The Fabric of Nostalgia

The fabric of nostalgia
The ease of comfort blankets
Soothing memories of course
And the decisions to forget

Phantom threads of longing
Assembled at cross purposes
Stitching together thoughts
Welcome but fugitive visions

A quilted patchwork emerges
Shielding, lush but utilitarian
These woven cloths draped carelessly
We decipher meaning in their faint patterns

Odes to time lost, and homes too
Places, faces, tastes and touch
Graceful, the sensory elevation
Whither the veins of belonging

Nostalgia, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Nostalgia by Lee Morgan
• One Of Those Good Old Days by Al Green
• Remember by Joshua Redman
• Nostalgia in Times Square by Charles Mingus
• Do you Remember by Jill Scott
• Nostalgia by Roy Hargrove
• Back in the Day by Erykah Badu
• I Remember When by Stan Getz
• The Comfort Zone by Vanessa Williams

File under: nostalgia, wist, memory, culture, longing, observation, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 6, 2023

Word Choice

She wrote "gathered". He was intrigued by the word choice
"Would you have preferred 'stolen'?", she said in reply
The silence after her retort was pregnant, loaded with reflection
Clearly many far more graphic words could well apply

She was being diplomatic, the occasion called for euphemism
There was no need to bring up the conqueror's catechism
The damage was done, the crown jewels were befitting
Why mention the earlier propensity for looting?

Those from the land of gold are connoisseurs of opacity
Who feel little burden in wearing masks of civility
There's a time and place, we aver, for plain speaking
But the sphinx modalities inform our private thinking

And, yes, the word gathered belies those fraught histories
An apt pointer to past abuses and enduring legacies
And, of the frayed fabric of memory still awaiting reparation,
A reminder: it's a choice to forgo truth and reconciliation

After King Charles' coronation: How would it happen in Ghana? (BBC, May 4, 2023)

Listen also: Loot, a playlist (spotify version)

File under: colonialism, euphemism, language, Africa, culture, observation, perception, memory, history, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 4, 2023

Recidivist

I murdered a metaphor
Crushed it after a long delay
I'll admit upfront, I was a repeat offender
And yes, my parole officer cautioned me about the terms of my probation
Severe he was, he reminded me about the restrictions on carrying weapons
And further advised me to not associate with writers wielding puns

But it was hard to resist the temptation
The twelve step program hardly had time to have an effect
Euphemism lingers in the body, I wondered if I would pass the drug test
Albeit irony works best at close quarters, I was afraid to use a gun
In the end it was appalling, I strangled it with my bare hands

I remember an earlier time when I didn't hesitate to plunge the knife
Trigger happy, I was especially fond of vicious verbal sallies
Flesh wounds, back then I was addicted to biting satire
The sting in the tail after lobbing hand grenades, double entendres
Or poisoning the well with exaggeration born of my misspent youth
After such lampooning, my many victims came to bloody ends

The teasing was drawn out in this case, it couldn't stand the torture
Begged me to put it out of its misery, I laughed while it murmured
As you know, in the torrid zone, many prefer the water treatment
I kept up the pressure, continued drip feeding wit for days on end
Believe me, with a steady diet of blood and sin, you get results
I tell you, the vivid scenarios I enacted, it was a veritable mess
You’ve, no doubt, heard in these parts of the heart of darkness

The ban on assault weapons had been revoked, I lived then in modern America
I'd sought refuge in wordplay, word fugitive, for such is my asylum
My predicament, internally displaced, it was a strange kind of life
I purchased soul insurance, prepaid the premiums due for the coffin
Literature only, funeral minded, it overwhelmed the senses

This, then, is my confession, it was not written under any duress
Mind you, I traffic in tall tales, I daresay I'm a recidivist
By the time you read this I'll have turned myself in to the authorities
To wit: yes, it was a dark and stormy night, in a far, faraway land
Something was in the water, when I murdered a metaphor again
At length I hammered away with my point and paid attention to the details
For when it comes down to it, to a writer, every story is a nail

Murder, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Murder She Wrote by Chaka Demus
• I've Committed Murder Macy Gray
• 10 Minutes of Murder - Black Thought Freestyle
• Out in the Street they call it Murder by Ini Kamoze
• Murderer by Barrington Levy
• I Can't Help It by Michael Jackson
• Lyrics of Fury by Eric B & Rakim
• Ain't No Half-Steppin' by Big Daddy Kane
• Irresistible by Miles Jaye
• Word Play by A Tribe Called Quest

See previously: Soul Inspiration and The Early Bird Catches the Poem

File under: language, whimsy, humour, metaphor, culture, observation, wit, poetry, toli

Writing log: February 5, 2023

The Finest

The words write themselves
All of the things he was
The finest for all of us

Peerless yet unassuming
And a hard act to follow
The finest undeniably

No one worked harder
Yet it was always with such ease
The finest reliably

Tasteful and self contained
The tone, exquisitely poised
The finest most graciously

A twinkle in the eye
Delightful conversations
The finest effortlessly

The strategy was to redirect fools
Quiet laughter amidst this tolerance
The finest ever so gently

Reading widely, education was paramount
His learning had no boundaries
The finest, he charted new territory

In search of the new, an early adopter
But yearning for what actually worked
The finest, his passion for discovery

Bound in faith for all of us, a firm believer in family
A gift of love and concern, a trailblazer for our community
The finest spirit, he gave generously

The words write themselves
All of the things he was
We hold on to the memories

The finest we've known
The finest we've seen
The finest we'll remember

After Samuel Ofosu-Amaah

The Finest, a playlist

A soundtrack to this note (spotify version)

• Best by Far by Omar
• The Finest by S.O.S. Band
• A Wonderful Guy by Oscar Peterson & Milt Jackson
• I Was Doing All Right by Dexter Gordon
• Easy by Al Jarreau
• Sparkle by Cameo
• The Backbone by Dexter Gordon

File under: obituary, family, appreciation, personal, memory, grief, mourning, virtuosity, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 29, 2023

Free-For-All

It was a question of nerve
  and, when it came down to it, the Wan blinked first
After their scribes threw in the towel,
  they succumbed to humanity's curse
In a moment, it seemed, they upended all their previous mitigations
Pivoting to the new normal, they said, they lifted all restrictions

That it was time to return to normalcy was the considered feeling
Truth be told, there was, in this, a large element of wishful thinking
And the evidence was clear, they'd been inadequate with this change of plans
The toll quickly showed they'd chosen a lower tier of soul insurance

For, beyond emotional vaccination, one needed inoculation effectiveness
Herd immunity was indeed a chimera,
  for now the whole land was a mess
It was every man for themselves, whiplash throughout the populace
Who would bear the heavy burden of the good scribes's mistakes

The historians would later ask, did they consider the alternatives?
The way these academics do, making hay at length about what ifs
They could have at least waited until after their lunar new year
What did they gain by so precipitously succumbing to fear?

And the optics weren't good, the whole world would be disbelieving
Any statistics now profferred would be taken as those Wan deceiving
All we know was that they were finally going through their second wave
Although, with the kind of numbers affected,
  fortune would only favor the brave

Hastily abandoned, previous certainties were now summarily dismissed
Yet saving face meant that no one could admit that anything was amiss
A confusion of discarded policies that were no longer compelling
The official silence that reigned in those ghastly few months was telling

Leveling up - or down as the case really proved to be
Now there was no sanctuary on hand for the catastrophe
The whole world placed as it were in the thick of it
Global narrative collapse with its striking deficits

Ananse hankered down with his family,
  best to keep quiet and watch what would unfold
In the aftermath, there would be more opportunity,
  of this he didn't need to be told
The Wan, it seemed, had calculated
 and decided on what amounted to acceptable loss
As the old proverb went: one cannot separate fighting horses with millet stalks

Weary times would follow, the toll of those days was rather harrowing
When all around everyone in the grip of the gods' cauldron was suffering
Ananse beheld so many that were complaining of these significations and wonders
Perplexing given that they'd had the opportunity to prevent the earlier blunders

It was the inconvenience that was the prime bone of contention
The notion that it was no longer worth favoring prevention
The change of policy had scuppered any goodwill, crossing the spider
He never forgot a grudge,
 in good time they would have something to remember

And so zero tolerance would be a thing of the past
It was surely inevitable that they couldn't hold fast
Now that caution was foregone, in its place came laissez faire
We would have no more examples of humanity's strategic savoir faire

The last sanctuary, then, swiftly descended into upheaval
A return to the worst of plague living, echoes of the medieval
The Gods had put all to the test, even those without the wherewithal
And with no place to hide on earth. We would all face this free-for-all

Free For All, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Free For All by Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers
• Every Man For Himself by Coleman Hawkins
• Upside Down by Diana Ross
• Topsy Turvy by Earl Hines
• No Rules by Trini Baby & Robelto
• Topsy Turvy by Bud Powell
• Back at One by Brian McKnight

See previously: Shakedown

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 27, 2023

Visitation Day

The headmaster and the chaplain were suitably bemused
As I strode up the dais to collect my Divinity Prize
I guess it was the sight of the book I had chosen
With its cover of Fidel Castro and Ayatollah Khomeni
A touch incongruous, it would seem, for a fifteen year old
But they were consummate professionals and the mask didn't slip
They maintained typical English reserve, as they say, stiff upper lip

"Interesting cover." Mr Higginbottom harrumphed in his diplomatic way
The essay on Catholicism and African modernity that I had penned
Gave no indication about this curious direction of my reading
Modern Dictators, the bold red of the English edition, stared at me
Not your usual Visitation Day fare, it was creating quite a palaver
The chaplain was very intrigued, I think, by the sight of the Ayatollah
He couldn't but ask if I was trying to make some kind of statement
No sir, I'm simply fascinated by their brand of malevolence

On the right side, my crowd was making noise, disturbing tranquility
It seemed as if all of Ghana were attending, not just my family
Proper bright clothing, wax prints, boubous, that was my posse
Head wraps - gele, and loud whoops while gesticulating wildly
Mum had also invited her BBC African service folks, slightly more sober
But still enthusiastic, I could almost taste the feast we'd be having later

...

Afterwards, we gathered under the Eros statue, the replica of the original
They'd seen the Stanley Spencer painting earlier during their tour of the chapel
Grim viewing, truth be told, the scene set out the crucifixion
If you paused, you could almost hear Blake's sly intonation
Setting out at the sanctuary, the fair hills of our new Jerusalem
If this was our Babylon we could handle the ruler's burden
For visitation day at least, we could forget this blighted exile

...

So she works at the BBC, huh? That must be a blast
Indeed, it was rubbing off, the prestige quotient
Yeah, all this despite our previous precarity,
We were not your average desperate immigrant
Journalists remain firmly in the middle class
In my school blazer - black, double-breasted - I'd managed individuality
We all know our place, the sorting hat of this society.
Still, how very English to be so finely attuned to these hierarchies

...

Stu was also there, the first of his family to go to secondary school
His parents beaming at the thought of university looming
Stolid tradesmen of Hertfordshire still disbelieving
"Entrance exams for Oxford and Cambridge, imagine that
Instead of builder's hands, it'll be wine and port with the dons"
Stu gave a sharp look. "Next you'll be counting chickens"

...

This was a country entirely suffused with historical settings
Like this school, barely aspirational yet dating back to 1597
Boasting those courts where we'd play Eton Fives
Arcane traditions, bewildering to these young eyes

We made a joyful noise, turning the place into a slice of Africa
It struck me that any achievement on my part didn't really matter
It was about finding our way out of ourselves, this exuberant celebration
For a few moments at least, forgetting the journey and praising the destination

...

Some things are long gestating, simmering in the psyche, becoming a part of you
Thirty years later, I came across chapter 11 of that selfsame visitation day book
And realized I'd just published a poem with the same title: The Ruler's Rules

Soundtrack for this note

• Old School by Lucky Mensah

File under: humour, memory, culture, England, observation, perception, immigration, school, class, poetry, toli

Writing log: June 17, 2023

This Thief

There's no good way to receive bad news
And it is a feature of grief
That it catches you unawares
Cuts your soul, plunging deep

A phone call
One-handed, you answer
While marinating the meat

Raw chicken
Primal
Scream

A dear one has been stolen from you by this thief


...

This thief returns to the scene of the crime
No different in this, than other criminals
A repeat offender though, the gods gave up on reform
Threw their hands up at this incorrigible burglar
As if to get an idea for the next heist
There's always a target of opportunity
Even when the authorities are hot on the trail
Acting unconcerned, for the work is thrilling
Funeral minded, this thief, and comfortable hiding in plain sight
Secure in the knowledge there's no need for a mask on the face
Even while out on bail, the crime spree continues apace
Stripping bare all certainties, impressing the inevitability of death
This thief loots and pillages, crown jewels, a desecration
Faith and solace in the aftermath, grasping for soul insurance
Yet there's no salving the wounds, there's no consolation
Memories are the only thing the victims have left


For Uncle Ofosu

See previously The Laws of Grief


File under: grief, culture, observation, perception, social, memory, life, mourning, poetry, loss, Observers are worried, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, toli

Writing log: January 21, 2023

African Travel Narratives

I've been thinking of The Traveler's Africa; the view from the Torrid Zone. Some readings beyond Equiano's Travels taken from my bookshelf (oh, and a playlist...)

Classics of the Genre

• The Modern Traveller by Hilaire Belloc
• Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
• Travels in West Africa by Mary Kingsley
• Black Mischief by Evelyn Waugh
• Travels with my Aunt by Graham Greene

From savage satire to the impressionistic to the documentary.

Hilaire Belloc's satirical eye is sublime. Nothing escapes his immaculate rendering of the essence of thousands of travel narratives. From antiquity to, say, the great explorers tomes (Mungo Park's travels in the interior) to near-contemporaries like Stanley and Livingstone. All that and more are highlighted in The Modern Traveller.

He dismantles the kind of writing lionized in the prose of empire by Kipling and others. Where we'd now say God, Gold and Glory, Belloc straightforwardly put it as Blood and Sin in vicious light verse. The cover by Basil Blackwood is apt. All the tropes of travel writing about Africa are outlined, the mystery at its heart, and all that made it evocative. Writing at the height of empire in the wake of the British victory at the battle of Omdurman in 1898, there is much to deflate in Victorian triumphalism and he sets about it avidly. The Modern Traveller is his early masterpiece.

The Journalistic Impulse

The journalistic impulse weighs heavily on travel narratives and Africa gives great material for the genre.

The travel writer ofen emerges jaded from the encounter with Africa despite the initial optimism. The people steal your heart but also destroy you. You might start to merely document but hallucinations often follow, such is the burden of the heart of darkness. Joseph Conrad, of course, had great influence on popular perceptions of Africa, and for good reasons: metaphors and urgent storytelling will always strike a chord.

It would take more than half a century and Chinua Achebe's own urgent storytelling to begin to change the perspective and to show that African voices need not be drowned out in the travel narratives and treated as mere backdrop. Indeed, they can lead the way.

A Burnt Out Case is probably Graham Greene's most focused entry, a lush hatchet job of the Conrad template, but Travels with my Aunt is his purest distillation of travel writing. An entertainment, perhaps, it captures the fecklessness and the roving eye. The kind of observed behavior that Evelyn Waugh savages with vicious fun in Black Mischief.

Contrast with the relatively sober yet similarly roving eye of Mary Kingsley. Hers is rooted in her search for botanical specimens but there is a richness to what she uncovers in the process. She was genuinely interested in the place she traveled to and the culture of the people she encountered. Her observations make for a treasure trove for historians and sociologists alike.

In a more literary bent in the 1920s, consider André Gide's Travels in the Congo and a delightful memoir Then I Saw the Congo by Grace Flandrau. The book covers tend to follow a distinct pattern.

• The Shadow of the Sun by Ryszard Kapuściński
• Report in Africa by Oden Meeker
• Call Africa 999 by John Peer Nugent
• Stringer by Anjan Sundaram

(I hesitate to brand Kapuściński as a journalist, he was so much more. The journalistic impulse is, rather, what I'm getting at when it comes to the tenor of his writings. Denis Johnson in Seek treads much of the same terrain as Kapuściński but with a stronger punch).

How to take to the tropics is a delicious survey of travel writing in Africa by Oden Meeker. His and John Peer Nugent books are recent discoveries, wide ranging as befits these restless souls. Anjan Sundaram's Stringer follows Conrad by way of investigative journalism, archetypal of the mold of journalists that have had to report on conflict (e.g Fergal Keane).

African Perspectives

The Wife has long taught an African Travel Narratives course; we, each, have our favorites and trade new finds as we discover them. Our modern canon:

• An African in Greenland by Tété-Michel Kpomassie
• By the Sea, Desertion and Paradise by Abdulrazak Gurnah
• Everyday is for the thief by Teju Cole
• A Stranger's Pose by Emmanuel Iduma

A semester length course will cover readings in many styles and from many perspectives. The ones we tend to find most engaging highlight the African perspective. And things do change once African voices are in the mix.

An African in Greenland is revelatory, Tété-Michel Kpomassie's story is so engaging, he grabs you with the force of his personality, his curiousity and his drive.

Abdulrazak Gurnah, of course, in his brilliant body of work inverts the perspective and the frame that Conrad may have set and, with this freedom, makes it his own. I've lost count of how many copies of By the Sea I've had to buy as I keep recommending and gifting it to others. I'm thankful that the academy have rightly rewarded him and I no longer need to be on the street team.

A novel like Tayeb Salih's Season of Migration to the North contains a lot travel observations but doesn't read as a traditional travel narrative and indeed there is far more sophistication in it.

Our blog era has produced two perfect little books in the genre. Teju Cole aims for close observation in Everyday is for the Thief while Emmanuel Iduma goes for the poetic in A Stranger's Pose. They are both lyrical writers with dauntingly sharp eyes.

It's fun exercise to contrast, say, The Moor's Account by Laila Lalami with Mimi and Toutou's Big Adventure: The Bizarre Battle of Lake Tanganyika by Giles Foden. The one written from the ground up and periphery, the other taken with main character energy.

And the narratives ripped from archival material carry a heavier burden that the typical travel dispatch, I'm thinking of The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi by Arthur Japin or say Ama: A Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade by Manu Herbstein - there's no lightness to be found in the slave trade or the earlier patterns of exchange in the colonial era.

I never quite got into the former Peace Corps memoirs although I keep reading them for what they reveal despite themselves (and George Packer's clear-eyed Village of Waiting - and Central Square which I loved, doesn't excuse his later hubris see: Iraq war).

Still I much prefer Packer over Paul Theroux's Dark Star Safari. And in the same vein, I favor Graham Greene over V.S. Naipaul.

I also can't resist missionary and explorer narratives, even as I read them in the same vein, mostly for what is left unsaid or for the people that linger in the background. Sometimes, however, you find gems in second hand bookstores: Cowboy Boots in Darkest Africa by Dr Bill Rice is an all-time favorite. But that one, like Belloc's Modern Traveller, deserves its own tale.

There's all that and more in The Traveler's Africa. And to close, a cautionary note to the would-be readers of travel narratives; not all is as it seems:

T
for the Genial Tourist, who resides
In Peckham where he writes Italian Guides

Moral
Learn from this information not to cavil
At slight mistakes on books on foreign travel

— A Moral Alphabet by Hilaire Belloc

What are your favorite Africa travel narratives?

African Travel Narratives, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Traveling by Burning Spear
• Africa by D'Angelo
• Traveling Miles by Cassandra Wilson
• Vasco Da Gama by Hugh Masekala
  The chorus goes "He was no friend of mine"
• Congo by Amel Larrieux
• Torrid zone by Nucleus
• River Niger by War
• Explorations by Lonnie Liston Smith
• Africa by Toto
• The natives are restless tonight by Horace Silver
• Afrodisia by Kenny Dorham
• Africa by Abbey Lincoln & Max Roach
• Travelin' light by Shirley Horn
• River Niger by Roy Ayers
• Tropical zone by Angel David Mattos
• Columbus by Burning Spear
  Cheating here perhaps, but one can never have enough Burning Spear
• Torrid zone by The Afro Soul-Tet
• Great explorer by Louis Smith
• Torrid zone by Andre King
• Dr Livingstone, I presume by Moody Blues
• Torrid zone by Timmy Thomas
• Great explorers by David Burns

Bonus beats: Searching by Roy Ayers

See also Types and Faces and The Stereotype

File under: travel, writing, storytelling, literature, review, appreciation, culture, observation, perception, Africa, history, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: November 2, 2025

Juju

He had cloaked himself with his layan zana
Touched the soft leather amulet with its coil of goat hair
The few grains of paradise and base of shea paste and kaolin
The talisman that worked to render him invisible to adversaries

Skimping on protection, he was mindful of what many forgot,
That, for greater effectiveness of camouflage, one also needed baduhu
But you take what you get in these foreign lands, what have you
Moreover these were inflationary times, you made do with what you could afford

Still, you had to be careful when sitting to not show your soles
Avoiding also that the leather bag would touch water - taboo
Worn close to the body, he whispered thrice the name of the jinn
Spirits alighted and settled next to this Cartesian thinker

He could never understand those who closed the door to the unseen
Was it the faint hope that the invisible would pass them by? Hubris
It was a wonder that otherwise intelligent folk would speak mockingly
Of naive superstition, countering with harsh words and disbelief

A full grown man, degrees and all, steeped in the best of western education
In his business, he dealt with derivatives and complex financial transactions
A weariness overcame him, for he knew that even with the best preparation
It was touch and go with the spirit world, the strength of his protection

He'd heard the arguments about proof, reproducibility and evidence
That the signs and wonders we'd all witnessed were mere chance events
They'd plead so-called logic, rational they'd say, appeals to authority
And dismiss known cases as one-offs, charms that spoke to religiosity

And it was not even a matter of African electronics
Rather it was an unearned fealty to methods scientific
Oh well, he'd keep his juju close to his heart as if for safekeeping
As the proverb went, you can't convince someone who's sleeping

Juju, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Eri Okan (Conscience) by King Sunny Ade
• Afro Juju by Sir Shina Peters
• Iba F'Oluwa/Ajokodabi Ile by Ebenezer Obey
• Ja Funmi by King Sunny Ade
• Afro Juju Center by Sir Shina Peters

See previously: Articles of Faith

File under: superstition, tradition, Africa, culture, observation, perception, faith, religion, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 21, 2023

Temporary Conveniences

Beholden to temporary conveniences
Like Darwin's notion of species
The seductive appeal of idées fixes
Coinages that supplant varieties

But labels, with their simplifying shorthand
Are but an instrument in the hands of a searcher
The tool should not be mistaken for reality
It is a confusion to fall prey to appearances

...

It may suit you to doubt my intentions
Out of concern for a supposed naivety
Discarding words and ascribing fictions
Still, the state of the world is not what you think

Admittedly, base motives drive the human animal
Urges that render us no different from beasts
Disguises abound, badges of the sensualists
But the plain truth is my love is forever

Temporary Conveniences, a playlist

Dwele lays down the soundtrack to this note. His live performances were the highlight of my years in the Bay Area, he always seemed to have something to prove in Oakland. Wit in the vein of funk. The poet laureate of modern soul. (spotify version)

• Truth
• Open Your Eyes
• I Understand
• Find a Way
• Going Leaving
• What's Not to Love
• What Profit
• I Think I Love You
• Vain
• Travelin' Girl

File under: life, love, culture, observation, perception, relationships, obsession, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 21, 2023

Protection Racket

Militias, in Africa as elsewhere, have long meant pain and suffering
Intimations of blood and sneering menace underlie their extortion
The through line from self defense units to neighborhood gangs
The stuff of protection rackets imposed by outright thugs
In Haiti and the Central African Republic currently,
In Sierra Leone and Liberia memorably,
In Congo perennially, militias are a blight

If the area boys were initially benign
Touts, they now traffic in grim violence
Bodies for hire, their labor is all too physical
Offers you can't refuse, resolution by any means necessary
In the background, rivalries and monetary interests
Underlying conditions that motivate these predators
Apt to cut you for a nothing, some violation, a perceived slight

The bulk of their ranks, per the analysts, are the lumpenproletariat
Ever changing boundaries, uniforms and unspoken codes of conduct
Territory fiercely protected, lines that the unwary shouldn't cross
Space, the world shrinks down to corners, claustrophobia
The menace of the long walk past them, the unbearable scrutiny
Grudging respect for their power, glad you made it safely home today
Cold comfort, for when in their grip, all that matters is might is right

Protection Racket, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• The Militia by Gang Starr
• Trouble by José James
• Shake you down by Gregory Abbott
• Protection by Massive Attack
• Get Yourself Together by Young Disciples
• Gonna Make You and Offer You Can't Refuse by Jimmy Helms
• Trouble by Stanley Turrrentine
• Code of the Streets by Gang Starr

[Update March 2024]

Ten months after writing the above, I note that Haiti is descending into paroxysms of gang violence. It strikes me that this note still has a couple of years to go before being published. I'd rather be wrong about what I write.

File under: militia, gang, social, culture, observation, intimidation, groups, violence, perception, crime, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 21, 2023

Alright

Alright, there's a music to the voicing
Words tumbling out not quite deliberately
A mere good morning from her... Sigh
It lifts you out of melancholy
Togetherness, to dance to her conversation
No matter the topic, it feeds your soul
To hear her. Heaven on the ground
And that's alright with me

...

Alright, a faint thread runs through this thing
Marking moods, as it does, across the rich seams
Hard to understand, but I made my peace early on
Undulating rhythms, I confess, leave me confounded
Chalk it up to underlying conditions
And that's alright with me

...

Alright, the broken strings of your heart will eventually mend
It's a healing process and I fear we must be patient
As to commitment, I'm sated with the stolen moments - intense
Restlessness is your privilege
And that's alright with me.

...

Alright, a passing of the baton
The burden of responsibility
Amidst capricious fortune that we face
Navigating across uncertain terrain
Failure is not an option they say
And that's alright with me

Alright, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Alright by D'Angelo
• Fine by Omar
• Alright by Janet Jackson
• It's Gonna be Alright by Ruby Turner
• It's Alright by Van Morrison
• I Was Doing All Right by Louis Armstrong and Oscar Peterson
• It's All Right by Sam Cooke
• That's Alright by Etta James
• That's All Right with Me by Esther Phillips
• It's Alright by Chante Moore
• Alright by Ledesi
• It's Alright, It's Ok by Shirley Caesar and Anthony Hamilton
• Alright by Kendrick Lamar
• It's alright by Pet Shop Boys
• I Was Doing All Right by Dexter Gordon

File under: culture, observation, perception, strategy, obsession, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 18, 2023

Withholding

Withholding a smile in public
Poker face, your solemn eyes
Betraying nothing
For no one needs to know
The things we do
Together
To each other
For each other
There's no shame in those brief encounters
All too brief
The hum we make
Sighs
Taking comfort from the sweet ache
When you acknowledge me
Moments alone
When you teach me
Restraint amidst private joy
So I hold on to that feeling
So, yes, I make no demands in this affair of ours
Your secret is safe in these hands
Withhold away, the very essence
For that's alright with me

Withholding, a playlist

A soundtrack for this affair (spotify version)

• Everything I Miss at Home by Cherrelle
• Secret Lovers by Atlantic Starr
• Alright by D'Angelo
• Lucky by Cherrelle
• Private Joy by Prince
• Crazy (For Loving You) by Cherrelle
  I've long thought that Cherrelle's affair best caught the magic of Jam and Lewis.

File under: love, secrecy, observation, perception, obsession, control, relationships, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 17, 2023

Fumes

"The streets of Berkeley are paved with weed"
The Wife's wry rejoinder to a friend's laconic quip:
"The streets of Harlem are paved with weave"
Indeed, gentrification hasn't affected the surfeit of wigs

The Senegalese and Gambian vendors proffer the hair products
Essential oils - massage, incense and herbs with vital aromas
Nighttime potency assured, all that is missing is the candles
Spoil yourself, pomade, scent of argan oil
What strange brews, mystical even, we throw on our hair
Fake Rolexes and Gucci knockoffs - Versace misspelled on the label
Don't look too closely, fast talkers on 125th Street make their pitch
"Boss, we can make a deal, okay, tell you what, tell me your last price.."

But back to Berkeley, we lived around the block from Wavy Gravy's commune
He, the MC of Woodstock fame, the Summer of Love,
Hippie consciences, sustainability pledges
Farm to table, organic everything, ecological awareness
More conscious than thou, earnest as kettle oatmeal
Puff then, fumes, scent of marijuana
What strange fruit of the progressives
Goody Two Shoes, home of the gluten free
Righteous living, just a few miles north of Fruitvale Station

Fumes, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Wavy Gravy by Kenny Burrell
• Freedom Jazz Dance by Eddie Harris
• The Hustler by Stanley Turrentine
• Hair by Graham Central Station
• Street Corner Hustler Blues by Lou Rawls

File under: culture, observation, perception, Berkeley, New York, city, humour, sensory, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 15, 2023

The Drunken Toddler

A cautionary tale perhaps, my earliest memory is of being drunk
At the Christmas party, this almost 3 year old had been quite industrious
Drinking the bottom of the various glasses that the guests were imbibing
A cocktail of sharp tasting liquids, the base materials of my experiment
Until my vision blurred and the alcohol had its effect.

"My head is round"

Apparently my declaration of inhibition
   Caused alarm among the partygoers
Spoiled the festivities frankly
   The adventures of the drunken toddler

Parents, never rest on your laurels,
   Keep a close watch on your offspring
In the event, a wellspring of visions, promptly hung over,
   I counted the cost
Mum's red mini loomed large in the driveway,
   Its googly eyes staring at me
Spinning, eyes wide open, walls expanding,
   the whole world was collapsing

That'll teach you right

I've found virtue in moderation ever since
Those fever dreams and hallucinations
An early lesson in buyer's remorse
Staggered straight to bed
Never to be repeated
   The case of the drunken toddler

Punch Drunk, a playlist

A playlist on a loss of inhibition. (spotify version)

• Only When I'm Drunk by Tha Alkaholiks
• One More Drink by Jaguar Wright
• Punch Drunk by Sade
• Drunk As Cooter Brown by Cassandra Wilson
• This World is Drunk by Raphael Saadiq
• I Want to Take You Higher by Sly & The Family Stone

File under: life, observation, culture, perception, alcohol, memory, humour, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: December 30, 2022

Unhappiness

Unhappiness is contagious, sadly
Wounds tend to expand in its wake
When you're too tired to even be angry
There's only palliative relief when the heart aches

So upset at this point, quite frankly, it's just sad.
The damage is done, there's no point getting mad
The preceding half hour of vitriol only added to the dismay
There's no comfort to be had, this is very far from okay

There's no prospect of breaking down the door
Resign yourself to this rupture, wallow in the sadness
Divided for no reason at all, this is your house
Probably best tonight to sleep on the couch

Relentless, the cloud, trouble seems to follow you
Even when you hold your tongue, others want to argue
This social disease is unfair, to be broaching loneliness
The path forward is unclear, such is the way of unhappiness

Unhappiness, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Glad to be Unhappy by Billie Holiday
• Trouble, Heartaches & Sadness by Ann Peebles
• Melancholy by Milt Jackson
• Unhappy Blues by Mississippi Sheikhs
• Glad to be Unhappy by Nancy Wilson
• Little Unhappy Boy by Nancy Wilson & Cannonball Adderley
• Melancholy by Louis Armstrong
• Glad to be Unhappy by Paul Desmond
• With Sadness by Chet Baker
• Melancholy Mood by Bob Dylan
• Poisonous Afternoon of Unhappiness by Bossa Nova Brazil
• Glad to be Unhappy by Sarah Vaughan
• Trouble, Heartaches & Sadness by Candi Staton
• Glad to be Unhappy by Frank Sinatra
• How Sad by Jazzyfatnastees
• Winter Sadness by Kook & the Gang

File under: life, culture, observation, perception, emotion, poetry, toli

Writing log: November 14, 2022

Drone Operator

20/20 vision is a minimum, the requirement is nigh perfect eyesight
Also an ability to forget mistakes, perfection is a matter of hindsight
Twitchy sharp reactions, prior experience required with video games
Competitive and driven, a team player who is willing to inflict pain

The best candidates are baby faced, call them bloodless assassins
On-the-job training provides numerous opportunities to crash weddings
With major flexibility in working hours, you can embrace the impromptu
And enforce the home truth: "Visit America before America visits you"

A tapestry of pixels pored over for distinctive signals
A keen test of reflexes as you launch the predator missile
GPS-directed, with spotter verification to paint the target
Like the Brimstone missile, the system is designed for "fire-and-forget"

Working at a remove from the ground action
Remote control, pushing buttons with abandon
The bearer holds to the belief in things unseen
Detachment of spirit, signature strikes, this is the American dream

Classified findings laid out the executive decrees
Gave the benefit of the shadows, the veil of secrecy
Thus protected by covering memos providing limited liability
A free reign, then, to sow the seeds of excess mortality

Someone who takes pride in their tools, a skilled master
Nicknamed their vessel the mobile widow maker
An early recruit, adept at the drudge of targeted killing
Televised slaughter, quiet as it's kept, can be so thrilling

Yet it's not all fun and games, even with precision munition
This daily front seat, private viewing of target acquisition
Spheres of influence, inventive vehicle for force projection
Delivery platform, artisanal even, for heat-seeking execution

Gamer heroes
Beast mode
Player ratings
Cheat codes

The new warfare, defense authorization for collateral damage
Our benefits package leaves you anesthetized from the foreign carnage
Sharp maneuvers, joystick exertions that satisfy
Pax Americana, raining vengeance out of the sky

Top Secret. The role calls for security clearance with polygraph
Mentoring skills are sought after, you'll be managing junior staff
Pinpoint expertise wrought from a distance while wearing a headset
An exciting workplace, with only the occasional regret

Burn out is a possibility, but is cast as acceptable loss
For this kind of wet work, even at a remove, has its costs
Conscience optional, foot soldier of the war on terror
The clean and delicate hands of the drone operator

Drone Operator, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Remote Control by Loose Ends
• Out of the sky by Van Hunt
• Cold Blooded by Rick James
• I've Committed Murder by Macy Gray
• Cold Blooded by Common
• Remote Control by Beastie Boys
• Cold Blooded by Gary Clark Jr.
• From a Distance by Bette Midler
• Kill Screen by Shadow Shadow
• Automaton by Jamiroquai
• Drone Operator's Lament by Radarcave

Bonus beats albeit very destabilizing: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Killer by The Meteors

File under: humour, satire, hatchet job, blood, war, alienation, modernity, USA, politics, culture, outrage, observation, perception, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: December 18, 2022

Concussion Protocols

Concussion protocols, truly, the stakes are high
Punch drunk, the injury that sparks a debate
Undoubtedly every player would want to continue
A grand stage it may be, but impaired judgment is the danger

Stunned, weary and dazed after the clash of heads
A misguided notion, this business of grin and bear it
To stand in judgment, weighing the shelf life of a human being
Out of a sense of obligation, the point is not to indulge machismo

When caution comes up against commerce, there's a world of trouble
Conflicting imperatives at work, the reluctance is understandable
Surely though, it's best to take the decision out of their hands
The mind may will it it wants, but the body is the ultimate arbiter

Concussion Protocol, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Concussion by Delvon Lamarr Organ Trio
• Punch Drunk by Sade
• Struck by You by The Bar-Kays
• Warriors don't cry by Beres Hammond
• Sit Down and Hurt Awhile by Denise LaSalle
• Blow to the Head by Abram Wilson
• Hard Knock Life by Jay-Z
• You can't stop the prophet by Jeru the Damaja
• Stop in the name of love by The Supremes
• Carry On by Jean Knight
• Caution by Maxi Priest
• Hard Knocks by Joe Cocker
• We Carry On by Portishead
• Hard Knocks by Elvis Presley

After: Punch-Drunk Slugnuts: Violence and the Vernacular History of Disease by Stephen Casper


File under: health, standards, best practices, concussion, brain, biology, sports, policy, culture, observation, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log: December 18, 2022

Response Consultant

America bestows gifts
To its favored sons
But exacts a heavy price

Giving rise to job titles that confound,
The nature of the dream is a patent lie
This land of plenty
Dispenses the characteristic headline:

"Active shooter response consultant shares insight"

Threat readiness, crisis training.
Developing situational awareness
Uneasy phrases marketing a lucrative industry.
A growing corporate business

A proud legacy
This bloody exceptionalism,
The fruit of tribal sacrifice

A balm of thoughts and prayers
In this austere ceremony
Roaring while closing one's eyes

After: Retired police officer, active shooter response consultant shares insight after Walmart shooting

Tuesday’s attack in Chesapeake is the 15th mass shooting location that Marko Galbreath has visited since he began his training.

(November 25, 2022)

Action Items, a playlist

A soundtrack for this lament (spotify version)

• What's Going On by Marvin Gaye
• Right and a Wrong Way by Keith Sweat
• Prayer by D'Angelo
• The Moment I Feared by Slick Rick

See previously: Action Items and Prone

File under: USA, blood, violence, absurd, culture, observation, modernity, perception, language, bureaucracy, corporation, work, life, poetry, outrage, The Rough Beast, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: November 26, 2022

The Kangaroo Problem

The test fleet had been taken to Australia the previous week
My colleagues, two cubes over, were all aflutter, I asked, "What gives?"
It was the kangaroo problem, I was told. I was rather bemused
For it seems that the autonomous vehicles were rather confused

You see, they had come across some of those long eared creatures
Beasts of burden, sporting those unmistakable features
But they were a new breed in their eyes, the term of art, unknown objects
Simply put, the recognition engine wasn't able to easily detect
Something about the gait and motion of the kangaroos they encountered
The road less traveled, in other words, had left the cars flustered

So now the data scientists were looking for more training data
In a bid to augment the intelligence of the onboard sensors
Scouring National Geographic and YouTube
  to update their detection algorithms
Loading up hours of videos of marsupials
  to finetune the classification schemes

Why did the chicken cross the road?
 Are you blind? It was a kangaroo
Consider, if you will, when a large object starts moving towards you
It seemed to me that the nature of the calculation was rather clear
That it shouldn't matter whether it was a kangaroo or a drunken deer

That any human driver out of caution would seek to avoid collision
Evasive action was clearly called for in this kind of situation
No matter how loping its gait, I'd hope, or how eccentric its motion
Avoid impact and ask questions later, was surely the solution

In this fraught scenario of exigency
 there'd be no time for semantics
Boffins, instead, were bent on reducing things
  down to matters of semiotics
When ontologies raise their specter,
 I rather fear you might be losing the plot
Meanwhile, over their shoulders,
  I saw the visualizations, the bounding boxes
True, they spoke at some length about the determinants
 of stopping distance
At the back of my mind, I recalled the wisdom
 of buying collision insurance

As to the tangible limitations of this artificial intelligence
How to teach the ghost in the machine to learn how to sense
To move beyond the basics of calculating velocity and acceleration
Plotting feasible trajectories while being mindful of sensor calibration
Lessons in obstacle avoidance, the perils of synthesized perception
A panoply of newfangled electronic equipment: cameras, radar, lidar
A catalog of known objects: car, truck, pedestrian, guardrail or barrier
Even in this hostile environment, prudence, protect the least of us
Rodent or marsupial was beside the point, let alone a desert fox
Surely a safety policy would be that you shouldn't hit the bus

The real world is highly unstructured,
  one can hardly play fast and loose
Object identity is rather academic,
 whether horse, camel, donkey or moose
On a grand tour of Mongolia,
 you might run into a herd of cashmere goats
The prime imperative of driving on the road:
  active safety foremost

The state of the art, then, of machine learning is no great panacea
Expect the unexpected, deal gracefully with chaos and disorder
What with near misses or close encounters in Peru with errant llama
Let alone the outrageous daily scenes you meet on an African street
Routine maintenance, force majeure, life is a veritable bestiary
A human marketplace replete with vibrant textures and shapes
The kangaroo problem was the tip of an iceberg of category mistakes

...


Activity, aflutter, what strange creature is this?
Elliptical motion, elusive, proudly prominent proboscis
Apt to be misconstrued, roaming, bounding without effort
Near collision, operator intervention, he filed the incident report
In the aftermath, then, the root cause analysis
Prompting among the boffins an identity crisis

Kangaroo Problem, a playlist

A autonomous soundtrack for this note. Drive safely. (spotify version)

• Can't you see me? by Roy Ayers
• He miss road by Fela
• You don't see me by Amel Larrieux
• Make the road by walking by Menahan Street Band
• Drive by The Cars
• Road Safety by Tony Allen
• (I'm a) Road Runner by Junior Walker
• Sensitivity by Ralph Tresvant
• Drive my car by The Beatles
• Chicken trying to cross the road by Buddhafunk
• Road runner by Bo Diddley

...

This entry on failure modes is part of the Toli Technology Series

...

Cultural Sensitivity in Technology is my perennial theme; everything is local and sensor calibration is paramount...

File under: humour, technology, culture, observation, perception, classification, robocars, software, algorithms, sensitivity, best practices, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log. Concept March 2018. December 14, 2022