Mother Nature Doesn't Wanna Be Friends

Hot Take Thursdays. 1st Ed, 2nd Vol. 

I'm a fairly spiritual person. Still working on the religious part, but that what your 20s are for, right? Creationism vs a giant bang aside, there's one thing I feel to be true: Earth is alive and she's trying to kill us. 

How do I know Earth is sentient, you ask? Simple deduction, my good Watsons. I learned in third grade science that all growing organisms are alive. That means the trees, the grass, the carrots, the disgusting brussel sprouts, and the algae on the bottom of the ocean floor feels you among them. If everything that grows from Earth is alive, why wouldn't it be? Don't think of this planet as a giant rock but as a woman with her womb exposed and her mind deep at her center, protected from all that mean it harm. Mother Nature lives among us. 

[At this point in the broadcast I'd like to point out that vegetarians and vegans claiming to only consume "horror-free" foods are still munching on a branch of the conscious among us. Just because they don't bleed red doesn't mean they don't bleed at all! ...but that's a hot take for another Thursday.]

Mother Nature is fighting against our arrogant ways in subtle but obvious ways. Man has been population this land at an alarming rate, scalping Mother Nature to her roots to make way for suitable living and working environments. In retaliation, she sends her agents of moss to cover buildings and reclaim them in her name. Branches will stretch down and wrap their limbs around fences. Her most devoted grass and rose warriors will even push through the cracks of concrete to remind us where they once stood. They refuse to be completely obliterated like the indigenous people of so many countries.  

Landscapers beware; Mother Nature's strike division is on patrol. Cut all the grass and wack all the weeds sprouting in the playground as you will, but pollen comes for us all. The air will become poisonous, causing your nose to run and your lungs to wheeze. You'll be weakened. Jack Frost and Death will come to collect you, the little brothers of Mother herself. 

There's a webcomic that has a man apologizing for the harm we've done to the Earth as he hugs Mother Nature. She tells him not to worry; she will survive as she always has. But his kind, so arrogant in think she needs them, will parish long before she reaches her end. And she laughs and laughs and laughs. 

I don't won't Mother Nature to end me. I'd rather commune with her, tend to her. But she's already made up her mind. The pollen has taken hold. I can feel myself deteriorating from inside out. Why must she attack me personally? This is the cruelest breakup of all time. 

Word

Broken, Unsure Homosexuals & Toe Jam

Writing Wednesdays, 1st Ed, 2nd Vol

Hitting this week with another round of that rough draft poetry you know and love.   

Broken, Unsure Homosexuals

Here's to the broken, unsure homosexuals

Given the 1/10 stick of life

Unable to fathom the hatred from all sides

Running after girls because television taught you so

Shunned by the cool kids in your small town

Teased by your sister who's boyfriends you always drooled over

Called "nothing like me" by your father

Asked if you'd like to be exorcized by your mother

No longer the apple of the congregation's eyes 

Nervous around other homosexuals

Never knowing how to present yourself in their presence

Jealous of how sure of themselves they are

Pondering what circumstances allowed them such privileges 

Juggling friendship and romance, dropping the balks every time 

Told "I like you but not in that way" too often

Wondering if you'll ever find love and acceptance ever again

Here's to you

May we find each other and figure it out together

Toe Jam

You don't understand fear until your foot slides under a lawnmower

The grass so slippery from yesterday's rain that you death drop down a slope

Your right foot wanting to have a conversation with each of the blades under the hood

You feel stupid, weak for letting this happen

But your numb foot distracts from your broken pride

You see your sneaker slashed open

The image of blood seeping out of it filling your imagination 

This is how you die, refusing to treat your severed toes because you don't have insurance

You curse the Earth's rotation for aging you out of your parents' coverage as you talk off your sneaker to assess the damage

To the uncut grass' surprise, your sock hasn't turned red - not even pink

But there are three tears

Does adrenaline stop blood flow?

You venture further and expose your foot to the elements

Your toes survived and are still attached to your body

Congratulations!

Now wobble your skinned big toe inside and see if Patient First will treat you under the table, you idiot

Word

Arguing for Fun

Talk'o Tuesdays. 1st Ed, 2nd Vol. 

I never quite understood the need for arguing. For me, it's always been attached to anger and resentment. At its basis, there must arise a winner and a loser or worse: two losers as declared by a draw. My friends in relationships tell me arguing is healthy for any relationship, and I've definitely held my fair share of disputes with friends, but they all feel toxic to experience. 

So when I watch friends debate for the sake of debating and coming away nowhere near each other's throats, I am thoroughly confused. I'd even go as far as disappointed, upset that my television program didn't wrap up as expected. Some call it a meeting of the minds or sharing knowledge, but I call it foreign. 

I understand that in this world of sin, we're supposed to help each other in whatever way we can. Passing on information seems a great way to do so. Often, though, discussing which character portrayals in Midnight in Paris were true to their real life counterparts and then launching into an explanation of Hemingway's marriages and divorces can come off as bragging. Humans are very jealous creatures, and I've seen handfuls of friendly debates end in resentment, unbeknownst to the person held in contempt. 

Usually this person does not deserve the disdain they've attracted, but there is one culprit who does: the one sided arguer. No matter how hard you persist, they'll keep talking at you until you agree with them. They're conviction about Beyoncé being perfect in every way is too strong for them to listen to your counterpoint about Queen Bey's acting talents. It's pointless. You know this. Everyone around you knows this. But you're unable to escape Hurricane Yoncé until your opponent has run out of steam - or until someone else mentions feminism and Hillary Clinton. 

These two instances aside, it's always important to know when to fall back. So many parties have been ruined after two white guys couldn't stop debating over Radiohead's best album. Know when you've divulged enough information and when your brain has absorbed as much as it could. There are other debates to be had, my friend. 

On the other hand, it could be harmful not to engage in arguments. If you hear your friend saw they don't understand the importance of multicultural representation in media and all you do in response is "Mmm" while walking away to remove yourself from a stressful environment, you're not doing your part to enrich your community. At the very least, you're being a bad friend. That's right, you're the bad friend. Sometimes the headache is worth defending your friends from someone's misogynistic, off-hand comment. 

I admit, I am a frequent information withholder, but I'm trying to better myself. I'll never be on the level of "Tell me more about your findings in Morocco," but I hope to at least become an "I don't agree with you" person. Because open communication makes the world go round, or something like that. 

Word. 

Saturday Bloodsuckers, Alter Ego Freedom, and Claiming Your Profession

Week 2 of Music Mondays and I'm already about to stray from my own guidelines. This past weekend was too full of great new releases to leave you ignorant of them.

Thursday night, everyone's favorite pale, British beanstalk that's worked with Beyonce became inspired by her marketing tactics. James Blake's The Colour in Anything is the perfect album to have you in your feelings as your attempt interpretative dancing to all 17 tracks. The very next day, the hottest new producer from Montreal, Kaytranada, dropped 99.9% laced with great features from artists you'll want to learn more about. Last, but certainly not least, Radiohead graced their ever evolving fanbase with A Moon Shaped Pool. I'll be honest, I haven't listened to it yet, but it's gonna be a fantastic listen if it's anything like its debut single "Daydreaming."

And now, back to your regularly scheduled throwbacks. 

Self Titled, Vampire Weekend

From the moment I saw the video for A-Punk on MTVu my freshman year, I knew Vampire Weekend would be noteworthy. Released in 2008, their self titled debut proved to secure their indie-level superstardom. With Ezra Koenig's melancholy lyrics and Rostam Batmanglij's African drum inspired production, the Chrises helped them launch a new sound for a new generation of music lovers yearning for something to call their own. Vampire Weekend gives me hope that the most WASP-y looking folk can be socially aware, too. Still, I must remind Ezra: I give a fuck about an Oxford comma. 

Breakout Tracks

Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa

One (Blake's Got a New Face)

Once Again, John Legend

Picked early in his career by Kanye to be one of his go-to guys, John Stephens was destined to become a Legend. After the success of his first album, John Legend eased back into his lounge singer lane and submitted Once Again as his sophomore effort. The 2006 album features some of his best pianistic skills as he sings about love enjoyed and love lost, seemingly about the same woman. He became more of a storyteller on this album, something R&B and Soul could stand to return to.

Breakout Tracks

Heaven

Maxine

The Emancipation of Mimi, Mariah Carey

Mentored by the divas that preceded her, Mariah Carey has always ignored that her  roses really smelled like poo. These days, her poo has turned a hard white, but before the fall of Mimi came her emancipation. What could be considered her last hit album, MC freed herself of her evil alter ego in 2005, long before Beyonce announced Sasha Fierce to the world. The Emancipation of Mimi is riddled with party tracks and ballads that will make you appreciative of Mariah Carey's range, including her whistle tone. By the end of the album, you too will be asking "Ariana who?" and claiming to still be young. 

Breakout Tracks

 Say Something (feat Pharrell & Snoop Dogg)

Fly Like a Bird

I Am Just A Rapper 1 & 2, Childish Gambino
Before he became a fully formed rapper and was still concerned a joke, Childish Gambino continued to live his own truth and make the music he wanted to hear. After dropping two full length mixtape that sounded like Lil Wayne on helium, Gambino produced two seven track collections of him rapping over the most popular and up-and-coming indie/alternative songs of 2010 and the years prior. Besides being one of the first rappers to do such a thing, the mixtapes stand out because of his clever metaphors. Though he harps too much on being perceived as "not black enough," it's a valid frustration that propelled him into become the great lyricist he is today. 

Breakout Tracks

Bitch, Look at Me Now (Two Weeks)

The Real (Infinity Guitars)

That should hold you over for this week. Until our next journey through music together, my friends (and associates). 

Word

Hot Take Thursdays: Make Republicans Great Again

Two days ago, Ted Cruz announced he was pulling out of the Republican primary race for President. Yesterday, John Kasich followed suit, leaving Donald Trump as the party's last man standing. America is one giant step towards a nightmare becoming a reality. I hereby motion we nickname him Freddy Krueger for the remainder of his relevancy.

Part of me is upset Cruz and Kasich jumped out of Sauron's line of vision instead of being the human shields they were propped up to be; the other half of me is fine no longer living in suspense of a Trump nomination.  All of me is still in rage that America has allowed Trump to stay around as long as The Simpsons. But before he became the only elephant in the race, a thought crossed my mind - a conspiracy, if you will: the Republican party is trying to tank itself.

It's no secret the Republican party has been struggling throughout the 21st century as far as the presidency is concerned. First there was the wacky duo of G. W. Bush and Dick Cheney, so easy to poke fun at and criticize I was actually sad when their second term was over. John McCain nearly saved racists and bigots from America's first black president, but pairing a Golden Corral Platinum Member with the lunatic lady governor of Alaska was the equivalent of Cheney shooting them in the face. Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan were the sanest candidates the Grand Ol' Party produced in the last decade, but they too had flaws America just couldn't forgive.

For the past year, American citizens registered as Republicans have had to endure the kangaroo court that was the 12-part miniseries called the Republican Primaries. Individually, I believe they all realized they wouldn't be able to vote for any of the candidates come November 8. The decision then became which candidate would be the most entertaining while most certainly turning the GOP on its head and possibly setting it ablaze. The obvious answer was Donald J Trump. He has the most impressive resume as far as television credits and being a self-starter. He's a man Republican voters from 18 to 98 can build up and let tumble into oblivion without causing any psychological harm. They aren't monsters like him, after all.

Of course, the GOP tried their hardest to dissuade the public, but the decision had already been made. They held their private meetings under white cloaks and came to an agreement. Those that held out hope still voted for Ted Cruz, but their numbers dwindled with each primary state election.

Now the Republican party must wait to see if their plan to sandbag themselves will work, or if they've brainwashed themselves into believing Trump could actually be good for this country on the platform he's been championing.

Meanwhile, George Bush Sr cackles the way Dana Carvey taught him as he shakes Bill Clinton's hand and says to him, "Sorry for the eight year delay, but 32 years of straight Bushes and Clintons would have been too suspicious. Tell your wife, 'Happy Birthday' for me when the time comes." Bill doesn't say a word or smile in response. Instead, his security guard hands him the sax he played on the Arsenio Hall Show, and he riffs for the next 12 minutes while Bush Sr claps along. If you listen close enough, you can make out the morse code: J.E.B. doesn't have next.

Best wishes to all you republicans. May your not-so-secret plan to revamp your party work. Playing the game with no worthy opponent is far too boring.

Sincerely, an overconfident, over-hopeful Democrat and American citizen.


Word.

Writing Wednesdays: Charles & Jr, 3rd Grade Archeologists

A blacktop playground might not seem like the most suitable option for a period of recess, but when you need it to double as the faculty parking lot, you make due with what you have. Children don't need a jungle gym when they have footballs, chalk, and their imagination. The possibilities are endless the less you're given as a child.

Charles and Jr were perfect examples of the success of such a system. Along the fence keeping the children from wandering away to the ice cream shop down the street were tiny cracks in the blacktop. If you possessed enough conviction - and strong enough rocks - you could expose the dirt underneath the asphalt, and Charles and Jr did just that. 

Having met in Kindergarten, the pair had been inseparable for four years. They inspired each other to be creative and grasp for knowledge, making them two of the smartest children in their class. On this day, the boys used their recess to see if they could break through the next layer of earth. 

"We need to find a sharper rock to get through the other side. Ugh, why didn't I bring my collection to school today?!" Charles said as he threw his pale, smooth stone to the side. 

Jr passed Charles the chipped piece of asphalt he was using. "Here you go. You have tougher hands than I do." Jr reached into his pockets and pulled out a squarish, brown rock. 

"Yeah. Yeah, this should work. Thanks," he paused to make sure no teachers were around and whispered, "bitch."

Jr giggled, happy his friend was using the naughty words he taught him after learning them from his older sister. Jr stared at him for a beat and then continued to clear around the sides of the nearly foot deep hole as Charles went back to work on cracking the base.  

Behind them, all the children of the odd numbered grades played. It wasn't that the duo was antisocial. Surprisingly they were very popular, especially after Charles stuttered through the morning announcement, Jr naturally by his side. The two just weren't athletic. During gym, instead of getting pelted with giant red balls, they would hide by the radiator on their side of the cafegymatorium and pretend they were in WWII trying to survive the bombings. The imagination these two had knew no bounds. 

A green ball crashed into their worksite, startling the young excavators. "Sorry," Rashida called out to them. 

"Throw us the ball," Sean teased them. Not having learned how to back down from a challenge yet, Charles picked up the ball and attempted to shotput it. The ball flew three feet and rolled to Rashida. 

"That was better than yesterday. Not bad." Rashida flashed a smile and ran to join Sean and the others in their bastardized version of four square. 

Jr looked on as Charles blushed over Rashida, the girl that had his first name as her last. Jr knew he was imagining his name as Charles Charles again and didn't like it. The Porteguese sidekick stood up and shook the dirt off his pants like his daydream. 

"Where are you going? We haven't gotten through to the Mesozoic era yet. I know there's a stegosaurus under this last plate!" Charles called after his friend. 

"I'm done. And you know it's not a stegosaurus. It's gonna be a triceratops. Plus, I think the bell is gonna ring soon."

Like a sound cue, the teacher on duty rung the handbell signaling recess was over. 

"I hate your sense of timing." 

Jr shook his long brown hair out of his face and messed with his friend's tight curls, running away after.  Charles gave chase for five meters before his asthma kicked in and waited for his best friend to help him. The boys walked into together, equal in every way save the limits of their imagination. 

Word

Talk'o Tuesdays: #71 Become more attentive of local politics

Good news, my dear friends (and associates). It's taken me five months, but I've finally crossed off an abstract objective from my list of 102 Tasks in 1002 Days. And it's politics related! Look at me actually attempting to be an adult and involved in the world I live in. Don't get crazy, it's not like I volunteered to help anyone campaign. We're all about baby steps here at Wacko, Incorporated. 

Last Tuesday, Maryland held all of its primary elections, including the city level. There was a week of early voting, but I hadn't done sufficient enough a job of researching the candidates for positions such as judge and city council to feel comfortable filling in those little bubbles. So many candidates, so little time. 

When it came to vote, I ended up leaving the judge and senate sections blank. Saying I was tempted to fill in a woman candidate anytime I didn't know anyone would be an understatement, but I realized that would have been like blindly voting for Hillary just because you want to see more diversity in politics. 

Primary Day, there was no shortage of Parks and Rec level antics.  The day before I heard Catherine Pugh offered people (mostly black, this is Baltimore) fried chicken while she campaigned. (I still haven't forgiven myself for missing the opportunity to title a post "Chicken for Votes.") The day of, volunteers littered the block in front of the firehouse trying to convince me to vote for their candidate. Let me say, if you can be swayed to vote for someone seconds before you walk into the polling place, what are you even doing their, fam? The best kicker came an hour after I voted. Apparently Pugh's promise of jobs for her supporters fell through on Primary Day, and the upset citizens caused property damage outside of her headquarters. I love when truth becomes stranger than fiction. 

Being a frequent Twitter user and avid follower of the Black Liver Matter movement, I wanted to give DeRay a chance. However, he entered the race too late, he didn't have enough traction among the older generations of Baltimore, and he's still a little green behind the ears as far as politics go. I look forward to what he has to offer in the future, though.

I knew the two frontrunners were Catherine Pugh and Sheila Dixon, but I hoped that despite the overwhelming amount of democratic candidates Baltimore would be able to see one as the most viable option. I considered Elizabeth Embry as that option. During the debates, she seemed smart, dedicated, and knowledgable about what Baltimore needs - having been part of the system herself. And sure, she's a white lady trying to lead a majority black city, but I don't think race is important if you're dedicated to the job. Apparently, most of my friends thought the same. Who knew? Embry: the hope of young Baltimore. 

On the City Council level, I voted for Ryan Dorsey in my district. A friend of mine had been informing me of all his policies, and after looking at his main competition Jermaine Jones, I decided Dorsey the better option. 

Unfortunately, Tuesday night was not as joyous and optimistic as the day had been. After finding out Hillary and Trump had both taken Maryland and its delegates, I learned Catherine Pugh won the democratic nomination with 37% of the vote. It helped ease the pain when I learned Emory came in third with 12% and Dorsey won his primary bid. 

You may be wondering why I haven't discussed any Republican candidates yet. That's because they're nearly nonexistent in Maryland, a largely Democratic state. Baltimore is even more democratic, some City Council district races not even having a republican nominee - like my district. This means that any Democratic that won last Tuesday will most likely win the main election come November. 

According to WBAL's website and my own additional resources, only about a fifth of Baltimore residents showed up to vote for the mayoral primary election. It begs the question what the result would have been if we could have gotten even three-fifths of Baltimore to vote. Probably a more overwhelming turning out for Pugh. She's been in the game a long time. 

Speaking of Pugh, in my further research since Primary Day, I discovered she had her tires slashed the same day she won. I think I can learn to look forward to her mayorship. If her reign will be anything like her campaign, in the words of Joanne Prada, "[She'll be] a messy bitch who lives for drama!" I just hope Baltimore can survive the shitshow. 

With the primaries over - and most of the positions spoken for - many people will stop keeping up with local politics. I myself could use a break. However, I plan to keep an eye on as many of these politicians as possible. I want to be able to applaud their triumphs and shame their missteps. Besides, some of these people will run again in four years. I need to know how they handle failure and reshape their community as regular citizens. 

Until the next race, candidates. 

Word. 

WBAL Primary Coverage - http://www.wbaltv.com/politics/bookmark-this-2016-baltimore-primary-election-results/39172104

Joanne Prada's Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/joanneprada/

Catherine Pugh's Website - http://www.pughformayor.com/

Elizabeth Embry's Website - http://www.embryforbaltimore.org/

DeRay Mckesson's Website - https://www.derayformayor.com/

Ryan Dorsey's Website - http://www.electryandorsey.com/

Music Mondays: 80 Sections, Left Footed Pimps, and Falling

Welcome to the Wacko Monologues first Music Monday. Every day at work, I listen to 6-7 hours worth of music and podcasts. I'm not a selfish man, so I'll be sharing 3-5 great albums to throw you back to the 80s, 90s, or (most likely) 00s. Occasionally, I'll even throw a podcast into the mix, because I'm crazy and I make the rules here! Without further adieu, let's get started. 

Section.80, Kendrick Lamar

While years away from being so, Kendrick is well on his way to becoming a legend in the music industry, and his rise to fame started with his first studio album in 2011. When I first heard it, I mistaked it for a mixtape, and maybe at the time it was. But it's clear Kendrick had a cohesive vision from the very beginning. 

Set around a campfire, the album allows Kendrick to paint the realities of men and women in the hoods and projects of California. The production value is a new take on the West Coast sound that still sounds fresh today. It could be argued that his use of funk began here. I'm not sure how available it is on streaming services, but there are probably still links to downloaded it as a mixtape unlike Untitled Unmastered. 

Breakout Tracks

The Spiteful Chant (feat Schoolboy Q)

Rigamortus

The Archandroid, Janelle Monáe 

If hip hop storytelling isn't your jam, then Janelle Monáe has you covered. Though the story of Cindi Mayweather starts with the EP Metropolis (Suite 1), you can easily catch up by listening to 2010's The Archandroid (Suites 2 & 3). The story of an android sharing a forbidden love with a human that causes a revolution throughout the android community is compelling and obviously reminiscent of the black experience in the mid-20th century.  

Janelle is easily one of the best singer-songwriters of the decade and her vocals can easily rival any popstar's as she sings melodies inspired by jazz and soul music.    

Breakout Tracks

Faster

Say You'll Go

Sir Lucious Left Foot... The Son of Chico Dusty, Big Boi

The year was 2010. It had been seven years since the last Outkast album (four if you count the soundtrack for Idlewid). The world was hungry for more Andre 3000, but he only supplied us with a hot verse or two at best a year. Enters Big Boi to the rescue. Many people, including myself, were wary of a solo album from Big. However, he delivered better than anyone could have expected. 

His production sounded like the logical step the next Outkast album would have taken. Big rapped as the legend in the rap game that he was, while inviting younger rappers to both give them shine and to give himself the breaks on songs he was used to. Some might argue this album features the best verses from Yelawolf, T.I, B.o.B. and Gucci Mane. It's the best I've ever liked them. 

Breakout Tracks

You Ain't No DJ (feat. Yelawolf)

Shine Blockas (feat. Gucci Mane)

The Fall, Norah Jones

Though her lowest charting album in the US, The Fall is far from a belly flop. It's more of a stumble turned beautiful swan dive. Released in 2009, Ms Jones showcased her alternative folk-blues for the world to listen. 

Featuring themes of lost love, contempt, and redemption, she sings as a [insert cliche animal reference] and compels you to wail along with her. It's a melancholy album that will make you feel better by the end of it. Consider it therapy. 

Breakout Tracks

I Wouldn't Need You

Back to Manhattan

In Search of, N.E.R.D.  

Thinking of himself mostly as a producer, Pharrell found himself singing more and more hooks for artists than he ever anticipated. It wasn't long until he decided to grab his Neptunes partner Chad Hugo and hometown friend Shae Haley to form No-one Every Really Dies. 

In 2002, they released their debut album In Search Of, an ode to growing up different in an area that doesn't quite understand you. Pharrell and crew marry soul, pop, rock, and R&B in an unique way that was ahead of their time. Many of the songs are solid bops, even the slower songs. If you jog, I'd recommend this one. 

Breakout Tracks

Things Are Getting Better

Provider

That's it for today's installment. As always, feel free to leave comments and recommendations. I love the community that music conservation can breed. 

Word.