Tag Archives: revolution

“The Cops Will Kill Me: Vagabond’s Declaration…”

Filmmaker & Poet Vagabond Beaumont Alexander’s latest heartbreaking missive:

“God gave Noah the rainbow sign
No more water, the fire next time.”
– James Baldwin

 

mug-shot-1

mug shot by (c) Vagabond, 2020

This is a confession but not an apology… i’m afraid my death will come at the hands of the police… It’s a fear i live with… Every time i see the cops i think – ‘this could be it, this could be the end’. And i don’t mean every time i get pulled over or stopped or questioned, i mean every time i see the cops… Pulling up behind me, sitting on the side of the road, passing me by while i’m driving, in a store, at the movies, on a corner, i see my life flash before my eyes…

Every fucken time i see a cop the first thought that comes to my head is that i can be killed for no reason. The thought that immediately follows that is that my family and friends will be dragged through some bullshit investigation only to find that the cop(s) who killed me was/were justified and my murderer(s) will go unpunished… i think that outside of my untimely tragic death that this will be the hardest thing for family and friends to have to deal with, to have to endure…

If i’m killed by the police then i want this piece to be read like a last will and testament… This is what i want done after i’m killed… i don’t want a non-violent protest or rally or march or a candlelight vigil… i want a rebellion in the streets… i want the looting of police stations, courthouses and shitty halls… Take those candles for the vigil and use them to light up holding cells and jailhouses so they can be burnt down to embers… i don’t want peace… i want my death to mean something that my life couldn’t ever achieve… i want to strike fear into a shitstem that struck fear into me my whole adult life…. i don’t want mourning or sadness… i want rage to give birth to justice… And not the kind of justice in law books but real justice that comes from revolution…

Read the entire piece here:

https://nothingtobegainedhere.wordpress.com/2020/06/09/when-the-cops-kill-me/#like-5535

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Black Film & The Underground Spirit: 1

Kangalee by Hallstrom

“…the new breed of American filmmakers need to turn a blind eye to the Reservoir Dogs of the American Beauties and express themselves. Black people will play Bob Marley’s “Get Up, Stand Up,” blast Wu-Tang’s most innovative tracks, and spout the poetry of Amiri Baraka or Sonia Sanchez and yet will still think that a film like “The Best Man” or “Shaft” is good enough for them. I know there are a lot of talented, radical, sensitive people out there. But where are they? Certainly not behind the cameras…”

— from “Towards a Black New Wave & Notes from the Underground,”  (Harlem, August 26, 2000)

 

(c) August 26, 2000; April 14, 2003; August 25, 2014 by Dennis Leroy Kangalee

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A Rhyme Inside A Screaming Brain

…Are you waiting for the flood?
While the news goes gaga
& our brains turn to mud?
As the neighbors turn on their TVs
& cultivate their fears
I’m going to come up with a plan
and destroy museum tears
Cause humanity is aching
It’s been dying all this time
since Columbus called it Trinidad
& colonized our minds
We’ll be watching our funerals
our criminal descent
into the land of amusement
& some kind of weird gaga death

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Another Revolt, The End of Song, No More

Another Revolt, The End of Song, No More

My latest “haiku” had the honor of being published in the Poets Basement section of “Counterpunch,” a wonderful Left wing publication. 

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A Mark on the Cave Wall

Middle-Paleolithic cave drawing: about 12,000 years ago...

Middle-Paleolithic cave drawing: about 12,000 years ago…

If a junkie can find a way to get high, so can the artist
Do what you must to support the habit
Some transgressions are worth committing if they bring just a fragment of truth
Sometimes the work we create is worth all the pain and disaster,
Worth the humiliation and mockery,
And once in a blue moon it’s even worth the loneliness
So think globally, act locally,
And, if you can,
Create art whose beauty will last
At least as long as man’s ugliness.

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The Best Minds of My Generation

Ginsberg wrote: “I saw the best minds
of my generation destroyed by
madness,
starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo
in the machin-
ery of night…”

But not me.

No,
I saw the best minds of my generation
resist their true insanity
and give up their imagination to Dead Steam.
The best minds of my generation are writing poems, but not sharing them
The best minds of my generation are not on the picket line, they’re being trampled by them
The best minds of my generation do not want to occupy
The best minds of my generation have a hard time ordering a cup of coffee
The best minds of my generation have no desire to follow idols
The best minds of my generation stay indoors or inside, off-the-grid, or out of bounds
The best minds of my generation are not being supported by grants or parents
The best minds of my generation create unheard symphonies and daydreams that would put a long-gone Maestro to shame
The best minds of my generation can’t seek some spiritual fix cause they are too busy remembering pin codes
The best minds of my generation aren’t interested in owning anything but their own lives
The best minds of my generation are caught between beepers and iPhones
The best minds of my generation mourn for all we already could not accomplish
The best minds of my generation no longer ask Why, but How?
The best minds of my generation realize that a man not offended by anything will stand for nothing
The best minds of my generation know that the pen is mightier than the sword
The best minds of my generation are not lost, they are simply…not found
The best minds of my generation don’t see their own potential & therefore they cease to imagine
The best minds of my generation don’t understand their times because they are not creating them
Instead, we’re willing to become like every other part of the universe and give up our identity –
desperate
to join the parade
The best minds of my generation could be beautiful –
If they could only see themselves
If they could only pause
& accept the failed status quo –
Infinitely being hurled at them
With the terror
& grace of a runaway train
& the tremor of the other poet’s great maxim: “The best lack all conviction.”

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Truth

Some see truth in a painting, others in a jar of cookies.
If it’s a biblical passage that sets you straight or a steady job — who cares?
People only care — or the system will only care — when you’ve violated its laws
or created
your own.

Book Of Urizen, W.Blake, 1794

Book Of Urizen, W.Blake, 1794

“I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.”
— William Blake

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Gentrified Minds: The New York Horror Vol.2

The opening poem & title song of my humble revolt: “Gentrified Minds”,a performance-piece about corporate friendly suburbanization of NYC, racism, the rise of the hipster, demise of folk art, the suburbanization of NYC, and erosion of a true counter-culture. Four years of rancor and frustration gave birth to this piece, which was a follow up to a spoken word recording “The NY Horror Vol.1 (What Happened to the Brother on the Block?) that was eventually published in the Nerve Lantern literary journal. This was my first live performance in over a decade and the debut of my short-lived poetry band, the Children of Warhol. Music was co-written by Bob Kuch, the guitarist. Video edited & Mixed by Isaiah Singer. This performance was directed by Nina Fleck for Downtown Urban Theater Festival, NYC, April 22, 2011.

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Everyday Activism

A Personal Philosophy & Message to those who Claim to be Revolutionary

Everybody wants to change the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

–          Leo Tolstoy

[Union Sq.Park, NYC, July 2004, Anti-War/Republican Protest] (Fleck)

[Union Sq.Park, NYC, July 2004, Anti-War/Republican Protest] (Fleck)

 Activism is in the everyday, the unmarked corners, the unseen hands, the lonely hum of an elevator shaft. It is in the mind and heart of every waking human being who sees the horror of the world in himself. We’re on our last legs. Give a part of yourself wholly before this society rips you apart. Fight, speak truth to power, live creatively, love intensely, never shy away from an argument, spend your last dime on someone you’ve never met, and know that you have tried your best. 

Activism starts in the home.  Or, if you do not have a “home” of your own — in the heart. Real activists are human beings with a lot to lose, with no group or organization behind them. 

True compassion and activism in life must be in a continuous state of flux; the wheels must be constantly revolving. It is not good enough or justifiable, frankly, to attend a protest march while you are fully aware that your next-door neighbor is starving to death.

To be courageous in daily life by speaking truth to power is all the activism one needs to engage in.  And yet how many activists challenge the cruelty or hypocrisy in their daily lives?  I know several so-called activists who will march on the White House lawn and yet won’t lift a finger to scrub their bathroom floor.  There is more activism in keeping your closet organized than there is in empty sloganizing and cliché’ mob-anger.  You want to stop the war?  Stop beating your kids, following incompetent bosses, and getting angry at your spouse for telling a white lie.  Your government lies to you everyday.  And what do you do about it?  You give it your money!

Activism implies taking action.  It implies doing something.  Organizing is different.  It is part of it but it is not the fruit of the womb itself.  It’s the labia. 

Activists assert their humanity and impulse to change the world every single day. It is a way of life, the way some people are born blind or live by a certain code.  These are people you may not acknowledge, but they are real people. They are stars in their unique way and out-shine the dull luster of celebrities and  “professional” activists. They are not slummers and are slaves only to their conscience.  

Remember to look at the drama everyone else ignores.

Revolution, after all, is not the huge explosion — but the tiny threads that make up the wick.

 Words & Image By

  Dennis Leroy Kangalee & Nina Fleck

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