rollerblading mother

So i'm on my way home from doing a CUNYCAP (work study program for graduate students in CUNY) interview @ Brooklyn College and i 'm driving on Empire and notice this:

A stroller speeding down one of the intersecting streets. A mother, i gather, was on rollerblades going downhill with a baby in one of those three-whelled strollers. i thought she wasn't going to be able to slow down at the light but she did, and switched directions. But for a few seconds i was scared for the child.

Saying Hello is _______

this line popped into my head tonite:
Saying hello is a chance to get to know another part of someone

i had beef!!!

I ate the darn thing yesterday as we broke in the deck my father built in the backyard. I got cornered into grilling, and unlike the typical male I don’t really enjoy and at one point my eyes were tearing profusely.

For some odd reason my mother purchase. ground beef and had beef franks even though we rarely eat beef in our home. so as my stomach grumbled, I bit the bullet and had a hot dog, or was it two.

And I have had this old Reflection Eternal song on repeat since last week. I consider this as one of Talib’s shining moments. Like this would be a great pitch for a film.

Artist: Talib Kweli & Hi-Tek (Reflection Eternal)
Album: Train of Thought
Song: For Women
Typed by: shaolin_2000@hotmail.com

[Talib Kweli] (Spoken)
Yea, so we got this tune called "For Women" right
Originally, it was by Nina Simone
She said it was inspired by, you know
Down south. In the south, they used to call her Mother Antie
She said No Mrs.
Just Antie
She said if anybody ever called her Antie
she'd burn the whole goddamn place down
I'm over past that
Coming into the new millenium, we can't forget our elders

[Talib Kweli]
I got off the 2 train in Brooklyn on my way to a session
Said let me help this woman up the stairs before I get to steppin'
We got in a conversation she said she a 107
Just her presence was a blessing and her essence was a lesson
She had her head wrapped
And long dreads that peeked out the back
Like antenna to help her get a sense of where she was at, imagine that
Livin' a century, the strenght of her memories
Felt like an angel had been sent to me
She lived from nigger to colored to negro to black
To afro then african-american and right back to nigger
You figure she'd be bitter in the twilight
But she alright, cuz she done sseen the circle of life yo
Her skin was black like it was packed with melanin
Back in the days of slaves she packin' like Harriet Tubman
Her arms are long and she moves like song
Feet with corns, hand with callouses
But her heart is warm and her hair is wooly
And it attract a lot of energy even negative
She gotta dead that the head wrap is her remedy
Her back is strong and she far from a vagabond
This is the back of the masters' whip used to crack upon
Strong enough to take all the pain, that's been
Inflicted again and again and again and again and flipped
It to the love for her children nothing else matters
What do they call her? They call her aunt Sara.

Woman singing in the background

[Talib Kweli] (+ Background Vocals)
I know a girl with a name as beautiful as the rain
Her face is the same but she suffers an unusual pain
Seems she only deals with losers who be usin' them games
Chasin' the real brothers away like she confused in the brain
She tried to get it where she fit in
on that American Dream mission paid tuition
For the receipt to find out her history was missing and started flippin
Seeing the world through very different eyes
People askin' her what she'll do when it comes time to chose sides
Yo, her skin is yellow, it's like her face is blond word is bond
And her hair is long and straight just like sleeping beauty
See, she truly feels like she belong in 2 worlds
And that she can't relate to other girls
Her father was rich and white still livin' with his wife
But he forced himself on her mother late one night
They call it rape that's right and now she take flight
Through life with hate and spite inside her mind
That keep her up to the break of light a lot of times
(I gotta find myself) (3X)
She had to remind herself
They called her Safronia the unwanted seed
Blood still blue in her vein and still red when she bleeds
(Don't, don't, don't hurt me again) (8X)

[Talib Kweli] (+ Background Vocals)
Teenage lovers sit on the stoops up in Harlem
Holdin' hands under the Apollo marquis dreamin of stardom
Since they was born the streets is watchin' and schemin'
And now it got them generations facin' deseases
That don't kill you they just got problems
and complications that get you first
Yo, it's getting worse, when children hide the fact that they pregnant
Cuz they scared of giving birth
How will I feed this baby?
How will I survive, how will this baby shine?
Daddy dead from crack in '85, mommy dead from AIDS in '89
At 14 the baby hit the same streets they became her master
The children of the enslaved, they grow a little faster
They bodies become adult
While they keepin' the thoughts of a child her arrival
Into womanhood was heemed up by her survival
Now she 25, barely grown out her own
Doin' whatever it takes strippin', workin' out on the block
Up on the phone, talkin' about
(my skin is tan like the front of your hand)
(And my hair...)
(Well my hair's alright whatever way I want to fix it,
it's alright it's fine)
(But my hips, these sweet hips of mine invite you daddy)
(And when I fix my lips my mouth is like wine)
(Take a sip don't be shy, tonight I wanna be your lady)
(I ain't too good for your Mercedes, but first you got to pay me)
(You better quit with all the question, sugar who's little girl am I)
(Why I'm yours if you got enough money to buy)
(You better stop with the compliments we running out of time,)
(You wanna talk whatever we could do that it's your dime)
(From Harlem's from where I came, don't worry about my name,)
(Up on one-two-five they call me sweet thang)

Scratches + Woman singing in the background

[Talib Kweli] (+ Background Vocals)
A daughter come up in Georgia, ripe and ready to plant seeds,
Left the plantation when she saw a sign even thought she can't read
It came from God and when life get hard she always speak to him,
She'd rather kill her babies than let the master get to 'em,
She on the run up north to get across that Mason-Dixon
In church she learned how to be patient and keep wishin',
The promise of eternal life after death for those that God bless
She swears the next baby she'll have will breathe a free breath
and get milk from a free breast,
And love beeing alive,
otherwise they'll have to give up being themselves to survive,
Being maids, cleaning ladies, maybe teachers or college graduates, nurses, housewives, prostitutes, and drug addicts
Some will grow to be old women, some will die before they born,
They'll be mothers, and lovers who inspire and make songs,
(But me, my skin is brown and my manner is tough,)
(Like the love I give my babies when the rainbow's enuff,)
(I'll kill the first muthafucka that mess with me, I never bluff)
(I ain't got time to lie, my life has been much too rough,)
(Still running with barefeet, I ain't got nothin' but my soul,)
(Freedom is the ultimate goal,
life and death is small on the whole, in many ways)
(I'm awfully bitter these days
'cuz the only parents God gave me, they were slaves,)
(And it crippled me, I got the destiny of a casualty,)
(But I live through my babies and I change my reality)
(Maybe one day I'll ride back to Georgia on a train,)
(Folks 'round there call me Peaches, I guess that's my name.)

Summer Reading Slowly Failing/Syreeta Wright passes away

I'm pretty sure only the hardcore music heads and vinyl collectors knew of Wright and her music. That stevie Wonder played a big part in her career, producing and writing for her. But she a dope and unique voice which most recently I heard on Omar's This is Not a Love Song album.

From Billboard:
Motown Artist Syreeta Wright Dies



Syreeta Wright, best known for her duet with Billy Preston on "With You I'm Born Again," died last night (July 5) after a long struggle with cancer. She was 58. The singer/songwriter recorded six albums for Motown, the most notable being the first two, which were produced by ex-husband Stevie Wonder.

Born Rita Wright in Pittsburgh, Syreeta was working in the '60s as a Motown secretary when she was enlisted as a backup singer. Founder Berry Gordy later signed her to the label and she recorded a Brian Holland/Ashford & Simpson tune initially meant for Diana Ross, "I Can't Give Back the Love I Feel for You."

Wright married Wonder in 1970. Although the union lasted only two years, their professional collaboration as songwriters spawned a series of hits, including "If You Really Love Me," "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" and the Spinners' "It's a Shame."

She released her first Wonder-produced Motown album, the critically acclaimed "Syreeta", under the MoWest imprint in 1972. "Stevie Wonder Presents Syreeta," which musically depicted their relationship from love/marriage to divorce/enduring friendship, was released in 1974. The titles peaked at No. 185 and No. 116, respectively, on Billboard's album chart.

Her best showing on the chart came with 1980's simply titled "Syreeta," released on Motown's Tamla imprint, which reached No. 73. The duet with Preston, "With You I'm Born Again," originally appeared on that year's soundtrack to the Paramount movie "Fast Break." The track reached No. 4 on Billboard's Hot 100 singles chart in 1980.

Wright, who recorded her last studio album, "The Spell," in 1983, boasted a resume that includes work with Quincy Jones, Ray Charles, Leon Ware and Donald Byrd, among others.

At deadline, no further details regarding Wright's death or funeral arrangements were available.

-- Gail Mitchell, L.A.


I finished the first of three books I took out from the library -- Victor Lavalle's first novel, The Ecstatic. But alas it took me longer than it should have, about two weeks. Has the internet stolen my attention span?

I hopefully will be able to finish Walter Mosley's What Next? and ZZ Packer's Drinking Coffee Elsewhere in a quicker fashion.

I should be writing something but I forgot what it was

There's so much I could be writing in this blog-- that I should be writing.

The bbqs I attended this past weekend-- Sunday being the best of the bunch for this dude's bornday.
or the all the programs and and video I have stacked up on through this.

I've been feeling stilted again with how slow my life seems to be moving. I've been broke once again for over a month now, stacking up those credit charges. I want to call up Chase an tell them to stop sending me all this snail mail reminding what I already know.

And is it a prerequisite for teenage actors on soaps to be not so good at their craft? So I catch glimpses of All My children cause of my grandmother and like the prominent black cast members -- a dude with cornrows and some girl who seems to be a manipulative trouble making. The boy seems to try to emote but it seems so forced and the girl-- over acts a bit much. I thought Sarah Michelle Gellar had raised the bar.

My friend Steve who calls me at the oddest times mentioned something about one of his lady's roommates leaving the house they live in. And a possible $200-300 rent for someone who was interested in moving in (like me).

I have officially quit writing album reviews

Today I told someone I work with at a magazine that I have decided after doing this for close to 8 years-- paid and free work-- , that there is not point in this. That I feel like a fraud. And trying to describe an album in 100 to 300 words is not fair.

Which is what I have been faced with since I began writing reviews for more mainstream publications.

But then I have "quit" writing about music in general cause I tire of the hustle and the lack of really caring about the music by the publications, but not really by the Editors. In their heart many editors want what the publishers don't care for.

but back to reviews. Maybe I have been tainted by boards like this or maybe I just don't have it in me anymore. Maybe I wish that not all of us writers were writing about the music itself because no matter how well we writer if we don't know the difference between a bass and guitar or high hat and rimshot, maybe we shouldn't be writing reviews.

and I kind of feel that way sometimes. I listen to so much but I can't do this anymore.

Who knows - Grad school awaits me to write fiction in the fall.

So i've been spening a lot more time with my college friends, sort of a return to my roots and a retreat from all the awkwardness i've coem across in my social buterfly mode of the past year.