Flash Back 2013

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Stop looking for the come up
And
Become the other half of the man you want…

I have gotten a lot of grief from my male readers about male bashing; and when I ask my friends they tell me
they honestly cannot know me because if they did they would know I usually side with the males. I try not to bash
anyone in my articles but inform the world of some issues we are having within our own communities. This time I am
going to address a very important issue of our women willing to settle for less than they deserve or acting as gold
diggers. Black women have become accustomed to settling for less than what she is worth because she normally
carries so much baggage from prior relationships that she cannot see a good thing when it is in front of her. We as
women have had to take the dominate roll in our households for so long that when a good/great man comes along
we do not know how to hand over the reins. This is normally the second biggest turn off to our men, the first being
bad attitudes. Our men do not need to know the short comings of the last man, but what we need from them. We
also need to understand what will make us a team player with our mates. We cannot expect the man to know what
we need or want if we do not know what we are looking for in a relationship. You have to know your wants, needs,
and desires in order to know when you are being completed. Do not become the man’s mother he has one of those
and in the end you will never fill her shoes. Start the relationship the way you want it to go. Meaning if you start off
doing your man’s laundry, doing all the cleaning alone, and taking on all the cooking do not get upset down the road
because he does not do any of that. Choose the battles worth fighting and if it is truly something not worth fighting
over then do not, because the small things will cause you to end up alone. I look at relationships from all angles and
everyone is looking for something within a relationship, but if you do not communicate these wants then you can’t
blame anyone for the outcome but yourself.
A man is neither a meal ticket nor an accessory. A woman shouldn’t be either. If you are only dating “so

called ballers” looking to hook a big fish I’m not going to support your antics. First off I think you get what you de-
serve in the end, if the man cheats on you, doesn’t support you, and/or doesn’t marry you, those where your choices.

Men are emotional creatures also and they like to be appreciated. This does not mean take advantage of what they
will do for you. Just because a man does not say something to you doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention to what
you are doing. The world would be so much easier if people weren’t looking to use each other. A man is simple they
want someone who will be there when times are good, but also when they are struggling. Most women do not take in
account that sometimes men have been in some bad relationships also. Do not get me wrong there are the men out
there that think they are supposed to be taken care of just like gold diggers and they get no love from me either. The
majority of good black men are tired of dealing with all the extra that the black female brings into a relationship.

The final threat, women take this one to heart; stop having babies with everyone who says you will be to-
gether forever. If you did not learn from the first man who said this to you I do not know what to tell you. Babies are a

joy and should have two loving parents but if all you do is deny the father any access to the child (especially if he is
not paying child support), talk bad to his child about him, and/or complain to everyone you know about him, maybe
you should take a look at yourself and see what role you are playing in this whole situation. If all you care about is
money I know so many fathers that would give you the eighteen years of child support and take their child. Have
more to offer a man than your body. You should have some self-worth about yourself that would attract the man God
has put on this earth for you. Please understand that a real man wants a real woman by his side that he can depend

on, but knows she can depend on him. Our sons and daughters need to see more positive relationships in our com-
munities so they can inspire to be better men and women. Children mimic what they see and if they have nothing

worth looking up to we can expect the cycle to continue. No one is more powerful in a child’s life than his/her mother
and/or father. Love yourself and you then can love someone else.

Blast from the Past: Marc Marcel Oct.15,2010

Describe how you feel about your poetry?


Marc: Honest…thoughtful…and I only say thoughtful only because I know there
are at times hours and hours of thought behind certain poems that I have
written, sometimes months. It is you or the public’s own opinion whether
they think it is good or not, but can’t nobody tell me I didn’t put thought into
it…and they sure can‘t tell me that I’m not honest.
I mean, those are 2 things that I can control, when I first started I said no
matter what, I want to be honest. I never wanted to leave here, and have
someone read something of mine, that wasn’t the truth, at least from how I
see things. And the thoughtfulness that I put into my work, I’m not really
one to be satisfied so it just grows more and more with time…honestly I
can see why so many great artists have been called or went insane.

What’s the back story or history behind your CDs?


Marc: Well, when I first started, I remember thinking about an R&B singer,
‘D’Angelo,’ and how he had only put out like, 2 CDs in like 5 years, and I
just though, ‘That was such a waste of talent.’ I mean, I look at it like, if
you are an artist, then live it, be your art, give the public something, you
shouldn’t sit on your ass just after your put out a CD, especially not your
first one.
So, with that being said, I knew I was never going to be that type of
artist…the only thing that was going to be in my way, was finding who was
going to produce all these CDs. Well, on my first 2 projects, I was blessed
to have worked with, ‘Brian ‘Beano’ O’Neal,’ and on my second project, I
worked with a production team called ‘Beatsmith,’ then is when I started
producing. I produced 2 tracks for that CD, ‘Never Look Back,’ and funny
to say, I never did. Ever since then I have been producing my own
albums, 13 in all.
I never set out to become a producer, in fact, it’s not something that I am
very vocal about, but I surprisingly become good enough at it to put out
quality albums, as well as produce for others. But I knew it was going to
be a problem trying to get producing to do my albums at the rate that I
wouldn’t to produce them, so sometimes you got to do it yourself.
I would say that all of my CDs have a different theme, I’ve tried to give off a
different feeling with each of them. It only makes since, I’ve chanced so
much as a person within the past 10 years, so my work should change and
fit different moods as well

What city or state stands out to you when you think back on past
shows and why?


Marc:  Well, I guess the best way for me to do this, is for me to just close my
eyes, and say what cities would come to me immediately…
And those would be…Miami, Hawaii, Denver, the Bay, Austin…St.
Louis…in no particular order…Washington DC. All for different reasons.
Hawaii, probably the second most beautiful place I have ever been, it just
felt like heaven for a Spoken Word Artist. I actually went surfing, swam in
some of the clearest water, I had to remind myself not to drink it, on top of
that, I still manage to do poetry. But it felt different, at that stage in my life,
it was all about the hustle for me, ‘How many CDs could I sell,’ but at that
moment, I felt like a, ‘Real Artist.’ Like, all that other shit didn’t matter. On
one of my off nights, I was at a gathering, it just so happened that they had
a microphone there, and people had gotten word that there was a spoken
word artist there. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but they all just got together in
the room, came in from outside, sat on the floor, and waited for me, about
50 to 60 people or so. And I had so much fun, it felt…it felt right. Like
Socrates, and the tales of how he would just go around and share his
insight with people, not for profit, but for conversation, building and
knowledge. I do look at art in that manner, if I didn’t have to make a living I
would give all my material away for free.
If Hawaii is Heaven for a Spoken Word Artist, then Miami, is the Nightclub,
and I mean this in a good way, it is POPPING! I never believed it, until I
saw it for my own two yes, and it’s not what it use to be as far as several
years ago, but it’s still the most glamorous scene for Spoken Word Artist.
Austin, TX is a favorite of mine for a lot of reasons, mostly the people.
Denver, and the Bay, the same thing, the people, I’m always sad to leave.
St. Louis and Washington DC speak to me for a number of different
reasons. Strangely so, Atlanta doesn’t come to mind if I just instantly think
of my past. I don’t know why that is, especially because it was my
foundations as an artist.

What advice would you give to a poet trying to get their work out?


Marc: Well, that depends on what they want to do with it, and what is accessible
to them. But there are many avenues, more than when I first started. The
first product I ever put out were 2 books, 1 book of poetry, Unchained,’ and
my first novel, ‘Saint Thomas.’ But I would go at it so differently now, the
cost would be much cheaper. It’s pretty easy to get your books in stores,

you just have to make the effort, make the call. But my focus has been
Spoken word CDs for the past 9 or so years, and that’s a whole different
market. But oddly enough, everything is changing, everything is done
online now, so quite frankly, to get your work out there, you have to get a
website, put your work up there for sell, and go out and market yourself. If
you’re a spoken word artist, or any kind of artist, go places and perform,
gather an emailing list. Basically, you have to pimp yourself, otherwise, it just needs to be a hobby to you.

What is one question you wish people would ask you?


Marcel: Was that Mars, we just flew past?

Where do you want to see your poetry take you?


Marcel: Wow…well…honestly…my poetry has already given me all I ever wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, there are things that I still want to do, as a man, as a
human being, as far as see Egypt, eat Sushi in Japan, but those aren’t
places my poetry takes me, unless im performing there. But, honestly, I
find myself trying to come up with new motives, and goals that I know deep
down aren’t important. My main objective when I first started, I feel I have
already attained, was that my work would live on. Now, I just feel like I’m
sitting back and watching the last part of the movie. …Let me explain.
When I first started, as I said my objective was that my words would live
on, I had something to compare this to, or should I say someone. Emily
Dickerson.
I can remember..
to where I wanted. My first goal, my first objective when I came cgdme to
where I first wanted, or thought.
I find that im now motivating myself a second time around, I have to come
up with a new goal, but xffdfd

Why do you think there is a stereo type that if a African American
(specially men) who are artist translate to so many as a person who
doesn’t want to work a day job?


Marcel: Well, I can’t really say I’ve heard that express too much, but I guess it’s a
valid stereotype, but not just with black men, I would say all artists. And I
say this, only if someone is going to make the stereotype, because while I
don’t necessarily think it is true, I do know many artist, like myself, that
would rather go homeless than work a day job.

Myself in sense, being that I have being doing this for the past 10 years,
not taking orders from anyone, basically calling my own shots, going where
I want to go, seeing who I want to see…it would be an extremely change,
and shock to me to just all of a sudden go get a day job. It would take
years to transition to a point of comfort. Maybe this is what some other
artist feel…so, being so…part of that stereotype would be true, but not 100
percent. That is the thing people say about stereotypes, it’s not 100
percent truthful, but there is some truth to it.

Who have you worked with within the past and would want to work
with in the future?


Well, in the past, I’ve worked with mostly poets, quite too many to start
naming. I’ve put out 13 Spoken Word CDs, and have had at least 1 guest
feature on 9 of them, some of them I have had 4 or 5, and 1 of them I
actually had 26 Spoken Word Artist on the album, it was a special project I
wanted to do, a double disc CD, devoted for collaborations with other
spoken word artist, called, ‘All Around the World.’ I can honestly say,
surprisingly so, they brought some really good writing out of me. 60
percent of that album is all their concept and idea for the poem, I had a few
solo tracks, but the pieces that they were on, I mostly vibed off of what
they had written.
I really can’t say I have a yearning to work with someone now, I’m very
open to the idea, but I don’t think about it. …I guess I would say, I think it
would be amazing to have, ‘Sigur Ros,’ produce one of my next albums,
that would be a gift. I am totally, and utterly in love with their sound. It
would be nice to have someone else produce my CDs for a change, I’ve
produced my last 11 albums, with the exception of my cousin, ‘Mike
Greggs,’ producing one of the 4 disc on my Greatest Hits album, ‘Time
Capsules.’
I guess the coolest person I have worked with, and person I’m most
thankful for, my Father, ‘Guy Bragg.’ He is the pianist in his own jazz
band, ‘Sterling Silver.’ When I started producing my CDs, he did some
background piano for me, but I just recently did a cut, ‘Jazz is for the Hip,’
for his CD, ‘Never Too Late,’ that just came out.

What emotions were you feeling when you saw yourself on TV for
the first time?


Marc: The first time I saw myself on TV, it depends when, live or period.
Because the first time I saw myself on TV, was a video of the show I was on. I never saw the show air live. That was pretty cool, only because it
was an interview section in there, and it was a joint appearance with one of
my friends, ‘Femi ‘The Dri Fish’ Lawal.’ I think I watched it twice, and then
went back to it 2 years later and watched half of it, but once it got to my
performance part I turned it off. I haven’t watched it since. It’s hard to
watch my beginning stages, and that television performance caught the
last leg of my beginner stages.
The first time I saw myself live, I wasn’t too thrilled, mainly because BETJ
choose the poem I didn’t want them to air, instead of the one I was 99
percent expecting. I actually got up from the couch and threw the remote
control across the room.

Describe your signature piece and why do you think that one
stands out?


Marc: Well, I can’t really do that, for a few reasons. One, I purposely have
stopped performing a poem, if I feel that it has run it’s course, just for the
sake of not having a signature poem. You see, I never want one poem, to
mean more than my portfolio of work. I know a lot of poets still living off of
poems from 10 years ago, and maybe they’ve written something new, but
they don’t perform it as much, so the only thing people remember them for,
is that 1 poem from 10 years ago. That’s not me, that’s not something I
ever wanted to be said about me, I think I’ve made sure of that.
And Two, with me, probably because I’ve constantly brought new work out
to the public, I would have to ask, ‘What make something a signature
poem?’ I mean, if I actually sat here and tried to think of it, I could think of
a particular poem for my own reasons, but just as soon as I think of one, I
can think of another for other reasons. And, what’s makes something, your
signature poem? Is it the response? Is it the writing? Is the praise, or the
ridicule? If that’s the case, than I have had many different poems that can
fit in that category and more. I have a poem now, where at the moment,
over 35,000 viewed on youtube, but the poem barely made my, ‘Greatest
Hits,’ album. Honestly the only reason it made it, was because of the
response. It just so happens, that you can’t please everybody, and that
poem gets a lot of negative feedback (Understatement), from rednecks
and racist, mostly too stupid to understand that I’m saying what most of
them are criticizing the poem for. But in a sense, that could also make
something your signature poem. So to get back to the question, I honestly
can’t answer that. …Truthfully, I’m glad I can’t answer that.

What in today’s society would you like to be acknowledge that
needs to be fixed for our future let alone for today?


Marcel: Religion…I think our faith in religion has been the biggest mass murderer
of anything else in history. I think it divides us more than race, more than
wealth, more than sexual preferences. I think we have it completely
upside down, using man made systems to protest our faith to something
no man here is even capable of understanding. I wish people would get up
off their small little island, and not only realize how big the world is, but
how big the Universe is, maybe then they will see how small some of their
problems are.

if we could as poets have our own network not just a show….what
would you want it to showcase? Where and why?


Marcel: Well, first, you would have to have a few reality shows, one that is uncut,
documentary style, and another that is some sort of contest (You have to
appease those that don’t like to think too much). Then you would have to
have the News, and then an Update News after the News, called
Undercover News, and this news just contradicts everything on the news
before it. And then you have to have a few drama shows, I can think of a
few right now that would be great leading men and women to fill those
parts, cause the scene is filled of drama. You have to have comedy
shows, cause our lives are nothing less than hysterical. Got to have a few
talk shows, poets love to gossip. And last but not least, you got to have a
few dating shows…poets love to date each other.


 
OPEN MIC!!!
(the stage is yours! say what you please)


Marc: I think I’ve said enough. I’ve enjoyed your questions, and truly wouldn’t
know anything more to add.

 Well, I don’t know if my advice to them would so much advance them in
their choosing to be a poet, as it would with anything they would decided to
do. Because there’s really no special formula to this, you either do it, or

you don’t, and how much you do it, depends on what you put into, just like
anything someone would decided to do.

Commentary

An Artistic Appeal…in Poetry  

I remember the moment I wanted to become a writer. I was fifteen years old, and I  had just been blown away by “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker”, by Prince. Although I  had been a connoisseur of music at an early age (thanks primarily to my father), I had  never been so drawn to a song! I was blown away by…and that’s when things got  “complicated”. For the first time in my life, my vision of the song extended beyond  the mere melody. More than just the words…more than just the music…more than  the two working together so perfectly as to paint the picture in your mind with every  measure…more than a melody that plays in your mind long after it’s finished, but be 

gins as if there is no end. More than all of this, I began to create an entirely new  story!  

In the past, I began life ‘in song’ as an “extra”. As the song played, I could see the  image, but I was never a part of the story. “Crazy Train” by Ozzie Ozbourne, is a per fect example of my simply standing in the scene. The train was moving, yes, but I  

wasn’t on the train nor was I ‘in control’ of it. I was an observer of the “main charac ters”, but I was not the star. However, as I began to grown in music, I graduated to a  “stand-in” role. I studied the script and I was “invited” to the story, thus becoming a  part of it. As I began to study the purpose of melody to sound equations, pitch to  tone theories, and a host of other elements that defines “aesthetically pleasing” in  music, I began to elevate my “expectation” of the art. Soon, I accepted the leading  role and the main character was me! I became the lonely “Man on the Corner” by  Genesis…I was the frustrated guy bangin’ on the drums (although I couldn’t play, nor  had a clue Phil Collins was singing a song about divorce) “In the Air” tonight…I was  the guy with Lucy & Cynthia Rose having “Starfish & Coffee”. As much as I was the  lead character, I was still nothing more than an actor in a script written by someone  else.  

When the last note to the ballad had been played, seemingly the song didn’t stop. It  continued on somewhere in my mind that not only had its own set design, but the  characters were already in place! The song extended onward so, that not only was I  offered the opportunity to pen the rest of this beautifully un-ending silent film that  has a supplied soundtrack, but I was up all flippin’ night from the excitement. A rush  had come over me so severe, I literally woke up the next morning like a kid on Christ 

mas morning. A writer was born that night, but it has taken several years for me to  even feel comfortable telling people I’m a “writer”. My skills were refined from criti-

cism both in and out of art. My television viewing changed. What used to be greeted  with utter disdain suddenly became a welcomed subject (for whatever reason). I took  notice to what “appealed” to the senses. I noticed that my objections to previously  presented sounds, were then investigated & re-catalogued. What could have been  ‘offensive’ to the pallets, were tasted again to ensure “quality assurance”. I examined  everything I ingested and graded all that crossed my path. Being the agent of chaos  that I am, I questioned others as to why they “accepted” what was being fed to them,  regardless the source.  

Seemingly, my generation has ushered in an age of media dependency, and the public  appeared to me as “zombies” dancing to whatever tune the piper’s were playing. The  more I examined the content of the messages being sent through main stream media,  my depression grew greater from the impending doom that was soon to appear.  When “quality entertainment” is defined by planted ex-convicts who portray role  models for separation purposes, drug abusive under-acting individuals who’s lives  will never be perfect, and power hungry horemongers who inaccurately define suc 

cess, it’s a wonder why society has issues defining beauty…it’s a wonder as to why  it’s complicated to define beauty in one’s message (art). Art, like life, is not compli cated…it is the combination of simplicities working in concert to produce a compel ling appeal to the witness of said work. Even the most putrid of products can contain  an appealing element that both attracts & entraps a witness. The question that must  be answered by onlookers is what is the “separator”? Where is the line drawn, when it  comes to whether a work “works” or not?  

Plato emphasized proportion, harmony and unity when examining aesthetics. Aris totle exhumed the notions of order, symmetry and definiteness. By definition, aes thetics is pertaining to, involving, or concerned with pure emotion and sensation as  opposed to pure intellectuality. So then, art is nothing more than a message from  one sender to a receiver that “should” appeal to the senses. Is anyone paying atten tion to the plural tense in ‘senses’? If there are five (5) senses…if we perceive by way  of our senses…our perceptions mold & churn our beliefs…then, would it not make  sense to be attentive to ALL the “senses” are processing with any communication, be  it art or otherwise? The purpose of any work of art, is to transmit a message. The  appeal of that message is largely induced by the level of the witness. What is the  message’s meaning? Is the meaning congruent with what the senses perceive? Is that  message being conveyed correctly? 

There are a number of ‘needs’ that require attention in terms of the message, but the  sole heir of the “is the message being properly presented”, rests on the presenter… the artist. What motivates the artist, and is that motivation visibly apparent in the  

work…or does it linger in the shadows? Is the message’s intent clear? The more ele ments added to the piece, the more “dimensionality” is added. As in other aspects of  life, art is not exempt from the asinine ideology that more is better. Too often, artist  (including myself) are guilty of over-indulging in the gluttony of an audience’s acco lades, we completely disrespect the craft (whatever craft we partake in). We drag  story lines out that should have been cut…we sing too many runs in a too long  song…we add too much color to a perfect picture. By adding more than should exist,  we destroy the beauty of perfection and reduce & demean the work to a ‘novelty’ item  as opposed to a collectible.  

If we are to produce a better society, then we should be creating better artist. Along  with creating better artist, we should also be demanding of the art we DO ingest! If  poetry is an ‘elevated’ form of artistic expression, then there is a charge…a call…a  responsibility…to produce work that either questions, answers or possess a quality  that contains elements of both as well as entertain. We who would call ourselves  “poets” or those who seek to join the ranks of those regarded as poets, are educa 

tional entertainers who appeal to those who would hear. We are creative expression ist who paint pictures with our pens and make magic with our words. We are more  than mere puppets for claps & finger snaps…we are not rappers. We are defenders of  the truth. So, why are SO many of us feeding the foolishness?  

S.A. Thomas

A Brothers View

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The Ordinary/ Common Brother  

We are for the most part invisible. Most American society-including some media, silent brothers. Kin folks  & ourselves. We are the brothers who pick up the trash, drive the buses, cut the yard, work at fast foods &  the rest of the jobs most people don’t want nor value. We are the brothers who are not fine, have big bank,  wear pants with our underwear showing, drinking 40’s, attending the best college, having the best jobs and  

living in the best neighborhood.  

We don’t spend a lot of time chasing the American dream/ nightmare. We are the brother’s who is like the  air we breath, don’t get noticed unless its really good or really bad. We do have something in common with  the brother’s mentioned above. Like us, some of them want , deserve, and need fulfilling and meaningful  relationship  

 based on mutual respect, honor, love and  

Commitment with other people. Especially with the sisters, our friends, our brothers and ourselves. Soci ety’s views of us has little meaning. We live to help make our community and ourselves better. We are the  brothers who are over weight, drunk a few to many beers, tell a few lies and even flirt a little. Our jobs may  pay little more than minimum wage and in some cases pay more than some professionals. Our education  usually means finishing high school, having a few college hours, being ex-military, having a trade and r on  the job training.  

Most of us don’t want to be doctor’s, business owners or professionals. Don’t get me wrong being the  above could be a good thing. We just believe the type of person who are, should depend on the job, educa tion and where we live. Some of us have found having the high dollar job, having a big house payments or  trying to get them means less time for those we want to have a meaningful relationship with.  We often hear about us having no and little standards in jobs, people around us. Wrong, we just want the  standards to be fair and realistic. Relationships with our sisters are very important to most of us. Most of us  don’t want to be mind reader’s, don’t want to control everything, make all the decisions. We want sharing of  dreams, feelings, whatever it be it’s a two way street.  

We are aware of some of the issues our sisters, community, and ourselves face and we try to deal with  them the best way we can. Knowing often times its not easy, still we try.  

We understand why we are invisible to most. We will try to change the situation by staying positive and  doing the things that’s good. We know without loving sister’s and caring community we are like summers  without the heat, music without meaning and a child without laughter.  

I’ll end with a few request…..  

To the Ordinary/ Common Brother’s: acknowledge each other by a nod of the head, a fist salute, and any  sign saying keep the faith and keep doing the good you do. And do the same for the ordinary sister’s  To the Ordinary/ Common sister’s: acknowledge the brothers by giving them respect when due and giving  yourself this same respect.  

OK in this case I don’t mention the community because when brother’s and sister’s do what needs to be  done the community will be ok.  

In closing I’ll raise a glass saluting all the sister’s/brother’s but specially those of us who are ordinary/ common  

Keep the faith and thanks.  

William Stewart  

A Youth’s View 2011

Honestly parents don’t understand just about everything their child does once they hit  puberty. At one point a child’s best friend is their parent until they have a say in what  they want to do. For example once a child becomes a teen (I’m in this place right now)  they are in the place of no longer being a child and still not yet an adult, this teen wants  to explore become their own person and experiment with their wild side. Like staying  out at night, getting their first tattoo, and the people they hang out with, the clothes we  wear. This just happens to be one of the ways we find ourselves. At this moment my  mother and I have not been on the same page for the past 3 years mainly because she  just doesn’t understand the things that I do. NOPE ACTUALLY GROWN UPS JUST  DON’T’ GET IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They feel as if we have to be these well oiled machines, well  that’s not going to happen. Out of the examples above the main thing a parent doesn’t  understand is when their child wants to date (especially if your daddy’s little girl or your  a momma’s boy or just point blank period your parents are strict) NOW dating is on of  the most difficult things for a parent to understand and I would say this because my  mother is having a hard time with it at this time. In my own words I think its because  they just don’t want you to have any fun or maybe its because they still see us not as  young adults but as a 2 month old baby. Yes I will say first hand it’s one of the most  frustrating things for you to constantly ask and stressed that your ready, that your not  being pressured, and your going to respect yourself and that person. They don’t get  how we want to spend a little more time texting, being on the phone with that special  person (that person may change every month but just go with it). One of the most misunderstood things about us it that we don’t want to be bother with anyone who just so  happen to be the person who gave us life. Well I would say its we become more into or  selves and yes we stress over the smallest thing in the world. I really can’t say why  maybe because where not sure on how you might react to it’s just so much easier to  lock ourselves in our room and tell our friend about the issues, mainly because we  don’t want to hear the story line beginning with either “well back in my day”, or “Been  there done that”. Sorry but its the truth. Now off of the heavy stuff, we’ll get back to that  in another paragraph. Now I’ve asked just about every teenager I know the same question “What’s something you do that your parents don’t understand?” They all reply  “EVERYTHING”!!! I find this to be one of the most funniest things ever because, I say  the same thing when some ask me this question. A friend of my says she wants to get  her bellybutton pierced……. Her mother says, “no way no how been there done that.”  Wow not a shocker but hey like I said we just want to play around with life. Which  brings me to something else they don’t understand why we don’t want to wait for everything to happen. We as impatient people just want to have a good time and do everything possible whether it will be there tomorrow or not we just don’t care if we want it  we’re going to do it. Now when it comes to ignoring your advice it mainly because we  feel that your wrong or that your right and that we can do it better or in different manner. Pretty much we are finding ourselves at the moment so you can’t really just say  we’re wrong you have to let us fly but remember to be close behind but if you keep us in  the nest once we get the chance to fly we’ll FLY OFF FOREVER. THEN YOU’LL UNDERSTAND THE REASON WE DO THE THINGS WE DO BUT THEN IT WILL BE TOO  LATE.  

MICHEL’LE WEBB  

Poetry

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Affairs of The Heart” by Tee Merriweather

on Saturday, October 3, 2009 at 11:37am  

It started out as a simple hello As she walked by while I held open the door What seemed so  innocent lead to a conversation Which lead to secret rendezvous’ at the train station Was this  the beginning of something so wrong Yet it feels like a verse from another sad song Listen I  just want a little bit of your time Chill, relax, and have a few drinks and unwind I’ve been  really stressed and you really ease the pain

Of going home to my husband and doing the same  thing I mean I love him and all, but he doesn’t give me what I need You provide that in my  life baby, you’re all I need I know it’s more complicated than it really sounds Believe me  when I say this, I really need you right now Before you say anything I got this all figured out  We both have significant others that’s without a doubt We can travel to different places just  you and I Where no one know us and we don’t have to hide Think about it we can make this  thing we have work I’ve found what I needed in you so I don’t have to search This will be our  little secret one no one has to know I want you in my life so bad it’s really starting to show 

Think about it will you do that for me please….Looking into my eyes as if it wasn’t easy to see  That she wanted me in her life not for the sex But the mental and emotional stimulation I  didn’t know what to expect Baby girl, let’s keep it real, you know how I feel Trying to juggle  two lifestyles is tough as hell Honestly, I have deep feelings for you as well But this is a risky  situation but only time will tell Are you sure you’re willing to risk everything you have For a  chance to be happy with someone other than your man I’m not saying no because I want the  same Really just trying

to find out if this is some sort of game Games are what I don’t like to  play I’m really into you, but I guess you’re not feeling the same way You’ve got it all wrong,  I’m being serious with this Love is something sacred that I truly do miss When I’m with you  my day seems to change Into a brighter one and it doesn’t feel so strange How you make me  feel just being beside you It’s hard to control myself, there’s so much I wanna do But I got a  lot to lose as well and you’re worth the risk My mind is saying no,

but my heart is screaming  yes Then what’s the problem, let’s just do what we feel is right And not worry about tomorrow, stay with me tonight Keep me safe in your arms and hold me close Together we will be  consumed by a love overdose She don’t have to know and he won’t either I want you next to  me, because I’m so eager To intertwine our bodies in the art of love making Losing all control  of the moment while my body starts shaking Say no more, I’m yours simply for the taking  Together we climb

that ladder of pure ecstasy our heartbeats are pacing As we start, wait  wait wait baby this is so wrong what we are doing Now she’s having a moment of clarity this  is so confusing She’s looking at me with confusion and lust in her eyes All the while ever so  silent she begins to walk away with tears in her eyes I love you but I’m not ready to take that  next step with you My life I’m ready to spend forever, until I die, with you I see nothing  wrong with your hesitation but understand Our worlds are now intertwined even though I  got a girl and you have a man But with all honesty why are

you doing this if you’re heart is  making you think Watching you walk away in tears is making my heart sink I know and I’m  sorry baby, but I run the risk of losing everything Nothing again you, because you make my  heart sing So what’s really the problem if you feel this way Where are these words coming  from that you’re saying At one point, I held you in my arms close to my heart The next minute

you’re saying these things to tear it apart Don’t walk out on what we have, because my  heart can’t take the pain My soul has bonded with you and now you’re walking out again I  meant everything I said, but this is difficult for me You wouldn’t understand the situation  unless you open your eyes and see See what? Your house, your marriage, your kids, I’ve seen  that I’ve taken all into consideration,

did you forget that I’m in the same boat as you are, but  I’m still standing here Giving myself to you letting you know that I’m not going anywhere  But I won’t pressure you into anything that you’re not ready for The last thing I want to see,  is you hurt when you deserve so much more Everything is everything, as I watched her leave  the room Breathing in as much of her perfume as I could possibly consume Watching her  leave was hard for me to see, but it was for the best Hoping that she would come back and  change her mind, if not, I can’t hold my breath… 

I was not looking for no love affair…  

By: Ami Brown  

I was not looking for no love affair  

no hunny not even there  

as many times as I open my eyes  

I just wanted you between my this  

and  

I was not looking for no love affair  

and then this other guy  

 he pulled my hair  

and I was like  

ya maybe  

one night …  

I might  

go there But  

 I’m… still not looking for no love affair  see I feel like I’m waiting in vain for  this one king  

he makes my heart sing  

and he visits me in my dreams….  

and he says these words to me  

that I never heard in me  

and he paints in colors i only see in my dreams    

and this one night he heard me…..  breathing…..  

heart beating…..  

Windows steaming….  

and I was not looking for no love  affair  

I was just passing the time while  you weren’t there  

I was just passing the time while  you were not mine  

and I’m not looking for no love af fair  

And I’m not wait in vain for your  love see  

its your energy from your ancestry  that makes me want to come…  home to you because your energy  is of the one I’m tuned into  and I will bring you what you have  been missing loved one  

shelter from the storms….sun  fresh baked bread for you dread  a bath  

and  

a sexy woman…. A warm bed 

AMI BROWN  

HONORING POETIC  SOCIETY MAGAZINE July 2011

Ise Lyfe Talks to us about Def Jam and life as an educator and Author politics and music and still making time for his poetry.  

Ise Lyfe  

Poet, Activist, Educator, Author and Artist  

A man of many skills talks about his life goals and how he has  

accomplished so much at a young age 

Ld…How do you think your appearance on Def Jam helped your goal on  spreading your craft?  

Lyfe…It was great. Of course being there exposed me to an audience of millions I  didn’t have before. It has also given me a platform to travel nationally. People always reference that performance, it was a great experience.  

Ld…What made you decide to become an activist?  

Lyfe…There was never a moment when I decided to be an activist. I didn’t even  know I was being an activist. I was just looking for an understanding to the root  causes of why my neighborhood looked the way it did, of why our schools were  jacked up, why my father was addicted to drugs and why all these invisible fences  

were up.  

I guess I was activated when I got a job doing regional marketing for Def Jam. It  was the first time I’m traveled out of Oakland and I saw that there were Oaklands  everywhere. The same thing was going on in different hoods all over. That  evolved me and made me want to be a part of changing it.  

Ld…Music…. Poetry…. Community are important to you but  what other aspects of your life people might not be aware of?    

Umm, I feel like I’m always contemplating love. My whole adult life, I’m always  contemplating the joy or turmoil of a relationship and searching for love. You  don’t hear a whole lot about it when I’m on stage but it’s always molding me.  

Also, I like cool things, cool experiences, doing new things. I just like cool experiences. I also get excited about style and fashion. For example, I really like  these Creative Rec Shoes I stumbled on. Now I have like 40 pair of these shoes.  

Ld….If you could create your own network that combined aspect of things you loved what  would air and why?  

Lyfe…If I had my own network there would be programming to include forums on relationships  involving men AND women with discussions centered around relationship issues.  

 I think I would also have an urban business show with a clear way to explain starting and running businesses to an urban audience.  

I think that the reason people don’t get into business is because it seems like some kind of mystified monster so it would be tight if there were programming with examples that talk about  how to start businesses and also had conversations that were relatable.  

I think the network should also have something that ties contemporary hip-hop into old school  hip-hop. Imagine a show where they play the newest songs out at the time, then play the old  music video of the artist who they sampled to make that track. I think that would be a tight  concept.  

Ld…What or I should say who would you want to share a stage with and why would you  think that would be a good mix?  

 Lyfe…I would love to work with Lupe Fiasco, Swiss Beats, or DJ Quick. I would want to open  for alternative rock bands like Modest Mos? I think both our music styles definitely have this  analytical rebellious thing to it. Not so much share a stage with, but really work with.  Ld…What message do you want people to get out of your poetry?  

Lyfe…I think the effect my poetry has on some people is either one of two things: It makes  them think about something that they didn’t think about before or it lets them know that they are  not alone in what they have already been thinking. I would like to continue to have that effect.  

Ld…What do you look forward to when you see a poet for the first time?    

Lyfe…What I’m looking for is to hear someone’s own voice. Not a cliché style and rhythm but  something that is sincere. Even if they are saying something that is the exact opposite of some thing that I would say, as long as it’s sincere.  

Ld….What made you decide to become commissioner of Arts and Affairs for your city?  

Lyfe…Well when I was first approached about it I was “um I don’t know about this,” a city position just sounded like three steps away from being the police to me. But I realized I was having a very naive view of what it would mean to be a commissioner. It turns out that you make  decisions that force the city to fund art in a way that makes sure everyone in Oakland has an  

artistic voice and in fact that is exactly what I wanted to be a part of. 

Ld….Describe your Scholarship program  

Lyfe…When Oscar Grant was murdered different things stood out to me. I took my 9-year-old  nephew to a rally and everything was so negative. When we were riding up he was so excited  about being at this thing. It was his first encounter with social justice advocacy and it wasn’t  “exciting” for lack of a better word then when he goes home and watches a lil Wayne video and  Wayne is talking about death and it sounds beautiful. So we go to a rally talking about freedom  and it sounds sad and dark but Wayne is talking about death and it sounds beautiful. Of course I  wanted to do something about that so we started the Oscar Grant Creative Force Scholarship  Fund. This award goes to young folks that present something, whether it’s an art project, an es say, or any form of art that expresses the kind of community they want to live in or the environment they want to create. Stuff that talks about what they do want and not what they don’t want.  That’s where the idea for the scholarship came from.  

Ld….How would you describe your book to students who never expected to see you in  their schools?  

 Lyfe…I would describe it as something they should read. I would describe it as a look into and  the reflection of the life of a kid growing up in the midst of the crack epidemic. So my book is  hip-hop, it’s resilience, it’s urban but at the same time academic, spoken word, smart ass-y,  funny, sad, but more than anything I think it’s a vulnerable piece.  

Ld…If I went to one of your classes what do you want me to get out of it when I leave?  

Lyfe….I hope that it played a role in you having an honest discourse with yourself. Around  politics, love and spiritual growth.  

Ld…Besides your hometown of East Oakland where would you be surprised to know  that your work is making a difference?  

Lyfe…I think I have had an impact in LA, Chicago. I walked out to a sold out audience in Wisconsin, which was crazy.  

Ld…Its no secret your record sales… so what do you think makes it easy for your audience to relate to them?  

 Lyfe…My audience relates to what I’m doing because it’s related to them.  

Ld…What’s next? What do you want next to happen in your future?    

Lyfe…I hope that one day I’m famous for being a part of a movement that put music and art  back in the right direction. I hope to open a school for children with special powers. I want to  spend some quality years with my mom and I’d be good with that.  

Ld…What advise would you give to people who want to follow your lead and start their 

own business?  

Lyfe…I think the first thing is that whatever it is, do it from a sincere place. That you’re not doing it thinking about the money, let it be that you think the world would be better if it had this.  

The second thing I’d say is it’s really hard to start a business without any capitol. A lot of folks  have a great idea but they don’t have any start up capitol to get the business moving. So have  the idea while you find a way to generate money to start your business.  

Also, some people start a company but they may not be the best person to lead a company. As a  leader, your goal shouldn’t be to make enough money, your goal should be to be effective.  

Ld…If you could add books to the school system what authors would you add and why?    

Lyfe…I think schools should have a whole book, not just a chapter, that addresses the crack epidemic. I think a major void in education is that we don’t talk about what happened in the 1980s  and 1990s and how it affected folks from all different races and economic backgrounds. I think  

children should read the autobiography of Malcolm X. They should read books by George  Carlin, he has some great stories. They should read Earth, Wind and Fire lyrics and Stevie  Wonder songbooks.  

And I think they should read “Pistols and Prayers.”  

Ld…You have a distinctive style why do you think it works so well?  

Lyfe…I think because it’s unique. It’s something people haven’t heard before. It’s not just my  cadence, word choice, or flow. I think it’s just the concepts. Sometimes I wonder if people are  really hearing what I’m saying.  

Ld…What’s your funniest moment so far in your life?  

Lyfe…There has been a lot of funny stuff. Hmm…  

I was in a meeting once at Hewlett Packard and this dude laughed hella hard and farted. The  dude was pretty stiff but someone said something funny and he laughed. Out came this loud fart  and the whole room was shocked. Ha-ha

Blast from HPS Past! David Roberson February 10,2010

We will be going back through out April and May at issues from the beginning of HPS as we reflect from the past to the present. It’s AMAZING to see the people that have honored HPS pages.

How long have you been performing?

David: started singing at church 7 or 8. been rapping since i was 9.  I have always been a character though.

What makes you different from other artists?

David: I’m me.  My compositions are my real thoughts or experience regardless of market value. And I give a show no matter how many show up

How would you describe your style?

David: Era and Style fusion.  Hiphop is the core. I fuse all elements as i see fit at the time. My favorite eras are 60’s/70’s rock/funk and 90s Hiphop/RnB.  It’s a Houston, Louisiana, somewhat East Coast, old school Mississippi church house blend.  I’m getting into classic jazz and blues now. 

What do you think created your passion?

David: don’t know.  It was just there already. I grew up in a singing family.  Just caught the bug one day.  At first i liked to sing, but was scared to perform.  One day i wanted the spotlight.  I was forced to do it at first but once i saw people dug it, that was it. Now its fueled by my desire to complete my mission to bring complete understanding (Total-standing) to the people.

How do you think the artist in you affects the career minded side of you?

David: They conflict all of the time.  I’m at a point now that I don’t care what the industry says.  Anything can sell if properly marketed.  I’m going to do what was meant for me to do, but I’m putting people around me that can visualize how to sell what I do best.  I’m setting myself up for a long lasting career.

Why did you pick the internet as a method to get your talent out for others to hear?

David: Prince proved that you don’t have to have a label behind you to get distribution.  The internet is the ultimate distribution company.  I can chat with people from Guam about real hip hop at 3am.  No limitations.  It’s all about the hustle.

What is the best reaction you had so far from performing & what was the worse?

David: The best was ummmmm…Anytime I get positive feedback i love it, but the best response i ever received wasn’t from a performance.  When hurricane Ike hit Houston/Galveston one of my poet friends called me.  He was displaced because his home in Galveston was destroyed.  He told me that my cd got him through that tuff time.  It let me know to keep doing what i was doing. The worst was when i was a teen my singing group got boo’ed of the stage at an apollo style night at just joking comedy club.  I was hotter than fish grease in a Houston summer.

In your own words what is the difference between spoken word artist & poets?

David: I don’t know exactly.  I’ve never asked anybody what the difference was.  It’s like asking me “which would u rather be called, colored or negro”.  It’s all art to me.  I don’t get into labels like that.  They are all creators in my book.  Some read from pages, some recite theatrically.  They all inspire me to be creative so big ups to the poets/spoken word fam.

How do you think it is possible for poetry to become more mainstream & not looked at in a negative light?

David: The fans have to support the movement.  Recording artist such as my self have to incorporate poetry into the songs.  I have songs with The Black Lotus, AT Alla Tyme, Jerome Washington, Michelle Desiree, Kaleb Israel, and Savannah Blue.  I’m a poet. I just croon/spit my joints.  I got my name in Houston thru the poetry scene.

What advice would you give to someone who wants to come out to the poetry scene?

David: Go! Find out where it’s going down and go.  Check out the experienced spitters and develop your presentation.  It’s a wonderful experience to be amongst the creative minds.  It exercises your intellectual muscles so to speak.

Do you think men dominate the poetry scene & if so why?

David: Hell no!  Poetry is just as much wittiness/game as it is spiritual.  No body has more game than black women.  I can put two sistas that i know up against any dude in the scene anywhere and like their chances.  I’ll put my money on them.  D.E.E.P. is one of the dopest word Smiths I’ve ever heard.  Sunny Patterson is Ice Water! Michelle Desiree, Nikki Black, RAIN, Faylita, Savannah, Mz Jackson, my god man.  I know i missed a few but I cant name everybody in this interview. The fellas are holding their own though. No doubt

What are your thoughts on censoring at poetry spots?

David: Don’t like it if it’s an open mic.  If there is a specific theme like family day, then i understand.  It’s open expression. 

If you could work with any local artist who would that be & why?

David: Wow. Ummmm…Devin The Dude.  He is one of the most creative cats in the game for the last decade and a half.  He’s real humble too.  Poets…Sunny Patterson most definitely. She’s from southern Louisiana and my mamas side of the family is from Patterson.  Right out side of Laffayette and Morgan City.  I love the Boot..  She got a spiritual bounce thing goin on. I really dig that.

what is your main goal with your craft?

David: To elevate the minds and spirits of the masses.  To reawaken the natural spirit of our people.  To travel the world and experience different cultures, and to feed my family for generations to come.

SHOUT OUT!!!!

(THIS IS WHERE THE MIC IS ALL YOURS AND CAN SAY WHATEVER YOU LIKE

Gotta give all praises to the Creator.  My grandparents for raising me right.  My uncle Joe Boy for teaching me everything I know. My mama and daddy for being nasty teenagers and getting me to this side of reality.  My big cousins and homies that kicked my ass and made me tuff.  Everybody that had any influence over me whatsoever.  Carverdale my hood!!! North Pine Drive my 2nd hood.  HTown, Shreveport, The Boot, Dimona Israel.  Ben Ammi, Marcus Garvey, Elijah Muammad, Malcolm X, Muhhammad Ali, Hendrix Mayfield, JB. The Front Line is comin ur way. Street Marinez, Baby Daddy Jefferson, K Rino(SPC).  SI, Dragon Spit, Neo souldiers.  The love of my Life my two children XaVon and Chantel,  All real Djs that keep real hiphop in the ears of the people. The Ancestors.  My man Mike Mo of Beltway 8 records for teaching me how to hustle my own product and not wait on the industry to give me a handout.  P, Mystro, and Leo (AD) Gloc, Dello, and Reddy Redd(RNOC) where i got my start. Die Hard fam. All the righteous example setters around the world. Peace and blessings to my family. Stay Ugly…Sha

Poetry

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

NICKI  BY: LADY D Jan.4,2010

I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR TEXTING MY PHONE

TO TELL ME WHAT MY MAN DOES WHEN IM HOME ALONE

& I GUESS YOU THINK ITS CUTE TO TELL ME WHEN HE TALKS TO YOU

& HOW HE WANTS TO “HANG OUT” WHEN WE DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO….

BUT WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW IS ALL THAT FREAKY SHIT YOU WERE DOING

WAS ME SEEING HOW  STUPID YOU ARE

(& SAGGING BREAST IS NOT MEANT FOR PICTURE TEXT TO BE SENT TO ANYONE!)

YOU SEE THAT JUVINILE BULL SHIT YOU DEAL WITH IS BECAUSE OF ME & THAT LACK OF ENERGY AS WELL

SEE THAT’S WHY HE TRYS TO PLAN  AHEAD BECAUSE AT THAT TIME HE WILL BE DRAINED OUT…DRY!

BUT WHAT I DON’T GET IS WHY YOU DON’T SEND TEXT ABOUT QUALITY TIME OR HOW MY MAN CALLS YOU DAILY ABOUT SPENDING HIS ENDS & HANGING OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS OR EVEN BEING THERE TO WIPE AWAY TEARS & BEING THERE WHEN YOUR ILL!?!

WHERE’S THOSE TEXT? I KNOW I DIDN’T DELETE THEM…I KNOW!

YOU NEVER SENT THEM!!!

BUT IM SUPPOSE TO BE INTEMIDATED BY A FRESHLY MADE G.E.D. TURNED IM GUESSING

COMMUNITTY COLLEGE  BOUND DEGREE GHETTO CHILD THAT DOESN’T KNOW

SHE’S MESSING WITH A MEDICAL DEGREE THAT  CAN  SEE  THAT  YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE

& THOUGHT YOU STEP IN & SEE HOW YOU FIT INTO  MY EQUASTION

NOT VERY WELL YOU SEE CUZ THAT MAN YOU THOUGHT YOU GET IS STILL WITH ME & I DON’T GIVE HIM ENDS OR CLOTHES NOT EVEN SHOES TO PUT ON HIS FEET OR EVEN A PLACE TO  SLEEP

YOU TRY & YET HE STILL COMES BACK TO ME…SOOO WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU?

IF YOUR PUSSY CANT GET HIM THREW YOUR DOOR & YOUR BRAIN CANT MAKE HIM WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE & YOUR FUNDS ISNT ENOUGH TO MAKE HIM LEAVE MY BED..HOW DO YOU FIGURE YOU GOT A TASTE OF MY LIFE?

LITTLE GIRL THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE HIM & HE GIVES YOU HIS SMILE & ASK YOU IF YOU GONNA “HANG OUT” WITH HIM

TRUST I WONT BE THERE & HE MIGHT SHOW UP BUT THAT RON DAY VOU YOU THINK YOU ABOUT TO DO…

ISNT WORTH THE SHIT HE WILL GO THROUGH  TO REGAIN THE LIFE HE HAD BEFORE HE DECIDED TO PLAY WITH YOU

& SINCE ALL YOU GOT IS A TEXT IM NOT SHAKING TO MY TOES BUT LAUGHING AS I LAY NEXT TO HIM AS WE READ YOUR JUVENILE SEDUCTION PLEE  &  CONTINUE TO PLAY WITH YOU TOGETHER TIL YOU GET THE COMMON SINCE TO GO FIND YOUR OWN MAN &  CLOSE YOUR LEGS YOUR GIVING PICTURE TEXT  A BAD IMAGE TO DISPLAY!

The Sun (Son)

There are times when we want to grow,
but we are locked in the rear view mirror screaming
and pointing north, relax mon, soon come.

What if there were 10,000 suns to warm your cheeks and we could contain the heat
decipher it in doses like small bits and pieces
like break beats decode the rays of the suns and turn them into love beams and shoot them across mountain tops and push them past the wind to loves that have gone m.i.a.
Because they got dough and changed,
or became estranged because they were only used to having one sun.
so they became like lightening in the sky and run, run,
across grass lands and such
from the son they run, run…
And due to their absence there daughters become lost    
but they continue to run, run….
Soon an eclipse rips at your heart and flows through the canals and chambers
of the love muscle that has bit off more then in can chew
so pressure makes your blood run, run…high on clouds
looking up you count them and there are nine
clicking Kodak fast your 3rd eye captures the picture
and in the glimpse of that damn rear view mirror you are still
shouting,
conscious only of 10,000 suns that have burned the remnants
of your emotions left blowing in the cruel ease of the wind…

Denise D. Cooper–August 4,2010

Sebastian Iturralde

If you follow my post you have seen passages from this author and I’m happy to say he is finally writing his novel and have been given a chance to share his progress and share with you more of his brilliant work. I will post his link if you would want more of his work and helping him with his growth as he continues to write.

The Infinite Ladder
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1

A CROWD SURROUNDED THE ARENA, the screams made their words hard to make out.

The referee struggled to keep his eyes open, watching from a distance as the crowd jumped in excitement. Everyone was looking forward to the upcoming fight, while the referee only thought about keeping his posture upright —the lights reflecting on his suit, exclusively brought in from Italy for the occasion, made it shine. There was nothing to worry about; he kept his mind on other, unrelated, thoughts.

The referee was standing a few steps from the stage. Thousands of fans shouted, wearing their team colors, trying to get attention, in support of the combatants. There was a palpable energy to the enthusiasm and excitement of the crowd—but, of course, no less was to be expected. This was the final of the World Cup.

The fans couldn’t wait for the show to start, of course; they had paid to be present. So their passionate screams made the columns of the place vibrate, they were about to start a revolt. When the referee entered the arena the noise ended, although, after a few seconds, they went back to their euphoria.

The referee took the microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen… today’s battle will determine the champion of the world,” he almost shouted in his deep voice. “From Australia, with five world championships and the current champion of the world, LT.”

LT took the stage, he raised his arms holding the champion’s belt—his movements beginning to lead the audience, little by little the crowd synchronized their screams, the letters L and T were repeated over and over again. LT walked slowly to the center of the stage—there was no doubt, he was the champion. The referee had introduced hundreds of participants, people who achieved fame for an instant but disappeared as quickly as they arrived. This boy was different.

“From Cuba, we have the contender, with a professional record of twenty-five wins and one loss. Hurricane,” the referee continued, raising his left hand.

Hurricane entered the stage, walking enthusiastically, but the atmosphere was different. The audience looked curiously at the contender. He was one of them—a few weeks ago no one knew him.

“Greet each other,” said the referee and took a step back.

LT nodded, standing silently. He looked calm—which gave him security. Hurricane had not been to the final of the world championship before, he did not know the procedure to follow. Hurricane had to respect the hierarchy and approach the champion, in the same way, that others had shown their respect for him in the past.

LT looked down, wanting to have his wristwatch within reach, then looked up to see Hurricane’s face. He seemed to be stuck in time, his eyes staring into space behind LT. The referee looked confused, turning the microphone in his right hand, concerned by the awkward silence of the arena.

“Okay,” LT said quietly, “I’ll try not to hurt you, too much.”

Hurricane hid the relief on his face. A step forward made them meet in the middle. This was the first victory, maybe a small one—but it was important to gain some ground before the battle began.

LT shook his hand tightly. “I’m going to clean this floor with you.”

“You’re going to try,” Hurricane corrected.

“I expect a fair fight,” the referee said as he stepped between the fighters.

Hurricane felt the cold of uncertainty take him completely.

The referee smiled; he enjoyed watching the participants before the show started, but they didn’t even notice him. Good luck guys, was what he meant, but it was better to let them fight their demons alone.

LT walked slowly. Hurricane was unpredictable. He had seen him participate, but having him, face to face was not the same as hearing…stories.

I just have to be aware of my actions and keep the focus on my goal, Hurricane thought, his gaze on the black cube at the side of the stage. You just have to look at him as an ordinary person. You’re ready for this—you’ve trained and you’ve trained—we’re going to win. Focus on your goal, a lucky streak, and who knows.

Hurricane kept walking, and LT turned to watch. He never thought he would meet such a great opponent, even if they existed—in most competitions, the contenders had been college kids and more academics than athletes—but seeing Hurricane with his sturdy body and strong arms… LT knew he wouldn’t have a normal fight—having to compare his abilities seemed unnecessary—but for now, LT had to put on a show for his audience.

Hurricane turned to see LT, who was preparing his equipment in front of the entrance of the other cube. Hurricane had always been at a disadvantage, struggling to move a little further ahead, dreaming of achieving the impossible. He knew his only option to be the best was to become the strongest, not only in body but also in mind.

I must concentrate, he thought. Everything points to him lowering his defenses due to his superiority, I must let him think he can win…

The newcomer smiled again. If I can catch him off guard, the element of surprise will be in my favor. But would Hurricane be able to gain the advantage he needed, if he managed to pretend to be weaker? His talent was different from others. If he was only able to take a punch and pretend, he might have a chance to deliver a deadly blow.

Hurricane dropped his gown. One of the men from his team took it before it reached the floor, others verified that his gloves were properly adjusted, all sure that there were no problems with the equipment. They didn’t want to share their fears with Hurricane. They hoped to win. They would have to stay out of the cube. That was the most difficult part for the team members: they became other spectators helplessly watching the fight from a distance.

Hurricane froze when the man at the cube’s door called out to him. Their eyes crossed, a spark—no, a fire—began to burn inside. Hurricane was used to the feeling, just before the show started. Hurricane took a step calmly, all thoughts were forgotten, there was only one goal in his mind.

LT frowned at the ineptitude of one of his assistants. Are they paid to get in the way? They swirl around me like vultures waiting to see my fall, their clothes clean thanks to my contributions, it’s so difficult to distinguish between them. LT stopped, searching among his assistants. Trying to find the one who was wearing his glasses… but he couldn’t see him or where he could be.

No way. This can’t be. That man can’t have disappeared with my glasses. He must earn more than they cost, regardless, he would have to sell them.

LT looked up. “Alex!” he lost control.

The trusted aide approached. “Yes my lord?”

LT spun around, looking off into the distance. He kept raising his hands pretending to put on his glasses.

“My lord?” Alex asked again.

LT waited, standing, looking curiously. It only took a couple of seconds for Alex to turn and run.

After all, it was just servitude.

Hurricane had heard stories.

He had heard whispers of life before machines, long ago, when men had to work in the intense sun to grow their food. Times when automation did not take care of everything; when it was difficult to have a plate of food, and people did not live in virtual fantasies. Times before the robotic revolution. Those days, sadly, were almost forgotten.

Hurricane stared at the open door, his eyes focused on the light coming from inside the cube. He was silent for a moment, focusing on his sensations. The day was about to begin; a few more steps to enter the cube.

Eventually, Hurricane sighed, followed by the first step between him and his fate. He tried to walk calmly—although he wasn’t sure why. The spectators turned into a disorganized mess. Euphoric, shouting without order, it was as if no one was looking at him.

The inside of the cube was illuminated. Hurricane managed to see the images through the door, the monitors were turned on and synchronized so that one could enter that virtual world. The interior was empty; there was no need for tools, for Hurricane imagination was enough. To enter that world the players had to synchronize.

I can do this, Hurricane thought as he climbed the steps that would lead him into the cube. He breathed and flowed. He entered a room with five screens completely covering the walls and ceiling.

The noise ended that instant. Hurricane felt the door close, then began to move his hands. The monitors showed the system interface, but the options changed faster than he could read them. Only Hurricane knew what was happening, of course. Anyone looking at him would find his control extraordinary.

“Welcome, Hurricane,” said the voice of the system, the sweet, melodious voice of a lady. “How may I be of help?”

Her words broke the silence, and Hurricane felt the peace only the virtual world could provide. An invitation appeared on the screen, too, he saw its countdown begin.

“The game will start in five minutes,” said iB, the system that ran Hurricane’s orders. “Good luck and have fun.”

“Check the calibration of my equipment.” Hurricane said. “There can be no mistakes.” He smiled, shaking his arms and jumping to warm his muscles. He had a toned body, taut and attractive as if he had dedicated his life to sports.

LT yawned. By then he was more a machine than a man. A red hoodie covered his slim body—he must have weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. However, his robotic limbs add to his weight dramatically.

“Computer, start syncing,” LT said sternly. His movements were a little quicker to read, his robotic parts directly connected to the computer. When a player acts the most important aspect is the time for the system to receive the signal, LT had a slight advantage over his opponents.

“Synchronization complete,” the computer said.

LT waited with his eyes almost closed and his arms crossed, his feet firmly on the floor inside the cube. His expression was of boredom.

The referee smiled, walking forward. “Are you ready? We are seconds away from starting the count… ten, …” He let go of the microphone and turned.

The screen in front of the audience showed the countdown, the numbers steadily changed, leading to the screams of the crowd. Some people fell silent in anticipation, although most shouted the numbers when they appeared on the screen. The referee stopped for an instant, listening to the screams of the people, the sound of voices crashing against his body.

“Fight!” The words that everyone had heard at each start of the game, the order of the game.

Hurricane found himself in the middle of a burning city, he analyzed his surroundings and began to run. You must be alert…concentrate.

* * *

In one of the buildings of the city hosting the World Cup, a group of well-dressed men waited patiently.

If only they knew, Fortin thought. “Well, it’s time to start the attack.” He raised his arm for the servant to bring him another drink. “We’re doing the right thing—it would be a shame to waste our ability to know what is best for the people.”

Everyone in the room was attentive to his words. This was the real reason for having him as a leader—the reason why a group of civilians managed to form an army, the man that was going to give them back their place in the world, eradicating the machines. A revolutionary—the danger of any society—but the man they needed.

“The order has been given,” Beatrix said. “Our troops have begun to take the entrances to the city.” She spoke confidently, and the other members of the Eleven listened carefully. Tomorrow the city will be theirs, the Eleven will have the power to eliminate the robots and enforce their laws. The city needed a change, but the people didn’t know how to achieve it.

“Tomorrow we’ll have a new nation,” said Fortin, “and we’ll live free from the oppressive hand. We cannot continue to accept that our work has no value. In the new world, in Bocoy, there will be no machines to control us. We’ll make people work for what they deserve, no more bums in the world.”

“And how are we going to achieve that?” Damien asked.

“A thousand apologies,” said Fortin, “I had forgotten you were still here. When the time comes to consider your concerns we will, for now, we are at war.”

Damien frowned: The new city was going to need a person like him, and it was better to save this argument for another day. “Agreed,” Damien said. “Do you know the consequences of our actions? We are following you to a possible death sentence; the only way to stay alive is to win this war. You are an excellent leader—your voice is capable of leading crowds, you like to be heard. You speak, sharing your dreams and your lies, but tomorrow we are going to have to take the reins of this nation.”

Fortin raised an eyebrow. “Easy, Mr. de la Vela,” he said. “Your worries have no basis. Because I don’t need my voice to be heard. You, on the other hand, need it.” With that Fortin got up and pointed to a large map in front of them. The map of the city had markings in all the places where the troops and armaments were located. Large squares marked the anti-aircraft missiles.

The memory of transporting the missiles flashed through Damien’s mind. He lowered his gaze.

Fortin placed his hands on his hips. “Sincerely. You know, we have planned the revolution for years, Damien will know what to do when the time comes. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and live in the present.”

Beatrix interrupted the discussion. “All access to the city has been closed,” she assured, bringing her hand to the table. “My men are ready for the second stage.”

“Brilliant,” Fortin said. “Begin the second stage. The world must have been alerted to our attack, we must act before they can react.”

Beatrix stood by the Eleven’s table. “The order has been given.”

Dozens of trucks were ready at each access to the city. The waiting militia still didn’t know what was happening, until the orders arrived. In a few minutes, the trucks passed through the gateways, and the armed men, fighting for the revolution, saw the trucks go by and once again blocked the gates to the city.

Fortin turned, staring at the red dots entering the map and spreading throughout the city. Waiting for camly: Everything was planned to perfection. Armed men could make mistakes. For them, orders are decisive—it’s rare to see one disobey without fear in their eyes.

* * *

“What’s happening?” Hurricane said when he felt the Cube shake.

“Down, everyone down,” said an armed man as he entered the coliseum. The first gunshot showed the seriousness of his orders. “Nobody moves.”

“Easy, everything is going to be alright,” said the referee, grabbing the microphone. “It’s not necessary to use force, we’re unarmed.”

The referee stopped. Another armed man came up on stage and took the microphone. The men in green uniforms carrying guns looked like trained soldiers. They were ready for a battle; few people would be able to go through their training, and worse still reach their level of obedience.

“Don’t be afraid,” Melissa said as she took the microphone, “we’re going through a transition process.”

The frightened crowd stared at the woman in the middle of the stage.

Melissa sighed. “From today you and all the people who’ve entered the city will not be able to leave. We have a new leader, and a promise, we will live free from machines.”There was a tone of responsibility or guilt in Melissa’s voice.

“What are you talking about?” asked a woman in the crowd, with a challenging tone. “Are we your slaves, now?”

“At least we’ll be free from the machines,” Melissa said. “I know that there may be problems along the way. Our leader will know how to guide us, and thus we can create a better future. You are part of the change, but I wonder if you are willing to do your part.”

“This is insane,” a man said before being hit in the stomach with the butt of a rifle by one of the armed men. “We must flee,” another yelled and the crowd began to run.

Melissa shook her head. “They have nowhere to escape,” she whispered.

Jacinto looked concerned. “There are too many of them, lieutenant. I don’t think we can handle the crowd with our available men.”

Melissa smiled. “Nobody leaves the place.” She stopped, smiled again. “I think it’s time to communicate with the barracks.”

“How are you so calm?” Jacinto asked, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“You smile so much.”

“I enjoy my work.”

Hurricane was peeking through a small gap between the doors…I can’t get caught—and I must find a way out of here. Better not to imagine what will happen in a revolution. Hurricane opened the door to look outside. Luck or death, it’s now or never.

Melissa was in front of the cube in which the world champion was located. A brilliant mind for sure, but she couldn’t understand the need for such a man. She looked at him unimpressed. “Are you LT?”

LT looked at the militia outside the cube, and for an instant LT thought that this was just one of the missions he had in his game. But, eventually, LT shook his head. “Yes, it’s me. Don’t hurt me, please. My family will give you everything you ask for.”

Hurricane took the opportunity to sneak under the cube. It would be difficult to find him hiding there, under the platforms that held the cube, but even worse now that he was looking for a better hiding place. People piled up at the doors, screaming for help in despair. Despite his shock and surprise, Hurricane remained focused.

He found a way.

It was easy for him, after all his years of experience. Always drawn to running through obstacles, adrenaline began to rush through his veins. He pushed himself to run and escape, unseen. He felt a fire inside of him, a power he little understood. That force gave him clarity as he moved, he reached the back of the stage.

For an instant his mind made decisions a little faster, forcing his senses to stay alert. The space around him was clear, he calculated the steps required to reach a window. He pushed himself onto a desk, fell on top of a sideboard, and most importantly reached the edge of an open window. The sounds seemed distant as he hung from outside the window, freedom within his reach. He only needed to let go.

Staring at the crowd trying to escape, other militants caught Melissa’s attention.

“We can’t find the boy,” said one of her men, his voice low with the fear of failure. “We’ll continue to search and keep you informed.”

Melissa nodded. “I cannot emphasize enough the importance of finding that boy. Go and don’t come back until you find him.”

The crowd seemed to calm down as the time passed. With patience, Melissa was able to wait in silence. The noise diminished. The distant sounds diminished like the echo of what was, and she felt it was time to maintain control.

Melissa turned. “It’s useless, the faster you accept reality, the better you will be.”

A man lamenting to himself. “This is not right—are you going to kill us if we don’t obey? I don’t want to be part of this revolution.”

Those were Fortin’s orders. Melissa couldn’t lose control of the situation—free people create problems when change is sought.

The noise had stopped, but anger began to erupt with the crowd held hostage. Being trapped raised old fears. They kept looking for another way out.

Slowly, Hurricane hung on until he decided to go back inside. If what they say is true, I will never be able to escape if they find me in the streets.

Melissa looked disapproving. Then, through the frustration of having a crowd who doesn’t understand her goals, she forced herself to smile. “I’m not here to take away your freedom. I just want you to be safe when the aircraft arrives.”

With that, she dropped the mic and walked away from the stage.

* * *

Fortin got restless with the arrival of the night. The more time that passes, the harder it is to wait. This was particularly true that night, as there was no response from the world’s government.

Fortin hoped that they would do the right thing and make the right choice. But, that prospect seemed unlikely; Fortin had seen the fire in the eyes of the world leaders. It was a shame that he had to go to this extreme—a war—to be heard, trying to make the world a better place.

How would the Prime Minister react? He is said to be a man with a firm hand in matters of disobedience. If this act of war managed to pique his interest, Prime Minister Jefferson could easily bomb the entire city.

Eventually, some members of the Eleven chose to retire. Fortin waited on his chair—with pain in his bones, his back complaining, his muscles exhausted—trying to decide the next step. Every day, he almost gave up. Every day, it became more difficult. One day, he would no longer be there to help them, all his life’s work without someone to continue it.

But not today. He could see the uncertainty in the eyes of his colleagues—they knew this decision would create conflict. They needed Fortin; they admired him. He had to keep waiting in his place.

And so he did. Once he got up, the pain began to dissipate slightly, and he was able to wait a little longer, a glass of liquor in hand to keep him company.

It was then that he heard a missile being fired. “What was that?” he asked. “Are we being attacked?”

The screen—where one could see the map of the city—changed. The image was now that of a flying missile, with the sunlight hiding on the horizon behind a curtain of orange clouds.

“Sooner or later this was going to happen,” Beatrix said. “They don’t understand our cause.”

“No,” Fortin said, feeling increasingly apprehensive. “This will change everything.” He turned to look at the members of the Eleven who were still in the room. He placed both of his hands against the table, pressing hard, trying to move it but it was impossible.

Some were missing from the table, Fortin found Damian’s place empty. His right-hand man, the person who was by his side from the beginning, always supported him. The other members looked tired but surprised.

“What is going to happen now?” Gaston asked. “We made a riot to get their attention, quite a show. They must be ready to negotiate, but attacking them…I don’t care what you say, I don’t want to be a part of this. I hope you think about the consequences.”

Gaston got up in a hurry. The rest of them had their eyes on the screen. There was nothing more important. Something was very wrong. Gaston kept walking, moving quickly towards the door.

But by the time he reached the door, the others watched the missile hit the plane and explode. Gaston did not manage to leave the room, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard the explosion.

The metal from the missile casing shattered. Only a slowly dissipating dark spot remained on the screen.

The army leaders, trying to find out what was happening, also watched the explosion on the screens of the world’s command center.

“Oh my God!” General Arturo said. “What has happened?”

“They were killed. They killed them all.”

Arthur turned. Everyone at the command center was alarmed. He stood still, staring at one of the screens, his eyes wide open in surprise.

“Retreat,” he demanded. “Order all planes to return to base. We cannot risk more lives to find out what is happening in that place. Someone put me through to the Prime Minister.”

“Sir,” Arthur said when the call was answered. “They have anti-aircraft missiles, there is no way to get close.”

Jefferson nodded.

“What kind of madman is behind all this?” Jefferson asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Arturo replied.

But we’re going to find out, thought Arturo. And how was he going to do it? They are locked in a city with two million people. There must be hundreds if not thousands of armed men.

The words of the last communication they’d received sounded in his head.

Better days are yet to come…

“But what do we do now?” Jefferson asked, scared. “What will happen to all those people? They must expect us to do something. The citizens of the world trust our ability to protect them, or do you think they’ll find another way to defend themselves? Why would someone do something like this? They don’t understand the damage they have caused.”

“They understand,” Arturo said. “Something like this was bound to happen.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s impossible to keep everyone happy, so they reached their limits.”

Jefferson went pale.

Oh my God, Jefferson thought. I cannot do this. I can barely keep the rest of the world in order—I can’t save all those people.

But what other alternative did he have?

Jefferson frowned. “Gather the generals, Arturo. I must speak to them immediately.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”

“It’s best to keep this private for as long as possible,” Jefferson said. “The fewer people know about this mishap, the better.”

Arthur sighed. “I will do my best. But… it will not be easy.”

“Do what you can,” Jefferson said, “or we’ll have the press all over the place.”

Jefferson froze, and Arthur thought the surprise of all this might have been too much. Eventually, however, Jefferson closed the call.

Arturo sighed, looking around at his entire work team, cursing the man who created this problem.

Indeed, better days would come.

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