RMiddleton

I suggest that the United States needs to do much more than elect better people under the current constitution. A peaceful revolution is called for.

The right is right. Under the US constitution and historical tradition, the right is in keeping with American values. Liberals are wrong when we have said:

America is exceptional

America is the greatest country on earth

Bigotry, hate; and murder are not who we are as Americans

America values equality

None of the above are true. All of the above are wishful. Trump and his cronies are the heirs to the slave-owning founders, to Polk, to Jackson, to Jim Crow, to Woodrow Wilson, to FDR, to Nixon, to Reagan, and to the Supreme Court for all but a very few years.

The United States has never stood for equality. I'm not so much saying this in anger as with a clear eyed coldness. The nice words in the revered documents are lies. They are marketing materials. It's quite clear that the professions of equality are lies; simply look at the laws.

I will expand on this soon. I'm tired. Hugs!

I live inside my mind. I view my number one task as survival. Before I can do anything else well I must sustain myself. What am I? A consciousness in a body. But I think more accurate to say a conscious body. My senses supply information that I interpret using emotion, aided by memory.

I am sitting in the sun enjoying a recording of a violin concerto by Saint-Saëns as I write this. Why so I like the sound of this music? And the nearby splashing water that I can hear? Why do I dislike the sounds of loud motors, and shouting, and most human broadcasts?

I try to keep the election far from my mind. I'm a white man. If I wanted I could pass as straight. I fantasize myself organizing a meeting in which I, crying no doubt, say to a group of Trump voters: “I think of you as evil people. And I am scared of you. Why am I wrong to feel this way?” The responses that I imagine would be defensive, righteous indignation, and filled with factual errors they all learned from intentionally lying sources. And they would be demonstrating their own emotions in response.

If I think anything like this I just get stuck. It's been this way for decades. It's why “good whites” cannot reach our relatives, neighbors, and coworkers.

I can't get stuck. To go on I focus on the Saint-Saëns, followed by They Might Be Giants, and everything else I'm checking out from the library to keep my spirit afloat. James Baldwin. Poetry. Abolitionist history. A film about fascist Italy. Aretha Franklin.

I'm changing me. Change the world? Maybe tomorrow...

I love what I do so much. A snarketarian might say, “What the fick do you do? You have no daily job that produces income!” And that is true.

Here's what I do:

Now I'm waiting for a telehealth call from my pain doctor. Improving my physical condition is essential for me to do anything else. I'm happy to be working on this goal with help.

I'm talking to friends and new friends and neglected friends and physician assistants and neighbors and random folk — all with joy and respect. I'm not at my best every moment so I'd rate myself as spreading 93% joy. I see results in my effect on others.

I'm cleaning my house. A little every day. With joy. I'm keeping an assortment of plants alive. I'm inviting visitors over.

I'm cooking every meal at home, happily.

I'm walking and stretching every day.

I'm enjoying nature so much.

I'm celebrating human culture with books, videos, and music all free from the library. I'm so happy about that.

I may use equipment at the library to digitize some old family items. I feel good about that.

Is there more? What else is there?

I'm sharing my journey openly. I feel very satisfied with that evolution of my art practice.

---

What I'm not doing: feeling mad, sad, bitter, jealous, greedy, impatient, or bored.

I know how to be happy!

conversation excerpts between new friends from different worlds

Whenever he spoke of his home Starling grew so agitated that his slight, frail frame seemed vibrating, boiling within, ready to burst. His skin changed color! Not to the extent that the rock lizard visibly shifts its color, but significantly. Earthling was concerned.

Starling's pulse quickened, breaths grew shallow, tegument pigmentation intensified. He spat-spoke, “Living on a planet once teeming with life my species believed they were all that mattered. We thought we were the only intelligent creatures. Because we used tools, we said. Until we paid attention to all the others who also used tools! Then we had to find other reasons.”

“Here too,” our Earthling representative echoed his alien friend, in a tone meant to affirm yet calm. Agreeing not challenging is the way to encourage change, E. knew. With nonchalance: “If not tools, language, then it's emotion,” Earthling laughed wistfully, “And whaddya know? Other critters do all that stuff!”

“Yeah,” Starling snorted, still sulking but surprised at his genuine comfort in knowing his species wasn't uniquely arrogant. Surprised how quickly he felt some commonality — familiarity — with the Earthling. His anger faded only because his focus shifted to his host. Amiable, intelligent, admirable even. Still a little hard for Starling to look at. He must keep his shameful feelings of disgust a secret from his only hope for survival. He will work on these feelings on his own time, he decided. Earthling interrupted his pondering, or it may be more correct to say no time had passed at all.

“We did finally learn one legit thing that separates us from all other species on the planet.” He was waiting for Starling to be ready.

Resuming full attention, taking interest in what the Earthling had said, Starling asked, “Oh? What is it?” He wondered if it would hold true of his species as well, though he could never know for sure anymore.

“Our lives are a progression of doing one thing while thinking about another.”

Is this a joke, Starling wondered. His expression must have betrayed his thought, because E. added, “I'm serious! Of all the species on this planet mine is the only one capable of doing one thing while thinking something else. I don't know how they proved it, it isn't my field. Something about object permanence I think and distractability, attention disorders...” he faded off.

Starling looked directly at his companion. Damn if I don't like this guy! “I still don't think I understand what you're staying.”

“Oh that's all right, neither do the scientists. But they definitely believe it. They are conducting additional tests. It's unending right?”

He's laughing at me. With me? Starling wondered. I think he's smiling. Hard to tell. Do they even have the same emotions and language use? So far it feels like yes but... S. knows he is completely at sea. Asea. Aspace.

“Live in the moment,” the sages have said. “Be as the creatures of the sea and air, with no worry burdening them down.”

“Damn. Yes, I see.”

#BobbHamilton #AfricanAmericanPoetry #BlackPoetry #DiversifyWikipedia

Yesterday I went to my city's main public library. I don't know what's going on with them, but the two books I searched in advance & went there to get were not on the shelf despite the catalog saying that they are. I received very peculiar service from a young man who assured me “the next time you come in I'll make sure those books are there” without taking any written note of the books.

Nevermind all that though, because I went in there for poetry & I left with poetry! So much poetry in one small volume, I won't be surprised if I have to renew this loan once or maybe even twice. While looking for the books that were not there I picked up an interesting little book titled You Better Believe It. I opened to a random page and read absolute fire from a Black American. It was always my intention to check out 3 poetry books, the two I scoped in advance (by Naomi Shihab Nye & Jericho Brown) and one that caught my eye.

You Better Believe It: Black Verse in English from Africa, the West Indies, and the United States selected and annotated by Paul Breman. That link opens a short Wikipedia entry that begins: Paul Breman (Bussum, 19 July 1931 – London, 29 October 2008) was a Dutch writer, bookseller and publisher. There is no entry for poet Bobb Hamilton. Here is the brief bio within You Better Believe It (see image below):

Bobb Hamilton comes from Cleveland, Ohio, where he was born 16 December 1928 and attended school right through Ohio State University, from which he obtained a B.Sc. (psychology and philosophy) in 1950. Since then he has made his home mainly in New York, where he has found more scope for his many-sided talents as an artist. For Bobb Hamilton is not just a versatile writer who can turn his hand with equal facility to reportage or poetry, he is just as adept in the visual arts as a painter, a sculptor, and a ceramist. He has actually taught art for a considerable time, in the New York City Welfare Department, and has used the experience in his work as therapist at a hospital. Since 1968 he has been instructor in black literature and history at Queen's College, New York. His involvement with the whole of the new movement in black art is deep and of long standing. Officially listed as its 'East Coast editor' or 'New York representative', it seems to be very much Hamilton who has, for nearly ten years, held together Soulbook, the 'quarterly journal of revolutionary afroamerica' with its early third-world commitment, emphasis on socio-economics, and surprisingly strong poetry sections (which range from Baraka and Kgositsile to Ho Chi Minh). More recently Hamilton has also become the editor of Black Caucus for the Association of Black Social Workers.

Do you not feel, as I do, that this Black artist deserves a Wikipedia entry as much as the white European publisher who brought his work to my attention? I am a humanist, celebrating the good of humanity. It's fine that Bremer merits an entry. But why not Bobb Hamilton? I feel like I know why.

Truly I am grateful to Paul Bremer because this volume is FULL of what looks to be great poets, most of whom I have never been exposed to. And I think Bremer's biographical sketches convey due admiration for these poets. I suppose the bio in this book should not be copied over in its entirety to a new wikipedia entry, but uh... Well, that point is moot for me because I do not currently have a wikipedia account. I would be pleased if someone who reads this post created an entry.

When I learn something new that I am interested in I quite enjoy taking the time to learn more. There's plenty for me to peruse via this DuckDuckGo result for poet Bobb Hamilton. For now I will try to expand upon what's in the bio above.

Soulbook · No wikipedia entry · 9 issues of Soulbook imaged at Archive.org · Soulbook mentioned in 2016 blog post on Kalam ya Salaam's The Magic of Juju — check out Kalam ya Salaam's The Magic of Juju at Archive.org

I'm embarrassed to say I did not know who Keorapetse Kgositsile was. From wikipedia:

South African poet and political activist (1938-2018) Keorapetse William Kgositsile, also known by his pen name Bra Willie, was a South African Tswana poet, journalist and political activist.

I am likewise clueless of Amiri Baraka, “American writer of poetry, drama, fiction, essays, and music criticism. He was the author of numerous books of poetry and taught at several universities.”

I have a feeling I'm going to experience white American cluelessness over and over again throughout You Better Believe It. I plan to read this book cover to cover and will probably have more to say here & on Twitch/YouTube, Instagram, & Mastodon.

I do not want to end without noting that very few women are represented in this poetry collection. My next library visit will correct that omission.

Poetry is coming back into my life with a vengeance as a survival strategy. Many mornings my whole life I've struggled to get out of bed. And would you believe the invention of the iPhone didn't help? No, I'm afraid picking that thing up first thing in the morning is not a ray of sunshine. Even when I use it for good, life-affirming purposes I am very likely to see some notification or news that brings me down. The instant that I connect to an outside source the unrelenting pace of information starts. When taking my mind from sleeping to waking I prefer to open my consciousness slowly. I find slowing down to be the key component to good decision making and a happy mood. I'm resolving to keep poetry books by my bed as an alternative to starting my day with the iPhone onslaught. I will try thumbing through and reading a few to get inspired for the day ahead. Poems are the original microblogging platform.