blackprezident

blackprezident

A phrase/term/concept used to indicate a person's well-being in spite of any setbacks in their life or barriers hindering personal progress.  Derived from the phrase "Black President" and referring to Obama's unprecedented victory in the 2008 Presidential Elections, despite the centuries of oppression and racism Blacks have faced in America, "blackprezident" is a testament to the hope that these recent events have placed in people's hearts everywhere. 

Can be shortened to "blackprez" or used in the phrase, "My president is Black."

Ex. - "Yo, I heard you got laid off this week. I'm sorry, man."

      - "I'll make it. My president is Black."

      - "What's good son?"

      - "Blackprezident...  blackprezident."

It's funny.

It's funny, the things that you learn from living, especially from those seemingly insignificant eccentricities that are so unique that they can only be described as functions of "life." It's funny when you're in the midst of one of these occurrences, and you incredulously think to yourself, Really?  Right now?... weeeeiird...  I mean, you could think of this logically... as a matter of probability.  This has to happen to someone, right?  What are the chances that it would happen to me... is it because I walked this route today?  Would this still have happened to me if I had done something else instead of this?  It's funny because it doesn't seem right that life can just so carelessly fall into place and still be perfectly woven together to make you exactly who you are - but that mess still happens.

Well, I had one of those "weeeeiird" experiences today.  As I rode the bus home from dinner after watching an Iranian film called Three Women at the Museum of Fine Arts, I encountered an [I'll say interesting] woman.  She sat slouched in her chair, as if the plastic bags she held in her left hand were tugging at her, coaxing her to the ground.  She wore a brown face with black eyes that peeked from behind heavy curtains.  I also noticed the tissue she had wadded up in her right ear... how long had that been there?  Lord knows...

So... I'll be frank...  this lady was crazy.  And I ain't playin eitha...

Shortly after I sat down, she began giggling at something unbeknownst to me. She was babbling some stuff about how "she gotta know where to get you that burger."   What is she talking about? 

Anyways, I didn't think she was talking to me, but I did look around to see who else was witnessing this humorous sight.

Then I realized she was looking at me, knocking on my forehead with her beady eight-ball eyes. "What's in your bag?" she demanded.  I'm like... hol' up... is she comin at me? ... Maybe this lady's hungry... Well,  I guess I can spare her my leftovers - even though these days I feel like I'm a homeless and hungry college student.  I stammered, uhh... well there's some foo- 

"NO!! Uh unh..." she interjected.  "The girl's in the bag."

*blink blink*   .................  Whaaaat!?  

"I'm tellin you, yo' girl has to know where to get you that hamburger, if she can't do that... then it ain't worth it.... Haha... look at you.  Yeah, wipe yo' mouth.  Haha... yeah.  What? ... What? haha...."  And she kept comin at me with these aggressive lunacies that put me on edge.  

At this point, I was pretty sure she had "three women" inside of her.  Yo, this lady is straight loca...  Just look to the front, I told myself as I smiled with disbelief.  But the thing is, she didn't stop talking to me, or looking at me, for that matter.  She was trying to pierce me with her dark onyx orbs. 

So I capitulated.  I turned to listen to her, to respond to her ridiculousness and treat her like the human being that she was.  And in doing so, I realized how important it was that I do just this, for how many people have treated her as insignificant, burdensome, annoying, and invisible in her lifetime? Shortly after I began to try and listen to her, she softened up, and was not so hostile.  She had a story to tell, a jumbled up one, but a story nonetheless; one that was spawned from a hard life and adversity.  Before getting off the bus, she repeatedly told me, "What I'm trying to say is you gotta be yourself, that's what it's all about.  You gotta be yourself... gotta be yourself."

As I stepped off the bus, I thought about the realness of her message.  She was trying earnestly to impart some of her worldly wisdom upon me.  And even though her message was clouded by her many layers, I was able to wade through them and connect with her person to person.  Now, I doubt that she'll ever remember me, especially considering her waning mental facilities, but my experience with this looney lady will become one of those didactic anecdotes that will be with me for many years to come. And yeah, it's funny, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

ONE WAY Skre^(2)t

"ONE WAY Skre^(2)t" - spray paint stencil

This piece is entitled "ONE WAY Skre^2t."

Lately I've been thinking about the irreversible nature of life.  In a way, life is a work of art.  It's infallible form, is molded,  fired, and glazed by the Master's master hands.  It is a mass, growing, rolling, and flowing, ...never stopping - until it stops.  These aberrant defects are anything but... they're perfect[s].  They color our essence, and season our sight. We learn and we live...

"Life is a ONE-WAY Skreet."

D

Fatigue

Flippant, you flippin' 

wave things off.  

[And what ticks me off...

... is this happens oft.]

My voice box doesn't seem to function. 

I turn the key,

and suddenly, I'm filling my gas tank

up to E.

PLEASE, Tell me...

Honestly,

What's the use, in feeling emp-ty?

It's like cleaning a grime-stained, 

habit-ingrained 

bathtub

to be defeated.

Beat down

by the dense fist of the muck.

I've tried to use some elbow grease.

But Alas, I'm running low, it seems.

Straining,

strength waning, 

and the filthy waters, draining... 

they're

gurgling, gurgling... straining.

"Je suis fatigue de ceci..."

Oh! Sorry...

Please excuse my French.

Subliminal

"Subliminal" -mixed media

Street Corner Symphony

"Street Corner Symphony" - gesso/charcoal/acrylic

things.

You feel the presence

of things weighing down.

things that constrict

like a py-thon

things that sits 

on your shoulders

and squeezes your neck and you feel 

the warmth of its embrace.

things clings to you

like a grabbing child, reaching, clawing

it sings to you

a somber dirge

nestled in your ear canal.

you never forget it's cadence!

how would you?

how could you?

things.

and all the while you desire

to fling things from you. 

yet things clings

like the too-loud noise 

and shell-shocked,

you fall 

from the too-loud noise 

and shell-shocked,

you fall.

de ja vu it seems... 

yes, we've been here before.

we've seen these things.

things.

...the apotheosis of crimes?:

then why does it linger 

infinity times?

... [pause] ...

things.

Thinking, Man.

  "Thinking, Man."  -acrylic/charcoal

Enfowunua

enfowunua (ehn-foe-woon-yoo-uh)

noun.

Etymology: unknown

A state of unspeakable ambiguity.

*Not to be confused with asdifoavuer, which is rather a state of conflicting feelings.  Enfowunua denotes a strong ambiguity of feelings.

We['ve] Wait[ed] and Pray[ed]

"We['ve] Wait[ed] and Pray[ed]" - acrylic wash/oil pastel

What kind of art is this?

What kind of art is this?

... So hard to kiss.

You'd better not squander this.

Steppin' untrodden paths,

the garden's wrath

Speaks of a love won fast

Grown strokes with a detail brush

breathe as they must

to simply live and let lust. [die]

Who knows what the symbols mean?

Glean what you can, or must, 

from this earthy scene.

-DDargan

Strong Enough?

I wonder...

Am I strong enough?

"For real?"

I often wonder what causes hatred in people.  

Well, the short, obvious answer is that mankind was born with a sin nature, one predicated on evil since the original sin.  But I see the ways in which some people live their lives and just wonder how such hateful actions, words and looks can be produced from within and manifested in a way that can be so egregious towards others.  Sometimes I take a step back from life and ask myself, "For real??"  

These instances of loathing can be subtle.  Sometimes I hear this hatred lucidly in the way that people refer to others... I wonder, as their contempt for another "kind" of people drips from their lips, "Do they know how bigoted and they sound... or are they proud to be of this mindset?"  These sorts of episodes are most apparent when the topics of politics, religion and race arise, but have permeated societies and rear their ugly heads similarly in less predictable settings.   

I've noted that essentially all hateful acts, sentiments and sayings are caused in one form or another by extremism.  If it's not an extremist act, it's an extremist belief.  If it's not his or her own extremist opinion, it's someone else's causing division. Or perchance, these are caused by a person who is as weak as to latch on to the extremist belief of another in true lemming fashion - without having formulated his or her own opinion.  

I believe that many people are plagued by a certain void in their life.  A festering, empty space they can feel, aching, but not grasp with the grubby fingers of their mind, no matter what they do. This is again a result of the sin nature that humans are born into, a manifestation of the human desire to have a relationship with God. They try to fill it with many things; both physical and intangible.  And when they come upon something they sense is steadfast, (for what can seem more stable to the precariously emotional heart than a firm and seemingly unshakeable creed?) they latch on; in a feeble attempt to gain a sense of stability in their lives.  Unknowingly, or consciously even, they surrender a bit of themselves to this creed - a sacrifice for solidarity.

To be honest, I think it is perfectly acceptable to feel adamant on an issue and hold extreme views about it.  Many times, a person holds these views for legitimate reasons; reasons that can be based on informed decisions made by that person, and life experiences he or she has had.  I think where a responsible and considerate citizen with extreme views is separated from the extremist who harbors hatred in his heart, and foolishly decides to share it with everyone is in the considerate citizen's respect for others' beliefs.  Now, this may sound old hat to some, a trite concept that people pass around to aim for an ideal society, one with love and mutual regard for others, but I believe that people should really take heed to this kind of mindset. No matter how naive, outlandish, or vacuous a different take on things may seem to us... we should retain a certain respect for others beliefs or customs.  Because, in this case, the idiom, "variety is the spice of life," really holds true.

La Palabra

"La Palabra"  - acrylic/collage

This piece is a response to my time in Peru.

Asdifoavuer

asdifoavuer (asz-deh-fwah-verr)

noun.

Etymology: unknown

A state of being in which an individual has mixed feelings, or has contradictory ideas about someone or something, to the extent of feeling torn asunder.

pseudo-synonym: ambivalence

Asdifoavuer cannot merely be described as ambivalence, however.

Aergiuper

aergiuper (air-joo-pair)

noun.

Etymology: unknown

A state of jadedness and disillusionment, resulting from another person's repetitively irking actions; esp. when referring to a close friend.

synonyms: none

antonyms: none

Yes We Can, A Montage

Yo check out this link, if you haven't already seen it.  It is a music video montage inspired by Senator Barack Obama's speech after the 2008 New Hampshire primary.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY

I found it very touching, and I became very proud/emotional for how far Black people have come in this nation, despite racism, bigotry, and discrimination.  Our nation is changing, and we young people are part of a living movement, one that will be talked about in history books to come.  While America is yet to be a true meritocracy or live up to the American ideal, it warms my soul to know that the centuries of suffering, dreams of visionaries and hard work on many people's behalf have not gone to waste.  Yes We Can... progress... and We Have.

Fatuous Thinking

Why do I feel unnecessarily annoyed over the most trivial things?

Perhaps it's my feeble perception that others' minds should function the same way mine does.  I always think, "Why do they do this when they know it gets on my nerves???  DANG!!  If I was [enter name here...], I would realize (especially when Dorian specifically tells [...] ) that what I am doing really bothers him (Dorian), and I would make an effort to change."  

Let's say this task proves too difficult for [...] to change.  In this case, if I were [...] I would let Dorian know that I am trying, and would ask Dorian to be patient with me.  But this never seems to happen.

I deceive myself into thinking that others care about the way I hurt as deeply as I care about the ways in which they hurt.  I fatuously seem to think that they would do all of what they could to minimize the things that really cause me pain, anguish, or frustration. I become disillusioned, and sad.  I am overcome with lassitude.

I feel doubly cross because I am focusing my frustration, concentrating it to its most potent form, on the people that I care about most.  In my own eyes, I become some disgusting bestial thing, wondering, "Why can't I just be content with these wonderful people that I love, and who love me?" Instead I am endlessly browbeating them to reach my high standard of consideration for others, and failing to evince my reciprocated love to them. I am demonizing myself, and failing to relish in some of the most enjoyable things of life. This is the worst aspect of all.

--

[sigh]

I'm thirsty.  You know, I should just pour myself a tall glass of water, and gulp down the red pill. But it is so hard for me to surrender my undying optimism when it comes to others' potential. I suppose this is a good thing.  However, I seem to be heaping upon myself undue stress and worry.  This is the point where I need to give it to God.  Mah'fact... I shoulda done that a long time ago....

[sigh]

Thank God for his mercy and love. Unquestionably, he feels this way all the time.  I'm coming to realize that this is in fact a lesson from God.  He sovereignly and rhetorically broods, with a heavy heart, "Why does [Dorian] constantly do things that I've told him time and time again are displeasing in my sight?"    And unbeknownst to me, in my ignorance, I cause God grief by continuing in my sin and disregarding how rejected He must feel.

[sigh]

Yet HE STILL LOVES ME! ... and blesses me daily.  He loved me enough to send His only Son to die for me.  ME!!???  a wretched sinner worthy of naught. It boggles my mind [and it should] that God can be so patient with me.   And yet I seem to to frequently forget His sacrifice, and suffering...

[sigh]

"Have mercy upon me, Lord."

Familia[r]

Imagine.. .  .   .    .     being dipped like a trial spoon into a culture of many flavors.  You find yourself pleasantly surprised by some - enchanted that such a combination of tastes could make you feel so warm inside - and equally repulsed with an obscure aversion to others.  Surprisingly, you discover some flavors that aren't exotic or egregious.  You are not surprised by their commonness, for they aren't common.  You are surprised by the familiarity of these flavors whose appearances are foreign, yet whose savors seize your senses in the most intimate way.  Surely you must know them!?  Ah, you say... as you slowly realize that these flavors have been a part of you since the inception of self. Yes.. .  .   Your discovery could be life-changing, or life-giving perhaps.  It may just be life-revealing... like the removal of a veil.  Whatever it is, it proves to be something contemplative and momentous; a powerful truth.  Imagine.. .  .   .    .

--

My experience in Peru surprised me in many ways. I was elated to discover that security guards were so much more agreeable there!  I felt like I actually wanted to befriend them! Haha.  I also enjoyed Peru's affinity for a tasteful blend of the old and the new. However, one particular aspect of my experience that struck me was the subtle, structural racism present in Peru.  The existence of a racial hierarchy in their society, as portrayed by Peruvian media outlets, and as sung by the lowly taxi drivers, is considerably noticeable.  This motivated my work:

While in Peru, my primary project was to lay the groundwork and to commence research for the initiation of an Afro-Peruvian radio station/program, an idea spawned by Afro-Peruvian Luis Bilbao.  Since Afro-Peruvians are largely discriminated against in terms of job opportunities, they have negligible presence in the media.  As a result, a negative system of racial self-consciousness is created within Afro-Peruvian communities due to a lack of positive images of Afro-Peruvian culture.  This radio program aims to promote cultural unity among the Afro-Peruvian population of the Chincha Province.

My second project was the implementation of a small-scale barbershop in the poor marginalized Afro-Peruvian community of Cruz Verde, Tambo de Mora, Peru.  The focus of this project was to give the community a means of generating revenue, through a barbershop, by teaching select individuals hair cutting skills with clippers, as well as basic principles of entrepreneurship. 

My time in Peru was constructive, in every way.  I took in all that I saw and sensed, drinking their culture like a Slurpee [no brainfreeze.]  I was able to help people like me, the descendants of African slaves with real-life issues.  Issues that, no matter if they differed in magnitude, were of a familiar taste.

One of the most memorable times of the trip was my impassioned discussion with Luis Bilbao, and Ghanaian MIT graduate student James Habia, at a quaint restaurant where we stopped for lonche.  We talked of many things, but eventually our conversation settled on historically how each of our three respective peoples differed.  Luis pointed out how similar he and I were, in the fact that our nations had been colonized.  We had been stripped of our mother tongues and traditions, and forced to go through slavery - a painful process.  James on the other hand, has retained his native languages, and most of his traditions (save those lost to globalization.)  However, we were essentially the same people, going through comparable struggles.  

Our intense discussion made me think about the knowledge that I gained from taking World Literatures at MIT, a class taught by Prof. Alisa Braithwaite showcasing literature by international authors who comment on race, gender and identity as related to history.  From noting the effects of the system of colonization on Afro-Peruvians, African-Americans, and native Africans, I've internalized much of post-colonial theory and the grave impact of colonization and slavery. It both amazes and disgusts me how the raping of a nation through the imposition of one culture upon another can so acutely affect the victim, forever changing their future.  I am rightfully confused how a process so inconsiderate and selfish in nature has also created so many beautiful things.

I remember that as a child, I would proudly conjure up fair-skinned, wispy-haired superheroes in my head, depicting their 'perfect features' in my sketchbook and beaming with achievement.  These were the products of a juvenile mind who had unknowingly capitulated to a system that prefers light to dark, white to black, [good to evil?!]  Was it my fault that at one time in my life I seemed to be more attracted to girls of Anglo Saxon origin, than to girls of my own race?? People like me??

Yes, it's true. From a young age this society has attempted to brainwash me into believing that white is superior to black - well truly, that any hue is superior to black.  Historically, Blacks have been perceived as evil, primitive beings.   And to this day, these perceptions can be found hiding in the minds of Americans of all flavors, even if they are manifested in a subdued form.   The classic archetype of black signifying evil, darkness, and depravity found its way easily into the psyches of the founders of American social mores, giving a fallacious legitimacy to this kind of ignorance. It is an ignorance that yields a system resulting in benightedness, debasement and self-hatred of Blacks. Well, black is beautiful.  

And while my ranting may seem acrimonious in nature, note: I am not bitter.  I must in turn be grateful for the past, for it has molded me into the individual that I am today; it has created a world that is interconnected in a way that is indeed beautiful.

Going to Peru and working with the people of Cruz Verde was an uplifting experience for me.  I have a renewed vigor for learning about other cultures, and it has also caused me to care more for issues within my own culture. I felt blessed to be able to provide the people of the community with a way to help themselves to overcome the poverty and marginalization they have undergone.  Through the rich, mutual sharing of cultures we experienced, and the common bond of our ancestry, we established a certain rapport that I will never forget; one that has given me a keen connection to people of the African diaspora everywhere.  I just hope that they too recognize that familiar flavor that I've come to love so much.

Seasoned

I'm slowly becoming wiser and more seasoned.

like an aging pan replete with spices and herbs

I pull and I give

I am [things are] changed

the symbiosis of seasoning.   .

-DDargan

Undulating Freedom

I´ve been thinking a lot about street art and graffiti lately. About how it breaks the bounds of conventional visual art. Street art boasts a freedom that is quite different from classical art, yet it still serves to show me the "catharsis of artistic expression." I mean, I´ve always thought about it, but it seems lately that instead of peering in at it through the dirty window, I´m touching it, rolling it around in my fingers, removing its grimy exterior to reveal its lustrous surface. [it = street art]

From traversing the smog-laden streets of Lima, Peru, I´ve discovered just how much of art is freedom. It´s a cleansing release once creativity flows from pencil to surface, from brush to canvas, as medium and substrate become one. One unique entity, erupted from the artists womb, evolves into a living thing that grows and changes with time. As I speak, the present becomes the past, time constantly moves, and history is changing at an unstoppable pace. As we learn more, and grow as people, the meaning of the art changes with us. The art is freed, to grow as it will, and the artist is set free.

I abhor the ignorant opinions of fools who contend that art is meaningless, a waste of time, or simply for the simple-minded.
Some of the work I´ve seen here in Peru was purely done for aesthetic enjoyment, while other images were birthed to voice the artist´s opinion. In the neighborhood of Magdalena del Mar in Lima I came across a stencil of the thin-lipped and mustachioed Adolf Hitler saying, "Adolf Hitler Tenía Razón," which translates to: "Adolf Hitler was right." Now I disagree wholly with this statement. It infuriates me to ponder the hatred in Hitler´s soul that fueled his crazed ideologies, or to consider the atrocities he caused against Semitic peoples. But the image of this stencil has been chiseled into my mind´s eye to remind me that art is powerful, art speaks, and is ultimately tantamount to freedom.

I´ve recently discovered woostercollective.com, a website dedicated solely to celebrating street art around the world. I´ve gained a certain power from visiting the website; its amazing to see the elaborate ways in which people have expressed themselves worldwide. Seeing other people´s art makes me itch to break out my acrylic, spray paint and brushes right away. I suppose I should use a canvas as well... but part of me yearns to leave my legacy on the greasy brick walls of Barranco, where the neighborhood´s rich history will meld with my outsider´s perspective to create something special, galvanizing both art and artist into the reciprocal process of undulating freedom.

Original?

I detest my propensity to doubt my own personal epiphany simply because the idea was spawned from someone else's.  Inside I wish to reject it, because I don't feel like the idea was wholly mine. Once again... in this way I am limiting myself.  The truth is, we live in a continuum of innovative ideas that don't always carry a name and face; an age of information sharing.  If something is genuinely a good idea for one person, then it is highly likely that it could be useful to someone else; specifically tailored to his or her condition.  I seem to be able to verbalize this, however time has proven that this knowledge doesn't translate into action in my case.  My inner pride desires sole ownership of the idea. Perhaps its a selfish mindset.  I've come to realize that I must defenestrate* this foolish notion, lest I greatly inhibit my scholarly and personal progress.

*thanks, Amanda ;)