Monday, June 29, 2009
The Present: Racist Robots? Transformers 2 review
I come to you today with a heavy heart. This has been a a good week for me and a bad one for the world. One of my heroes have passed away, but you have heard enough about that. Lets talk about something you may or may not have miseed. Lets take a walk together and see what's happening.
Transformers 2 is a pretty good movie, explosions were big, girls were hot (a little bit of sexism there, but i wont go into that) robots doing high kar-ate...
But i couldn't help being disturbed, i wanted to like it, but...
Skids and Mudflap - red and green (think african flag) rather silly ass illiterate robots, one complete with gold tooth. Now some may say, "Gill, your taking this a little far" But honestly folks, none of the other robots had teeth, especially not two big protruding teeth speaking in a Caucasian version of annoying ebonics. If Michael Bay could have given them a pimp hat, gold chain, and a pager he would have gladly done it. And they can't read, really?
But i don't just rant, here is why it its important.
We are a nation of influence. What happened when our great icon MJ put on a red leather jacket and a white glove? When Jay-Z told us about 2-way pagers? We all went out and tried to sport the new ish. When i was a kid for Halloween i was an ewok, batman, spiderman, superman just to name a few. Media influences both adults and children. Who really wants to see little white kids talking black and pretending they can't read? They were major points of comic relief. In the struggle for equality, (yes there is still a struggle) we have to be careful what we consume, black and white folks alike. Because eventually it will come to surface again. And regurgitated ignorance is never pretty.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Present: The Long Walk
Here is the lesson i learned.
walk with your shoes off. Feel everything along the way. Most of the time it'll be concrete but often you'll find a grassy park, or if you're lucky a stretch of beach. Regardless you will be walking so enjoy it. And when you look back you will have pockets full of stories. And i know your feet will be tired, but your spirit will be a rest...cold chillin.
Words,
Gill Sotu
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Past: The Arbitrary Undertaking Of Mitchell Long (short story)
“There is no gravity, life sucks.” Long interjected as he took a drag of his American Spirit cigarette. His physique mirrored his name. At six-four his outstretched leg hung far past the diner booth. Throughout the entire course of well-done steak and eggs his foot had become an obstacle course for their waitress. Whenever she would look at him with any type of annoyance Long would squint his eyes and flash an understanding smile and nod, all without making any attempt to move his leg.
“What are you talking about Long? What does that have to do with anything I’m talking about?” I was used to Mitchell Long’s philosophical bantering. But unlike most people I never let it go unchallenged.
Long let himself fully digest the eggs he was juggling in his mouth before he allowed himself to answer. He never rushed anything. I never kept still. I was ready for the bill and he hadn’t even started on his steak. We’ve been friends for thirteen years, and made a perfect pair.
“You were talking about outer space, so I thought I would give you the meaning of life, since we’re talking science and all.”
“Long, I was comparing a Milky Way to a Snicker’s Bar. Every time you tune out give you give me your fortune cookie philosophy.”
“Watch it with the fortune cookie stuff Wonderbread.” There was only two things that bothered Mitch, anybody who associated his intelligence to being Chinese and anyone who called him Yao Ming, the famous Chinese NBA star, both of which I used against him any chance I got.
“Look Yao Ming are you gonna finish your steak, we gotta be at work in a half an hour.”
“Wait a minute Opie Taylor, Mayberry will wait. I’m on to something here.”
“Your life sucks, that’s your epiphany?”
“Not just my life, life in general. Buddhist associate life with different levels of suffering, the bible says that trouble will come no matter what you do. So if pain and trouble is inevitable then our fear or worry of it is unnecessary; damn near ridiculous.”
“Since when have you read the bible heathen?” I said flicking water out of my glass at him. He took another drag ignoring me, and continued.
“…and after careful consideration, I have decided that I’m not gonna worry about anything. About paying for this food, getting to work on time this morning, or working at all for that matter. Have you ever read Dharma Bums?”
“How are gonna take care of the bill? You said you were buying, so I didn’t bring any money.”
“Don’t know, things have a way working out. Not gonna worry bout it. Life sucks.”
I was starting to get upset and scared. When Long got an idea in his head, even a silly one, its close to impossible to get him consider anything else. “Are you trying to get us arrested?” I said in a hard whisper. Long squinted his eyes, gave an understanding smile, and made no move towards his wallet. Beyond just being a talented jerk, Long was also my ride to work.
The waitress came by and dropped our check on the table navigating around Long’s leg with the efficiency only practice can give you. I smiled at her trying to figure out a way to distract her long enough for us to make our escape. She was pretty in that, life has beaten the crap out me, kind of way. I could tell her dark brown hair was long even though she tied it into a tight bun and something in the way her smile replied to mine told me she wasn’t the type that missed a beat.
With twenty minutes left to get to work I had no choice but to come clean. “Excuse me, miss. Um, I am a little embarrassed about this.” I paused and looked around the diner hoping inspiration would come in the form of a great and elaborate lie but inspiration was on a smoke break with the cooks. “We both seem to have forgotten our money. And we don’t have anyway to pay for this. Is there anything we do or some type of arrangement we can…”
“You forgot your money too.” She asked Long cutting me off.
“Nope.”
“So you can pay for the meal.” She said matter-of-factly.
“Um, no thank you.” Long replied as if he had really considered it.
I couldn’t believe what was going on. I started looking around for cameras. An announcer with rock hard hair and cheesy jokes to come around the corner and tell me this was an elaborate set up I can watch on T.V. and laugh about later. No one came, all I had was Long and his blank expression and an annoyed waitress that closed her eyes and debated whether we were just pulling her chain. Without another word she left the table, this time not maneuvering around Long’s leg.
“Wow, she’s got some attitude on her. I kinda dig that…I think I should ask her out. You think she likes Asian dudes?”
“Are you going to take her to a fancy restaurant and not pay there too?”
“Maybe. Chicks dig the rebel type.”
I couldn’t stand him anymore. I couldn’t look into his yellow face and accept that smug smile of his. At that moment I had two choices, leave, or make tribal designs across his forehead with the butter knife. And since I’ve never fought in my life and Long was two stories and a bunch of muscles larger than me, I decided to walk out. At the door the manager came from behind the counter and placed his hand on my chest. I know he was just there to stop me but he kept it there a bit longer than expected. That has little to do with this story; it just happened and was strange.
“I can’t let you leave without taking care of this bill sir.” He looked deep into me, beyond my eyes, like a parent deciding whether his child is telling him the truth.
“My my my friend over there is handling the check.” I always had a problem with fidgeting and stuttering when I thought I was in trouble, which in turn always made me look guilty even when I wasn’t.
“Pamela said neither of you guys have any money.” There goes them eyes again.
“Mitch has money, he was just joking with her. I just have to go cause I’m late for work.”
“I’m sorry sir you’re going to have to wait until we settle this.” The manager, found out later his name was Craig, escorted me back to the table. I thought about resisting. This did seem like someone I could take, or at least get away from. But that wasn’t in me either. In fact I often thought to myself the only emotions I’ve ever felt were fear, boredom, and lust. I suppose that makes things simple.
Craig the manager was shorter than I was, not by much, but enough to make me feel a little braver than I’m used to. When we got back to the table Long stood up and I felt like me again.
“Is there a problem sir, I think we are ready to leave.” Long put on his best Caucasian accent clearly for his own amusement. He didn’t crack a smile though, he was in full character.
“No problem at all sir, we just need you to pay for the meal you’ve had and I’ll let you guys be on your way.”
“Wait, what are you implying?” Long blinked a lot usually when he was acting serious but trying not to laugh. Today his eyes didn’t flutter an inch…I was impressed.
“Well I…” And that was it. I blacked out. I know you feel cheated, but that is what really happened. When I woke up I was in a hospital bed with a few flowers around me and a card from the diner wishing me a speedy recovery. There was an enormous gash on my head that was wrapped in thick bandages. The nurse that checked me in was on vacation by the time I woke up the next day, so I had to wait until she came back or someone visited me to find out what happened. The other nurses didn’t know how I how the nasty gash on the top of my head. I racked my brain trying to figure it out. Maybe Pamela had enough of Long and decided to go after him with a frying pan but hit me. Perhaps a stick up kid came busting through the door and hit me first because I was the smallest, before holding everyone up just to show everyone that he meant business. I tried calling Long but there was no answer. I tried calling my mother but I remember she was on a cruise ship for two weeks. I even tried calling the diner. But whoever answered said that both Craig and Pamela no longer worked there and that he could not answer any other questions about it.
On the morning of my release Mitchell Long came in unrushed as usual. I was in the middle of getting out of my gown when I smelled the smoke of his American Spirit from behind me.
“Well Wonderbread, if you would have greeted me like that when we first met, we would have been a lot closer friends.” He leaned against the doorway looking a lot like the Marlboro Man. Long’s smile held history behind it. It was the kind that had a story to tell. That is one thing that will never fade about my memory of him. A nurse came from behind him and snatched the cigarette from his lips without saying a word. Long watched as she left around the corner and took another out.
“I see they know you around here.” I said gathering my things.
“Yeah I’ve been waiting for a while till they said you were up.”
“Why didn’t you just come in?”
“Watching hot nurses is way more interesting than watching your drool attack the pillow. They didn’t give you a last meal? I’m starving.”
“I’m not dying stupid. Are you gonna tell me what happened or what?”
We were on our way out, and I couldn’t be happier. I hated hospitals.
“Long story short, you fainted.”
“What do you mean I fainted?”
“You fainted, I don’t know what else to tell you or how else to say it.” Long replied winking at the nurse pushing her elderly patient down the corridor.
“So how did I get my head sliced?”
“You cut your head against the table on your way day, I don’t know how you did it Wonderbread, but all time in the restaurant slowed down as you fell, it was comical, tragic and eerily beautiful all at the same time. Like the death of a ballerina. They didn't want you to sue, so they paid for your stay here and of course no bill for the food we ate there. Told you, things just have a way of working themselves out.” At that point Long had sucked the american spirit out of me and no longer had the fortitude to be annoyed with him.
After finishing the paperwork to leave, both of us were starving. Mitchell offered to buy lunch. He flashed that smile of his once again, and again I found myself with no money and dependant on a ride, so I agreed. In the car I felt the gash on my head, it felt like it belonged, fitting perfectly into the groove of my life.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Present: Bloody Moon
BLOODY MOON
You have no problems/
Said the man struggling with bills to the rich man/
You have no problems/
Said the homeless man to the man struggling with bills/
You have no problems/
Said the teenager in Africa ducking bullets
covering his mother to the homeless man safe in the U.S./
You have no problems/
Said the boy’s little sister who must duck bullets
& the advances of men who share her same blood
You have no problems said the rich man who sees all this
and realizes no amount of money can uncorrupt a heart, but tries anyway/
So no one in the world has problems
But its evening/
People should be sleeping/
Yet I can still hear screams/
See the moon bloodied sometimes, waiting/
A broken spirit is a broken spirit
It does not know the depth of its situation/
You can not explain to a rat that it is in a lab/
That it is part of an experiment/
All it knows is that it must run/
All we know is that we must work and pray not to hit the same obstacle/
Pray at the end of this maze there is peace/
And maybe if we are lucky, a little piece of cheese/
You don’t understand/
Said the love struck daughter to her Christian conservative father/
You don’t understand/
Said the Christian father to his Muslim neighbor/
You don’t understand said the Muslim to the men who sat in front of the bar
convinced he was a terrorist/
You don’t understand/
said these good ol’ boys to the jury
before convicted of a hate crime/
So no one understands and yet not a question is asked/
But it is evening/
People are trying to sleep peacefully/
However ignorance is deafening/
I can hear it on our faces/
And the moon stays bloodied some nights, waiting/
A broken spirit is a broken spirit/
It doesn’t always seek to fix itself/
Just maintain/
Humanity has become the sum total of silent screams and controlled laughter/
My man Tshaka urges us to listen different/
Whose voice have you chose to ignore/
Better question, how many of friends calls have I dismissed
to eat processed peanut butter products and watch the Simpsons?/
We may not be able to save the world
Honestly, what does that really mean anymore
What we can save are connections
The thread that invisibly conjoins us, some call them heartstrings
We are a frayed tapestry, a pained patchwork quilt
However thread can be fixed
Spirits can be mended, if only for a moment
We are laying under a blanket of self absorption
Under a tired moon, bloodied, waiting,
wanting to retire from all it has seen
I know you have problems/
I know its hard to understand/
But there are good people waiting for us to become good people/
Its morning/
Time to get up/
There are things to be done/
We are a sunrise waiting to happen/
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Present: Stealing Time
The Present: Stealing Time
I go to parties, go to clubs, fundraisers, social gatherings etc..I speak to people at my shows or at train of thought (my open mic) and just around town. Often a question that i ask is what they want with their lives. Now I don't throw it out as the first question after "what's happenin?" I ease into it ya know. But as a naturally curious person the question gives me insight on who that person is (and honestly how i can use their skills for my own world domination, but more on that later). Sad part is that i get too many answers coming from the same person. Meaning most people have been given so many choices for everything that we have become a habitually indecisve nation. Recently I found out we have over 1000 channels included in our cable package. Who needs 1000 channels. Do we laugh more in 2009 then we did 1979 when we only had a few? I remember growing up in the 80's and all of us getting together to watch the same things cause their wasn't much choice, and we connected that way. We also fought over who got to watch what but that was all part of family time.
Well i say all of that to say this, technology has made everything instantaeous. The world is literally at our fingertips and that is a good thing. However, what are we doing with all this time? How come so many people i meet don't have one solid dream in them? Why have we collectively failed at the task of being exactly who we want? In this blog i urge you to write exactly what you want in your life and at least 5 steps to get you there. Keep plugging away till you can get through number #1 then continue on to #2. Make this goal big. dream. be. do. and then you will become. Take all the time technology has given you and do something crazy. Use it on yourself.
And its ok to revise the steps. But make sure the vision is constant and consistent. Post them here if you are brave enough to anounce your dreams to the world. What i have found that if you start announcing what you want to the world, the world starts providing you with the means. But you have to start the conversation. Talk to me baby, talk to me.
The Past: (How I became a writer)
The Past: (How I Became A Writer)
When i was a young chap, my mother encouraged adventure...in the safest way possible. Ok, that is a nice way of me saying she bought me a tent, but we only used it for on top of my bunkbed. I didn't really have the camping, bbq'ing parents. Don't get me wrong i saw my father tear up some ribs (they never had a chance). In fact i even saw him actually eat the bone, a terrifing image that still makes me sweat a little everytime someone gets close to the bones at a BBQ. Anyway, back to my bunkbed tent. I think that's got me first into writing, being creative. Here i am, no little brother or sister to share a bunkbed, a tent that never heard of dirt, and a room full of solitude & imagination. So I made things up. ALL THE TIME. We didn't have much growing up, but i was never bored. That tent was a castle, fortress, lair, hideout, battlestation, compound, mansion, village, city, ranch, spaceship, or just the place i retired to when the world didn't feel right to me. I don't think she knew exactly what she was doing. But i thanks ma for that. So if you want your kids creative, lock them up in a room with a bunch of things that just aren't quite right. Worked for me!