I go to the movies sometimes

It'aint necessarily so

    It just ain't necessarily

so

The things that you're liable (libel? slander, defamation of the Black Christ of the Andes) to read in the bible (halo riot of a/typical prince)          it ain't necessarily   so   

Post-exertion sweetness

  

So misremembering is the essence of imagination?

There is a Chinese legend about a boy with a magic paintbrush. Somebody did a picture-book version, which I saw on Reading Rainbow. I guess I have never forgotten. The boy is given a magic paintbrush and he begins to paint and all hell breaks loose. He paints Chinese dragons writhing in the sea and they come to life. The water that he has painted floods his room. He has numerous adventures, and is borne to far-away lands, buffeted by the crazy fecundity of his own mind, the billowing hills and rushing whitewater. He’s a little bit intoxicated with his brush. But the real problem is that art come to life is essentially—it’s just reality. He can’t color or inflect it the way he could with art that stayed on the canvas. And so he finally develops a technique: if he leaves just one thing out, so it isn’t quite real, it can’t come to life. By the close of the story he’s leaving one eye out every time he paints a deer

 

Thus

You love not what we are, but that we are, and the vernacular of our misunderstandings enters as second chances. Repetition becomes negation and negation rebirth and the sun is laced with disclosures and who you callin a ho gets blurted out whenever possible over allegro piano solos you let the phone keep on ringing-- It's the kind where the buttons light up and glow when it does and that's the one shimmer in the room and the declaration of difference has made blackness irresistible even to itself, an addiction, a pathological elegance, or a flag or a flame or life itself

Unconditional Soul

Toward the Divine Feminine by Brightmoments on Mixcloud

Duets

Niggas in Paris is Burning

It's a car thing; and it's a cool thing

Here are these negroes pretending to be kings/
And it turns out we actually are kings

So is it a trap?
This whole freedom thing



A thousand tiny instants trembling in the black entertainer's memory as he drives up to the back entrance and runs on stage clapping for himself/This Africa we remember as a simile, heroic simile, he bows, he weeps, he comes up singing, they love him madly

Prayers in Common

Breakfast Foods

Brilliant Circles

I jus-I jus-I just had a brand nu-feelin

That Freedom (Get you some disciplines)

Stay in Love

Until it is clear that there is no paradox

I'mma tell my horses:

If you are functioning linearly, the movement from what is to what should be, creates duality, imbalance between substance and light, dissipation

Best you find the courage to be both at once

Best you go to Frederick Douglass 

Best you jump at the sun without budging

Anger is love too

And greed is love

Abandon, reckessness, shame, left hook, the fractal, the black-took-- every blackness needs an alibi

Hear our feeble cries... is it feeble or favorite?

That's a great place to begin.

Prestige

Retaining the love but getting rid of the hypnosis

Urge to Scrutiny

Some niggas are so boring your notice their shoes on the downbeat, neatly, we agree on what night is but not what morning, mourning, chivalry or preacher to pick when it comes it comes like a mickey into the body we reach an obnoxious state of calm and as backlash look away from whatever you love most and almost ghost ride the elephant in the room. I'm not gonna decode everything for you guys cause I don't have that kinda time: You have the soul man who is naked and he has the sun in his hand and the seven rays. I can't see his race. He represents daylight. You want him to be so present you can't tell he's there. He wants you to be so distant he has to question himself and find you to be the answer again and again. Run. Tie a blindfold around your skull and run.

A-lot-a soldiers get it

Category Dub

Fate, I see you
Destiny, I see you
Niggas, I see you taking turns
Heathens, hasbeens, and you

Excerpt

watch her

move into the story she still move

     2.

and tear shit up. always a pleasure the banned

deep brown of faces in the otherwise

whack. the cruel disposed won’t stand

still. apparatus tear shit up and

always. you see they can’t get off when

they get off. some stateless folks

spurn the pleasure they are driven

to be and strive against. man, hit me again.

It's a game but we don't play

Although

we travel the speaceways with straight faces, phat laces, gats, getaway cars and aspects, and every black maybe on the list, we expose our hearts in these passages between echoes. We're lucky the black man has a loving heart

Is it conceptual?

This love/ego

I thought we could organize freedom too

and its rituals of atonement hoping to coax us back to be sacrificed again 

and by participating in the ritual you are participating in the myth, and the new myth calls up a new art form, and guilt is what is wiped out by the myth, and then we no longer need it, we link eyes like children across the revolving rope of our footprints and we bellow songs across the rope about it and trap our longing in the rhythm

Cinderella dressed in yella when upstairs to kiss a fella, by mistake she kissed a snake...

(get yourself straight) 

Nah... she kissed that snake on purpose, and they live happily everlasting

Short Story on a Theme

Thirteen ways of being your immortality (3)

There came over me the most terrific sense of purpose and focus.  It rose up in me like my father's ghost. I saw the book in it. The sametime passions for exile and belonging. Yeah, I was some high yellow bohemian liberal living in hedonism heaven, winning. And the prize raised up in me this absolutely authentic and heartfelt desire to speak/what should be spoken for all of us. I knew the bullshit of my own life, its twists and flipouts, yet I felt now some heavy responsibility. If these bastards were gonna raise me up, for any reason, then they would pay for it. I would pay these motherfuckers back in kind, I'd be strong enough to s p e a k what had to be said for all of us, for black people, yes particularly black people, because they were the root and origin of my conviction, but also for anyone, anywhere, who wanted justice. Is this a man imitating a movie star? In a quarantine of lights. Marvelous scandal: We are reborn.