Tuesday, December 23, 2008

My first post

I have no idea what to say. I've been picking my brain for at least the past hour thinking of a witty/crafty/funny/poignant way to craft what shall be remembered from the moment I press this "publish post" button below me as the first entry of my personal blog. As if picking the title weren't hard enough. I mean, names are everything, aren't they? To name something is to imbue it with meaning, to mark it infinitely with your hands. Bruce and Carrie's son just seemed...natural. Easy. Fitting. I mean, those are my parents' names and I am indeed their son. Simple enough. But, this business of writing a first entry is a whole different beast all together. I just finished a 30-page paper on Lil Wayne for my grad-level anthropology class, I'm broke on Christmas Eve, and I haven't written a poem in weeks (I'm a poet, by the way). Maybe that's where we should start. Identity.


Well, for starters I'm Black. A Black Male. A Black Male Ivy League College Student who writes spoken word poetry and blogs about nothing in particular. So, in that sense, I'm an avant-garde, contemporary embodiment of the Seinfeld show manifesto who speaks at length quite often in public spaces. I'm also a budding actor. A shapeshifter. I like to dance to everything from Soulja Boy to the Temptations to Nirvana and back. All the way back. Back to the beginning. To Genesis. To when I was merely a spark in my mother's womb. When I used to beatbox to the rhythm of her heartbeat and her laugh wrapped around my body like a hug made of wind.Yeah...those were the days. Way back when.

Nowadays, things are a bit different. I'm older. I got a bank account and a scraggly goatee that never quite looks right. People keep calling me a man, but i'm not quite sure I'm ready for whatever that entails. Time is too fragile for all this adulthood stuff, and so am I. I'm bad with goodbyes and really good with hellos. I love as hard as I can, and far too often for my own good. There's something strangely therapeutic about this. This sense of spilling one's soul out to no one in particular, knowing that some may read it but most won't, knowing that this is unintelligible to some and illuminating for others. Who knew this smile held so much angst, that this skinny body housed so much possibility. It's like there were gardens waiting to sprout from my fingertips this whole time; fields of tulips and jasmine that I never let carress the sunlight because I've been too busy writing, too busy trying to be memorable, to become legend. Maybe I should stop. Here. Stop trying to make it sound so pretty. I have a habit of doing that too. divulging too much. Masquerading the horrible as elegant. That's a large part of my identity, too. The performance. Maybe i should stop performing for you. Stop showing off.

What are most of these blogs out here but writers showing off their stuff, anyway? Right? Maybe I'm wrong. I'm probably wrong; there was no real research or critical thought behind that last statement. Still, i wonder if there's a line between the chaos in my brain and the imagery i put on the page, if there should be. What a chore it is, to police one's own identity. To decide what parts of you to let the world see and what to keep inside. I guess this blog is like a sieve for the soul. The hardest parts of me, the most complicated parts, are what you'll get here. Some funny stuff, too. Some political commentary, album reviews, book synopses, cultural criticism, all that good stuff. This first one is about me, though. About how I've been feeling lately, about how I feel tonight.

Tonight, I feel like a child trying to catch the moon through the backseat window of his mom's Volvo. I used to be that kid. I remember him vividly tonight. I yearn to be like him again most of the time. Like a 7-year old boy with the Milky Way in his eyes and a pocket full of hard-earned quarters, ignorantly blissful living in a world he doesnt know isnt quite ready for him yet; inhabiting a planet that wasn't made for people with dreams like his.

I'll catch that moon sooner or later. It's just a matter of time.

This is only the start, sports fans. There is much more to come. Stay tuned.



  1. I almost wish my very first blog was about me, but it wasn't meant. Sometimes one feels weaker having shared the most intimate part of themselves.

    With that being said, I happen to love learning about others. Feeling quite closer to you after reading...

    This may even be one of my favorite blogs. So keep posting, I'll be reading. *wink*

    ::looks up at the ceiling::
    By the way when you catch that moon let me know if its really made of cheese.


  2. well, somehow i ended up here. feel like letting you know that, to me, your words are refreshing. there's something energizing about unguarded honesty; something reinvigorating about a readiness to turn on your own spotlight and allow that policed identity to become vulnerable for awhile. thank you- for sharing the beauty and truth of your garden with the world.