Story Archives 2012

roll the dice

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

- Charles Bukowski

I came home, got a letter from my cousin. The letter said that he opened his second million dollar restaurant.
I looked around at my small studio apartment, dirty due to my hoarding/cluttering disease, figuring that I am just as
smart as my cousin. So I figured out a way to commit suicide by laying on my back in the bathtub, let the water cover
my eyes, nose, and mouth, and keep the water running. As I was slowly going into slumber... My neighbor downstairs
pounded on my door. I immediately got out of the tub and asked myself "Why the fuck am I trying to kill myself?"

Got up, dried off, got dressed, checked my keys and my wallet and walked up to City General at 3:00 in the morning.
When I got at San Francisco General Hospital, stood in line, said to the triage nurse "I tried to kill myself!"
She dragged me over to psychiatrics and rang the doorbell, she said "Wait here and somebody will help you."

Then a doctor came out and says "Can I help you?"
 I said "I tried to kill myself doctor." He said "If I help you, I have to 51-50 you and observe you for 48 hours."
I replied, "I don't care, I need Help." He handed me a form to fill out and says "Sign at the bottom that you voluntarily
will be put under obverv for 48 hours." The the  nurse told me to take off my shoes, belt, and ID-Wallet and all my
stuff in my pockets. I did as I was told. And I was taken to a room with people screaming, talking about invisible armies
that were coming to attack him, placed on the bed that was designed by the Marquie De Sade.

The next day they gave me oatmeal, bacon and eggs, and two hours later the doctor talked to me and says "We'll look at
you for one more hour and you can leave the next day, and we will contact any person you tell me to call in the morning
after a good nights sleep. Woke up the next morning after breakfast, The doctor said "Who would you like to call?" 

I picked Lisa Gray-Garcia, a good friend and comrade of Poor Magazine.They dialed her and a nurse explained what had
happened to me. In an excited voice she said "Why are you doing something stupid! You got friends and children, kids who
look up to you!" Then I got released, went to the event that Poor Magazine puts on "San Francisco Streets" and the next day
I went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed that I had an organic condition. To any reader that feels like ending their life - Do Not.
You will find out that life is precious and not trivial, and you a lot of people worse off that you are.

Call immediately if you have an emergency that you want to kill yourself.

(Picture: A young Muhammad Ali with his heroes Sugar Ray Robinson (Middle) and Joe Louis (R)) 

Muhammad Ali celebrated his 70th birthday on Tuesday. I tripped on it for a moment. 70 years old. Man, where’d the time go? When I think of Ali, I think of him as a young man because it was as a young man that he brought a sense of excitement and esteem to my family, to me. I read once that a reporter was present during a training session of a young heavyweight named Cassius Clay (who later changed his name to Muhammad Ali). The reporter recognized Clay’s talent but spent much time talking to a former heavyweight champion who happened to be present at the training camp, Joe Louis. When asked why he flocked with a few other reporters to Louis, the reporter replied, “Because in his prime he was so good”.

I suppose a similar thing would have occurred had Ali happened upon Mike Tyson’s or Lennox Lewis’ training camp. 

Back in 1995 I stood in line about 4 blocks long awaiting the arrival of Muhammad Ali at Marcus Books in Oakland for a signing. I was among hundreds of folks waiting to get a glimpse of Ali. We waited several hours. I looked at the people in line. A guy in a cowboy hat and western wear stood near a brother in a bright yellow daishiki. Chinese, Chicanos, Samoans, black folk, candys stripe and Technicolor folk all waited in line to see Ali, to show love for him, to gather around him because he was so good, because he made us feel good. 

I was too young to remember Ali at his very best--that is, between the years 1964-1967. He was so fast, my father said, that he’d fight and sometimes not even get hit. In the book, “Sting Like a Bee”, Ali’s biography, author Jose Torres—a former light heavyweight champion of the world—asserted that unlike a lot of fighters, Ali became better after winning the title. I watched films of Ali (Then Cassius Clay) winning the title against Sonny Liston in the year I was born—1964. Liston was considered unbeatable. Ali predicted a win and shocked the world, upsetting Liston in 7 rounds to win the title. Ali later said that he was “scared to death” of Liston—and rightfully so—for Liston was a dominating champion who was the mold for future fighters like George Foreman and Mike Tyson, fighters who often won before the gloves were even laced. Clay was declared the winner and new champion when Liston couldn’t come out for the 7th round. Clay leaned over the ropes and yelled to the press at ringside, “I shook up the world! I shook up the world!” The press had given Clay little chance of defeating Liston. A few feet away from an elated Cassius Clay stood Joe Louis.

Prior to the rematch with Liston, Ali proclaimed he was a member of the Nation of Islam and announced he had changed his name to Muhammad Ali. He was seen in the company of Malcolm X, infuriating white America. He went on to defeat Liston in the rematch. He was something to see. The confidence he displayed in the ring was poetry. It was as if brother Malcolm was with him—and he was. He moved as if convinced no one could beat him that night or on any other night. Afterwards Malcolm split with the Nation amidst the alleged impropriety of Nation of Islam founder Elijah Muhammad. Ali and Malcolm had a brief encounter in Ghana in 1964. Malcolm called out, “Brother Muhammad”. The split between Malcolm and the Nation caused a split between Malcolm and Ali. Ali told Malcolm he was wrong for splitting with Elijah Muhammad. The two parted ways. Ali later said that splitting with Malcolm was one of his biggest regrets.

I was on youtube watching clips of Ali’s fights. I watched the fight against Cleveland Williams in 1967. That night, I believe Ali could have defeated any heavyweight who ever lived—with the possible exception of Joe Louis on the day he defeated Max Schmeling. Many called the Williams fight his best fight. Williams couldn’t hit Ali. Ali landed at will. It was to be his last fight. What followed was a 3 ½ year battle with the US government over his refusal to be inducted into the US army to fight in Vietnam. He was stripped of his title, vilified by the press and much of middle America. “No Viet Cong ever called me nigger” said Ali, defending his position on moral grounds that the war was against his religion. Those in opposition said that Ali would have boxed exhibitions and seen no combat service. To Ali, boxing exhibitions for the military would have been the same as condoning an unjust war. He stood firm in his battle with the government which would see him lose his title, boxing license and 3 years of his fighting prime. But to people around the world, his conviction to his principles gained him the esteem of millions. He finally won his battle against the government in the US Supreme Court.

When he returned to the ring in 1970, there was a new champion, Joe Frazier, who had gained the vacated crown. When the two signed to fight, Ali said some hurtful things about Joe’s character—that he was an uncle tom, a white man’s champion, inarticulate and unfit to be champion. What few people knew was that Joe Frazier had lobbied the various commissions to reinstate Ali’s boxing license. He even loaned Ali money at a time when Ali was broke—having paid lawyers fees during his lengthy trial. When Ali and Frazier finally fought in 1971, it was billed the fight of the century. Madison Square Garden was the Center of the universe the night of the fight. Celebrities were out in force. Frank Sinatra was dispatched by Life Magazine to take “official” photos of the fight. The fight was seen on closed circuit TV and grossed the highest gate for a fight to date. As Ken Norton pointed out, prior to Ali, athlete’s salaries weren’t that high. After Ali, they exploded.

Standing in line waiting to meet Ali in Oakland, I remember that and other fights like it was yesterday. I could go on about the man. I could talk about the 3 fights with Frazier that would have broken anybody in half. I could talk about the fight vs. Foreman in Zaire where Ali finally regained the title. I could mention his first fight against Ken Norton when his jaw was broken in the 2nd or 3rd round, how he fought on with that broken jaw for 9 rounds. Can you imagine fighting with a broken jaw? The man was not only fast, graceful, articulate and funny—he was tough. And who could forget the third fight against Frazier in the Philippines. Rounds 1-5 saw Ali take an early lead but Joe, in typical fashion, surged on in round 6. In the middle of the round, while in pursuit of the champion Ali, Frazier landed a left hook that would have toppled a building. Ali withstood it and won via 14th round TKO when Frazier, eyes puffy, was prevented from coming for the final round. Ali sunk to the floor in exahaustion. It was one of the most brutal fights in heavyweight history. It was that fight, perhaps more than any other, that made the old school boxing crowd--those of the Dempsey/Louis generation--give Ali respect as a tough as nails fighter--as tough as anybody who ever laced up a pair of boxing gloves.

Ali's talent, coupled with his personality allowed him to get away with things that other fighters couldn't get away with, such as holding an opponent in the back of the head, or laying on the ropes as he did against George Foreman and other opponents. He could also say things that others couldn't. Larry Holmes was villified by the press for saying of Rocky Marciano: "Rocky couldn't have carried my jockstrap". Larry was harshly criticized by the remark, made towards the end of his career. He went on to lose a controversial decision to Michael Spinks, a fight--had he won--would have broken Marciano's undefeated record. One could imagine the reaction had Ali made that remark about Marciano. The press would have laughed. That was Ali.

And there was also the immortal words when he spoke of Howard Cosell's toupee:

"Cosell...that thing you got on your head is a phony and it comes from the tail of a pony"

I finally got to the head of the line and was called over to sit next to Ali. I went over, sat down and someone took a picture. The only thing I could say to him was, “Hello Mr. Ali”. He looked at me and smiled. I walked away trying to remember what I had wanted to say to him, what I had rehearsed in the time I had waited in line. I watched him a while longer. He smiled, took pictures and whispered. I noticed his hands, they shook. I remembered his words: I shook up the world…I shook up the world! 

I met David Groulx last year at the International Festival of the Authors in Toronto.  We chatted about poetry and writing programs and politics.  Two days later I heard Groulx read and I was floored. 

Groulx walked to the stage in cowboy boots, jeans, a grey suit jacket, and a big black hat. His slow walk didn’t prepare the mostly white crowd for his words that felt like body shots and uppercuts.  It was an all-Native lineup: Lee Maracle, Drew Hayden Taylor, Joseph Boyden, and David Groulx.

Was the IFOA ready for an Ojibwe man who didn’t hold back? 

Silence can mean many things: attentiveness, engagement, disgust.  Groulx’s poems were beautiful, well crafted, they captured everyone’s attention, and they were also hard to listen to.  Poems about the assault on Mother Earth, white on red racism, cops killing Native men and getting away with it, Groulx laid it all out. 

Still, Groulx stole the show.

It is no surprise that his new collection is called A Difficult Beauty.  At the same time that I enjoyed every poem, some poems had me stop to think of all the wrong that is happening to Native peoples in the land now known as Canada, a place thought of as a safe haven to the rest of the world.  As I read the entire collection in one sitting, sometimes smiling and other times putting the book down because of the hard topics.  I felt that I had connected again with Groulx; connected in the same way that I had connected with him in person and when he was on stage. 

A Roofers Boots (Archaeology) is the mocking of a discipline that was founded by 4 racist white men and has not changed much since (I have a degree in anthropology, trust me, I know!).  A roofer by trade, poet by purpose and passion, Groulx starts with “When they find my boots what will they say?”.

Then comes the fun:

…he must have been a mountain climber

the steel toes worn from kneeling

that he was a priest

praying to the sun God

…he must have been a medicine man warning of the rain

his incantations worn on his heels

He must have been!  She must have been!  They must have been!

How many times have I read that in anthropology texts?  The diaries of anthropologists then and now filled with similar notes; the guesses, hypothesis, ‘facts’, books of half-truths sold as the real story. 

Groulx doesn’t have to stand outside of a museum to protest, he challenges with his words and uses himself, his experience, his people, as the flame for his burning fire of bringing truth.  And boy does he bring it.

Defiant Bruial is an honour song to the warriors who have fought for their rights, some winning, some dying, all in alliance with Native peoples across Turtle Island.  Groulx writes:

I want my head buried in Gustafusen Lake

and my legs buried in OKA

and my feet buried in Burnt Church

my torso buried in Ipperwash

What a start!

Groulx’s homage could be, should be, taught in Canadian Studies classes as Native poetry, rebel poetry, challenging poetry, and educational and honest poetry, giving students and teachers much to work with.  Each place named in the above stanza has a history of defiance that not many Canadians know of, or at least knowledge of the non-white narrative—truth.

Groulx’s Instruments From Oz Or A Paranoid Indian is one of the poems that rocked the crowd at the IFOA.  Each stanza is set up with a powerful first line equal to a crisp jab to be follwed by a right hand:

1)    John Wayne is trying to kill me

2)    Jesus is coming to civilize me

3)    the Sorte du Quebec are hiding in my closet

4)    The Hudson Bay Company has been raiding my fridge

Groulx touches on the racism in Holllywood, the real history of what is now known as The Americas, companies that make billions without having their past questioned, and he ends with one of Canada’s dirty little secrets: Starlight Tours.

If you don’t know what Starlight Tours are then you would think Groulx is a paranoid Indian.  Have you heard of the murders of Neil Stonechild and Lawrence Wegner?  Did you know that cops in the prairies can kill Native men and be ‘punished’ via suspension with pay?  Aboriginal peoples in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba know this all too well.  And so does Groulx:

The police take shots at me when no one

is looking

they point their pistols and wink

they are conspiring to kill me

drag me out to the outskirts of town

and leave me there to freeze to death 

A Difficult Beauty is exactly that.  No other title would suit Groulx’s collection.  They are poems that tackle difficult subjects and keep you reading because they are so well written: kids taken away from families (My Neighbour); towns destroyed by development (Uranium Mine Town Boom); violence against Native women (One Swollen Afternoon); colonial violence (They Wasted Nothing Either); poisoned rivers (Serpent); mixed race identity (Rising Antagonism).

If you are looking for beautiful poems that aren’t about flowers and the fun things in life, but, rather, tell you the truth about the land now known as Canada, pick up A Difficult Beauty by David Groulx.

Jorge Antonio Vallejos is a mixed race, Toronto based, poet, essayist and journalist. He is the creator of blackcoffeepoet.com. His writing has appeared in COLORLINES, XTRA!, THIS Magazine, Anishinabek News, Toronto Star, The Kenyon Review, and Descant. Jorge can be reached at blackcoffeepoet@gmail.com.

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How are you, I hope good?  Thanks for your support of Krip-Hop Nation!  It's been 4 years since Krip-Hop Nation started for disabled Hip-Hop and other disabled musicians. We have done some great work like the first Krip-Hop & Homo-Hop event in Berkeley in 2009 to rocking Liverpool UK at DADA Fest in 2010.  We started an international wing of Krip-Hop called Mcees With Disabilities, MWD, with artists from Africa, Spain, UK, Italy, Germany and of course the US.  We have put out two CDs and have been on radio shows all over the world.

"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Now Krip-Hop Nation's founder, Leroy Moore has pulled in one of his areas of his early street activism and that is fighting against police brutality against people with disabilities into the cultural work of Krip-Hop Nation.  I've always dreamed about applying cultural work to this issue with other disabled artists/activists.  Well the time is finally here! Krip-Hop Nation and DJ Quad of Fifth Battalion in LA are producing a CD on this issue and a friend who is a retire disabled NYPD officer, Emmitt Thrower, turned artist/film maker/poet in NY has teamed up with Krip-Hop Nation to do a film documentary around this issue focusing on the cultural process of making the Hip-Hop CD by artists with disabilities.

We are having a CD release event/panel on Feb 19th at the main library in SF.  Look at the attachment.  We are fund rising for travel, accommodation and more.  Below is our online campaign.  I'm very excited about this and really hope we can make our goal of $2,500.00 with your help.

Wish us luck and read our front page of the site below plus there is a link too below to donate.

"A National Documentary and CD Mixtape Project on Police Brutality Against People With Disabilities. We've entered Phase two of the project, which involves traveling from NY to Berkley California to do interviews with Activists, Victims and Musicians with disabilities working on the CD mixtape by disabled artists Nationally. We will film also a Forum around the issue lead by Krip Hop Nation Founder with a physical disability Leroy Moore. We have already filmed a forum at Syracuse University as well as interviews there and in Boston and Virginia with victims of profiling and Police brutality in those states. Police Brutality in general has been on the rise Nationally and less documented has been the increase in the incidents involving people with disabilities nationwide."

The link to our site is below.  Please help make this documentary a reality!

http://www.rockethub.com/projects/5240-where-is-hope

Leroy F. Moore Jr
Founder of Krip-Hop Nation

Verdad que duele gacho,

Estar sin trabajo o

No tener comida pa’tu familia

te damos la bienvenidad en este dia

Que sean vuelto indignados, enojados, sin salidas,

`

Nosotros los inmigrantes Indocumentados

No Sabemos si somos parte del 99%

Pero si sabemos que somos el 99% que trabajamos

En los files, de lava platos, jardineros, nineras

Y cocineros

Somos los que te limpiamos la casa…

Que Quee perdiste tu casa? Que el Banco te la embargo?

Chale homes

Nosotros

 ya tenemos rato que perdimos nuestros pueblos,

Barrios, comunidad, hogares y cultura.

Te damos la bienvenidad en este dia…..

Que sean vuelto indignados, enojados, sin salidas,

painful it is to be without a job,

or not be able to provide for your familia

we welcome you in this day that you have become an indignant

piss off, with No  way out

We the undocumented migrants

Don’t  know if we are part of the 99%

But we do know we are the 99%

  working on the fields, dishwashers,

 Baby sitters, day labors

We are the ones,  who just to clean your house

What they foreclose your home?

Chale homes…

We welcome you in this day, that you have  become one of us

Indignant, angry, without no way out

We have already lost , our pueblos, barrios, communities

Homes and cultura….

We welcome you with open arms…but

 You say Occupy we Say decolonize you forgotten the,

More than 500 years and still counting of Occupation, genocide, rape and silence on Indigena people of  the Americas, you say forget about it, like the a priest who baptize the natives of their sins of been Natives,

I  say you give up your white skin,. And your privilege, and for our confuse African Americans brothers and sisters, yeah let’s pretend slavery never existed.

We look the other way, and ignore, but will never change in whose land we stand on, ohlone presente.

No is not just semantics, ask the Palestinians, Afghanis, or Iraqis.

What the true meaning of occupy means.

And No, No one has taken over the word occupy back, until we build a world where we no longer have occupations on foreign lands.