Sunday, October 28, 2007

Token White boy

If I were a white man I’d want to be this one. Andrew is one of those crazy intellectuals that’s so freaking humble and genuinely intelligent that you’d be in danger of referring to him as just another Chelsea hooligan, if you didn’t take the time to properly reflect on his genuine question “So what do you listen to?” Most likely he’d mean music, but if you said the sound of nothing, he’d probably give you some hippy Buddhist silent head nod thing and you’d feel touched by a bodhisattva; trust, its less invasive than being touched by an angel. Still, mention anyone from Don Letts to Rick Rubin and he’d probably have a story or two either about them or someone he’s worked with that’s tight with them. If you had five hours to kill, I’d recommend saying something to the effect of “I don’t see what’s so great about Led Zeppelin anyway”. Whatever you do, however, don’t insult his friends. While Andrew Goodwin is a true gentleman in every sense of the word, he stands up for his friends in a way most people on this planet have forgotten how to.
Andrew’s started a blog, which for my money is basically free tuition to the coolest cultural studies class ever, the inner workings of his mind. No for real, he goes seamlessly from Adorno to The Prisoner, and back to freaking Zeppelin. In under a month the man has generated more texts than I have in two freaking years, and none of it is rant or bizarre (yet sexy) personal ads. The only reason I’m not truly envious of this man is that he still know nothing of graphic novels or free jazz. Those are the only two chinks in his cultural studies armor but with a carnivorous mind such as his, it’s only a matter of time before he’s got a black beret on, humming a Coltrane solo off of interstellar journeys while deconstructing Warren Ellis' Planetary.
Go check out his blog. You won’t be disappointed.

Andrew, you’re my token white boy of the month on Afrogeeks!

PS. If you ever run into the Professor of pop ask him what you call a black man who flies a plane.

Friday, October 26, 2007

The invevitable rise and fall of Niggytardust

Every time I get my mouth ready to talk some smack about Saul Williams, dude comes out with an album title that is so funny, I just have to hear it, or steals Slick Rick's cat, or does some collabo that just out of this world. I'm not a man prone to panic but I swear I either had a panic attack or a spiritual experience one night at the justice league, the former name of the independent, when him and Dj Krush did "Coded Language", Plus he rolled with this black dreaded cello playing chick who was hot! Shit, the only reason I even want to hate him a little bit is because he helped to make slam poetry so damn popular that anyone with a depacote prescription still thinks its the thing to do. But homie was just trying to get paid, so no hate on the Saul.

Peep his site, you might just get a free album

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Fuck a Prius

Voice recognition is racists!

Ok, so I am absolutely fed up with talking cars, cell phones that dial when you speak into them and all this other bullshit technology that only works for white people. And dumb white people at that! That’s my overall issue, tech is being made for a lower and lower IQ. Case and point, Prius Drivers! All a-holes, all white. Even the black dude on Weeds that bought one ended up dead. To all Prius drivers, you know who you are, just because the car isn’t making any sounds, doesn’t mean its not on. You still have to drive! You can’t go twenty five on the free way just because you’re in a plug in electric fucking shitbird of a car!

A friend of mine has one of these moronic vehicles so I’ve ridden in one. Let me say, not a negroes car, not even an assimilated negro like myself (See previous post). For instance, you don’t put your seatbelt on, it snitches. NEGRO CARS DON’T SNITCH! And this isn’t like a “Hey put your seat belt on please.” Type buzzer It’s like “Um, excuse me police officer, I don’t want to interrupt but I have reason to believe that the person in the seat might not have his seat belt on” type consistent bleating! I hate a bitch ass car!
Here’s the straight no logic part of the car. Ok, so you back up in the car and there’s a camera that comes on so you can see what’s behind you. No drama there. But then there’s that Beep Beep truck backing up sound. Ok…wait for it…the sound only comes on INSIDE the car. Bitch ass car, we know we’re backing up, you don’t have to tell the drier we’re backing up. Tell everyone else! Shit, can’t even snitch right!

Ok, but here’s the real drama. It’s got the whole Bluetooth thing so you can make a hands free phone call. Ok, well me, I’ve got one of those afrocentric names. I didn’t choose it, I was saddled with it by my parents. Does the Prius recognize my name when you say it out loud? Of course not! How about my friend Arkeem? Or Nzigha? Or Doughboy? Dedan? Nothing! But Suzy, Sarah, Molly, Dan, Ralph, and Paul and call get their hands free phone call from inside a fucking Prius!

And its’ not just the Prius, Fuck Jott! Fuck my cell phone for not recognizing my people, fuck the programmers who program this shit. Here’s a clue programmers. You want real voice recognition? Watch the Wire, collect every name you can from the extras credits on the Wire, and program your software to recognize those names. Until your cell device can tell the difference between a Dijonaise and a lemonjello, don’t call it voice recognition. And I’m out.

Wanted: Assimilated Negress

Black (or some derivation of) woman who is fully assimilated into the dominant culture. Most likely you straighten your hair, hold a master’s level or higher degree in a field other than business administration, and are often confused for a Caucasian on the phone. No doubt ghetto people frighten you, you’ve summered in the Hamptons, the vineyard…or anywhere else. You know the difference between polenta and grits, orzo and long-grain rice, spaghetti and angel hair pasta. Even better you appreciate a merlot or Syrah but are confused by fourteen inch rims and platinum grills. Basketballs are confusing to you but at some point in your life you’ve played tennis, lacrosse ,soccer or field hockey. And you were good! You were raised playing some classical instrument and most likely all of your boyfriends have been white or Indian. You’ve spent sometime over seas but only in the most cosmopolitan places, London, Paris, Prague, maybe Nairobi. All your friends are white, Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Indian, or mixed. You are always the only black girl in the group. You have no ass, at least, not for a black girl. Or if you do, you are ashamed of it. You don’t know what grape soda tastes like and you don’t see what’s so bad about Marin county.

You beautiful woman you, I want to dirty naughty things to you.
I am a black geek. I’m a hairy gym frequenter who, like you went to boarding schools and Ivy league institutions, but unlike you I rebelled. Not into the waiting arms of hood mentality, but into comic books, sci-fi, and target practice. The result is a viciously smart creative subaltern po mo negro with great aim and the flirting skills of a freshmen in college (Wanna hump?) Like a wounded cub who strayed too far from the pack, I now realize my place is back with the suburban negroes. I want in. Help me to re-assimilate and I promise you some of the freakiest physical delights your whitewashed ass can handle…and some it can’t.

Dead serious

Art and Ownership

Hello Folks,

Just a quick note to let all of you know that I'll be blogging over at as part of the mini-celebration of the 331/3 series. I should be up on either 10/24 or 10/25.

Check it out.

Hope everyone is doing well.


Another quick note: We want to post your musings, thoughts, etc. Send them to us and we'll throw you up. This blog is as much yours as it is ours.


Monday, October 22, 2007

Even grandmas are stacking up on old wooden pistols

See, here I was trying to write some literate stuff on how I'm so happy I've been reading and writing so much. Then people have to send me this image. And where is this from, you might ask? The mother fucking C.I.A.

It's not Halo 3 ya'll. This is grown man times. No bullshit.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

I am not an afrogeek, he is

Ok, so see if you can find what my girl Halima calls the Double consciousness moment. I need to write a thesis on that one moment. I fucking love this kid.

Monday, October 08, 2007


Where is, as Mos Def would say, The New Danger? I just finished reading Chip Delaney’s Dhalgren—something I do every two years—and recognized just how dangerous the book is. A queer brother writing what has been termed SF, shifting perspective, non-standard narrative techniques…the novel is heavy, but not in a bad way. It was first published when I was three-years-old and I read it (for the first time and a first edition) when I was nineteen. And I’ve been reading it ever since.

But where is the new Dhalgren?

Some would argue that Kodwo Eshun’s More Brilliant than the Sun fits the bill in a very specific way: It heralded a new way of looking at SF. And I’ll argue with anyone that electronic music is SF made audible. The sad thing is many people won't have the chance to read Eshun’s book because it is a) out of print and, b) costs over $200 on the after-market. You might want to get together with a few friends and all of you can chip in to buy the book and take turns reading it. That’s your homework.

While I hold SF/Fantasy and horror dear to my heart, most of the stuff produced by Black Folks is rather safe and pedestrian. The last Black-themed/centered work that really hit me was Octavia E. Butler's Parables books. And this was a long time ago.

I feel that the Afro-Geek/Black-Nerd/Alterna-Black aesthetic needs to be dangerous. It is our duty to confront the banality of the world, to offer different perspectives on how the world can be. To rewrite our existence and attack the stasis-quo. And I’m not just talking about books.

We need better films. Eve’s Bayou was probably the last Black-themed/centered film worth watching. There are a few films (Son of Man is a great example) that try to address the multi-facets of Black life (of course these aren't American films), but Who’s Your Caddy? Soul Plane? Code Name: The Cleaner? Get the Fuck out of here.

Music has always been a great place for alternative Black expression. Check out Alice Smith, Bows, and Charlie Dark. But this is not enough.

Television is full of shit. I urge all of us to boycott the box. Even though I am enamored of genre television (BSG; Trek; Heroes (the only brother was a convict married to a white girl, and the only sister—who messed with white boys, was killed; Torchwood (best new show, but the only Black character they’ve had (so far) was a killin’-ass cyborg woman); Eureka, a Black female agent who loves the white boys; and I could go on and on? I asked this before—could a Black themed genre show fly?

But I’m an author, and it always comes back to words. Where are those imagineers who create different worlds in the middle of the night? Where are those who create the monsters of tomorrow, and then gives us the means to defeat them? Where are those writers who make me get a dictionary, an encyclopedia, an atlas, and a bible when I read there work?

I want (need) to be challenged emotionally, spiritually, and psychically.
Where is the new (next) tome that will leave a Dhalgren-sized hole in the Afro-sphere?


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