Insomniac realization
that makes you think it's far time you
tried to get some sleep:
Adding sugar to V8 Splash makes it
taste just like
Kool-Aid.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Rare Groove, Feb. 27, 2011
Miles Davis --- So What
From maybe the most influential jazz album in history, Kind of Blue, comes one of my favorite Sunday afternoon relaxation songs. It truly takes the mind to a place built on feel-good ease. And in most of our lives, I'm sure a little ease is greatly appreciated.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Just a Bit of Randomness (Maybe)
I'd like to thank Christina at Soul Aperture, for such a beautiful Sunday morning sentiment, and a photograph that made my soul smile.
I am a rare bird,
no talons, no feathers, no beak, no wings
just soul and light
blooming, efflorescence,
flocking towards those things
that I love
I hope that you all enjoy this most magnificent of Sundays, for it is yet one more Sunday we've been gifted the opportunity to enjoy. Much love.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Friday, February 25, 2011
Rare Groove, Feb. 25, 2011
Radiohead --- Climbing Up the Walls (Zero 7 Mix)
Ever since "Karma Police", I've been a big Radiohead fan, and I love a great mix. This song has such a "laid back, I'm floating on some clouds" sound. It is awesome to listen to while relaxing, thinking, or when you need a bit of a different vibe. All in all, a great mix.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Because I Feel Them in Me (Awesome Repost # 14)
Found these great words over at amir sulaiman. I swear he pulls words from the soul.
in my chest there is a heart
in my heart there is a river
that river leads to a sea
in that sea there is a vortex
in that vortex is every woman i have ever loved
they will never be seen again
----
I can feel my own vortex, growing.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
in my chest there is a heart
in my heart there is a river
that river leads to a sea
in that sea there is a vortex
in that vortex is every woman i have ever loved
they will never be seen again
----
I can feel my own vortex, growing.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Occasional Crazy Rare Quote # 4
"A writer and nothing else: a man alone in a room with
the English language, trying to get human feelings right."
---John K. Hutchens
Rare Groove, Feb. 24, 2011
Kanye West ft Kid Cudi & Raekwon --- Gorgeous
Hip-hop will always have my heart, much akin to those characters in the movie Brown Sugar. And you can say what you will about Kanye, but he still manages to have his 'hip-hop at its finest' moments. Ego and crazy antics aside, when he spits a message, it is usually worth the attention.
"...end of century anthems, based of inner city tantrums, based off the way we was branded...face it, Jerome get more time than Brandon, and at the airport they check all through my bag, and tell me that it's random..."
Word!
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Rare View New
This is just a post to say that my often times neurotically picky nature was able to play nice with my artistic passion for a while, as I have come up with the new look for Rare View Me.
Hoping that everyone likes. Feel free to comment. To me it's good to incorporate change every now and then. And the blog looks a lot less drab. Lol. Now onward to some great new ideas. Will be posting on this in the near future. Before I close, let me just say that I continue to appreciate each and every one of you more everyday. Without you, there could not be possible, and aside from the therapeutic aspects of working on this blog, I am well aware that it is in preparation for something greater. And I'm ecstatic that all of you can say you were here from the beginning. So, much love!!!
Here's to a brighter tomorrow.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Hoping that everyone likes. Feel free to comment. To me it's good to incorporate change every now and then. And the blog looks a lot less drab. Lol. Now onward to some great new ideas. Will be posting on this in the near future. Before I close, let me just say that I continue to appreciate each and every one of you more everyday. Without you, there could not be possible, and aside from the therapeutic aspects of working on this blog, I am well aware that it is in preparation for something greater. And I'm ecstatic that all of you can say you were here from the beginning. So, much love!!!
Here's to a brighter tomorrow.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Maybe It's Time I Give Amanda Diva a Chance
Don't get me wrong. I've always had an appreciation for her. She has a great voice and is a very capable lyricist. Plus I used to love her on "My Brother and Me" (For all you 80s babies who remember that show, on Nickelodeon, as teenagers...lol).
But I guess I've always felt like she was doing too much. One week she's an actress. The next week she's a rapper. The week after that she's a journalist. The next week she's in Floetry. I mean damn!! Can somebody tell her to slow down? But I guess she embraces the idea of positively grindin' to get where you want to be. And I could never dislike anyone for that.
This song, for example, brings out some of her best talents. Listen to that voice. Can you hear those lyrical skills. Call Amanda Diva what you will, but untalented is certainly not an option. I guess I'm just waiting for her to decide what she's really passionate about, commit to it, and therefore produce her most complete work. But until then, I'll definitely keep my eyes open.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
How to Spot a Whore (This is Some Hilarious Shit!!!)
As most of you know I read tons of interesting blogs and articles on the web. Thanks to a post I read on a friend's blog, I was led here: Naked with Socks On, reading a post about how it seems men in 'sex-only' situations are suddenly catching feelings. While this, in itself, makes for such an interesting topic, it was one of the comments made that caused my hysterical laughter, as well as forced me to think.
LMAO!! Sometimes even the profound truth can 'make a blogger wanna crack up' (yes, I just made that up, feel free to borrow...lol). Of course after the laughing, I had to think about my own number. Hmmm....luckily I am not a ho. But I find myself wishing the fraction was smaller.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
At 2011.02.16 12:27, Preachthetruthteller said:It does if we are being real
man whore or female whore are still whores…. If u take into account the soul ties u make every time u sleep with someone u end up with alot of stuff wrong with u…
The formula is simple
take the number of dims u had over the age u are..should look like a fraction…
If it looks like bad blood pressure…your a ho
126/27.
Same thing for men
LMAO!! Sometimes even the profound truth can 'make a blogger wanna crack up' (yes, I just made that up, feel free to borrow...lol). Of course after the laughing, I had to think about my own number. Hmmm....luckily I am not a ho. But I find myself wishing the fraction was smaller.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Remarkable Discovery of Me
"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back...."
And so begins an amazing quote from noted American playwright and feminist Eve Ensler. Although her words were perhaps more inclined towards women, I find myself reading them and taking note at their profundity. I certainly cherish my solitude at times. And while I haven't taken any physical trains lately, my mind has a dedicated itinerary of unvisited places that it travels to. I enjoy walking outside among the stars alone, but sleeping outside would take some getting used to. The inner workings of me seem to be as far away as a person can go. Once you've been there, fear of anything is pointless.
(Yes, I realized I skipped learning to drive a stick shift. Some adventures are better left alone.)
In my daily wanderings, I find that I am becoming more enamored with those times when I am alone. Take today, for instance. I often walk down to the local library, in order to have writing sessions away from home, and today was no different. Even in a public library, I find I write with less distraction. It is getting there that has become what I enjoy. The walk over is always this magical moment where I am free to be alone with my thoughts. My inner self and I have deep conversations on our current situation. We unwrap our hopes and dreams, like Christmas presents. I share my secrets and he does the same, and we promise never to mention them to another soul, except when enticed by awesomeness. We even brainstorm over solutions to our life's most noticeable problems. And of course, we laugh a lot together.
Perhaps it may be a bit disturbing to some that I keep referring to myself in the plural sense, but that's fine. I am not insane (at least no more at this moment than I have ever been). I simply feel like there is a part of myself that I am still in a state of discovering. Much like being introduced to a new friend. It might sound absurd, but I think we dissect ourselves in stages, brooding over various layers until, once completely unwrapped, we see ourselves in full.
How long does this actually take?
Beats me. I never said I had all the answers, or any of them, to be quite honest. I am just one of the people who enjoys asking the right questions. Hopefully, when my journey is complete, and I make that remarkable discovery of me, I will like the man staring back at me. I'll understand his story, recognize what motivates him, and delight in the experiences that led to his being. And then we'll have deep conversations on our current situation. And laugh. A lot. Together.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Desert Flower
This looks like it will be such a remarkable and inspiring film. Based on the autobiographical novel of model, actress and human rights activist Waris Dirie. A great story of perseverance, triumph, and the responsibility in each of us to fight for what is right. I will definitely be looking out for this one.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
The Occasional Crazy Rare Quote # 3
"People say they're lost. I'm not lost. I just hate it here."--- from A Wild Heart Can't Be Broken
Just a Bit of Randomness (Maybe)
You have to admire not only the artistic vision in this, but the insane amount of concentration and commitment. For all of those who have ruined cassettes or simply switched over to CD (um...it's about time...lol), here is an innovate idea for recycling.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
To Become the Poet that I Know I Can Be
I have always loved poetry. It is an ingrained portion of my emotional and mental well being that has always brought me great joy. But I don't want it to become some inveterate task that I aimlessly reach for when an idea comes. I want it to be more. Because of my love for it. Because of the passion that moves me whenever I read my own words, as well as those of others.
Which is why I was happy when I came across this wonderful post from fellow poet and oft inspiring blogger, Angela Felsted of My Poetry and Prose Place. Reading her words invoked me to challenge myself. To look for new plateaus in order to raise my poetry to the level that I feel it should be at. And I think this begins with vocabulary. There are words out there, beautiful, supple words, just waiting for me to reach them. I will seek them out. Befriend them. And my poetry will benefit immensely.
(Upon closer reading, I realize that these words are actually by guest blogger Laurel Garver, also an equally amazing writer and blogger. Check out Laurel's Leaves, as well)
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Which is why I was happy when I came across this wonderful post from fellow poet and oft inspiring blogger, Angela Felsted of My Poetry and Prose Place. Reading her words invoked me to challenge myself. To look for new plateaus in order to raise my poetry to the level that I feel it should be at. And I think this begins with vocabulary. There are words out there, beautiful, supple words, just waiting for me to reach them. I will seek them out. Befriend them. And my poetry will benefit immensely.
(Upon closer reading, I realize that these words are actually by guest blogger Laurel Garver, also an equally amazing writer and blogger. Check out Laurel's Leaves, as well)
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Black History, and the Shortest Month of the Year (Part 3)
For those interested: Part 1 and Part 2
And this is where it gets personal.
Black History Month or, more specifically, the way that most Americans approach it, regardless of race, has always felt like a bit of an enigma to me. It is shuffled about, in the manner of pop trivia, only to be called upon during occasional coffee shop discussions or momentarily spotlighted on well-intending blogs. We peddle it out in 28-day patches, neatly tucking it back into its casings as soon as March 1 arrives. We mention names and note accomplishments, smile for a few moments, and then go on our merry way.
And yet, when April comes, and then July, on to October and December, the truth still remains. Tomorrow, I still wake up, black in America.
There is a pride in this realization, instilled in me from the time I was a child. There is also a strong malcontent awareness taken from this realization, as I grow more as a man. I see what I am not intended to see. It makes me stronger, but it also makes me sad.
I am not what America intended....
This is the beginning line of a poem I started writing, and am still living out its stanzas. My people's history is so deep rooted in forced servitude and the raping of wills that there is a stigma we may never shake. Most people came to this country seeking a new beginning. My ancestors were yanked from where they slept and ushered into bondage. American slavery was an institution will ramifications that are so far reaching, its effects are still seen today.
I witness them when I walk into a room, and all white faces greet my own. There is a moment. Thickness in the air. Eyes reflecting hearts and minds, quickly searching for a side of the line to stand on. In some of them, I am threat long before I can present myself to be one. Which is sad, in 2011.
The effects are present in the mindsets of too many young black men, unwilling to give a damn, because they are so certain it will just be snatched from their grasp. There has become this trained acceptance of failure that is damaging our community. It is for these brothers that my heart weeps.
The effects are present in the makeup of the modern black woman, who is often the byproduct of what happens when, for centuries, governing bodies attempt to cripple the black man, while telling the black woman that she is better off without him. She is forced to become independent. She is forced to become self-serving. Unfortunately, she is also often forced to be skeptical of the black man, instead of embrace him. We, as black men, need to bridge this gap, before total disconnection is achieved.
It is interesting that in society, simply because I am black, I am categorized as bitter, angry, or complaining. That I am too busy seeking apology for something I don't deserve. That it seems like I will find myself forever holding a grudge.
Thoughts flood my mind in response to this.
I am not what America intended....
But I am here. And my country is forced to take notice.
I hope that these three posts have helped a few gain a bit of understanding. They are just a few of the issues still prevalent in the African-American community. And I hope that BHM grows into an awareness of more than just a few inventors and contributors, but instead of the black experience in a nation that never intended for us to be a part of the conversation.
Much love to everyone.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
And this is where it gets personal.
Black History Month or, more specifically, the way that most Americans approach it, regardless of race, has always felt like a bit of an enigma to me. It is shuffled about, in the manner of pop trivia, only to be called upon during occasional coffee shop discussions or momentarily spotlighted on well-intending blogs. We peddle it out in 28-day patches, neatly tucking it back into its casings as soon as March 1 arrives. We mention names and note accomplishments, smile for a few moments, and then go on our merry way.
And yet, when April comes, and then July, on to October and December, the truth still remains. Tomorrow, I still wake up, black in America.
There is a pride in this realization, instilled in me from the time I was a child. There is also a strong malcontent awareness taken from this realization, as I grow more as a man. I see what I am not intended to see. It makes me stronger, but it also makes me sad.
I am not what America intended....
This is the beginning line of a poem I started writing, and am still living out its stanzas. My people's history is so deep rooted in forced servitude and the raping of wills that there is a stigma we may never shake. Most people came to this country seeking a new beginning. My ancestors were yanked from where they slept and ushered into bondage. American slavery was an institution will ramifications that are so far reaching, its effects are still seen today.
I witness them when I walk into a room, and all white faces greet my own. There is a moment. Thickness in the air. Eyes reflecting hearts and minds, quickly searching for a side of the line to stand on. In some of them, I am threat long before I can present myself to be one. Which is sad, in 2011.
The effects are present in the mindsets of too many young black men, unwilling to give a damn, because they are so certain it will just be snatched from their grasp. There has become this trained acceptance of failure that is damaging our community. It is for these brothers that my heart weeps.
The effects are present in the makeup of the modern black woman, who is often the byproduct of what happens when, for centuries, governing bodies attempt to cripple the black man, while telling the black woman that she is better off without him. She is forced to become independent. She is forced to become self-serving. Unfortunately, she is also often forced to be skeptical of the black man, instead of embrace him. We, as black men, need to bridge this gap, before total disconnection is achieved.
It is interesting that in society, simply because I am black, I am categorized as bitter, angry, or complaining. That I am too busy seeking apology for something I don't deserve. That it seems like I will find myself forever holding a grudge.
Thoughts flood my mind in response to this.
And they dare ask what my problem is?
In a nation that still seeks ways to remove me from my blackness when it is convenient, yet remind me of it when it does not fit their plans, I find myself tired. Tired of having to explain why. To white people, to other black people, and even to myself. As if being black is something I need an excuse for.
To me, BHM would serve a much greater purpose if it allowed these commentaries to be opened permanently. A white friend made the point that history should just be history. I think that's a quaint idea. But until we as a society reach a point where black and white are equal labels, then this idea will never reach its fruition. I guess because of the things I've experienced, I doubt this day will truly ever come. While there are many of us, of all races, who can coexist and desire true unity, we are still in the minority, which is perhaps irony at its finest.
I am not what America intended....
But I am here. And my country is forced to take notice.
I hope that these three posts have helped a few gain a bit of understanding. They are just a few of the issues still prevalent in the African-American community. And I hope that BHM grows into an awareness of more than just a few inventors and contributors, but instead of the black experience in a nation that never intended for us to be a part of the conversation.
Much love to everyone.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Rare Groove, Feb. 23, 2011
It seems that I have neglected the music lately. Which means I had to come with some rare awesomeness. And while the artist is not new, I'm sure you'll enjoy.
Adele --- Set Fire to the Rain
Her voice just moves me. Plus somewhere deep within me, I can remember the feelings this song evokes. I remember that fire, even if I keep washing it away. A beautiful song by a very talented singer.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Adele --- Set Fire to the Rain
Her voice just moves me. Plus somewhere deep within me, I can remember the feelings this song evokes. I remember that fire, even if I keep washing it away. A beautiful song by a very talented singer.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Because if I Wanted, I Could Sleep at Night, in Peace (Awesome Repost #13)
Even as I view this picture, it moves me. Taken from the awesome Tumblr blog (or Tumblog, for those of you big on proper terminology) of Joshua Bennett, self proclaimed Square Dancing with Giants. I am hoping that most of you know what's going on in the world today. If not, look up these places in 2011, and become aware. Then pray that we are all liberated one day.
At night, I lie in my comfortable bed, head resting gently against my soft pillow, and try to sleep. My mind is in Tripoli and Cairo, and in the streets of Yemen and Tunisia. Where there is no rest. Because for far too many souls, there is still no peace. Let's strive to free this world from painful oppression and senseless suffering.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
At night, I lie in my comfortable bed, head resting gently against my soft pillow, and try to sleep. My mind is in Tripoli and Cairo, and in the streets of Yemen and Tunisia. Where there is no rest. Because for far too many souls, there is still no peace. Let's strive to free this world from painful oppression and senseless suffering.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Time for a Change
I've been looking at the blog for most of the afternoon, and have decided to shake things up a little bit. I'm going to redesign the look of "Rare View Me", plus come up with some new ideas to take this blog to the next level. I am so grateful to those of you who continuously support me and read my thoughts. You truly are a rare breed. Much love.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
It's Moments Like This, When You Feel Life's Purpose
I had been cruising the blogosphere for the last few moments when I come across this inspirational post. Had to share it. I've been fortunate enough to come into contact with and correspond with some of the most remarkable people. And Hasan Malik is certainly one of them. A talented poet, engaging writing, and unique personality, reading his blog makes me happy my soul itches (for those of you not up on that, check out the blog).
But this post that I read reaffirmed in my mind that we're all here for a purpose, and I enjoy hearing of those lucky enough to have those moments when purpose becomes fulfilled. Enjoy.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
But this post that I read reaffirmed in my mind that we're all here for a purpose, and I enjoy hearing of those lucky enough to have those moments when purpose becomes fulfilled. Enjoy.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
And the Award Goes To.....
Me? Honestly?.....I don't know what to say....was I the only person in consideration, or something?
But seriously, this post is more than a week overdue. I'd like to thank my favorite Rainy Day Wanderer, the Words Crafter. I want her to know that I greatly appreciate this award.
And so, continuing in the spirit, I present you with this post.
But seriously, this post is more than a week overdue. I'd like to thank my favorite Rainy Day Wanderer, the Words Crafter. I want her to know that I greatly appreciate this award.
And so, continuing in the spirit, I present you with this post.
The rules:
Link back to the person who gave it to you.
Give 7 facts about yourself.
Award 15 great bloggers you've recently discovered.
Contact them and tell them about the award
So the link above links back to the Words Crafter.
Seven facts about myself. Here goes:
1. I am both incredibly shy and incredibly outgoing. Seems like it's up to them when they decide to manifest.
2. I've never had a driver's license (driven far too many times....I won't tell if you won't...lol)
3. I have 16 stitches, all received before I turned 7 years old.
4. I am a hopeless romantic, but also seem hopelessly bad in relationships
5. My favorite color is blue.
6. When I was younger, I wanted to be a football player (then I got tackled...lol)
7. Sometimes, I go outside at night, just to stare up at the sky. Beautiful, isn't it?!
And now to award 15 great bloggers I've recently discovered. How recent is recent? Lol. Here goes: Let me begin by saying I wish I could give more awards. But in honor of the rules, I've narrowed my list down to just 15. I love each of these blogs for different reasons, but one thing they all have in common is the ability to make readers want to come back for more. The blogosphere would but much more drab if it weren't for these 15.
Neil Pasricha 1000 Awesome Things
Christina Soul Aperture
Dan Pearce Single Dad Laughing
Amy Gabriel Words with sass
Autumn Voice of Autumn
Hasan Malik My Soul Itches
Hannah Kincade Musings of a Palindrome
Erica My Little Underground
Dawn Okoro Life of an Artist
NancyLove Something to Begin With
Roni Loren Fiction Groupie
Hope Clark C. Hope Clark
Cruella Collett The Giraffability of Digressions
Tundiel Princess of Procrastination
And there we have it. 15 great blogs from 15 incredible people. Definitely check them out (you'll probably be following soon).
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Roni Loren Fiction Groupie
Hope Clark C. Hope Clark
Cruella Collett The Giraffability of Digressions
Tundiel Princess of Procrastination
And there we have it. 15 great blogs from 15 incredible people. Definitely check them out (you'll probably be following soon).
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Rare Groove, Feb. 20, 2011
Muse --- Time is Running Out
Recently winning the Grammy for Best Rock Album increased this amazing bands stock in the music world, but I've been a fan for a while. Their performances always include excellent use of instruments, adrenaline charged sounds, and vocals that you can't help but enjoy. At least that's how I feel.
This song has a groovy intro, then hits you hard, just like I like!
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Sometimes, It Feels the Opposite of Open
Closed
my love is a back porch,
cozy, quaint,
but easily forgotten….
except, of course, when you’re there
there’s this
hell of a view, hell when viewed by
eyes that often only want to remember
good times
swinging
sunsets and whispers,
nights counting stars
against the songs of crickets chirping,
but eventually
all the music stops
all that’s left is
spider webs
wheezing
overgrown collection of
clutter, accumulation
from stuff for which there is
no room inside
dust layers broken floor boards
reminders that steps must be taken
gently, or you fall through the cracks
and the screen door
only opens in reverse
[End Poem]
As this poem describes, sometimes I feel like I love "wrong", like I misread the directions or am using an unauthorized copy. Hopefully coming to terms with this is the first step to correcting the problems.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Rare Groove, Feb. 19, 2011
Nneka ft. Jay Electronica --- Walking (J. Period remix)
Nneka + Jay Elec = Insanely good music. That verse further convinces me he is one of hip-hop's untouchable right now!!
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Friday, February 18, 2011
Sometimes, Reality Breaks My Heart
Photo provided by Martin Norwood
Mama Mzazi [Mother who produces offspring]
It was not long ago I held little hands, and taught him to walk
Cupped his face and corrected his dialect.
He’d look up at me and show little white teeth
Then repeat
What mama just told him.
~I placed that memory in my heart~
The sun would awaken to
Her-eyes-on
Him
And kiss his skin
All day…as he played
With sticks
And rocks
Clay stuffed bottle tops…
A ball I’d got…
~I placed that memory in my heart~
One day, strangers came
Though we all looked the same
Shots rang
I grabbed my joy
And held him tight
A man and I began to fight
Then he stole my joy from me
~I placed that memory in my heart~
He gave my baby a rifle
And shoved him to take aim
The hurt and fear within his eye
Has riddled me with pain
But I know if he won’t do as he’s told
They’ll just as quickly free his soul
I nod and close my eyes
He does the same
Lifts his rifle…then takes aim
Releasing one where I placed his memories
……They disperse……
---- Theresse Bynum
This is one of those poems that is beautiful, in skill and expression, but tragic, in message. And it is happening as we speak. Ms. Bynum shared this link with me, and I think it is up to us to be aware. Pray for these affected souls.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Black History, and the Shortest Month of the Year (Part 2)
If you missed the first part of this, check it out here: Black History, and the Shortest Month of the Year.
As I mentioned before, I am both an advocate for Black History Month, as well as a critic of its current efforts. I asked my 12 year old niece if she had learned anything about the history of African-Americans that she didn't already know. She responded with a quick 'no'. So I gave her a name: P.B.S. Pinchback. She had no clue who he was. I gave her another name: Hiram Revels. Again, she had no clue who he was. Discouraged, I told her to go look them up and tell me what she found out.
This is the discouraging truth about BHM. We toss out a few names, feel really good about ourselves because we've done our parts, and then forget for the next 11 months. Well, I for one am different. And I want to tackle some serious issues, creating much needed dialogue (which interestingly enough, the spell checker is telling me is spelled wrong. Go figure!)
Before I continue, let me say that this is racially motivated, and therefore might seem biased. While I am far from biased, I see things first as a black man. Meaning there are experiences and stories behind my views when it comes to race. I love white people just as I love my own, and hopefully my opinions will not make anyone think otherwise. If there is any confusion, feel free to send me a message: therarepoet@yahoo.com. Okay, that's enough disclaimer, back to the matter at hand.
Today, I want to discuss black love, or more aptly the love between a black woman and black man. It seems to be under great debate as of late, so heavily fueled is the myth that black love is dead. I despise those people who think this way, preach this rhetoric, or accept this notion without further debate. Tell me that black love is dead, I'm going to tell you to open your eyes. It's there, but we refuse to see it.
So why do we fail to see it? Because the negative issues of a few have created this stigma that makes it seem like most black women would be better off with white men and, likewise, that most black men would be happier with white women. Let's examine this a bit.
In a society where dating outside one's race has become more common practice than say 50 years ago, I hear tons of commentary from black men and women on why they would never do it, or feel that it is their only option. Personally I feel that anytime you place limitations on something, you leave it limited. But while I myself am an open person, who believes a person who makes you happy and fulfilled should be who you seek, regardless of race, my ideal mate has always been a black woman. I love everything that she is. Beautiful. Intelligent. Voluptuous. Soulful. Creative. Strong. Opinionated. Real. And while there are plenty of white women who fit this category, few of them have been able to relate to me like a black woman can. And I'm one of the rare black men, who has constantly been exposed to a large number of people from different races. In elementary school, I was consistently one of a handful of black children in my class. In high school, I was one of those kids who bounced among all racial and social divides, although the cool kids rarely talked to me, whether black or white. College, or the shortened stint that I did, was a veritable rainbow, although the purple and green people only seemed to come out when we were getting high. My point is that this is different from most black men.
The average black male grew up in an all black neighborhood, went to a predominantly black school, and socialized with nearly all, or mostly black people. And yet, these are the ones who we often see with a white woman at their side. The first question most people ask is why. This irritates me a little, even though I have found myself falling prey to the need to ask, because we rarely question why two people are together unless we feel it doesn't make sense. Nothing seems to cause stares and questioning quicker than a white woman attached to a black man. Just check this reaction, to get a sense of the drama caused, coming from Diary of a Tired Black Man, a film by Tim Alexander, released in 2009:
Word to the wise: Unless it's your wife, don't take any woman with you to pick up your child from the mother's house. What the hell does she need to be with you for? It is asking for unnecessary drama.
Let me begin by saying, I have not seen Diary of a Tired Black Man, but I at least commend Tim Alexander for opening the dialogue (there goes the spell checker again...lol). From this clip, I have to make a few points:
1. No she didn't say 'get my hayer did.' *Shaking my motherfucking head....yes, motherfucking!!* Is this stereotypical bantering necessary? And while I am well aware that it was done in jest (and I know as black folks, we joke more about our stereotypes than others do), but to me, it distracts from the film. Plus, there are always the ignorant few who are unaware of the jest intended, and now assume that black women use incorrect grammar and sit around talking about Patrón. Or maybe I'm overreacting.
2. While it adds an interesting element to the film, I'm a little bit dismayed that this male character appears to be African. Don't get me wrong: I fully embrace my African roots, but there is a displacement factor involved with the African-American man that I think is more relevant to the story of the 'tired black man". There are cultural distinctions that make African men different, and therefore affect how they relate to African-American women. (As a side note, while I was writing this I began thinking here about how some Africans, who have lived in this country for decades as citizens, must feel when they are separated from the African-American community. Found this interesting article on the subject: African-American Becomes a Term for Debate) Side Note: Upon further investigation, I discovered the actor portraying the character 'James' is Haitian-born Jimmy Jean-Louis of Heroes fame. So different nationality, same problem.
3. I'm wondering if there would have been so much anger or debate had 'James' been with a black woman. My instincts say yes, because the characters portrayed are obviously bitter, but the conversation would have made absolutely no sense had it been:
I'll tell you why. Because too often, the relationships between black men and white women that we do see are the ones that involve some trifling black man who embraces the 'weak ass nigga' mentality coupled with some white woman trying her damnedest to emulate some ghetto ass fantasy woman she believes will keep her trifling black man happy. And this becomes embedded, as ingrained in our minds like those images of slave masters raising whips. It is what is forced into thought EVERY time we see a white woman with a black man. And sometimes, it is clearly not the case.
4. Is it just me, or did 'James' seem to waste a lot of breath explaining that all of the time he had known 'Tonya', he had never been with or been attracted to a white woman. WTF?!? Is this like saying before he wasn't really into it, but then one day it just suddenly happened? To me this is either bad writing, or extremely clever writing, showing the reality that even black men who find themselves with white women feel like there is some need to explain it. Because since a few days before forever, this has been generally viewed by society as the greatest taboo. Slaves were put to death for it. Black men during the post-slavery era have been murdered, tortured, hanged, beaten, and burned for even the mere idea of it. It is still too often frowned upon across both races, with a large portion of black women I've talked to preferring a black man be gay than be with a white woman. Hell, even when speaking amongst other black men, there is this tendency to overplay the sexual nature of white women in order to gain acceptance for being involved with one. Even though this character makes some great points throughout this clip, I immediately lose a bit of respect for him here, because even he feels like he has to justify who he's with. It's like admitting that he's not really attracted to or interested in being with this woman, but he'll settle for it, over the drama of being with a black woman. Isn't that opinion just as biased and foolish as those of the women he's addressing?
5. My 'no this bitch didn't' moment came with the character 'Joy'. The one in the green shirt. This smirking ass, 'oh no that is fucked up' head shaking chick, has the nerve to be so upset that 'James' has a white woman, but she's with a white man. WTF?!? I despise using the word 'bitch' but feel that sometimes, it serves a purpose. 'Joy' is a bitch!!
Which prompts me to examine one of the biggest double-standards in the African-American community today. When a black man is with a white woman, it is seen as vile. He is trifling and the white woman is labeled a whore. But when a black woman is with a white woman, it is immediately downplayed. She had no other choice. Black men don't treat her right, so this is what she had to do to be happy. Even though their reasoning is the same, the black man who steps out on his race is vile and the black woman is a victim. Sounds like a double standard to me!! I think this is one reason that all those black men do journey over to the white side (sounds like a bad title for a stage play, right?). Because too many black women claim there are no good black men left, condemn them for going to white women, but then immediately get defensive when they find themselves with white men.
I think this video, from AtlantaSistah pretty much sums things up, as far as my opinion on this double standard:
This seems to be the general consensus. A white man treats a black woman better than a black man does. I am so upset by this idiotic line of thinking. As she said in the video, maybe it's because black women approach or offer themselves to white men in a different manner. This is open to discussion.
Diary of a Tired Black Man is not without merit. Like I said, I haven't seen this film yet, but I am well that the premise for it has been one echoed throughout the black male community for some time. Perhaps this is why black love appears to be M.I.A. If all the black women are claiming anger and all the black men are professed to be too tired to deal with this anger, there in lies the problem. Communication has always been the key to any love relationship. Talk. Listen. Learn. Then talk some more.
I have seen far too many happy black couples to believe in my heart that black love is dead. I just feel like we focus on the negatives more than the positives, and the media fuels this. Why are their more films entitled Diary of the Happy Black Couple?
Because our mindsets make this seem like fantasy. And this is the greatest tragedy of all.
(more to come soon)
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
As I mentioned before, I am both an advocate for Black History Month, as well as a critic of its current efforts. I asked my 12 year old niece if she had learned anything about the history of African-Americans that she didn't already know. She responded with a quick 'no'. So I gave her a name: P.B.S. Pinchback. She had no clue who he was. I gave her another name: Hiram Revels. Again, she had no clue who he was. Discouraged, I told her to go look them up and tell me what she found out.
This is the discouraging truth about BHM. We toss out a few names, feel really good about ourselves because we've done our parts, and then forget for the next 11 months. Well, I for one am different. And I want to tackle some serious issues, creating much needed dialogue (which interestingly enough, the spell checker is telling me is spelled wrong. Go figure!)
Before I continue, let me say that this is racially motivated, and therefore might seem biased. While I am far from biased, I see things first as a black man. Meaning there are experiences and stories behind my views when it comes to race. I love white people just as I love my own, and hopefully my opinions will not make anyone think otherwise. If there is any confusion, feel free to send me a message: therarepoet@yahoo.com. Okay, that's enough disclaimer, back to the matter at hand.
Today, I want to discuss black love, or more aptly the love between a black woman and black man. It seems to be under great debate as of late, so heavily fueled is the myth that black love is dead. I despise those people who think this way, preach this rhetoric, or accept this notion without further debate. Tell me that black love is dead, I'm going to tell you to open your eyes. It's there, but we refuse to see it.
So why do we fail to see it? Because the negative issues of a few have created this stigma that makes it seem like most black women would be better off with white men and, likewise, that most black men would be happier with white women. Let's examine this a bit.
In a society where dating outside one's race has become more common practice than say 50 years ago, I hear tons of commentary from black men and women on why they would never do it, or feel that it is their only option. Personally I feel that anytime you place limitations on something, you leave it limited. But while I myself am an open person, who believes a person who makes you happy and fulfilled should be who you seek, regardless of race, my ideal mate has always been a black woman. I love everything that she is. Beautiful. Intelligent. Voluptuous. Soulful. Creative. Strong. Opinionated. Real. And while there are plenty of white women who fit this category, few of them have been able to relate to me like a black woman can. And I'm one of the rare black men, who has constantly been exposed to a large number of people from different races. In elementary school, I was consistently one of a handful of black children in my class. In high school, I was one of those kids who bounced among all racial and social divides, although the cool kids rarely talked to me, whether black or white. College, or the shortened stint that I did, was a veritable rainbow, although the purple and green people only seemed to come out when we were getting high. My point is that this is different from most black men.
The average black male grew up in an all black neighborhood, went to a predominantly black school, and socialized with nearly all, or mostly black people. And yet, these are the ones who we often see with a white woman at their side. The first question most people ask is why. This irritates me a little, even though I have found myself falling prey to the need to ask, because we rarely question why two people are together unless we feel it doesn't make sense. Nothing seems to cause stares and questioning quicker than a white woman attached to a black man. Just check this reaction, to get a sense of the drama caused, coming from Diary of a Tired Black Man, a film by Tim Alexander, released in 2009:
Word to the wise: Unless it's your wife, don't take any woman with you to pick up your child from the mother's house. What the hell does she need to be with you for? It is asking for unnecessary drama.
Let me begin by saying, I have not seen Diary of a Tired Black Man, but I at least commend Tim Alexander for opening the dialogue (there goes the spell checker again...lol). From this clip, I have to make a few points:
1. No she didn't say 'get my hayer did.' *Shaking my motherfucking head....yes, motherfucking!!* Is this stereotypical bantering necessary? And while I am well aware that it was done in jest (and I know as black folks, we joke more about our stereotypes than others do), but to me, it distracts from the film. Plus, there are always the ignorant few who are unaware of the jest intended, and now assume that black women use incorrect grammar and sit around talking about Patrón. Or maybe I'm overreacting.
2. While it adds an interesting element to the film, I'm a little bit dismayed that this male character appears to be African. Don't get me wrong: I fully embrace my African roots, but there is a displacement factor involved with the African-American man that I think is more relevant to the story of the 'tired black man". There are cultural distinctions that make African men different, and therefore affect how they relate to African-American women. (As a side note, while I was writing this I began thinking here about how some Africans, who have lived in this country for decades as citizens, must feel when they are separated from the African-American community. Found this interesting article on the subject: African-American Becomes a Term for Debate) Side Note: Upon further investigation, I discovered the actor portraying the character 'James' is Haitian-born Jimmy Jean-Louis of Heroes fame. So different nationality, same problem.
3. I'm wondering if there would have been so much anger or debate had 'James' been with a black woman. My instincts say yes, because the characters portrayed are obviously bitter, but the conversation would have made absolutely no sense had it been:
"Tell me that ain't James rolling up with a black girl!!"I have seen this time and time again. Beautiful black women becoming irate when a black man shows up with a white woman at his side. The sad part is, it doesn't even have to be an appealing black man. She might not even want his sorry ass, but the fact that he has the audacity to show up with a white woman is immediately seen as disrespectful. He immediately becomes the 'weak ass nigga' for not finding himself a strong black woman. He is accused of going to this white woman, who none of these black women personally know, because she is weaker, sexually submissive, and more willing to accept his shit. To me this is, this is complete lunacy. Why can't they just be attracted to each other and compatible? Why can't she be strong as well, and see him as her ideal man?
I'll tell you why. Because too often, the relationships between black men and white women that we do see are the ones that involve some trifling black man who embraces the 'weak ass nigga' mentality coupled with some white woman trying her damnedest to emulate some ghetto ass fantasy woman she believes will keep her trifling black man happy. And this becomes embedded, as ingrained in our minds like those images of slave masters raising whips. It is what is forced into thought EVERY time we see a white woman with a black man. And sometimes, it is clearly not the case.
4. Is it just me, or did 'James' seem to waste a lot of breath explaining that all of the time he had known 'Tonya', he had never been with or been attracted to a white woman. WTF?!? Is this like saying before he wasn't really into it, but then one day it just suddenly happened? To me this is either bad writing, or extremely clever writing, showing the reality that even black men who find themselves with white women feel like there is some need to explain it. Because since a few days before forever, this has been generally viewed by society as the greatest taboo. Slaves were put to death for it. Black men during the post-slavery era have been murdered, tortured, hanged, beaten, and burned for even the mere idea of it. It is still too often frowned upon across both races, with a large portion of black women I've talked to preferring a black man be gay than be with a white woman. Hell, even when speaking amongst other black men, there is this tendency to overplay the sexual nature of white women in order to gain acceptance for being involved with one. Even though this character makes some great points throughout this clip, I immediately lose a bit of respect for him here, because even he feels like he has to justify who he's with. It's like admitting that he's not really attracted to or interested in being with this woman, but he'll settle for it, over the drama of being with a black woman. Isn't that opinion just as biased and foolish as those of the women he's addressing?
5. My 'no this bitch didn't' moment came with the character 'Joy'. The one in the green shirt. This smirking ass, 'oh no that is fucked up' head shaking chick, has the nerve to be so upset that 'James' has a white woman, but she's with a white man. WTF?!? I despise using the word 'bitch' but feel that sometimes, it serves a purpose. 'Joy' is a bitch!!
Which prompts me to examine one of the biggest double-standards in the African-American community today. When a black man is with a white woman, it is seen as vile. He is trifling and the white woman is labeled a whore. But when a black woman is with a white woman, it is immediately downplayed. She had no other choice. Black men don't treat her right, so this is what she had to do to be happy. Even though their reasoning is the same, the black man who steps out on his race is vile and the black woman is a victim. Sounds like a double standard to me!! I think this is one reason that all those black men do journey over to the white side (sounds like a bad title for a stage play, right?). Because too many black women claim there are no good black men left, condemn them for going to white women, but then immediately get defensive when they find themselves with white men.
I think this video, from AtlantaSistah pretty much sums things up, as far as my opinion on this double standard:
This seems to be the general consensus. A white man treats a black woman better than a black man does. I am so upset by this idiotic line of thinking. As she said in the video, maybe it's because black women approach or offer themselves to white men in a different manner. This is open to discussion.
Diary of a Tired Black Man is not without merit. Like I said, I haven't seen this film yet, but I am well that the premise for it has been one echoed throughout the black male community for some time. Perhaps this is why black love appears to be M.I.A. If all the black women are claiming anger and all the black men are professed to be too tired to deal with this anger, there in lies the problem. Communication has always been the key to any love relationship. Talk. Listen. Learn. Then talk some more.
I have seen far too many happy black couples to believe in my heart that black love is dead. I just feel like we focus on the negatives more than the positives, and the media fuels this. Why are their more films entitled Diary of the Happy Black Couple?
Because our mindsets make this seem like fantasy. And this is the greatest tragedy of all.
(more to come soon)
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Rare Groove, Feb. 18, 2011
Been working on some interesting and thought provoking writing for the last few hours (probably should be sleeping, but oh well....room for that later, right?). But I did pause for some music.
Kings of Leon --- Mi Amigo
I think I've probably used this song for far too many things....lol. And yet, Caleb Followill's voice is so uniquely groove-inspiring that I can't help but throw most of their songs on repeat.
To all you who can relate: tequila chugging, falling down to your knees but getting back up to take another swig, still dancing to the rhythm of the song that played half an hour ago, nearly getting into a fight because you bumped a guy trying not to spill your latest shot, head laying against the cool spot of the porcelain toilet praying, waking up with a splitting headache, but still feeling like there's no better feeling in the world.
This friend's on me.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Kings of Leon --- Mi Amigo
I think I've probably used this song for far too many things....lol. And yet, Caleb Followill's voice is so uniquely groove-inspiring that I can't help but throw most of their songs on repeat.
"I got a friend...shows me all the good times, tells me I look better....chews me up, and spits me out....and then walks my ass home....sings a song.....when I'm gone...gone...goooo ooo oone.."
To all you who can relate: tequila chugging, falling down to your knees but getting back up to take another swig, still dancing to the rhythm of the song that played half an hour ago, nearly getting into a fight because you bumped a guy trying not to spill your latest shot, head laying against the cool spot of the porcelain toilet praying, waking up with a splitting headache, but still feeling like there's no better feeling in the world.
This friend's on me.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Some Feelings Never Die
Under Seat Cushions
yesterday, I saw you in my mirror,
five foot nine, or perhaps
another inch or two in heels,
I taste you in the bitter
sweetness of caramel creamer,
macchiato, with a little froth upon my lips,
I guess I keep
finding myself swirled
smack dab in the middle of your thickness,
there was a time I imagined escaping those
straight-no-chaser eyes, but now
I drink down the view, from the hip,
bracing back and fractured self for
the impact of your beauty,
it always manages to flatten me
by morning,
demanding that you take me back
to that angle against your bed,
the soft, loose filthiness of
our forgetful hands, fingers
that once rolled down skin like fog,
only to rise slow like whispers that became
only to rise slow like whispers that became
epitaphs for our grave,
once upon a time, we took a knife to this passion,
and we stabbed, and we stabbed,
it still refused to die,
but now your eyes are less chest felt shock
and more respirator,
reminding severed hearts that they are coma victims,
we barely breathe, on our own,
without being hooked up
to the machine that is this loneliness,
it beeps in awkward silence,
hellos that sound cordial, but never real,
yet always scream loudly in the backs of our mind,
you, staring at park benches that remind you of my writing,
me, pulling your voice from the scrapes of tree limbs
on those nights when the wind refuses to still,
and I wonder, why are we fighting this
together, alone?
earlier, I found our love, folded limply
under the seat cushions
of a heart, that feels less cozy
and a bit more used,
I wonder how long you'll sit here
Rare Groove, Feb. 17, 2011
G. Yamazawa --- When the Beat Drops
Amazing poet, equally talented emcee. I love me some G!!!
(check out the spotlight I did on George Yamazawa here.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Rare Groove, Feb. 16, 2011
PJ Harvey --- In the Dark Places
I am such a fan of singer-songwriters, because usually they create the songs that stick in my mind. Their ability to pen such magnificent songs, coupled with great performance of that song, sets them apart from the rest of their field. PJ Harvey is one such artist. Her intense voice and impressive command of various instruments including guitar, piano, and saxophone make her an entertaining act to enjoy.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
I'm Starting to Think I Need a Few Memos
How to Be Happy: Another Memo to Myself
You start with your own body
then move outward, but not too far.
Never try to please a city, for example.
Nor will the easy intimacy
in small towns ever satisfy that need
you have only whispered in the dark.
A woman is a beginning.
She need not be pretty, but must know
how to make her own ceilings
out of all that's beautiful in her.
Together you must love to exchange
gifts in the night, and agree
on the superfluity of ribbons,
the fine violence of breaking out
of yourselves. No matter,
it's doubtful she will be enough for you,
or you for her. You must have friends
of both sexes. When you get together
you must feel everyone has brought
his fierce privacy with him
and is ready to share it. Prepare
yourself though to keep something back;
there's a center in you
you are simply a comedian
without. Beyond this, it's advisable
to have a skill. Learn how to make something:
food, a shoe box, a good day.
Remember, finally, there are few pleasures
that aren't as local as your fingertips.
Never go toEurope for a cathedral.
In large groups, create a corner
in the middle of the room.
then move outward, but not too far.
Never try to please a city, for example.
Nor will the easy intimacy
in small towns ever satisfy that need
you have only whispered in the dark.
A woman is a beginning.
She need not be pretty, but must know
how to make her own ceilings
out of all that's beautiful in her.
Together you must love to exchange
gifts in the night, and agree
on the superfluity of ribbons,
the fine violence of breaking out
of yourselves. No matter,
it's doubtful she will be enough for you,
or you for her. You must have friends
of both sexes. When you get together
you must feel everyone has brought
his fierce privacy with him
and is ready to share it. Prepare
yourself though to keep something back;
there's a center in you
you are simply a comedian
without. Beyond this, it's advisable
to have a skill. Learn how to make something:
food, a shoe box, a good day.
Remember, finally, there are few pleasures
that aren't as local as your fingertips.
Never go to
In large groups, create a corner
in the middle of the room.
—Stephen Dunn
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Where Does the Time Go
So lately I've been in my basement doing creative science experiments in an attempt to actually clone something useful. No, it's not bacon, although my love of pork makes me feel like this would be a Nobel worthy breakthrough. The item I actually desire cloning: time!!
And while I'm not literally doing any REAL experiments, nor do I actually have a basement, my mind has been hyperactive in the sub-levels, attempting to decipher some way that I can multiply my minutes. Time is one of those rare commodities that immediately gains the priceless tag, because once gone, it can never come back. We spend a multitude of hours attempting to log out schedules and plans with the realization that every second counts. According to experts, time management consultants (yes, this is an actual job) are paid between $43,500 - $94,000. Seems to be a lot of money to pay someone to help organize your time, but it reiterates people's obsession with having enough time.
24 hours. It sounds like plenty, but most days are spent wasting time. Debating with the warm spot in the center of your pillow over whether that last alarm was the preset snooze alarm, or the 'get up before you're late' one. Idling in front of bathroom mirrors, contemplating if that last piece of cake really caused the disaster that is your love handles. Finishing off the last few splashes of hot water in a shower that's already lasted five minutes too long. Forcing yourself to soak up insane amounts of depression locked inside the headlines of the a.m news. Remembering that you meant to buy coffee filters yesterday, but ran out of time on your lunch break, so now you're forced to tear paper towels in half and wedge them into the coffee maker accordingly. Pressing your horn with the same intensity that the vein in your forehead throbs, while angrily cursing at the driver of the car in front of you, who is also gridlocked in traffic with you, but refuses to creep up into the extra three feet of space to give you the false security that progress is being made. Creating an extra smoke break during your walk to the 10 a.m. company meeting. Stalling for extra seconds as you try to explain to your boss why you're late, without him smelling the fresh cigarette smoke on your breath. Gossiping for 45 minutes during your one hour lunch break, about something or someone that, as soon as lunch has ended, you'll wondering why you wasted so much time of your life discussing. Daydreaming about a better job with a higher pay rate during the time allotted to prepare for your weekly presentation. Driving home at snail's pace because your shoddy GPS doesn't warn you that there is a bottleneck on its suggested route. Remembering, three steps through your front door, that you were supposed to pay the light bill, yesterday. Fighting the urge to do menial things, which seem to pop up in abundance and overwhelm from the very second that you decide that you have something more important to do. Sleep.
Okay, maybe sleep is needed, but I think you get the point.
Before you know it, that same familiar, but confusing alarm is going off, on the next morning, and you can't remember one productive thing that you managed to accomplish.
So what are the solutions? Well, I am by far no expert when it comes to time management. Most days, I feel like I only accomplish the bare minimum, if anything at all, thanks in large part to my budding insomnia. And even those things get done sluggishly. But I do understand the major problems and can see where improvements can be made.
Number 1: Do the important things. Everything else can be divided into days.
Who am I to determine what's important in your life? No one really. But I think it's easy to see where anything that necessitates your daily living or personal well being should take precedent over extracurricular things. For example, by all means go to work. It's probably the only way you'll keep a roof over your head, and with this economy, even that's not a foregone conclusion. Skipping work to say go on that trip to Florida you've always been planning would be a bad mismanagement of time. So basically, prioritize all the things that are currently taking up your time. If they are not necessary, why are they receiving such huge proportions?
Number 2: Plan for the unavoidable.
I was cruising the blog world earlier today and came across a great read that sort of relates to this. From Mrs. Lubbers at A Right Gapesnest, came this quip about life with a margin:
(You should seriously read her entire post, and her blog, as it is very interesting and well written....okay, back to the topic at hand....)
I am totally one of these people who live without margin in my life, physically or mental. As I glance around the room, I see a growing pile of laundry that I should have taken care of two days ago. Note to self: Do laundry after posting this. Mentally, there are a wildly strewn and discombobulated assortment of thoughts, tasks, ideas, and stories that make my unfinished laundry seem like a neat freak's wet dream. Which means that there is absolutely no room for those random things that come my way. They delay me, because my mind is in no shape to deal with them, plus I'm petrified by them anyway, since I fear I don't have the time. And then comes the 'losing control' feeling. Which leads to too many nights drinking old coffee, smoking cigarette number four, while contemplating how it's all falling apart.
Such a long way to suggest that it is a good idea to plan for the unexpected. Free up some mental space. If you're still working on project 11, there is no reason you should already be mentally focused on project 93. Yes, my mind can multi-process as well. But I'm one of the people who actually realizes that it can only utilize 10% of it's true capacity. Until those guys at MIT come up with the formula for hot wiring that other 90%, I shall think appropriately.
Also try to have events scheduled at least an hour apart, to factor in things such as lateness, accidents, or the random streaker across your front lawn at 6 a.m. I for one am bad about doing this. I schedule things back to back to back, which always leaves this feeling that you're running to and from, but never getting anything done. It's hard to focus on what's been accomplished if you're already fretting about being late for something else.
Number 3: Don't bite off more than you can chew
For those of you like me, who think you can accomplish EVERYTHING, this one is going to be hard. Throughout the week, you schedule things, accept responsibilities, and confidently assure that you'll meet all deadlines, until you suddenly realize by Thursday that you suddenly have about a month's worth of commitments which all need to be completed by Monday morning. This is how normally rational people begin to act insane. Panic. Cut corners. Give 75% instead of 100. Panic more. Become stressed. Bail on projects. Look bad, in the eyes of others.
But all of this could have been avoided. It's okay to say no to that interesting new assignment, when you already have three due this week. The only people who'll hold it against you are those recently burnt out individuals, who are just hoping you soon join them.
So there you have it. My take on time management, as well as three steps that I think will help get your time back on track. Hopefully these will get things going, and I'd love feedback from others who find themselves facing similar issues. Because while 24 hours seems like it should be plenty, I constantly find myself hearing and saying:
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
And while I'm not literally doing any REAL experiments, nor do I actually have a basement, my mind has been hyperactive in the sub-levels, attempting to decipher some way that I can multiply my minutes. Time is one of those rare commodities that immediately gains the priceless tag, because once gone, it can never come back. We spend a multitude of hours attempting to log out schedules and plans with the realization that every second counts. According to experts, time management consultants (yes, this is an actual job) are paid between $43,500 - $94,000. Seems to be a lot of money to pay someone to help organize your time, but it reiterates people's obsession with having enough time.
24 hours. It sounds like plenty, but most days are spent wasting time. Debating with the warm spot in the center of your pillow over whether that last alarm was the preset snooze alarm, or the 'get up before you're late' one. Idling in front of bathroom mirrors, contemplating if that last piece of cake really caused the disaster that is your love handles. Finishing off the last few splashes of hot water in a shower that's already lasted five minutes too long. Forcing yourself to soak up insane amounts of depression locked inside the headlines of the a.m news. Remembering that you meant to buy coffee filters yesterday, but ran out of time on your lunch break, so now you're forced to tear paper towels in half and wedge them into the coffee maker accordingly. Pressing your horn with the same intensity that the vein in your forehead throbs, while angrily cursing at the driver of the car in front of you, who is also gridlocked in traffic with you, but refuses to creep up into the extra three feet of space to give you the false security that progress is being made. Creating an extra smoke break during your walk to the 10 a.m. company meeting. Stalling for extra seconds as you try to explain to your boss why you're late, without him smelling the fresh cigarette smoke on your breath. Gossiping for 45 minutes during your one hour lunch break, about something or someone that, as soon as lunch has ended, you'll wondering why you wasted so much time of your life discussing. Daydreaming about a better job with a higher pay rate during the time allotted to prepare for your weekly presentation. Driving home at snail's pace because your shoddy GPS doesn't warn you that there is a bottleneck on its suggested route. Remembering, three steps through your front door, that you were supposed to pay the light bill, yesterday. Fighting the urge to do menial things, which seem to pop up in abundance and overwhelm from the very second that you decide that you have something more important to do. Sleep.
Okay, maybe sleep is needed, but I think you get the point.
Before you know it, that same familiar, but confusing alarm is going off, on the next morning, and you can't remember one productive thing that you managed to accomplish.
So what are the solutions? Well, I am by far no expert when it comes to time management. Most days, I feel like I only accomplish the bare minimum, if anything at all, thanks in large part to my budding insomnia. And even those things get done sluggishly. But I do understand the major problems and can see where improvements can be made.
Number 1: Do the important things. Everything else can be divided into days.
Who am I to determine what's important in your life? No one really. But I think it's easy to see where anything that necessitates your daily living or personal well being should take precedent over extracurricular things. For example, by all means go to work. It's probably the only way you'll keep a roof over your head, and with this economy, even that's not a foregone conclusion. Skipping work to say go on that trip to Florida you've always been planning would be a bad mismanagement of time. So basically, prioritize all the things that are currently taking up your time. If they are not necessary, why are they receiving such huge proportions?
Number 2: Plan for the unavoidable.
I was cruising the blog world earlier today and came across a great read that sort of relates to this. From Mrs. Lubbers at A Right Gapesnest, came this quip about life with a margin:
My understanding of the concept is that people function best when they have margin in their lives—space and time that is unaccounted for. This way, when something takes more of your time and effort than you had expected, you have some leeway in which to deal with it. Minor catastrophes and time-sucks can be dealt with.
On the other hand, many people today schedule their lives without any margin at all. (Can you see me raising my hand?) No margin in time, so I'm always racing from one activity to the next. And no margin in mental tasks, so I get worn down because I'm constantly thinking and evaluating and planning something else. When you're living with no margin, the smallest glitch can cause a ripple effect and suddenly it feels like you've completely lost control.
(You should seriously read her entire post, and her blog, as it is very interesting and well written....okay, back to the topic at hand....)
I am totally one of these people who live without margin in my life, physically or mental. As I glance around the room, I see a growing pile of laundry that I should have taken care of two days ago. Note to self: Do laundry after posting this. Mentally, there are a wildly strewn and discombobulated assortment of thoughts, tasks, ideas, and stories that make my unfinished laundry seem like a neat freak's wet dream. Which means that there is absolutely no room for those random things that come my way. They delay me, because my mind is in no shape to deal with them, plus I'm petrified by them anyway, since I fear I don't have the time. And then comes the 'losing control' feeling. Which leads to too many nights drinking old coffee, smoking cigarette number four, while contemplating how it's all falling apart.
Such a long way to suggest that it is a good idea to plan for the unexpected. Free up some mental space. If you're still working on project 11, there is no reason you should already be mentally focused on project 93. Yes, my mind can multi-process as well. But I'm one of the people who actually realizes that it can only utilize 10% of it's true capacity. Until those guys at MIT come up with the formula for hot wiring that other 90%, I shall think appropriately.
Also try to have events scheduled at least an hour apart, to factor in things such as lateness, accidents, or the random streaker across your front lawn at 6 a.m. I for one am bad about doing this. I schedule things back to back to back, which always leaves this feeling that you're running to and from, but never getting anything done. It's hard to focus on what's been accomplished if you're already fretting about being late for something else.
Number 3: Don't bite off more than you can chew
For those of you like me, who think you can accomplish EVERYTHING, this one is going to be hard. Throughout the week, you schedule things, accept responsibilities, and confidently assure that you'll meet all deadlines, until you suddenly realize by Thursday that you suddenly have about a month's worth of commitments which all need to be completed by Monday morning. This is how normally rational people begin to act insane. Panic. Cut corners. Give 75% instead of 100. Panic more. Become stressed. Bail on projects. Look bad, in the eyes of others.
But all of this could have been avoided. It's okay to say no to that interesting new assignment, when you already have three due this week. The only people who'll hold it against you are those recently burnt out individuals, who are just hoping you soon join them.
So there you have it. My take on time management, as well as three steps that I think will help get your time back on track. Hopefully these will get things going, and I'd love feedback from others who find themselves facing similar issues. Because while 24 hours seems like it should be plenty, I constantly find myself hearing and saying:
"Where the hell does all the time go?....."
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Rare Groove, Feb. 15, 2011
Let me begin by saying that this erratic posting is very disconcerting to me, so I would hope that it's irritating you all as well. I will do better. I must. Now, on to the music...
Slum Village ft. J. Dilla --- Earl Flinn
Just a little for the hip-hop heads. Slum Village is that fire, son!!! Sorry my mind went Brooklyn for a minute. (Something about J. Dilla screams BK, even though he is Detroit's finest...or maybe it's just me?) But this beat is so out of this world, thanks to Madlib, who Dilla fans already know about.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
Slum Village ft. J. Dilla --- Earl Flinn
Just a little for the hip-hop heads. Slum Village is that fire, son!!! Sorry my mind went Brooklyn for a minute. (Something about J. Dilla screams BK, even though he is Detroit's finest...or maybe it's just me?) But this beat is so out of this world, thanks to Madlib, who Dilla fans already know about.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
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