Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Sam Jackson is chaining up white woman again

Notice how I'm not even trying to comment on this because it speaks for itself... Nah Nah, screw that noise


I hated Hustle and flow, that old busta ass wanna be piece of shit movie And if anyone ever sings that It's hard out here for a pimp in front of me again, they'll be singing toothless, word is bond! WHAT THE HELL IS SO HARD ABUT BEING A PIMP? DOES IT MAKE YOUR COOCHIE HURT? I know all cap locks is a No No, but this Black snake moan thing is killing me. Peep the poster, just imagine Christina Ricci at the end of Sam's chain. I don't believe I just typed that.

See back when Hurricane Katrina hit, ya'll remember Katrina, right? No? Here's a picture:

Yeah, see back then when everybody was like "Why isn't the government doing anything?" My only response was "How can you accept this?

without ne'er a word of protest from any so-called black leader, then expect help from a federal government that time and time again has proven it could give two shits about black people?" I don't have a lot of friends.

So then the same dumb ass two bit director does this Black Snake moan, basically reviving the old uncle remus myth. How you gonna have big old hardcore Samuel Jackson and little nympho Christina Ricci in the same house, chained to his damn oven, and Sam not get any play? And please don't try and sell me on some old Sam's on some higher level magical negro type shit, because today is not the day. See this is how little white girls get the wrong idea about black men, thinking they can run around in their underwear around us and all we'll want to do is take care of them. I'm so angry right now!

Of course I'm going to go see it. Maybe not opening day with Todd and P-dog, but probably that weekend. What do you want from me, I'm a twisted soul.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

I miss Jungle music

Touch it

Yo, remember back in the day that agro frenetic style of Hardcore sound used to be synonymous with cool black people with funny accents? You know what I'm talking about if you were in the Bay, London, or New York circa 1990. JUNGLE you biscuit heads! Jungle, I miss these sounds. And now that I figured out how to put music on this mug, wait until you hear my Jungle/hyphy mixes. Anything test, DEAD!

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Who shot me bruda? Him a fa dead!

Number 1. The harder they come. Anyone says anything different scream "Blodcott pussface fa dead!" Then shoot them in the face. That's the most gangsta tragic flick on the planet. Done.

Number 2. Countryman. The original Magical negro. He's the basis of a character in my second unpublished novel. While not in the genre of Killa Kingston, its still a beautiful film.

Number 3. Third world Cop. Ok, bonafide comedy. Its like "I got the hook up" only in Jamaica. For all the brethren who've seen it. BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP! You should be on the floor laughing right now. If not, put this on your netflix.

Number 4. It's kinda new...on DVD that is. Shottas Ok, so click the link and jump now so that you can hear the bomb ass soundrtack as you read the rest of this post. This is some bargin basement productions, no kind of talent necessary to make bad ass gangsta flick type stuff. But what am I in love with it? I mean if Americans did it I'd be angry, frustrated, and complaining about how much dinero was wasted on it. But becasue Spragga benz and Kymani marley are the headliners I'm feeling it. Think of it as the all the best jamacian parts of Belly. Yeah, I feel Belly. Forget it, I can't defend my taste, only state them. Shottas kill dem competition dead!

Undercover Stomping

OK so I’ve been around Gay black males most of my entire life. In fact, as there are so few out black gay men around me now, I can truly say I feel the lack. Maybe that was my impetus to see what has to be the GAYEST movie ever. Of course, I’m talking about Stomp the yard. For real, ya’ll. I mean I know its easy to make the assumption that when a bunch of young compact muscled black men all shiny and well toned doing coordinated dancing right out of a Brittany Spears video one of them must be named Twan, but before we let the stereotypes go without some analysis, if it walks like a duck and talk like a duck, quack quack. The movie is of course, wack wack.

I’ve got to say that I’m a little disturb about the trend of music, singing and dancing constantly being present in movies about black colleges. I didn’t go to one, but I hope Howard isn’t too much like School Daze, though Spike can do know wrong in my eyes. Upon reflection, in fact, I realize its spike’s critical gaze represented by the Black Nationalist demanding that their institution divest from all investments in the South African government. This gave balance to the focus on what I find to be one of the most perplexing and comical ideations of slavery, the Black fraternity. Stomp the yard, shot by a Video director, has none of that critical gaze, and chooses instead to focus on the glory of the black male body. Praise Jesus!

The film is a typically contrived story of a young man who doesn’t know how to work with a team...of dancers. Ok, wait, gotta go into this. Times like this I wish I had taken pictures with my camera phone. Ok, so the flick starts out in L.A where the main character, his brother, and their crew are about to battle another crew. Now this battle isn't guns, knives, or bad breath, but of course, dancing. Because it’s LA, and because its fun to watch, Crunking was the primary mode of expression. But this wasn't some backyard; Tommy the clown inspired all black fun and positivity crunking. This was some savage dragon type, Jet li should've been unleashed from the basement, dog fight happening in one corner and midgets taking money in another corner type spot. Now this was not the point of the movie, in fact its just a small little background setting piece, showing where the main character came from, but Can I just admit my secret desire to be in any place where dog fights and midget gamblers dwell? Tangent I know. My blog, I'll do what I want.

BACK TO THE GAYNESS! Ok, so pretty moderately light skinned LA boy gets taken in by his hella light skinned Aunt and Uncle as he attends shit you not, TRUTH University, in Atlanta. While there he meets a young woman I shall only refer to as Booty, because the camera always started on her Booty, and she had no other point other than being the heterosexual decoy that makes you think the main character is straight. In black gay male speak she'd be referred to as his "cover". The real tensions begin when the two big homosocial breeding grounds for experimentation, AKA (pun intentional) Black fraternities begin to vie for the main characters attentions. Apparently his dance moves are so hot, they just have to have him. The butches (Who make a little "W" with their hands and call themselves the Wolves) try and come on all butch, but out main character is a top and so he's not feeling that. But the Boogie boho negroes appeal to the rough trade with lip service about tradition, honor, and being part of an eternal brother hood that last for...yeah big fat circle jerk, I thought the same thing. The Bohos were the snakes or some such nonsense and did this thing with their hands with, I swear, is American Sign Language for "I'd like to stick my hand up your ass now, if you're willing." I guess the main character was down because he joins them, teaches them his rough trade street moves, they win the national "I dance a lot and am secure in my sexuality" competition. And he gets to keep his cover while having his bussy (bussy=boy pussy) satisfied at the same time. Moral of the story, so long as you have other black gay men around you, it's cool to be queer.

Ok, I know I'm dancing the homophobic line here, so let's make my obvious objection/enjoyment of the film clear: I would have enjoyed the movie ten times more if its latent content were manifest. I'd love to see a documentary about the black queer subculture of Black fraternities, black male dancers, or black men in entertainment at all. I would pay real money to see that. And while I know most of America wouldn't, having the biggest movie of the weekend be all on some undercover brother mentality seems off putting. It’s rare that I'm in a theater with that many teenagers (an indictment of the films I watch more than anything), and it saddens me than none of them will consider the possibility that even one person in that film wasn't straight. And for those of you who think I'm reading into the film, I encourage you to do the same. Passive reception of media makes idea slaves of us all.

Big Up Aunty A in the NM for adding afrogeeks to her start menu.

Ya'll looking for stickers? Keep looking, I ain't sent shit yet. It's crazy over here. Still got love for ya'll.

Anybody know about the Afrogeeks conference this year? Does that still happen? I want to go.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

I name thee Holly Robinsons

Remember Hooly Robinson, before she became holly robinson Peete, when she was on 21 jump street with Johnny Depp and Richard Greico? Remember when she had big hair and torn jeans? Remember how everyone thought she was so cute? Did you know she was black? No for real, I mean did they ever do any special black episode of 21 jump street where she had to infiltrate an all black school or something? No I don’t think they did. I think the producers just took the “We’re Canadian and we just don’t see race” approach. Ok, whatever. I mean I believe that to be the craziest thing on the planet, but o.K. They’re Canadian, what do I know about Canadians? (Hi Nalo) But I just got the first Disc of the old Dungeons and Dragons cartoon. Did you know there was a black girl on the show? Cause I forgot. Seriously! And I love this cartoon, and I used to quote the beginning all the time. You know where Dungeon Master (Totally Gay by the way, that’s my post modern read on him; the aged gay Peter Pan who molested his son Venger, read vengeance, and left him with a lopsided horn head) gives them there magical weapons and says “Fear Not, Ranger, Magician, Cavalier, Barbarian, Thief, and Acrobat.” Well the acrobat was Black. But I didn’t notice. They never did anything on the show to make her black aside from darken her skin. I swear a white woman did her voice though I have no evidence. She’s cool, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her, I’m just naming a phenomenon where black woman exist don’t kind of aren’t really seen as black. To those invisible black woman, I name thee Holly Robinsons.

But seriously, I'm a Norman lear baby. I like tv where they talk about real world social issues, that's one of the great possibilitites about amedium that's produced week to week. I like the "Race episode". I know its pandering to an audience, but at least its the beginings of a conversation. Am I alone in this? Tell me what you think people.

P.S. So dude at this link has a lot more to say about Diana from Dungeons and dragons than I care to.

Am so Feeling the love right now!

Just got home and had mad folks writing in asking for stickers. To those I've left behind and the newbies, stickers are going out on Monday. That's my word. Sorry for the delay and all that. But one of the newbies who we just heard from went viral on the term afrogeeks, which is all good because copyright is for no account marks that can't stand up for themselves. I'm about to make Afrogeek indelible on the net in a second but I thought I'd post what I consider to be a pretty bomb ass description of afrogeeking from one of the infected. To wit:

Afrogeek Mom and Dad


I didn't write it (cause I ain't got no kids...that I this state...Joking!) but I wish I did.

In other news, go on over to and scroll down, a free as in No pay Talib Kweli meets Madlib album. I'm like, How come I ain't heard about this? I can't be the only person not in the know. Mad love to all the Afrogeeks out there, if feels good to have some family.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

The black one is me

White Zombies

As a person who always asks “Do you have herpes?”when someone asks to drink from my glass, I probably should’ve known Max Brooks’ World War Z would’ve freaked me out. A great read for its structure as much as for its telling the book addresses the incredibly valid question: “What measures would humanity take if there were a Zombie outbreak?” Framed entirely by interviews, Max Brooks looks at the impact of this supposed Zombie war some fifteen years after victory has been declared in the United States. His imaginary interviews are with military personnel, from the vice president of united states, to the front line grunt who first has to deal with getting his ass beat by “Zak” (Zak is to zombie what Charlie was to the V.C in Vietnam) due to an over technology based strategy, to revealing in the joy of a new weapon that looks like a battle axe with a shovel attached to the end of it. We have the human victims of mass migration to colder climates where the Zombies will freeze. But due to typical human stupidity, they don’t bring enough food and end up eating each other. International politics are not avoided in this work either. Apparently a black president is quickly elected after the white president has a heart attack upon hearing the news about the walking dead. The zombie virus originally gets out of China due to organ harvesting, Israel offers all Jews and Palestinians safe harbor before it closes its borders to all immigrants, and an Apartheid genius is embraced by Mandela as he offers South Africa its only possible solution for containing the madness.

Through it all, Max Brooks takes what could be a very comical or at least ridiculous premise with all the seriousness of a real situational analysis. Anyone who read his previous book, A zombie survival guide, can tell you how convincing this man can be. I might have been totally hooked if not for my religious background. You see my problem with a lot of the Zombie fiction today; yes it is a genre, See 28 days later, The walking Dead, etc, is that it ignores the afrocentric roots of the Zombie. You see Zombies do exists.

A zombie is a person whose “soul” has been captured by a bokor, or witch doctor. There is a process by which this happens. It is comforting to believe that the future zombie has done something offense to the bokor, or to someone who has hired the bokor, but that need not be the case. The Bokor need only have a proper understanding of his trade, botany, animal husbandry, chemistry, and physiology, to begin the process. They start by making a zombie powder. This consists of powdered glass, buffer toxin from a specific type of toad, toxins from a puffer fish of Haiti, and a whole bunch of other fun cocktails. Once that combo is made up right, it need only be sprinkled in a place where the victim is known to walk barefooted, (in the shoes, around the house, etc.). Soon the victim will feel themselves getting weaker, sicker, respiration rates will fall, lethargy will set in, vision will become blurred. In short they will feel themselves dying. The community around them, aware of the symptoms, will begin to mourn their passage before they are truly dead, and will be in a hurry to bury them. In the past, maybe they skipped over checking for such critical signs of life as a heartbeat. Or they may have listened for it and the thumping been so faint that it was assumed absent. Yet despite all these claims, the person is still alive.

The community then does what it does with all “dead” bodies, it buries them. The victim, not yet a Zombie, is apparently fully conscious of what is going on, just unable to respond. They witness their own funeral from a perspective no one should. After the ceremony, just as the zombie powder is wearing off, the Bokor digs up the “corpse”, forces, any number of alcohol based psychotropics down the person throat and whips them into believing that they are his personal undead property, a zombie to be controlled by the Bokor less they wish to be buried again. They are taken from their neighborhood, and serve their bokor until such time as they are truly dead.

See that’s ten times scarier to me than undead soldiers eating human flesh and all that. The true Zombie, a new world phenomenon as far as I’ve researched, is the symbolic angst born of slavery. It is the black fear of enslavement written upon a metaphysical landscape, enslavement after death. Don’t get me wrong, I love zombie fiction, I find it fascinating. But with the exception of Romero’s work, I also find it hella white.