A Delicate Matter

Handle with care, a heart's fragility should not be tested
Consider letting hopes dissolve rather than shatter
Softly, softly, as you deflect ambitions
Gently disappoint as you deny dreams
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

Feign concern even when dispensing home truths
For even the most worldly can be reduced by sentiment
Tenderness when ascending the heights of tough love
Have mercy. Even seasoned performers must remove their masks
Caution, my friend, take heed, for this is a delicate matter

Delicate Matter, a playlist

Some delicacies for your aural pleasure, a soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Chan's Song by Jacky Terrason & Cassandra Wilson
• Tenderly by Jose James and Jef Neve
• Wild is the Wind by Amel Larrieux
• My Ship by Jacky Terrason & Cassandra Wilson
• For All We Know by Jose James and Jef Neve
• Try your Wings by Amel Larrieux
• Tea for Two by Jacky Terrason & Cassandra Wilson
• Embraceable You by Jose James and Jef Neve
• Don't Let me Down by Amel Larrieux

File under: life, love, culture, observation, perception, relationships, social, regret, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log. April 27, 2022

Poised

Between a dream and a nightmare lies a twilight zone of opportunity
This is the terrain of the great game, the proving grounds of destiny

Where some hope for change, for better days ahead
Others are more cynical about the prospects

Dreams never truly fade, their traces live in liminal stories
Revived even as, heads down, we dodge stones of adversity

Clear-eyed about the pace of change, forever waiting for the shoe to drop
Demons may have more fun but angels are more likely to inherit the earth

Poised, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Inherit the Wind by Wilton Felder & Bobby Womack
• Juffure by Grover Washington, Jr.
• I Choose You by Paris
• Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea by Ella Fitzgerald

After reading Helon Habila's Waiting for an Angel and Ahmadou Kourouma's En Attendant Le Vote Des Betes Sauvages

File under: culture, observation, perception, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: February 20, 2022

The Last Holdouts

The last holdouts, it's come to this
The Walker brothers would be leaving this place
Yes, they'd delayed the purchase for months and strung things out
But now time was up, they had to move out of the house

At least the two of them had made a stand
Scrap dealers, their hustle was hard
The mountain of bikes scavenged for parts
Machinery under the tarp

Old man Jackson would be the very last holdout
His house on the other side of the tracks
Specialist in all styles, you had to respect him
The end of an era, and now it's come to this

...

Down by the train tracks, the very last patch
On the east side, past the highway
Bad soil, badlands
Bordered by the railway and the creek
Cul-de-sac
Halfway houses
Depression era bungalows
Functional and plain homes for our kind of folk
Featuring Terry's stealth restaurant in one of the backyards
One of his jook joint ideas that didn't go nowhere
Left with barbecues, conversation and soul food
Frankie Beverly and Maze blaring,
Cheap malt, it was all good
And now the blues grinder is over, it's come to this

...

Bars, heavy iron burglar bars over the windows
During the crack years it wasn't far from a combat zone
Drugs, man, I tell you, a hell of a thing
Charnel houses, dens of iniquity, they saw it all
And if it wasn't dope, well all vices could be bought
Mind you, there were fifteen churches within the six blocks
Sin and redemption were the nosy neighbors
It was hard to tell which you would end up crashing with
The churches too are moving out, it's come to this

...

Now that the trail has been done up, it's come to this
The developers have their eye on things
It's the American way, we understand cold cash
Someone expert with the building code, real estate
A couple of miles from downtown, it's a no-brainer
Multiple units or townhouses with the right contractor
An offer you can't refuse, a fateful decision
Suburbia here we come, some call it gentrification

The Last Holdouts, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Changing Times by Maze ft. Frankie Beverly
• Comin' From Where I'm From by Anthony Hamilton
• Holdin' On by Soul II Soul
• Joy and Pain by Maze ft. Frankie Beverly

See previously: The Old Man who Lives in the Park

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: culture, Austin, Texas, race, black, gentrification, observation, perception, history, poverty, economics, USA, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 11, 2022

First Responder

First on the scene, smell of sulfur
Spent cartridges, overturned tables
Kicked a hand grenade, it was live
Luck. Tonight was not my time
Out of the darkness, a mess
The bodies, the bodies. Look

No time to check for vital signs
Training kicked in, adrenaline
Secure the premises
Clear. Damage assessment
The bodies, the bodies. Count

Then blood, first aid. Hurry
Flesh distorted, unnatural positions
Wrenching. Anatomy lessons
The sounds, such sounds
Gasps. Screams. Sobs
The bodies, the bodies. Damn

The brutality of field triage
Tourniquets fashioned
Technique. Muscle memory
Blood, so much blood, a new smell
Broken glass, splinters
Eyes darting. Holding hands
Stay with me. Help is coming
The bodies, the bodies. Hold on

Out on the street, male cadaver
Too late, he lay in the gutter
Looked around, table cloth
Makeshift shroud, best you could do
Back inside. The golden hour. Help
First time for everything, terrorism
You'll never forget the bodies
First responder. Life and death
The bodies, the bodies. Baptism

Soundtrack for this note

• Impossible by Wu Tang Clan
  Call the ambulance

See previously: Heidelberg Tavern Massacre

File under: violence, terrrorism, police, South Africa, blood, death, memory, observation, perception, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log. April 8, 2022

Head Nods - Toli Turns Twenty

So apparently I've been writing at this joint for 20 years
To all who've been reading, a head nod in your direction
An interruption perhaps to your regular programming here
A head nod, twenty years is worth a little commemorating...

I've found that, when it comes to the heart of the matter,
The typical toli intervention still adheres to the old formula
The ingredients are well known: some prose, a poem, and a playlist
I vary things as enthusiasms ebb and flow, even on technical topics

But it seems that poetry has taken over these past few years:
Even book reviews are escaping in virtual ink dressed in verse
The slightest thing sends me into significations and wonders
But the muse wills what she wants, who am I to question her?

The poetry started to flow, as it were, for want of a bolt
First a golden encounter (a hungry man offered me some gold)
Then a broken lawnmower turned out to be the proximate cause
Now, having settled into a groove, I've been steadily adding to the vault
Hell, I've got things scheduled out for the next six years and more

I tend to cover mostly familiar topics:
Small things, whimsy and dark matters
Albeit the arrival of parenthood affected the quantity of toli chatter
Some were concerned at the prolonged absences; I told them

"Sleep deprivation will only get you so far"

And trusted that the fallow years of writing would soon come to pass

I'm firing on all cylinders these days,
  Covering humanity's curriculum
Writing from the torrid zone,
 A far region of the mind under the sun

Meanwhile, I dream in hypertext.
 My books of toli all start with a link
So, again, a head nod in your direction, Dear Reader,
  Do let me know what you think

Head Nods, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Nod your head to this by Kings of Swing
  This is my jam - I've got a dance to this, catch me on the dancefloor
• The Rhythm by Kwame
• I got da feelin' by Sweet Tee
• Friends to the end by Wreckx-N-Effect
• Pump your fist by Kool Moe Dee
• Break ya neck by Busta Rhymes
• Higher Level by KRS-One
• The Line by D'Angelo

And I leave you with the Kings of Swing again from the golden age of hip hop: Nod your head to this

File under: blogging, appreciation, Head Nods, life, culture, writing, Creative Process, navel gazing, poetry, toli

Writing log: July 13, 2024

Final Journey

Blinking lights, funeral procession
The police escort slowly led the way
The motorbike rider up front occasionally blowing the horn
The long parade of cars followed from Mission funeral home

Frustrated. A couple of stragglers, delayed by a red light
Stopped and faced the onlooker at the crosswalk
Eyes red after the earlier mourning
Newfangled mask pulled under the chin

In that minute, a wordless exchange
A head nod, then a gesture to the heart
A smile, and a head nod in return
Solidarity
The light changed, they revved to catch up
Onward to the last rites at the cemetery

See previously: The Laws of Grief

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time.

File under: culture, observation, Austin, life, mourning, grief, Small Things, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log. April 24, 2022

Goddamn Lies

They cut deeper, they do
 They hurt more than the unvarnished ones
Sure, you can make your peace with the white lies,
  The garden variety deceptions
And deal with the untruths
 And the artful omissions
The distinctions without a difference,
  The what-have-yous
But it's hard to cope with the goddamn lies

You are well familiar with the symphony of deceit
Intimate even, with the ways of evasion

The instinctive lies
 The barefaced ones
The reflexive ones
 The rank denials
The wholly unnecessary ones
 The exaggerations
The diversionary ones
 The outright fabrications

But it's hard to abide with the goddamn lies

And what, you may ask, elevates a lie into that august territory
Moving forward, worthy of that emphatic qualifier?

The texture of a goddamn lie is of the nature of a wound
A goddamn lie aims for, and achieves, infamy
Its essential quality goes far beyond shame
A goddamn lie rises above the highest peaks of untruths
It is of a piece with the surreal, devastating and brazen,
A goddamn lie summons irony, borne as it is out of its bed of hypocrisy
Most of all, a goddamn lie celebrates the lie qua lie
A goddamn lie dances on the grave of its achievement

II.

Politicians, as a matter of course, are avid connoisseurs of the lie
Indeed we expect a close acquaintance of it of most of their breed
Some breathe it with a naturalness that is often unnerving
Grifters too are students and daily practitioners of its corruption
And deploy it in a manner that is all too self-serving
But it is the rarest beast that achieves the goddamn lie

All cultures have their own folklore,
  Often at the expense of others
Founding myths, origin stories,
  Their striking legends soaked in blood

Erecting statues of the colossus,
  Destinies manifest and men's burdens
On terrain where equality, dreams and fond promises
  Meet ceilinged glass
The rhetoric of the powerful
  And the strategy of the shrewd
The hand of god,
  Witness the triumph of the trickster
Freedoms and liberties,
  The laws of grifters

From faulty biology, allusions to race, and sundry nationalisms
History books point to those who heed the conqueror's catechism
But when everything they claim to uphold is written in sand
It's hard to keep things straight when all is goddam lies

Deceit, a playlist

A soundtrack for this evasion. (spotify version)

See previously: Symphony of Deceit

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: humour, culture, deception, evasion, lies, observation, perception, strategy, satire, negotiation, life, rogues, covidious, hatchet job, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, toli, poetry

Writing log. April 22, 2022