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

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

A DJ's Duty

Seeing friends in the East Coast digging out from their winter storm put me in mind of the Nor'easter of 1995 when I did an 18 hour stint DJing on WHRB in the basement of Memorial Hall. A duty of care, I didn't want to shut the radio station down.

It all started so innocently, I was set to do the Street Beat hip hop show from 4 to 6 pm on Saturday. I showed up 90 minutes early, having paid no attention to the weather forecast. Albeit I did notice a few flakes of snow as I exited the shuttle bus with my crate of records. Who knew?

Almost immediately, I got the sense that something was up. As I poked my head in the studio, the DJ who was on air signaled to me and pointedly asked me if I wanted to go on early. I didn't know any better and so said "Sure, why not" and ran to pick out a few more records from our stacks.

The Street Beat credo, if there was one, was simply that we didn't play commercial stuff. If you did play a club banger, it had to be a rare white label remix. The founders of The Source magazine were Street Beat alums. We had standards. We did vinyl. We mixed. We were underground.

I had my work cut out because I hadn't been keeping up with the latest releases so I was half expecting some irate caller from Roxbury complaining about the lack of Ed O.G. & Da Bulldogs. Anyway, I started my set off with Dip Dip Divin' by Justin Warfield and got more esoteric from there.

At 5 pm, I got a call that the next DJ wasn't going to be able to make it for the 6 pm show. Hey, I thought, more airtime and, well, I wanted to play some soul. The Boston hip hop audience is unusually demanding whereas the soul crew are far more forgiving. I threw on Rainbow by Shinehead.

Anyway 6 pm came and I switched to spinning club classics. Grooving really, everything was beat-matched; not a bad mix. I was feeling it and getting lots of requests. Callers did mention that the snow was really coming down but my music was giving them soul comfort.

I suddenly realized that I was getting hungry. Ah right, I'd missed dinner. But, well, I could pass by the Hong Kong at 8 pm and grab something. The red leather furniture of the restaurant, the ambiance of disrepute and the strangely comforting food. Salivating. Bruce Lee would approve

Of course, I'd forgotten Francis Bacon's adage:

Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.

7:45 pm came and the next DJ hadn't shown up. I went to the front door and saw a pile of snow. It was coming down hard. Blizzard conditions really. I checked the schedule but didn't see a phone number or who to call for backup. Ooooh trouble.

I decided to not just put on a cd, it's a point of pride to always be mixing vinyl. So I dug more records from the vault and I mixed, blended and matched beats.

8 pm came.

For You To Love was our quiet storm show. DJ Zik had heavy boots to fill but I thought I'd be up to the task for the next two hours. Where his signature was the titular Luther Vandross song, I went with Crying Overtime by Alexander O'Neal, the king of ad libs.

10 pm came. I now had to read a Public Service Announcement, something about a storm advisory, how you should avoid leaving home if at all possible. As I read the script, the penny dropped. Stay off the roads. No wonder no one was coming to give me relief.

Midnight came. No replacement. I continued with a set of torch songs. Again it would have been easy to throw on an Isaac Hayes half hour lament but that would feel too much like cheating. I dug deep: Luther Ingram, The O'Jays, Eddie Kendricks etc.

2 am. Despair set in.

Burning Spear came to my rescue (Mi gi dem was the joint). I turned to roots reggae. Then decided to explore the falsetto singers in reggae. The phone calls to the studio blew up at this point. I must have struck a nerve.

Also: scavenging around the studios, I managed to find a Twix bar. I didn't query its vintage, I just ate it up. Where there's a snack gap...

4 am. This was getting ridiculous. UK soul then - I put on Loose Ends, Omar, Mica Paris and some acid jazz, Young Disciples, Galliano, Jamiroquai. Also I started to think of drastic measures...

When you comped, you had to learn how to turn the station on and off. FCC regulations or something. But no one really paid attention to that part of the training. I certainly couldn't remember how to turn the station on if I came in cold in the morning. In any case, who ever heard of shutting it down?

I grew up in newsrooms and the BBC World Service formed the backdrop of my teenage years. Dead air was anathema to me. I wasn't going to be the one to let the side down. So I kept spinning, running back and forth to pull more records. Mixing on the turntable decks always, I refused to play cds.

At 6 am the woman who normally did the Sunday gospel show called apologetically to say that she couldn't make it, commiserating about the snow drifts, danger and all that jazz. Sigh...

I threw on some divas. Aretha, Brenda, Mavis, Chaka and Rachelle Ferrell. Know what I mean?

8 am came, and it seemed as if relief beckoned. Some poor soul called and said that he hoped to be there soon to do the folk show. The storm had abated somewhat. I started playing songs that mentioned Heaven. Bebe and CeCe Winans, Miles Jaye and so forth.

9 am and the guy hadn't showed up. I was tempted to Shut 'em down c/o Public Enemy - the Pete Rock Remix of course (still the best remix of all time).

I cheated and decided to throw on Freedom Suite by The Young Disciples. A good 15 minutes of respite. Isaac Hayes's By the time I get to Phoenix was another option considered (18:45 minutes for those in the know) but I couldn't find Hot Buttered Soul in the stacks.

10:15 am. He arrived. Another human being in the flesh. He said that it was rough outside. Of course he needed some time to pull some records together for his set but by this stage I didn't care anymore, blending and beat matching almost like an automaton.

I couldn't find Keep the Beat by Eric B & Rakim so I closed my set out with And the beat goes on by The Whispers. I was fully committed to the task.

The studio was an almighty mess when I handed over and I started reshelving the hundreds of records I'd pulled and deliberated over. 18 hours worth. It was tough going.

I walked back to the dorm through the 14 inches of snow with my crate of records. No shuttle bus obviously. I didn't have boots on, no gloves and, well, I wasn't appropriately dressed. It was a long, treacherous walk but, at length, I made it to the Quad. The Cabot House dining room was just opening for brunch.

...

There's no moral to the story, just the abiding memory of holding down the fort in that basement, at one with the music and the radio audience.

DJs may be a strange breed but we have a keen sense of duty.

- The basement entrance to the old WHRB studios

A DJ's Duty, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. Some of what I played that weekend (spotify version)

• The Basement by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth
• Dip Dip Divin' by Justin Warfield
• Rainbow by Shinehead
• Got To Keep On by The Cookie Crew
• Last Night a DJ saved my Life by Indeep
• Mi gi dem by Burning Spear
• Burrup by Nardo Ranks
• Shut em down (Pete Rock mix) by Public Enemy
• Can't Stop a Man by Beres Hammond
• Crying overtime by Alexander O'Neal
• I get the job done by Big Daddy Kane
• And the beat goes on by The Whispers

Bonus beats: a tape of a Club Classics set I did circa 1993 that I digitized when I found time during the early covidious lockdowns


File under: music, obsession, memory, humour, life, youth, culture, observation, perception, WHRB, whimsy, Social Living, toli

Writing log: January 5, 2022

Three Centuries

Voyagers through the terrain of time
Living out three centuries simultaneously
Time travelers in the torrid zone
Navigating its fraught territory

The near past is nothing to speak of
Replete with close encounters with dread
Luckily therefore, we shy away from nostalgia
After all, these were labeled our lost decades
Moreover, even the earlier eras bore a taint of calamity
Of pawnage at home and, in middle passages, chattel slavery

We made our accommodations, and devised our survival strategies
At times resisting those who marked our lands as uncharted territory
They came with breech-loading muskets, Maxim guns at the ready
Meanwhile we had nature's usual afflictions too as adversaries

Mindful of the mosquito principle, we cultivated fever trees
Prepared potions of bitter roots contra miasmas and rank diseases
Plainly the ancients suffered the ailments but didn't have the vocabulary
The graves were getting full - these days we'd call it excess mortality

Black gold and crown jewels extracted, there were protection treaties
Signed under duress, some of the chiefs yielded to malign authority
The structural adjustments of yore, a taste of excessive liability
A short sale, in retrospect they put a human face on ugly realities

Young, ever hopeful, unencumbered by the past, we look forward
As an article of faith, trusting that better days lie ahead
In time, as well as in place, removed from the burden of deference
We bring forth the elements of survival to charge our present

Fumes, fragments abound, shards of memory
That the storytellers left, the faint glimpses of glory
Elements of our present could do with a touch of modernity
We hold on, we hold fast, and we will tell our story

And so some of us, by default, have found ourselves living in three centuries
Simultaneously navigating tradition and modernity
Overlapping frames, for humanity knows no boundaries
No one is coming, it’s up to us to shape the memories

Off kilter, confronted, as we are, with many uncertainties
We wear, as protective armor, our masks of civility
Treading a fine line, but finally in charge of our destiny
Comforted, we attempt the choreography of normalcy

So, the battle enjoined, charting our own direction
The upshot now, the nature of our contribution
Clear-eyed, is to press beyond a naive sentimentality
And demonstrate that we move forward through community

Truth and reconciliation, a conversational strategy
Social living, the antidote to manifest destiny
In the torrid zone, then, this was a matter of necessity
We paid our premiums, soul insurance was the remedy

Three Centuries, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Out of the Past - The Three Sounds
• Side by Side - Dianne Reeves
• Let's forget about the past - Clyde McPhatter
• Now's the Time - Charlie Parker
• Back to the Future - D'Angelo
• Jazz in the Present Tense - Solsonics
• Out of the Past - Art Farmer
• I Can See the Future - Incognito
• Out of the Past - Benny Golson Sextet
• Til It's Done (Tutu) - D'Angelo
• The Past, The Present - Kupla

See previously: The Torrid Zone and Soul Insurance


File under: Africa, culture, observation, perception, identity, strategy, Social Living, memory, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 18, 2022

Shakedown (Part π Pay the Piper)

A new variant by any other name, this one came in many disguises
The claims adjuster decided that naming it Pi was not needed for this crisis
Let things evolve independently, trust in the process of natural selection
Buyer beware, humanity had been given fair warning about the threat of mutations

Thus he released a swarm of new ailments, troubling in their variety
Escape artists altogether adept at evading mitigations in their entirety
Cerberus, Centaurus, Hydra, the nicknames were telling for this pressure group
A cloud of stealthy lineages with growth advantages, some called them grief soup

Unlike the angels, the claims adjuster was not possessed with a rhadamanthine spirit
A pragmatic sort, he considered all arguments he beheld strictly on their merits
He was not averse to give and take, he would agree to reasonable accommodation
The caveat in his dealings was that he could not tolerate duty abrogation

He heard the elevator pitches from the delegates of the Ushers
Rather full of pretension, they had aspirations of grandeur
Some griots might label their posturing as akin to erstwhile Pharisees
When, at heart all that drove them was the profit motive and its sanctity

The law was for their friends, often irrelevant, and applied selectively
But, when it came to their enemies, they expected strict severity
Onerous, they loaded their side of the scale, the contest was unequal
Yet, by their rhetoric, they were worthy victors, men of the people

Justice from their point of view was merely a gesture
To be ignored in the heat of the deal at their leisure
Enamored of exclusivity, they wanted the lion's share of the pie
Indeed, theirs was a policy towards others of default deny

Inscrutable obstacles they erected, what mattered was who paid the piper
Impenetrable defenses, secret codes that were impossible to decipher
Poised between despair and folly, it was the reign of the incurious
A sad state of affairs when ignorance was the prevailing consensus

...

Third time's the charm, Ananse decided to let his comperes lead the delegation
There was no need, with these careless Ushers, for a personal intervention
Sika, with her actuarial prowess, essentially promised an investment safe harbor
The chief linguist and head scribe plainly assumed that everything was in order

They hadn't realized that their old playbook had been rendered obsolete
Without a reappraisal, they were well and truly heading for defeat
Concerted action, and, most of all, cooperation, was what was needed
But alas, short-sightedness meant that a decisive response was impeded

Shakedown, the Ushers hadn't realized they'd been placed in a straitjacket
For Ananse had devised the ultimate shell game, a kind of protection racket
And by playing them off the gods and the claims adjuster with his mystic brew
He wouldn't even need to seek to hustle the other tribes for further revenue

...

Out of Agona always something new went the old saying
Life in the torrid zone was brutish, harsh and often dismaying
But constraints and necessity seemed to foster invention
Moreover they accepted the value of an ounce of prevention

They'd had to keep their heads down throughout the crisis
Having meager rations of even the most basic prophylaxis
Luckily their old ways, living mostly outdoors, conferred a few advantages
But as normalcy was reasserted they would slowly lose those temporary privileges

They realized they had a long journey ahead but now had better examples
Eyes open, they'd seen what the Wan tribe could achieve by being sensible
That flashy appeals, seductive as they may have been, were no substitute for planning
That by staying the course they could perhaps leapfrog development and continue advancing

...

And so back to the Ushers, Dear Reader,
  how would they handle the weight?
Truth be told, it was only on the matter of form
 that there was a little debate
Since their herd immunity was to shame, they were hardly blameless
The claims adjuster was under no obligation to make things painless

Nyame observed their insatiable appetites,
 incorrigible, they continued to misbehave
Altogether irrational behavior,
 they would soon look back fondly on the second wave
The gathering storm was on hand
 and there was a clear deficit of disaster relief
The tale of the lost stories,
 they'd now have to abide with the laws of grief

The tipping point was the specter of the looming claims adjuster
Which impressed on the majority how close they had come to disaster
A bitter lesson learned, they would be consigned to internal displacement
For not having heeded the warning: greed always brings its own punishment

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Shake you Down by Gregory Abbott
• People get Ready by Brand New Heavies
• Risin' to the Top by Keni Burke
• Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground) by The Jacksons
• Let's Get Back to Love by Loose Ends
• Shakedown by Brand New Heavies
• Your Mess by Omar
• (If You Ain't) Comfortable by Lynden David Hall
• Soul Shakedown Party by Bob Marley
• Shake Down Blues by Blind Boy Fuller
• Shake Down by Evelyn "Champagne" King

See previously Shakedown Part 1, Protection Racket Part 2 and A Modern Bestiary Part 3


The Soul Insurance suite of folktales:

• Soul Insurance
• Buyer's Remorse
• 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. October 9, 2022

Shakedown (Part III A Modern Bestiary)

Everything is local but, for once, the tables were turned
A global calamity, a clear opportunity for lessons to be learned
The shakedown had clarified a taxonomy of optimists and pessimists
A hierarchy of outlooks astride the great game of power and politics

Some put their faith in the state, the competence of the chiefs was unquestioned
A matter of organization, for their high priesthood, of rules and regulations
Call them optimists, the power of the collective was their proving ground
Leading by example, with a touch of advocacy, the rest would come around

Their leading lights lived mainly in the environs of Chwedru, to the east
The Wan tribe had a strict policy of zero tolerance for social diseases
Clear-eyed about the efficacy of doctrine, and serious, they brooked no loose ends
A coterie of technocrats at heart bent on engineering the right dividends

The other side of the coin, protectionist by nature, craved independence
Closed borders, crass provincialism, the very antithesis of openness
Nationalists of a sort, touting the virtues of self-sufficiency
Fatalistic opinions, a dim view of the prospects for humanity

Still, never let a crisis go to waste, it was a buying opportunity
This foundational insight lay at the very heart of their identity
Caricatured as common vultures, feasting on the carrion of catastrophe
Danger lay everywhere, only the paranoid survived latent vulnerability

These others, Ushers mostly, believed strongly that it was every man for himself
Effective cooperation was a pipe dream, they thought, it simply couldn't be helped
They would always make the best of a bad situation
Seeking every advantage to enhance their position

All of the three tribes of humanity were afflicted with disaster capitalists
It seemed quite clear that there was an influential cohort of catastrophists
Who would squeeze the lifeblood, the very essence, at every opportunity
The last gasps were their rightful due, profits, the fruits of inequality

Black gold to extract, fodder for crown jewels
They believed in the reign of the righteous few
Going by past evidence, they were certain that their position would be strengthened
Indeed the tensions of the present moment rather heightened the contradictions

Armed with trickle down bromides out of the mouth of juju tricksters
Dispensing sweet lies, the opiates of the masses, voodoo elixirs
With marketing prowess in abundance, masters of the art of the deal
Those rubes in the torrid zone would surely succumb to their appeal

And even the less cynical thought that a technological fix was in order
The medicine men and the panoply of scribes would surely find a panacea
And even if the notion of herd immunity had proved to be a chimera
The lesson was clear: error is a poor friend but an excellent teacher

The stage was set, the afflictions of the gods had raised a challenge
Would humanity, in the face of such different postures, be able to manage?
Between those who expected fundamental change and even better days ahead
Or those who were bent on consolidation amidst social upheaval instead

Shakedown, jostling for power, a radical restructuring
Which way would the tribes go in the face of this testing?
The challenge had been raised, now it was down to performance
Those who seemed best prepared had paid their soul insurance

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

See previously Shakedown Part 1 and Protection Racket Part 2

Next in Part π Pressure Group, new variants on the horizon


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. October 7, 2022

Shakedown (Part II Protection Racket)

Ananse was a folk etymologist at heart, a man of the people
The spider kept his ear to the ground as he considered the sequel
What glorious phrase would future scribes use to coin his next endeavor?
How to top his previous mischief and count the ways in which he was clever

Shakedown - rather than a search, a process or a period of adjustment
The definition of shakedown that he preferred was readily apparent
He'd done it repeatedly, the squeeze plays of yore had come to fruition
Yes indeed, he was ready to embark on another instance of subtle extortion

He recalled that the chief linguist of the Ushers was a man of few principles
Indeed, he'd tried to cut him out of the earlier deal, the dirty rotten scoundrel
Functional defenestration was the prospect now that his red lines had been crossed
For a toothless dog contents itself with licking the bones it is tossed

Never one to forget a slight, he resolved to press ahead with his approach
He would emphasize that his no pressure tactics were beyond reproach
Add a sweetener, mention that his policies came with an extended warranty
Throw in a no fault clause or even, if need be, a money back guarantee

Along with Sika the actuary, he prepared the shape of the package
Not that he expected them to do due diligence, that he could manage
No, the threat raised of the claims adjuster's wrath would be the stern stick
Their thoughtful words, honeyed at that, would be the carrot that would mislead

This had all the makings of the ultimate protection racket
For the Ushers had painted themselves as an attractive target
Preparation was all, he would engage every option as a backup plan
Fifi, that young wastrel, duly suborned, would be his inside man

Of course, he would structure the transaction with opaque layers
They would be unable to perceive the extent of their betrayal
By the time they would discover the deception, it would be too late
And the mortification at their now-obvious failure would be great

Ananse was mindful of the old proverb that explained it best
Namely that when a farmer is clearing a path in the forest,
It is only somebody else who stands behind them - and this was the insight
Who can actually tell that the path is veering to the left or the right

With sleight of hand, misdirection and other elements of deceit
What they believed was immaterial, what mattered was their conceit
Such were the main tricks of the trade, along with a touch of hyperbole
All of which worked to confound, relying on the inability to properly see

If indeed beauty and greed lay in the eye of the beholder
Ananse held that blindness and conceit were the prey of the deceiver
While it was said that the best cons were elegantly wrought
Experience taught that you should always check what you bought

Shakedown, then, the lynchpin of Ananse's strategy
Shakedown, mindful of humanity's peculiarities
Shake down and see who is ultimately left standing
Shake them down, they were headed for a hard landing

The Ushers fancied themself sophisticates and rugged individualists
Unable to consider the collective, they simply ignored systemic risk
A disastrous posture when the gods were set on testing their mettle
Force majeure, market turmoil would reveal the extent of the bezzle

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)


See previously Shakedown Part 1

Next in Part 3 A Bestiary of Sorts

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. October 6, 2022

Shakedown

To the gods, the evidence was clear, if not incontrovertible
That humanity had decided to forgo the mosquito principle
For their appetites were proving to be, as advertised, insatiable
They were content to accept losses that were once said to be incalculable

Without skipping a beat, some had even returned to their violent ways
Unable to suppress their pathologies, they had been counting the days
Lining up conquests to embark on and making blunt threats of annexation
The specter of grievous calamity, they roundly dismissed as mere vexation

The poisoned chalice of free will was such that you could choose to be insane
But after a fair warning, the punishment due was the application of pain
By this stage, the claims adjuster was well practiced so he remained patient
After all, enforcing the gods' will was only a matter of launching a new variant

Still it was rather puzzling, the situation that humanity faced
The nature of their hubris, the bravado and confidence misplaced
Rather than accept the lessons of the global pause and embrace solidarity
Their vision of the new world order was strictly limited to the pecuniary

The commercial among them had taken extreme measures to preserve their interests
The profit imperative had blinded them to sense and made them thoroughly reckless
Business never personal, went their mantra, easy money, unearned rents
The prospect of a hard day's work for them was simply without precedent

As to the gods, the minds of Nyame and Nyankopon were firmly set on a shakedown
To place humanity under continued scrutiny, a kind of metaphorical lockdown
A thoroughgoing investigation of their tendency to be reckless
What central bankers in these modern times might call a stress test

Odomankoma and Asase Yaa, on this matter, were more tolerant and considerate
Laissez faire by inclination, theirs was a light touch take on this debate
Willing to cut humanity a little slack so long as they didn't make a fuss
And even more if they made good faith efforts to protect the least of us

And one could point to a few signs of realignment
The picture was mixed, it was not all disappointment
One heard in parts of some amount of forbearance
Cutting through perhaps, the lessons of soul insurance

But there were limits, and these turned on matters of integrity
It wouldn't do to allow rank sin and iniquity
Agency was one thing but it was hard to abide hypocrisy
After all, the phrase did have meaning: excessive liability

Nyame took the lead in enforcement and made to summon the claims adjuster
This last reassured the god that plans were well advanced for humanity's next chapter
Indeed before long they'd be cast as stars of modern day horror stories
Staffing shortages and supply chain snafus would be the least of their worries

Still, Nyame reiterated that due process must be followed
Nyankopon added that the social fabric need not be hollowed
That lip service be paid to probity in as much as could be managed
Although the response from the gods must, of necessity, be seen to be savage

The claims adjuster agreed that it was time to put his foot down
And set about to put into high gear the plans for the shakedown
Serendipity, as far as variants went, he'd now reached the magic number
Pi, archaic though it may be, it would give them something to remember

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Shake you Down by Gregory Abbott
• People get Ready by Brand New Heavies
• Risin' to the Top by Keni Burke
• Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground) by The Jacksons
• Let's Get Back to Love by Loose Ends
• Shakedown by Brand New Heavies
• Your Mess by Omar
• (If You Ain't) Comfortable by Lynden David Hall
• Soul Shakedown Party by Bob Marley
• Shake Down Blues by Blind Boy Fuller
• Shake Down by Evelyn "Champagne" King

Next in Part II Protection Racket, Ananse seeks easy profits and Part III A Modern Bestiary, a book of beasts.

See the previous covidious folktales: Soul Insurance and Buyer's Remorse

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. October 5, 2022

The Reach of Hill House

Close to the Masonic Lodge,
Near the order of Odd Fellows
By the Temple of the Goddess of Mercy,
Around the block from the cathedral
With the mosque in the background,
The calls of muezzins and roving preachers
The distractions were many, but one could see Hill House around the way

Where a society of friends would gather in quiet devotion
Mindful of the other faiths in their midst,
   the fierce competition for souls
No exuberant dancing
  as with the nightclub vibe of the new christianity
A meeting of minds in a circle close to the ground,
   theirs was solemnity

Eschewing ostentation, riches were to be expended on the spirit
Sharing thoughts, joyful worship but always in a minor key
The paths that life may take you on, the fateful journeys
Ever outwards, sometimes worlds away, yet reaching back to that weekly home

The comforting silences of friends, the keen observations
Most of all, the peaceful reflections and the fellowship
A region of the mind centered on earth, grace fixed in memory
The enduring appeal, sustaining; the reach of Hill House

Hill House, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• This is my story, this is my song by Thelonious Monk
• Abide with me by Thelonious Monk
• How my heart sings by Bill Evans Trio
• Be Not Always by The Jacksons
• How Can I Keep From Singing by Pete Seeger & Arlo Guthrie

File under: memory, culture, religion, Quaker, Ghana, Africa, observation, perception, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 8, 2022

Mercy is the Gift

In those days we had a choice to make
Whether to raise our voice and be counted
The dilemma in the face of violence
For oppression is a determined foe

And even if silence was our blanket of loss
We marked the times of dread with patience
Consoled that relief would surely come
But always, in faith, we bore witness

Oh the threats we endured,
The heat of cold fury
Such threats that we faced
Those foregone opportunities
Survival carves its blood-tinged imprint
The mold is the human animal

Speak, memory
Of fond flesh departed
Of bonds disappearing
Speak of absences enforced,
This life of ellipses

Speak of unease and timeless worry
Of the heaving bodies we saw drawing their final breaths
Even as throughout, we listened and we stared

But even if a look only deflects the blows of a willful detractor
A burdened soul beholds a shield of grace
Protection that turns into a weapon
For mercy is ours to give

This, the gods have long made known:
Mercy is the gift


...

The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals

— The Burning Babe by Robert Southwell

Mercy, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Mercy Mercy Mercy by Cannonball Adderley Quintet
• Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology) by Marvin Gaye
• Mercy Mercy by Don Covay
• Somebody Have Mercy by The Memphis Horns (ft. Bobby Womack)
• Have Mercy by Mighty Diamonds
• Somebody Have Mercy by Sam Cooke
• Mercy Mercy by Wilson Pickett
• Mercy Mercy Mercy by Caleb Quaye & the Faculty
• Quality of Mercy by Michelle Shocked
  Ending with a devastating take on the immortal line

...

And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.

— The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare

I've always loved the way the Bard echoes Southwell... the quality of mercy is not strained.


See previously: The Voiceless Past, Speak, Memory, Wrath is for the Weak, Truth and Reconciliation


File under: culture, memory, observation, perception, strategy, displacement, mercy, empathy, Ghana, dissent, Africa, reconciliation, philosophy, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 7, 2022

Intimate Legacies

The height of fulfillment for a Ghanaian woman
The measure of a life well lived
Is to be surrounded by loved ones
Sought out for consultation
And to leave a trunk of fabric
Packed almost full with cloth, new or barely worn
To be shared amongst those she leaves behind

Kente, Dutch wax prints, indigos and batiks
Some with Adinkra designs, and lace too; these are heirlooms
True, some would also cite the beads and the jewelry
Gold sovereigns as befits the site of the Gold Coast
And yes, monies and land, cars - modernity, are fitting contributions
But it is the cloth that is the prized intimate legacy

...

Daa left me some fabric, my inheritance was a sleep cloth
Dark green, a GTP wax print, lightly faded
So soft after years of use that the merest touch
Transports me to happy places
Skin to skin, in contact with her quiet ways
Remembering her voice and her laughter

She left a scarf for our daughter
White lace, a welcome present
She'd held out to meet her, her great granddaughter
The yearslong campaign on her granddaughter-in-law
Had borne a delicate fruit
She carried her with joy that day
And fussed, and gave advice, we listened well
Ineffable joy, she slept well that night
Remembering the long journey, the twists and the turns
Those who had walked along with her
Those now lost, and those who still remained
The happy times - for there were many like today
The reversals, and the times of privation
Internal exile and the hunger seasons
When some had to sell, to empty their trunks
To empty their very souls to provide for their family
But she had made it, and could pass something on
She was ready. She passed it on and carried a glow
She eased through the few weeks that remained of life

...

In this meeting of minds
The foundations of identity
Home, the veins of belonging
Sleep cloths for the children
Memories rest on the fabric itself
Pieces of intimate legacies

Intimate Legacies, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Pass it on by Omar ft. Terri Walker
• Grandma's Hands by Bill Withers
• She Gave Her Angels by Prince
• Sacrifice by Elton John
  In the same vein as the Purple One's ode, the album is fittingly titled Sleeping with the Past
• Sacrifice by Gregory Isaacs
• Grandma's Hands by Gil Scot-Heron

Let's place this under the banner of Social Living

File under: family, memory, fabric, cloth, legacy, history, culture, observation, perception, personal, sensory, Ghana, Africa, textiles, tradition, poetry, Social Living, toli

Writing log: September 22, 2022

Wrath is for the Weak

Wrath, unlike his elder sibling Outrage,
Doesn't bear the burden of permanent necessity
Rather he presents a signal test of character
Nay a temptation, of the allures of impunity
Oblivious to consequence, the bearer gives full sway to Anger
Single-minded, he seeks the imposition of selfishness
Forcing an unseemly rush to be the sole enforcer

But for good reason, social beasts, we live in community
Beholden to the workings of the Law whose wheels turn slowly
For human life is precious and ought to have sanctity
Hence all those quaint rules and regulations that serve to protect
Wrath, in all his disguises, remains a barbed weapon against life itself

And so, like Cain, Wrath would murder Outrage
The tawdry act betraying a signal lack of courage
With misplaced righteousness and indecent haste
All too often the damage is done, an irreversible mistake

In times past, Shame would leap at the opportunity
A rebound fling with Fate to correct the catastrophe
But sometimes it was too late, and Wrath would no longer be willing
Scent of blood in the sinews - Lust, he'd become enamored of killing

The gift of free will frees us from inhibition
Yet binds us also with the shackles of discretion
Albeit neither God nor mankind's History would ever absolve
The guillotines and firing squads, the wages of Thermidor

Wrath is for the weak, shower them with kindness
Kindness, even when wounded, for it was written
The good books advise to turn the other cheek
To resist the temptation of this mortal sin

True, there's undoubtedly been an injustice
Especially as you witnessed their glib insouciance
But even if pausing may seem like a temporary inconvenience
Hindsight guarantees that your act will only worsen the situation
Instead, revel in the powerful exercise of restraint
Change the perspective, change the rules of the game

This too shall pass, do not give in to the anger
Conflicted thoughts about revenge, self-appointed avenger
For any satisfaction of the wrathful impulse is ephemeral
Regret is all, sadly that is the occasion's sole promise
Rather, lasting strength derives from considered justice

The realization of our stories is that the costs are sunk
Histories are only written after the damage is done
Mythologies that celebrate the conquerors as victors
In the moment, we are not bystanders, we can choose to be actors
But the moral lesson is that we don't need further casualties
The collateral damage notwithstanding, wrath is for the weak

Wrath, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Outrage by Joe Gibb & the Professionals
• Right and a Wrong Way by Keith Sweat
• It's a Sin by Pet Shop Boys
• Wrath of Kane by Big Daddy Kane
• Outrage by Booker T & the MG's
  Following up the adrenaline rush of Kane's braggadocio with the chaos and disorder of the MG's, spinning out of control

See previously: The Sense of Violation

File under: wrath, rage, values, anger, strategy, culture, restraint, decisions, observation, perception, humour, life, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. September 25, 2022

The Memorial Lectures

In a time, then, of intense ferment and revolutionary fervor
When bishops were imprisoned, and judges were being murdered
Amidst vituperous outbursts, obscenities, from the leaders of the junta
Who would set upon any opposition their cadres, commandos, and militias

It took personal bravery from this eminent historian
More inclined to dusty archival work than the realm of the politician
But everyone had to play their part, not just the journalists
The man on the streets, even the poets and the satirists

The call still resounded after six years to stand up and be counted
For, even in those days of despair, the challenge had to be mounted
In the face of random, yet purposeful, terror and violence
To confront head-on the prevailing culture of silence
Up stood the good professor to give those memorial lectures

Political parties were banned, so they were couched as educational sessions
Our intellectual life in those days reduced to Green Book study lessons
Featuring long-winded missives from our friends in Cuba and Nicaragua
East German ideologues too gave input, as did theoreticians from Romania

It's fair to say that this minor act of defiance prompted a revival
A reappraisal, in many ways, of Ghana's philosophy of survival
Methodically and deftly explained with his customary sensitivity
What we choose to remember and forget, the workings of cultural memory

He stepped up to outline the essence of these fraught histories
Provided the background to give strength to quiescent identities
We owe him a debt of gratitude, this mild mannered man of qualities
For laying out the Ghanaian context of the sphinx modalities



In memoriam, Professor Alfred Adu-Boahen

Memorial Lectures, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Think by Curtis Mayfield
• So Much Things to Say by Bob Marley
• Sorry Ain't Enough by SAULT
• Culture of Silence by Jhelisa
• It's Enough by Lenny Kravitz
• Le Silence n'est pas un Oubli by T.P. Orchestre Poly Rhythmo
• Had Enuf by Al B. Sure!
• In a Silent Way / It's About That Time by Miles Davis

Part II of Sphinx Modalities, putting a human face to Sphinx

Further reading: The Ghanaian Sphinx: Reflections on the Contemporary History of Ghana, 1972-1987

I nominate this piece for the Things Fall Apart series under the banner of Social Living

File under: Ghana, appreciation, resistance, dissent, courage, politics, coup, dictator, strategy, culture, history, oppression, observation, perception, Africa, values, social, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 11, 2022

Maroon Creed

Long before those edifices of past sorrow were erected
They moved with the poetry of resistance
Disdaining the fraught burden of a label
Freedom and defiance, they owed allegiance to liberty

Naturalists by inclination, observers of the earth's promise
They found strength in conversation and community
The playfulness of the language, the meandering turns of phrases
Luminous idiolect that harkened to ancestral lands

By necessity navigating the contours of cultural interplay
Recognition in the names, a heritage weighted with history
They carried in their tongues the tales and the traditions
Fragments of identity, the métissage of their found society
The maroon creed, independence of thought, purity of faith
Sacred links, bonds forged in renewed nighttime ceremonies

To stand straight even amidst insecurity
To laugh when confronted with precarity
To flow around obstacles, resilient as a river
And always hewing to escape, shackles discarded
Sounding the alarm with conch shell at the ready
Intent, moving with purpose, their destination is history

Bearing traces of scars still lingering that speak to society's ills
Not beholden to the legacy of those days in the hills
Yet embodying by one's very existence the remembrance
Of the enduring shame of what man would do to fellow men
To strangers and neighbors alike, out of the wages of blood and sin
Charting a path then, spears burning, ever mindful of this proud legacy
Cast in this vein as living emblems of cultural memory

Maroon Creed, a playlist

A soundtrack for the Nèg Marron. Caution, take heed, behold a spear burning over yonder. (spotify version)

• Man in the hills by Burning Spear
• Spear Burning by Burning Spear
• Black Soul by Burning Spear
• Door Peep by Burning Spear
• Spear Burning (live) by Burning Spear
• Song of the Maroons by Courtney Pine
• Foi de Marron by Léon-Gontran Damas
  Listening to the premier poet of Négritude narrating his famous ode to the maroon creed is invigorating. It is easy to see the spark that he lit in Senghor, Cesaire and other contemporaries.

In memoriam Aba Cecile McHardy


See previously: Until Such Time, Traveling Light and Forgiveness and Love

File under: culture, observation, griots, maroon, perception, history, legacy, freedom, slavery, race, identity, poetry, Caribbean, Africa, Social Living, toli

Writing log: July 3, 2022

Buyer's Remorse (Part 5 Caveat Emptor)

Buyer beware... the conclusion of Buyer's Remorse

V. Caveat Emptor

Fifi had managed to procure a side deal
   offering personal protective equipment
His firm had no experience in manufacturing
   yet the profits he saw were indecent
The elders of the Ushers had vouchsafed
   his bonafides and competence
For excessive scrutiny on the contracts
   would betray a lack of confidence

Their scribes and linguists were keenly aware
   about the prevailing tendency
With trend-surfing alacrity, they were obliged
   to watch the mood of the country
The elders navigated the zeitgeist but, in this respect,
   their strategy was crude
For although they disposed of the reins of power,
   they did not create the mood

When in bubble territory, all was permitted
   so long as there was a greater fool
To be left holding worthless assets
   while you calmly counted your new jewels
It was explicit, every man for himself,
   they rather expected collateral damage
But, given that they'd been bailed out repeatedly,
   they felt free to take every advantage

It was a risk worth taking, in extremis
   they'd expect the treasurers to step in and lend freely
And as rule makers, nostrums about high rates or solvency
   would be ignored rather conveniently
As to survival checks for the common folk,
   they’d raise the issue of moral hazard and its specter
And jump up on their high horses,
   loudly bemoaning handouts and welfare in scolding lectures

The Ushers had gone all-in with leverage
   following a high risk strategy
But it turned out that they'd run up
   against a fearsome and capable adversary
The Wan tribe had reserves of strength and discipline
   that caused them to be underestimated
Inscrutable and hard working went the stereotype,
   but their savoir faire was often discounted

They'd paid lip service to the entreaties
   of the vulture capitalists that surrounded them
Opening up at their periphery but, as Ananse and Sika expected,
   they didn't let their guard down
Thus the flow of money would be bound to continue as promised
The possibility of a lucrative payoff would be hard to dismiss

Middlemen in a two-sided network,
   they collected their ample cut and transaction fees
It was now time to move on and,
   as they tallied the profits, they were very pleased
They pitied the Ushers' eminent braintrust
   of high officials with all their degrees
For these last had failed to perform due diligence
   and were now no longer at ease

Indeed the Ushers' soothsayer sounded the cry,
   "Cash, cold cash", and started a lament
As the returns came in and were reconciled,
   the scale of the disaster became apparent
They appealed to the Grand Treasurers
   to step in as buyers of last resort
But were surprised by the bankers' response:

"There's no buyer's remorse"

The lesson they were learning
   was that buyer's remorse is a funny thing
At the time that you bought something,
   you might have had some misgivings
But you went ahead, the impulse or the moment,
   for whatever reason, it just felt right
But then you encounter a seller
   who doesn't believe that the customer is always right

Later, you’ve changed your mind,
   and now there's a mountain of regret
Lamentations and suffering,
   but you can't say that you were misled
To turn back the clock and retrace your steps,
   the urge to recapture
Instead you're left rueing
   the wages of your myopic misadventure

...

The folks from the torrid zone stayed silent,
   as ever, they were reactive
Lacking capital, they’d had to keep their heads down
   and didn’t participate in this initiative
Those out of Agona had tried to heed the warnings of the gods
   and follow their advice
Still, many in their ranks found it hard to live this life
   of restraint and quiet sacrifice

The advocates of social living and the mosquito principle
   were faced with a great dilemma
Soul insurance has always needed better public relations,
   if not crises of power
Greed, expediency, and fear mongering
   were the things that moved the political needle
Restraint was a hard sell,
   the temptation was to seize the moment and veer towards the illegal

The gods observed the situation and gathered
   in the private chambers of the Supreme Council
The claims adjuster narrated the many ways
   in which the tribes had ignored his counsel
What with their philandering ways
   and flagrant violations of common decency and more
Heck they had even flouted conventions
   and needlessly initiated another cold war

Nyame and Nyankopon understood that further punishment was warranted
   and quickly gave their blessing
Odomankoma and Asase Yaa wavered (they had a soft spot)
   but saw the virtue of teaching human beings a lesson
The claims adjuster was given leave
   to continue putting humanity through its paces
He promptly unveiled a new variant that combined all the worst traits.
   He was off to the races

"There's a heavy price to pay for wishful thinking
   and this unseemly nostalgia
'Tis quite the pity, but you can't say you weren't warned",
   intoned the claims adjuster
"Recall the Angolan proverb,
   a woman who wants a child doesn't sleep in her clothes
It may sound harsh, but what one reaps come harvest time
   depends on what one sows"

Your narrator, an exiled soul from the torrid zone,
   must now take my leave, Dear Reader
And for the last word in this tall tale,
   we have the quip from Ananse the Spider
Caveat emptor foremost,
   then a piece of wisdom on buyer's remorse that never gets old:

The stone that lies at the bottom of the riverbed cannot complain about feeling cold

Buyer's Remorse, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note that frankly served as outline for this people's history. (spotify version)

• It Ain't Necessarily So by Grant Green
  Looks aren't everything
• Be Thankful for What You've Got by William DeVaughn
  Restraint is a virtue
• Everybody Has a Plan Until They Get Punched in the Mouth by Charlie Hunter
  Gravity is hard to defy
• It Could Happen to You by Ahmad Jamal
  Hope springs eternal, beware of the grift
• Betray my Heart by D'Angelo
  The perils of self deception.
• Fool's Paradise by Meli'sa Morgan
  The greater fool theory never sounded so good
• Knucklehead by Grover Washington Jr.
  Take a good look at yourself
• I Choose You by Paris
  A choice freely entered
• Protection by Massive Attack
  Soul insurance is what my broker advises
• Until Such Time by Mark Cherrie
  Caveat emptor

Buyer's Remorse (Series Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Buying Opportunity
2. Tempting the Town Crier
3. The Situation Thereof
4. Fair Warning
5. Caveat Emptor

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 9, 2022