Life Changing Experience---Back Alley Bules

Okay below is something that i wrote about my junior year of high school, so i decided to completely overhall it for this class because it is one of my biggest life changing experiences. It was first tie that I was able to accept the feelings for another person. And I tryed to make sure that it conveys the story and that the language doesnt hide what i want to say...









Leaves were laid to rest under our feet
Cigarettes butts presided
As we conversed.
An exchange in words
Outside my element.
Cold air surrounded us
Like coffins sealing
The light which we wanted revealed.

Smoke indistinguishable from each given breath,
Drag by drag
It burned my skin
this meaningless manipulation of words to speak.
Only this differs from the usual
Shredding of English to contrive a lie.
Honesty through an inch filter.

We were weak
supported by nothing more
Than brick walls.
False smiles and fake fronts had all crumbled.
It burned the true question.
How do I ask? Why am I so afraid of action?

More than just moving my lips
Something to clench your fists for
Effort to gaze past the oceans in his eyes,
Into something more than the superficial.

Finally
True contact
Marlboros never smelled sweeter and
Cotton never had more life between my fingers.
Anatomy meant nothing. I felt his soul.
Battered and beaten it was more than I had ever had.

Like phantom limbs I felt us
But in reality he gone
Never to be seen again, only missed

Free Write 02/09/2010

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference… before I discovered prayers like this and how to properly pray the rosary. Most times I prayed it was just saying this verbatim because I was told to. But when I discovered this pray for Serenity and how to pray the rosary they became a part of my thought process. Whenever things were falling apart in my life and literally there was no one to talk too about it without cause them undue stress. I would escape and pray the rosary. It had a meditative effect outside the connection with God I could actually empty my mind and when I was finish be able to see how things were and think about how I should react to them. The prayer for serenity came later and it allowed me to stop and think about m life on a smaller scale so that I wouldn’t just keep spinning my wheels and never actually accomplishing something in the world. These were my base as far as prayer. But I was taught so many more in my life and told to learn them that they were good for me to know without really understanding what they were or how I should even use them in life…

Have I ever directly to God???

Well the obvious answer would be Kairos and the last small group before the end. Where we were told to speak directly to God and ignore or forget that the physical world was around us. And somehow we all managed to do that and actually pour ourselves into space and reveal the damages that had been inflicted on our hearts so that God could help us heal them… but regardless of that once we released all that pain we had people to hold us together and 5 guys to support us once we came back from giving ourselves to “God.” The truth of the matter is they were God in action and what they did to help me at least can’t even be measured in leaps and bounds.

02/28/2010 Race. . .

What is ur race?
I black first and foremost, not only because that’s the first thing the world sees when I walk into a room but because I choose to be. Though black is a amalgamation of several races…

What do other people perceive you as a race?
When I walk into a room I’m a black man… an American version of an African American decent… Occasionally I get Caribbean or Dominican I’m not sure why but that what it usually boils down too.

What is ur gender???
I’m always been and always plan to be a male…. I’m perfectly comfortable with that it’s what life gave me and I’m extremely happy with that.

What's a stereotype?
It’s a basic assumption about a group of people based on some loose basic of fact. Its takes all the individuals of that group and generalized them into a set category, class, liking.

Make a list of stereotypes associated with your group, gender, etc.

Black –Light skinned
• Loud
• Musical take revolve around Hip-hop, Rap, R&B
• Good at sports
• Superior to other darker skinned individuals.
• Light fried chicken
• Baptist

How accurate to the stereotypes to you as a person??
Generally I’m loud depending on the situation. I love R&B and Hip-hop but they are just a small tip of my musical taste which revolves far from this base. I used to be good at sports but if you put me on any kinda field today I’m pretty sure that I would embarrass myself depending on the sport. I have never thought that I was above anybody. Also I’m definitely Roman Catholic.

Do you ever stereotype others??
Yes I do stereotype others, but I never act on those thoughts they are strictly thoughts. I try to make my interaction with other as uniform as possible and just be me. But it does happen and I’ve have done it before.

Do you believe that racism and sexism exists in America??
Oh hell yes the exist, people judge and limit other people based on these preconceived notions every day. Jokes and off hand comments are through around all the time and even if you don’t take them to heart the fact that you produce them means that they have crossed your mind on several occasions. People believe that if you are of a certain race you can’t understand some abstract content….

Does this question make you uncomfortable??
Not at all…. This question has been taught to me from a very young age and I’ve been able to see the progress to our country as far as race issues and can see where we are today…people see this as some abstract comment that does apply to the world today but it happens every day and people have become blind to it “ignorance is bliss” I guess but I rather see the evils of the world and know what is out there.

Are you are racist or a sexist????
Nope I don’t think so, I think that the fact that I have come to terms with the fact that I have these preconceived notion and stereotypes makes me okay. I think sense of know that I have these thought s that I can change my actions it the acting upon these feelings that make me a racist.

Who is a racist or a sexist??
I believe that people who act upon their belief in stereotypes or let those beliefs rule what the y do are. You are a free thinking g individual and should be able to think outside of them. I you choose not to I believe that you are a racist. If you can’t judge the individual outside of the whole general group I think that something is wrong with you.

How does your teachers race, class, gender, ethnicity influence your learning??
Yo cant sum it up into one big yes or no because its goes on a very strict case by case basis…

02/18/2010

Lean on me if you need a friend, because I’m going to need somebody to lean on …. That song has gotten me through this morning along with several other variations of gospel and pop. I just needed something with energy and life because I have been dragging more than usual… idk its jus this week is the rebound of last week and the snowpocalyspe that occurred all over the east coast. And somehow directly affected my state of mind and ability to function well within society. I guess I had way too much time to be by myself and think or whatever but it just got me in a loll. It doesn’t matter though because if everything goes well this weekend is going to be amazing and ridic and completely soul fulfilling I’ll drag the world by storm. Its whatever… though recently this whole self identify has been driving me crazy I don’t like being labeled or sub categorized my identify is my own and no one else’s.

Rant

What is it to be indie?? Or better yet what is it to be black????
Do you have the answer… think about it… now that you’ve got that image in your head why it is that everyone thinks everything that is indie is not black…
Why is it that when I’m on the subway listening to “I Want to be a Minority”, people think that I’m the “American Idiot”.
Why can’t I have a “Panic at the Disco!” And Listen to “Fall Out Boy”… am I an “All American reject”. Why is it when I rock out to “When Love Takes Over” people tell me to “Chase Pavements”…
I am not black because I listen to more than just hip hop and R&B.
Black people invented rock music… pop music is a direct descendent of our own culture…
Why does it matter?…
do you think I’m white washed… blinded by the white lights that is America

Should I be thinking about “If I Ruled the World” or seeing if my heart is still in Zion. I know about “Bonita Applebum” and all that “Flava in Your Ear”. Should I be worried about “not guilty, he who does not feel me is not real to me therefore he doesn’t exist… so poof…vamoose son of a”- so of a wait a minute… I thought indie was short for independent.
Independent of color, race, creed, orientation, style…

And on that last note, about style just because I don’t wear clothes from American apparel mostly because they wouldn’t know a XXL if it bit them does not mean I’m not indie. I can still rock the chucks can’t I??

Anyway back to my main point the definition of independent is as follows: not subject to control by others; not affiliated with a larger controlling unit.
People what does that mean!!
Indie is not black… Indie is not white… Indie is you and me… independent of each other and independent of what the world thinks.
What is Indie… I think I’ll let you

From Dolce to Dead Poor

The first paragraph of “American Life Styles” talks about how America has some of the best dressed poor. By this we as a society loses sight of the growing gap between the rich in the poor. The ability to mass produce and create a society where designer labels can be acquired in the same fashion as any off brand cloths. With America’s obsession with an outward appearance the way you look can dentate whether they belong in social settings or should even be considered or valued in certain situations. This passage strikes me because when I was contrasting myself in a recent essay, I brought up the idea of cloths and how they define who you are and are a large part of my personality. The juxtaposition of Valentino to second hand clothing. This idea defines where I want to be within a social class, whereas my friend Mike would where what he wants and knows he belongs in any social setting. What you where is who you are in this American class society. So for even the poorest in America strive to dress a certain way so that they can reach and grow within our current society. You judge people based on their cloths and as a professional if you lack a certain value of clothing you could be out casted by our society. This leads to money being spent on clothing for appearance instead of actual needs. This in itself could lead back to the cycle of poor. So within our society this veil of fashion makes less aware of a glaring problem within our culture.

Contrasting Another to Defining Myself...

During my junior year of high school I met Mike who ended up being more than he seemed. But throughout my entire road of discovery with him he never seemed to change. Like the sun as it rises over the world he just seemed to be steadfast in his ways. Clearly affecting the people and situations that he touched but never allowing them to touch him. This is not to say that he never grew and changed, but it was always of his own accord.
He dressed in this same fashion, almost as if taking the earth itself and molding it into his own fashion. He was never afraid of color, pattern, or the texture of his clothing. He would pull rainbows from his closet on certain occasions and amaze me with his ability to form a functioning outfit. Never aware of brand, labels, or styles. He also never let the weight or time impact his style. If the cuffs of his pants were ground into Swiss cheese he would simple shred them into something most people would have considered destroyed. But no, he would make them into shorts and wear them to his comfort. Even when he was forced into the mainstream of the black and white he retained his rings, bracelets, and worn converses. Always the steady rock in an ever changing stream of culture.
Unlike him I love that stream of cultural thought, though I’ve always been able to fly over it and even direct it on occasion. I can usually be seen as a walking contradiction an amalgamation of ideas and thoughts into something that is uniquely me. I can run to my closet and pull out Valentino shirts and Gap brand jeans, but still have handmade jewelry from flea markets and second hand blazers. The weight of the world bears hard on me. I’ll discard things and mourn over their ruination but never think twice about dramatically changing them into something new. I see the blinding lights of Pop culture and instead of following the paths they layout I grab little of each and take the path less traveled.
Mike also was never afraid to start something or speak on something that he believed in. He never seemed to have to worry about what was happening because he didn’t care what others thought about him. From what he did or who he was with it never really posed as a challenge for him. He even told his parents that he was Bi-sexual and within a month had a steady girlfriend just think of their confusion. I’m at a lost for how he does it. I can be myself and be completely different because I want to but, never have I forgotten that people are watching. It’s a delicate play of opinions and an over calculation of ideas streaming through my head. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the ability to ignore what the world thinks of me. If I’ll ever have the strength to fall like snowflakes. Only knowing the ending of its descent, but not caring about the path that it takes to get there.
Mike always did things for the sake of doing them and never for the actual results. He dyed his hair because he felt like it not because he thought it was cool; he sold local art of tee-shirts not because he even intended to get rich off of it but because he wanted to do it. He is the sixties re-invented or the seventies re-engineered. I’m not any of that I’m today I don’t even really know if I’m tomorrow. Mike never cared if he was labeled I dreaded it. I see myself as so much more than I time period, an outfit, a phrase or a mannerism.
I want to be bohemian and live for the arts or hedonist and live for my own pleasures. I want to take what the world has and use its own essence to change it. Life is a Cabaret, come to the Cabaret. Mike never saw life that way he took what the world gave him and love ever second of that. In a way I feel cheated to live life that way.

I Remember. ..

I remember Mickey Mouse and nursery rhythms. How the library floor and was the only place to catch the Polar Express at Christmas. Back when people didn’t even have to ask if you believed. Each story building what I would need in my life to function. Each story another moment for my mom to hold me, or for my sister to be close to me.
I remember learning prayers verbatim, and songs to sing in church. Sitting in the choir: white shirt, black or blue tie, slacks, polished dress shoes. Waiting for the Priest signal us to stand and sing for the church at the top of my lungs. A star under the bright lights of the ceiling.
I remember when I really learned to love literature. When words and phrases grew beyond their literal meaning. When I learned that not all stories were meant to end happily and that someone in the world could share my desperation and joy in the simple parts of life. “Adam, Eve, and pinch me” and summers not spent in parks or pools but in bedrooms with novels and series.
I remember freshman year and how the classics impacted my life. How learned to appreciate Shakespeare and love the downward spiral of Holden Caulfield. How my English teacher yelled and screamed at my lack of attendance but marveled over my level of understanding and grade point average.
I remember being no older than eight years old and cloth seats of my aunt’s car. How it was the first time I truly felt music far beyond the melody. I understood the emotion in her voice and careful choice of each word.
I remember crying over the death of Angel and internalizing the fact that “you can’t buy love… but know you can rent it.”

I remember how Richard Wright taught me to be a “Black Boy” and I wanted to engross myself in Toni Morrison, Zora Neal Hurston, Toni Cade Bombara, Fitzgerald, and Salinger. I wanted to know what it was like to be “Ex-Colored Man.”
I remember “Back Alley Blues” and how each line came out of me as if the scene were playing right in front of me. The feeling of that body and faint smell of cigarettes in his clothing were all being revived on paper. I remember how it was the perfect snapshot of my life in one page of verse and how I really didn’t care if anyone understood it as long as they read it. I remember writing it to music and to silence but always in solitude. Even if that meant blasting my own music to drown out the world some so I come impart mind to paper.
I don’t remember the exact date or the scene, but I do remember learning to speak for others than myself and that I could build on authors far greater than myself to make others learn their lessons.
I know its growing everyday my hungry for literature in all its forms and under every scope of genre. I know it’s that I truly love.

Literacy Dialogue

“I learned to read with a Superman comic book… Simple enough, I suppose.” Sherman Alexia said. “My father loved books, and since I loved my father with an aching devotion, I decided to love books as well.” “When he had extra money, he bought new novels at supermarkets, convenience stores, and hospital gift shops.” “I don’t remember when I started to read. I don’t remember much at all” Interjected Leigh Phillips. “But writing I could tell you …’I am eight years old and I don’t know what I’m writing… My father stops by my room to replace the typewriter ribbon, but I don’t know what I’m doing, there’s just this fun thing to do in the country where there is no TV and when I’m bored the world goes still and when I’m still, it’s not enough.’” “My life was different” comments Min-Zhan Lu. “From early childhood, I had identified the differences between home and the outside world by the different language I used in each.” “I learned to speak English with my parents, my tutor, and my sisters… When I was four my parents sent me to a local private school where I learned to speak, read, and write in a new language—Standard Chinese, the official written language of New China.” “I had also learned in school that the American and British Imperialist were the arch-enemies of New China… From then on, I took care not to use English outside home and to conceal my knowledge of English from my new classmates.” “We’re not so different” remarks Sherman. “As Indian children, we were expected to fail in the non-Indian world. Those who failed were ceremonially accepted by other Indians and appropriately pitied by non-Indians.” “A smart Indian is a dangerous person, widely feared and ridiculed by Indians and non-Indians alike. I fought with my classmates on a daily basis.” “They wanted me to stay quiet when the non-Indian teacher asked for answers, for volunteers, for help.” Min-Zhan Lu rises. “We could encourage students to explore ways of practicing the conventions of the discourses that they are learning by negotiating through these conflicting voices. We could also encourage them to see themselves as responsible for forming or transforming as well as preserving the discourse they are learning” “You know what they say” Said Leigh interrupting the story. “If writing isn’t written out of desperation, I’m not sure I’ll ever have any interest in reading it… you both have it, desperation that is, and look ‘I am in love with The Bell Jar.’” “This is what I get: Virginia Woolf, Toni Morrison, lighting storms that make me cry.” She jesters up “And now it won’t stop raining: Carole Maso is water down the face of my greatest love.” “All day, I was writing. All night, I was reading. Early morning, I was dancing, reaching hands higher into the neon strobe lights in Bacardi nights” “I know something about desperation” says Audre Lorde as he stands and crosses the room. “We practiced drawing letters digging into the top of the desk and Old Sister Eymard rapped our knuckles until they bled… I am a bleak heroism of words that refuse to be buried alive with the liars.” “Yes” says Leigh as she too rises. I am twenty-five, a poet living in a shit-for-nothing shack. I smoke too much, I swear too much, I’m too gay, I’m beautiful.” “Yes” agrees Sherman. “Despite all the books I read, I am still surprised I became a writer… I am smart. I am arrogant. I am lucky. I am trying to save our live.:” “Books, I say to them. Books.”
dialogue