Monthly Archives: September 2011

09.24.11
by

Notes on the Execution of Troy Davis

 

September 24, 2011

Troy Davis is dead and I must confess that while he was alive I participated in no protests concerning his execution date, I did not write one letter to any politician in the state of Georgia or anywhere else, and to be honest I barely stayed informed about his plight. I hate to say it’s because I have given up on justice but the truth is that I believe I have.

I put everything that I could into making sure that the police officer that killed Oscar Grant on January 1, 2009 was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Johannes Mehserle killed Oscar Grant on a crowded BART platform, only to have his deplorable actions caught on a camera phone and shown on news stations around the country yet he still wound up serving about 9 months in jail. At the time of the verdict certain journalists and legal experts were claiming that we should be happy that the police officer was convicted at all. And that a police officer going to jail for such a thing as murder was unprecedented and therefore justice was served.

Unlike with the recent Troy Davis execution, during the Oscar Grant situation I did attend several protests. I did write a few articles that were published; I did engage in passionate debates, I went to town hall meetings, and I did stay informed about the trial up to the minute, but in the end there was nothing. I still haven’t recovered from the spiritual blow that was delivered by that injustice. I did not put my faith and energy into seeing that Troy Davis got a retrial because I cannot give what I don’t have.

When the officers who beat down Rodney King were acquitted we burned things, when Mark Duggan was killed we burned things, yes we riot, we fight, we are warriors, we have determination, we have heart, but we still do not have justice.

One thing I have learned to do is to choose my battles carefully. Troy Davis was put to death and that is a travesty, however, I can’t say that I feel let down. For as a black man I have come to expect this kind of thing to happen.   

-YB

09.20.11
by

Time

 

September 20, 2011

You can’t meditate forever. Sooner or later you have got to get back into the real world and deal with all of the temptation, all of the betrayal, and all of the pain. No one is going to be there to protect you from being hurt. For even recovering drug addicts can’t spend their whole lives in rehab.

 But once you get to be a certain age it seems impossible to trust people completely. And when I say trust people I mean to have faith in their ability to assist you in the journey of life. And when I say you of course I am talking about me.

I am not as resilient as I would allow people to believe. Sometimes I need time to recuperate from a loss. So how long will it take this time? I honestly have no idea.

-YB

09.18.11
by

A Cheap Knock Out

September 18, 2011

It’s been several hours now since the welterweight fight between Floyd Mayweather Jr. and Victor Ortiz ended and I still don’t know what to make of it. I’m still very puzzled as to why Mayweather behaved the way he did in the ring tonight. I’m even more perplexed by the sheer volume of journalists and regular people who have justified his actions via social media.

 

I understand that Ortiz head-butted Floyd and it was one of the more vicious head-butts I have ever seen, however, I can not justify Floyd’s cheap knock out of Ortiz on a left hook right hand combination that followed. And hey I understand the rules; “Protect yourself at all times” but to feign as if you are accepting someone’s apology by giving them a hug then taking a quick step back and unloading on them is just trashy.

 

This is boxing. This is not a fight between two inmates in a maximum security prison, or between two drunken college students in a bar. As a fan of the sport I expect a fighter to have a certain amount of class, and I expect for one of the greatest fighters of my generation to show some professionalism.

 

Referee Joe “Fair but Firm” Cortez had already taken away a point for Ortiz’ egregious foul so I figured Floyd Mayweather, who was already seemingly well on his way to a unanimous decision victory, would appreciate his ruling and get back to work. But Mayweather failed me. He failed the sport of boxing and he failed himself.

 

I’m really disturbed by what “Money May” did tonight. Tonight he lost at least one fan.

-YB

09.16.11
by

Pride

September 16, 2011

….and then it’s like everything that I put in still wasn’t enough. I tried to humble myself for those cowards and I still wound up nowhere, feeling like a nobody. I changed myself to fit in yet I still remain an outsider. I knew from the beginning that the game was rigged but I stilled played it and now I have solid proof.

I’ve already felt the sting of the blow and tasted the blood that has flowed onto my tongue. We are much stronger than they will ever know. The average man would have crumbled beneath all of this weight. A normal human being would have taken his life with his own hand but not me, for I come from a very resilient bloodline.

I have never shown them any weakness. I would never allow them the pleasure of saying that they have institutionalized me. As a child every now and then a mouse or two would make its way into our home. They would move about frantically underneath my bed as I tried to sleep and, needless to say, it was quite unsettling. The only effective tool we had against them were sticky traps which are basically small plastic sheets filled with a layer of glue.

Every now and again when my siblings and I would check the trap we would find a tail, some fur, a paw or some evidence of a critter that had escaped but most of the time we would be woken up at 4:00am by an ungodly shriek. To this day the sound of a mouse on a sticky trap remains, by far, the most grotesque noise I have ever heard. I remember being utterly repulsed by those disgusting little creatures that would yell until one of us—mainly my older brother—would put them out of their misery with the bottom of a bucket. I refused to ever die that way.

If pride is a sin then the fate of my soul is sealed.

I will never beg them for entry into one of their wretched institutions. I will never live my life like a sucker and I will never die like a rodent.

-YB

09.15.11
by

The Happy Plant

September 15, 2011

 

On days like this I wished I smoked weed. I always admired my professional friends who were able to be really productive throughout the day and then come home and smoke an elegantly rolled blunt. It annoys me when I think about all the lies that were fed to me regarding marijuana when I was growing up. I remember being in the 6th grade and thinking that if I take a hit of the joint one day then I would be smoking crack the following week. Now I know so many intellectuals, doctors, and even teachers that smoke weed its absurd.

What’s even more absurd is all of those over exaggerations actually worked on me. I was extremely afraid to smoke weed during the height of the peer pressure days (also known as high school and college). I never wanted to be one of those people who had to smoke at least five times a day and had ashy gray lips and no ambitions. Which is very ironic indeed considering the last three presidents of the United States smoked weed at some point in their lives, and two of the last three even admitted to doing cocaine.

Because of these truths lately I’ve been wondering if my anti-marijuana attitude is what has been keeping me from writing my novel. Perhaps if I puffed on the ganja I would sleep a lot more and stress a lot less. In these hard times everyone is looking for a miracle drug and I am no exception.

Mama never told me there’d be days like this; my god. I really need prayer.  

-YB

09.12.11
by

How Far?

September 12, 2011

Finding the time to do what you love can be hard but giving up on your dreams is harder. It’s refreshing to be able to create something in a world where I have very little control. My thoughts do me no good when they’re fully contained. It’s not as if they’ll ever go away so why not let them out systematically and creatively?

 

I just listened to Sinnerman by Nina Simone for inspiration. It’s probably the most powerful song ever recorded. In that performance Nina’s voice transcends words, rhythm, and melody. By the end of the record it sounds as if Ms. Simone herself has been transformed into a musical note.

 

I don’t know that I have ever been caught up in anything in my whole life as much she is completely absorbed into that piece; not in any relationship I’ve ever been in, not in the gospel, not in writing, not in boxing, or anything else I hold sacred.

 

I do believe that sooner or latter every true artist has to pay that price. At some point one must give up everything that one has ever had in order to get everything that one thinks he deserves. I question whether or not I’d be willing to put everything on the line for my craft. I wonder how far I’m willing to go.

-YB

 

09.06.11
by

Empty

 

September 7, 2011

 

I’m in need of a muse right now, but not a distraction. Lately I’ve been thinking the solution to my problem would be to sit down and write with a woman who I’m not attracted to. A stern but loving young artist who will force me to do what I think I can’t.

It’s crazy how I speak so negatively about women sometimes knowing that I love them so dearly. I love the beautiful ones, the ones that are hurting, the ones in denial, the intelligent ones, the women who are overweight, and the arrogant ones. And the whole time I just keep it moving. I no longer slow down for long enough to open up; I have developed the bad habit of running before things get too difficult. I run because I am scared. I fear that she will become just as deceitful, conniving, and untrustworthy as I am and it will break my heart.

I don’t have any mirrors in my house and I don’t have a woman here either. I have a roof over my head, the floor beneath my feet, and nothing else worth mentioning in between.

-YB

09.05.11
by

Sacrifice

September 5, 2011

Entering my 7th year of fatherhood I am becoming more and more concerned about this thing called sacrifice. I have been questioning what the word means exactly and how consumed should I be by my own daily sacrifices. I have been wondering to what extent, if any, should I allow the sacrifices that I make for my child to move me off of the path toward my dreams.

Sometimes I feel like I’m using parenthood as an excuse to not dive head first into my literary pursuits. I once read about the great writer Terry McMillan taking her infant son on road trips up and down the Pacific Coast while selling thousands of copies of the then selfpublished book Waiting to Exhale.  Also the award-winning author Toni Morrison once admitted during an interview that on at least one occasion her baby son vomited on her manuscript while she was in the process of writing. She went on to say that she did not get upset nor did she throw the paper away, she just wrote around it.

My daughter is far from being a baby so I can’t say that she’s impeding my ambitions at all. I mean yes I am working, going to school, and trying to plan for her future but so what. I can’t let that be the reason why I don’t do all I can to share my gift with the world. The only person holding me back is myself. Now I just need to figure out how to get out of the way.     

-YB

09.03.11
by

A Breath of Silence

September 3, 2011

It’s very rare that I get a breath to breathe; that I get a chance to completely relax. I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that but I keep thinking about this moment I had a few years ago. I was at Yosemite National Park with a lady friend walking a rather boring and unchallenging trail, but we kept on it until it became secluded and isolated. We kept on the path until it led us to an abandoned stable which had been almost completely reclaimed by grass and vegetation. It was there that the trail ended and gave way to total silence.

There was no sound of speeding cars coming from a freeway in the distance, there were no other people talking, we got no cell phone reception, and there weren’t any birds chirping either—the only thing that we could hear was our own breathing. I have never experienced silence like that; not before that moment and not since. It was almost overwhelming to be engulfed so suddenly by something that I didn’t even know existed. It took me a few minutes to let my guard down enough to appreciate what I had stumbled upon. Then of course once I realized that I had discovered peace I didn’t want to leave.

I found myself in the throes of a powerful silence that made a mockery of everything that I was raised to respect. As adolescents we all dreamed of driving big expensive cars with loud engines and a pounding sound system. As little boys everyone wanted to have the biggest voice on the playground so that he could tell everyone else what to do. As college  students we were expected to make connections with influential people in order to network and make a positive change. The idea was to join the team that was making the most noise so that one day you yourself would be heard.

It was wild because all of the politicking, all of the networking, all of the set claiming, all of the turf banging, and all of the pledging that people become so obsessed with felt like a whole lot of noise pollution as I stood there in perfect silence. I was content with hearing only the faint sound of my own breath and the breath of the woman I was with; and everything else, including the shouting of my memories during that moment, struck me as being excessive.

-YB