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this box of stills : losing my watch
(photo by kwesi abbensetts)
the moments i get high from breathing sun dust and thick clouds
the sun's position is crowning
the opening is 7 centimeters dilated
and i've left my watch at home for a good reason
time is construct
nothing real about it
there is no minute ago
and everything that happens when this poem ends can be stacked on top of everything written before this poem became a thought
time is a concept
there is a still of me bending my knees
beneath a still of me shining
this has happened before
there's a moment that proves it beneath all this
just moments
the movements of the crowning sun
and the dilation of the beautiful opening
moments i can relive repeatedly
i just gotta throw away my watch
brooklyn aint no planet : for that girl on pluto
(photo by kwesi abbensetts)
brooklyn ain't no planet
but if you stand on a rooftop where nostrand and lafayette kiss you can connect dots you never knew were there
call them constellations if you want
on a sound night you can see to the bronx and see real constellations made in steel doors if that door was never replaced
and this aint no real girl
she sleeps on pluto on my pillow on rocks so she's never comfortable
she's destined to be my demise
my left leg's clot that i really got from a great great
i've gotten as far as 1812 but still no tribe
you look like you got something to tell me
you smell like you have something to give me
something you wore that skirt for
something you didn't press your hair for
naturally you say something about me not being ready
but i've forgotten how to ride bikes
they've lied or my memory is fucked up beyond repair
and that flat tire you showed up with means we should stay in and be counterrevolutionary
remove that dress fake girl
remove that other shoulder
keep on those boots
avoid those rocks and find comfort on this mattress
this aint new york
this is brooklyn
this is that brooklyn poem i promised to always write you
just from 93 million miles away
hers. not mine.
(photo by kwesi abbensetts)
she left the remains on the kitchen table beside the too thick cream of wheat hoping someone would throw it all away
who'd throw it away but her
these were her dreams
your own troubles have to be poured by you
this was benny jones she loved
the poet who said all the right things at just the right times
we can give our futures righteous names like:
god
truth
allah
wise
grow them from the umbilical
then i step in and cut them lose
but i want no responsibility for what's left on the table
i'll eat in my room until you remove it
i'll make cream of wheat at the other girl's house
she buys pills regularly
she takes pills because she loves the sound of a quiet bed every so often
and when that gets to be too much she calls me over
she sends texts about missing me
and i write back:
i miss you too
benny's dead and the poetry will stop until that table is clean
until that bowl soaks in water and dawn
until you place no blame on me
(photo by kwesi abbensetts)
To You : Because You Sometimes Need Words
Outside of the skyscrapers, fast life, and fucked up relationships, I was no fan of Sex and the City, but recently I sat down and watched both films. Carrie Bradshaw and John James Preston (Big) should have never gotten married. They should always be that couple that lives big, meet in the middle on the night on the Upper West Side or the Lower East to eat a crepe in the back seat of the BMW. They should always be that couple knowing marriage is for fools who need legal authorities to justify them. So there will be no more meeting like strangers in central park on park benches after weeks of not speaking just to share a sunny day. Is it all worth it?
“They’ve been through it,” says my movie mate. So I agree with a nod, a “hmph” and a sip of apple juice, and keep watching. Of course they’ve been through it. And when they emerged on the other side, they stayed together. Prior to the first film, they stayed together out of want, the greatest reason of all. “I took a vow,” is Big’s reason for staying now. Not because “I want to be here,” or “I’ll always show up because I love you now for who you are and who you’ve always been for me.”
I want a relationship very much like their relationship in the series. I want to think of you and get nervous because I’m not sure if you will call me tomorrow because you’re bored with what we have. I want to meet you on the Ludlow, just off the F Train and grab a #8 off the menu, and swear you to secrecy in regards to my favorite eatery in New York City. We’ll speak about marriage when our friends show us their rings, and call them fools on their wedding days. Then we’ll offer them shoulders when they argue and need a place to sleep.
Not because I promised God and 300 people I would, but because I want to, I will stay. We can wake up in the morning and choose to be together knowing we have the option not to. An option that would require nothing more than packing a few things and coming for the rest later. I want to.
So I can be your John James Preston and you can be my Carrie Bradshaw, but before Jennifer Hudson magically appeared, and there was a want, by you, to get married disguised as a strong need. And if that day comes when we may want to demote ourselves from phantasmagorical to extra-ordinary, we will, but only while holding onto promises to always disappear and reappear like the clichéd trains traveling in opposite directions around midnight; to always love crepes, benches and Chinese food on Sundays; to wake up afraid to open our eyes to an empty other side of the bed. Let’s always be nervous while we smile hardest, and let’s make whatever we get worth whatever we do.
Me,
Darnell Lamont Walker
"Jones"
photo by: kwesi abbensetts "no. 1"
it is not hard to love.
it is not hard to live.
life is not hard.
to square my fingers from the circle they once shaped is proving difficult.
i can not let go.
so i sit here not yet sure if i really want to.
but that's life isn't it.
when it's time to die - i will be the only one who can do that for me.
so when it comes to my life, i will do that for ME as well.
that makes sense to me. saddest thing is that it doesn't make sense to everyone else.
ahhh well. may you lie on your deathbed thanking god you never saw the world like you wanted in your youth.
-----
the new year is fast approaching.
no idea yet what i'll be doing to bring it in properly.
but i have a few ideas on who i want to spend it with: my friends that make life great.
the friends that, like me, live in their imagination.
so i'm titling my december 31-january 1 celebration:
NO RESOLUTIONS. JUST RESERVATIONS
we'll be eating well, drinking more, laughing harder and loving the way we live, knowing it won't end with the moon.
we'll remain in our imagination as we do now.
perhaps under the lights of vegas. and under the spell of vodka and a strong narcotic (jokes).
(side note: do not ask if you can attend. if you weren't personally asked, you weren't invited. that's the asshole in me)
-----
side note: reality shows about the pointless lives of others are for people who have absolutely nothing to brag about in their own lives.
-----
the other day 5 people (in different cities across the US) in a 10 minute period told me: "you really know how to live."
i thought i was going to die. it would have been some great irony of life, right?
but i didn't. so i'm still living.
something about me: (not sure if i've said this before)
every year i write out my own funeral plans. i don't want to die and people say "he would have wanted to be buried in a brown suit" or "he would have wanted this church" knowing damn well i don't want a church service. buy out the bar and have a memorial service. drink up!
it's not morbid. it's smart. go out the way you want to go out!
-----
my birthday is in a couple of months. i'm in the "all my friends are married and having babies" stage.
this stage is nice. it's all about renting tuxedos and getting fitted for bridesmaid dresses.
it's all about calling yourself uncle and aunt and thanking god it's not you with the crying newborn on the plane.
so i support and stand up and help raise like the village is supposed to.
and then i provide the shoulder when the divorce papers are signed or the affairs happen.
here's to this stage...
and although many of us have been losing friends to random acts of death, we are years away from the funeral program collecting stage.
so i raise my glass and celebrate life (until i'm ready to go).
-----
winter is approaching (the cold is already here) and i want to hibernate in a comfortable bed with a comfortable body.
perhaps yours.
-----
so live, folks.
98% of the people reading this wake up 5 days a week to go fulfill someone else dream.
what about your own.
the other day i tweeted: "if you don't like your job - quit"
everyone responded with "are you gonna pay my bills?"
what's got you afraid.
who made you a slave to your bills.
i understand working to support a lifestyle, but if you can only live that lifestyle 1.5 days a week, and maybe in your old age, is it worth it?
no i won't pay your bills.
fuck your bills.
live the life you want. unafraid. unchained.
-----
so i'm hungry and i'm going to eat now.
peace.
because so many of you only know me through this blog, my website and my tweets, you may not know this:
i live in my imagination. nothing there is real, and anything, at any moment, can be changed if i want.
side story (and i promise to come back to the one above):
tonight i went to cirque du soleil ovo and had a "wow" moment.
a wow moment is one of those moments when you're sitting there (or standing there, or whatever you're doing) and something makes you say "wow" loudly.
and i'm not 100% sure if it was the performers moves, and skills and talents, or if it was what was going on between the scene changes and the lighting sequences.
we reached a point in the show where ANYTHING was possible.
i was LITERALLY waiting for someone to disappear and reappear as God or something.
WOW.
back to my story:
i dream big, live big, and will always be this way. this is me.
and i'm happy 96% of the time.
that other 4% is made up of the times when:
*people eff my time and/or money up
*people come to me with their sad stories about how they don't always want to be where they are in life, but they are also unwilling to sacrifice anything to change that place
so i share my stories every chance i get, and my success to any person who has an ear and a WANT.
because like i've been saying for the past 10+ years: "i don't want a benz unless my brother can get one, too." (thanks r. shipman for that)
-----
so i offer this to those brave enough to listen and act:
in life there must always be a struggle. there must always be suffering. there will always be a defeat somewhere along the way. each of these things are inevitable. but it is always better to lose while struggling and suffering in pursuit of a dream and a goal than to lose without knowing what it is you are fighting for.
-----
i used to be a bully.
me and "sam" went through each grade together from kindergarten, and five days a week, unless he missed a day, i was making fun of his clothes, gadgets, weight, and anything else i could. a few of the best nicknames one could give a classmate were made up by me, and i was proud of that.
we had a conversation not long ago, and he told me he once tried to kill himself in high school. not completely because of me, but i was factored into the decision. i had put those years behind me, thinking graduation absolved me. what a feeling. i deeply apologized, and since, i've apologized to him, a boy i once blamed for shxtting on the toilet seat and floor in first grade, when in fact it was me with diarrhea, the 10+ dudes who were kidnapped, assaulted, held at gun point and had their homea vandalzed and broken into by me and others in college, and several other random folks.
to those i bullied:
sorry.
but i will say these last two things on the subject:
1. may the killers of bobby tillman and those who stood around watching his life disappear and did nothing but laugh and videotape it live the rest of their life with his face in their minds.
2. if anyone bullies my kid(s) i will kill them, and those who object.
-----
but yes...
i live in my head where all the beautiful things reside.
when the weather gets to be too much - i change addresses.
i make sure i have at least six "wow" moments a week, but i aim for thousands.
and each day i do something good for someone who will probably never be able to repay me.
and though there is no such thing as a selfless act, this is as close as it gets.
i LOVE my life and the imagination i've been working on since 3 years old.
R.I.P. Messy Mya. When We Book, Who We Book? EVERYBODY.
daylight saving me
i consciously gave up poetry today
i refused to write
after my turkey bacon i wiped ten lines of poetry from my chin and sucked a metaphor or two from my fingers
the butter from the flaky biscuits and grease from the bacon was just that good
i refused to acknowledge it as anything other than grease
because i promised i'd save the next poem for you
hang it on your wall
stick it behind a magnet and post it to your refrigerator
you can even carry it tightly in your panty liner
just take it and love it hard
mars ain't the kind of place to chill on stoops
besides there are none
don't save me no poetry
this daylight shouldn't have been saved
we were fine believing there wasn't enough time to love one another before the sun came
this extra hour is proving inconvenient
but i'll love you anyway
just slower
i felt too righteous today and was scared to write anything but my name on a signature line
they'd misunderstand me and sequal the bible and i'm not ready
and i don't need nobody writing about me and my misfortunes
and equally i want no one using my struggle as a guide for their own
so i didn't write you all day out of fear
i've only given up poetry in protest and out of love
i'm protesting something right now
or at least at the end of this one
i don't want to be anybody but we
you me
anybody but we
and in spite of my me being slightly off balance
i'ma love you anyway
just like yesterday 1968
For Colored Folks Who May Consider Boycotting Bad Films In The Future
by Darnell Lamont Walker
"I loved you on purpose," cried the lady in blue.
i hated you the same way, is what I wanted to yell at the screen for this sketchy rendition of a masterpiece.
forgive this review for it's randomness, but i took notes in the dark on purple paper with black ink, so I can barely make some of it out myself.
there's a reason i've been hoping for the death of this film long before it came out. actually several, but let's start with number one:
i am an artist. it took a while for me to accept that, but that's what i am. and being an artist, i know art. FOR COLORED GIRLS WHO HAVE CONSIDERED SUICIDE WHEN THE RAINBOW IS ENUF is art. it was art when i read it in 1995, and it was art again when Teresa Dowell-Vest, one of the greatest writers and directors i know, directed the stage play in 1998. being unfortunate enough to have witnessed the many catastrophes Perry has put on screen, i didn't want this to end up in the same file cabinet.
number two:
For Colored Girls is a show about women, for women. it's about women loving women, and women loving self. "how can can misogynist, self-loathing, irresponsible filmmaker bring across the views of a womanist," i asked myself, assuming Ntozake Shange is a womanist. and what would his usual target audience (middle aged, african american women who never learned about the construction of false identities, communities, and life imitating art) think of this? "they'll love it, i know"was my answer.
What's hard for me is finding a good starting point, and how to enter this with you all. should i assume that most people have seen the stage play? or at least read it? No, I know my target audience, so i'll just start from scratch:
thin lines didn't exist in this film. the line drawn between Shange's words and Perry's cliche'd phrases and jokes could withstand a New York City subway system. when the poems/monolongues (shange's words) ended, there was an immediate shift. had the brilliant, beautiful woman sitting next to me not noticed the same thing, i'd think i was crazy. i am not crazy. we, as an entire audience, attached ourselves to Shange's words hoping they'd never end, but when they did, we sat back in our seats, slumped and frustrated at the simpleness and surface level attempts at poetry. made by the new writer.
speaking of surface level, who in the hell were these characters? thank god for the magnificent talent that made up this near-perfect cast, but they should all feel cheated. i had no allegiance to any of them. i felt nothing. i knew not where they came from nor where they were going. they could have worn sunshades throughout the whole film, and a difference would not have been made. soul-less "ghouls" created by the director, who seems to be making poor character development his signature, like Spike Lee made the stroll his.
Kimberly Elise has always been among my top five list of favorite actresses, and after seeing this film, you will know why. i can't say for sure, but I am sure the greatness of actors such as Thandie Newton, Whoopi Goldberg, Kerry Washington, Loretta Devine, Anika Noni Rose and the woman who will one day be my wife (in this life or the next) Phylicia Rashad guaranteed a quality we may not have gotten had Beyonce accepted and Mariah Carey stayed. Tessa Thompson was outstanding and Janet was a brilliant surprise, making this role one of her best portrayals of an actress, although she was merely playing the "colored" version of Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly.
While trying to figure out how and why an untreated STD worked it's way into the film, and was never mentioned again, i counted: 1 Rape, 2 STD's, 1 Black man on the "downlow", and a partridge in a pear tree. and as much as i tried not writing this into the review, i have to: when can we have a "colored" film without the cliched downlow brother creating paranoia? while this issue does exist, i'd for once like to go to the theater to see a "colored" film without it. related: these bad black men, who failed to appear as anything other than a mention in the stage play, came to life as the the accomplices of these main women who apparently wanted to bring pain on themselves. [you have to take some of the responsibility. how much is up to you] is what, or close to what, Gilda (Rashad) told Crystal/Lady in Brown(Elise).
and the one solid brother in the film, Donald, played by Hill Harper, was in the clear with me until his wife's breakdown. she had guilt on her heart because she failed to do her job which would have prevented an ungodly tragedy. he woke up, saw her crying, and let her know that his love for her would heal her, and not to worry any longer. where would you women be without a man created by Perry? LOST!
For my own pleasure, i'd love for you all to take a look at the clearly fake tattoo work given to Beau WIllie, played by Michael Ealy, and Rose, the back alley abortionist, played by Macy Gray.
aside from maybe one too many aerial shots and the light meant for a milk-skinned white woman placed on Khalil Kain's (who played Bill) face, I give the production crew a standing ovation. out of 10, i give this film a 5.5 because Ntozake Shange's half was damn near perfect. and the .5 comes for tyler's attempts at beefing promotion while failing to mention his own RAINBOW on oprah not too long ago.
Thank You,
Darnell Lamont Walker
http://www.darnellwalker.com
Production: Lionsgate and TPS present a 34th Street Films/Lionsgate production
Cast: Janet Jackson, Loretta Devine, Michael Ealy, Kimberly Elise, Omari Hardwick, Hill Harper, Thandie Newton, Phylicia Rashad, Anika Noni Rose, Tessa Thompson, Kerry Washington, Whoopi Goldberg, Macy Gray
Director-screenwriter: Tyler Perry
Based on the play by: Ntozake Shange
Producers: Tyler Perry, Paul Hall, Roger M. Bobb
Executive producers: Ozzie Areu, Joseph P. Genier, Nzingha Stewart, Michael Paseornek
Director of photography: Alexander Gruszynski
Production designer: Ina Mayhew
Music: Aaron Zigman
Costume designer: Johnetta Boone
Editor: Maysie Hoy
Rated R, 120 minutes
my mama said paper brings roaches to the house
so i've always asked for plastic
i've always asked for nothing but honesty
i've always asked this of everyone
even the bag boys
double bag my shit 'cause i can't trust that
so we sat there. and what i really wanted to say never came to me.
i became a writer and not a speaker, and i knew it'd come to me - and this is how it was going to come to you.
i wanted to tell you about the poetry you deserve and the man i want to be when i write to you.
i wanted to look in the mirror at you looking out of the window a little bit longer.
and i wanted to tell you about the dreams i've been having, especially the re-occuring one. but none of that shit came to me.
the door closing and the stairs came to me. then the door, the bed, then the pillow.
i became an extremely happy man with a melancholy disposition.
i became the poet who wrote this to you:
-----
just one more song: for m.s.
just one more song
one more drive around the block
and this last chance to tell you everything i've been thinking about you
this one is about you more than the last one
because you are more than the last ones
the one who got away but didn't go far enough
the next time you get away i'm going with you
just one more song i promise
