As A white guy does racism fuck with my life

I’m a White middle class middle-aged man with more than a few dollars in the bank. I see the police and can wave at them and drive safely on by. If I reach into my coat pocket for my wallet and identification I will probably not get shot with forty bullets. I can shout out my magic protective words, “Don’t shoot me, I’m White. Put on some James Brown, see I can’t dance!” Oops, did I just fall into a stereotype? So, as a White guy does racism affect my life?
Being White and of European descent I don’t worry that I’ll be mistaken for a brown Muslim named Mohammed, strip searched, and undergo a rectal probe at the airport. However, given Timothy McVeigh’s role in blowing up the Federal buildings in Oklahoma it would seem reasonable that White guys should equally be suspect and the US should have launched an invasion on Scotland. (Though it is still puzzling to me why fifteen Saudis attacked the World Trade Center Towers and the US invaded Iraq and not Saudi Arabia: A case of the US being geographically challenged?)
When I apply for work and they look at my credentials or college education employers will not wonder if I was successful because of affirmative action. The employer may assume I did it on my own merit or at the least perhaps if I did attend an Ivy League school, it was because I was smart or in the case of GW from a wealthy and well connected family. If I was from that well connected family a gentleman’s C grades will do.
When I go into a grocery store and decide not to use a shopping cart and stuff a few things in my pockets; generally, it is assumed that I was in a rush and the management doesn’t call the police. Because I am a White middle aged man who is not walking around in raggedy clothes mumbling to myself (most times) it’s assumed that I’m harmless, a little careless in not using a cart, but not a significant problem. If I was Black or Hispanic, how long would it take before the police are called?
I can walk into a local bank and cash a check without an ID. They will not ask me for four pieces of ID, even though I might have had a bank account there for years. I will not have the bank guard calling for back up because I get in an argument with a teller over an error in my bank account. As a White middle aged middle class professional, I know she will defer to her manager, and we will resolve this.
If I move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live. I don’t need to ask my friend to find an apartment. I can let the grass grow on my front lawn, have the hedges a bit shabby and the neighbors will think “He’s still a bit of a hippy.” But if my name was Gonzales would the neighbors think, “Those damn Hispanics – one moves into the neighborhood and look what happens.” It is the hundreds of small clues during the course of day that says, “You’re different. You’re not quite like us.” If there is a fistfight at the school do they assume the Black or Hispanic youngster is the aggressor?
When an African American friend of mine comes to town, do I need to give them a heads up about our local police department’s history of racial profiling or bias. If he is stopped does he need to do his Black thing?
“Yes, sir officer. I know it looks suspicious being a six foot tall black man wearing a suit and tie waiting on the street corner for my wife. No, I wasn’t casing the store for a robber. Yes, officer I have identification. Yes officer, observe my hands as they are going into my pocket. No, I don’t have a gun or a shiv.”
Do people of color and various ethnicities feel safe and welcome coming into town? Will they spend their money for shopping? Will they buy second homes here? Will they invest their talents as lawyer, carpenter, artist or poet? Will the richness of many diverse cultures that have strengthened our collective national cultures be welcomed and become an asset to our community?
Does racism affect me in my life? On the surface it doesn’t. As a White middle-aged man, living in a predominantly White community, racism can be a ghosted shadow drifting invisibly by. However, racism/ bias/ discrimination, is the sure and slow corrosive acid that that eats away at the fabric of a community. It says there is an “us and them.” It is another wall in the community that divides neighbors, differenced solely based on ethnicity or color.

Omega Recapitulates to fellatio

On the Planet Cu – Near Andar:

Omega Recapitulates to Fellatio

A dog disguised as a god by the name of Sam

disappeared down the alley

found refuge in the shadows of love

then slipped away with a girl.

In the intimate revelation of lust, they

did the shimmy shake co co bop

dance and their progeny leaped from the

union of their most exquisite

orgasm.

Cu to 2nd power, squared once, then

flipped over for a sunny side treat!

Cu the infinity of desire taken round to its

natural course and the Shannon leads

to a map of our souls.

Will reverie find its way to love?

Cu to 2nd power, squared once, then

flipped over for a sunny side treat!

Who could possible fathom the depths of

their love besides Captain Nemo?

Intrepid sailors are rowing to Babylon

in paper boats to the gods of the Nile

Winken

Blinken

Nod.

Moonlight’s heavy lidded reveries.

The trolls smoked a joint

guarding Serenity Bay.

“And you’ll get oral sex when that boy

next door lands on the moon.”

If love could carry us home, the saints

of Ireland would lead the national

family planning program and St. Patrick would

chase away the demons from your soul.

WInken.

bLinK In.

Guinness is the god of Nod

2.

We stopped to discuss Real Estate, a condominium

by the side of the Euphrates

War prices are cheap! said Abdullah. Then was

hurried to his armor plated Mercedes.

Not bad for a carpet trader from Isfahan which leads

us back to Cu.

Cu in a voice as velvety as Velveta as undulating

as an uvula, dulcet sotto voce kind of voicing.

A warping willowy wave splashed

on the shore of Maui,

tumbled once and

settled by a palm tree.

3.

Baghdad. Cu. Andar…

The continuum of space revealed

in a oyster. In that pearl that peeled away

every guise

we found ourselves

in the sheltering shadow

of violet

indigo

memory.

The ink mark on the page. My official cache on my letter of

Safe Passage smuggled from Casablanca to the Free World.

“Stamped, checked, whistle clean. Next stop,

Cu by the way of Andar.” said Ishmael

the conductor. “A whale of a time guaranteed for all.”

Cu by the way of Andar.

Absurd?

A psychotic break?

Schizo-disinfective disorders?

Sanitize these words lysolate, antiseptisize,

then roll them into a joint and smoke it.

“The water pipe, you idiot! The hookah! Said the carpet salesmen

who was now hot on to condominiums sold by the King of

Rocco from steps of this Baroque winter palace.

Poet’s are well received. Sodomites! Artists of fellatio, Monica received

more fame than a cigar factory of artists, was

enshrined on Andar where genius is cherished, love supreme,

conflicts decided my mad passionate loving, journey’s celebrated

and hours tumbling by.

Center of Supreme Culture is dedicated to the great lovers and artists

of the oral arts. Khajaraho and the Kama Sutras

are Embassy Portals from Cu via Andar. Step inside a temple

and soon in the coupling mad passionate loving we are released and on the last

shuttle calling us backward in time to home.

Earth is Philistine, not to insult the deeply aggrieved Philistines, but

geeezuz fuking Khrist, sad the Ambassador from Cu. To use an expression

from your place in time: How can you perpetuate the species when you’re killing

each other?

There’s a joke in Galaxy – How many humans does it take to fuk up a planet?

6 Billion a million more of less.

That’s not very funny.

Neither is Earth. said the Ambassador from Cu

“Through the key hole you’ll find your way back to home!” as the last shuttle danced across the phosphorescent waves and wandered back inside a thought.

“A single molecule of water holds every possibility and one tear can heal the world.” said the Prophet Sam while rowing up river.

In the kingdom of Mu ruled by the Queen Aphrodite, a small skiff made from

the unrequited articulations of love left the harbor and sailed out to sea.

WInken. The blind prophet Teresias from Waco Texas where the onanistic

cults still prevail.

bLinK In. Coveting the last ship to leave the Free World we sail onwards

till the cosmos disappear in the depths of the wine red sea as

we to toast Odious the drunken half cousin of the mariner.

Guinness is the god of Nod. Nothing grand or illusionary.

I will raise a glass of stout to you! said I to the ambassador of Cu.

And we row in our boat of love,

in

the Infinity of desire

Omega recapitulates to fellatio.

Heads up!

Up dates January 2008

Up dates January 2008

Justin the multimedia manager and I have been very busy organizing the website and bringing a variety of tracks of songs and performances from the past years up on the Sample page. Also, on the main page is Last Round At the Earth Bar a beautiful piece with Cindy Hellman on vocals, Paul Jensen on guitar, and me Namaya on the narrative.

Blue Heron Pond: Love Song for the Planet is in the very final editing stages. We will probably produce this in a limited run on Cafe Press or another electronic print on demand. Samples will be on the website during the week. Two years in the work!

7 March 2008 a Performance of Benny O'Shea at the Cotton Mill in Brattleboro Vermont. Benny O'Shea is the Jazz Detective story about a cat by the name of Benny O'Shea who meets the Angel of Death. Rain Wilson and Kali Quinn will be dancing in this performance.

Beatnik Cafe will be produced by NPI productions and Pioneer Arts Center of Easthampton for a 29 March 2008 P.A.C.E. (The Pioneer Arts Center of Easthampton) 41 Union Street Easthampton, MA 01027 PHONE (413) 527-3700. This will feature Samirah Evans, Scott Mullett, George Kaye, Cindy Hellmann, Carol Smith, Namaya, Erica Nebbia, & Eric Morgan. It is a fun celebration of the Beat Generation.

Tour of Ireland GOD SEX POLITICS TOUR 2008. Namaya will be playing Ireland 2nd week of September with a small world beat combo. If all goes well we will extend that to England on the 3rd week of September 2008.

Sweet Pond Eco Community - My other huge creative endeavor in 2007 has been the Sweet Pond Eco Community at www.sweetpondecocommunity.com

Hopes, wishes, and anticipations: 2007 had been filled with writing and producing the musical Beatnik Cafe which was received with a generous standing ovation at our first performance we are hoping to feature it in NYC in November 2008 for a limited run at a small theater.

Australia January GOD SEX POLITICS 2009 - If the wind blows right Sydney, Melbourne and stops along the way. And, of course, a few days of the Australian Open. We would like to really stretch that dream and take a tramp steamer from Perth to Yemen and do a GOD SEX POLITICS show in Aden.

If you're going to live life, live it hugely, dream immensely, dare the most imaginative of things to do, be outrageous, kiss a beautiful stranger, act as if the next breath was your very last one but you had the eternity of time to savor it.

Stop whining, make a revolution now!

Namaya Jan 2008

Brattleboro Safe 9ll Homeland Security Person & Arts Cultural Coordinator

Brattleboro Safe 9ll Homeland Security Person and Arts Cultural Coordinator

There has been a recent initiative to have an Arts Coordinator in Brattleboro to serve as the point person for a wide variety of Arts and Cultural activities. Though it’s a grand idea, it’s not in keeping with the times nor political tide. Arts in the US and Brattleboro is not perceived as integral to the lifeblood of the economy. The Arts Coordinator would have to borrow and beg for funding. A more pragmatic approach is to fuse the roles that more accurately reflects our nation’s war time position: The Brattleboro Safe 911Homeland Security and Arts Coordinator (BS 9ll to be succinct) rolled into one. Art and National Security, a perfect combination!
Facts are facts: Terror, war and homeland security is big business; Art is small potatoes. Wouldn't Washington stand up and take notice that Brattleboro, with its reputation for harboring some of the most extreme elements of the left who have scoffed at the Patriot Act, impugned the War on Terror, and have had the temerity to question President Bush’s genius in Iraq, has finally raised the flag of patriotism high by having a Brattleboro 911 Homeland Security Person? The genius of the Bush administration has been to teach us – what appears ain’t exactly there. For example: we are a peace loving nation and as a peace loving nation we need to go to war; therefore, peace is war and war is peace. Art is bad, because liberals like art. Homeland Security is good because wealthy Republicans make money off it and making money is an American tradition. Arts Coordinator by itself is bad, because art supports liberals, a very bad idea, but BS 9ll ensures that there won't be terrorists living underneath your child’s bed ready to make him into a recruit for Al Qaeda.
The BS9ll could be fully funded in a nanosecond and have more than enough superfluous money to throw at art. Think of the amount of money Halliburton, Blackwater, Bechtel, and the other privateers in the 9ll business make. Our proposed local budget for this post of $10 million dollars is not even a decent bit of flatulence for those folks. Pure chump change.
It would be a grand plan! BS911 operatives would infiltrate every art cabal in the community in the guise of generous benefactors and all the creative liberals well occupied. The musicians would be too busy performing and making money to even question the President. Instead of writers churning out their poisonous venom, BS9ll would give them money to write plays about patriotism and America as a Christian nation, and fund children’s arts program to keep them away from the liberal propaganda of their parents. We would have every damn pen and brush wielding pinko so engaged with theater, art, dance, poetry they wouldn't have the time to march, make noise, or denigrate our President. Art finally in the service of our nation!
Also, with the full weight of national security behind it the BS911 could also do something about the naked people running during Gallery Walk. No need for an undercover operation, a SWAT team will come down and swat their naked fannies right off main street. Not enough people at Gallery Walk in the middle of a blizzard? No problem, BS 9ll declares, “Red Alert all citizens of Brattleboro and surrounding areas are mandated to go to Downtown Gallery Walk.” Easy. Herd the masses.
Unless, there is the extremely absurd notion that Arts and the Creative economy is truly important on its own merit and that our town is willing to support and finance an Arts & Culture Coordinator in our community.

Holy Shores

Ocean waves

crack

thunderously holy

on the breakers

revelation from

Saint Ignatius

patron saint of bruises

and fine wine.

Port Said on the Red Sea

where the 4 prophets waded

ashore.

Jesus ascribed as Inka

Mohammed, in drag as the

anti-Christ looking raggedy

wild-eyed as Charlie Manson

said, “Dinka!” Rolled

a joint and passed it on.

“Allah Akhbar indeed.” said

the J man while blowing smoke

rings through a cliché.

Lord Krishna claimed Dinka

cavorted lustily with his

maidens in the 998 1/2 positions of

the Kama Sutra. The ½ pike

for the one legged boy, fish piked and

polled, Plato swam with the

naked boys and proclaimed Agape

above Logos.

Soap on a rope invented by Athenians.

Buddha worked as a short order

chef in a Reno brothel

was only to glad to accommodate

transcendence,

“One with everything?”

(Please, please, this is a serious tale

and no time for your verbal buggery.)

“Stand tall!” called the captain, “Seal the

bung holes! All these assholes will

be tight as a frog’s bung – water tight.”

Have you ever seen a water logged frog

floating inconsequently away,

leaf like swaying down stream?

“Row! Row! To the farther shore.”

said the Israelite Jacob. “Inconsequentially sailing to

redemption as the sea of reeds parts—Her legs spread wide

in the August sun!” said Ishmael to Isaac. Each sailor bent down to the shrine and kissed

the delta Venus as tenderly as they would the Madonna’s cheek.

What say the thunder to revelation?

“Higgly higgly higgly pog.” said the Po ‘bo to the ho. “Weed the garden!”

“Hoe to the ‘hoe. Land ho! Called the lst Mate. While the boatswain’s

mate swung high in his love nest by the moon, passionately engaged with

the cabin boy, rocking joyfully. ”

Voluptuous moon ripe as a virgin’s clitoris,

shadows cavort on the forecastle, while they sailed down from Aqaba to Hodeidah. Moon light’s dance on the phosphorescent waters burst diamond thrilling effervescent across the water, we made love in the languid tide, mercury silver alluring with each parting of the wave.

Captain jealous, impotent as spilled gin, could only hold the boy in his

imagination

“Ibbidy bibbidy bop.” said the prophet Fred

“Fiddly, fiddly fidly pop.” said the

poo bear to the pope.

Walking backwards, looking for the thread of the argument,

the integument that binds the story, weaves shadows and light,

a butterfly turns in the widening gyre, a pearl spun from the gossamer

threads of simple desire.

Seagulls

shriek, a feast

for the sightless. Alms given at St Paul’s and the orphan

pigeons from Trafalgar Square perch like vultures on Black Friar bridge waiting for

the next victim of scandal. What bonny blue eyes shall be tasted?

Desires are the room for the holiest of desires.

Inka

Dinka

Dinka

Do.

Farewell

Spring roars to life

in a bounding leap

to summer play.

Moonlight skinny

dipping in June as

stars anoint our loving.

August languid heat

and pools of sweat

dissolve in our cold pond.

When green seems to

hold permanent sway,

one fire red leaf appears.

Geese circle the pond,

blue jays disappear, and

Blue Heron debuts again.

Leaves in their dried

rustling bones reverie

whisper farewell.

All too soon, our

dreams to cherish.

Namaya 07

Having a cold beer with John Lennon at 67

Having a cold beer with John Lennon at 67

He was born in Liverpool on October 9, 1940 as the Nazi bombs were raining down on England. It was a year of enormous fear and uncertainty, no one knew if Britain was going to fall, and there to a poor working family John Lennon was born. Nothing auspicious in the birth, just another mouth to feed; nevertheless, the arc of his life, a brief forty years touched so many millions of lives. What was that kismet, the alignment of the starts that blessed this child with wealth and fame?

The other day I was having dinner in a restaurant and there was a picture of Lennon with the Beatles from l969-- John, Paul, George and Ringo in their mid to late twenties with their long hair and sweet beautiful faces of youth. It was almost painful to see that photo of Lennon with his long brown hair, gold rimmed glasses, pale complexion, looking not so much like a prophet, but a bit lost and dazed. This was the height of his fame with the Beatles and when he was still a heroin addict; fortunately, he kicked the habit and spent the last years of his life clean. The eleven years he had left in his life were spent with his wife Yoko Ono, lovers and friends, making music, compelling people to Imagine, traveling, raising a child, evolving into a peace activist, and by the end he seemed to have found some personal peace. His last album was a lovely farewell and my favorite song was Beautiful Boy to his son Sean and perhaps to Lennon’s un-fathered self.


I would like to visit with him now, alive at sixty seven, sitting on a beach drinking a cold beer with him and asking, “So, John. How are things going for you these days?”

I raise a glass of Guinness Stout to you John Lennon on your sixty-seventh birthday, “Here’s one for you, mate!”