Monday

Revisionist Historian

Autumn is Nostalgic

Autumn is Nostalgic
Smelly Hell days of '96
Good times to be nostalgic for
Crunch of sycamore leaves underfoot
Naval hospital McDonalds
Leisure bikes and Odelay
Planning and scheming
Long sleeves and yellow lights
Double yellow line to the Zone
Levels and worlds

From the corner
The beauty of autumn nostalgic
No memory of what I was doing
But distinctly remember
The feel of the carpet
As I sat in the Zone and listened to
MC 900 Foot Jesus
That just made me tear up
Like you said, it is POWERFUL today
Will upload pic of today later

by Ty & Rich via TXT

Defined

"Artistically, I believe I will always define myself
by what I missed rather than what I got."

By Rail 2009


This SLIDESHOW here is a humble follow-up to this (click-through) slideshow here from 2001.

I can't help it. I love traveling by rail.

Take your time, there's stuff to see.

Thanks.

Back to School Time

So when we last convened solid it was a summer just beginning. But then the pre-camp marathon, short summer schedule, vacations, and post-camp marathon, deservedly, placed the focus where it belonged: Focus on the Family. Time was a valued commodity, as always.

But today I stepped out into a crisp, cool, clear air. I realized that I had a whole life before me. No hurries, no worries. Let the art come to you. No pressing. No forcing. No beefs. No real concern for time at all. Not any more. It's all there. Soon we just put all the pieces together and call it what it is: done, don.

As the guru says, "Shit, man - that's what WE DO."

So, what's to come as we near Field Mowing time? Well, there's plenty to do for this year's slide into dark time and middlespaces:
Printing & auction time
Year's favorite time
FOTY time
SPS [wrap] time
10-year poetry review & book [begin] time
Time. Time. Time.

Time.

Time.

Time.

Quit Frontin': I Do Not Know Where You Can "Score Some Herb"

Memorandum

to: All Staff Internal
date: Tue, Feb 10, 2009 at 7:41 AM
subject: Procurement of Marijuana

Dear white colleagues of Anderson, Bronfman, and Black Inc.,

Hi, I'm Ty in the domestic agriculture technologies consulting practice (DATC). I realize that there are not a whole lot of "people of color" who make a career here--yes, I'm The Black Guy--so I just want to take a quick moment of your busy morning to offer my sincere apologies for past, present, and most importantly, future queries.

No. I do not know where you can "score some herb." For this, I offer my sincerest apologies to the entire firm. I do not know who has "the hook-ups," nor do know where one could procure "sticky icky," "skunk," "da chronic," or "puff the magic dragon." What the hell, people? I've asked around, conducted my own internal investigation and have determined that no one else is constantly asked where illegal drugs can be purchased. I'm only left to believe one thing: that because I am the "African-American" that I must know people who sell drugs, or that I am somehow someone who possesses, uses, or sells drugs. Again, I am sorry, I'm not that Black guy. No mon, this Rasta no pasta.

Can't a grown ass man stand at an 8th floor urinal without some intern or Jr. Associate walking up next to me to pretend-piss without making that thumb-index-finger-to-lips "joint" smoking gesture toward me? Winking like some closet homo who wants to suck me off in the toilet like Larry "Wide Stance" Craig (R-Idaho). What?! Sorry, "brah".

Have some intelligence, people. No longer do I want to stand in an elevator with someone asking, "Yo, bro. Got any smokes?" What?! I'm married with children and a member of the PTA. I have a very successful portfolio of clients around the country. I am a Vice President here. Do I have any smokes? Oh, should I? Sorry. What the fuck?!

I know you're scared like bitches of getting busted like Michael Phelps's simple-minded ass. I know you don't want to go to jail. I know you don't want your wife to know. I know you don't want to lose your six-figure job. I know you don't want shame and embarrassment showered upon your family. You know what? Me fucking either. Pop quiz: who's going to get in more trouble? The white associate who buys weed at work or the black VP who fucking sells weed at work. You have three seconds to answer. What the fuck do you think?!
White = Temporary note in personnel file until your Sr. Partner father makes it disappear.

Black = Jail. Future of doing hotel laundry like Will Smith in that Happyness deal.
Quit asking me dumb ass insulting shit, especially at work, fools! I'm neither your friend nor that guy you can txt as, "I no this 1 blk dood, he is da fuckn coolst evrr lol" followed with a variant of some "nigga" joke or fake slang phrase made in a horrid, stereotyped Jules Winnfield accent, "SHEEEEEET, muthafucka!" Fuck you!

Lastly, I can no longer attend your birthday parties or happy hour ABBI Friday-brations because I'm sick to fucking death of all you dumb white motherfuckers following me around flicking lighters like it's a KISS concert. Fuck you!

Find your own damn weed. It's 2009, there are delivery services for that kind of shit...not that I know. So quit asking me because of my goddamn skin color.

With best regards and quit frontin',

-ty
/DATC

cc: HR, Exec Team

Anderson, Bronfman, and Black Inc. - Constantly Adapting
to Meet Your Changing Needs

Saturday

Almost Field Mowing Days

Non-zero-sum games
of angels or patrons
Backlog and frontlog
Conveyors never stopping
to dissect all the whys
With regard to "creative processes"

Years of philosophizing only
Resulting in many many
Many more questions than
Enterprise solutions
Got-its separated from have-nots
Like cream or oil rising

Once again (again) it
is almost The Season of Fall
One fine ride to middlespaces
And always self-defined for
What I miss(ed) rather than
What I captured

Thursday

Nothin' That's What

Quit Frontin': People Can Stop Pre-translating Blacktalk and Whitetalk Because it Condescending

If you are or have ever been any shade of black this has happened to you: You're standing in line at the Starbucks to get a double half-calf skinny mochaccino or some dumb shit like that (don't worry, they know you and know your order so you don't have to say it aloud anymore) and you glance over your shoulder because someone is getting in line behind you--not all paranoid or anything, but a normal, reflexive, and actually polite turn as you continue to thumb-type on your iPhone. White guy queues up, gives you that little head nod thing, and says, "Wut up, bro?" like he knows you and knows how you talk. "Bro"?!

Apparently this man has X-ray vision and knows that through your Burberry overcoat, Brooks Brothers wool blend suit, and Ivy education, you're wearing Dickeys no-press chinos down to your hamstrings and that your boxer shorts are pulled up to your ribs. And obviously this Superman can also see that your bitch has nicely pressed your gang bandanna that is hanging from your back pocket (you are "flyin'" your "colors" apparently). And of course he can see your stolen, crime-ridden semi-automatic "Glock." Because every black is deep down a gangbanging street thug nigger who utilizes the salutation, "Wut up?" And by using, "Wut up?" we are all in familia with solidarity. "Bro" is certainly appropriate because, apparently, black = Ebonics. Besides, we're all related anyway, right? "What up, bro" my ass.

In retort, years of practice has resulted in a studied, steady and steely-eyed, "hello" as my response because "Shut the fuck up with that, dude!" will forever be my instinctual response. In fact, my "hello" is quite uppity and curt as if I'm reaching deep down to muster any response at all--which I actually am. In the majority of these situations there is a slight tell (usually up in the eyebrow region) where one can observe Mr. Wut Up greeter re-processing all information (a psychological reset). [Was expecting "Yo, homie, how a nigga feeeel up in this mothafucka St-zar Biz-ucks?!" but received acute, "Hello."]

Pre-translation is not necessary anymore. I'm not going to rob you (or not rob you, if that's the case) because you are parroting some dumb-ass rip-off version of what you though all black people were supposed to sound like that you heard on TeeVee. Nigga please!

Likewise, black people can stop the Fronting (with the trailing "G") by not using the "Polite White Voice" whenever they want something from a white person because that's also fucking condescending. If you need to purchase some more copy paper, you can say, "Hit me up with some mo' papes, yo!" The guy at Staples will know what you want. But you don't have to pull out that fake white guy voice that Richard Pryor used every time you need something. "Hello my dear friend, perhaps I can procure some of your finest high GSM photocopier paper, if you may." Cut that shit out! Just be yourself or yo'sef. It's okay now that we have a Muslim socialist non-American president.

But also remember that there are times when you KNOW someone and it's actually fine to talk differently. There are situational determinants that dictate how you interact with people. If you're walking down the street with your grandmother and you meet some of her Church Friends you are expected to be as formal and clear and polite AND AS WHITE as you possibly can because that will impress the Church Ladies and make your grandmother feel so proud. That's your responsibility in Obama's America (and you may even get a hard candy). Likewise you go to a "house party" and are introduced as a friend and somebody passes you a bottle of Country Club Malt, you've now been given permission to blurt out--only once or twice because you'll simply be an amusement prop--"...let the motherfucker burrrrn!"

But don't "Wassup?" me at Starbucks when I'm wearing $600 shoes and ordering faggy drinks. Black is black and white is white and we're all racist as hell. Racial perception is real and normal and psychologically healthy. Quit faking like you don't see color or, worse, that you have to speak a special language to me because of my skin color. I ain't Chinese.

Quit frontin'!

--------------

Also see: "Half-Black Attack™"

Today's Quote of the Day de Jour - End of Summer Vacation Special Post

"You heard it here first: Obama killed Kennedy! Every time he needs something done (election, health care), he flies off to an island (Hawaii, Martha's Vineyard) and an old person dies (grandma, Teddy).

Coincidence?"

-Rickey Powell

Well, doy.

What would you expect from a socialist, Muslim, non-American?

A bunch of Teddy's family members and close friends got together and had ole teddy draw from a hat (top hat) to see who would have the honor of saving health care reform...with a pillow.

See nutty Sarah Palin was right: death panels for killing old people.

It Crawled From the Sea! - End of Summer Vacation Special Post

If the Loch Ness monster and Sasquatch miraculously hooked-up and had a baby that lived in the sea for 43 years then suddenly, one day as legend has it, said spwawn crawled ashore in Hammonasset, Connecticut--with a bad attitude and no sunglasses--this is what it would look like (artist's rendering):


Hide your babies!

Wait, that's no Loch Ness baby.... It's a half-black attack™! Hide your Americans!

Three Videos Sent By My Friends - End of Summer Vacation Special Post








Thursday

A Light

Quit Frontin': I Swear I Didn't Steal Anything


The Wife: "Honey? Why did we have six bottles of wine?

Me: "Because I purchased six bottles of wine. I didn't even steal anything either. That guy at the corner store is fucking racist, you know?!"

The Wife: "Oh, honey...how is the guy at the store a racist this time?"

Me: "He followed me like I was going to steal something. I couldn't focus. I showed him."

The Wife: "So why do we have a half case of wine now?"

Me: "To prove to him that I wasn't stealing beef jerky!"

This is the story of my life since forever. I go somewhere to shop--or, worse, just to look--and feel the watch-the-thieving-darkie vibe and I totally overcompensate by spending all my money to prove what? That I'm not stealing TicTacs. That's why I have a snowboard. I was just looking for gloves and that bitch kept offering help where nobody needed any goddamn help. That's why my wife has fucking $500 emerald earrings...was just looking for a $20 stocking stuffer one Christmas and felt someone sigh when I came in. This is why I own two 55-200mm telephoto lenses and more fucking AA batteries than could power all the remote controls in all the suburbs of America because I ain't stealing your fucking batteries, asshole, I'm actually buying 9 8-packs, OK? And that's why we have five unopened bottles of wine right now because the old guy kept following me and watching my every move. Offering to help.

I'm the fucking worst, too. I can feel it on my neck, the prying eyeballs upon me, watching my hands as I move up and down aisles. I sometimes place my hands on top of my head just to demonstrate that I ain't stealin'! Sometimes, when I'm full of the obstinance, I keep putting my hands in and out of all my pockets and touching everything. When a shop keep stumbles upon me watching them watching me, there's always an asinine, "can I help you find something?" Oh, now you're asking me if I need any help after following me around for 10 minutes. Now you ask. "No thanks." But still they follow like the fucking CIA or a PI my wife hired to see if I was fucking men on the DL.

I always figure that if just walk out, belligerent or not, I will be labeled a shoplifter or, worse, that shoplifting nigger. I can never just walk. I have to buy something and usually something expensive to demonstrate my honesty and solid status as someone (me) who can afford this ($300 art pillows I didn't want) is definitely not stealing your cheap ass earrings. Fuck. You! Stop pretending to help me.

"One man's ceiling is another man's floor."

-"What Comes Around"

from Paul's Boutique by the Beastie Boys

Of course there's the feeling of negligence and discrimination that comes with being ignored in a place of business too, especially if one perceives that The White People, the Asians, and the Indians (dot) are being helped out some kind of first-come order. But, there again, lies my weakness of being labeled. I'll still demonstrate-shop as proof of my pedigree. And I'll always use my black diamond preferred rewards credit card, flinging it cavalierly onto the counter and smiling at security cameras and other shoppers who think I'm fucking nuts because, look at me, I shop like this everywhere I go every fucking day and I never steal because, look, I'm using a premium credit card with MY NAME ON IT! Me? Oh, dear...ha-ha! I'm rich first and just happen to be black. Why don't you go follow those young blacks or those wiggers or those poor looking blacks because even I know they steal like gypsies.

There are places that make their overhead again and again because I perceive that they believe that I am shoplifting something. I am so fucked.

Quit frontin' too!

Miriel & Jules [Summer Portrait Series 2009/38]

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[SPS09]

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