory,

I am coitus, obscenity, disparaging womanhood. I have my own dictionary. Man does not come before woman, Feminism is not a theory, cunt is never profane and he is not listed.

.: Season Opener :. ~T. Tami Jackson

New Year

Healthy Crew Some old heads

Some new

Shoes are Laced up Ankles are Taped up

Its time to get up Points doubling up

Faith in the Skills Faith in the Team Faith in the Family Faith in the Dream

Injuries are behind us the Past is their Pass

dates in court come in 20 minute halfs

But lets move to it

The schedules tougher Full Court is Pressed

they'll play a bit rougher.

Maize and Blue Uni's the same colors we bleed inside.

Crisler Arena stands from the Rage you cant hide

So the shot clock to season has just reached 7 seconds

the call to the new beginning has just been beckoned...



.: Our Call :. ~A. Mari

This is a call to the living. To those who refuse to make peace with evil, with the suffering and the waste of the world. This is a call to the human, not the perfect, to those who know their own prejudices, who have no intention of becoming prisoners of their own limitations. This is a call to those who remember the dreams of their youth, who know what it means to share food and shelter, the care of children and those who are troubled, to reach beyond the barriers of the past bringing people to communion. The is a call to the never ending spirit of the common man, his essential decency and integrity, his unending capacity to suffer and endure, to face death and destruction and to rise again and build from the ruins of life. This is the greatest call to all, the call to faith in people.

Algernon D. Black * In the current moment, there is so much to be thankful forso much for us to see and feel the beauty in, so much for us to change and move forward. It is in this time, when people all over the world are fighting, uniting, and striving for survival, thus we must come together as a community and do unto others as we would wish to be done unto us. I am a huge proponent of both external and internal [OUTREACH], so it was in these words; which I located in the October, 2005 issue of O, Oprah magazine, that I found the best verbal representation of what our personal journeys should, and could be about today. I hope that each and every one of you takes the time to give without restraint or expectation, and to allow yourself a moment of self reflection, self appreciation, and self awareness of your unmatchable role in our moment in history.

God Bless, A.Mari

[ BLACK BOX THEATER ]

.: Mosh Pit :. ~Atiba Edwards

120 E. Huron St., undeniably that is in one section of town we just dont frequent as

students. If I didnt know any better, I would think it was the bad section of town. Take a visit to that address and you will see The Performance Network, a professional theater that is a little ways from Broadway. Continue into the doors, up the stairs make a couple of turns and you will see a room in black. If you get lost, just ask for Callie, she runs the joint under the title Mosh Pit Artistic Director (sounds powerful doesnt). She is one cool person and is always looking for new and exciting ideas. Any how, have you found the room yet? Yes. Okay then... Welcome to the home of Mosh Pit Theater. Mosh Pit Theater is a no-holds barred black box theater (meaning no set stage layout). The mission is to create an atmosphere of limitless performance possibilities by confronting art and culture without fear. Tell me that does not sound sexy! First show in December. Visit www.performancenetwork.org

.: Women Of Color: Wake Up :. ~Lauren A. Whitehead

Lauren, do you think of yourself as BLACK first or as a WOMAN first?

On several occasions, I have been asked this question and each time I am asked, I am increasingly more offended. It strikes me that we women who identify as minority, are constantly forced to separate our identities and choose our alliance.

Do we devote our energy to being women and fight for reproductive rights and equal opportunity employment? Or do we side with our skin and, in turn, petition for equality in school systems and to end negative ramifications of commercial culture?

Which is more important? Which part of yourself do you value more?

For more years that I can count, the voices of women of color have been silenced. For more years than I can count, the struggles of women of color have been overlooked or ignored; back seated or misrepresented. For more years than I can count (or really even care to), women of



color have been abused and mistreated, pillaged and trampled upon as if we were the step stool of a nation.

I do not call myself a feminist.

There are too many stereotypes associated with that term. I do, however, call myself responsible. Violence against women (rape, spousal abuse, genital mutilation, unlawful imprisonment, et cetera) happens to women of color at a disproportionately higher rate than it does to our white counterparts. We suffer attacks on a more regular and brutal basis than white women and yet, we are rarely represented or present in the movements to end this violence.

The Vagina Monologues is a national stage production dedicated to this cause. It is produced on over 200 college campuses around the globe. V-DAY is an international movement. ALL monies earned by the performance benefit local and international organizations committed to assisting battered women and ending violence against women.

For the first time at the University of Michigan, The Vagina Monologues will feature a cast of all women of color. In the past, this production has made claims of diversity similar to those that this university has made and they have resulted in similar outcomes: a majority of white actresses and a token representative from our multicultural communities.

Women of color wake up.

This is an opportunity, your opportunity, to support the melanin endowed women who have been abused. This is your chance to speak and be heard; to speak and speak more boldly than the color of your skin.

Be silent for not a minute longer. Refuse to be spoken for and instead, speak and be heard. SCREAM and dont stop screaming until you see changes.

I implore the women of color on this campus to be a part of this production.

You dont have to be a feminist. You dont have to be actress. All you have to do is be willing to use your voice. Women: stand up for your communities. Hold this university responsible to make true its claims to diversity. I beg of you, help uphold the mission of this movement: to give women all women a voice.

- PEACE - VAGINA MONOLOGUES 2006 A Colorful Production Questions, Comments, Concerns. E-Mail [email protected]

[ UNDER THE NEEDLE ]

.: Ghostface In Concert :. ~Amos Barshad

Ghostface w/ Swollen Members

The Blind Pig 10.12.05

Flyers were posted weeks beforehand, bright block letters with diamond glitters, screaming it out-GHOSTFACE. With all the exuberance of a small childYesIts HIMThe Real TONY STARKS. And we ate it up. Forget the fact that the Wu Empire is crumbling, the once mighty clan now almost completely irrelevant. Forget the pot shots taken through the press, forget Mr. Jones untimely passing, and forget Meth & Red. Remember whats important, the reason we were paying attention in the first place. Go back to Enter The Wu, remember Ghostface taking us on his lyrical high with Can It Be All So Simple. Skip ahead to the fallow years, remember him doing it again on I Cant Go To Sleep. And then remember Supreme Clientele and Pretty Toney and realize that, like a veteran heavyweight prizefighter, Ghost has proven his mettle over the years one slug at a time, until all one-time contenders have fallen in a heap at his feet. He can hold the championship belt high and proud, as hes proven himself to be not only the most consistently great Shaolin MC, but arguably the best MC on the scene, no mitigation necessary.



Charming with the right touch of class, always just straddling the line between obscurity and nonsense, the man oozes passion on the tracks, rhyming like his word is gospel no matter what hes saying. The only dude out there who could spit a line like see Ghost lampin in the throne with King Tut, hat straight off with equal parts bravado and jest. Too bizarre to ever be accepted nationally the way you know he thinks he should be, the Wally Champ always fights for his throne. I spend almost $300,000 on every album to clear all these samples, Ghost tells us from the Blind Pig stage, left hand flailing for emphasis, youknowwhatimsayins peppering his dialogue. Thats because I do it right for you. I see a lot of these cats come out and they dont even know the history of this shit. Each one of my albums is like one of my babies. Without breaking a sweat, Ghostface had this crowd at fever pitch. After an energetic set by Vancouvers Swollen Members, the crowd was privy to a hefty wait before the main act; standard rap show etiquette. Trife da God and Theodore Unit ripped into Cocaine Trafficking before Cappadonna made his appearance. Donna deserves more text than will be granted to him here, having gone through hell and back in the last few years. Quick recapafter joining the Wu in the mid nineties, he went on to appear on Forever and Ironman before a financial conflict with RZA led him to be dumped from the crew. He ended up broke, driving a gypsy cab in Baltimore, before making his recent resurgence. On stage, he was working it for all it was worth, running around with copies of his new CD declaring, I got that crack right here! Seven bucks, Ill autograph it. Got that crack right here!

Half an hour later, when Ghost finally strode on stage to chants of Tony Starks! Tony Starks! the crowd was ready to flip. Without wasting

any time, Ghost tore into a set of all prime rib, moving with ease from track to track, rarely finishing a whole song. Childs Play was delivered with some classic smooth delivery and Biscuits had the people jumping. When the DJ dropped the beat on Run Ghost cut it off with a smile, saying, Nah, yall aint ready for that yet. Then the beat dropped back in and Ghost commenced to tear his meat hooks into the track, unfortunately stopping before Jadakisss verse. Saturday Night, Nutmeg, and Cherchez LaGhost all sounded as good and hard as on record. Be Easy, the new Pete Rock produced single, fit seamlessly into the set list.

Throughout the night, Ghost had the perma-grin going, clearly enjoying the festivities. One might expect this type of dude to have a bigger ego, to look down on playing a shoddy nightclub in our tiny little town. But it was clear that Ghostface had real passion for his tracks, especially the Supreme Clientele material. As the show wound down, Ghost took time to declare, Any time yall want me back, tell the promoter. Ill come running back here for you!

Tearing up the stage like it was paper, Ghostface took us on a trip through the highlights of his career, grasping our attention with a death grip before shaking us loose as abruptly as he had grabbed us. Walking out of the club to the chants of we made it, we made it, one had the distinct feeling that something truly unique had occurred.

.: Yamamanym or Should I Say :. ~Krystle P. Jones

Ya mama & nym is a Washington DC based Neo-Soul band whose sultry tunes of jazz, soul and divinity blends into one unique flava. Yamamanym includes vivacious rhythms by Marcus Jackson (drums), Dennis Turner (bass) and Samuel Prather (keys), while Alison Carney, Jason Hill, Liz Miller & KJ Dennis blesses the ensemble with their dynamic vocals. In Spring of 2002, Yamamanym acclaimed the reputation of being one of the best live acts on the Washington/Baltimore music scene. Yamamanym induces feelings of nostalgia with their seasoned performances and youthful appearance. Their vibe leaves audiences captivated and yearning for more.



With two albums under their belt, (2 AM & Due Time), Yamamanym are enjoying international success while touring the United Kingdom and Japan. Critics have noted that Yamamanym is what popular R&B is missing. Even though receiving rave reviews and garnering international exposure, Yamamanym has not let success go to their heads. On September 9, 2005, the band performed in the DC Soul R&B Katrina Benefit Concert at Cada Vex in Washington, DC. The group raised $1500 to the Katrina Hurricane Fund with each patron donating ten dollars for admission. To check out more of Yamamanym, log onto www.outtacontrolent.com.

[ THREADS ]

.: Dialogue? :. ~Sydney Streets

Dialogue? is not your standard clothing line. Ely Key and Patrick Hederman are not your typical fashion designers; they are a far cry from the likes of Dolce and Gabbana or even a straighter Micheal Kors. Instead the two are college students raised in downtown New York City. Ely is a junior at the University of Michigan and Patrick a senior at Williams College. I met up with Patrick in the small village of Williamstown, Massachusetts on a wet and frigid day, typical of the Berkshires. I was not in the best mood coming into the interview, considering the weather and all; however, due to Patricks excitement and perhaps my cup of tea, I began to warm up to this experimental clothing project. The designer wore a vintage New York Knicks grey zip up, dark jeans, and the kind of sneakers that you would see Snoop Dogg wearing. He was the epitome of urban effortlessly chic homme. (I

was wearing a shirt with a squirrel on it, so we made for strange pair.) Dialogue? began as an art project in 2001. That year, installation artist McKendree Key began a discourse with her neighborhood. She placed several white boards, with provocative and obscure questions, in her windows, hoping that someone would find a way to reply. Two weeks later she began to see responses in the windows of her neighbors and on white boards posted throughout her neighborhood. The questions posed sparked a conversation. A community that was previously non-existent was created, and a dialogue across boundaries and borders was formed.

After McKendree began to get these responses, she, along with fellow Dialogue? founder, Ely, produced flippantly erudite and meretricious t-shirts. The clothes had the word dialogue? on them, letting those who saw them know that the two were responsible for the project and that they were open to discussion. By the end of the year the group had sold over eighty t-shirts. The enterprise began to fade during to the transition from high school to college in 2002; but this past summer, enthusiasm for a discussion was revived. Patrick was brought onto the team, and the project was launched at a larger scale. The idea had evolved to another level. Cell phones, email and fax machines inundate our everyday life: these weapons of modernity have almost made face-to-face conversation a thing of the past. The companys team thought that dialogue? could bring back more meaningful, and unique communication filled with expression

What began as merely t-shirts is currently being expanded into a second and more expansive line with a uniquely citified edge, an amalgamation of urban and vintage. Without a specific target audience, the company seeks to create clothing for everyone, yet simultaneously reject vacuous conformity. By designing the unique dialogue? icon and displaying it on clothing in unconventional locations, the



clothes can inspire communication and conversation. The average person on the street asking, Hey, what does your shirt say? takes advantage of the suave transition into flirtation. Suits and tree-huggers, who would not otherwise commune, suddenly find themselves embroiled in entrancing discussions, all because of Dialogue?. According to co-founder Patrick, the whole idea behind the project is to create communication across borders. So often I feel lost among all of our modern technology and just want to re-establish the face-to-face between humans from all different backgrounds. But t-shirts are only the beginning of communication for Dialogue? founders.

What began as T-shirts evolved into a whole casual shirt line for men and women, including tanks and hoodies. What we would do is just see clothing on all sorts of people, even peoples grandmothers -- stuff that you dont normally see -- and make it so that we can wear it. We dont target a specific audience because we feel that only leads to conformity and limitations. We dont want to restrict our freedom in designing clothes. Rather than classifying our line as belonging to one particular genre, we just look around, see whats hot, and make it. It may be a fitted hat, or it may happen to be a pair of mittens. By the end of the interview, something really made me want to wear what Patrick was wearing, Grandpa sweaters and all. I dont know if it was his commodious nonchalance embodied in the clothing line or his shaggy Beatles hair and bright blue eyes. This shirt line, in addition to being sweatshop free, is the perfect way to let that hottie across the bar know you are interested in chatting. To stay tuned to what to the new Dialogue line check out www.dialogueprojects.com.

[ I. A.M. ]

.: Lord Blessed :.

It all started from a conversation with a partner of mine (who never discusses hip-hop with me). We mostly talk about life situations and philosophy. He called me out of the blue to let me know dont worry, your going to impact the hip-hop game. Its destiny, but dont relinquish any of your other abilities because you will need them. It was like God was talking to me through him. I was outside on my cell. I turned it off, and as soon as I turned around, the number seven stuck to a door in the building entrance was directly in front of my face. Now, Ive been going in and out of this door for a couple of years and never noticed this God number, but it was like God was confirming that it was him. I sat back down at my desk and noticed the date 11/11/03 which sums up to 7. Now, Im not God Body or Masonic or any other member of a mystic crew, but Im a scholar that constantly educates myself on a variety of mysteries, truths and beliefs. So, I decided to write this situation down as a journal entry in my book of lyrics because it was so special Fast forward to today. I am balancing working on my PhD and my music artistry. I havent been able to keep on stage due to an injury, but I am working with a new company, Envisage Marketing, to keep my name and music in your eyes and ears.

Peace ~Ran

L.A.F. Entertainment

INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 11

Documents

Transcript of INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 11