Nationality suite (1) (mixed metaphors)

Support your local whistleblower

This song is really for everyone

Scene three/took four-- a slow ride on all seven kinds of ambiguity and killer robots tore the whole factory into sleeves and brandtags/bandits/ as women jumped out of windows dragging the fire with them and survived with no metaphors or anything. The tattoo said it had to be you. From now on we're only writing love songs or escape songs. These paper trumpets are unfurling, sped up for your appreciation, til it all turns maddening and soothing again and the revolution is vague on these buffer zones and clones the vault it runs from anyways. Exclaim for soma, for so many dangers make it safe again for soma. Focus on sanity like snowmen and flannels. That black man who can swim again. But he swims like he thinks when he thinks someone's watching, desperately, detached, catchy techno fake plastic trees and blunts in a fetal postion. Sometimes acts so phony you wanna bring him home/back, blame him for his own power and powerlessness until the ships in your imagination are just twirling on a strung song like early ballerinas in their studio full of mirrors, murmuring, trust us, leaping out of a turn, falling into a split, getting up gracefully and walking with the mirror, not what they seem, not what they took for

We are still black and we have come back

Connaissance/

Meditations on music's ability to love itself

Who do you know?

God don't like ugly

Love Notes 1

Secret Queens of The Unseen

Stay Black Sun/days

Stills from the Tiger's Mind

I love you, for electrical reasons. And the trouble when treason's a way of laddering the frequencies-- Innocence, tantrum, steel drum, clap drum, plank sun, plank, son-- humble walk on, at the risk of sounding mystical, we belong on this thin wire of our need for one another just about to buckle when the phone rings--- Hush-- crushed velvet slippery eyelid tucked into a dream the truths bribe me between them with intuition and their silent duel, huddle, duel again, tricked into another atomic opinion. I could hug my shins and wait for the world to end. A shout out to the g steady selling jars of bubbles on 103rd, though. Even in winter, clear tendrils of soap blowing in the putrid air. I almost forgot. Shout out the macho dude on the 1 train with the pastel pink ice skates draped over his shoulder. My feet were bleeding into lamb's wool after a ballet class and it is strangely pleasurable to watch an empire collapsing in slow motion, thinking, folly for so-what, thinking, I'm one of those token immortals, thinking, the misfits don't look so terrible these days, brave even, caring, thinking, like me, everything I cherish will be essential again, thinking, there he goes again, selling bubbles and cocaine outside of the mcdonals, looking flippant and regal like how it feels to turn into yourself

Reading the yellow pages backwards

Prisoners of hope

and the prison be as wide as god's eye

Niggas in Raincoats section 3

To whom who keeps a record

Close your eyes and remember

Blueprint for Byard Rustin

Dark, a little dank, smoke-soaked, and blue/ His feet flutter in a soft shuffle, chiming in silence with the urgency of firebells, spinning in slow so binding circles. We need in every community, a group of angelic troublemakers Then he looks away, adamantly, with that shimmering abandonment in every black man's eye We are perfectly normal neurotics, crowding around our symptoms with humor and wit, geniuses because of it, helplessly hyper-aware, even when dignity is boring, even when pleasure is more traumatic than anything. Can you dig it? Can you dig it without treating it like dirt? Some of the trouble be angels, be us in the firm poses after dancing, all breath and glances and this is your chance to tempt the good myth to step in your shadow

Mighty/Pretty

Don't you feel that way, sometimes

Call his name grandly

like a man drawing a bird

Tones for a Black President by Brightmoments on Mixcloud

Leadership (save all that comrades, we need it)

Reggae Sundays

"Hey! Monk would call out, "butterflies faster than birds? Must be, 'cause with all the birds up on the scene in my neighborhood, there's this butterfly, and she flies any way she wanna. Yeah. Black and yellow butterfly. Pretty Butterfly."

Good lookin' out

Music and then some more music after that

Which is the true one?

He drags his shadow against the current, toward the coming spring