My Heart Beats So Unruly

MY HEART BEATS SO UNRULY

As I rise,

I speak these words

for each step that drops away

below every ascending heel…

I'd like to say I appreciate being

selected by the seraphim.

To come forward to represent us.

To soldier on. To study and see,

to explore and to risk breaks.

I’d like to say Peace. To everyone I have to leave

in order to become,

even more so, an evolved man.

Peace to my past --

past truths that weren’t;

past loves that weren’t.

I’d like to say I Love You

to my kamali'i. Know your poppa

was thinking of you even before you were conceived.

I love you for every lesson you will have given me.

For making me strong in heart and principle.

I’d like to say Thank You

to my wifey. To the woman I know

not to seek in this lifetime.

Who cared enough to let me enter this one

alone, watching over me

from the reverse side. Baby, I thank you.

For your unconditional adoration.

Should I fly, I’d like to say It’s All Good

to my kin, blood and extended. I have, as I've always had,

good relations with Akua. I travel well-prepared and safely.

I pray pono on our behalf - the sprigs and anchors -

that you will trek well here and at your departure.

I’d like to say Hello to my host family.

Mentors and partners.

I appreciate you

taking me on,

welcoming me to the next tier,

and training me in the ways.

Believing in me and gifting me

with clean skills and insight.

To my Editor, I’d like to say Good Lookin’ Out.

For rewriting my devotions and petitions.

To reflect what I truly intend to convey.

To include what I knowingly or unknowingly omit.

To chisel the language for sharpness and clarity.

In the wake of my smile, I leave behind

aphorisms, incomplete work, and bad habits.

Thousands of lumens in my carry-on, I pack light.

Trusting the will of the fresh gale to take

careful aim on my behalf.

We don't need no stinkin' italics!

One of the first things that impressed me about the book "Drown" authored by Junot Diaz (who later won a Pulitzer for his second work, "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao") was his outright refusal to italicize Spanish words. This act, or non-act rather, is in itself a revolution. A demonstration of defiance. One that says:

Since the inception of colonization, its proselytizing and programming, we been "othered", legally, spiritually, and historically. On the latter issue, not only in the content of texts but in the formatting, itself, of such texts! So much so that we have internalized this sense of alienation - as people and as writers. From here on out, I will not apologize - "Oh gosh, was I practicing my own culture again? Perhaps I should push the letters over as if to slouch their backs and bow their heads and I will be forgiven." I will not marginalize myself for the benefit of you, the fortifiers of and subscribers to dominant, mainstream, Euro-centric, American values. I deserve to be here. To live here. To read and write as you do. To be heard. To be listened to. To walk as you do. Tall and upright. To feel normal. To be human. To exist. To declare, as Langston Hughes did, that 'I Too Am America'.

Likewise, whether on the page or on the stage, I aspire to normalize the voices, stories, and experiences of the numerous communities to which I belong - be those designations ethnic, economic, geographic, artistic, etc. I believe, like in traveling, that the burden of researching and understanding cultural differences falls on the visitor; not on the host. We can assume, or at least I hope, that the master of the house (i.e. the artist whose work you are visiting) is expecting guests and will do their best to welcome you. Not that they should provide the processed garbage you may be accustomed to consuming.

So, relating this philosophical approach to my newest project, a one-man-show, the least that I will ask of you as guests to my 'home' is that you simply enjoy the ride. After all, I'm doing all the work! So, have a good time. There will be rhyme, poetry, storytelling, nonlinear storytelling, lots of nonlinear storytelling, English, Tagalog, coming-of-age narratives, travelogues, moments that are loud, hyper, savage, and moments that are gentle, reflective, somber.

And NONE OF IT will be italicized. Because this, like your own experience, is an American story.

Tuloy po kayo!

A different kind of bird song

Reading a newspaper, I saw a picture of birds on the electric wires. I cut out the photo and decided to make a song, using the exact location of the birds as notes (no Photoshop edit). I was just curious to hear what melody the birds were creating. -Jarbas Agnelli

Black Boys to Men

When we talk about the murder of young Black men, the first time some boy called you a sissy comes to mind. I could see you searching your whole life for the right emotion, for a fierce instinct to replace what you were about to lose. Like a precious photograph, we save this question you brought home from daycare as if it was a picture of your first words. "I'm not a girl, am I?"

And when you discovered the split between you and PMS, you wanted to know, what if the last time your girlfriend's period came can't be remembered? You couldn't see the double edge to the proverb I made up in your name. You'll be a man longer than you'll be anything else. Your uncle laughed and said to tell you, Start early 'cause you'll be dead even longer than that. Your grandfather told us, growing up, to use a razor. It's more personal, cut 'im once and word gets around. And you might live long enough to regret every erection you never used.

Never did see your grandfather's horn. Just the callous on his faded chops. Between workin' in the boiler room and living in the projects, you would've been knocked out like the old man too before the end of the six o'clock news. And what was the news anyway in his day? Negros actin' their color? There's something to be said for a man who dies in his own bed, after the boys are gone and out of the house. That his suit was fitting him well the last time I saw him. That he whispered body and soul so much, it followed him home. That your grandmother married him first. And loved him later.

And what if, you ask, we go to his grave after all these years and still break down? I say you'll never forget the fragrance of flowers when can't express speechless. On the right to self defense, he spoke with one voice for White people. And another voice, to live it. And tell you again, you wanna know, about the time he was standing in the mirror. The quiet in the room was surrounded by silence. And he wondered out loud if his wife was seeing what he saw. What exactly was it? That you have the ice the first nigga you see every time you wash your face. He talked on it slow. Sometimes, not at all. Story by story, men make other men.


authored by Sekou Sundiata (1948-2007)
from the album Longstoryshort

Straight Men and Feminism in America

Discussing social life and relationships and personal histories last night at a dinner with my fellow well-traveled, multicultural, immigrant and artsy friends, Mei Ann (Singaporean) jokingly suggested that I might be a SNAG, a Sensitive New Age Guy. We busted out laughing. I'd never heard of this acronym. And heck, it's true! Sensitive and yeah, semi-new age. However, the term itself is rife with insult.

Having grown up with some of the baddest scrappers in street fight history, I ain't got much to prove as an adult, as a "man". In some ways, I know violence - psychological and physical - on an intimate level. I understand what it is. And what it isn't. It isn't a movie, romantic and honorable. It's ugly, downright dirty, and pocked with ramifications, legal and karmic. And that's not to say that puttin' the gloves on (or is it taking the gloves off?) doesn't have a place in civilized culture. Strangely, sometimes the threat of contact is what keeps it from taking place. Plus, all this is coming from an MMA fan, a five-year scholastic wrestler, and a guy who as a troubled teen used to vent his rage by punching holes into walls. Immature, I know. Trust, I've long set that latter activity to rest. As in the movie, Once Were Warriors, I now carry my taiaha inside me.

This is evident in the sampling of following victories:

• The time my doctor said my ankle injury would prevent me from becoming a long distance runner, and not that I had any such aspirations but I was determined to prove otherwise so I signed up for National AIDS Marathon, raised $4,000 for the cause, and flew up to Anchorage, Alaska where I ran the 26.2 miles.
  
• The time my landlord tried to muscle me out of my Western Addition apartment with legal notices, catapulting me to become my own law expert on tenant rights so I could fire back and pulverize dude on paper.
  
• And of course, the time some punk tried to rob me on Market Street in San Francisco, the famed "Give me your money so I don't have to pistol whip you" scene where I turned him around and sent him walking, empty-handed, strictly through the use of my Jedi mind.

Now, can I ask you a personal question? Um, are you... gay? No, I'm European, I used to joke. What is considered SNAG or metrosexual or effeminate or gay in the United States would be in Europe considered, well, normal - Being fashionable, articulate, worldly. Take Tys here for example (he's Dutch), Irina's boyfriend (she's Russian), who Michael Stipe of R.E.M. attempted to cruise one sunny day in New York City. No, Michael. Come on man, he's European.

Generally speaking, I believe the maturity of a nation correlates with the maturity of its citizens. France and Germany and Spain, for example, in their adolescence were world-power brawlers and bullies. Like boys in high school, they had a lot to prove. Today, not so much. And likewise, fellas from these countries aren't as hung up, again generally speaking, on masculinity as are the men and women in younger countries, like the U.S., that seem to go out of their way to prove and/or assault one's sense of virility. "I'm not a girl, am I?"

The problem with American men and women, both hetero and queer (seriously, yes, your gay-dar's been broken for a long minute), subscribing to these antiquated perceptions of manhood, particularly straight manhood, is the effect via backlash that it has to fortify and perpetuate the social and systemic oppression of human rights of all parties. I mean, what can be a better way to insure that a guy behaves like his worst stereotype, a homophobic, date-raping, drunken, fist-fighting frat boy, than to question his masculinity? To misjudge, label, and demean him just because he's not behaving like a homophobic, date-raping, drunken, fist-fighting frat boy. Wait, is that - *sniff sniff* Oh, yes it is, that's irony I smell. How do you spell vicious cycle again? Anyway...

In the advent of American feminism, women in the U.S. have gone out of their way to prove that they can do everything that men can do. From running a business and advancing in politics to operating heavy machinery and stepping up to soldier work. As a campaign, most would call it a success. So why do we still have so much prevalent gender inequality? What's missing? Well, for this human rights movement to come full circle, the entire other half of the population, men, must in turn demonstrate that they too can do everything women can do. From raising children and fixing meals to giving hugs and healing ailments. And just as women don't grow beards from putting their work in nor do men grow breasts. Being a feminist man doesn't compromise your sexual identity or orientation. Dudes won't be drained of their courage; on the contrary, they will only be less clumsy when they apply it. The same difference between, say, using a sledgehammer and a claw hammer to drive a nail.

So, let's all do our part to shed the degrading and emasculating labels and give straight men the breathing room they need to come out, and on their own terms, of their personal feminist closets. The world will be a better place for it. Meanwhile, I'm not proud to be called a SNAG -- come on now, it's not a compliment -- but I ain't scared to be one. And neither should you, American Man / American Woman, think weak of this new, more grown-up brand of hetero-ness. Take it from me, a guy who could just as easily souffle¹ you as I could make a souffle for you.

Hah!

That's my word. And I'm out!



¹A variant of souplesse or suplex, a forceful wrestling take-down consisting of a body throw.

Skin Salvation

QUESTION

"What the heck is going on with my face?!!!" You ever ask this? You ever look in the mirror and find enough grease on your frontal to fry an egg? Or find that your mug's got more breakouts than Houdini? You ever surrender to the notion that it's just your fate, and as if you know anything about science (and you don't!), that it's your genes or hormones? And then, just as the marketers have schemed, fall prey to buying a bunch of junk, cleansers or services, for your grill that don't work? Just 'cause P. Diddy and Jessica Simpson were on the commercial. Or 'cause "Well, dermatologists are doctors, right? And don't doctors know everything?"

REPLY
Pssst, I got something for you. It's called Get-A-Clue. No amount of money you spend will fix your face. No wait, hear me out! What I'm saying is: It's not about buying what the pop icons buy (And fyi, they don't even use those products! They appear in those commercials for the residual paychecks, helloooo), there are no quick fixes, and as the saying goes, "you can't hire someone to do your push ups for you," or in this case, to do your part to take care of your skin on a regular basis. So here it is, the real deal... KIM TAN at SKIN SALVATION SF!

You wanna be taken care of. Pampered. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. Trust, you'll get pampered. Plus at Skin Salvation, you'll get a full-on personalized assessment, a treatment plan that Kim will perform, a treatment plan that you will perform, and above all, education. Among many things including diet, stress, and yes, hormones, you'll also learn about the pore-clogging ingredients lurking in all the products you thought were helping you get clear! (Can someone say see-oh-en-spiracy? But that's for a different rant.)

Now get this, Kim is the only aesthetician who specializes in acne in San Francisco City. In addition, she has you covered for all of your beautification needs. Maybe you would like a foot massage with your facial. Check! Maybe you're a dude who needs his big ol' eyebrows shaped but not manicured. Check! Maybe rockstar girlfriend wants to surprise rockstar boyfriend with a Brazilian wax. Awesome. I mean, check!

Kim Tan is gimmick-free. Strictly results; see her glowing Yelp reviews. A visit to Skin Salvation is akin to visiting an oasis - welcoming, calming, and nurturing. When you come through, you'll be doing yourself more than a favor. You'll be doing yourself justice. Visit SkinSalvationSF.com for details and make your appointment today.

Misheard Poetry

the wind, she burns

it's like the sound of winter tellin me to stay. I'll be gone when the morning comes. sun's gonna think you, the colors of your life.

in the wake of this goodbye, I linger. fool for everyone. pull this frame together. stick like glue. I'm fishin off the bay. moons ago.

in the kitchen. here someone to talk to. wake up with a sigh. the next one to breakthrough. pick me up. a lil summer to make it alright.



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Similar to 'Found Poetry', this is Misheard Poetry or Mondegreen Poetry. Instructions: Listen to an album you don't know too well. Write down fragments as you hear them, ones that resonate with you musically, poetically, ethereally. All the better if you don't know the exact phrasing. Allow it to "slip", i.e. Jot it as it speaks to you. Try to write as close to 140 characters maximum including spaces and punctuation (Practicing on Twitter helps with this cap). Each entry will serve as one stanza. When you're ready, let the current song run out and title the poem after the first choice fragment from the next song.