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The ban on assault weapons had been revoked, I lived then in modern America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

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

The Loud Librarian

I. Miles

Punk would have been his first choice
But most days, he settled for jazz fusion
Mind you, it wouldn't be your smooth easy listening
No, the incarnation he favored was electric Miles
Live-Evil era Miles to be precise
Pip squeaks of funk, a bitches' brew of sonic chaos
Untethered dissonance that destabilized the unwary listener
Barely a minute after they'd entered the library
Check the startled looks of the patrons - priceless

It was not what you'd expect, distorted, unsettling
Very far from what you'd expect given the setting
But this was what you got when it was his shift
On duty at the front desk, he controlled the playlist
Not your garden variety background inoffensive music,
No, at its most friendly, the riffs would place you On The Corner
Or a journey into free rhythmic abstraction, taken to Pangea
Unmoored, with little recognizable features, frankly disconcerting
Pugilistic in intent, the music, it demanded active listening
At such times, you were apt to be left completely disoriented
Wishing for the relative aural safety of A Tribute to Jack Johnson

Electric Miles then, and only occasionally Electronic Miles
No Kind of Blue modalities, no stately Sketches of Spain
No First Quintet bop stylings, no Second Quintet excursions
The library's soundscape became full of challenges
You'd wonder why you kept re-reading that page of the article
Strangely uneasy, enervated and somehow provoked by the music
And as for the microfiche, you'd inevitably lose concentration

The middle schoolers mostly gave up on doing their homework
Best just to decompress or browse the aisles during those hours
The other librarians would exchange looks of concern
The mantle of reverence had been punctured if not shredded
Nervous energy, the wall of sound evoked the shape of dread
Missing, the customary hushed tones of the library
It hearkened to Sly Stone, There's a Riot Goin' On

But we are creatures that avoid conflict, striving simians
So no one confronted him or made any demands for silence
Discreetly and strategically placed, a box of ear plugs was often to be found
Near the display of staff recommendations at the entrance
Passive aggressive too, posters and vinyl, The Birth of the Cool
Sorcerer, Someday My Prince Will Come - Frances on the cover smiling at you
Ascenseur Pour L'échafaud, the iconic Miles projects, Miles Ahead too.
And it became institutionalized and part of the practice
Buyer beware, know what you're getting into
The loud librarian ruled on Tuesday afternoons

II. Method

If organized chaos was his soundtrack
Manufactured serendipity was his methodology
Walking the aisles searching for opportunity
Where a blanket of serenity would normally greet you as you entered
The diffident and deferential queries you expected:
"Is there anything I could help you with?"
No, the loud librarian would approach you head on
"Have you seen this? Over here we have a new exhibit"

And, well, you would often forget what you had been looking for,
The reason you'd come to the library in the first place
He had sized you up as you entered and unerringly tailored the offbeat material
He always gave you something that you didn't know that you needed
Redirecting you, changing the perspective, oblique viewpoints
The connective tissue he saw was inspired direction

So, despite the inevitable naysayers at his aural eccentricity
Despite the chatter and slanted anecdotes he imparted
After a few encounters he garnered a following
Aficionados would leave the library synapses firing

Many a research project would be revitalized
Science fair projects became baroque surprises
No mundane experiments with baking soda
Newton's experiments in alchemy became prime subject matter
The histories of the maroons in Suriname and Guyana
Speculation on elements of continuity within the Akan diaspora
Suddenly Fabian Socialists entered classroom discussion
At the dinner table, parents would now face new contentions
Their curious offspring now questioning state legitimacy
Back from the bibliothèque devotees of oral histories

III. Billie

Come the winter solstice, the soundtrack changed
Tuesday heartbreak became troubled Thursday
A shift change, the director rearranged the schedule
And Thursdays were known to feature a tough crew
Gathered as they were in dueling conference rooms
The first group considered stamps, the Philatelic Society
Altogether conventional, they researched political histories
But the seeds of conflict were sown by the Psychedelic Society
He couldn't help it - simply couldn't contain his curiosity
About what strange things could be going on in their meetings
A fractious lot, not responding to any of his queries
From what he could make out after examining their marginalia,
Their focus was ostensibly on matters mind-altering and minor arcana
They were reluctant to reveal the substance of their "happenings"
But he was not at all impressed with their take on bioprospecting
Their single minded focus on ancient herbal remedies
Commerce instead of the application of indigenous knowledge

And so we all started to listen to Billie Holiday
The Lady in Satin album mostly, autumnal Lady Day
Pathos in the voice, wracked by too much living
Thoroughly wrought with experience, witness the mannered phrasing
Off kilter, her way with a ballad, the lush strings backing
And loud, crucially you could hear every bent note
Trace the curvature of her deliberate voicing
As if caressing the microphone, the breath control, halting
The immediacy in the lyrics was striking, but it tended to take a toll
By the time Glad to be Unhappy came on, you'd be thoroughly wrecked

After a few months, he decided to quit, it was time to move on
Another town across the country would require his intervention
He planned out the soundtrack of his last Thursday afternoon
He played The End of a Love Affair it seemed on repeat
Careful observers would realize that it was all seven takes
Variations on a theme, as ever, she preempted the beat
The strings mournful, her voice increasingly emotional
The psychedelics were in distress as they walked out the door
The blues of wist and melancholy, no one could stand it anymore.
Billie. You're killing us, this is too much to bear
How many times can we hear The End of a Love Affair?
Finally smiling, for the encore, he switched to Portishead
He hummed along to Sour Times during his exit interview

The Loud Librarian, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Inamorata by Miles Davis
• The End of a Love Affair by Billie Holiday
• Sour Times by Portishead

File under: culture, observation, perception, life, music, obsession, whimsy, Small Things, poetry, toli

Writing log: November 24, 2022

The Early Bird Catches the Poem

I woke up hearing your brain buzzing,
   It sounded like a lawnmower
Or perhaps it was like a landscape crew
   Deploying their leaf blowers
Disturbing tranquility in the neighborhood,
   I could hear all your thoughts
Clearly, you were lining something up
   Troubling and mischievous

Oh, I hear you say, it must have been a dream,
   You were still sleeping
But lying next to you,
   I could tell from the way you were breathing
The gears were starting to shift,
   As if you were deciphering a puzzle
Leaving me to wonder
   What a girl has to do these days to get a cuddle

What is it this time? Another poem? Really!
     Or is it that godforsaken novel?
That you seduced me with all those years ago.
     I always knew that you were trouble
Now I see you, lost in thought, contemplating,
     Long before the crack of dawn
With sleep in your eye, yet acting
     As if you want to catch the morning sun

You're having an affair with the muse.
     That's right, I know your shady ways
Don't smile at me. I'm the other woman,
     Who's lost her man to constant wordplay
You'd best shape up, you know
     If you want to keep me in the marital home
Don't laugh now, how dare you. What's that?

"The early bird catches the poem"

Early Bird, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Body and Mind by Heavy D

  Your body's here with me
  But your mind is on the other side of town

• Early in the Morning The Gap Band
• You Can't Turn Me Away by Sylvia Striplin
• In the Morning by Omar
• Earn my Affection by Amel Larrieux

  Put your back into it

• The Other Part of Town by Horace Parlan & Grant Green
• Soul Inspiration by Anita Baker
• Good Morning by Gregory Isaacs
• Conception by Black Thought
• Love from a Distance by Beres Hammond

Or alternatively Close to You by Maxi Priest

In my defense, it was the excitement of the winter solstice that stirred the mind that morning but it seems I was misconstrued.

See previously in a similar vein: Quality of Life and The Stereotype

File under: humour, life, culture, observation, perception, Creative Process, language, whimsy, marriage, poetry, toli

Writing log: December 21, 2022

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

A Blade of Grass

It's a minor eccentricity
That, I must recognize
Or perhaps an affectation,
  That I now no longer mow my lawn
And so early mornings you'll find me in the front yard
On my hands and knees pulling up blades of grass

'Twas the old man who lives in the park who encouraged me
To continue my tribute to Sisyphus's boulder
Having found me hand weeding that evening
He was quick to point out the classical analogy
For the task promised to be never-ending

He noted the more common name for the wild knotty grass
I was striving with difficulty to pluck with arthritic hands
Exquisitely adapted to our soil, and fittingly named:

Eternity grass

...

Now a connoisseur of the various types of grass species
The commercial ones, much loved by our Latino brethren
Lawn care is a quintessential family business in America
Putting entire families - villages, through school

At church the Belizean grandma would pray for God's strength
A catch in her throat, pausing before she started speaking,
Strength to sustain the impact of the merciless summer heat
They were all out there, outdoors, dealing with clients's landscapes

Amen, I joined her in prayer, solidarity and admiration
And wonder too, contemplating infinite vistas of grass

...

At one with the earth, inclined towards the textures of the soil
Tempered ambitions, comfortable with this uneasy life
Returning fortified with inspiration to these blank pages
Settled and finally ready, clasping in my hand a blade of grass

Soundtrack for this note

• A Blade of Grass by Keith Emerson
  I prefer this quiet piano piece to the original band version from Emerson, Lake & Palmer

...

The book is done.

This note concludes another collection of toli, my fifth collection of poems, written over the course of five months in 2022. Hopefully it will escape hypertext into physical form sometime soon. As usual, it is an article of faith, the hope that these pieces might resound long after they were conceived (years even) but such is my asylum.

I call it A Comfortable Unease. Start your reading with High Tech Luddite

File under: life, Creative Process, culture, observation, perception, whimsy, poetry, toli

Writing log. September 25 October 9, 2022

Chasmaphobia

Mind the gap, the train operator's message over the intercom
Murphy's law. Or was it nervousness that caused the fumble?
The black rectangular shape shuffled out of the breast pocket
Its curvilinear flight path deftly avoiding the outstretched hands
The rainbow's end right in the gap destined for the tracks
Parabolic trajectory congruent with the laws of physics
Serene, but all you could do was watch and bear witness
That sinking feeling, well none of you were able to react
Superfluous, the message you should have heeded: mind the gap

Chasmaphobia n. the fear of dropping one's keys, badge, wedding ring or equivalent into a gap (say between the elevator and floor)

Mind the Gap, a Playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

File under: life, accident, improbable, whimsy, humour, observation, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log. Concept: February 10, 2006; April 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

Lines

Pink lines are the new shape of dread
The weary anticipation of the so-called rapid test
Faint traces of the untimely failures of our defenses
Or an unwelcome rejoinder to our wilful recklessness

Red lines that bellicose nations brandish
Their diplomats echoing aggressive rhetoric
Not to be crossed or we'll give you the "or else" treatment
The new warfare, like the old, is said to be indecent
By design, it's hard to trace the contours of these boundaries
Seeing as they are drawn up essentially to support a casus belli

White lines that crackle with the powder of addiction
Just say no, resist the temptation, said the erstwhile First Lady
"No Dope, No Drugs", for good measure, chimed in Mr T
For white lines mark the streets with broken dreams

Yellow lines outline a zone, never cross the double ones
Symbolic, indicating waiting or parking restrictions
The DC Metro one tends to shut down for up to eight months
The price of deferred maintenance, repairs and rehabilitation
Safety first, passing is forbidden in both directions
Prohibition, as inconveniences grow, try to avoid obstructions

Power lines, careful around them, electricity
The skeletal frame of our modernity
Infrastructure, what you realize in its absence that you miss
Prime candidate for what went wrong in the root cause analysis

Don't leave anything behind, always put it all on the line
Read the room, be forever mindful of the party line
Embrace euphemism, ambiguity and blurred lines
Careful as you go, tread warily, walk a thin line
Lines in the sand, drawing up lessons learned
Histories remade by the storyteller and promptly unlearned
Comfort suites of ephemera, until such time
Caution, take heed, where you end up down the line
For if the front line is where names are made
It is also where most of the bodies are laid

Lines, a playlist

A funky soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• The Line by D'Angelo
• Blue Lines by Massive Attack
• Down the Line by Gregory Isaacs
• White Lines by Grandmaster Melle Melle
• The Groove Line by Heatwave
• Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke
• Lines by Eric Leeds
• Put it on the line by Lyn Collins
• Dub on the Front Line by King Jammy
• Front Line by Chuckii Booker
• The Line by Prince

File under: humour, whimsy, culture, observation, life, language, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 14, 2022

Drama, a Playlist

The type of song that hits the sweet spot of drama and dysfunction. The subject matter may be petty and sometimes trifling, but the lyrics are sung with verve and, tellingly, the song always strikes a nerve. You can't look most of these singers in the eye such are the stories they tell.

I give you Drama, a playlist (YouTube / Spotify version)

• I Feel Like Breaking up Somebody's Home by Ann Peebles
  
  I'm genuinely scared of Ann Peebles, she really is to be feared. Her mixture of ferocity and vulnerability will disarm the most hardened of hearts. And Memphis soul never hurt so bad (that voice, Willie Mitchell's production! Those horns!)
   
   
• If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night) by Meshell NdegeOcello
  
  Talk about petty. She'll take what she feels is hers and taunt you in the morning. Sexy and attention grabbing, she doesn't care. "Call me what you like", she sings. It may hurt, but those are the breaks; you learn as much on the playground.
   
• Who is he (and what is he to you)? by Bill Withers
  
  Well, is the jealousy justified? Was the look innocent? "When you cleared your throat, was that your cue?" Soul's premier storyteller paints a picture of suspicion with restraint and economy.
   
• The Rain by Oran "Juice" Jones
  
  Cinematic storytelling, he gets down to the sweet business of betrayal. The legendary breakdown is most quoted part of the song but the silky soul setup and refrain make it worth the payoff. "I saw you (and him) / walking in rain / you were holding hands and I'll / never be the same"
   
• Me and Mrs Jones by Billy Paul
  
  The apotheosis of Philly soul is this classic tale of adultery. The poet laureate of human weakness is not ashamed about the "thing" they've got going on. This is grown folks business, matters of the heart must be attended to.
   
• Don't Explain by Billie Holiday
  
  Lady Day shushes the scoundrel she's in love with. "Skip that lipstick, don't explain". The terseness of wounded feeling. Note the slight pause before she sings "right or wrong don't matter". The effort hurts. Talk about battered women syndrome.
   
• If loving you is wrong I don't want to be right by Millie Jackson
  
  I prefer Millie's version of Luther Ingram's opus of longing. The Caught up album is choc full of drama, and with the reversal of perspective, she found the formula that made her reputation: the conflicted soul.
   
• The Rap by Millie Jackson
  
  But then, unrepentant, she added The Rap, a monologue where she revels in being the other woman, outlining the subversive pleasures in wearing the scarlet letter. And society's disapproval can hardly hold a candle to the excitement of the affair.
   
• Yu-ma / Go away little boy by Marlena Shaw
  
  Relationships aren't easy by any measure. When your man quits his job, you can certainly understand why a diva like Gwen Guthrie would sing "Ain't nothing going on but the rent". Here, on the other hand, Marlena Shaw holds court, "Go away little boy", she sings. And how she sings. But, one wonders, does she really mean it?
   
• Creepin' by Stevie Wonder
  
  The departure here is not of betrayal but of sweet obsession. By inclination, our greatest songwriter was more uplifting and personal in his writing. He simply can't get her out of his mind. And the chorus does the same duty as an earworm.
   
• Woman to Woman by Shirley Brown
  
  Dysfunction laid bare, the phone call with the other woman. The song that spawned dozens of answer records. The back and forth with Barbara Mason and others made this the definitive talking piece. The rarefied heights of drama.
   
• Hope she cheats on you (with a basketball player) by Marsha Ambrosius
  
  Bitter, petty, and endowed with a highly specific vindictiveness. Cross her at your peril. If this is what the reaction is like when she's "just a little bitter", god help you. A woman scorned, she sets a new standard for righteous fury.
   

• Down here in hell (with you) by Van Hunt
  
  Genius songwriting. I mean "What would I do if we were perfect? / Where would I go for disappointment?" is hard to top. Messy and complicated. A strange relationship for the ages
   
• Creepin' by Luther Vandross
  
  By this stage, Luther was showing off. First doing the definitive cover of Brenda Russell's If only for one night then outdoing Stevie Wonder, no less, on the very next song. And check out the call and response with Darlene Love on background vocals. Creepin'
   
• Next lifetime by Erykah Badu
  
  The heart desires, but practicalities arise. Timing is everything. Dilemmas of the "awkward situation". In life as in her art, Erykah Badu's entanglements are legendary. Call her the Elizabeth Taylor of the hip hop world, the best rappers were all moths to her flame.
   
• She's got papers on me by Richard "Dimples" Fields
  
  The classic tall tale of the conflicted cad. Dimples's soft voice is perfectly pitched, the voice of a the set-upon. Then Betty Wright walks in on him hearing him pine for someone else and lays down the law. Yes, she's got papers on him. And rightly so!
   
• I Hate U by Prince
  
  Prince goes all-in and even takes it to the courtroom, a funny prosecution of heartfelt jealousy. The breakdown is worth the wait. There's a remix with Eric Leed's flute that leavens the bitterness of the original somewhat. Also: that guitar solo at the end...
   
• You know I'm no good by Amy Winehouse
  
  Confessing upfront her fickleness, she's the very definition of trouble. Guilty as charged, yet you still can't resist the pleasures and turmoil she promises. She's a diva. Well, what did you expect?
   
• Tyrone by Erykah Badu
  
  The reaction of the crowd the first time they heard this song live overwhelms. This was manna for the Essence crowd. Erykah took it to the streets. She's done with you. Surely you know who to call
   
• The girl is mine by Michael Jackson
  
  "Michael, we're not going to fight"
  "Paul, I think I told you, I'm a lover not a fighter."
  
  Even if you thought that the song was syrupy or that MJ had lost his mind, you couldn't help imagining the spectacle
   
• Busted by The Isley Brothers
  
  You really can't avoid R Kelly when it comes to musical drama and this production of Ronald Isley is the prototype for the later Trapped in the closet series. Aimed straight at the chitlin circuit.
   
• I don't want to do wrong by Gladys Knight & the Pips
  
  Decisions decisions. The secret sauce lies in the call and response. The tension in the blues, the interplay with the Pips. "I just can't help myself"
   
• You could have had me, Baby by Esther Phillips
  
  From an album titled Black-Eyed Blues which announces just how problematic things will be. Like Etta James, her subject matter is trouble, love and loathing. The album closes with Tangle in your Lifeline which says it all as far as dysfunction goes.
   
• I am your woman. She is your wife by Barbara Mason
  
  Why do people do this to themselves? Infidelity is an inherently unstable affair (pun intended) but Barbara fully embraces it. "You want your cake and eat it too". Consider also "From his woman to you", her answer record to Shirley Brown's Woman to woman.
   

• Jolene by Dolly Parton
  
  Taking matters into her own hands, begging Jolene to "please don't take my man / even if you can". That she manages to sell the idea that she, Dolly Parton, would play second fiddle to anyone is testament to her ear for drama
   
• After the pain by Betty Wright
  
  She still loves him despite everything. The soundtrack of rationalization. She actually sings "Don't blame Mr. Charlie, Mr. Charlie is just a man. And he's doing the best he can". I mean, we need an intervention here, come on.
   
• If loving you is wrong I don't want to do right by Luther Ingram
  
  1972 was a good year for adultery. Sounding the same theme as Me and Mrs Jones, Luther is not willing to compromise for anything, for she means that much to him. All obligations, vows and responsibilities be damned.
   
• You can have him by Nancy Wilson
  
  Some say Nina Simone, but I go with Nancy Wilson's interpretation of Irving Berlin's song. The delusion is strong with this one. Regret is all, I don't even believe the words for one second. She's stuck on him
   
• The other woman by Nina Simone
  
  Minimalist storytelling, four verses that trace the now familiar arc of disappointment. The bridge?

  And when her old man comes to call
  He'll find her waiting like a lonesome queen
  'Cause when she's by his side
  It's such a change from old routine

• Clean Up Woman by Betty Wright
  
  Featuring the immortal break beat, her's is the cautionary tale of "making it easy for the clean up woman". It's an odd perspective really and quite reactionary too: regret and the blame game for dumping the man.
   
• In My Bed by Dru Hill
  
  Goldilocks and the Three Bears revisited, Sisqó and company made the most of the ubiquity of this club classic. Even today, dance floors fill up immediately at the bass line. "Somebody's sleeping in my bed". Let the bump and grind begin. Drama
   
• Shaniqua by Oran Juice Jones
  
  She turned him out. The player persona couldn't stand contact with this fly girl. Shaniqua got him whooped, turned him into a square and put his pimp days behind him, By the end, The Juice even admits he's "straighter than six o'clock". Big Daddy Kane sympathizes with him.
  
  I just discovered that he actually shot a video back in 1990, albeit it's the edited version of the song, without Kane's rap (Kane does make an appearance in the video). Still, who knew?
   
• The Boy is Mine by Monica and Brandy
  
  The ménage-a-trois here is trifling, the stakes are not so high. One wonders if the titular boy is even worth fighting over. The vocal performances are the real battle in this case. Fighting words, perhaps, but I prefer Monica, she has a little spite in her approach. Brandy is all sugar.
   
• Sh*t Damn, Motherf*cker by D'Angelo
  
  It starts with "Why are you sleepin' with my woman?" and devolves from there. Caught, busted. The sound of jealous rage is the old favorite trope of the blues, revived here for the hip-hop age. The last line is genius
   
• Saved by the Bell by Roy C
  
  A very knowing comic masterpiece, a tall tale about the goings on in Infidelity, Georgia. The Wife would complain when I used to play this song in front of the kids. I demurred, the humour is universal even if racy. Effortless storytelling.
   
• Just be good to me by The S.O.S. Band
  
  The things we do for love, the things we'll put up with. I'll end with this vintage Jam and Lewis soul concoction. Problematic lyrics. Drama:

  People always talking 'bout reputation
  I don't care about your other girls
  Just be good to me

  And so forth.
   

Drama, a playlist (YouTube / Spotify version)


See previously: Love, a playlist

File under: music, storytelling, appreciation, culture, observation, perception, humour, relationships, life, humour, obsession, whimsy, Comfort Suite, toli

Writing log: March 28, 2024