Zen and Poetry

out of any two thoughts i have 

one is devoted to poetry

but i have yet to learn the importance of a line

no conquer pen 

as would mountain

when climb 

is not mountain also legs

when write 

ink and paper control poem

as much as hand

i want to write another book but i can’t

i can only write poems

and now it seems even those are falling short

of my relentless search for truth

stop searching

but all i can do is write

then write

discipline in spontaneity 

and spontaneity in discipline

its like a gentle swaying

an almost ocean like rocking 

against the rhythmic crescents of my disjointed thoughts

joined only by the common constant desire to create

no focus

no control

no patience

no trust

do not try to finish poem

hopeless

only try to realize truth

then u see is not poem that is crafted

but only yrslf

creation is the bridge between me and Allah

Zen say stand by yr thoughts as u would a wide river

proverbs say diligent hand will rule

Kant say greatest value in world to man

freedom of choice

so if i widen the bridge between 

my valuable thoughts 

and my diligent hands

what greater world am i free to create

what greater man can u choose to become

i take my tea the way i take my poetry

first thing in the morning

with two bags of earl grey 

that have been soaking since last night

sipped with meticulous patience

its almost strong enough 

if you don’t do the things u love 

you will easily forget the joy u found in them

takes plenty faith to put down sail

and float to current

that current shall set u free

but taste of freedom is bittersweet

of this i know too well

i’m searching for that raw uncooked truth

so elemental that it has no composition

only decomposed atoms to its fibers

patience

let the poems right themselves

drugs are a natural thing to mistake it for

but i’ve tasted what’s real

no impulse

no thought

no patience 

no truth

him that i felt could do for me is trapped inside

somebody that’s slowly killing me

and i didn’t even know he was there until now

abuses my use of time

puts poison into my body

he is choking the life from me as we very speak

this person must die a violent and horrible death

no, u must let him slip from the outstretched grasp

of your scarred and hang nailed fingers

slowly and quietly

and stealthily retreat into the night

no open mind 

no open eye

no passion 

no peace

in order to become a creator i must first create myself

Cosmological Shadowboxin'

poems like these ain’t real

'less they shine like a chromed out platinum wheel

sun roof open when i roll in my car

so i can drive and look at the exploding stars

white dwarf or red giant it ain’t burnin’ me

because my comfort zone is wider than eternity

in the club brothers givin’ me pounds

but they don’t understand the agenda is Now

progression is steady like the dreads be lockin’

and i’m cosmologically shadowboxin’

i speak softer than the rain

and as long as i’m a poet imma train

to just listen

to the wisdom of the trees

sweet rustling of leaves

my mental jet skis ride waves of reality

hoppin’ on foam, playin’ with gravity

but i hold on to the muse when i got her

same moon reflected in every pool of water

i bounce a shine off the liquid for fun

i’m quick as a gun

but i am no sun

the twinkle in your ear caught the way my words gleam

cleaning the mirror every day for a high beam

of is it an illusion

cause god is a verb and its deeper than institution

live for the infinite, forget all else

but maybe i’m gettin’ too ahead of myself

first grow wings for arms

or become a wide river mighty and strong

or just quiet down all thought

the cosmos has a rhythm and that beat don’t stop

so how you gonna tell me if a tree hits the ground

that it don’t make a sound

never mattered

if no one hears

its breakin’ up the solitude

and chasin’ the fears

because silence is a weapon

and the sound must rise to the heavens

diggin’ deeper roots for the fruits i grow

and there is an edge, this must i know

but i’m done chasin’ yesterday with scorn

cause now i see that emptiness is form

and every form is empty

livin’ in my nappy now

till i always see everything

collectin’ on taxes is wastin’ my time

i’m hoppin’ synapses of universal mind

stackin’ up ladders cause my rise ain’t stoppin’

till the day i’m erased into shadows

and forgotten


cosmological shadowboxin'

Man In Black

well you wonder why i always dress in black

why 'ya never see bright colors on my back

and why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone

well there's a reason for the things that i have owned

i wear the black for the poor and beaten down

livin in the hopeless hungry side of town

i wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime

but there's cause he's a victim of the times...

but just so we're reminded of the ones who were held back

up front, there ought to be a man in black

well there's things that never will be right i know

and things that need changing every where you go

but till we start to make a move to make a few things right

you'll never see me wear a suit of white

oh i'd love to wear a rainbow every day

and tell the world that everything's okay

but i'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back

till things are brighter, i'm the man in black

--Johnny Cash

Harlem Sunset Poem

every autumn evening

just around dinner time

nestled in the neighborhood

where a nickel costs a dime

the setting november sun

trades places with the downtown skyline

there’s nothing like harlem sunset in late november

an incandescent changing of the color guard

that never fails to line these sugar coated hills

with shadow as well as light

its flavor is rich and sweet

like a whooping plate full of

sylvia’s crispy chicken and waffles

or the freshly brewed iced tea

that washes it down

these lazily stretching rays reflected on my window pane

reflect the blend of colors in harlem

reflect the blend of colors in me

there’s nothing like a harlem sunset in late november

a block of maroon rooftops

softly kiss a copper toned cloud

its color is rich and deep

like otis redding spinning a heartfelt line

that seeps into your very pores

and i never mind watching the twilight fade away

while sitting on the dock of any bay

wasting time

wasting time

there’s nothing like a harlem sunset in late november

like a slowly dying candle flame

the orange embers blend into

a pale blue palatte

crackling yellowed leaves

line a street so twisting and narrow

that even cab drivers have trouble navigating

where do all the leaves come from

in a neighborhood with such few trees

there’s nothing quite like a harlem sunset in late november

There is a good documentary on Richard Pryor that aired on Showtime last month. 

About two thirds of the way through they talk about the incident where he set himself on fire. 

An interview with a close friend of Pryor's says that he was watching television, and they were getting high, and he was watching the protest overseas where the Tibetan Monk lights himself on fire in protest of Vietnam. The interviewee goes on to say that Pryor commented on the fact that the monk never even flinched when he flames first sprang up to engulf him. 

That was why he did it. He was so impressed with the fact that this monk never flinched while setting himself on fire, but rather stayed frozen and still in his pose of meditation. 

We, as actors and musicians in the entertainment industry are constantly in a struggle to "one-up each other" through more extensive projects and performances. Thats cool and all. 

But do not forget that not everything impressive is worth imitating. 

To Be 18 in '99

is like an interplanetary blackout

that causes every knee to bow

and every eye to close

a semi-quasi-metaphysical day of reckoning

taking inventory of the last two thousand years

so i’m placing my order

at the drive thru window of the universe

and the lady,

the lady,

the lady behind the counter keeps tapping her fingers

and glaring at me

as if i’m already supposed to know

exactly what it is i want

when i just now realized that i am a poet

an artist

a man

human

i’ve been trying to live up to

who the world wants me to be for so long

that i’ve forgotten to examine the person i’ve become

like i just found a favorite hat i thought was stolen

only to find that it fits the head of the person i used to be

and they keep telling me things like

love means never having to say you’re sorry

but that sounds more like war to me

and i keep reading in class that

no man is an island

then why do i feel so alone

so i’m poppin’ wheelies down the sidewalks of time

and i can’t figure out whether my bike

is too outdated a vehicle to get me down my path

or if its not innovative enough

i keep pedaling thru more and more gears

but i will never pedal fast enough

to run away from myself

its like watching a black and white re-run of history

i almost fooled myself into believing

that it might not really be doomed to repeat

so i’ve been trying to alter the denoument

instead of just filling in the colors

so i’m counting the patterns in the landscape of my dreams

and its like i’m stuck in the eye of a tornado

a living breathing testament to contradiction

if death and life are polar opposites

then how can i feel so dead inside

yet for the first time feel truly alive

and if chaos and calmness share no similar qualities

then why do i feel so peaceful

when i’m slowly going insane

its like i’m trying to balance

my aspirations on the edge of a cliff

i need to know there’s something solid beneath my feet

but i have to throw caution to the wind

and now it feels like i’m chained to two trains

running in different directions

and each steam engine is pumping

red hot ashes into the air

until my lungs are filled

with the pungent smoke of confusion and rage

but this chip on my shoulder keeps

giving me flack about taking it like a man

so i take a deep breath and hold in my hit

i should’ve stayed invisible

i could’ve easily given

the world a cold shoulder

and just said

forget about it

i yam what i yam

but back then i couldn’t

but back then i couldn’t

or rather wouldn’t understand

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i await the end of this childhood hangover

and its like watching my spirit regurgitate my soul

as my body rejects the bitter truth

but i suck in more smoke and i hold in that hit

and i hold on to that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i helplessly sink to the bottom

of the wave pool of reality

and i’m calling out to anyone

or anything that might be listening

to please toss me a life vest

oh God

allah, mohommed, buddha, jesus, moses, confuscious

osiris, isis, zeus and hades, vishnum brahma, jah, jehova

oh God

help this child of yours escape to freedom

The Wildside Lounge

if you’re here for an english 101 lesson

on the literary profession

or a starbucks cafe luncheon

with scholarly discussion

then you’re in the wrong place

if you’re here for a 3 keg drinkin’

brain cell count sinkin’

one half night standin’

underhanded romancin’

rum and coke spicin’

freaknik enticin’

night on the town

then you’re in definitely in the wrong place

this here’s the wildside lounge

where hungry poets scrounge and scrap for

artistic meals to feed their overwhelming hunger

and seek out open mic sessions

that let us teach lyric lessons

rhyme and reason force artwork into university treason

droppin’ verbal shells that keep our clientele bleedin’

and its always huntin’ season

students be actin’ fowl

so we maintain our midnight prowl

in search of a campus home

that we can truly call our own

written words come to life when spoken aloud

calling all poets

calling all poets

calling out to all you writers

dreamers

believers

teachers and preachers

professors of wisdom

protectors of expressions

guardians of creativity

craftsmen of vision

all you muses

lyracists

catchers of dreams

verbal musicians

composers of passion

keepers of the faith

calling out to all you poets worldwide

hope you’re ready to get wild

as we put our verbal smack down

cause for one night only

the circus is in town

hey y’all

look around

the circus in town

the circus is the town

and you never get out of town

Meditations on Meditation (fragments)

a single moon, clear and bright
                            in an unclouded sky
yet still we stumble in this world's darkness

how simple and chaste were the words of the ancients
calligraphic star charts of mystery and sage wisdom
mapping out the middle passage
                                         from the square to the circle
                                         the chaff to the grain

inspiration poems are the best
not to take anything away from those complex ideas
that curve along like a twisted valley carved
from years of weathered toil and erosion
setting the boundaries on our mental tributaries

its the impulsive trips downstream that bring us closer to home
             the next step is always right before the eyes

obscurity
             passion
                         brutal honesty
                                           that's a good start

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ikkyu said it best:
writing something to leave behind is another kind of dream
            when i awaken i know that there will be no one to read it

the true master lowers himself into illusion every time he speaks
what is there to be said for the natural born teacher

your genius must remain as hidden as your pending insanity
a cerebral solar flare that eclipses the icy caverns of neptune
runs circles round mantras

shimmering mellow tones of grey luminosity
reach up to the stratosphere and cry freedom
sometimes in silence,
sometimes aloud

the true master lowers himself into illusion every time he speaks
what's the there to be said for the natural born teacher

sisyphean griot destined to translate the circumference of pi
into astronomical units that the people can consume

bring the people together and watch what comes forth

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

its june again,
          the sweltering humidity of southern california
clings to you like red and blue lights to a rear view mirror

the lengthening days provide ample time for idleness
the devil's underground thought chop shop

welded scraps of inert musings high jacked before the test run
patched and plated notions
scratched free of the grade school serial digits
the carefree ponderings of the silly old bear

unharnessed cogitations like newly pubescent wild-beast
untamable and massively self-destructive

prisoner of war to my own negative energy
the spiraling gyre caught in retrograde motion

when did my thoughts get so damn complicated
i wish i were pooh

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

another hazy 78-degree afternoon
life goes on, as it always does

body surfers catch their foamy waves
round eyed kids build beachside castles

just near the water later day sun sparkles in the salt stiffened sand

me, i need only one grain to set my mind back to the task
of contemplating the expanses of the universe

the mental state of my joyful solitude blows freely like the wind
            deeply like the earth
                                           and passionately
            like the rays of the sun

from the whisperings of the grass to the heartbeat of the trees
i am one with time

lonely only when i have no one with which to share
the beauties of the cosmos

like the ocean's symphony of sound
crashing in, fading out, and crashing in again
rainbow tinted eyelids that shield from amber brilliance

reflected vibrations from the giver of life
sending their praises skyward
along with everything that has breath

The War Poem

aftermath of destruction sparks newfound discernment
hear the wind blow thru the treetops, and the north star is burning

in the streets, the paper chase has lowered a veil
and each nation is keeping its greatest leaders in jail

what a time to return, resurrected in the sand
tarnish the name if freedom to exercise my plan

the ballot is a shackle, a leader without a fan
a legal lynching is swung by the executive branch

see, i was born from out the valley of the sweat from the field
brotherhood was the bond that his jealousy killed

the sword kept my hunger supreme, gun powder snuck from the east
destruct the present in the air that you breathe

i wrote the topic when they chopped the map of Africa's shores
slayed the natives with the syphilis of European whores

camouflaged in the likeness of truth, a guillotine is my tooth
nuked Japan, and almost wiped out the jews

took up the tactics of gorillas when the jungle was lost
i brought the thunder to the desert bombing churches and mosques

innocent lives were taken, the banner is stepping clear
they'll never understand my greatest weapon is fear

some say the seventh seal will open the flash of a gun
they tell me love can not be stolen, but i'll blast it and run

re-mastered the plunge, free falling lie addicts for fun
i'll make a ruthless paratrooper out your first born son

fresh outta graduation aiming at that first million
a twisted capsule shot the shrapnel thru his grill and was done

took his eyes from the hairs of the cross in hesitation
the moment was lost and now his lungs are suffocating

grasping the finger of a friend from class, he collapsed to the grass
and i just sat back and laughed

squadrons are armed with a vengeful force
see the comrades, carving out a lions war

thought he had the game won, caught him with a flame gun
my name up out your mouth, and we'll keep this hit the same, son

label me a psycho, travel as the night blows
tattoo on my chest is an auto-matic rifle

veterans will die slow, money is my cycle
took my overhead just to fund the spread of white blow

governments been using me, genocide ain't new to me
young people stay high, then go be all that you could be

unemployed recruitment, thats how i get you sent
from the liquor store, now you scrubbing floors at boot camp

mind control is dominant, allegiance i want all of it
took religion's hand, now we forming a conglomerate

terror brought me prominence, tragic like the towers that fall
you keep your greatest enemy the closest of all

i set the court for black crime, that's how I attack minds
send them overseas, now that's fifty brothas flat line

realize, victory or death, the world is mine
its like a jungle sometimes

If I Could Find The Spot Where Truth Echoes...

if i could find the spot where truth echoes
i would stand there
and scream

i would let the disjointed shrieks of my nightmares
drown out the apathetic whispers of my day

today i vow to cast off comfort
like a ragged cloak desperately clung to
yet no more fit to protect from the wind

a trojan blankey
enshrouding my potential
in the form of a cold drink
and a warm couch

i always knew the answers would only bring more questions
but i never felt the cold futility that comes along with it
                                                                                  until now

i ask myself why the person i want to be
does not shape and mold my inner most desires
i ask myself why the skyscraping dreams of my tomorrows
do not pour their concrete mold into the muddied out footsteps of my now

Covering Your Bases

So we've recently moved into a new phase with my start-up company, Black August Entertainment.
I'm currently pitching a couple of sitcom pilots I wrote, and I've just been commissioned to produce
a documentary feature for an up and coming New York actor.

The tricky part of all this comes into play with the paper work. A non disclosure agreement is the
industry standard in protecting two sides of a creative project in the early stages. Yet for some reason
it seems to be a taboo thing to bring up in a meeting. Let it be known, if anyone has a problem with
signing a non disclosure form they are not worthy of partnering up on anything so small as a youtube
channel idea, more or less a real scripted project. I'll say it again, if they have an issue with a non
disclosure form, let them go, its not worth it in the long run. I know people who are life long friends in LA that already made a million dollar project, and they lost it all suing each other over legal matters.

Its not worth it, do the paper work before you begin.

Another growing trend that seems to be plaguing actors these days is the whole issue of being forced to sign on to a project without being allowed to read the script. In my opinion, this is a deal breaker.
Far too often what happens is you the actor gets thrown into a film or a tv concept, only to have to
quit the project half way through. This makes you look bad and can damage a budding reputation.
It is far better to politely show interest, but request to see the full script before you hop on board.
If they want you bad enough, they'll allow it. And if you aren't being allowed to view the full script, there's probably a red flag reason for that. Better for them to look bad now, than for you to look bad later.

Thinking of Jasmine While Reading Bukowski

Thinking of Jasmine While Reading Bukowski

What happened to the young poets,

those wild eyed freshly glazed double walled pottery vessels

of unmitigated passion and radical thought,

The last vestiges of ardor to a porcelain culture

that has grown ‘comfortably numb’.

Have they all turned to “slam”?

Have they grown so desperate for fortune and fame

that they have forgotten the pre requisite heat,

or the patience of the granulated press,

the shoulders upon which they stand.

Such things have no place in pop culture.

What happened to the young poets?

The ones that sit to the back of the cafe, brooding over

Neruda, or Baraka, yearning to transcribe a classical tone

into a modern litany of vigor and zeal.

What happened to the young poets?

Have they traded their lotus blossoms and Kerouac outings

for a shot at an idol celeb? Cashed in their Langston

and Bronte for a platinum mixtape and an itunes jingle?

Are they gone from us forever,

Or are they just

Deferred

A Quick Smile

So there's a guy working the kiosk at Grand Central where I always go to get 

my Backstage magazine. The new copies come out every Thursday, and it always

lists new casting notices and articles about the latest hot actor or buzz worthy 

project. 

The bustle of the wide walk ways somehow clears my head, and you can usually

catch a pretty solid band on the platform. It's always the same guy on Thursdays,

and darn it if he doesn't remember me now. 

I'll get a quick smile and he'll usually even ask me about whatever new project

I have going on these days. 

Honestly, this is a pretty small thing in a day in the life of an actor, but I gotta

admit, its kind of nice. New York is a big place, and the streets are lined with 

unfulfilled dreams. The industry can be a lonely place. If there's a certain kiosk

spot or a coffee shop thats on your walking schedule, I say become a regular.

Believe it or not, the city is rooting for you. They just have to get to know you

a bit before they'll show it. 

A quick smile goes a long way. 

An Open Letter To You

Another poem from my book; "Redemption Songs"
(available on Amazon.com)

An Open Letter To You

if i had but one chance to tell you goodbye

i would say it without ever using the word

i would tell you of long walks headed no where

and longer conversations headed toward the same

i would recall countless moments of you being there

a warm shoulder to sleep on

a soft voice to get me thru the night

or maybe just a constant reminder that

trouble don’t last always

i would go on about crowded sidewalks

filled with frantic lives

and how your comforting presence

restores me to self

for i have searched the world over for peace

and found only you

i would try to make you understand

what you have been to me

more than a companion

closer than a mere lover could get

in the midst of the darkness

you have been a light ray

brighter than the starry skies at night

you have forced me into your orbit

i accept

i would tell you that a part of your identity

will remain with me forever

for you have left your fingerprints

indented upon my soul

how many times can two spirits die

and be reborn again

lets find out

and when our paths do cross again

time will yield her forceful hand

restricted expanse will be no more

and we too shall build

another castle in the sky

Poetry

I was recently honored to be the featured poet in the e-magazine J'Parle Literary Magazine.

The link can be found here: http://issuu.com/jparle/docs/jparleliterarymagazineissue5

And here is my interview for the magazine.

NAME: Julian Thomas

HOMETOWN: I was born and raised in my hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

FAVORITE PERFORMER: My favorite performer of all time would be Jimi Hendrix. I don't think the world will ever see another artist of that level of pure abstract expression. The videos of his old concerts still give me chills. His Fillmore East concert on New Year's is one of my favorite albums of all time.

FAVORITE AUTHOR: My favorite author is Kahlil Gibran, but my favorite book of all time would definitely be Ralph Ellison's “Invisible Man”.

WHEN DID YOU START WRITING?: I started writing poetry in high school, But my first official piece of original writing came back around my first real acting performance. Somehow for me the two have always been closely tied. In the third grade I was cast in a production for the older middle school kids. They were putting on 'A Christmas Carol', and I was the Ghost of Christmas Present. Good times. It was that year that I wrote my first mini novel, a novella of sorts, I suppose. It was about a young boy who didn't quite fit in with his school peers.

WHY DO YOU WRITE: For me, expression is more a way of life than an occupation or a hobby. I write so that I can live with myself on a day to day basis. I write to bring calm to the inner tempest, and to get back to my center. But often, I simply write in order to get back to sleep at night.

WHAT INSPRIES YOU THE MOST: I get inspired by a really good acting performance in a movie, or a particularly emotional song. I'll end up doing a lot of my poetry writing to old jazz music, often Coltrane.

WHO ARE YOU: I am a poet, an actor, and an educator.

WHAT WOULD PEOPLE BE SURPRISED TO KNOW ABOUT YOU: I'm kind of into metal music, more like the industrial stuff. A couple years ago I became fascinated with the whole Euro-metal scene. I get bored with the club scene. These places tend to have a more interesting crowd.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR POETRY: Jazz poetry, beat poetry, spiritual musings, my poetry is a reflection of the life that produced it. Acting has led me to travel a lot, and so I'll often pull from the lessons of the landscape as I attempt to describe a deeper mood or theme. The topics range from political to spiritual to love, and I try to take an honest and thorough look at whatever theme I'm exploring. There's a lot of exploration and longing and self-examination, and I think that is one aspect that makes my poetry so appealing to young people.

UPCOMING PROJECTS: I am currently promoting a collection of poetry titled “Redemption Songs”.

It is available online through a number of outlets. (http://www.amazon.com/Redemption-Songs-Trilogy-Julian-Thomas/dp/1438949588) I have a lead role in an upcoming horror movie coming out on dvd soon, “The Year After Infection”, we filmed all over rural Missouri, and it was a lot of fun. I'm also in current developments for a poetry tv show that will highlight local artists from across the country.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE POEM THAT YOU’VE WRITTEN AND WHY: Choosing a favorite poem would be like a parent choosing a favorite child. Some are closer to you than others, some speak more loudly to a crowd, while some of them are quiet and pensive, and full of soul spelunking. Dark and cavernous, or uplifting and bright, all of them are beautiful in themselves.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE POEM FROM ANOTHER POET: It would be difficult for me to pick a favorite poem, but some works that come to mind are Amiri Baraka's “It's Nation Time”, and Gil Scott Heron's “On the Corner”. That was one of the first poetry albums I discovered at an early age from stumbling upon an old LP store in Harlem. Other works that jump out would include “Black Zodiac”, by Charles Wright, that was a major influence on my writing, and of course Gibran's “The Prophet”.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE: “My soul has grown deep, like the rivers.” --Langston Hughes

WHAT IS THE MOST VALUABLE LESSON YOU’VE EVER LEARNED: When it comes to writing, you can not sit down to write a great poem. You have to attempt to describe the indescribable. Aim for that, and you'll land somewhere around excellence.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT LOVE: I think Kahlil Gibran put it best:
“Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these by your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.”

I think its hard for true artists to find a partner that is willing to love as openly and honestly as we might prefer. For writers and actors, we are used to drudging up the most difficult parts of our souls for the world to see on display. That's pretty much the life we've chosen. Its difficult to be with an artist, so I try not to be too demanding.

YOUR FAVORITE COLOR: My favorite color is Gray. For me it represents versatility and constant change.

YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO BE: My favorite place in all the world to be is at a live theater performance. On stage, or in the audience, there's no better moment when the air is more full of charged energy, and rapt attention. To me, that's a slice of heaven.

WHAT IS BEAUTY TO YOU: Beauty is rhythm, motion, and soul. I remember the first time I saw Fred Astaire in one of those old Audrey Hepburn movies. The graceful, effortless dance movements really left an impression on me. When I think of the most beautiful things, I think of a movement toward balance and harmony. The best poetry makes me want to get up and go do something, to make a difference, to make a change. To me thats beauty.

YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF: I have to admit if I had to pick a favorite thing about myself, it would be my work ethic. When it comes to my two crafts of acting and writing, I really dive in and work my rear off to get a piece to where I want it. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so in some ways it is a difficulty of mine because I'm never fully satisfied with a performance or a piece I'm working on. Its good to always keep reaching.

This is just so poignant to me right now that I had to share. The latest events of this
week and this month have us all rattled, but there's nothing new under the sun.
This would've been written in the late 70's. Speaks even louder today.


An excerpt from Amiri Baraka's "A Poem For Deep Thinkers"


Such intellectuals as we is baby, we need to deal in the real
world, and be be in the real world. We need to use, to use, all
the all the skills all the spills and thrills that we conjure, that we
construct, that we lay out and put together, to create life as
beautiful as we thought it could be, as we dreamed it could be,
as we desired it to be, as we knew it could be, before we took
off, before we split for the sky side, not to settle for endless
meaningless circles of celebration of this madness, this madness,
not to settle for this madness this madness madness, these yoyos
yoyos of the ancient minorities. Its all real, everythings for
real, be for real, song of the skytribe walking the earth, faint
smiles to open roars of joy, meet you on the battlefield they say,
they be humming, hop, then stride, faint smile to roars of open
joy, hey may man, what's happening, meet you on the
   battlefield
they say, meet you on the battlefield they say, what i guess needs
to be discussed here
   tonight
is what side yall gon be on

The industry is strange

'13 has been a good year so far. The industry has been kind.

There's a lot of really great networking opportunities going on in New York right now,
and I would recommend checking out all of them. There's a great group called T@9 that
conducts weekly table readings of various writers from around the city. Met some kind
and quirky actors out there. And lately I've gone to a couple of agent workshops through
TheNetworkStudioEast and they've been very helpful in getting that elusive "face to face"
with city agencies, and couple of encouraging casting directors.

The industry is strange, and the grind of the work is often tedious. It certainly will
test your mettle. But the old cliche really is true, its a marathon not a sprint. This is
easy to forget. Especially in the throes of a large city, the starving artist lifestyle
can easily beget an all or nothing attitude when it comes to that big meeting, or call back.
This is natural, but destructive.

Walking into an audition nervous is like trying to hide fear from an angry dog.
They can smell it on you.

I had a big workshop coming up with one of the major agencies about a month ago,
and while I knew my monologue was strong, I really wanted to knock out the interview.
Long story short, too much coffee and adrenaline, and I went in there with a shaky voice
and a anxious story about wanting to get signed. Actors should never come off as desperate.
It's not a good look. It undercuts the cooler than life attitude that we suppose to be exuding
in the first place, especially for film work. Even if you're not fully assured in yourself, always
project that you are. At the end of the day you don't know what they're really looking for,
and in most cases they don't know what they're looking for. They're just hoping to be impressed,
so it might as well be you.

Thats why its so important to make time for rest and relaxation.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the industry is strange. One minute you're moving
to Hollywood with a trunk full of clothes and a head full of dreams and the next  minute
you're craigslisting a room in Koreatown with a couple of shady asians and an aussie
cableguy with no green card. But you roll with the punches. And you bounce back.
No more than 3 months later I had a new safe apartment (safe for East LA), a lead in
an indie zombie flick, and a production company that actually paid me on time. (Taurus Ent)
So I guess in the end its all about keeping that gear in cruise and a lot of coffee in the cup holder.
Or whatever keeps you going. But slow and steady wins the race. That much is certain.

Locks

running my long bony fingers

thru these longs thin dreads

i am reminded of the who i used to be

and the man i will become

my roots

and my future

they remind me of my patient dedication to my dreams

they remind me of my inseparable bond

between my family

my woman

and myself

yes, they remind me of myself

my bond with myself

and my own isolated space in the universe

they remind me of a softly setting sun

casting shadows on a cool drinking hole

at dusk

they remind me of children

black children

naked and unashamed

untainted

cloaked in the warm gentle breeze

of a grassy plain

they remind me of music

a calypso hip-so beat

backed by the effortless rhythms

of an easy skankin’ singer

they remind me of youth

strong and unaware

boldly and blindly going

where they’ve never dreamt of

they remind me of the earth

filling my splayed fingers with handful, after handful

of the rich brown soil

locks, i am not ashamed of you

for no matter how many raised eyebrows

no matter how many odd stares

no matter how many up turned noses

or rasta jokes

or failed interviews

i will not forsake you

let them turn their heads in disgust and utter ignorance

let them cast unforgiving glances of spite and repulse

let them stare

let them stare

let them stare

and secretly wish that they too could love you

the way i do

For Lonely Poets who have Considered Suicide When the Truth Wasn’t Enuff

1.

my inner self feeds on the shadows of my 

subconscious, a feast that my super

ego can utilize to dine with the divine

but the id in me still hungers

my life, like others has been circumcised by stars

no, not those shining beacons of wonder and delight

westward leading, still proceeding toward an 

emaciated ideal glowing brightly in the east

the levitating bar

the internal glass ceiling

as a man i think myself 

to be master of the universe

as a poet i know i am

but what would your happiness be had you no public for which to shine

some cat named nietzsche said that 

like a hundred years ago

over in europe too

wonder how his 

lines can hit me

with so much 

truth 

2.

day follows day and its contents are added

the new contents themselves are not true

they simply come and are

truth is what we say about them

said william james

but the philosophers are dealing in shades

we who live and breathe know truth

with brutal intimacy 

truth, the hand that slowly twists

the jagged dagger into the muscle bound back of atlas

droppin’ 30 pieces of poppy seeds  on the way home

(a retrospective substance)

the noble nature of the great titan 

is steady silence 

eyes saddened and alone

veins pulsing and taut

condemned to gaze upon 

the harsh realities of the world 

from the outside in 

3.

the vampire doesn’t have to say

the light will kill him

he is already a creature of the night

it is the call of the wild black yonder that now beckons me

the shadow that my soul makes when it has fallen to earth 

the part of me illuminated into darkness

an unstill life silhouette of thus and thus

every time i gaze into this non-stop mental mirror

from behind a set of cool dark self mutilated eyes

reflections of my mental state are all that i can see

and yet the cracked lenses are uneven

the sharded pieces scratch and scrape the 

thick greasy membranes of my cerebral vortex

get stuck in crevices

plant seeds deeply

its gotta hurt

there’s just no other way

4.

the days of my childhood have long since ended/ ended but not forgotten/ i done moved on/ from rhythmical riffs of emotion and design/ to mutated distortions of thought 

and funk/ george calls it da cosmic slop/ a multilayered embryo of impulse and destroyed desire/ forced into flight before the hatching/ and even if these wings don’t never sprout

it ain’t gonna keep me from flying/ cause me and brother wind are like a pair of siamese twins/ separated at the medulla oblong-iforgotta lock the gate on the backyard of my thought patterns/ the unchained melodies have escaped me and continue to run free at 

this very moment/ they are breeding with stray mixed bred free verse mutts/ the off sprung mongrel aesthetics that will one day find their home in my pad need not fear/ for they can take nothing from me that i would not part withal/ except my pen sir/ except my pen 

5.

they raised the price on dreams again

now one must choke and bleed and vomit forth excellence

now one must exceed the boundaries of the skin 

just to dance the 2 step

but i gotta tap out savior glover beats 

across the hardwood floors of the milky way

and when i look toward the heavens 

in search of my constellation

my starry guide

i can’t make out the celestial bodies 

from those handcrafted flying machines 

that now plague our once friendly skies 

i never had that problem back home

and i don’t wish to defy gravity

i want to become one with it

only then will i truly be able to soar

6.

i accept my fate and await what may come 

joyfully 

like the gentle brown bear 

who snuggles in to his cave for the winter

knowing that spring will come 

whether he lives to see it or not 

it does come

7.

and when all else fails let the words be a prayer

a holy scripture offered up as sacrament 

unleavened

it is the spirit of my spirit that makes it rise 

never me, never me

8.

i must become like the shapeless smoke rising from a

single spark of incensed stick: nothing but motion, 

impulse, funk, with nothing left to do but spread

no greater power or higher calling or more urgent

matter than to reflect the light until dawn, with hopes

that by morning the people will have found their sunglasses

again

Meditation No. 2

i start

by noticing the stillness

of my body finally at rest

and i breathe

deeply

i try to keep

my thoughts gently flowing

like a calm and steady stream

instead they are like waves

crashing into one another

each swelling crest eventually

curling over and falling apart

into a thinly scattered layer

of serf and foam

there is a central current

from which these waves are born

i have not found it yet

i continue to breathe

deeply

i can not feel my fingers anymore

before me lies complete

and utter nothingness

void of any describable

physical quality

it sort of reminds me of the construct program

in that movie with lawrence and keanu

i am afraid

for i am truly alone

and yet i know this is the way it has to be

because this is the way it is

although no longer certain

if i am still deeply breathing

i begin to feel magnetized

to separate points

on either side of me

and now i am

stretching, twisting, bending

in opposite directions

that don’t necessarily

oppose one another

i do not resist

from some point behind me

i take notice of

or rather am noticed by

a great energy force

something i can not

see or touch or hear

and yet i can not

escape its presence

from some point behind me

a voice more sensed than heard

more felt than understood

enters my space

and all at once

my entire universe

is filled with song

just when i recognize this voice

as being neither internal

nor completely external

to my being

i receive words

to represent thoughts

yet i know they are

a poor imitation

i need to speak with you

the words express

and yet i know

i am the one

who needs it most

but where can i find you

the question

barely takes form in my head

before the answer sounds out

an echo in my mind

even as the words are uttered

in all things

and immediately

i think of at least

57 other questions

i want to ask

instead i find myself

slowly paying heed

to my breathing

the floodgates

of my consciousness

are opened once more

in an outburst

my thoughts

return to me

and i notice

that my foot

has fallen

asleep