A Brown Girl’s Lips

I like the bottom one the best. I like the way it hangs and glistens. I like the fact that she can’t conceal it. I like the black mole that decorates the left side. I like it when she smiles and when she pouts and when she laughs. I like it when she bites it…

 

The top one is civilized. It’s conservative. She presses it down on the bottom one when she is trying to concentrate. It doesn’t curve as much when she smiles. Her top lip is somewhat ashamed of itself. It doesn’t portray her emotions but it compliments the bottom one rather well.

Together they bring balance. The lady meets the savage. They come together to bring her melody into the world. They come together to make sure she always gets her way. The girl is so spoiled.  I could run from her but I could never leave her. She plays the games that I like to play.  She likes the dances that I know how to do, and she always moves in my direction. She rotates around me as I spin on my axis facing her constantly. The light that I generate illuminates her and she gives me divine purpose. We understand one another and what we don’t understand we’re ok with.

 

I don’t love her at the moment but I find her energy to be very necessary. She isn’t one of the beautiful ones that I mistakenly let go while drunk with the hardships of my past—quite the contrary—she is the one that needed time to grow.

I don’t control her—can’t control her, but she wants me to think that I can. I like the games that she plays. It took me a long time to really confess it to myself but I do. I play games too. The truth is that I follow her lead and this is the one thing that I could never allow her to know.

YB

Notes on Christopher Dorner

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Christopher Dorner has been burned alive without receiving a trial or anything close to due process of law. As more audio evidence surfaces of police officers screaming; “Burn that mother fucker down!” The more it appears to resemble a public lynching. It baffles me because we constantly speak of progress being made on the racial front in America and we point to Barrack Obama sitting in the white house as proof of this but the Oscar Grants continue to happen. The Trayvon Martins continue to happen. The executions continue to happen.

I should say before I continue that Christopher Dorner was a terrible person at the time of his death. He was a narcissist who used corruption within the LAPD as a springboard to express his admiration for Ellen DeGeneres and Tim Tebow. He killed an innocent couple and one has to draw the conclusion that he did all of these things, in large part, for personal fame. Moreover, Christopher Dorner should not be considered a revolutionary. Nor should he be considered a martyr. With that being said Dorner should also never be called a liar.

He spoke of wanton discrimination within the Los Angeles Police Department and called out a fraternity in blue that had been allowed to operate with impunity even after the Rodney King beating and subsequent riots shined a spotlight on the department enabling the whole world to see the atrocities that they were allowed to get away with. And even if we dismiss “The Christopher Dorner Manifesto” as crazy talk from an attention-hoarding lunatic, we surely cannot dismiss the fact that police departments around the state of California were aiming to kill him. Bringing Dorner to justice was never an option. Torrance PD proved this when they shot two Hispanic women on sight—one of them 71 years old—because they thought they were the fugitive. This should indicate to the general public that law enforcement feared what Dorner might say in trial or the in letters that he may have sent to loved ones on the outside. The officers who he would have surely implicated feared for their careers. Basically Dorner knew too much therefore he had to go.

In instances such as this one we must be careful not to read the world as if it were a Marvel comic book. That is, there is no such thing as pure good versus pure evil. We cannot say that Dorner was justified for targeting the families of the same police officers that he claimed ruined him. We also cannot say that the LAPD was justified when they cornered the accused cop killer into a cabin and shot several canisters of flammable tear gas at the structure until it started a blaze that ultimately burned him alive. (For the record I am aware of accounts of a single gunshot being heard sometime shortly after the blaze was ignited which would suggest that Dorner might have actually committed suicide. However it doesn’t really matter. The intentions of the LAPD were to burn him up. There was no attempt to wait him out or to thoroughly negotiate his surrender).

Christopher Dorner is dead but justice surely hasn’t been served. With each murder of someone deemed a terrorist be it Osama Bin Laden, George Zimmerman’s worst nightmare Trayvon Martin, or whom ever else, we move closer and closer to functioning like the fascist countries of the olden days and those third world countries that we are supposed to be showing “the light of democracy.” As a nation we need to quickly check ourselves before our collective belief in the constitution itself is murdered by the disenchanted masses.

-YB

Lines From the Piedmont Rose Garden

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I sit down at the Piedmont Rose Garden but the roses do not grow; they do not blossom, they do not bloom. My inspiration hath been circumcised, butchered for its own good. It is early February and very few things can grow in the cold. The grass grows more slowly and the soil clings to itself.

Behold for I am lost-

My heart groweth cold but at least it still grows. It bends toward a sun that hasn’t been seen in years. The water in the lake is cold but not frozen. My thoughts create steam. The steam dissipates, and then I have nothing. I have nostalgia like so many baseball cards hidden underneath my bed at night. If it can’t be seen then it can’t be stolen.

The roots of the tree before me plunge downward even further than my soul does. I see cowards in the darkness. I see the weak and I distance myself from them hoping that this will make me strong. My distance disallows me to follow people so it can’t be entirely bad.

I see the ugliest things in the world wrapped in the most beautiful skin imaginable. I touched her lips before I kissed her. I sinned with her long before we lay down. I got up first. With sweat beading on the tip of my nose and soaking my brow I opened the window and allowed the winter chill soothe my flesh.

-YB

Bay Area FM Radio Has Officially Lost Its Soul

 

If you’ve tuned in to Bay Area FM radio over the past couple of years you’ll have noticed that it has quite literally lost its soul. When I was in high school there were two hardcore soul stations and now we have none. In the most heartbreaking case of corporate takeovers in recent memory Entercom Inc bought out 102.9 KBLX.

 

KBLX was that station that you hated when you were little because it was the only thing your parents ever listened to (grown folks music) yet when you finally got your own car you found yourself instinctively dialing it in as one of your six favorites. KBLX never played rap music. If anything they would take a hip-hop song remove the lyrics and add a saxophone solo. I do believe KBLX was very instrumental in the underground unwrapped movement (pun intended). Things, however, were doomed to fall apart. When I turn to the station now I hear the Notorious BIG, Will Smith, and other rap songs played by disc jockeys that look nothing like me. When I listen to “The New” KBLX on the way to work in the morning I don’t hear my Cousin Kevin Brown airing live from San Francisco I am forced to listen to a prerecorded broadcast of Steve Harvey. It’s an utter disgrace.

 

98.1 Kiss FM was also a soul station but it played more upbeat records than KBLX. If KBLX was playing Marvin Gaye then Kiss was playing The Gap Band. If Kiss had your head rocking to Teena Marie then KBLX was grooving to Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes. But now the flavor on Kiss 98.1 has been diluted. For some reason they thought it was a good idea to play 1980’s punk rock like Blondie and Eurythmics. It’s so bizarre because no formal announcement has been made as to why the change has taken place. Faithful listeners are left scratching their heads and most of them wanting to tune out but there is really nowhere else to go.

 

What happened to black radio with positive and charismatic black disc jockeys? Corporations are going to continue to ravage our African-American culture until we’re left with nothing unless we do something about it. We need black radio back, black owned businesses, and a sense of black worth that is not entrenched in consumerism. Dr. Martin Luther King saw the power in Black Radio over 45 years ago. It’s a shame that this too has been taken from us.

-YB

 

 

Notes on MLK Day

 

Nothing says nostalgia like taking a day off from work and sleeping in. Adult life is all about catching up and today I find myself catching up on all the hours of sleep that I have missed stressing out over issues that I have very little control over. It’s not a Saturday morning and Garfield and Friends as well as The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show have stopped airing a long time ago but I still feel at peace. Never mind the fact that I have pick up my daughter in a few hours and the rest of my week will be crazy hectic because none of those things matter at present. I’m lying under the covers in my underwear with the blinds to my windows closed so that rays of light must fight to enter my space. I have shelter from the unusual California cold and I am writing. I said I am writing, I am doing that thing that I fell in love with decades ago. On the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. I am expressing myself in a way that would have gotten my enslaved ancestors killed. As I put these letters to this page I realize that in terms of the very foundation of this country I am committing a subversive act. I live to rebel. There is no other feeling like the rush of blood that I get from fighting back. I have always been hypnotized by the notion of going into a forbidden place and letting everyone in there know that I have arrived. To write lines from within this skin is the equivalent of being a vanguard soldier and I will be on the battlefield until I die.

YB

Artistic Suicide Watch

How did I become so afraid? My manuscript is somewhere deep in my subconscious mind buried by my fear of commitment. That story that I began so many years ago hurts when I try to write it down. I don’t like stirring up old ghosts but I know it is the only way that I can truly release them. I’m scared of failure.

I have lived everyday of my life surrounded by death and violence. I have taken a natural attitude towards gunshots, HIV, and the threat of false detainment but somehow that unwritten manuscript frightens me to my core. Those many thousand words have remained trapped in my heart and they have become a burden on my soul only because I allow them to be. At some point I have to believe in my story enough to let it feel the rays of sun that are awaiting its presence here on Earth. I must somehow release the puss from the gory wounds of my life so that the youth of today may be forewarned and so that all of my peers who suffer in the same manner may be consoled knowing that they were never alone.

I run for at least three miles everyday from my past and when I am standing still I hide behind a goofy smile. I live the life of a coward standing on a bridge moments away from committing artistic suicide. Will I jump, will I continue to run, will I hide, or will I finally confront my pain and write?

What does the future hold?

YB

Love Happens in a Flash….

I miss everything about that woman now that she’s gone. It’s amazing how a man can take so many good things for granted. I always lust for what I don’t have but then isn’t that the very definition of lust? I mean if we had it then would we yearn for it so uncontrollably?

She was the daughter of god and I was a young heathen. Never before had a woman made me feel so wretched and not one time since. In my mind I thought that she would wait for me but in reality she already had. Love happens in a flash and by the time I looked up she was happily involved with a better man. I had no get back. I lacked the confidence to fight for her or to attempt to woo her with my words because he was simply a better man. A better environment produced him and he believed in himself in a way that I never will.

When I happened upon this young lady I didn’t act like I was happy for her. I acted like I couldn’t see the ring glistening on her deep brown finger. I made no mention of her chubby cheeks and I willed myself not to notice her caressing her protruding abdomen. I forced myself to flirt with her just like I did in the days of old but I believe I may have smiled too hard and licked my lips one too many times to be convincing. I told her I was gone holler at her, but of course I never have.

-YB

The Curious Case of Katt Williams

Have you ever taken the time to listen to a person that society has deemed “crazy” and been completely captivated? That’s how I feel when I listen to many of Katt Williams’s recent so-called rants. With that being said I would like to point out that I do not approve of any of his behavior. I am from Oakland, CA the city where he first showed that he might be at least slightly unstable when he behaved very erratically in front of a sell out crowd at the coliseum on November 16th.

But even then he said some things on stage that I thought, dare I say it, were very insightful. He spoke about other races of people being able to get together without any problems but then black people pay their money just to boo him. Then there are his recent comments about Jamie Foxx’s decision to star in Django Unchained; “F**k Jamie Foxx and the ‘Django Unchained’ check he cashed. They offered me the script and I said, ‘Any n***a that do this deserves to die. And the next thing I heard, Jamie Foxx was in makeup.” It’s wrong for Katt to question another black man’s sexuality in such a demeaning and public manner but I actually applaud him for having the heart to publicly criticize the film Django Unchained. More people should be suspicious of a story that is supposed to be that of an oppressed group but is written and directed by a member of the group that directly benefits from that groups oppression.

Katt also seems to be annoyed by black comedians always having to wear dresses on stage to be funny. He performed a freestyle in which he lambasted several prominent black actors namely Martin Lawrence, Tyler Perry, and Jamie Foxx for doing just that.

I have a lot of respect for Katt speaking up for black masculinity when black men are constantly being emasculated. Be it by the police, at job interviews, or in stereotypical movie roles. A lot of people are aware of this but none of them have had the courage to express themselves. The fear of never working in Hollywood again keeps a lot of black actors in check but Katt, for whatever reason, is immune to this fear and that’s what makes him crazy. People are labeled crazy when society has no interest in trying to figure them out or make them “normal.” To put it another way crazy is the word that a lazy society uses to describe the individuals their words aren’t suitable to describe.

http://www.tmz.com/videos/0_my3bt3ig/

I wouldn’t call Katt Williams crazy and I wouldn’t call him funny either. If I had to label Katt Williams I would refer to him as necessary. I can only pray that he can keep himself out of jail while continuing to provide for his family. I’m pulling for him in 2013.

-YB

Reflections in Raindrops

The rain has more rhythm in its descent from heaven than I will ever have in my body. The sound of it keeps me asleep when it’s steady and wakes me up as its pace quickens. Rain always represented excitement to me. Imagine growing up in a place where rain is the most extreme weather possible. As a child I discovered that rain cleanses the flesh and the soil. Rain symbolizes the end of one year and the beginning of the next. Kisses in the rain are more special, dinner in the rain is more meaningful, a movie in the rain is more intimate. I love to go to my favorite creamery and eat ice cream in the rain, for hot chocolate on such a day would be too clichĂ©. Ice cream taste sweet but the rain is sweeter. I’m enamored with the concept of millions of people being wet at the same time. At rainy day recess we used to sneak outside and play anyway. We would jump in puddles and make a real mess of it. As an adult I have never regularly used an umbrella. I don’t like the idea of something coming in between me and god. I will receive every blessing that is sent down and I will let it wash over me. Maybe the rain will make me better. Maybe it will make me less fearful and more consistent. Perhaps it will give me a vision so I can see what I need to do to become whole once more.

YB