Coinage Capitalism

Hottakes galore, call it coinage capitalism
Reification of the zeitgeist, the books proliferated
Bearing weighty tomes laden with keen, academic discourse
Along came the bright observers and the futurists

Cassandras calling, heady charges were duly leveled
Observe well the rhetoric of these social synthesizers
But scratch the gleaming surface of their mooted frameworks
And behold a fundamental misdiagnosis of the economics of networks

Such edifices they erected
   as they bemoaned the newfangled platforms
Perverse incentives touted by the lawyers among them,
   stern demands for reform
Bullet points on their charge sheets,
   not your garden variety contrarianism
A veritable rush to be the first to pinpoint the original sin

They extolled the perils of the day,
   but it was a new age of puffery
Their research probed the fatted calf
   or, at least, its dark underbelly
These pundits, badged with brows of concern and alacrity
Were minting think pieces full of shrink-wrapped profundity

Talking to themselves,
   the commentariat selling policy prescriptions
Data is the new oil, and other slogans that belied their fictions
But to take them at their word would be a crying shame
For, at the end of it all, they were merely playing a shell game

Tell us something new, there's no such thing as a free lunch
Captain Obvious, if you aren't paying, you are the product
Dark patterns applied as you skipped over the fine print
Taken hostage, the convenience of the Faustian pact in one click

Blinders on, the profit imperative,
   next they'll be fleecing you
Slouching wide awake, you customer,
   as they extract surplus value
Still, was there really anything novel
   in this dark empire of fear?
Methinks their sole invention
   was a new way of saying buyer beware

Cheap Talk, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Cheap Talk by Loose Ends
• Talkin' Loud and Saying Nothing by James Brown
• Talkin' all that Jazz by Stetsasonic
• Talkin' out the Side of your Neck by Cameo
• Sound and Fury by John Brown's Body
• Talkin' Loud and Saying Nothing by James Brown and the J.B.s

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: hatchet job, culture, observation, perception, technology, Buyer's Remorse, shell game, Observers are worried, poetry, language, rhetoric, toli

Writing log. Concept: January 29 2019. November 21 2021

An Hour Away

Cape Point. Near the southern tip of the continent
From the cliff, we watched the famed seascape
The blue waves that were said to rival Zanzibar
Then, the Cape of Good Hope.
Tourists. Escapism.

Later, an hour away lay the township
Punishing. We took in the juxtaposition
Apartheid painted from its drab palette
Khayelitsha.
Slum life. Journalism.

(South Africa, Christmas 1993)

Put all this behind you, the scripts were being readied
The recent unpleasantness was all ancient history
Welcome to the New South Africa, they'd started to say
After all, you know, the elections are only months away

A Temporary Inconvenience, a playlist

Some sounds from South Africa. (spotify version)


File under: memory, culture, observation, perception, travel, poetry, South Africa, apartheid, race, poverty, colonialism, juxtaposition, Africa, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: December 30, 1993, December 1, 2021

Workforce Rebalancing

We recorded workforce rebalancing charges in the combined income statement
Structural actions to simplify and optimize the increase in employee exits
The allocation of corporate expenses was not meaningful

...

Structural actions
Simplify and optimize
Employee exits




After The Company's 8-K filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission

See previously: Restructuring Activities and The Annual Report

File under: language, work, life, culture, observation, perception, capitalism, office, job, culture, irony, waste, poetry, humour, The Rough Beast, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: November 7, 2021

Less Unfortunate Casualties

In Puerto Rico — among Irma's less unfortunate casualties — the lights were out. In many places, so was running water.

— Caribbean Devastated as Irma Heads Toward Florida (New York Times, September 7, 2017)

I guess the relativity of casualties is what is hard to handle
The "less unfortunate casualties" construction amounts to a great muddle
In context, I can sort of see where the writer was headed
But the more I think about it, the more confused I get

One is certainly fortunate to be injured rather than dead after an attack
Yet one is clearly unfortunate to have been attacked in the first place
On the one hand, a casualty is, by definition, unfortunate
On the other hand, we are full of concern for those less fortunate

How to distinguish between the typical usage of unfortunate
And the duty of care we always admonish for the unfortunate?
Thoughts and prayers should always go to the less fortunate.
But what of the reverse? What is due to the less unfortunate?

Those who ended up without lights were casualties, that we must admit.
There are gradations of fortune, it seems, a full spectrum of hardship
Harken to the circles of hell laid out in Dante's Inferno
And so we come, in this instance, to misfortune in Puerto Rico

Like mosquitos and other disasters, the hurricane didn't discriminate
The truth is, those who didn't have running water were certainly unfortunate
It seems a stretch to make a distinction between those without electricity
And those of the former group. Whither the less unfortunate casualties?

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

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

Writing log: November 30, 2021

Rear View Mirror

Bear with me as I expound,
   my meaning will surely get clearer
I realize you want to put this plague
   firmly in the rear view mirror
It's only human to want to draw a line
   under the recent terror
Buyer beware, you may fall prey
   to the worst kind of category error

The blemish is that, per Doctor Fauci,
   it is the virus that sets the timeline
And, with a few new variants
   that escape the mooted, mitigating vaccines,
We're back to first principles:
   that global peril requires global solutions
Mother Nature doesn't discriminate,
   and the least of us deserve consideration

For all it takes is an immunocompromised so-and-so
   in some remote place
That, with a long infection,
   allows the virus to evolve and then displace
A few genetic markers in competition,
   for it's really survival of the fittest
And then a new variant is spawned
   with mutations that put humanity to the test
Unless you close your borders, or impose a quarantine,
   you have no protection
The new normalcy exposes
   the very real challenges of globalization

And so the tension that humanity faces
   is how to deal with the disease
Back to business, acceptable loss,
   and facing the ensuing unease
Will it be like malaria,
   once the challenge at home has been met
To close our eyes on the wretched,
   will we forget about the rest?

In the past, those in the first world
   were self assured and very vocal
Righteous, nay, they would always have you know
   that everything is local
A large part of humanity were consigned
   to face mosquito borne diseases on their own
For whatever reason, climate, bad luck,
   and the lack of development in the torrid zone

For some of us who know that no man is an island
Exiled souls living in the diaspora
Mindful about the fate of our relations
Our liminal networks have been disrupted

Those shielded from these troubles
   quickly gained a propensity for selective amnesia
Forgetting the enduring struggles
   that supported humanity's defenses
This pandemic has given a global education
   in observed competence
A corollary of the mosquito principle
   is vigilance against nostalgia

Rear view Mirror, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Objects In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear by Meshell NdegeOcello
• It Ain't Over 'til it's over by Lenny Kravitz
• It Ain't Over by Terry Ellis
• It Ain't Over Til The Fat Lady Sings by En Vogue
• Rearview by Raphael Saadiq
• Objects In The Mirror by Prince

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

File under: culture, observation, perception, USA, failure, disaster, coronavirus, pandemic, poetry, covidious, Observers are worried, toli,

Writing log: May 22 2021, November 20 2021

67

Well, well, well, guess who turned 67 just the other day?
A neighbor distributed a flyer right at our doorway
Inviting us to a gathering to celebrate
   near the benches just before dark
Plum center, a photo of the birthday boy,
   the old man who lives in the park

Sadly, I couldn't rally to make it to the happy event
Even though I would consider myself one of his friends
Life intruded, parenthood and the pandemic's dismal reality
Meant that I missed out on the trappings of that ceremony

What do you give the man who has nothing but wants nothing?
I racked my brain:
   what could possibly be an adequate contribution?
Moreover, would he really want to be celebrated
   or, rather, left alone?
After all, when the party's over,
   the park would still be his humble home

At his age, one would traditionally be prime for retirement
Clearly though, besides his clothes and blanket,
   he has no safety net
Despite the gestures we've made
   to maintain a modicum of community
For all we know, he may not even be collecting social security

It can't be easy this life of his, being homeless
Street life, the whole world watching all your business
The soul of the neighborhood was the flyer's consensus
67, this old man. Think first, of the least of us

The Old Man Who Lives in the Park (Redux), a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Homeless by Paul Simon
• Sitting in the Park by Alton Ellis
• Longing and Waiting by Bilal
• Rock Creek Park by The Blackbyrds
• Waiting by Rachelle Ferrell
• Sitting in the Park by Billy Stewart
• Srotoi Ye Mli by King Bruce & the Black Beats

See previously: The Old Man Who Lives in the Park

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

File under: poverty, street, life, observation, culture, race, homelessness, social, conversation, USA, aging, pandemic, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: September 11, 2021

Body and Soul

Human bodies can take a lot of physical stress,
Whether it is heat, cold, pain, or starvation.
Our surviving ancestors - those that handled it best,
Were accustomed to life at the extremes and deprivation

The gods would present challenges beyond mere deprival
For the health of the body is but one element of survival
The one paradoxical stressor
   that leaves the soul completely unmanned is solitude
A shadow's burden weighs on the psyche,
   isolation is the ultimate test of fortitude

Solitude has its uses, however,
   for such is the Gordian knot of human life
Many acts of creation require momentary detachment,
   if not a splinter of ice
A little dissonance and social distancing
   to garner an oblique perspective
To see things in proper true light,
   artistic impulse is the prime objective

...

Fellowship, a comfort suite is to be found in community and connection
Skin to skin, the merest touch can revitalize one's condition
Out-of-body, the journey to a far region of the mind has its own costs
Sensation, soul insurance assuages the spirit's rhythm of loss

Body and Soul, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. Twenty odd takes on Body and Soul, one of my favorite standards. Coleman Hawkins's solo is the definitive statement while Billie Holiday has lead the approach to vocal treatments. This is the kind of music that makes you promptly pay your soul insurance premiums.

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

File under: culture, observation, social, perception, comfort, solitude, health, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: November 10, 2021

Fortress of Ignorance

The proudly incurious throughout history
Stand in opposition to the experts of the age
The manifold flavors of their ignorance
Counterpoints to the textures of knowledge

Forget the hedgehogs and the foxes, they'll say,
Can't you see? We are forging our own reality
Never mind the hubris, the paradox of the day:
Their tribe often seem to be in ascendancy

That the lack of shame opens the way for the ignorant
   is the core insight
Where scoundrels prosper freely,
   the useful idiot has firm ground on their side
Observe well, the emperor's new clothes
   contra the evidence of your own eyes
Later narratives will rebrand those moments as frothy hysteria
   instead of common lies

And therein lies the dilemma,
   there is a tax to confronting the ignorant
A burden even beyond the avoidance of conflict
   that simian politeness demands
Humanity is not so far removed from ignorance,
   nay it's our default state
What more to be perceived as a killjoy stickler,
   most would rather shrink from debate

Badged with unshakeable convictions
   and certainties based on gut feel
It's a wonder to behold their impregnable armor,
   call it shameless steel
Mankind's sole weapons, volleys of ridicule
   and the attrition of experience
And deep focus to expose their folly:
   their Achilles heel is incompetence

Knowledge may have its purposes, but guessing is always more fun than knowing.

— Archaeology by W.H. Auden

Soundtrack for this note

• Robber by The Weather Station
  Ignorance is a wonderful album

See also: A Taxonomy of Useful Idiots

File under: ignorance, culture, useful idiots, stupidity, knowledge, culture, observation, perception, rogues, strategy, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli,

Writing log: November 7, 2021

Speak, Memory

To walk around with your conquerors ever present, and in your face
Forever mindful that their whims are fickle and were previously unrestrained
The mask of civility, if not servility, renders you knowingly abject
For when survival is all, the imperative is to protect your neck

But life is not static, and these things have an eventual reckoning
The arc of justice, even if delayed, affects the event horizon
But in the interim we see the mobs with their brand of injustice and pogroms
Purity tests and shibboleths, the taunts chanted, the blows bestowed with no qualms

Settler colonialism leaves its mark, the imprint might even be genetic
The bloodstains that resound from walking through crimson soaked streets
Shame will out, humans love storytelling too much to forgo living testimonies
Truth and reconciliation rendered even as inconvenient flesh. Speak, memory.

"The past is past. I've accepted it. I don't want to remember. It's just asking for trouble."

— survivor of the Snake River massacres in Indonesia interviewed in The Look of Silence, Joshua Oppenheimer's documentary about the ghosts of the Indonesian slaughter of a million so-called communists.

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: memory, reconciliation, history, blood, legacy, culture, politics, observation, perception, Israel, Palestine, Indonesia, violence, outrage, justice, conqueror, colonialism, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 15, 2021

The Physics of Shame

The half life of shame, experiments confirm,
   has been decreasing at an alarming rate
The exponential decay, in modern times,
   subject to the vagaries of fate
Blame changing mores, expedience,
   and a predisposition for fun
Descartes would never get to write
   "I'm ashamed, therefore I am"

Researchers who have studied the erosion of shame
   are mostly confounded by the facts
A few gremlins are said to possess the unerring ability
   to repel it on contact
In some quarters, the term of art, shame liquefaction,
   has even been advanced
The gene which confers a selective advantage
   is often found in politicians

The angels that shepherded humanity
   out of the garden of Eden still maintain
That they left a curious gift in their luggage,
   wrapped in decorative paper
Ostensibly impermeable this solid substance,
   it bore the label shame
A puzzle too, for when mankind touched it,
   it instantly changed their behavior

Alas, like most unrequited gifts
   it was doomed to be treated as a novelty product
Further, the owner's manual was missing,
   and the warning labels unexamined and unread
Like the Rubik's cube forlorn that second week of January
   at the back of the toy closet
Swiftly discarded, right next to the silly putty,
   observe well the ensuing misconduct

The substance, in practice, turned out to be quite malleable
   in human hands
Material scientists point to a barrier function
   affecting soul insurance
After the initial practicality was addressed by clothing,
   and a modicum of modesty observed
There was no further selection pressure,
   the survival imperative was all that mattered

Thus, in our early dealings in the torrid zone,
   some realized that it could evaporate
If not treated with care,
   the run on our communal supplies would accelerate
But it was seen as a victimless crime,
   there was no one really that one could blame
The corollary in the modern era:
   America's real herd immunity is to shame

Shame, a Playlist

A soundtrack for this research note. (spotify version)

• Shame on Me by Alexander O'Neal
• It's a Shame by The Spinners
• Shame by Lewis Taylor
• Shame by Lenny Williams
• It's a Damn Shame by Johnny "Guitar" Watson
• It's a Shame (My Sister) by Monie Love
• Shame by Lewis Taylor

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

...

See previously: Shell Games (Part I. Shame Cultures)

File under: culture, shame, observation, perception, shell game, USA, humour, hatchet job, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log. Concept: May 14, 2020. September 18, 2021

Barter Trade

A cop doing detail at a distribution site
Gave her the tip about the extra vaccine doses
Solid, he was a regular at the main liquor store
The one near the old airport, a repeat customer
"He's a real fiend for good booze", she recounted,
Gleeful as she was about the stylish twist in fortune
Call it serendipity, if you'd like, this coup
That in those early months of constrained supply
When most went unprotected no matter how hard they tried
How she managed to trade a boutique bottle of whiskey
For her first jab of the Pfizer vaccine

They've been living their best lives during the pandemic
For, early on, liquor stores were branded as essential
The governor was adamant, the state was open for business
Thus, the flow of alcoholic beverages continued unabated
Heck, they were even expanding, even though it took a bit
At length, the state board issued the required permit
The new store would be opening soon in the posh part of town
An upgrade, no more gentrifying combat zones with their brand of chic

Not a mask in sight throughout all these months
It seemed as if the pandemic was irrelevant
Still, this was a departure, this vaccine development
A marked change from the early days of the lockdown
When we'd heard loud and clear over the fence
Right at the start of The Grand Reopening of Texas
The laughter and the assertion: "There is no virus"

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

File under: life, coronavirus, pandemic, humour, culture, observation, perception, Texas, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: October 24, 2021

The Annual Report

The leading contender was just launched (category: literary fiction)
A touch unorthodox perhaps, it's hard to keep up with the latest fashions
Today's fresh arrival in my mailbox was The Company's annual report
Would it be magical realism this year or the stream of consciousness of yore?

The most interesting section in The Company's 10-K statement
Outlined "the rationale for management's use of non-GAAP information
In the Compensation Discussion and Analysis and Proxy Statement"
A wonder of the world: dense bureaucratese and obfuscation

"The Company believes" that this fiction "provides increased transparency
And clarity into both the operational results of the business
And the performance of The Company's pension plans improves visibility
To management decisions and their impacts on operational performance"

The wholesale escapism, the whimsical mix of romance and fantasy
That The Company's writers have laid out, so striking and awkward
"Enables better comparison to peer companies; and allows The Company
To provide a long-term strategic view of the business going forward."

I'm not normally a fan of the fantasy genre but was quite shaken to the core
By this panoply of words hidden in plain sight that confounded and obscured
What with precious jewels of misdirection whose sole intent was to distort
I commend to the Pulitzer Prize committee The Company's annual report

Fantasy, a Playlist

A fictitious soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Fantasy by Earth, Wind & Fire
• My Fantasy by Guy
• Fantasy by Mariah Carey and O.D.B)
• Fantasy by George Michael
• Bone Lies by Freddie MacGregor

Some things take away your breath and reading the company's annual report was revelatory.

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: language, misdirection, shell game, humour, hatchet job, culture, observation, IBM, deception, finance, capitalism, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log. Concept March 28, 2020. August 19, 2021

The Lobby

It's one thing to avert the eye and go for benign neglect
It's another when the chairman of the board is affected
I recall that when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait
A furious response was simply not up for debate

With Kuwaiti elites, whether oligarchs or royal family, over a barrel
These major stockholders, the world over, were in mortal peril
Forget matters of sovereignty, it didn't need to be said
That it wouldn't be good for business, let alone US interests

Even today, western media, who would not normally exercise restraint about strangers
Suddenly become coy and sensitive about their coverage, and hew to their better angels
As India became a new epicenter, they initially started showing makeshift crematoriums
And the telegenic, albeit burning, funeral pyres; the utter collapse and dysfunction

But the tone quickly changed, even as things were getting worse
The reality is that Indians hold the power of the purse
It really comes down, in these things, to who pays the piper
Who has the loudest voice when it comes to the diaspora

For when, say, Google's CEO's close and extended family is affected,
You'd best believe there'll be outrage, and an almighty scramble
Suddenly those who would never otherwise spare a thought
Are seen to be urging solidarity for this catastrophe

And so I've been thinking about the power of the lobby
I wonder who, in extremis, would ever be coming for me
I have long studied the successful ones even if I disapprove of their sleaze
The Israeli, the Saudi and those others; smooth operators, well versed at advocacy

For when my countrymen were stranded in Libya, Lebanon, or what have you
Or even those unfortunate souls who were being trained by Nicolae Ceaușescu
When calamity struck, the lesson they quickly learned was rather sobering
Namely that not a scintilla of help was on the way, no one was coming

In the past, to hold a Ghana passport was to be a down-on-your-luck kind of person
Radioactive really, the kind of thing that attracts the worst sort of attention
The immigration agent would break out a broad smile as you made your arrival
Your ovaries or gonads, foreseeing their inspection, would start to shrivel

We always wished for a different passport, Liechtenstein, or, say, Luxembourg
Let's be frank here, of a Luxembourgian held for hostage, I have never heard
But it stands to reason, there is something quite apt, even if it's inequitable
To read a headline: "White contractors airlifted to safety before local Black people"

There is a great sorting hat at work, perhaps the gods have always played favorites
But it is rather tiresome for those of us who have to content ourselves with miseries
"The fellow with the fufu usually moves over to the man with the soup,
Never the other way around", goes that saying, and well known Nigerian truth

And so as I write my own stories, I realize that I too need a posse
That I need to build bridges, and help those on the lower rungs than me
In this liminal life in the glue layer, making connections is what matters
The head nod of appreciation, building up the lobby for my fellow travelers

The Loud Minority, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, meditating on a lobby (spotify version)

• The Loud Minority by Donald Byrd
• The Loud Minority by United Future Organization
• The Loud Minority by Frank Foster
• The Loud Minority by Kero One

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: power, politics, immigration, identity, strategy, lobby, communities, advocacy, Great Game, humour, Ghana, Africa, culture, social, observation, perception, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 14, 2021

Onomatopoeia, a Playlist

I give you a playlist full of vocal incantations. With poetic license, I've named it onomatopoeia rather than vocable which arguably better captures the sound effects I have in mind, the la las, the ding dongs and the sho-be-doos. We hum, we sing and we chant; the words are immaterial, it is the sound that enthralls. Listen without prejudice

Onomatopoeia, a playlist (spotify)

• Doobie Doobie Do by Omar
  The very definition of infectious, a celebration. I find myself nodding my head and singing along, Doobie Doobie Do. Effortless soul
• Shoop by Salt-N-Pepa
  Shuffling and sexy rhythms
• Ooo La La La by Teena Marie
  Slowly and langorously, the golden voice delivers a hook with staying power
• Zungguzungguzungguzeng by Yellowman
  The endless inventiveness of the Dancehall master, no one could toast quite like him, he rode any riddim relentlessly
• Din Daa Daa by George Kranz
  The vicious drums and the sum total of the lyrics:

  Din Daa Daa / Don Doon Doon.

  Onomatopoeic perfection
• Tutti Frutti by Little Richard
  Rock and roll was changed by the immortal chorus:

  A wop bop ba lu ba a wop bam boom.

• Woo Hah!! Got You All in Check by Busta Rhymes
  Even a subdued Busta Rhymes is action packed. Vocal gesticulation at its finest
• Yabadabadoo by Chubb Rock
  Simply Authoritative.

  The fat lady sang, I crushed her / Word up the Chubbster / Yabadabadoo

• Rub a Dub by Mikey Dread
  Nursery rhymes reinvented with a reggae vibe
• Oops Outside Your Head by Gap Band
  Charlie Wilson and the boys, Oklahoma's finest funkateers delivered bonafide party jams, perfect for barbecues and family reunions. Note the disingenous title: I don't believe you want to get up and dance
• Na Na Hey Hey by Donna Summer
  Dance with the disco queen, unarguable fun
• Da Da Da by Trio
  There's repetition and there's radical simplicity in structure in this piece of German pop. Da Da Da
• Poom Poom by Prince
  The chorus must be at least twenty poom pooms, vocal percussion in this vault track. From the man who sang about joy in repetion we get hundreds of poom pooms by song's end
• Bam Bam by Sister Nancy
  This is a hit. Sister Nancy may have never got paid for this lethal track inspired as she was by Yellowman and other toasters at the time, dancehall at its finest.
• Beng Beng Beng by Femi Kuti
  Dionysian and ferocious, no wonder it was banned in Nigeria, a song guranteed to cause commotion on dancefloors
• Boom by The Roots
  Adrenaline from a lethal lyricist

• Eeni Meeni Myni Mo by Omar
  We start the b-side with another nursery rhyme to punctuate some soul. Omar always delivers
• Rub a Dub All the Time by Dennis Brown
  The crown prince of reggae had so many hits, rub-a-dub style.
• La La La He He He by Prince
  Challenged to write a song to this title, our man came up with this slice of funk.
• Sho-Be-Do-Sho by Beres Hammond
  A consumate showman, Beres has to be experienced live
• Da Da Da by Prince
  The kind of song you can do when you get control of your masters, emancipation was the album
• Shoo-Be-Doo-Be-Doo-Da-Dey by Stevie Wonder
  A preview of the exuberance that was about to let loose in his virtuoso run in the seventies
• La-La Means I love you by The Delfonics
  The ultimate ballad
• Don Dada by Super Cat
  For a few years, Super Cat was inescable.
• Ding-Dong The Witch is Dead by Ella Fitzgerald
  No one has ever objected to Ella Fitzgerald, she could sing anything.
• Fu-Gee-La by Fugees
  Harkening back to Teena Marie on the hook, this was the album that would take them to the stratosphere
• Na Na Hey Hey by Bananarama
  Their brand of 80s pop might have been lightweight but you still had to dance to it
• They Want EFX by Das EFX
  The heart of this playlist is probably the effusive piece of vocal gymnastics. The intricacies of their rhyming in unparalleled.
• Din Da Da by The Roots
  Questlove and Black Thought took on the challenge of revisiting George Kranz'a masterpiece on the Tipping Point
• Ting-a-ling by Shabba Ranks
  The master of the dancehall
• Shing a Ling by Desmond Dekker
  Reggae greatness
• Ha! by Dianne Reeves
  Scat and vocalese virtuosity
• Sho Be Do Be by The Clarendonians
  The early reggae bands harkened to the doo bop bands
• Woo by Erykah Badu
  Apparently this album came after a bout of writer's block. Woo is all you need to get back to work
• Ding-Dong the witch is dead by Glenn Miller
  I'm always minded that this was the song that was sang in the streets when Margaret Thatcher died.
• Bam Bam by Byron Lee and the Dragonaires and Toots and the Maytals
  What a Bam Bam, Toots is sorely missed
• Doo wa Ditty by Zapp
  Zapp and Roger always deliver dancefloor bangers

I leave you singing Doobie Doobie Do

File under: music, language, whimsy, culture, fun, Comfort Suite, toli

Writing log: July 7, 2022

Such Is My Asylum (Soul Insurance)

I turned to the economics of whimsy in humanity's curriculum
To summon the poetry of cultural memory, for such is my asylum

To wit: belly laughs are most exhilarating when it is darkest
Bound, as I was, by a mandate to bear witness

Contra despair, the searcher readies a comfort suite
Charting a new narrative, protection by way of a stare

Soul insurance then as a safe harbor
A balm for the spirit's rhythm of loss

See previously: Such is my Asylum

Such is my Asylum, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. Angie Stone adds soul insurance to the poetry playlist.

• Soul Insurance by Angie Stone
• Poetry Man by Phoebe Snow
  Her delicate voice is everything
• Poetry by Roy Hargrove (featuring Q-Tip and Erykah Badu)
  The late Roy Hargrove is sorely missed.
• This is My Story, This is My Song by Thelonious Monk

...

The book is done.

This note concludes concludes another collection of toli, my third collection of poems, written in a fever in five weeks in spring 2021. Hopefully it will escape hypertext into physical form sometime soon... It all started with a covidious folktale; I call it Soul Insurance.

...

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

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

Writing log. May 1, 2021

In the Vein of Whimsy

After chasing a phantom thread of dislocation,
It's safe to say that I needed a palate cleanser
Thus, it was in the vein of whimsy,
That I came to the claims adjuster

What with a surfeit of grim reality and daily grief
I needed a berth, soul insurance was my port of relief
The tale of the lost stories, I would write further chapters
Now that I had in mind the requisite political actors

Render unto Caesar and all that, to quote the son of man,
Thus I'm not one to begrudge humanity's tax collector
Moreover I pay my dues promptly, and keep current on all accounts
Treating any lingering debt as if it was a test of character

For my family's history is so replete with close encounters
That adversity has almost become a confidant or family member
The second cousin who acts as a companion when fortune calls
And stiffens the spine, giving support when regret is all

Internal displacement is the lot of exiled souls
Prone to leading liminal lives in the torrid zone
Maroons roaming the borderlands and interstitials
Strays that walk alone, consigned to internal exile

I crave connection, made, in this life, in the glue layer
My networks meshed with the irreverence of the soothsayer
Solace is to be found in the search for community
And lasting insight comes in the vein of whimsy

In the Vein of Whimsy, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• I found my smile again by D'Angelo
• A tear to a smile by Roy Ayers
• Until a tear becomes a rose by Loose Ends
• I'm gonna laugh you right out of my life by Kenny Burrell
• Only a smile by Dennis Brown
• Laugh, Clown, Laugh by Abbey Lincoln
  The masks of civility that we wear.
• A tear and a smile by Meshell NdegeOcello
• I'm gonna laugh you right out of my life by Nancy Wilson
• Whimsy by Kyoga

See previously: The Economics of Whimsy and The Joy of Small Things.

Yours irreverently, chief toli monger

Consider this a coda to my covidious folktale: Soul Insurance

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

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, storytelling, whimsy, pandemic, Social Living, Observers are worried, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. April 28, 2021

The First Time

The first time I stepped on a plane, it took a bag of candy
The first time I stepped off a plane, my stomach learned what my mother held, namely that I shouldn't be greedy

The first time I made to kiss
The first time, I do believe, I missed

The first time wasn't the greatest
The first time was about togetherness

The first time the blow came towards me on the playground
The first time I beheld that turning the other cheek, as a practical philosophy, stood on shaky ground

The first time I held someone back, and said cool down your temper
The first time I myself exercised restraint, that one I remember

The first time I practiced what I preached
The first time I was well and truly deceived

The first time I made a lasting friend
The first time, as god is my witness, I realized there would be no end

The first time I had no shame
The first time I played that game

The first time I heard you sigh
The first time I made you cry

The first time I swallowed my pride, and tried to conjure a smile
The first time something small inside me irrevocably died

The first time I bore the strength of my convictions
The first time I betrayed my heart, it was confounding

The first time the car flipped and I pulled my cousin as he tried to leap out of the window
The first time I saw someone die, and learned that no one is promised tomorrow

The first time the dam broke, unbidden, and out poured the torrent of tears
The first time I remembered the feeling and cried harder, even after all those years

The first time I revealed something of myself, I felt as if I was nude
The first time I broke the veil was really just a prelude

The first time I heard my daughter's cry
The first time my son broke that mischievous smile

The first time the customary pay raise to beat inflation was summarily denied
The first time they called it a resource action, the coinage letting me know that I was fired

The first time I trafficked in fictions
The first time I mastered the art of misdirection

The first time the soldiers came to the house, I was nine years old
The first time exile beckoned that dawn in the Amsterdam airport, good Lord, it was cold

The first time that class of five year olds burst into laughter at how I pronounced pipe in French
The first time, months later, this 9 year old skipped four grades, and exacted a kind of revenge

The first time I was lampposted I thought it was quite rude
The first time I lampposted someone, it was I that was being cruel

The first time I was plagiarized I was outraged and furious
The first time Ghana beat the USA at the World Cup I was delirious

The first time I laughed so hard I couldn't believe the extent to which I was amused
The first time the full weight of human malevolence left me feeling abused

The first time I faced overt racism I was quite confused
The first time I faced microaggressions I was rather bemused

The first time I visited a zoo was in London, 1980, the special exhibit was a white man in a cage
The first time I was taunted about my race, I retorted that "You, yes you, are the ignorant savage"

The first time I run unthinking towards the burglar coming up the stairs I couldn't believe
The first time I rushed my son to the emergency room, like him I could hardly breathe

The first time I failed, there was a mountain of regret
The first time I made a conscious decision to forget

The first time a reader said thanks for what you're doing
The first time my dad said my poetic gestures were improving

The first time I grew something successfully from seed
The first time I wrote a poem that I thought I could keep

The First Time, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Never as Good as the First Time by Sade
• The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack
• First Time I Met the Blues by Buddy Guy
• Betray My Heart by D'Angelo
• Feels like the First Time by Corinne Bailey Rae
  I wondered how she could sing after losing her husband so young. This is how she showed us
• Our First Time by Bruno Mars
• Just Like the First Time by Freddie Jackson
• The First Time by Surface
• First Time by Macy Gray
• First Time by Jaheim
• First Time by J Dilla

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: culture, observation, perception, humour, life, aging, race, immigration, Ghana, USA, family, grief, wist, whimsy, experience, sensory, Small Things, Observers are worried, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 8, 2021

Talk True

First the slap, then the heavy blows
"Talk. Talk true."

Then, well... that was your welcome
"Talk. Talk true."

They did warn you
"Talk. Talk true."

But it seemed like a verbal tic
"Talk. Talk true."

The blows came so fast
"Talk. Talk true."

You never had time to respond
"Talk. Talk true."

You just made to protect your head
"Talk. Talk true."

But they were indiscriminate
"Talk. Talk true."

About where the blows were inflicted
"Talk, Talk true"

The punishment was evenly distributed
"Talk. Talk true."

Dad chuckled after recounting their mantra
"Talk. Talk true."

But it wasn't with glee but irony. It was macabre
"Talk. Talk true."

He had borne the brunt of the soldiers' blows
"Talk. Talk true."

When they'd picked him up after the coup
"Talk. Talk true."

The human rights lawyer
"Talk. Talk true."

The august law professor
"Talk. Talk true."

The head of Special Branch
"Talk. Talk true."

Then, later, it was the turn of the police
"Talk. Talk true."

Before the trial
"Talk. Talk true."

During the trial
"Talk. Talk true."

And then death row
"Talk. Talk true."

Those years in limbo
"Talk. Talk true."

He never talks about it
"Talk. Talk true."

Well, would you?
"Talk. Talk true."

Some things are best left unsaid
"Talk. Talk true."

The only hint he's ever given
"Talk. Talk true."

These three words
"Talk. Talk true."

Mind you, his pedagogy stressed the importance of human rights
"Talk. Talk true."

He spent his life trying to redeem the security services
"Talk. Talk true."

But knew, full well, the kind of treatment meted out on a daily basis
"Talk. Talk true."

His mandate was reform
"Talk. Talk true."

It's hard to say that the battle was won.
"Talk. Talk true."

Even after all these years
"Talk. Talk true."

Brutality. The trail of tears
"Talk. Talk true."

It's hard to change institutions
"Talk. Talk true."

Human beings have the most perverse traditions
"Talk. Talk true."

Rituals and initiations
"Talk. Talk true."

Even today they all join in
"Talk. Talk true."

No questions asked
"Talk. Talk true."

It's an automatic reflex
"Talk. Talk true."

That's all you need to hear
"Talk. Talk true."

Bonding. Esprit de corps
"Talk. Talk true."

You're duty bound to join in
"Talk. Talk true."

Sure the poor sod might lodge a complaint
"Talk. Talk true."

But in the moment, he needs to be taught a lesson
"Talk. Talk true."

About truth and reconciliation
"Talk. Talk true."

And so God help you if you're ever facing an African prison
"Talk. Talk true."

For even in the most enlightened police station
"Talk. Talk true."

You'll get no sympathy
"Talk. Talk true."

Your station in life doesn't matter
"Talk. Talk true."

Big man. Small man. This is the police station
"Talk. Talk true."

Friday night, when the burglar is brought in
"Talk. Talk true."

Whether thief or completely innocent
"Talk. Talk true."

Having a bad day, mental health issues
"Talk. Talk true."

Caught in a dragnet. Arbitrary. Mistaken identity
"Talk. Talk true."

Failed to pay the bribe, argued with the officer
"Talk. Talk true."

You're wasting police time
"Talk. Talk true."

Police everywhere
"Talk. Talk true."

It's not a matter of bad apples
"Talk. Talk true."

You'll take the blows
"Talk. Talk true."

If you know what's good for you
"Talk. Talk true."

Eventually they'll lose interest
"Talk. Talk true."

But in the interim you'll have to bear witness
"Talk. Talk true."

An education of sorts
"Talk. Talk true."

You'll learn about time dilation
"Talk. Talk true."

The laws of physics
"Talk. Talk true."

Colliding bodies
"Talk. Talk true."

The uncertainties of biology
"Talk. Talk true."

Anatomy lessons
"Talk. Talk true."

Material science
"Talk. Talk true."

Fluid dynamics
"Talk. Talk true."

Human factors
"Talk. Talk true."

Psychology
"Talk. Talk true."

Neurology
"Talk. Talk true."

Sociopathy
"Talk. Talk true."

The limits of religion
"Talk. Talk true."

The pain of loss
"Talk. Talk true."

Buyer's remorse
"Talk. Talk true."

Regret
"Talk. Talk true."

Wist
"Talk. Talk true."

Pain
"Talk. Talk true."

Groups
"Talk. Talk true."

Despair
"Talk. Talk true."

No one is coming
"Talk. Talk true."

Dysfunction
"Talk. Talk true."

The thin blue line
"Talk. Talk true."

Trauma
"Talk. Talk true."

And then finally you'll talk, and talk true.

Talk True, a playlist

A playlist to soften the blows of providence. The watchword is reform. (spotify version)

• They Gonna Talk by Beres Hammond
• Mr. Cop by Gregory Isaacs
• True by Spandau Ballet
• Talkin' What I Feel by Young Disciples ft. Masta Ace
• Cheap Talk by Loose Ends
• Fast Talk by Stephanie Mills
• Talkin' Out The Side Of Your Neck by Cameo
• Black Cop by KRS-One
• Ronny You Talk Too Much by Ronny Jordan
• Come and Talk to Me by Jodeci
• Talk to Me by Anita Baker
• Have a Talk with God by Stevie Wonder
  I think Stevie said it best. I reach back to him whenever I see another instance of this rote brutality.

...

Poetry as soul insurance, for such is my asylum.

I nominate this internal displacement for the Things Fall Apart series under the banner of The Rough Beast.

File under: Ghana, police, culture, violence, brutality, tradition, trauma, history, family, memory, coup, personal, outrage, sensory, life, Africa, Things Fall Apart, The Rough Beast, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 16, 2021

The Weight of Ideas

They talk about a density of ideas
As if this is a thing that has weight

Well we don't suffer from a lack of such
Nor is there a dearth of pungent metaphors

For even in the darkness we hold on tight
And carry the load like the porters of old

Uncomplaining, contemplating recent history
Those lost decades consigned to collective amnesia

The density of our thought
Manifestations of ingenuity

The weight of our ideas
A concentrate of deft potency

We were never on the wrong side of history
It is only that our timeframe extends past your event horizon

...

Bartering for hours it seems, at the bend down market
The old man quietly observes the proceedings
Then gestures, as if to say,
"Be patient, just wait a minute"
Then he brings it out from the back
He knew what you needed

...

Heavyweight thought is our concision
Sublimation, our purifying distillation

Not a word more, a sublime concentrate
Deny that brevity is for the weak

Future markets priced by the ounce of reflection
Ideas as intellectual projectiles in conception

Mining our fields of thought
Weaponized extractive industries

Cross the technical support of trending interest
A paucity, the bitterness of imperfection

...

Such is the half-life, ultimately, of our navigation
That we traffic in concealment and revelation

From social interplay we gain direction
For we hold that markets are conversations

The process of consensus
The patience of conversation

The virtue of listening And truth and reconciliation

Our ideas weigh a ton
And are integral to our identity

The weight of ideas, the nuts and bolts
Such is the cement of society

...

After Jon Elster

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: philosophy, culture, observation, perception, knowledge, learning, history, transparency, opacity, conversation, education, memory, social, control, Akan, Ghana, Africa, Observers are worried, poetry, toli, storytelling, collaboration

Writing log. Concept: February 2, 2019; May 7, 2021