Bembe

It all starts with a drum, the spark that lights the flame of movement. Energy swirls through the hotbox like a cyclone. The walls turn round and round while insects on the ceiling bear witness. I am fascinated by the way these women and men give themselves to God, their heads and bodies made to be moved, their mouths fashioned to deliver truths formulated by much greater powers. As the music cranks the charge among us becomes more intense, ballooning into regulated explosions that wash the true believers with the shrapnel of possession. I've been seeing it all my life. It has caught my mother and uncle. It has captured friends and associates. Once as a boy I said two words into a microphone and a good five people erupted into the dance. It made me proud. But it also scared me to death. Is it paradoxical that the best things about me tend to scare me?

To read this blog without knowing me personally, with it's tales of the nightlife and laps swum in certain social scenes, one might assume that I'm the party guy, the extrovert, the kid who turns heads when he walks into a room. But in truth I'm generally the guy at the back, in some corner, taking the scene in with an enigmatic expression on his face. I take notes. I try to interpret it all, which results in the chronic syndrome of me thinking too much sometimes and not enough in others.

There is nothing that makes me happier than receiving praise from the Other side, getting confirmation that what I've done and have decided not to do are far more than some delusion I have put on myself in the comfort of my own home. I have decided to stop chasing cheetahs in boots made for walking. My timing was only bad when I didn't give myself to the more important clock.

Talking to my girl Tiff online the other day, I told her about the many things that have been going on with me. She evaluated them all as "good", which is a mouthful for Tiff if you know her. She also reminded me that I feel so much of what I feel because I've chosen one of the most vulnerable possessions. Any job built around self-expression isn't going to off you to much safety, especially when you live in worlds filled with repressed people.

While I don't always wear my heart on my sleeve, I do tend to draw maps toward where it might be in a given moment in time. But lately I'm learning the gilded nature of silence. The best of things should only be shared with the best in your life. The worst things shouldn't be shared at all. Gone Baby Gone was a dope ass movie. Ben Affleck is actually a pretty decent director.

I'm going to put some money in a pot this week. I'm going to start all over, the thing my ego has stopped me from doing in so many times and ways past. And it's going to better this time than it's ever been before. Because this time it's going to be nothing but the real. Out.

P.S. Shoutout to Negarra for the Mojitos! Luv ya girl!