INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 8

Fighting Obstacles Knowing Ultimate Success March/April 2005

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"Nothing will work unless you do." ~Maya Angelou

[ INGREDIENTS ]

[ MIND THOUGHTS ] .......................................1 Atiba Edwards [ POETICS ] .........................................................2 The Barrel

Untitiled A Black Sheathed Epiphany

[ VERBATIM ]......................................................5

TURNTABLISM & EDU-TAINMENT Roumain Around

[ UNDER THE NEEDLE ]...................................9

50 Cent- Massacre Sharief In Burgundy- Bubby’s Luv

[ BRAIN FOOD ].................................................11

Rhythm Science

[ BACK IN DA DAYZ ]......................................11 Diggin’ Up The Crate [ MY WORDS ]...................................................12 Jeremy [ THE SPOT ]......................................................20 Soul Wax Lounge

Prime Wax Lounge [ MY LINES ].......................................................22 Friend In Need 1-3

[ COVER ARTWORK ] Front cover: “Nigeria” by Max Fabick Rear cover: “A Shared Vision” by Maggie Kantola

[ MIND THOUGHTS ]

Sharing Is Caring- the simplest rhyme/principle that you knew of for years. It was also a simple means to incorporate into your daily lives. From the days of blocks and toys in the sandbox we were taught to share the things we have the means and ability to share. So why is it that as we grow older, we shy away from the aforementioned principle, especially when it comes to the arts? If you don’t share it with someone how will you ever grow? Look at the double covers on this month’s issue, two art students wanted to share their work with F.O.K.U.S. and everyone around the world. I must admit- they are both sick! They have joined the ranks of fellow fokused artists Phil Simpson and Chamira Jones. So as you go through your days, meet someone new and share your art with them; anything from a poem to a two course meal you cooked yourself, trust me they will appreciate you honoring them with your art. Look out for Vanguards on April 16th. It is going to be crazy. Come through from 1 to 6pm for the first block party on the Diag with performances for everyone, food, games and much more. F.O.K.U.S. – we the only movement moving!

-Atiba

[ FOUNDERS ] Alma Davila-Toro • Atiba Edwards

[ STAFF ]

Khepra Akanke • Tiffani Commander • Allison Lasky • Brett Thames • Jillian Webb

[ CONTRIBUTORS ]

Senesi Blake • Trevor Epps • Max Fabinick • Maggie Kantola • Erick Michael • Hyatt Michaels • Hana Murray • Chris Reed • R. Rothmann • Mindy Steffen


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[ POETICS ]

.: The Barrel :. ~Atiba Edwards

I can’t speak for everyone, but doing good in my hood was a problematic situation If you were in a suit, best believe people were in your face If you weren’t going to court to defend a case People were glad when you did bad, Stopped writing the success story of your life, shelf the book with all the other dreams deferred and join them in the fight…. against one another yea that’s it, as we try to change things- show people the importance of unity in the formation of a community Instead of liftingly living with each other, we exist amongst one another like crabs in a barrel pulling back down every man, woman and child trying to walk their own mile We all know someone who is quick to criticize those that slipped through the hold and are advancing their lives; someone who is quick to say “look at him smiling in Hollywood but for the community he never did shit!” That same someone who is blank faced when you look them in the eyes And ask “what have you done for the community and our lives?” That goes to show how quickly we point the finger of blame While hesitantly holding open a helping hand as if it’s heavy weighing- now that’s a low down dirty shame We need to realize we are pieces of the world And start to bring them together by supporting one another Show everyone the need to FOKUS. Show everyone the need to support each other’s endeavors Instead of treating each other like devils. You can’t uplift a community that doesn’t exist.

.: Untitled :.

~Chris Reed

I used to start all of my papers off with the same sentence And now it doesn’t even work anymore I broke my starting sentence I am not one to be impressed by a lot of unnecessary information That’s my new starting sentence Now when I write that sentence starts off every paper No matter for what class the paper is for It stays there as a reminder It reminds me not to write too much To stay focused and to not get to heady And when I am finished with the paper I scroll up to the beginning And delete Delete Delete I delete every word of the sentence The sentence that has given me so much That sentence that gave me a thesis A topic A body And at least four pages of really good stuff Stuff that I could pass off as writing As persuasion As prose for a teacher who will barely read it And sometimes puts this check plus mark in the place of an A Just to say, “Ha Ha you dummy, I got you now… Who’s smart? That fact that this school is charging you $12000, So you can kiss up to me for an entire year!!! And me, the success story of two community colleges.” So I think I’ll change my sentence again I think it’ll be more along the line of Buckle up suckers your in for a major ride.

.: A Black Sheathed Epiphany :. ~Erick Michael

It's strange looking at these pictures that bear your likeness but don't capture your movements... your sway with the tippy-toe rhythm. your smile with the blinking flash; here one second, gone the next, only to return in the third.


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your eyes with the darting, wide-eyed glare; one eye searching for confirmation, the other slowly surveying one's being for that which it already knows, recognizes or understands... eyes that breathe in moments openly and softly and exhale them with piercing focus from earthy and opaque orbs of black fire. your fingers that trickle across the room, across the body, across time with typewritten perfection in tear-like streams that tickle the soiled soul in mid-morning dew drops; drops that paint inner angels in black and gold spots of leopard-like skin, leaving one's insides to dance inanimately underneath the tap-tap-tapping of fingernails balanced in light and shadow streaks. your lips that pout, pucker and pulsate with tri-passion flickers that mirror the fragmented waves of your dancing candles. your neck that sighs and waits in full, voluptuous turns, asking through silence for supple kisses about its circles, certain release from surplus sadness as well as a sincere sense of specialness. your thighs that talk in vigorous and vulgar waves of loving promise, pleasurable naturalness and dedicated candor. your inner flower that quivers and squeezes wet rainbows from its sweet-delicious and deep rooted stem with heartbeat perfection and palpitating precision as a throbbing star-gazer to a fascinated rose.

your comfortably cradled cushions composed about your chest in in soundless static, or motionlessness, anticipate below expectation and yet above articulation. a black sheathed epiphany. Delicious pleasure. Exotic naturalness. Easing Concern. Protective vocalization. Enjoyable grace. Respectful comfort. Remember the red-winged black-bird of forgotten return and passage.

Remember Me like the mother, martyr, matriarch that maintains your mantle with Mambo-like manners. Remember the fragmented realities that flashed from crashing reflections. a black sheathed epiphany.

[ VERBATIM ]

.: TURNTABLISM & EDU-TAINMENT :.

I got the chance to chill with DJ Spooky a.k.a. Paul Miller while he was in Ann Arbor. The following is the interview we did while he was traveling in Australia with “Rebirth of A Nation.” So read on and get edutained.

Atiba

F.O.K.U.S.: What is your art? DJ Spooky: My whole situation is about combining styles and mediums. Turntablism, writing, visual art – it all flows together when it's on the computer screen. It really doesn't matter if its music, architecture, literature - you name it, it’s basically an all in one deal. My book "Rhythm Science" flips this kind of stuff into a manifesto for thinking about DJ culture as a kind of meta-literacy where you can think of sampling as an exploration of what happens when you apply DJ technique to cinema, writing and of course, contemporary art. The art is about the process of creativity - being open to all of the information around me. I guess that's what my art is about.


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F: What role and importance do the arts have on educating people, especially the youth? S: America at this point is mad f*cked up. Education wise, most people don't even know what's going on in foreign countries, let alone the political and economic conditions of the world we find ourselves in. I like to think of my style of DJ'ing as inheriting KRS-1's ideas of "edutainment" and Chuck D's idea of hip-hop as the CNN of the urban youth culture, and update the formula to a multi-media environment. The DJ is the griot of our times - I like to think of artists as diverse as Saul Williams, Sage Francis, and even people like Kanye West as part of the idea of what can happen when we look at music as a form of information. People exchange culture as a way of bypassing the normal media's "dumb-it-down" style. I'm just rollin' with the beats on that one. Forerunners like Amiri Baraka a.k.a. Leroi Jones, William S. Burroughs, and later people like Bob Marley - all from a wide variety of situations - created new ways for thinking about the reality we find ourselves in (it was Bob Marley's birthday the other day and in Ethiopia they have a huge festival around his work - that's the kind of stuff I think about). Anyways, yeah, the flow is all about inclusivity…diversity…and that's when people actually sit down and start to think. F: What role do you feel media today plays in addressing racial issues? Do you think media is putting their best effort in it? S: Sigh - we have a long way to go on this one. People are simply beat down into really dumb normal ways of thinking about race and the reality is that things are far more complicated than most of us want to admit. So we just roll with the easy way of thinking about it all - which is exactly what the ruling class wants us to think. Bush has the most diverse Administration in U.S. history and what has it changed - zero. Condi, Clarence Thomas, Powell, etc .etc. things need to get a lot deeper and that means realizing that the real deal is pan-humanism - skin color is not as deep as we all would like to think. The way things will change is when we realize that. On the other hand, it's also about accepting that skin privilege is still with us in a lot of ways, and people need to confront that. F: Compare and contrast Paul Miller and DJ Spooky a.k.a That Subliminal Kid. S: Basically Paul is chilled out, and DJ Spooky is all about heavy bass. That's the long and short of it. Plus, Paul prefers jerk chicken extra spicy,

and DJ Spooky is kinda into California Rolls with extra wasabi, ya dig?

F: You have worked with many people from all across the world, what keeps you going? S: Faith in humanity and a basic sense that no matter what, people are actually always smarter than you expect; which is a good thing. I like to see people from all walks of life, just flow with the vibe, and see what music pops out from all of the different cultures. Humanity is amazing. F: What do you think is the importance of the community and social networks? S: The 21st century, like nothing else is all about the network. It’s our way of life, and it’s the way that we conceptualize almost all aspects of info culture. The role of the artist in this paradigm is essentially to show people how to live outside the grid, and that's what my book and records are about. F: There is a big push on sampling, especially with Creative Commons and their work with Chuck D, Beastie Boys, Danger Mouse and other artists. What are your views on sampling? What are your opinions when people say it shows a lack of creativity and innovation once found in music? S: So much of the way we think about culture as a shared experience is under attack right now because of the 20th century's perceptions of "ownership." The idea here is basically - who owns memory? If the answer to that question seems obvious - think again. You'd be surprised about how many logos there'd be on almost all of your thoughts, but something like that is a mind trip. We live in a hyper mediated info environment, and we'd have to literally copyright all memory just to be able to clear the publishing rights on how to think of the copyright lobby had its way. They already own a lot of DNA patents, what’s to stop them from thinking they own thought itself? Truly Orwellian, but funky and scary, and given the role of technology as a medium for communication, this is something that seems only too eerily likely to be in the back of some corporations mind. I just try to highlight these issues in my work, and that's why I like the Creative Commons folks, and the Future of Music Coalition people. I try to support those organizations when I can. F: What is your goal of remixing Birth of a Nation?


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S: Straight up: people need to rethink their ideas about race, ethnicity, and how they interplay in today’s deeply complex technological landscape. The rest is about the "remix" - applying DJ technique to cinema. F: Why do you do a different remix every show? S: Yeah, it’s kind of like digital jazz. F: Is there an end to the movie or any closure at the end of Rebirth of a Nation? S: There'll be a commercially released DVD and a book, but that's not for a while... Peace! I gotta go swimming!

.: Roumain Around :.

Fellow Wolverine, Daniel Bernard Roumain took some time chat with Atiba and F.O.K.U.S.

F.O.K.U.S.: Introduce yourself to the readers… Daniel Bernard Roumain: What’s up FOKUS! Keeping me in fokus. Everything here seems clear and I hope it’s that way for you to. This is DBR checking you out. F: What is your art? DBR: I’m the other hip-hop violinist. [Laughs] I am a composer, a creator, and happen to be a violinist to. F: You are of Haitian descent, grew up in Florida and New York and travel doing other shows. What influences has your culture and background had on your music and life in general? DBR: My parents are from Haiti. I grew up in a fairly strict and open household, bi-cultural for sure. Haiti is a complex culture made up of many European, Caribbean and African cultures. I think that was a good thing. It was contrapuntal, meaning there were many things going on at once. That’s what happens in hip-hop music, that’s what happens in my music and that’s what happened in my life growing up there are many things always going on at once at least in my household and if you know anyone from Haiti, any Caribbean household or

African-American household for that matter there is a lot of things going on at once. F: What function do you think your music plays? DBR: For me right now, the most function isn’t a musical one it’s a social one. I’m trying to bring people together. I am trying to find ways to not only express my self, but to have people express themselves. For example, I’m about to do a concert at Arizona State University with Phillip Glass, a full orchestra and 24 people drawn from the community. Each of those people will be given a question and their answers are what the audience will hear. That piece is called “Human Songs and Stories for Orchestra Narration and the people.” That’s a good example of a piece of music that is orchestral – it will have 2 drum-kit players in it, its all hip-hop beats. And these people can hear whatever they want at a certain point in time and it’s their voice. It comes off almost like a hip-hop orchestra sampling piece with all these different voices. In the past I had policemen, a rabbi, a priest, a doctor, an athlete, an eleven year old girl all participate in this piece. It is important, you get a sense of who you are and where you are. If the piece is done in San Antonio, Tempe Arizona, or imagine if it was ever done in Ann Arbor, Michigan. You get a sense of those people because those people are drawn from the community. You get a sense of what a city sounds like for real. F: Why do you feel music and the arts in general are one of the most successful means to bring people together? DBR: I think music can express things that words can’t. Its not that music is universal because its not, believe there is plenty of music that we don’t listen to here in America and vice-versa. I think it’s the idea that the guy that hates Black people has a music that he loves and the person who loves Black people might have a music that he hates. There is something universal in that. It’s kind of strange but I think we all have a music that we love and a music that we hate. Even if we don’t love or hate each other, we have this understanding that at least at the end of the day there is one thing that we can agree on- everyone has their soundtrack. F: “One Black Nation” can you expand upon that track, there is a constant reference to ‘they’ and the messages that are presented in that track.


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DBR: Once upon a time, I was an angry Black man. I was very militant. I’ve written songs called segregation song. – Here is the hook for segregation song:

Some times I feel like they might tie me up, chain me up, drag me down the dirt road hanging out from the back of a pickup truck and as the pieces of me are ripped from my Black body, in these day s I do believe in my own segregation.

In “One Black Nation” it says An evolution- one black nation This is a revaluation-one black nation That song had to do with, at the time; I was thinking about, man I know a lot of white people that are wearing the same clothes I’m wearing. They’re blacker than I am. They listen to the same music, they’re walking the walk, talking the talk, but I don’t know if they really understand what it is to be black like me- that’s another song. I have a whole series of songs looking at how Black is Black and how hip-hop can you be. As the years go by, you start to realize, especially in our days, hip-hop really does erase boundaries. Go to any hip-hop show, there might be more white people there than black people, easy. That’s the simplification of it, its not just white – it’s Asian, Latino, Native-American, and Euro-American. It’s still interesting to see how a black music, fundamentally a black music, has had such an impact on so many none Black people. “One Black Nation” had to deal with just that. The song isn’t about Black people; it’s about everyone else becoming a part of one black nation. F: You have had many opportunities in terms of teaching opportunities. How important is it for you to have that mentorship opportunity and also people to be mentored in general? DBR: I hesitate to use the word mentor, student or teacher because I am so blessed with meeting people who are younger than I am because I always learn something from them. When I was at the Harlem School of the Arts, every single child taught me something. I would always begin each class by saying ‘Look I am not here to teach you anything. I've got a PhD, but that really means nothing. What I am going to do is become social with you. I tell you a few things you teach me a few things. At the

end of it hopefully we will both learn something.’ I don’t know if I can really teach anybody anything other than this idea of a conversational equality. That is what I was going to try to do in my music. I have no problem bringing 24 people on stage, even if they aren’t allowed to come on stage. It is very important that we get to a point that we can acknowledge everyone’s contributions- good or bad. That’s my job as a composer, just frame it. Are you humble enough to learn something through someone who is 11 year olds? Is it obvious that you can learn something through someone who is 111 years old? F: That brings me to “The X String Quartet.” Your notes say that this piece was influenced by Malcolm X, MLK, Beethoven, Back, rock and hip-hop. How important is it to recognize those that are around you rather than fall into a solitary confinement of the mind. How important is it for people as a whole to learn from the community that surrounds them and doesn’t surround them at the same time? DBR: It’s like the ghost of the pasts, the historical father and mother figures. If you really watch “Making the Band 2” it was really interesting to see how much history P. Diddy knew and insisted on those young people know. That really stuck out for me and I am not surprised. I think that any successful person has an incredible sense of history, place and purpose. It’s hard to know where you days is going and talk about where your going without knowing where you have been. For me, what I am trying to do as a composer is document African American culture in many ways and of course know we are trying to document human culture. The X string quartette was my first quartette, the next string quartet King for Martin Luther King, Jr., and Powell for Adam Clayton Powell Jr. I don’t know if the world may needs another string quartette but we sure as hell need string quartet number four, Angelou, for Mya Angelou- that’s why I composed it. That’s why I'm doing this. The world may not need another symphony but hey man at least I am doing hip-hop essays for orchestra. So in my little spec of the world hip=hop is represented. F: Angelou is defiantly needed. Looking at the culture around us- society for the most part


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recognize people posthumously. You know after they passed. People such as yourself, my self, and your peers my peers. We don’t get that spotlight shined upon us until we are over that hill or it’s too late. You have string quartet 5 planned yet? DBR: No, 1-3 was about the men of the civil rights movement and 4-6 will be about the women. What’s so staggeringly interesting to me is that those 3 men are gone and Mya, not only did she know all three men but she influenced them and she is still here. She actually is an amazing part of our living history. She was marginally involved with the peace but that doesn’t matter, the time alone is important. Name another string quartette written for Mya Angelou. And 5 and 6, I haven’t decided yet there are too many people that come to mind. I think we live in a misogynistic society and it is important to me to say wait a minute, women, especially Black women have been here for a long time, well before Oprah-as much as I love her. Mya is the original ‘O’ the first ‘O’ F: With another song “Life” there is a line “Now they say that you can’t be no poet” DBR: Lord have mercy! You done your homework, son. What are you doing this for, I’m no rock star. Lord, the Times cat couldn’t quote a line from one of my songs. I'm impressed, I gotta tell April. F: Thank You. In that line, even though it says you can’t be no poet, it can be transposed on – you can’t be a musician you can’t be this, you can’t be that. Do you feel society prevents the arts from blossoming as fully as they should be? DBR: This is one of those great rare moments when I get a question that I never thought about and never been asked. There are 2 lines in there that are linked “they say you can’t be no poet, too many words wear them down, mama said.” I said that to a black man, but probably to a lot of minority people. They don’t expect you to play golf well or to be the best tennis players in the world, or to be an astronaut, or to own your own airline company, and the list goes on and on. That is exactly what I am talking about in that line. They don’t expect you and they say that you can’t be no poet. I think that for a very long time, even now, we are defined. You come predefined. You are born with the prescription

of who you should be. Statistically speaking you and I- we should have been in prison at least once, not just jail but prison; we should have a record; we should have some children; we should certainly not be married; we should certainly be unemployed; we should certainly be less than educated. These are the statistics that’s who we are supposed to be. It’s not just a statistic; a statistic has an ugly way of becoming an image, becoming an assumption. That’s why numbers can be so dangerous. That for me was like what is the opposite of a number- well poetry. Anything that is creative, the person that owns that company, or can go to the moon or can play golf or tennis-these are very poetic things, these are very artistic things. It’s amazing to me that it’s not just Tiger Woods but it’s everything that he is; it’s not just the Williams sisters but everything that they are. I heard someone once describe them as the Africanization of tennis. That will really make you see things in perspective. You can get angry about it or you can say- maybe there are too many words bringing us down. Maybe it should just be Tiger Woods and we will get there. One day it will be enough. Read anything about me- let’s talk about the Times, the headline said “look at that hair, Dreadlocks..” and what they are really saying is its not possible that he is successful in classical music and to do hip-hop music and have long hair, piercings and tattoos. The two just don’t go together. They are so diametrically opposed that it becomes a headline in a internationally published paper. “This man has really long hair”- I think that how the quote goes- I understand that image is everything an image helps you break out but my god what are we talking about, we’re talking about twisted hair I don’t have dreadlocks, we are talking about twisted hair by the way. Its that constant reference, that’s what I am talking about too many words. You see one day it really will just be DBR composer, not black, not dreadlocked not tattoos. Less words more ideas. There we go that’s very hip-hop- less words more hip-hop. F: Go back to Arthur Ashe, and Jackie Robinson- it’s always the first black dahdadhdah. Look at Mozart, Picasso and the like. No one always referrers to them as the blind yaydada or the deaf so on and so forth. You think its something society is coming to terms with but also having a hard time dealing with it? DBR: I think you are right. I am not a negative person and I am trying to be more enlightened


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than that. I think society is coming to terms with it and I think great things are happening. I think great things are happening for all of us everywhere and at the same time massive tragedy is happening. I am very much afraid for where we are going as a country, not just racially and in terms of our diversity but think of the consequences of white males being in charge right now. We are living in a socialist state, I don’t know if people realize that, the executive branch, the legislative branch, the congressional branch. It’s a one house one race party right now. When has there been less diversity in our government but more diversity in our populous. This is a perfect storm of “wholly shit! Where is our economy going?” – It’s already having horrible consequences for the minority constituency in this country. With that aside, I have great hope that great things are happening with us and for us. I hope that we can spread the wealth a little more; we have a lot of rich black people in this world. Where is the Oprah Winfrey food bank in Harlem, or the Tiger Woods medical facility in Johannesburg? That aside, that aside, I hope we can start taking care of ourselves a little more because our government will not. Let there be no doubt- our government has basically said “nigga, you are on your own” F: It’s like being a vegetarian and going to eat at a steakhouse and them bringing you a plate of salad for your meal. They just don’t know what it means to be a vegetarian. The government, a white government doesn’t know what it means to be a Black man. F: To transgress, 2001 Carnegie Hall- Harlem Essay. How did that feel? DBR: It was 2000 actually. It was a new feeling. The world was feeling a revitalization of everything. It was incredible to be there with my family and extended Harlemites. I never seen Carnegie Hall filled with so many coloreds and hip-hop music. No offense to my good friend Wyclef, but this was way before his concert there. We had hip-hop beats and Ms. Logan’s sampled voice riding and jamming with the string and drum kits, 100 people on the stage and the conductor with headphones on to hear the clip track. It felt great because it was Carnegie Hall on my terms. It felt great, every teacher, every friend was saying to me ‘Brother this is Carnegie Hall debut, do Symphony #1. Be safe, don’t sample

voices. Ms. Logan talking about Jews and Blacks in Harlem. I felt that I had to do that and it paid off. We got great reviews from the harshest critics, people seem to dig it. The piece still gets around a lot. It has been in North Carolina, Dallas, and Detroit. It’s one of those children that do alright. F: You have worked with Dizzy Gillespie, Ray Charles, Two Live Crew and more people, such as Phillip Glass, DJ Spooky. What kind of things have you learned from those people, such a kaleidoscope of artistry? DBR: To be humble, to work hard, to be open, to see the world, literally and/or figuratively. To have a sense of place because you are one of billions and life is very short. Try to meet someone every day. Try to help have some sort of impact on someone even if it is helping them across the street or helping carry a stroller up the subway stairs. Luther Campbell, I don’t know what people think of Luther Campbell, but he was very good to me. He taught me a lot about business and a company and sticking to your convictions. I was there during all the tribes and it was crazy. I have been really lucky. Everyone I ever met, whether it be Ray Charles or this guy Ray who hangs out on my corner, they all had an impact on me. F: You in turn, are impacting many lives. DBR: I’ll leave you with this. A few weeks ago, me an my ensemble, The Mission, were asked to play at a gala for Arthur Miller as the University of Michigan would be dedicating the theater building to him. Me and a small batch of other Michigan artists put this concert together and not knowing if he would even be there. He came and spoke and we got to meet him and James Earl Jones and it was a good nite. Now he is gone, and it was amazing for me and the young people in my band to have that experience. It makes you realize that things just don’t last, it is all fading away. Everything you know and love, it all will be gone eventually. I kinda live my life that way. I live my life realizing that the volume’s going down all the time and I just want to see it and hear it all, as much as I can and as loud and fast as I can. F: What your greatest memory from the University of Michigan? DBR: When I got my official paper stating I had gotten my Ph.D. It was very unceremonial. You are in a small office with a woman. She signed


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Understanding the Numbers

0 / 20 – Waste of space, time and whatever it is on. 5 / 20 – Tolerate once but anything more may hurt. 10 / 20 – Average. Nothing special. 15 / 20 – Good but missing something. 20 / 20 – Solid. Not enough faults to knock it.

a piece of paper, very non-descript 8.5” x 11” that basically says ‘you are now a doctor, congratulations.’ I was by myself, I was living in New York and I flew back to do my defense. It was cold, about 6 or 7 o’clock at night. She gave it to me and there was no body around. I walked out of Rackham and suddenly 27 years of education are done. I walked to Wendy’s, got fries and a frosty and called my mom. I hope it doesn’t come off braggadocios statement, it just comes off as sweetly ironic that out of all of the thousands of hours of studying, traveling, hoping, crying defending. Out of all that struggle to achieve something that I felt very important, not only as a black person but as a person. That the achievement of it didn’t move anyone. What I’m saying is that it amounted to fries and a frosty. I guess there is something simple, quite and beautiful. That is how I think of Michigan. Just this enormous place that, even right now, there are very wonderful and profound things going on around that campus and you never hear about it and probably never will hear about it but it is happening. Who would have thought that this little guy, in his cheap suit with his frosty and French fries could at least achieve something worth talking about? That was Michigan for me at that moment. That achievement was the result of many great teachers, my parents and support. It was the summation of many, many great efforts. Ultimately when I achieved that, I celebrated almost spiritually with all of them, symbolically. F: It is like every great piece, ends with that final note. Sometimes it’s very tranquil but its that final note, that last drum roll that sends everything off. DBR: I think that was a good one, less words, more ideas, and take action. F: What should people expect from “Seen and Heard” coming up soon? DBR: Roumain-Glass orchestra, video, 24 people, possibly Senator John McCain as the narrator. There will be a DVD of the film available. Me and Phillip are going to do a piece again in New Jersey and who knows, maybe in a town near you. He is that guy; he has done a lot of film scores and has had an amazing career. That is going to be a lot of fun. Check out the website, there are images and photos and in the very near future there will be clips from the concert and DVD.

F: Any last words. The final drum roll? DBR: Blue is where it’s at. My blood runs blue. I really feel Michigan. Every thing about Michigan set me on my way. Every teacher, every hall way, every snow flake. You carry that with you. My blood runs blue. That’s damn hip-hop right there. Listen out for it- “My Blood Runs Blue.” I need to make that a song. You got me going man. Now I am going to write some songs. Thank you. You gave some great questions. F: Thank you. Every day is a new day with this. DBR: You got a great future ahead of you if you keep doing stuff like this. I’ll put this on my website.

[ UNDER THE NEEDLE ]

50 Cent The Massacre

10 / 20

Now Playing

.:50 Cent Trades Growth for

Album Sales :.

This album is for you if you’re getting ready to shoot someone, to steal from someone, or any mixture of the two. Because there’s not a lot of variety on this album, it gets boring very easily. Even the intro has unnecessary gunshots. The whole album is like reading a rap sheet to a beat. How many different ways can you say, “If you do something, and I don’t like it, then I will shoot you”?


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50 hasn’t shown any lyrical growth since his multi-platinum offering Get Rich or Die Tryin’. This is a shame, because you would think in two years a rapper would have gotten somewhat better in his wordplay, or in his storytelling ability, or in his flow, or whatever. However, 50 just seems to focus all of his energy on lengthening a beef with Ja Rule (see Track 5, “Piggy Bank”) that no one cares about anymore. What has it been, like 3 years this has been in public? There is an upside to this album though; the production is on point – much better than his previous album. Buckwild and Needlz make sure that they deliver their requisite top-notch beats, while Scott Storch shows that he is quickly becoming the new Neptunes – everything that he produces sounds like a hit. “Just a Lil’ Bit” sounds like another club banger. Leave it to 50, though: He identifies a formula and he will use it until he loses all of his relevance as an artist like Will Smith. He realizes that murder, crime, and drugs will sell an album (or at least give it street cred), but on this album he uses them to the point that you can’t even listen to the whole album straight through because you get tired of someone saying “I’ll pump you full of lead” or “Your brains will be on the street”. It’s ok to dedicate some of your songs to the usual (see Threat – Jay-Z), but not your whole album. Highlights: Gatman feat. Eminem – When will G-Unit rappers realize that Eminem “murders them on their own shit”? If you want to be overshadowed, just feature Em on one of your songs. But, 50 succeeds a little in riding the beat like the blonde guy from Warren does. A Baltimore Love Thing - An interesting song in which 50 pretends that he’s crack. He does a good job of describing the feeling that drug abuse can leave within a person. Lowlights: My Toy Soldier – If I could think of another word for wack right now, it still wouldn’t describe this song. It’s as G-Unit formulaic as you can get.

Get in My Car – It seems like 50 is trying to have that “P.I.M.P.” track again, but I don’t know if it works as well as the original.

~Senesi Blake

Sharief In Burgundy

Bubby’s Luve

20 / 20

.: Just Get It :.

Sharief in Burgundy recently released his debut album entitled Bubby's Luv. Sharief is a modern day singer songwriter, whose sound is a subtle combination of the past classical influences of Jimi, Curtis and Prince, with the present day ever evolving soul of Sharief in Burgundy. He has the ability to breathe life into his lyrics, delivering on soul's major themes of love & heartbreak, sadness and sexual healing. Sharief is a real musician multifaceted within the ever growing sound of soul. Pop Bubby's Luv in your CD player and be prepared for a creative mix of soul, rock and funk. The first two tracks of Bubby's Luv show off Sharief's amazing guitar abilities; however it’s the third track, "Cool,” that hooks. This mellow modern day love song draws you in like a conversation starter. But that isn’t even the beginning because each song on this CD offers a fresh and distinct approach to love and every day happenings. As the CD progresses from, "Wonder" to “Reignfall," so too does the intricate story and complexities of love and heartbreak. I give Bubby's Luv the highest rating. Dont take my word for it though; sample Bubby's Luv at www.cdbaby.com/shariefinburgundy ~Peace R. Rothmann


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[ BRAIN FOOD ]

.: The Changing Same :.

Rhythm Science

By Paul Miller

20/20

I challenge you to find a friend who you can sit down with and discuss Wu-Tang clan in detail and also take time to tie in a little Burroughs and other beats. You will be hard pressed to find someone who can successfully hold that conversation with you. In “Rhythm Science” you listen to Paul Miller and DJ Spooky elaborate on the DJ art. On a first attempt, it may seem like there is too much on the page going on and the book may seem to be hard to grasp. That is only first glance and it doesn’t mean anything. This book breaks down the various forms of DJing and how music has evolved to be more than a culture. It takes you on a ride from early musical forms to the digital age and the consequences and repercussions we swim in this digital ocean. As you read through “Rhythm Science” and search for what exactly rhythm science is, you may spend more time looking than needed. There is no true clear cut definition of the phrase, instead you get things it is similar and different and from that you can draw your own conclusion. “The twenty-first century started like a bad cut-up video: too much of everything all the time,” That statement and this book give not only DJ culture, but human culture an understanding that freedom, free minds, free art and freedom would help life in general. Today people are used to tradition and just regurgitate what media spits. Occasionally there are the DJs of life who press rewind, drop the bass, boost the treble and listen to life how they choose. The book has a die-cut whole through that you notice reveals a CD form the Sub Rosa Archives. The CD has words by writers and philosophers

accompanied by music form musicians. You notice the aesthetical beauty the book holds, with 2 pages of images following 2 pages of text. Miller, analyzes how DJ culture and its philosophy can and should play a prominent role in society. Rhythm Science (MIT Press) contains some passages in here that you cannot make up. “It’s a mime dance, a pantomime of desire and projection. It’s a dyslexic shuffle of autopsies between two undercover agents who carry their orders clutched in dead hands – the transfer of information between them is an Interrelationship between music and art and writing...”

~Atiba [ BACK IN DA DAYZ ]

.: Diggin’ Up The Crate :.

I’m diggin’ up the crates and sharing my joy of music with you. One of my hobbies nowadays is collecting classic soul and R&B albums on vinyl. I’ve learned to appreciate the emotion these sounds on wax are provoked within my soul. It’s a feeling – an experience – like no other. It can’t compare to the shit we’re used to ‘cuz people no longer appreciate album art. We buy our compact discs, look thru case inserts, and then throw the album in our CD players or laptops. Or, we hit up sites like Napster or winMX and download our sounds. And of course, many of us hit up iTunes, purchase albums online, and everything we hear is kept online or in our iPod or Jukebox or iRiver eliminating us, entirely, from the process by which music is created…for us to hear. Pure and simple, technology has taken away the vibe of vinyl & I want to bring it back! Take a field trip y’all. Go hit up a real record shop like ‘Encore’ on Liberty Street near the Michigan Theater. It’s like going to a music


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museum where everything is hands, eyes, and bodies-on. When you walk in, there are shelves upon shelves full of CDs, 8-tracks, vinyl, books, and magazines. Just looking at all of the sleeve-sides will get your mind goin’ back into time. Memories of times in your life when you sat down next to your boombox or tape player on your stoop or on the picnic table in the park with friends. Poppin’ in a clear tape and just anticipating the first beat of your favorite songs on the radio. Pressing Play & Record over and over to create your own Mixtape just to be able to go outside and have all of your friends moving to the hottest jams on the street. Or, maybe, just think about the process of listening to vinyl on a turntable. The role the listener plays in his or her own listening lounge. Slowly taking the wax out of its jacket – which, by the way, used be the ‘hearts on the sleeves’ of vinyl; carefully designed art and layouts set the tone for what was to come once the needle hit the first ring of recorded music – checking to make sure only the palms of your hands hit just so on the rims of the vinyl before placing it down carefully on the body of the record player and waiting for the needle to pick up speed and begin rolling over the vinyl.

Recently, I copped Stevie Wonder’s “InnerVisions;” a piece of history. When I picked it up, I blew the dust off its body. I held it and appreciated the artwork on the cover - the earthy tones & shapes brought warmth to my heart as I became nostalgic about summers growin’ up in East Harlem. I opened the jacket to see the songs and lyrics listed on the left and to the right, the continued art from the cover. I was careful when I pulled out the wax as I placed it on my turntable and pressed power. I slowly pulled the needle out and dropped it down on the edge of the record. As the lines on the record hit the needle, I was sent into my self and I just went round and round with

the movement of the vinyl itself. That sound, that vibe. That feeling…it’s so irresistibly beautiful and I’m feelin’ a special kind of high one can only get from genuine vinyl. A special kind of memory sets in as the beats and rotations go ‘round… as we slow down and reflect on a time when growing up seemed too far away and life was slow enough to lay back, just watchin’ the world go ‘round with us.

~Soul

[ MY WORDS]

.: Jeremy :. ~Hyatt Michaels

Loneliness is not always the desolate place

hidden behind laughter, happiness, and existence. Sometimes loneliness sits idly in

the middle of its subject’s crowded world. Too afraid to speak, this loneliness slowly begins to wear into its subject’s everyday life until it

can not speak anymore. This loneliness affects the conversations its subjects have with their closest relatives. This loneliness

affects how its subjects talks with their best friends. This loneliness is not what Jeremy experienced. Jeremy had no friends, and

barely had relatives. Jeremy’s loneliness was on his face. Jeremy’s loneliness was in his

walk. Jeremy’s loneliness lived in his posture. It stretched into all his nerves and muscles. He was once a handsome fetus, but he was introduced into the world with a loneliness that scarred his smile. He could never do

right, but he always had loneliness. One night his loneliness had enough; A cold draft came over the house that night, and it would never

leave One Death

1 There was an old woman who lived across the street from the Stanley’s. Her house was the only house still “kept up”; because there was a six-foot steel fence surrounding the entire house. The old woman never came out side, but she watched. Boy did she watch. She watched as a young black family moved into her neighborhood. She first noticed the slender black woman, who could easily be mistaken to be Hispanic or biracial, but she could recognize a real nigger from a mile away--and she was watching another group of niggers move


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into her beautiful neighborhood. She moved into the neighborhood in the sixties with her family as a young girl. She attended the local high school. At eighteen her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and died shortly after. Her dad suffered a debilitating stroke a few months later, forcing her to take care of him. Deep in her heart she hoped that he would die to end his suffering—and her own— but he did not. He lived to be a very old man, a very old man unable to cook his own food, an old man unable to clean himself. Very religious, she did not want to leave her father in the hands of strangers. She took care of him until he died, as she turned middle age--unable to have children of her own. She was used to talking to her father, who never responded—so she began to talk to her self, and never left her home. Instead she relied on distant relatives, who all began to believe she was crazy. Her life consisted of waking early to watch early prayer on a local TV station, eating, washing herself and watching her neighbors. Over the years she watched her neighborhood transform. When she first arrived in the neighborhood, it was one-hundred percent white. Most of the area of the city she lived in was the same. She never knew what forced her original neighbors to move, but she was unhappy with it. They were all Christian and proper people. As her father became ill, she noticed Negroes in the local market. Soon she began to hear whispers that there were Negroes in the local school. Very quickly the entire neighborhood experienced what’s been commonly known as white flight. “How disgusting?” Immediately she called to have “the largest lord-willing fence possible” put around her house. “How disgusting?” She immediately began to watch for any suspicious activity. “How disgusting?” She watched as a prostitute moved next door to her, she witnessed a young boy being shot in front of her house, she saw drug dealers on the corner. She also witnessed the arrival of the Stanley’s. The young family seemed different at first. First, their skin was different. “They’re light toned niggers,” The old woman would whisper to herself. “How nice.” It was the first group of light-toned black people she’d ever seen. She liked them at first, but then

she began to look closely at the son...he disturbed her. He never came out side, and when he did, he only sat on the porch with his hands in his lap, or walking around his home looking suspicious. The boys on the neighborhood made fun of him. He was a chubby boy…they would poke at the short “husky” guy. His face would be downward, as people would walk past and throw things at him. “Why didn’t he defend himself?” The old woman noticed that the father defended the boy when he was attacked, but the mother would beat the boy in public if she saw him attacked. Poor boy she thought at first, but her sentiment faded soon. She watched the young girl of the house become as beautiful as the mother was when they first moved. The mother aged, but looked relatively the same if not a little disheveled at times. The father disappeared. The boy only grew into a larger child and looked the same--only taller and wider. He walked with his head down, his hair rarely cut neatly. He rarely looked up, and rarely wore nice clothes the way his sister did. Sometimes she would see him staring in space on the porch. Another young black woman moved with them. She was a lot younger than the other woman. The old woman did not like the new black woman. She witnessed her invite too many men into the home across the street…it was un-Christian. At this time she realized that she hadn’t seen the father in years--he must’ve moved. The other black woman began to invite men over. She no longer liked the Stanleys; they were disgusting like every other family or group of “niggers” on the block. One night the old woman awoke and heard screams. She rushed to her window, and saw sirens. The boy was on the stretcher and his mother and sister were by his side. The other woman sat in the front door looking on angrily as the ambulance drove away loudly. “Oh my lord,” The old woman thought. “The boys killed himself….or did that woman kill him?” She walked downstairs to her kitchen to make some coffee and see if anything was on television. After making the coffee, she watched an old episode of Lucy on her


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black and white kitchen television. When the program ended the old woman walked back up the steps and to her bedroom. There was a table set next to her window, and a pair of binoculars on top of the table—the place she did most of her work. She walked to the table and sat looking nonchalantly outside the window. The house across the street was lightless except for a room up stairs. There was a new car, outside the house. It was black, and very handsome--she did not know the name, and had no interest in trying to look. She only cared about looking into the room with light in it. There were blinds blocking her view, so after much time she gave up and decided to go back to bed. As the old woman lay in bed, she wondered if the boy would survive. As she began to drift, she heard more screams from the house across the street.

2 Myria What was that sound? My goodness! What time is it? Oh my lord— it’s one o’clock in the morning what is that boy doing? All week he’s been actin’ funny and shit. Lord, sometimes I think I shoulda let him stay wit his daddy. He needs a man around—I mean all he got around here is a bunch of heffers anyways. It’s me, his sista and his auntie. Yesterday I caught him touching his self in the bathroom. It was in the morning. Everybody was sleep…at least that’s what he thought. I really had to go, so I raced to the bathroom, and when I get there I see my seventeen year old son sitting down on the toilet and just a whacking a way. “I’m cleaning myself mama! Get OUT”, he screamed. Cleaning my ass! I get scared when ever I touch the damn toilet now! It ain’t no telling what his fat ass done did on it. And oh my lord, what if his sister or auntie saw him. My lord everyone in our family would know about it then….especially knowing my sister big mouthed ass. Ooooh, that heffer! I remember when I first let the heffer live here. She was going around to all our family about: “OH my lord the house has spiderwebs, oh my God Denise has a new man almost every night in the house…oh

my” ….like that bitch ain’t the biggest hoe on the block. I mean how many times have I escorted her to the abortion clinic? I just don’t get her sometimes. She just complains about every little thing, but don’t do a thing about it. IF you see a spider, kill the damn thing. If you want a job, go look for one…OH! That’s what I need to tell her…go get a job. Why the hell didn’t I think of that before…all these months I done let her stay here and get on my nervous system and shit. What was that sound? What the hell is that boy doing down there! IF I hear one more sound I’m just gonna race down there and whip his fat ass. Jesus! Most boys his age got friends and go out and shit. My son don’t do nothing. So, he gets him some good grades…but sometimes I just want him to do more. I wish he could get himself a nice little girlfriend and go to the prom and bring pictures. I wish he didn’t look scared when he talked, I wish his ass wasn’t bigger than mine. I don’t know… I wish he played football with the bad ass boys on the block sometimes. I remember when he was in elementary school I found this little address and phone book under his bed. Back then, my son had him a lot of guy friends…well they was his cousins—but still his friends. They was really into girls, so I just knew that he had a whole bunch of girls numbers in the damn phone book. So I opened it up, and there was only one number…a boy’s number. I was furious, I was pissed off…I don’t know why, but something just really pissed me off. I didn’t raise no fags! I did not raise no fags, that’s all I thought. It was the summer time and he was with his no good daddy, so I called him. “Jeremy,” I said. “Why is the only number you have in your damn phone book have a boy name?” “uhh,” he said. “uhh…what?” “Mama why you so mad—


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“You mean to tell me the only number you could find was goddamn Phillip Wallace,” I asked. “Who is that?” “Mama it’s just my— “Just your what?” He began to cry and whine. “Mama he’s just my friend, that’s all, he’s just my friend” “I bet he is,” I screamed and hung up on him. I wasn’t too hard on my son, and I’m not now. I’m just trying to raise a man…hellava job, I’ve done though. He don’t come out of his room and he jacks off on the toilet. God…okay, maybe I was a little hard on him about that phone book. But, what was I supposed to think? Out of all the damn girls I saw him and his cousins with, he only has one boys name on it—how does that look. What if my sister saw that shit. Oh my lord, I wouldn’ve heard the end of it from my mama… “Girl you better send that boy with his daddy!” For what? Why would I send my innocent son to a man who impregnates, and beats his women? I’m not trying to raise a sissy, but I’m not trying to raise that either. My lord, what drew me to that man? Okay, the brother was cute. That first year he made me feel like the sexist girl alive. Damnit, if I wasn’t nineteen, and dumb as hell. My sister told me about him, said he was a strung out dope head. But I didn’t care, he had money, took me out. He also had a rich ass mama. I got pregnant twice the first year I met him. The second time I married him…I thought I loved him. Any bitch that lets someone get ‘er pregneant twice in a year better be in love. Then he went to change. He wasn’t this sexy brother, he started not coming home and one night he smacked me. I couldn’t believe it…he smacked…you know what, I’m gonna stop thinking like this and just take my ass to slee— What was that noise!! You know what, I’m about to go beat that boys ass. I’m tired of this.

3

The Stanley house was the middle house on a block surrounded by houses depressed by poverty, prostitution, and drugs. The house was slowly succumbing to the ugliness of its neighborhood. The once white siding was turning yellow and stained from years of maltreatment. The once blue cement that covered its porch was turning brown. The windows were dusty. The front lawn was no longer the green lawn that made the Stanleys stand out, it was dirty like the lawns of every other house on the block. Myria first moved into the house with her second husband-er common law husband. She survived a tumultuous affair with her former husband, and father of her children--which she believed prepared her for her new “man“who seemed somehow better. His name was Earnest and she thought she found a man who would help her take care of her kids, and grow old together. She vowed to marry him , but Earnest always seemed like a mystery to Myria--which turned her off. He never held a traditional job, and rarely spoke of his family. One day Myria came home to find Earnest and Jeremy in her bedroom together. Jeremy sat smiling legs crossed playing cards with her “man“. She was furious, he never smiled--what was he smiling for? She was suspicious, and began to watch Earnest closely. She began to treat Earnest like her children, sometimes she would hug him, sometimes she would simply look at him. They argued every night, and every morning until Earnest left. Earnest was the one who washed the windows, Earnest was the one who brushed the cement around the house. Earnest made sure the lawn was paper less, and mowed it. Earnest made sure Jeremy had a smile on his face.

4

Myria walked down the steps of her house. Her feet were tired from work the night before. She walked slowly, touching the humid walls with her finger tips. The air condition from the attic began to slowly, subside as she got closer and closer to the center of the house. Her heart began to beat as well, she didn’t know why. The only


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reason, she thought, was the horrible thought of seeing her son in the bathroom again. The house was completely black. Myria, was using her fingertips on the walls to guide her. Once her feet found the center of the house, she found a source of light in the direction of Jeremy’s room. She ignored it, and traced her finger tips to the kitchen—which was closer. She felt for a light switch and turned it on. With full sight, she walked to the kitchen sink, turned on the faucet, and drunk the falling water like one of her kids. “Mama!” Tamara had awakened and heard the sound of footsteps. She wore an extra long t-shirt. “What’s been all this noise in the house?” “I think your brotha is up in his room doing something,” Myria said. “Can you see what he’s doing?” “I think something wrong with him mama,” Tamara whispered in all seriousness. She walked closer to her mother and wiped dripping water from her chin. “What do you mean,” Myria asked. “And whisper I don’t want your auntie to hear us.” “I think he’s sick— “Oh my god girl,” Her mother shrugged. “I think I would know if he was sick…I thought you was go say something about him and his girlfriend or something.” “What girlfriend,” Tamara asked. “He’s been getting phone calls from some girl all this week,” Myra said. “I thought you might know who she is. He won’t tell his mama…lord I don’t know what’s happening with him. “He don’t talk to me no more either mama,” Tamara whispered. “He always been real sensitive about his privacy, but I’ve always been able to get certain stuff out of him. Lately I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” “What do you mean get stuff out of ‘em,” Myria asked. “Cause he ain’t never talked to

me about nothing.” Myria turned off the water faucet. “Well— Another thud came from Jeremy’s room. “Damnit, I’m just about to make his ass go to sleep.” Myria stormed to her son’s room. The door was locked. “Jeremy open this door!” Nothing. Myria applied her weight to the door and the door quickly opened as she fell through it. “Damnit boy,” Myria said taking her face slowly off the floor hoping not to see another bathroom incident. “What did I tell you about locking this— Before she could finish her sentence, Myria screamed. Her life flashed across her eyes and she felt her womb burst. She remembered when she first had her son. She remembered the joy she felt— the youthful thought that she could do anything with her life; all the things that raising two children in her neighborhood erases. She remembered making love to her first husband. How his eyes melt with hers and how she knew she was going to have a baby the day afterward. She remembered joy, the joy of being pregnant, and realized she had never experienced joy while raising her son. Earlier that evening Jeremy Stanley hung himself to the ceiling fan in the center of his room. The fans mechanism was overpowering the fan’s wings so it continued to turn, as Jeremy’s body hang—creating a repeating thud. HATE

1 Janice

My sister’s always been jealous of me. I’m older, smarter, got a brighter future. I did graduate from high school and everything, but she didn’t. She didn’t even come to my graduation—bitch. I hate living here, with all the roaches and rats….and spiders! I know I


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complain a lot to my mother, but she would too if she lived in this hell hole. I should call her now…no, she’s probably sleep. What is that sound? Oh, god It’s probably Jeremy. That poor boy. No one likes him…I know I do not. I know I am his aunt, but I am just being honest to myself. He is borderline weird and I think he is going to do something to himself one day…honestly. I think he’s a mama’s boy, but he hates his mother too much to talk with her. I understand because I don’t wanna talk to her some days too. I think he should have moved away a while ago, maybe into a home or something. Just not here. He’s been brought up by three women—me, his grandmother, and his mother. It clearly hasn’t worked. I think I caught him crying one day. It was late one morning in the bathroom. I peeked into the cracks of the bathroom--he was crying into the mirror! I mean, what the hell? When I went into the bathroom he started splashing water on his face…and when I approached him, he acted like nothing happened. There was this time when I brought my boyfriend Johnson over—no, it was Jonathan. We were both watching TV and just having a good time, when all of a sudden Jeremy came in and changed the TV station. “Jeremy sweetie,” I said. I wanted to sound smart for my man-of-the-moment, so I tried to talk as intelligently as possible. “What do you think you are doing? It is inappropriate for you to be in here right now. And it’s rude that you changed the channel when we were obviously watching that previous program.” He turned and It was like I could read his mind, but he said nothing. “You weren’t watching TV auntie,” he wanted to say. “I really wanna watch this show.” “All you do is watch TV”, My response would have been. Instead of any of this happening, he marched out of the room. Before he did this, he gave me this look. This strange

look—even Jonathan—no, it was Johnson. Johnson noticed it too. It was like he was going to cry, but he could not and his face turned red. I have never been alone with him since…he is just horrifyingly scary. I think his—

2

“OH MY GOD! OPEN YOUR DOOR,” Myria screamed. “Please get off the phone now.” Myria had rushed to her sister’s room and was sobbing uncontrollably. “Who’s there,” Janice asked. “It’s your fucking sister,” Myria screamed. “Now open the goddamn door now!” “What do you want?” “My son….I think he’s killed himself,” Myria was pleading with her sister. “NOW OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE!” “I’m sorry Jonathan,” Janice rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. Myria was crying in rage and shouting obscenities outside the door. Janice was trying to hide her smile. Her sister was angry and sad, and she loved it. She doubted her nephew had killed himself, although she believed he would one day. She was sure he had probably fallen and passed out from eating too many potato chips or something. She thought nothing of the accident that had actually taken place. What she forgotten was the simple fact, her sister was never frantic about her son. Once when he was about ten, he drowned in her mother’s tub. Her sister was fine then, but now, for some odd reason her sister was histerical. Again, she ignored this, and pulled up her pants slowly, and walked to the door even slower. She unlocked it. “I’m sure he’s-- Myria snatched the phone from Janice and hit her in the face with it.

3

Tamara is Jeremy’s sister. In high school she was popular with everyone she came into contact with. She was beautiful in a way that girls could call her ugly, but know


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that she was still beautiful . Her beauty came from her poise and her kindness. Her looks were average at best, but there was a glow inside her that challenged this. She loved her older brother dearly--it was things like this that made her beautiful. No one truly loved her brother, but she did. She looked up to him. Of course, they argued and had their fights, but she still loved him. Jeremy felt the same way about his sister. Tamara did not have a boyfriend. She felt boys fit nowhere in her life. Between figuring out what time to go to the mall with her friends, what colleges to attend, and being a candidate for salutatorian--she believed she lacked the time for it. Tamara is a full year younger than her brother, but was going to graduate a year before him. She hated being called a genius because she always felt her brother was smarter. Although she felt this way, she never disclosed it with anyone. Deep inside, she was not shocked by her mother’s discovery. The smell of the hospital frightened Tamara. It smelled of death and disinfectant spray. She had never been in one, and the old woman bleeding in front of her wasn’t making her feel any better. Emergency rooms near inner-city neighborhoods are usually crowded, but that night it seemed especially so. The room was dark and seemed small. There was air conditioning, but there were too many people to feel relief. The people in the emergency room were diverse and strange. An apparent drug addict lay asleep in the corner next to the receptionist. There was an old man staring at Tamara and drooling; he didn’t seem to have any ailments except his spit. The bleeding old woman sat next to him and was crying. A huge bandage covered her salt, paper, and scarlet tainted hair. There was a lot of noise in the room, but crying seemed to be what made the most noise. A child was crying behind Tamara. The small black boy, with a girl that looked the same age as Tamara, had bright yellow eyes. Tamara had a friend in school with sickle cell anemia, and thought this as a reason for the boy being in the emergency room.

Myria sat next to Tamara and was cold. It appeared like millions of things were going through her head. Tamara knew what her mother was feeling—failure. Throughout Tamara’s life, she knew she was the “favorite” child. This was something everyone always brought to Myria’s attention but she denied. “I love both my goddamn kids equally,” Myria would say. At this moment Tamara knew it was a lie, the guilt lay in Myria’s cold face. Myria turned and looked at the crying boy behind them, and turned back. “I’m a horrible mother,” Myria said. “Everyone told me I should’ve sent the boy off somewhere…but I didn’t. I didn’t know where to send him. “Mama— “Don’t try to make me feel better,” Myria said coldly. “I done failed. I done failed as a mother, and— “You’ve done your best mama,” Tamara said. She grazed her mother’s forehead and kissed it. “Look at us,” Myria began to cry and took herself from her daughter. She stood up. “Is this the best…my son tried to kill himself, and look at where we is? The paramedics woke my baby up, but this place doesn’t look like it could save a goddamn mouse!” “Mama— “I never gave him a chance,” Myria cried. “I never made him happy. I always accused and cursed at him. I’m a horrible goddman mama. Damnit, Janice has been right all along. But goddamn it--I don‘t know why! I really don‘t know why I‘ve been like this” People were beginning to stare at Myria, but she ignored them. “MY BOY is going to die, and you wanna know why—I never loved him. I never hugged him for longer than a few seconds. I’ve never done nothing. And I don‘t know why!” The receptionist looked at Myria as if she were used to such outburst and coolly picked up her phone and called someone. “Mama sit down please,” Tamara began to cry. She got out of her chair, and squatted beside her mother. “You did love him.”


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“Did I,” Myria asked. “I never let him stay with his father—where he was happy! I never even cared when he was happy?” “He was never happy there,” Tamara said. “ HE beat him mother. Now sit down.” “Yes he did, but was that worse than what I did to him,” Myria cried. All of these revelations came as a surprise to Tamara; although she knew they were mostly true, she didn’t want to hear most of the information. For years she sat quiet as she heard her mother verbally abuse her brother. Fat, bastard, faggot and bastard all began to ring in her ear. “Mama he’s not gone yet,” Tamara said. “He’s not dead. He could live.” “I hate myself Tamara,” Myria said. “Early tonight I couldn’t go to sleep. All I did was think about how much I hated my son—but I love him, but all I could do is think about every little thing I didn’t like about him. I treated my baby like this, I treated him like I’ve hated him his whole life. It’s one thing to provide a home for your children, but there’s more Tamara…I didn’t do that with him. You don’t understand.” Myria looked at her daughter and saw the baby she nurtured, as she ignored the toddler she had months earlier. She placed her face deep into her hands. “Mama,” Tamara knew she had to think of something. She had to come up with a miracle. “Mama he could still live, and you could have another chance.” Myria lifted her head from her hands. A twinkle lit her face. Tamara helped her back into her seat. “You’re right,” Myria said. “He could live through this. He could.” Tamara stared at her mother frightened that she would say something else, but she didn’t. She looked into space and was cold again, but this time her eyes looked warm and hopeful.

[ THE SPOT ]

.: Soul Wax Lounge :.

Released: 1950’s

Song: “When Lights Are Low”

Released: April 1975

Song: “Let’s Stay Together”

Released: 1978

Song: “September”

Released: 1973

Song: “Someday We’ll All Be Free”


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Released: August 3, 1973

Song: “Visions”

.: Prime’s Wax Lounge :.

Released: 1970s Song: “I Miss You”

Released: October 1959

Song: “Round Lights”

Released:1983

Song: “Got To Give It Up”


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[ MY LINES ]

.: Friend In Need 1 :.

: Friend In Need 2 :.

: Friend In Need 3 :.

INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 8

Documents

Transcript of INSIGHT Vol. I Issue 8