Feel like a genius

I believe the children are our future...



...and I also believe that our future is fucked.

Mulattopia, Stage One

Beige people of the world, crack your windows, because when the Mulatto Revolution happens, the above song shall be the sound you will hear!

When the last mixed Negro gets tired of having to prove their racial worth to the black world, and the last halfbreed Oreo gets sick of being the only cookie in their circle with chocolate encircling their cream filling, a new way will be found, a Third Way, a way filled with intricate harmony and devoid of contradiction, and the Mulattoes will join in the streets and start walking out to the countryside to form a new nation, a land of the Other, where the Third Way will be defined as it never could before.

And to this song we will till the land on our compound and with earth under our nails we shall create a space for ourselves in the world without compromise, where we will be half of nothing and whole of all. And this will be our Homeland, because everybody should be in the majority at least sometimes, even us who are minorities within our own families.

(And then, when the music ends, we'll awake from our spell, miss our loved ones and lovers, and be reminded that beige people are pretty annoying in large doses too, and try and figure out how to get the bus out of there...but we will exchange emails or business cards or something before most of us slink back to our realities.)

Until then, you mixed masses, get prepared. Immerse yourself in Mat Johnson's Mulattopia Master Mix. Find a country within the wall of sound:

EMILY KING
Emily King

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CREE SUMMER


SLASH and LENNY KRAVITZ


FINLEY QAUYE


BOB MARLEY


AFRO CELT SOUND SYSTEM


CORRINE BAILEY RAE


SADE

Music in My Head- #1

I didn't know who Elliot Smith was when he was alive. I never heard him until someone burned me a copy of the Royal Tenenbaums Soundtrack, and there was "Needle in the Hay." By then he was already dead.

St. Ides? Do they even make that shit anymore? And if they did, what kind of white boy would drink that poison and also sing about it on an acoustic guitar? But that's part of the excitement here: the improbable mix of folk sensibilities with Bukowskian darkness and hip hop bravado.

If you listen to this live recorded version of "St. Ides Heaven," you can hear how thin Elliot Smith's voice was, how weak. Based on this, Smith's use of multiple layering of his voice for his studio albums makes sense. For a minute, I was disappointed that his voice was so small, and off tune. But then beauty of it hit me: even the ugliest, screeching little malcontent can sound like an angel if given enough time and attention, which Smith gets in the album version of this song:

The moon is a light bulb breaking
It'll go around with anyone
But it won't come down for anyone

The first line of this stanza is brilliant, and the way he sings it lets it resonate for you. The second and third lines though, those are the killers: the fact that he gets away with the word repetition just by being intentional and profound.

This music tells me that it is okay to be insolent and malformed in this world, that a constant smile is more horrific than the worst frown. That life is finite and it is better to live openly disdainful of its limitation that to cow before the inevitable.

"Chocolate Rain" Ringtone

Sometimes even an agnostic like me can get a prayer answered in this world.

Get your FREE "Chocolate Rain" ringtone here!

How Houston Is

To all the well wishers, player haters, acquaintances, family and friends who have emailed me over the last few months asking how me "How's Houston?" I now have an answer for you. Now, I've only been here four days, but this is what I have to say to you all.

Yes it is fucking hot, and yes it is humid too, but believe it or not I don't mind it. The heat just reminds me that I'm not in the woods of New York State anymore, and the humidity feels like I just walked away from the best sex of my life (I guess that's what they mean by sultry) and unlike the industrial shit stain that is Northeast Philadelphia, where I spent the beginning of my summer, there seems to always be a breeze blowing here in the Gulf, which gives the surface of your skin hope. Besides, the majority of my time is spent in central air. The only time where the power of the heat really hits me is when I first get into my car, which sort of feels like getting into an oven preheated to 350 and then turning the air conditioner on.

Houston is also exponentially cooler than I even thought it was. I'm living in a neighborhood that I thought would be a lot like the neighborhood I grew up in, Germantown, meaning that it would be a few historic houses renovated into a posthumous respectability amid a larger ghetto environment, a place where inner city dysfunction co-exists with white liberal dysfunction, and crackheads crept past porches covered in anti-war slogans and cat shit. But the neighborhood I'm subletting a house in, The Old Sixth Ward, is so much more than that. In a city with architectural amnesia, it's one of the only places that brings the past comfortably into the present. A little tropical oasis that sits improbably between an industrial rail area, downtown skyscrapers and the theater district, this odd, miniature residential neighborhood (that no one in Houston seems to know exists) is full of stunning woodwork, beautifully renovated craftsman bungalows, and people who say hi to you from their porches or to yours. Hello there.

Add to that the endless number of great bars, consignment shops, and dirt cheap modernist loft living, and having made the decision to head south seems increasingly wise. Especially since Hurricane Dean made a left turn away from hitting town (although rains and flooding last week did lead to the cancellation of our Houston Callaloo reading, oh well.)

At one time, I felt that I was living in Houston to teach at the university. But the more I walk around this town though, see what it has to offer and the people offering it, the more I think the truth might be that I'm teaching at the university to have the opportunity to live in Houston.

Callaloo Living

I am not particularly good picture taker. It's not the technical aspect, I can manage that okay, it's the stopping to take the actual photo that I never seem to be able to do. When life is going well my primary impulse is to live it, to enjoy it for everything it's worth before the darkness comes back again.

Thank god this year's Callaloo has someone who seems to be able to both enjoy the moment, and capture it as well. Check out the flckr journal of Lillian Bertram, a poet with a considerable talent for the visual image as well. See how Bertram captured the essence of Callaloo '07, the beauty of the vibe as well as the people.

Indiana is Funky

Abdel Shankur at the Indiana Review contacted me about sending the word out to the Niggerati audience that the magazine is looking for submission for their upcoming funk-themed issue. The Indiana Review is a well respected literary journal that has a distinguished history. If you've got work that fits this bill, submit:

"Indiana Review is planning to bring the funk in summer 2008. Our 30.1 issue will feature a special "Focus on the Funk" section, with art, poetry, fiction, and nonfiction that has a uniquely funky aesthetic. As we have been informed, funk has the power to move and re-move, and it also has the power to defy definition. So please don't ask us to tell you what funk is (although the Godfather of Soul may be helpful). We're looking for work that makes you want to jump back and kiss yourself.

When our reading period opens September 1st, we'll also be accepting regular submissions, but if you have work you'd like us to consider for this special section, please mark it "Attn: Funk Editor". Indiana Review can only contain so much funk, so we'll only be reading for this section during the month of September. Any submissions after that will be returned. You can check out more specific guidelines on our website.

But whatever you do, no matter what anyone tells you, no matter what you see on TV or in the newspapers, no matter what it says on wikipedia, please, please, make sure that whatever you do, you do it on The One."

Tayari Jones has an interview with the editor about this issue on her blog.

Confessions of a Bad Blogger

I am a bad blogger. It's not that I have had nothing to say to the world, it's just that every moment I have had to write I've tried to dedicate to the completion of my current novel. I've been teaching this summer, and the experience has been so intense that in some ways the regular school year seems like a vacation in comparison. The workshop at the Hurston/Wright Writer's Week was exceptional, largely because of all of the students who attended, as well as for the opportunity to hang out with my boys Chris Abani and A. Van Jordan. One week into the Callaloo Writers' Workshop, I'm similarly impressed with the submissions. I get the feeling that I'm witnessing the future of African Diasporan Literature, in its basest form. In College Station Texas, I'm teaching along with talents such as Tracy K. Smith, Terrence Hayes, and Tayari Jones, the latter of which is a very good blogger and you can read some of her takes on events here (including a rather surreal encounter with rural Texas public radio).

The four of us will be reading in Houston at the Ensemble Theater this Thursday, August 16th. I'm looking forward to it: it feels like it's going to be my first home game for my new team.

In Praise of Black Nerds, Part 2

I was ambivalent about whether to post this video or not, largely because almost everyone has seen it. Then, when I knew the subject couldn't be avoided, I hedged again, thinking that I might curse you to hearing this song in your head all day, walking around screaming "Chocolate Rain!" all day for no apparent reason, just as I am. And you will be singing "Chocolate Rain!" This video is sort of like marijuana; the first time you experience it you think 'What's the big deal?' Then later, when the effects kick in, you realize you've been kicked down the stairs and onto your ass.

What is so intriguing about Tay Zonday's little ditty? Is it the fact that his head appears, gnome-like, at the bottom of the screen before jumping into action? Is it that during the song he dodges to the side, lizard-like, to breath? Is it that he looks like he could be 14 or 40, male or female, but whoever he looks like doesn't look like someone who would sing with that bass voice? Perhaps it's the lyrics themselves, serious words that are easily misinterpreted as scatalogical humor. Or maybe it is just the way he stares at the camera at the end, with a look that is either the most innocent expression in the world or the most creepy. Maybe it's just that the song goes on for four minutes without break or hook or self-consciousness about this fact.

Here's to Tay Zonday, for being black and intelligent and eccentric and creative and completely unapologetic about that fact. So unapologetic, in fact, that when he does a reading to show viewers his speaking voice, he chooses as his source material Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried." No Maya Angelou for this brother.



This is exactly what the world needed: a nerd Jon Lucien! For those who have slept on the magic of JL, click here to be initiated:

CHOCOLATE RAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!

In Praise of Black Nerds, Part 2

I was ambivalent about whether to post this video or not, largely because almost everyone has seen it. Then, we I knew the subject couldn't be avoided, I hedged again, thinking that I might curse you to hearing this song in your head all day, walking around screaming "Chocolate Rain!" all day for no apparent reason. And you will be singing "Chocolate Rain!" This video is sort of like marijuana; the first time you experience it you think 'What's the big deal?' Then latter, when the effects kick in, you realize you've been kicked on your ass.

What is so intriguing about Tay Zonday's little ditty? Is it the fact that his head appears, gnome-like, at the bottom of the screen before jumping into action? Is it that he dodges to the side, lizard-like, to breath? Is that he looks like he could be 14 or 40, male or female, but whoever he looks like doesn't look like someone who would sing this song? Perhaps it's the lyrics themselves, serious words that are easily misinterpreted as scattalogical humor. Or maybe it is just the way he stares at the camera at the end, with an look that is either the most innocent expression in the world or the most creepy. Maybe it's just that the song goes on for four minutes without break or hook or self-consciousness about this fact.

Here's to Tay Zonday, for being black and intelligent and eccentric and creative and completely unapologetic about that fact. So unapologetic, in fact, that when he does a reading to show viewers his speaking voice, he chooses as his source material Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried.

In Praise of Black Nerds, Part 1

Rise, Oh Black Nerds, rise! The day is ours to have!

Cast off the voices that seek your conformity! Banish those who would challenge your love of critical thought! Dare to be unique in a community that deems deviation of interest as cultural treachery!

Storm the gates of unexamined thought, Infidel Guy, for I am right behind you, with my plus +5 for dexterity +7 in melee from strength, and +6 sword in hand!