R.I.P. Prince

WHY MODERN MOVEMENTS DIE

Why do modern movements die? From a Western more Eurocentric perspective, fundamentally and on the Grassroots level, people see that in order to make the changes and move the general masses in an evolutionary, revolutionary "State of Being", it takes work. Not a monumental amount of Life Energy, but a shared amount of work such as a simple Phone Call, Attending a Meeting, Learning and Researching for 20 minutes, Showing up at an Information Rally, Voting, Passing out a Flyer or a Dozen, Taking a single interest on a single issue in a single community, Asking Questions and staying on top of it until there is an answer ..... these things are easy to do but they are also acts of consistency.

The general masses have no clue that if not for the Critical Masses ( i.e. the minimum size or amount of something required to start or maintain a venture), their illusion of stability and livelihood would cease or as some people would coin, "Our Way of Life". They can never answer the question of "How did you get to this point?" They know where they are, but not how they arrived. Those that falter equally don't see that where they stand, is currently being eroded on all four sides including the ceiling. Where once there was glass that could be shattered, now is replaced by stone and mortar. This is how those that get excited about "Change" and "Hope" get misdirected and misinformed because they aren't use to doing the WORK that comes with that Change, thus their loss of Hope and then subscribe to their addiction to Complacency; their flavor of choice.

The true merit to being complacent or in giving up is that the loss isn't instant, its a slow burning death into obscurity and to them, those that are still in it become the envied and or the enemy to their decision to ignore the World around them. The Progressives or Critical Masses become the enemy and the Complacent, the victim. Especially for young people. If you ask many to just put away the Cameras and Selfie sticks and Video for their Social Media apps while being Activist and just "focus", they would see early that moving in a Progressive direction is a lifestyle and not a Fad, which is what Established Political Candidates and Politicians sell to the general masses. They all seem to have somewhere in their past, done something progressive once, but now they too have given into "the bliss".

PRINCE RIP

When an artist dies, it isn't that they are no longer present, not just a transition, its all the creative artistry that they invested in the World, stops and we now have to live empty of it.

THE COMPLACENCY FACTOR

"As Bernie Sanders would say, "Let me explain to you how we got here". The problem with the NY Primaries is that what occurred is the Law and a common voting practice. No one looked deeply into this issue or even took up the mantle to question it because overall the Independent vote never mattered. There is a historical backdrop as to why this is so, but like all subject matters, no one wants to hear the History. Speaking about Current Events, only Independents know this and not until a REAL and LEGIT Independent candidate became a reality that it mattered. And like all things American, they work up too late to watch two warring Political Parties whom they have all disassociated themselves from as a form of Political Righteousness and Protest, make a decision for the candidate of their choice.

THE STOP WATCH IS AT 15 SECONDS

"15 Seconds Before The Wake-up Call" This is when (some) Black folk are just waking up to learn that they've missed the opportunities presented to them because they were sleeping for 7yrs. Others are going to sleep until the last second and then the few left over will wake-up 15 seconds after that and will be LATE altogether.

At this point, any criticism of the President and First Lady is moot. Their job is done. The two have done everything that they can and were allowed to do, with and without the support of the (Black) people. The psychological reality is that America will soon go back to its traditional Social, Economic, Racial, Spiritual and Judicial business of the Pre-Obama era and Post-Black influence within the White House, the result will shock the National senses. A near decade of Hope to soon become a new decade of crust in waking eyes asking the question, "What did I miss?" The last time this type of national cultural/psychological energy occurred was in the 10 year transition from the Civil Rights era of the late 60's early 70's to 1982 (the post-Carter to Regan years). Alfonzo Rachel is only capitalizing on the building fear/disconnect of an Obama-less World and like others, the social commentary rants will become the new trend as we count down the last seconds of President Obama's term. Picking and collecting gripes for these people has more to do with self-criticism and a lack of accomplishment of not doing during the Obama's Presidency than Barak Obama himself. Life and History coming full circle, these type of videos/criticisms are exactly like the videos/criticisms that were thrown at both the President and First Lady when Obama first announced he was going to run for POTUS. Taking a page from a previous article published (DON'T PUT WORDS IN MICHELLE'S MOUTH - Feb. 20, 2008) this is just more of the same posturing for relevance as we move into a Post-Obama World where careers were made and broken because of it.

Alfonzo Rachel, like many others have made a living, or an Internet liking, for condemning Black folk on their lack of action within the politics of America, lack of influence, progress, the limited fundamental shifts needed to bring the "Hope" and "Change" proposed by President Obama. The easy and more sensational aspect of his and many others (i.e Byron Allen) career is based upon "pointing fingers", inflated theories of the extreme attitudes of the Boule and Niggaism. Using common script

and language of modern media to expound on the insignificant, Alfonzo Rachel doesn't touch on the very basics of why Black folk have and will miss the mark come the "zero count". At no real point did African-Americans collectively move beyond the pulling of the "voting lever" and moved beyond the first lesson of Voting 101, which was to hold those voted for ACCOUNTABLE after the vote. Nowhere and no one among the many Pundits, Social and Civil leadership or even the handful of Black Super Rich made the charge simple and clear that voting was the easy part, what was needed next was in chapter two of the book of VOTING 101. Those that did the homework had and are passing (i.e. Womens Rights, Gay Rights, Immigrant Rights, Tea Party Rights, Senior Citizen Rights, Gun Rights, Animal Rights). Those that thought they were moving beyond this point, were just researching on why they weren't and thus avoided the true test altogether; being Active.

Michelle Obama and her Commencement Address was very insignificant to the overall Big Picture. This is the real truth Alfonzo was using in distracting his many YouTube followers from. It is not about Michelle Obama. It never was. Its about Alfonzo Rachel's lack of real and authentic contributions to Black America since 2008 and his report card results come 2016. Funny. He actually quoted an African-American Elder scholar about this very same thing. The only problem was, instead of using it against Michelle Obama, the words were actually meant for him.

TO THE LOST MILLENNIALS

My generation never abandoned the Millennials, it was their love of the "other" America, the one where collectively they decided to drop the African in the African-American for just being American. The generation that rejected our constant reminders, pleas, lessons, dialogue, history and stories of our past legacies that has brought them full circle to this moment. It was and still is their LOVE AND HIPHOP consciousness that is keeping them from picking up the work put on "pause" and Turn-Up on the people we kept reminding people were not "your friends". When we said, "The revolution will not be televised." We were direct and clear. No Cartoons, No Coonery, No Shuckin'-n-Jivin', No Parties, Fashion Show, False Entertaining Prophets and definitely No Procrastination. The same critical mass of people then are still here now, we just are older, more tired and have old shoes worn out from the marching, marching and more marching. So you can't blame us, its the Millennials that have to catch up on the work delayed and find your strength, shake the brainwashing and abandon the fear that is called "sacrificing for the future".

WHEN BLACK MOTHERS NEED TO LET GO OF THEIR BOYS TO BECOME MEN

Before I get in, can we take a moment to observe the mother, what she represented, the language, the dress, the attitude? OK ... now for my POV:

I love Mom and I know she meant well but her MALE CHILD'S purpose was to protect his future and as such, his MOTHER. This is what MEN do. This is what Black folk have done since chained and bound for our Trans-Atlantic kidnapping from Africa. There isn't a time or generation Black Men and Black Boys have not had to step up and represent Civil and Human Disobedience to survive in The Americas. At no time in American History has the country freely extended Human Rights to Black folk. It hasn't freely done so to Hispanics, Native Americans and Indigenous Peoples, Women or to its own White folk for what matters. That being said, I can't honestly say I know all the details and background of this mother's intent but I do know it was personal, counterproductive and selfish to her cause of; "let some other kid get hurt and die and not mine" and all the while those others are taking the hit for her not seeing the Big Picture. The MAN in her child that needed to grow, evolved and experience what needs to be done is/was being crushed. THIS IS WHY SINGLE WOMEN NEED A STRONG MALE ROLE MODEL FOR THEIR SONS. JUST FOR MOMENTS LIKE THIS.

Imagine in India, South Africa, Mexico, Syria, Libya, Russia, Pakistan, China, Korea, Palestine, Vietnam, Columbia, Argentina, Poland, Romania, Latvia, Estonia, Ireland, Egypt, Burma, the Congo, Ivory Coast, Haiti and I can probably list 50 more countries had mothers telling their children ... their male sons, to stay indoors, to STOP throwing rocks at an oppressive force that uses military tools to oppress them, kill them and their families and keep them in fear? To coddled and sheltered their BOYS ... their YOUNG MEN? The attitude of "NOT MINE" doesn't work when you are fighting for justice. This is the "sheeple" way of looking at life. She has in essence tamed and neutered her child into submission maintaining that only Martin Luther King Jr. is the way and light for social justice is the only way for pushing the agenda of human rights forward.

What needed to be done was she should have been by her son's side guiding him in a way (or out of the way) that had equal impact. If she didn't know how, then a person equal to the

challenge should have been by her side or had that person guide him. Be it mentor, pastor, boyfriend or MISSING FATHER. And just like people have issues with public shaming on the Internet, I have issue with the public castration of Black Boys to Men because we are too scared to "Do the Right Thing". You all do remember that movie right? No one left the theater saying how you would have told your child not to react and get involved then. You actually applauded the actions because it was real enough to connect to. If that was true then, when did it become fantasy today? Same actions, same scenario just absent the stereo.

This mother was wrong in her methods because at the end of the day, if her child had his neck broken by the Baltimore police and got off without accountability, she'd want more than a few kids throwing rocks at their oppressors. She'd take all and every attempt to Right what was/is wrong with the System. She coddled him into submission and this his Manhood took a backseat to a mother's misguided notion that what was going on was too ignorant, dangerous and un-Manly for him to experience. A warrior to the cause taken out by an unfriendly fire, a Mother from the inside. So now I have to ask, who was more dangerous, the Baltimore police for murdering a Black Man and getting away with it or a Millennial Mother not connected to the history to how she was able to achieve her relaxed two toned hair, hoop earrings, gold necklaces and watch, makeup, nails, high heel shoes, club dressed with a Love and HipHop attitude? Her agenda was to keep her Boy a Baby and let others do the heavy lifting while her stay at home and wait for the benefits to continue to rain down as those in the 1950's, 60's 70's and still into the 2000's are doing. Her excuse was that she didn't want her child to be another Freddy Gray ..... truth be told, he already is. I get it, she is a MOTHER but like all

things that matter and affect boys, you have to allow them to be Men, make mistakes and let them go.I used the word coddling for this Mother's actions defined as a disease. Yes, respecting one's mother means coddling, in my opinion, if a mother actions keep a Boy from becoming MALE or keeps the Boy so closed off to the World that he becomes stymied by its reality and easy prey for manipulation and easy marginalized as an adult male. This situation required a MALE point of view which would have allowed this boy to make a balanced and focused decision (i.e. a Male and Female perspective). Granted there are Men who feel the same way the Mother did or does and may have told this boy not to get "involved" but the only difference is that the Male would have represented "differently". This wasn't about safety for her child, it was about NOT letting her child make an adult decision to do what he felt was the RIGHT THING."I went because in the past, a lot of my friends have been beaten, killed, abandoned, hurt by the police—so I went down there just to fight for what I stand for ..." - Michael Singleton, the Young Man who was beaten by his mother participating in Civil Disobedience in Baltimore Md.

"We should applaud our young Black (boys) for having bravery their parents' have not." - Craig Schley

MY OPINION

FALLEN PEDDLES

A bouquet of roses, delicate and long stemmed,
smashed repeatedly upon the shoulder of her lover
in a giddy playfulness which rained peddles upon the floor.
a floor of urban grit and grime.
her screams of submission
went unheard
by her lover of dreadlocks passion
and half covered ass.
golden from ear to tooth
he was as sensual as he was boorish.
their affections
displayed a certain indiscretion
upon  the world
as we all witnessed it
cramped and annoyed.
like voyeurs
we all indirectly watched.
we all had no choice.
we,
the rail passengers,
the couple’s audience,
looked through their actions
and far beyond the woman's cries
-- because  we all had heard them before
and became tolerant.
their passions raised and continued just as we
rolled
along the tracks of
the Path.

there were others on the train.
some asleep, others chillin'
-- as they would call it.
all of them dressed in rag tagged grunge
and tattered plaid and grilled tweed,
a 40 in one hand,
and a middle finger
ever ready to be triggered.
flicked and shot up at those that would abject
to a generation called X.
cold and careless to the world
it was summer everyday and all the time
for this cogently lost age.
rappa tap tappin' a
tongue click clappin'
they beat a steady rip
to the roar of the underground train.
and bothered no one at all
in their world of choice.

the train continued
rickety tickety
rip roar and roll
through the urban veins of a city.
the sound of the Path
to Journal Square from 33rd
echoing the passing of a dying night of decadent delight,
crawling unrelentingly towards the possibility of a new day.
rail
dirtied and used
she moved abused
in a timely fashion.
much like all those that came and gone
as they went about their personal business.
like rejected monopoly pieces
set upon plastic and pseudo leather squared seats,
they all just sat
and stared.
each rider either passing go
and not collecting $200
or habitually crapping out,
waiting for that double
to get out of jail,
sentenced to a lifetime of monotony and mediocrity.

a brief stop here,
a brief stop there,
the world and beyond came along for the ride.
23rd Street, 14th Street, and 9th
i saw the tired, the hungry, and the morally troubled.
some chasing facsimiles of the Quest, Red Man, Gangstar
and the sister Queen.
still others just acted the part
and watched
the cracks of men and women,
eye to eye
contact for contact.
and through all
the rip rattle and roar
not one word was uttered.
but if you spoke in eyes
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . too much was said.
 Christopher Street
-- the stop of P's and C's
stiffen some
and brought more conversation to others.
both spoken and unspoken.

befuddled men spoke in spit filled slurs
which spewed upon the residents of the cars,
going home,
it would seem that the street beggars are starting earlier.
or was it late?
at four in the morning
in a city that never sleeps
time was irrelevant.
sleep was futile.
and life,
the will to live
was all that was necessary
when alms for the poor became the only way to survive.
screeches and jerks
the countdown to finality
after Grove, Newport,and Exchange Place,
we ended in New Jersey,
its city and
Newark.
an assumed subtlety,
in its deception of safety.
for but one dollar of happiness,
one more dollar to step on the rose peddles on the floor
we end our exhibition
within the soul of the Path
and go home to our other selves
as the sun rises.

Fallen Peddles written by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © 1993 All Rights Reserved by Peace of Mind Publishings, Inc.

MADE IN AMERICA

i was made in america

conceived in a korean made bed

by an african american woman

and jamaican father.

birthed in a jewish hospital

and branded on the butt by an east indian doctor

i was held and fed by haitian and dominican nurses.

i was wheeled to my new family

by a german born woman

to grandma who cooed while father drove

in his japanese made car

passing greek and italian restaurants

and an irish own coffee shop.

my father's friend made us a portuguese feast

for good health and a full future

while Adel praised my coming in several of his prays.

with slavic cheers and gifts of wonderment

my cousins with latino excitement arrived

with my aunt from puerto rico

commanding order for my mother and me to rest.

in my prussian styled home

grandpa called from canada.

he'll be late coming for the visit.

and Elijah,

that's my brother,

arriving from catholic school

is uncertain where he now belongs

in his now expanding world.

the day moved on

as did all the enthusiasm around me.

the joy to a world,

touched by my presence,

i cried for food and soon slept

in my small world called

america.  

made in america written by Shazza Nakim (c) copyright 1994 Reserved to Peace of Mind Publishings, Inc.

Starlight Ball

Searching for that perfect wall flower before

midnight approaches.

The last dance on wooden floors cracked with memories.

Arms held high and silk draped over young naked shoulders,

locked together and spinning in small circles

then dipping,

filling the stale air with fancy perfume

-- straight from Paris.

The dance.

Men's suits,

uniformed, pressed sharp and tight

for sailing,

come morn,

the rallying call

for a spirit soon to be lost.

As said by every father

and their father's before.

Generations of stories told.

Only theirs with different players

equal with drama and tragedy.

The story of all the children of God

leaving the Choir of the Angles

to sing no more.

So they dance.

Starlight dust settling in young  eyes

floating from the floor, cracked and hollowed,

dust which reflect strobe lights and sparkle like moving points of light

illuminating a portion of this hall of happiness.

White on White

head to toe,

marionette dancers place ruby red kisses that blend

with rosy cheeks of innocence.

Baptizing the future of the Nation's dream,

their only consolation of hope.

For they all know

-- all too well,

it will fade come daybreak.

The dance.

Just as all dreams,

we soon forget them in time

and continue about our lives.

Somewhat changed,

somewhat older,

that much more further

into the dance

at the Starlight Ball. 


Starlight Ball  written by Shazza Nakim (c) copyright 1994 Reserved to Peace of Mind Publishings, Inc.

THE BEST OF 2014

A Look Back at 2014, The Year of Soul Searching

A montage of photography during 2014, "A Year of Soul Searching". I thank all of my supporters and mentors for your personal energy, advice and attention over the months. Your support has allowed me to grow, influence and bring a sense of peace and happiness to others.

SEEDS AND SAND (Umoja)

A single grain of sand,

the DNA of Mother Earth.

A seed that rolled along Oceans for millennia.

This grain,

formed from the heat of all there was, is and

will be,

the "was" that peeled unconscious life

into beings that walk the land.

The land that drank deep.

The first Man.

The first Woman.

The first Child.

That which held the prints of hands, knees and

the foreheads

of the first Prayer.

This seed call sand, had ships shadow over it

as they circumnavigated the World.

This seed called sand, had laid upon it drowned

bodies

of Mothers, Fathers, sons and daughters

kidnapped.

Robbed of home.

Blood.

Bone.

This seed called sand, moved by hurricanes and

land shifts,

creatures and coral.

This seed, called sand is the truest of Bible.

Torah.

Quran.

Written in a language of God that took Billions

of years to write.

More Billions to read.

And eternity of speak.

This sand.

This seed.

This of many from a bit of mountain,

a fraction of Unity.                                               Universe.

  

SEEDS AND SAND (Umoja) by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © by Peace of Mind Publishings and with permission by Shazza Nakim