To me expression is the desire to connect/be noticed by and impact other living things(normally humans).
Think about it. In terms of communication/interaction. Wherever you see expression(as it pertains to human interaction/communication) you can say: ‘attempt to connect/be noticed by and impact other living things.’
Self-expression turns into: SELF-“attempt to connect/be noticed by and impact other living things”
Express yourself or “Attempt to connect/be noticed by and impact other living things” yourself.
I love words because they are the most effective way I can attempt to connect/be noticed by other living things. However, expression also can harm others or yourself. Usually words are links, gently placed in the palms of human hands to hold and cherish and uplift; Conversely, the words of others can also bring us down.
I wanted to write this post to record my thoughts online: a hurt moment. I just heard some words that made me experience this event. But that’s the funny thing about words, after writing this my nerves are eased(At least eased enough to type this now). I know that by blogging this, I will reach someone who has felt or is feeling my ‘hurt’ and we can connect. I tried to write it in lyric form but couldn’t do it, not yet. I develop a persona to assist me in writing my music(African Origins The Mighty) because I cannot conjure up the strength as myself. Even messaging people on youtube, I can’t do it right now. All because someone’s ‘attempt to connect/be noticed by and impact other living things’ has left me wounded. Not killed, but wounded. But not deceased, I’m still alive and am not hunched over with glazed eyes.
Life’s too short. I don’t believe in the traditional mindset or view of how I should comport myself. I hate the fact that some people think they know how to conduct my life better than I do.
One of the greatest human beings to ever live. MLK jr is etched into our collective memories because he represents the brighter side of humanity and one of the most revered martyrs for civil rights and American Democracy. We as human beings value martyrs because they give the ultimate sacrifice: Life. It is the 1st commodity that we inherit and learn to value as humans. Life is also the most precious possession of all living creatures, and it is unusual to give it up for those who are not in our bloodline or considered close to it. We try our best to shelter it, we guard it, we try to prolong it as much as possible. Which is why the act of self-sacrifice is strange to us, but it also fascinates and inspires us. The word martyrdom is normally a literal martyrdom like the Jesus Christ story or the most commonly used definition, a figurative martyrdom describing a sincere arduous devotion to something/someone other than yourself. Or in rarer cases martyrdom can refer to both a literal and figurative definition.
When describing a figurative definition of martyrdom think of firefighters, your parents, the men and women in uniform etc. Think of what you would do for another human being or any living creature in need. Some of us donate money, time, some of us effort(sweat equity, physical labor), or some of us all three, but what about everything? I give to charity when I have it, but not enough that would hurt me. My time? I give to things that would benefit those in my bloodline or myself (truthfully it’s usually myself and if you’re honest more than likely you are THE SAME). I haven’t physically sacrificed my blood as of yet. But, I would like to think I would give it up for a loved one or a stranger in some act of heroism to display my vague commitment to an even vaguer ideal of human unity. But of the various types of sacrifice I have yet to answer a call as costly as Martin Luther King Jr’s. The closest I’ve come to such selflessness is in my dedication to music or the pursuit of money. If there’s any sacrifice all people achieve in life it’s in the pursuit of money or other shiny things like fame or prestige or whatever. “I have given my life” completely to both music and money. Less so to money but that will probably be changing soon unless I want to end up homeless. But like most things we humans do, the ends justify the means, and for selfish reasons. Think about when you try to stomp on a roach what does it do, or imagine a herd of wilder beasts anticipating danger? You probably guessed it, a natural trigger of fight or flight response(thanks National Geographic). A flight to guard one’s life or a fight to protect life. That’s what makes the givers the admired. The sacrificed the memorialized. This is why I join many others around the world in honoring the legend the man Martin Luther King Jr.
I meant to publish this some time ago, but it does have relevance in light of the 9/11 anniversary.
Reactionary vs Purposeful activism. I am no shining model of revolutionary living myself. I am not a warrior on the battlefield against social injustice, I’m not a freedom fighter against enemies of the people. Not to say I am not willing to be all those things, I’m just trying to figure it all out still, I guess. I am not really an activist in any sense of the word either. I am a bleeding heart progressive with lofty vague objectives—I keep an unrequited love for the world that only a romantic could muster. I aspire to see a “better world,” or “make the world a better place,” or better still, “spread love and positivity anywhere I can.” That’s probably why I am so passive in my particular implementation of “activism.” I haven’t defined plans or goals, but it honestly makes me feel good. Watching the recent events in the news concerning the London Riots, and the actions of Anonymous, Lulsec etc, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of these people never have defined goals either. I feel great for donating to causes here and there, feeding the homeless, and signing online petitions but what is the goal of it all? What is the plant? I’ve always felt like every act of altruism is a counter to the evil in the world; I want to feel like I am making a difference no matter the size of the contribution. I truly feel like charity and volunteer work does do good for some people. Many people might call my views delusional, lacking in pragmatism, a very lackadaisical attempt at solving real world issues. But I understand, the truth is no one man or woman can solve all real world issues. It takes a group of like minded individuals to devise a plan to impact society in a productive and purposeful way. Different groups dedicate time, energy, resources, to causes they find the most important. For instance, if a group of people want Congress to repeal an act, or pass an act,(think civil rights, net neutrality, healthcare bill) Who is the audience? How will they receive my message(literally & figuratively)? How does a group appeal to such a governing body?
No matter the cause, people who aspire to bring change need to plan and anticipate the affects of their actions. Let’s look at the Tea party.
I don’t agree with many of the views of the Tea Party, but they were able to change one of the two major political parties in America through an unrelenting grass roots movement. They disassociated from the more rogue elements trying to join their movement (White nationalists, Neo-Nazis, racists, etc) and were able to maintain credibility(relatively) in a public space. Some might say technically they were backed by the very wealthy Koch brothers so maybe they aren’t the best example of a grassroots movement. But money isn’t the issue here it was the methods of public protest. Their public outcries and outreach caught the media’s fascination and spotlight. Their methodology of protest was very similar to that of the civil rights movement and the women’s rights movement. These groups were able to gain traction in the idea marketplace. Just like in business, no one wants to buy what you’re selling if it isn’t presentable. No one wants your services if you aren’t presentable, and no one wants to hear your voice if you cannot present them in a responsible sensible way.
My brother sent me an articlecontaining an interview with a rioter’s response to causes of the chaos. And he said, “if we don’t riot, then you won’t listen to us.” I don’t know the guys age, but I’m guessing he’s very young. He gave a very short answer loaded with meaning to demonstrate a youthful rebellion. This guy may have a political stance, but is misguided in carrying it out. Who will be receptive to his ideas after these events? Who will listen after millions of £’s in damages to small businesses and public services in the surrounding community? If anything, your voice has become more marginalized now then before. You are a rebel without aim; you are a scourge to society; you are not a threat to the establishment you detest, you are a threat to everyone! If you wanted a voice, I know law enforcement will definitely be listening now, that’s for sure. I heard on NPR today an English judge sentenced a young man to 4 years in prison for inciting violence in his own town. Harsh, but once again: Cause and affect.
Watch this video.
This is not an opinion. This is not a position in an argument. This is a visceral simple-minded reaction to complex matters. It will make you feel good (if you get away with it) but it will not and does not help anyone.
Youtube embed:
And I am not saying radical times don’t call for radical measures.
For example, I think if Americans want to gain back autonomy and correct the democratic process from corporate tyranny it will take radical action. I watched a documentary on Ancient Greece which captured what I feel might have to happen worldwide lol. In the documentary a tyrant (a man named Isagoras) pissed off the people of Greece to the point of mass uprisings and fighting, of which forced the regime up a mountain, leading to a more democratic state. The tyrant was exiled and the people chose a new ruler who came up with the first example of modern democracy.
I believe any kind of peace comes from understanding and living with a purpose and duty to yourself and others. And I believe resolve comes from acting with courage and insight. Children act out impulsively when they don’t get what they want.
I stopped blogging in anticipation for this day. I don’t want to be destroyed in the final battle. I don’t want to be thrust into the lake of fire. Alas, my greatest fears have crystallized……I’ve been left behind!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Here, this guy Xenocrates explains why the rapture failed.
People underestimate the crack epidemic on the black community and the ramifications of negligent drug policies. Here Killer Mike aka Mike Bigga breaks down the harsh realities of having a mother, a guardian, a relative addicted to a powerful substance. Through it all he was able to make it through and become successful at something few people could hope to achieve. That’s why I was always a fan of the dungeon family, killer Mike(Mike Bigga) OUtkast, goodie Mob et al. They represent the true story of Atlanta, and to a greater extent, the human experience of people. They form a collective of talented individuals with unique styles and talents but still represented Hip-Hop to the fullest. One could listen to Mike, Outkast, goodie mob, cee-lo and them and get a feel for the south. Now we got these ………………….oh never mind just read the post. I promise a well-written and inspirational read to those who do. Peace.
My Thoughts on Mothers, Sons, Love & Addiction by Mike Bigga
That B.B. King lyric cuts deep! I grew up in the crack era. I grew up
�in the actual crack era, not the one you always hear rappers rap about
where they were all rich and knew Pablo, Papi, Hector or some other
random Spanish name that fits to make the bar rhyme.
Bullshit, BTW.
I grew up watching men and women fall from descent, working viable
people to zombie-like shells of themselves. I watched TV as former
President Reagan and his self-righteous wife said, “Just say no,” and
created the false “drug war” that was really just a war on Black boys
and men, the poor and the addicted.
In the “trap” we called these unlucky people who suffered from the
illness of addiction J’s (short for junkies). As the CIA and Reagan’s
man Oliver North allowed cocaine in the US (Iran-Contra), unskilled and
skilled labor jobs left the country and cocaine became the alternative
economy for urban areas. Little boys became household breadwinners and
lots of mothers became addicts.
Within these children, deep-seated cynicism began to creep in and
fester like a cancer. The drugs that turned once decent folks into
desperate sick addicts, willing to sacrifice what dignity they had in
exchange for a drug, had a parallel effect on the community; it turned
sellers into cynics void of compassion and sympathy. The same family
members you loved and would give you school money were now shells of
their former selves.
I connected with Jay-Z’s music more because of a story he shared about his shooting brother on “You Must Love Me.”�
�Whenever I listened, I remember having my “bomb” (package of rocks)
stolen by a dear family friend, Eric. I can still smell the
gasoline-filled bottles I prepared as I sat at the stop sign waiting for
�the lights to go out in Eric’s mother’s house. I remember seeing his
mom and her live-in, mentally-challenged boarders and him go in the
house.
I remember Rodney “J,” a good and decent man once, now sadly just a
“J” walking up and asking me for a sack. I remember the puzzled look on
his face when he said, “Fat boi, what’s wrong? Why you ain’t smiling?
You’re always smiling.”
Then, I remember the look as he noticed the smell of gas and saw the
four freshly filled bottles with gas and sugar in them and realized I
wanted PAY BACK! I saw a sadness in him like none I had ever seen from
him. He had known Eric had stolen from me and he knew I was gonna get
pay back.
Rodney, in that moment, dropped the “J” and was just an older Black
man schooling an angry and misguided child. With all the moral fortitude
�he could muster he sternly said, “Fat Boi, what are you doing, man?
Son, you cannot do that.”
He told me there are innocent folks in there, and he reminded me that
�he, Eric and even my mom were sick. They all had the same disease and
one day I will look back at this and it will not be as important. He was
�right. That moment is below petty, and I was just a stupid, angry kid
about to throw my life away for 2k in drugs!
I wish I could say that after Rodney took the cocktails and high
tailed it, all was good and I learned my lesson and became a better me. I
�didn’t. After Rodney took the gas-filled glass grenades, I waited on
Eric for two days, I caught him, and I beat him up pretty badly. I
dragged him the front yard for the neighborhood to see, and I wanted
every “J” to know you cannot steal from me. I wanted the other dealers
to see you will not take advantage of me. I did it in my mom’s front
yard because I knew, somewhere deep in me, she was involved. Her
addiction had made her party to this theft. I knew that I could not hit
her, so I punished Eric with all the 18-year-old strength I had.
I sent him away to DeKalb Medical broken and bleeding.
I left my humanity there in that yard alongside his blood. I left my
sympathy and compassion there, I abandoned my humanity. I killed part of
�me that day. I killed the boy that loved and trusted his mother. I
killed lil’ Michael who always honored Denise because I knew her
addiction and bipolar disorder would be the death of her and possibly me
�if I didn’t.
I am glad for the time God gave me a healthy, honorable and engaging
mother, even if it was only a few short years. I hope one day my
mother’s mental illness and the illness of disease will loose her from
their vise grip, but my self-defense is cynicism and in reality I doubt
it. I guess what I’m saying is I accept her. I know she is broken and
will more than likely die because her kidneys have failed and she now
lives only because of dialysis due to years of drug abuse and hard
living.
But she’s mine.
She is the mother I was given and I’m thankful for her regardless.
She’s my mother. She died for a few minutes while having me at 16, and
she says something of her got left on the other side, and all the
goodness she had left she put in me. So I’m fighting, girl, I’m fighting
�to foster that good and retain my humanity. It’s hard but I’mma do
this. I have to for her grandchildren, my children. I have to be fully
open to all emotions for them.
I cannot blame these folk for being fun-loving partiers; they like
the current users of X, oxy, syrup, etc. They had no idea what kind or
turmoil cocaine and crack would do. Cocaine was an atomic bomb that
wiped away our collective moral compass. If they were able to see
face-to-face 20 years ahead, maybe they would have opted out of the
80s/90s party scene. Maybe women like my mom, young business
owners/mothers would have put a lot more time into their biz and kids,
less into their friends and the social scene. Maybe, just maybe, my life
�and the lives of countless other early 30s folk would be different.
We used to watch The Cosby Show and envy those kids with two
�parents, dinners together, money without crime, fun without drugs. I am
�determined to forgive my mother for leading a wasteful life and get
back on the path of good with her. I am more determined to be a whole
human being for Malik, Aniyah, Pony Boy and Michael.
Kids of the ‘80s and ‘90s, it’s time to forgive and let go.
We have to be what our generation’s adults were not. We gotta be more
�like the Cosby’s and less like us rappers. We have to reclaim our
humanity by releasing this hate that is in us and being open to love.
Love your people—imperfections and all. I forgive my mother, not for
hurting me or my sisters and her own mom and dad, I forgive her for
hurting herself. I know she’s still sick, I know it will probably be the
�death of her. I know she has betrayed me many times, but I also know
she loves me… and she ain’t jiving… she’s just sick. In honor of mothers
�and sons everywhere, people fighting with addictions keep fighting. You
�can win!
It’s Bigga.
Fin!
BONUS: “All for You (Niecy’s Song)” [Produced by Cool & Dre] Off Monster, 2003
African Origins' Weblog 