Sunday, June 7, 2020

Griot's Corner

I love stories. I love words and the rhythm of words and the feel of them in yuh mouth.
I love the things stories give, the places they take us. Everyting.
Beginning. Middle. End.

This space is a story space. Mostly fictional, sometimes personal, always honest.
Some of them will be short, and some will be long.

I starting with something long so I gonna have to post it in parts. I eh finish writing it yet. I have the beginning and I have the end...ish. Every week or two I'll post more so feel free to come back and check for updates.

In a way, reader, we going on this journey together.
To see what the story reveals...

https://midnightgriot.blogspot.com/2020/06/five-sisters-part-1.html


Tuesday, June 2, 2020

Line of Fire

no justice
no peace

From George Floyd to Breonna Taylor to Sandra Bland to Tamir Rice to Trayvon Martin to Emmett Till.
To more named and even more un-named. Countless the number of strange fruit, seemingly endless the harvest.
The breaking point reach, the strangeness of the fruit means, unlike apples, oranges and that kind of thing, this fruit fights back.

To be black in Amerikkka means to be hunted. Bad boys, good boys, young boys, old boys, it doh matter. Hot gyal, skinny gyal, fat gyal, tall gyal, it doh matter. It doh matter what yuh do. Whatever yuh might be dreaming of, who yuh in love with, who or what yuh sacrificing for, it doh matter. If yuh black you are a threat, and yuh going to be treated as such.

To be black in Amerikkka means to be hunted, today, like it did yesterday, like it will be tomorrow. Is not just Trayvon, not just Emmett. Everytime it happens, again, is never a first time, just a new reminder. Because this happened to your father, and his mother, and her sister and their aunt. Because this is what happens when yuh black. Is always a pressure to either 'áwww shucks, Massa' or 'Fuck you Cracker!'

From the overseer to the patty-roller to the klans men to law men. Generations of black men and women, boys and girls, people, family, murdered in streets and fields and their own homes over and over. One law for the white man and another for the niggers. I hate that word, but how else to put it? That is the treatment we get. We are not treated like people, we are treated like niggers. Like expendable shit. This from a country was built on our backs for free and nothing close to compensation given in return.
Shut the fuck up nigger.
Fuck you nigger.

The time come to stop pussy-footing around this thing. If people can't start treating each other as people this will continue. The institutions in the place built around racism. Inequality, plain and simple. Is not just justice for blood-spilled, but for children starved, and opportunities denied. Every black American problem is not the fault of the system, but the way the system is doh really help yuh get out of yuh problems.
Kapernick could become a multi-milion dollar earning professional athlete and when he try to say something about the reality of being black in Amerikkka the institution rope him in and set his ass aside.
Shut the fuck up nigger.
Fuck you nigger.

I have no idea what the statistics are but I wonder how many out of every ten black men have had 'run-ins' with the police. I wonder what that number is like. Not how many end up in murders or arrests, just how many in general. How many get stopped just going about their daily shit, not doing nothing to nobody, just trying to live. Out of every ten, how many feel hunted?
I live in New York and Miami and felt it both places, more so Miami. Even had my own run in with them, because I 'matched the description of a suspect'. So five of them, while I'm minding my own business, holding bags of my own groceries, four of them pile on top of me and take me down. They drag my head toward the doorway of a food place where my roommate was, I was outside waiting on him after we had make a grocery run. My head right by the door, so he can't push it open to come out, he just have to stay in there and watch, cyah do nothing.
I get a knee on my neck, hands yanked groceries gone all over. A next one on my legs. I can't see what the other two doing. The fifth one is talking to the dispatcher, confirming the description of the suspect, which other than black male, is nothing like me.
Absolutely, fucking nothing.
So they let mih up and mih mouth open. Mih roommate who was in the store I was in front of come outside and he mouth open. It didn't matter that of the two that I couldn't see, one had a gun drawn and the other a taser. Nice.
Shut the fuck up nigger.
They threaten us. Shut the fuck up. This could go a lot worse. Pick up yuh shit, shut the fuck up and go home.
Fuck you nigger.

And so the place will burn.
It will have good people, honest hard-working people who fight hard against the system to build something who will feel the pain of this. That not fair. It not fair that it doh have one face or place to direct the anger and frustration toward. It never ever gets resolved, just simmers up and is either crushed or it simmers down, but never resolved. So the place will burn. I can't judge that. It will sound fucked up, but, Eric Gordon, George Floyd, George Jackson, all the black men and women, feel it. The fear of being hunted.
The police, so many times after a murder of this sort, talk of needing to resort to violence because they were in fear for their lives. In March of this year, Breonna Taylor was shot eight times in her home by officers executing a no-knock warrant. A local investigation resulted in no criminal proceedings against the officers. It is currently being investigated by the FBI.
Philando Castile was shot fives times during a 'routine' traffic stop with his girlfriend and her four year old daughter in the car. That officer was acquitted of all charges.
Who really in the line of fire?
So the place will burn.

know justice
know peace

Friday, May 29, 2020

Mango


It have certain things dat de shape of ah mango allow it to do an' not do - dat is physics. 
Mango doh know like how ah woman or man know. Mango only know like mango could know - dat is metaphysics.

But mango know enough to be real surprised when it leave de stem and never hit nothing.

Mango confuse in as much as it could be afflicted by confusion. In terms of what mango know, when it leave de stem, it supposed to hit ground. Mango didn't call it ground, or hit, or stem, but still, mango know de ting dat was supposed tuh happen, didn't happen.

De way it should go is, if mango not on de stem, then mango have one mission now, and that is to throw root into ground and grow into tree. Mango don't know root or tree either, and it don't know grow. Mango just know mango.

Mango is just really a slave to chemical responses triggered by physical stimuli, such as, a middle-aged mango, refusing to make de necessary lifestyle changes and thus becoming too heavy to hold on to a stem (the inherent paradox being that fuller mangoes are more desirable and the pinnacle of this desirability results in said mango being eaten, or falling!) Said stem giving way, releasing mango into free-fall, and as mango spins it begins to release new chemicals. Cacophanies of peel, flesh, seed and amber sap-blood, and de pale milky tear forming where it was attached to de stem, all combine to make a scent that must attract, flies and birds, cattle and people. Mango need help, to strip away de flesh and de skin so dat de seed could now, naked as it born, return to de earth, back to mother.

Outside of physics, a nex' ting mango doh know is probability. Dis itself, not too far fetched, given mango total lack of any mathematical knowledge. Ah mean, this not limited to de computational level but even if we just talking basic numeracy, maths and mango is ah NO. Like dat shit so understood it capitalized. Case in point, if yuh have two mango, and somebody yuh doh like ask yuh for one, how much mango you have? None...but we digress. 

So probability and mango is ah NO. Mango just releasing chemicals and advertising itself for consumption so dat it could survive. Mango, surprisingly, more and more sounding like a sex worker. Mango, releasing chemicals, advertising and spinning, don't know, but know dat it suppose to hit ground, ignorant of maths and anything math related, and is off de stem, in free-fall, making little mango-type revolutions through de air, and what den, are de odds? 

What are de odds dat mango spin in a way that no mango ever spin before. Is not so much dat mango spin out of existence, is more like mango spin right into existing and awareness. On de way to what was supposed to be down, after leaving the stem, mango never hit ground. De perfect, mango-type revolutions, as executed by now off de stem, free-falling mango, excite up molecule in de atmosphere and, de molecular activity lead to, now known to mango, a build up of energy as un-witnessed by humanity or mango prior or since and a resulting wormhole, just large enough and appearing instantaneously long enough to swallow mango, and only mango. It eh take no ground, no stem, no nothing else. It was, just a blip of something looking like it become nothing. Like it was never dey.

Mango with de perfect mango-type revolutions is now in an ascended state of nirvana and has gone from being an un-regarded collection of universal material, to the center. Mango, by entering the wormhole while performing perfect mango-type revolutions triggered two things. 

First, which was triggered by the wormhole but, the wormhole was created by the spin of Mango and thus causation can be attributed to Mango. The wormhole led, not through time but rather to an eternal moment. 

This moment led to the second thing which was Mango becoming sentient. 

This sentient, still spinning, free-falling Mango, immediately understood how it came to be. The wormhole that it generated took it to a dimensional plane where it is forever trapped in its act of perfection, the perfect mango-type revolutions that it randomly fell into, while falling from de stem. Having been transported to this eternal moment while embodying mango-type perfection, Mango also acknowledges that it is not only sentient but is in fact transcended. Mango now, lives in the moment, has no judgement, is fully enlightened.

Mango's first and second to last thought as an enlightened being is:
Now that I am sentient and enlightened and understand what has transpired, I can also make my way back to earth and show dem people de scene.
Mango's last thought is:
Nah. Fuck dat. First man see mih go try to eat mih.
Which is very much an un-enlightened sentiment, the realization of which causes Mango's rotation to wobble ever so slightly from the axis of perfect mango-type revolutions but it is enough to immediately reverse the whole process.

Back on earth, though it seemed like only the blink of an eye to mango, two hundred years had passed. The tree mango fell from has long gone, withered and died. The field the tree was in, gone, now a small city in the general area, but only pavement and road in like, the exact spot where the tree was. This hungry vagrant now shuffling off, wishing there was a tree to shade him from the hot sun. He in the middle of pondering this when a full, juicy mango hit him on top his head, like come out of thin air, just drop outta nowhere.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Bad Mind Boot



I learnt how to pull weeds and hold a cutlass, from my father and he learnt from his father. I assume, the pattern continues like this, through time. Generations of males in my family, teachings their sons how to work with the earth to bring forth food, and so life.

My grandfather came to Trinidad from Grenada to work as a rigman for Apex Oil Company. Oil was a new king in Trinidad, and many people from the other Caribbean islands came here searching for employment and oil money. Gramps was one, and soon sent for my Grandmother, who at the time was pregnant with my father, and my two uncles who were already toddlers at the time.

Gramps wasn't a strapping man by all accounts. He was tall, wiry, and bad mind. Two stories in particular, that I've been told since my childhood standout and both revolve around his gardening rather than his rig work. He died before I was born so I never got to meet the man, only know the myth.

Gramps made the oil money, but my grandmother was the one who proved to be a business brain. All the oil money did not go into the bank. My grandfather kept a limited, but decent kitchen garden on a parcel of land not too far from their home. He taught his sons about gardening in maybe a round about way. From the sound of it, their presence in the garden was more chore than lesson. They also raised ducks, chickens, turkeys and geese, which were kept under the house, again, all in a limited sense. And a couple cows, that were out in the garden. All this was due to my grandmother's vision and tenacity. At different points when they faced hardships, he would want to sell and she would advise against it.

One day, while my grandfather was in the garden, a cow bolted. I don't know what startled it, but it pulled up stake and rope, and took off! So Gramps took off right after it in his garden boots and ran the cow down, keeping pace with the bovine until it tired. Real bad mind ting. Then pulled the now tired and stubborn cow all the way back to the garden.

In the other story, my father is a teenager. It is late evening, and my grandfather is a bit late coming back from the garden. They hear his footsteps approaching, but instead of the usual, almost hollow doop-doop sound of his even pace in boots, they hear something like doop-bloosh, doop-bloosh. My grandfather makes his way up the short flight of stairs, doop-bloosh, doop-bloosh, and sits at the top of the porch. He takes one boot off, and drops it. Then slowly, he takes the other boot off, and drains it. He was cutting down a tree and at some point, the blade glanced off the tree and caught him behind a calf. He kind of tied it off and continued chopping, until the tree was cut down, then made his way home, with a boot half filled with his blood.

So yeah, bad mind and I find my bad mind boots. In choosing to maroon myself, to begin the break with capitalism, bad mind has come in handy. A stubbornness, a grindstone for the blade. Gramps was bad mind. He was a man too, who understood that you can't depend on this system to supply all your needs. Society has come a long way, since it first start trying to be social. But, we exist in a system that often falls short of meeting our needs. Sometimes, what benefits one group, tends to put another at disadvantage. Maybe this struggle is inevitable, due to limited resources and over population, etc. Or maybe we need to learn a thing or two about balance. Rather than have bad mind about 'getting what is mine' in an individual sense, we could start being bad mind in a collective sense. The response then isn't about being individualistic, but rather about understanding the individual's role in contributing to something greater than society, the vibration of the universe and existence itself!

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Incantation

Looking back as we travel forward we acknowledge,
the ancestors, big and small
the connections to all people, places, things and times
the power of ideas and the exchange of ideas
the joy and duty of expression
the endlessness of the search for truth

guide us