Dream of Life

Roger Porter

July 17, 2011

It’s a crazy feeling when you’re dead tired but can’t manage to go to sleep. It feels like you’re suspended in life. As if you are walking on a tightrope between consciousness and fantasy. Sometimes it takes an extreme amount of focus just to get there. Just to block everything out for long enough to slip away.

I imagine if we could actually see the Promised Land— after all those speeches, sermons, and biblical verses that have made us believe in its existence— then we would be too afraid to actually set foot on it. I fear that we have fallen in the love with purchasing the dream being sold to us rather than loving the dream itself.

We like the big man with the big voice who attracts the large crowds. We like to be moved by fancy words, by eloquent rhetoric, and a glowing smile. We can’t resist the charm of that charismatic person. We can’t help but to visualize what he tells us and we can’t help but to be swept up in fantasy when we hear him preach. So of course we pay the man for his troubles. We pay for the show. We pay handsomely for the dream yet our sleepy eyes are still open and we are still very much awake.

We still trust those people who seem to be omnipresent. Those people who worship the cameras. Those people who have been slowly raping the movement since our most brilliant luminary was slain. We still follow these individuals; however, if they were actually a threat to injustice then they would have been murdered a long time ago. The last time I saw one of these men on television I was with my daughter. She pointed to the screen and asked; “Who is that daddy?”  To which I responded; “That’s a clown with no make-up.”

In our hearts we are pure but in practice we are shallow. There is more to life than merely leading or following. Individuality still exists. There can still be honesty and oh yes there is love. If we learned to love ourselves then there is no way we would be conned by these wretched people. We would create our own dream and we would live in it forever right here on Earth.

Amen.

Dusk

Roger Porter

July 15, 2011

I love how the sky looks at dusk. When it’s orange, red, magenta, crimson, yellow; ill-defined. It forces me to look up even when I’m feeling down. When the world appears to be so drab and hopeless it’s always good to be taken aback by the beauty of something natural. Like naturally kinky hair, and naturally full lips, it all has the same effect on me. It’s wild how I never know I need inspiration until I’m inspired.  Then I become aware of the haze I was in before some pretty thing made my vision clear.

It makes me wonder if people in the dark ages knew they were living in darkness or were they just happy to be alive. I am happy to be alive but I do spend a considerable amount of time thinking about how this current era will be classified in the decades to come.

 It would be nice to hear an outside opinion sometime. I would appreciate having the opportunity to hear a dissenting voice without being told to fear it, or to sit idly by while others are ordered to kill it.

There are millions of gorgeous things in this world. There are even a lot of righteous people wandering about the earth who go unrecognized and taken for granted. It’s sad that I can become so engrossed in negativity that I can’t receive the most splendid gift that has ever been given.

The Sufferers

Roger Porter

July 13, 2011

 

It’s kind of sick how we view our artists. Sometimes it seems like the more troubled they are the harder we fall in love with them. I’m no exception. There is something inside of me that disallows me to truly feel an artist unless I can hear some pain in his or her voice. This is the same thing that prevents me from appreciating the music of Luther Vandross because every time I hear one of his songs I can visualize him smiling. It’s sad I know but I think it’s the Christianity in me. After all don’t we love Jesus so much because he suffered on the cross for us?

At any rate there is a poet whose literary voice I passionately adore. I have been enraptured by the works of Etheridge Knight for nearly all of my adult life. I would like to think that it has nothing to do with the fact that he served several years in prison or had a very serious heroin addiction but I know it does. Just like when I first found out how many times 50 cent had been shot it made me want to buy his record. It’s a shame that I can get caught up in something so petty, however, I suppose it’s similar to the Blues. I mean don’t you have to have the Blues to be a real Blues singer?

Either way Etheridge Knight was an exceptional poet who wasn't afraid to cry and bleed in front of his audience. Here is one of his many masterpieces:

The Idea of Ancestry

By Etheridge Knight1931–1991 Etheridge Knight

      1

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black

faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-

fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,

cousins (1st & 2nd), nieces, and nephews. They stare

across the space at me sprawling on my bunk. I know

their dark eyes, they know mine. I know their style,

they know mine. I am all of them, they are all of me;

they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.

I have at one time or another been in love with my mother,

1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum),

and 5 cousins. I am now in love with a 7-yr-old niece

(she sends me letters written in large block print, and

her picture is the only one that smiles at me).

I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews,

and 1 uncle. The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took

off and caught a freight (they say). He’s discussed each year

when the family has a reunion, he causes uneasiness in

the clan, he is an empty space. My father’s mother, who is 93

and who keeps the Family Bible with everybody’s birth dates

(and death dates) in it, always mentions him. There is no

place in her Bible for “whereabouts unknown.”

      2

Each fall the graves of my grandfathers call me, the brown

hills and red gullies of mississippi send out their electric

messages, galvanizing my genes. Last yr / like a salmon quitting

the cold ocean-leaping and bucking up his birthstream / I

hitchhiked my way from LA with 16 caps in my packet and a

monkey on my back. And I almost kicked it with the kinfolks.

I walked barefooted in my grandmother’s backyard / I smelled the old

land and the woods / I sipped cornwhiskey from fruit jars with the men /

I flirted with the women / I had a ball till the caps ran out

and my habit came down. That night I looked at my grandmother

and split / my guts were screaming for junk / but I was almost

contented / I had almost caught up with me.

(The next day in Memphis I cracked a croaker’s crib for a fix.)

This yr there is a gray stone wall damming my stream, and when

the falling leaves stir my genes, I pace my cell or flop on my bunk

and stare at 47 black faces across the space. I am all of them,

they are all of me, I am me, they are thee, and I have no children

to float in the space between.

The Art Recession

Roger Porter

July 11, 2011

            A very good friend of mine once told me “We’re not only in an economic downturn but we’re in a recession of the arts as well.” Indeed we are living in a very peculiar time. I say this because normally times of economic woe bring out the very best in terms of music, film, and literature. A prime example of this would be American Slave Narratives and Jazz, but today it’s not happening.

             In this era of complete corporate control over the music that is sold and the books that are published we never hear of a new artist breaking the mold to say something different. As a matter of fact if one were to have to depend on contemporary art as a means for determining what is going on in the world then one wouldn’t even know there was a recession going on at all.

            Even a respected publication such as USA Today has published articles about living in “Post Recession America.” I understand the need for the government to prevent people from panicking as they did the day the stock market crashed in 1929; however, I think it would do some good to allow people to express the truth in some capacity.

            It would be foolish to think that you could miraculously “cure” a drug addict by publicly declaring that his addiction is over. It would be equally absurd for someone to try to bring a person out of a deep depression by acting like they don’t notice it and never speaking about it.

            So let’s be real America. Families are still losing their homes, masses of people are unemployed, and there aren’t nearly enough jobs being created to noticeably improve the economic situation. In short the recession is still very much alive. But it’s OK, don’t do anything rash. Instead write a poem, sing a song, or paint a picture about it. For although ignoring an issue will never make it go away the healing powers of art have been proven time and time again.

Masquerade

Roger Porter

July 8, 2011

What do we call those people who aren’t afraid to embrace their own solitude? How do we refer to those of us who don’t care to run with a click? I do believe we consider these people to be quite strange for the most part. However I always loved the individual who is truly an individual so I guess that makes me weird as well but so what.

 I think that the woman who can stand alone is far more beautiful than the woman who stands out in a crowd. I lust for she who loves herself with an overwhelming passion and only needs me there to help. Or at least that’s what I fantasize about. In reality I don’t know if I could handle her because in reality I am a man and thus cursed with certain oppressive characteristics.

I wonder how much of an individual can any woman be in a committed relationship? As a child I remember watching the strongest women I knew yield to their boyfriends; and not because they were forced to or because they were abused but rather because that’s how they were programmed to behave. I watched them give up the last word and held in my laugh as they acted like they couldn’t do things that I had seen them do a thousand times before—things like mow the lawn or pump the gas—so they could get their boyfriends to do it.

Even as a child I figured out that it was all an act but the men they dated never caught on. They thought these women were naturally submissive and dumb so they treated them as such. I suppose that’s all courtship is, it’s like an erotic masquerade.

What will happen when the masks come off and it is revealed that he is weak and she is a masterful thinker? What will become of the relationship then?

That’s why I like the ones who stand alone because they refuse to hide their strength. When she is by herself she is effectively placing all of her righteous attributes on display.

Betrayal

Roger Porter

July 7, 2011

                We all have our things I guess. No matter how strong we are we all have those things that make us weak. I get caught up sometimes. I get caught up in things that are no good for me. I find myself lost in the company of negative people who have never learned to love themselves, so how could they possibly love me. Each time I have received multiple warnings that these people were shady but I never paid attention. For some reason I always want to give human-beings the benefit of the doubt and I’m always the one who pays for it. It’s a very wretched feeling to continue to have faith in something that can only let you down. Pretty soon you realize that the only sure-fire way to avoid betrayal is to not believe in anything at all.

             Now I wonder is it worth it?

Pain

Roger Porter

July 5, 2011

I think fondly of pain sometimes; about the dynamics of the beast, the irony, and the permanence of it all. It’s so rare that a person admits to liking pain yet we never forget a memory in which we are hurt. In a very strange way pain makes a moment real. Pain elevates a mundane day into one that we violently embrace in our minds for the rest of our natural lives.

I’ve found myself at gatherings surrounded by men whose stories led to collective laughter, and then that collective laughter grows into complete openness. The next thing you know everyone is taking turns talking about the first time they were caught, the first time they were arrested, the first time they went to jail, or when they finally graduated to the penitentiary.

 No matter how hard a person is grinning when they tell a story like this you can always see right through it. The pain that they felt during the moment of their apprehension is always conveyed to the listener. And it doesn’t matter how big the orator is or how intimidating he truly wants to be, in my eyes he always turns into a boy when he speaks of pain. When he revisit that fear, those tears, and that disappointment.  Yet this is the same man who always finds a way to be re-incarcerated.

This is the man who violates parole and probation. This is the man who appears to live his life so recklessly on the outside so he’ll have some good stories to tell the other inmates when he gets back home to confinement. This is the man whose world is literally turned inside out. What I mean by this is he has been so severely institutionalized that he believes prison is the only place where he can be free. Prison is the only place that he has ever really adjusted to. It’s the one place in his world where he does not feel so out-of-place.

I supposed that even pain can be normalized. But is it really normalized if it still hurts? Maybe pain is like some kind of drug and these men who keep bumping their heads against the walls of their own limitations are trying to recapture their first high. Or maybe these people just really like pain but they can’t admit it to themselves.

My Cinematic Travels

Roger Porter

July 1, 2011

         At this point in my life I haven’t been able to travel as much I would have liked to. As a matter of fact I’ve only left the country one time and that was a brief trip across the Mexican border when I was 9-years-old. So I try to compensate this by asking the well-traveled people I know a whole lot of questions and watching a whole lot of foreign films. Well actually I don’t watch a multitude of foreign films but the ones that I like I watch repeatedly. Like Biutiful starring Javier Bardem.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnmyIQVCNEA&feature=relmfu]

            I paid to see this Academy Award nominated Spanish movie in the theater twice—despite the recession. The story is compelling, the acting is great, and the cinematography is astounding but what I really like about this movie are the subscripts. Subscripts add an extra dimension to a film. I even love when the translations disappear too quickly from the bottom of the screen and I am forced to rely on the tone of the characters voices and the expressions on their faces to determine the nature of the dialogue.

            It is through a foreign film that I first became enraptured by the Portuguese language. I swear to you that I have watched City of God at least 75 times. I think it may be the best gangster story ever told. What I find most fascinating about films from outside of the United States is they tend to do a much better job of telling a story from multiple perspectives.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacK-9u-kpA]

         City of God is told from every imaginable angle and we get an accurate and realistic sense of every character's voice. This is similar to another one of my favorite films called Amelie which is from France. In this movie there is a scene when the audience is even given insight into the thoughts of a cat.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3S0LNGA2hp8&feature=related]

            Sooner or later I’m going to pack my bags and leave Oakland for Rio de Janeiro or Paris or Madrid or Mumbai but until then I’ll have to depend on my beloved movie collection and experience those exotic places by watching my favorite foreign movies over and over again.    

The Holy Men

Roger Porter

June 29, 2011

It’s amazing to me how when you pose a question to a person regarding their musical taste you say; “Hey what kind of music do you like to listen to? Do you like reggae, classical, hip-hop or what?” But when you want to know something about their taste in literature you must first ask; “Hey do you read?”

Everyone in the world likes music but there are only a select few that read. Even the vast majority of people who are literate don’t bother to pick up a book or a newspaper. There are people who go to church every Sunday but have never read the bible. There are people who are passionate members of political parties yet have never bothered to read The Constitution.

So many folks depend on other people to think for them and then they take to the streets in a rage when they discover that their trust has been violated. When they hear about their beloved pastor’s sexual indiscretions, or when they learn that their political leader has been accused of accepting bribes. Of course these people are going to abuse their power. If you treat a man like anything more than a man then he will soon convince himself that he is god.

What would happen if we purchased as many books as we do CD’s? What if the demand for literature was so great that instead of going on I-tunes people downloaded millions of poems for a dollar a piece? What if people turned off the television and read newspapers from all over the world? What if all Christians actually read the bible and held their religion in their head and hearts as opposed to leaving it in the church every Sunday?

If these things were to occur then people would no longer allow themselves to be the cheap disposable tools of demagogues. People would cease praying to man and would finally begin praying to god.

The Typewriter

Roger Porter

June 25, 2011

There is a night from my boyhood that reverberates so frequently in my mind that it becomes hard for even me to believe it happened over a quarter century ago. It was a warm night much like tonight and my mother was out in the living room banging away on the typewriter. This was back in the day when my whole family shared one medium-sized bedroom. There was very little personal space but there was a whole lot of love.

At any rate my brother and sister tossed and turned until eventually they fell asleep but on this night I couldn’t, or rather, I refused. I had to be about 3-years-old and I didn’t know much but I could hear my mommy struggling to put her thoughts together. That’s one thing I miss about that old typewriter that we used for way too long; it made the writing process audible.

I could hear way too much space in between the punching of the keys and my mommy had been at it for far longer than was normally the case. So I rolled out of the bed in my old Transformer pajamas with the broken zipper and I went to her. I hugged her as she sat in her reading glasses with a scarf upon her head and a furrowed brow on her face. She looked at me, smiled, and without speaking picked me up and placed me in her lap. She balanced me there as she filled one page up with thought, took it out, and inserted another. I went to sleep right there in between my mommy and her typewriter listening to the divine rhythm of the written word.

Texting While Driving, An Unspoken Addiction

Roger Porter

June 24, 2011

 

I can’t remember the last time I stood in support of new legislation coming from congress so I guess you can say it’s rare but in the case of The Safe Drivers Act of 2011 I can’t help but to thank Rep. Carolyn McCarthy and others who are now publicizing the potential law. This act would set a national standard to prohibit drivers from using handheld mobile devices while driving except for in emergency situations.

Seriously texting while driving is out of control. It’s kind of like a largely unspoken addiction. I’m sure people know the feeling when you’re on the freeway minding your own business and you feel your phone go off in your pocket. You try to ignore it but you can’t resist seeing who the text is from. After all “It might be something important,” you reason, which is stupid because whatever the message is if it were that important the person would have actually called.

So the next thing you know you’re involved in a meaningless textversation about being on the freeway while actually on the freeway placing your life and all of the other drivers’ lives in danger—it’s so dumb! I’m not going to say I’ve never done it but I can say that I’m in the process of making a serious change.

Ever since 18-year-old Kaitlyn Dunaway killed a 2-year-old girl and injured the girl’s mother in Rohnert Park, CA because she was texting while driving I have made a very strong effort to keep my cell phone in the glove compartment anytime I’m behind the wheel. Kaitlyn Dunaway is only a freshman in college and now she’ll have to deal with the burden of knowing she killed a little girl for the rest of her life. And just to think, she was probably sending a text that read; “I’m right up the street.”

Needless to say I’m going to do everything that I can to prevent myself from ever having to be in that situation. If I have to miss some important million dollar text message while I’m on the road to preserve human life then so be it. Texting while driving is a very real problem and I’m glad the federal government is planning to do something about it.

No More Apologies!

Roger Porter

June 22, 2011

          Recently popular Chicago based rapper Lupe Fiasco stated in an interview that President Barrack Obama is a terrorist. Then a few days later he went on the ultra-conservative political commentary program The O’Reilly Factor to defend his viewpoint. Of course the two of them had it out and I’m sure it made Bill O’Reilly feel a little less racist to have the opportunity to actually defend the president but that’s not the point. The most significant thing about this whole ordeal is that Lupe Fiasco did not back down. He did not apologize, and he did not retire from his career as a rapper.

            It’s sickening to me how in contemporary American society every group wants to force a person to say they’re sorry even when that person obviously isn't. It bothers me because it only isolates the problem instead of addressing the larger issue.

            For example; comedian Tracy Morgan issued both a written and verbal apology for offensive jokes he made in his stand up routine towards homosexuals. I do believe this will cause people to be more conscious of what they say publicly about gays, however, it does absolutely nothing in terms of making people more accepting of the gay lifestyle. After all isn’t that the issue? I mean don’t we as a society wish to open people’s minds and expand their consciousness or are we content with merely embarrassing the hell out of public figures when they slip up?

            I can assure you that Lupe Fiasco is not the only human-being in the world who thinks President Obama is a terrorist. As a matter of fact there are whole countries full of people who think Obama is a terrorist. The question is what do we do now? Do we organize mass protests in front of Lupe Fiasco concerts and force his label to drop him, or do we try to understand why it is that he considers the president to be a terrorist?

            I say it’s 2011. It’s time to stop being dismissive and start engaging in real hardcore dialogue. And please no more press conferences, and no more apologies.   

http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshhO7Vt4c2f3b7kDST3

The Extra-Terrestrial

Roger Porter

June 21, 2011

 

Today was one of those rare days when I get a chance to hang out with my daughter for literally the whole day. She’s out of school for the summer and I’m out of work so things kind of worked out.

After we ran a few errands we had options for leisure time. Last week she asked me if we could go see the movie Cars 2.  I told her I would think about it which I did. I ended up coming to the conclusion that a movie about talking cars sounds lame as hell. I just wasn’t feeling her selection but the idea was cool. I mean there’s nothing wrong with taking in a good film every now and then. I tried to come up with a movie that we could both enjoy and preferably one that was free.

Initially I thought we would have to watch The Lion King for the 75^th time but when I reached for the DVD I saw something even more classic—I saw E.T. on VHS. Yes I still own a copy of The Extra-Terrestrial and yes I still own a VCR. I got a few Klondike bars out of the freezer and it was on and crackin.

This world we live in is so fascinating. Things change so rapidly that you can’t depend on anything anymore. You can’t depend on having a job because the economy is so bad, you can’t count on gas prices staying under $4 per gallon, global warming makes the weather extremely erratic, and because of light pollution you can’t even depend on looking up and seeing the stars at night. That’s why I can’t express how refreshing it was to see the look of enchantment on my daughter’s face during that scene in the movie when those kids were riding their bikes and out of nowhere they took flight and soared over the police barrier.   

It’s crazy because it’s a 30-year-old movie but for her it’s brand new. It’s also crazy that I am a soon to be 30-year-old man but because of my little girl I feel brand new. The power of great art is truly immeasurable. I would imagine that it is only rivaled by the power of love.

Light Pollution

Roger Porter

June 20, 2011

When I was a little boy my family used to live on 90^th Avenue in Deep East Oakland, CA USA. It was me, my brother, my sister, my mother, my uncle, my aunty, and my two cousins living in an old pink two-story house. Even though the pink paint was peeling, the structure was falling apart, and we lived in the middle of a notorious ghetto the years I spent there were completely joyous.

Summertime was the best.

I remember going to the corner store and buying 10 cent otter pops and jolly ranchers. I remember water balloon fights. I remember cold Pineapple Crush sodas. I remember girls playing double-dutch. I remember going out on the porch at night, looking straight up into the open expanse and having my older cousin extend his fingers to the sky and point out every constellation.

“That's Orion’s Belt right there! Oooh and you see that? That’s the Big Dipper.”

There would be shooting stars, twinkling stars, and little stars right next to stars that looked huge by comparison. Now when I look up in the sky above Oakland there only seem t be a scattered few.

They say the reason why is because of something called light pollution. Which basically means that all the new street lights and traffic signals that have been installed over the past 25 years, in addition to all the new light bulbs burning in all the newer homes produce a tremendous accumulative glow which prevents people in an urban metropolis from seeing the stars.

The once electric summer sky is now just black and generic. I miss the constellations. I miss my old house. I miss my innocence. I suppose it should make me feel a little better knowing that even though I can’t see the stars they are still there—but it doesn’t. For if we cannot see them then they are as good as gone.

A Message Before Father's Day

Roger Porter

June 18, 2011

          Although Father’s Day is supposed to be a day when families get together to honor the men who helped bring them into the world, in Black America it has come to symbolize one of the most hateful days of the calendar year. This is mainly because African-American households have a higher rate of being led by a single woman than every other demographic in the country which causes an enormous amount of resentment towards black men—even from other black men. So on Father’s Day some people tend to be a little bitter.

People say all kinds of derogatory things towards absentee fathers on Facebook, in pulpits, and on the radio. As a matter of fact in 2008 then presidential hopeful Barrack Obama got in on the act as well; “We need fathers to realize that responsibility does not end at conception. Too many fathers are MIA….They have abandoned their responsibilities, acting like boys instead of men. And the foundations of our families are weaker because of it.” Now of course all of this is true, but is it really appropriate to say it on Father’s Day?

Father’s Day 2011 is nearly upon us and it would be amazing if all of Black America could take the time to celebrate a black man who is handling his business instead of taking every opportunity to publicly deride those who are not. For I too once resented my father until I had a child of my own. It is only then that I fully understood everything that he endured to try to stay in our lives. And it is only then that I understood how easy it is for a father’s love to be forever misconstrued and unappreciated.

This year all I want for Father’s Day is positive energy. Let us not only recognize those strong men who are raising their children righteously but let us also make an attempt to understand why so many other men feel the need to remove themselves from the situation.

I know it sounds radical now but in a different era artists actually did this. Here is one of my favorite poems of all time written by the great African-American poet Robert Hayden. It tells the story of a young boy who does not realize the daily sacrifices made by his father until he has grown into a man. It is called Those Winter Sundays.

Those Winter Sundays
by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early and put hisclothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he'd call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love's austere and lonely offices?

Happy Father's Day to each and every father.

So High

Roger Porter

June 16, 2011

Have you ever seen a woman so beautiful that she makes it seem like the whole world is in black and white and she is the only one in color? I like vibrant women with loud souls and quiet confidence. I like the ones that make you forget, I like the ones that get you high.

Higher than a recession, higher than depression, higher than heroin, higher than coke.

But then maybe that’s the problem. Everyone wants to escape and no one wants to deal with what’s real. Any man can have a beautiful woman on his arm and still be hollow inside. He can still be insecure. He can still be incomplete. Then when the money is low and his swagger is marred by some unforeseen circumstance who can he depend on? Can he depend on himself to get through tough times or will he lean too heavily on his beautiful woman who, unaccustomed to having to support a fully grown man, flees the situation for one that is more stable.

 She looks for a man who is as confident as her old man used to be when they first met. And now her ex-boyfriend is left alone with all of his weaknesses and insufficiencies. His high has come crashing down. His bed has never been colder and he has never felt like less of a man; not even when he was a boy. He wants his pride back. He wants confidence. He wants another taste of euphoria, so he goes out in search of another woman. He never aims to fulfill himself from the inside out. All he wants is a beautiful thing to take home with him. All he wants is another fix. All he wants is to escape.

So where does that leave me? I too have a void but I choose art over flesh. Although the woman is beautiful her radiance tends to blind mortal eyes. Black and white is just fine for me at present. I place my black ink on this white page and share it with the world until my high never comes down.

Mike Tyson The Truthsayer

Roger Porter

June 14, 2011

Last week Mike Tyson one of my favorite boxers of all time was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in Canastota, New York. I like Mike not only because of how he used to annihilate people in the ring but because he represents an era when athletes could actually speak their minds. In today’s sports world all of the athletes give interviews like politicians. They tend to overuse the same clichés, and they all speak in the same half removed quasi analytical tone which makes many of them sound extremely disingenuous.

 Now I can understand why this is the case. I mean no one wants to lose millions of dollars worth of endorsements because something they said was misinterpreted (which happens far too often in this hyper-sensitive politically correct era which we live in) but my goodness it would really be refreshing if athletes could feel free to openly express themselves.

            Alas, re-enter Mike Tyson into the American discourse.

In a recent interview when asked what his induction into The Hall of Fame meant Tyson responded; “I’m just real gracious to be involved. This is what I wanted to do all my life… I never even thought about being a human being. I always just wanted to be this big time fighter.” YES! I can always depend on Mike Tyson to give me something thought-provoking to roll around in my brain for a day or two.

For a professional fighter it’s hard to maintain humanity when you spend several hours out of each day learning different strategies as to how to knock another man unconscious. In the beginning of Tyson’s career his handlers had him fight every month in order to keep him out of trouble, which kept him in a perpetual state of training. I can imagine how this could make him just a little insensitive or perhaps even barbaric. It is in this way, as Tyson points out, that fighting makes a person less than a human being.

Another more serious example of the same phenomenon is the failure of so many combat veterans to get re-acclimated to civilian life once their tour of duty is over. They say that in war the first casualty is always innocence. There is no humanity in being a trained killer, and surely one sees no humanity in watching ones comrades be blown to bits by improvised explosive devices or shot to death by enemy fire. Moreover when troops come home it may be a little difficult to deal with a screaming baby or another driver cutting them off on the highway. It may take a while to relearn how to treat others like people.

 As a society we embrace fighting as something necessary to solve disputes. We take pride in our fighters as if they represent us, and in a way they do. But we must be conscious of what any form of physical confrontation does to the mind and of all the ways in which it makes the heart of the individual fighter obdurate.

Whether it’s a career in boxing or a 10 year war, fighting erodes morality and suspends the feelings of compassion, and love for fellow-man. For that instance while one is engaged in combat he has sacrificed all emotions that make him a human being.

You know it can be really stimulating when people aren’t afraid to tell the truth. I wonder if we’ll ever let people do that again.

The Thuggish Ruggish

Roger Porter

June 13, 2011

Today I was doing work around the house while listening to my favorite oldies station when I had a rather ill chain of thought. It started with me appreciated all the outstanding groups that used to put out nothing but hits back in the day like; The Four Tops, The Chi-Lites, and The Temptations. Then I began wondering what groups will be played on oldies stations when my daughter is all grown up. After that I thought about which hip-hop groups would be worthy of having their records played on the radio 20 years from now. Then finally I asked myself who is the greatest hip-hop group of all time. Hmmmm.

I hate to judge artists by saying one is better than the other but it is simply inevitable. Therefore I mulled over the question until the answer became very clear. There is only one group in rap history who put their entire state on the map, changed the lyrical speed of the genre—literally, did songs with both The Notorious BIG and Tupac Shakur, and not only did they rap but they harmonized as well….of course I’m talking about Bone Thugs and Harmony.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0PB4o9GH2A]

In addition to providing a soundtrack to my junior high school experience, Bone-Thugs also made one of the greatest videos of all time with Tha Crossroads. The video is still visually stunning to this day even though the once cutting edge special effects are now over 15 years old (can you believe it?).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMYAEHE2GrM]

So if any rap group deserves to be played on oldies station 2 decades from now it’s the one consisting of Lazy, Crazy, Busy, Wish, and Flesh. Oh yeah and Cleveland’s definitely in the house, lol.

Insomnia My Love

Roger Porter

June 10, 2011

When I go to sleep at night I have nightmares about being a basic man. In the dream I am usually wearing cream-colored slacks, a tie, a collared shirt, and a v-neck sleeveless sweater. I’m working a 9-5 in some large building with a lot of other people. When I come home all I can think about is work, and when I meet people on the street I give them my company card. During my free time I only hang out with people from my job. Our idea of having fun is going to a trendy bar during happy hour to have cocktails and talk about work.

In one variation of the dream I have one drink too many and I begin talking about how foolish I was in my youth. How I used to think I could change the world through writing. I laugh hardily and all of my coworkers join in. Then we argue for about 15 minutes over whose turn it is to pay the tab. That’s when it becomes too much and I force myself awake.

I don’t sleep much and this is one of the reasons why. I fear what I will become if I don’t make it as an artist. I am frightened by the prospect of being yet another cog in the machine. I hate that I may have to sacrifice my passion for a consistent paycheck. I might have to pawn my dreams to feed my child. Some say that’s life but I think that’s death. We shouldn’t have to bury our souls while our bodies are still alive. We are all born pure yet it is only the artist who fights to stay that way.

I don’t want to be normal. I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to go to sleep.

The Juncture

Roger Porter

June 8, 2011

There is a juncture in society when what is considered to be high art reaches the commoner. This happened to me in elementary school when the Oakland East Bay Symphony used to come and do an annual assembly. They would perform such classics as the theme to Jaws, The Entertainer (or what we called the ice cream truck song), and the theme to Rocky. The idea was to get an auditorium full of young black children to appreciate fine arts and in my case it definitely worked—well to a certain extent.

The truth is that I consider the music of Marvin Gaye to be just as significant as that of Mozart. I appreciate Brahms in the same way that I do Tupac, and I think that classical music has no more or less to offer than soul music. But when these two genres are mixed in the right way I am always enraptured.

Recently I came across a video of a violinist named Daniel D. doing a cover of Souljah Boy’s Kiss me Through The Phone and I had a moment. I think it strikes a perfect balance between popular art and that which is said to be refined. If only we could reconstruct society to reflect the perfect fusion of this song then the world would be a much more ethical place.

This video inspires me in more ways than one.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDWxbo7_PGw]