QUOTE

"I use to be "cool" when I was younger, but that was before
realizing the judgmental lifestyle of being "cool", not even
allowing me to embrace my true self."- MADINA JAH

ART IN CHAINS : REPETITION THAT KILLS BUT DOESN'T BURY

How much does it cost to breath? Would it be the same to sing, dance, to hold a pen and draw a sketch?
Then after the cost of that, would it be the same price after calculating the sheer happiness of that all and the feeling to share it? Can we file a complaint of robbery for spending way too much on our own natural resource?

We couldn't because of that same after feeling we payed for called our happiest success. Because we know we used our something called "passion" to be who we have to be vs. who we are, even though we had to breathe a little differently. Even though in the middle of it all we didn't know who we were anymore because we were hardly doing what we started off doing. Even though we sleep and dream of the end.

So lets say thee end is exactly a dream. The sweetest dream from a disarranged self... but hey your disarranged self is happy right? That same feeling you and me... we all payed to get. A artist's long journey priced and tagged. And hey just because we payed for it means "Nada", "not ours", cuz someone else can take, claim it, smirk at who you are now vs. who you were. Or if not... accuse you , judge you, believe it's easy to be just like you. Well of course cuz how much does it really cost or take to breath, to sing, dance and draw a sketch? Little do they know the TIT for TAT.

Don't say you haven't heard this before though... come on...maybe in a similar way? In a far away place perhaps? Because we do cry and rave a lot about this wish to separate art and business, like separate church and state...Which makes me laugh because even that has no existence. So here goes a blog, file of complaint. Here it goes.. killing me and you who do art, cuz we all know what repetition does to us and yet we are unburied.

PISSING ON CANVAS

I'm pretty sure there's some high percentage statistic that says there are x amount of artists in America that don't get the jobs they study for in college. X amount of artists that are currently unemployed. Being the over achiever that I am, I thought not going to college would be my worst nightmare. In fact it's not and it still continues to act as a laser surgery with the results of seeing everything clearer than a 24/24 vision. Seriously, I've seen the light and I touched it too. Cuz you see I cheated, I pissed and I'm an outlaw of the system. And mind you this blog isn't intended to encourage dropping out of college or not going to college at all. But just take a second and walk with me on the highest point of bipolar, ecstasy or whatever make believe drug I'm on, cuz I could seriously fly right now writing this.

For me it was the idea of infinite amount of freedom while being tied up. After receiving my diploma I went out in the real world looking for a job and still nothing yet. I went out in the fashion industry working my ass off for free. I saw the glamour props and I would come back home and see how my parents, sisters and brothers who graduated with a college degree are still busting their butts to put food on the table. I realized the system had us all locked down and no matter what, we had to follow it to survive. Not win, but just to still breath. It's a fool's dream to actually think we can win without some sort of sacrifice. A giving of the soul, the only thing that matters. And we didn't and I wouldn't give it. Indeedy I grew up. I look in the mirror and I see the wrinkles on my face, and I know that I don't want to do this anymore.

I witnessed my friends going off to college from majoring in fashion associates to training to be veterinarians?? Somewhere down the line after their pockets have been emptied out their eyes opened and they saw the world.As much as it may seem like this is some hippy dippy place we're living in... it's not.
Our education is taking advantage of us instead of the other way around. They offer things to us like candy and then before we know it our teeth rots. "Sure, here you go. Go to college for four years, earn your degree, learn a skill and the rest is up to you...but of course your money and everything that matters is ours." Then you graduate and the world turns it's back on you. If not now, then wait till you try to retire.

So I thought and I still continue to think " how the hell can I reach my goal without allowing the system to eff me over?" Then I laugh and laugh and laugh even harder at my tied up hands and realize that freedom is mine. I understood everything. I had my blue print. "College?"...sure. "Achievement?"...even better. For once I can say God bless my soul for not going and giving me time to see it all. Cuz you see... I already cheated. I'm an outlaw of the system. I pissed and will try to continue to piss on my canvas. I have the cheat sheet memorized and it only takes a minute for you to memorize it too.

Shackles on my feet: A die hard rebellious poem or whatever you wanna call it in the heat of the moment
You think you own me. But the only thing you own are the shackles on my feet.
You think you own me. But the only thing you own are the ropes of this place
you call society wrapped around my wrist and the product of your own security
plastered around my mouth. You think you know my fate. But I'll tell you something.
I know yours better than you think you know mines. Yea, that's what you think...
But the problem with your thinking is that you don't know who's puppet show this is
and you wouldn't realize that there are strings sewn into the skin of your hands even
if you look up and see who's pulling them. You don't even know that your playing the
supporting role and that the main actress is sitting on the hard ground of your jail and
the death of your character is soon to be. Yea, you don't even know... Your clueless about
the surprising twist to this story. That I am sitting right in front of you, but only a mere
illusion to you already disarranged mind. In fact you have no clue that i already ran as
fast as I can, accomplished what I needed to do, and saved who I needed to save. I
already talked to the puppet master himself and only realized that the key in your hand
to the shackles on my feet is a prop to the only chance you get to the 15 seconds of fame.
Yea you don't even know...

Excerpts from "Angry Black White Boy Or, The Miscegenation Of Macon Detornay"

Unless we recognize ourselves, hate will always come along with race.

" The funny thing is, though, who am I exposing white people to? It ain't news to black folks that white people are still racist. I guess I'm exposing white people to themselves. We've gotten so good at pretending we're not racist that we've started to believe it. We act like racism got dealt with back in the sixties, and treat anybody who dares to bring it up today like they're wearing Day-Glo bell- bottoms or something. We teach our kids the doctrine of color blindness, tell them not to notice race. Which is impossible in a society as racially stratified as ours, so all they really learn is not to talk about it. To ignore it and deny it like their parents."

"Most white people, even if they have black friends, never expose themselves to any situation that will make them feel uncomfortable or like the minority. Me, I feel uncomfortable if I'm not the minority. I even get suspicious when I see other white folks poking around black culture.

'But Macon, isn't that hypocritical?' shouted Dale Kinsley of the WB 11 news at Ten.

Of course, you'll find I'm highly hypocritical. Part of me believes we're all the same , and part of me believes in every racist fairy tale I've ever heard, even the ones that Contradict the other ones. I'll look at a black kid standing on a street corner and part of me will decide that he's probably some undiscovered, disadvantaged genius, and want to step in and help him turn his life around like in one of those dumb-ass oh-thank-you-mister-white-man movies. And at the same time, another part of me will look at him and see a menace, a drug dealer. somebody who probably hates me, and want to cross the street to get away from him. And another part of me knows that my fear is really guilt, because there are X number of reasons why he's standing on that street corner and I'm not , and I feel like he has the right to hate me for reaping the rewards of a system that excludes him-- even more so since I'm aware of it. And another part rejects all that and gets self-righteous about the whole thing, like 'it's his fault, he's where he deserves to be.' Even though for all I know the guy's just waiting for his grandmother to begin with. Meanwhile, another part of me is busy blaming you guys, the media, for feeding me so many images of black people as violent criminals that I can't shake them all. Then there's the part that wants more than anything in the world for that kid to nod hello, because that would validate me, make me feel for a minute like I'm not white, not different from him, not responsible for his oppression, or like I'm cool enough to get this murderous gangster thug's respect." - Macon Detornay

ORGANIZATION FOR RACIAL PEACE http://www.projectrace.com/