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12.20.2010

Opening at the biggest comedy show in Tacoma (this Thursday!)

Hey friends, fam, and fans!!!

Catch me this Thursday at Nate Jackson's Super Funny Comedy Show! I've been living, grinding and developing my talents in Chicago for about 3 years now but I'm super excited to debut at this event in my hometown... Tac Town stand up!

I will be headed back to Chicago after Christmas so this may be your only opportunity to catch me on the mic. Don't miss it!

12.16.2010

Strictly 4 My Bitches (Spoken Word)

Excuse me bitch.... I mean Miss, can you tell me where the ladies' room is?
I heard my truth is in there; somewhere written in the stalls.
Or maybe it speaks aesthetically from the pretty pink walls? See, all
I'm asking is what makes me more masculine
than you? Is it because I don't expose my tits, switch my hips,
...color my lips or suck as much dick as you?
Or does it have to do with the fact that I'm not asking you
to affirm my capacity to represent feminine attitudes
or pass society's standardized test of female aptitude.
Or maybe when you see me you think, "Maury, that's a dude!"
I doubt it. See I'm not afraid of being doubted or outed because I'm out with
the old and in with the new. I'm not trying to be a man, but I'm damn
sure not trying to be you. "Who is she talking to?" You,
girlfriend. My sister, my aunt, my cousin, my mom.
Because we don't speak no more and it's been too long.
They told us silence would save us, but they're wrong.
So like Audre Lorde, "I write for those women who do not speak,
for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified,
because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves." I'm talking
to myself. To the bitches, whores, cunts, and jezebels, to the
tomboys, baby mamas, sugar tits, oh and the nappy headed ho’s.
And to the pretty girl my age with the perfect life and perfect marriage
Who’s fucking her best friend and will only talk to me because she’s
Either a coward or too embarrassed or she actually thinks I can help.
She doesn’t even know… I’m talking to myself. Because I can no longer afford
to hate and be afraid of men. I must forgive myself for the original sin
and every sin since. I must forgive the men and boys who raped me
of my innocence and the women who pleaded ignorance.
I must forgive my mom for not being enough for my dad and my dad
for trying to find my mother in me. I must find a way to believe
that God's image of a woman was meant for me to receive
and that there are women out there willing to fight for me.
And that I'm worth fighting for. So ladies, what are we fighting for?
As in why are we fighting and what is it we are fight to get? Is it
the blackest man with the biggest dick...the most attractive man
with the most potential to be rich? Our own happiness?
Or each other's approval? Do we even know which is which? Bitch... please!
Oh, I'm sorry... Can I say that? I know a lot of women hate that.
But did you know "bitch" goes way back. The original bitch dates back
to the 14th Century when she was described as women with a high sexual desire
comparable to a bitch in heat. A bitch heat. So basically a bitch is freak.
Or any woman with a capacity to express her sexuality radically.
And since the term radical is actually contingent on the definition of normality
in any given society… a bitch over here may not be a bitch over there.
And if a bitch over there walks over here she may magically
become a woman again. Who do we think we are to name God's creatures
based on anything but physical features? Oh yes… man.
But see bitch is only a word. And I believe there is no such thing as a bad word.
Language is a gift, never a curse. So bitch, you are my gift.
Whore, cunt, jezebel, tomboy, baby mama, sugar tits, oh
And nappy headed ho’s, you are my gift. But it’s the consciousness
out of which our language is birthed that shapes our ultimate destiny
on this earth. We may never see the end of the word, but we can determine
how much a bitch is worth. (Church!) So when I say pussy is power
and grab my crotch. I command every man, woman and child to listen and watch
me take my womanhood back on the spot. I am a sexual being and I love sex.
I was created to give love, pussy, and respect. So I guess
I'm a bitch in heat. But they just say to me... "Bitch make me something to eat!"
All my bitches say, “Hell naw!” The feminists use bitch to describe a woman
who's assertive and strong in a way that threatens male dominance
because a respectable woman is calm. The leader of the feminist bitch movement
is of course Ms. Hilary Rodham. And there used to be Queen Bitches
in hip hop before the industry bought them. Peace to Queen La, Ms. Hill, MC Lyte.
Ya'll were so nice. Only concern was rocking the mic. Now we just got booty shakin
bitches on the stage blocking the mic. No disrespect to baby with the back
But it’s a known fact there are a lot of bitches dancing and ain't no more
bitches rappin. What happen?! What happen? We let it happen.
And I guess you could call this a period piece because this is for my women
who bleed. But seriously, I don't remember the day I started my cycle
but I remember when I became a woman. Not that I changed over time like Michael.
It was much later in life tho. I found myself the day I discovered the one thing
I would literally give my life for. Love. Staring in my mirror, facing my biggest fear,
I saw a woman for the first time, just this year. Baby, I know you love me and I love you too,
but you can’t love me the way you want to. There’s a lot of crap I must first come
thru and this is what it’s come to. Before I make you cum and let you make me cum too
There's something I need that I can't get from you. Of course, I'd love to!
I said I love you, but I can’t love you that way. I can’t touch you that way.
I can’t hug you, rub you, suck you and fuck you that way. Fuck me?! Baby,
Don’t take this the wrong way. This is not to say you’re the wrong person,
you just caught me on the wrong day. I know it doesn’t seem so,
but I’ve come a long way. I come from sleepless nights, and truthfully
I prefer a long day. I’ve been sexing in secret since before I knew what it was; scarred
From being scratched between my vagina lips by a play cousin that taught me
A game called play humping. Why didn’t I say something?! Because
My promise ring given by Christ symbolized that I was too blessed to need sex.
My body shook and milked, telling me it wasn’t true, but my religion successfully
kept me repressed. While in dark closets I exchanged sensations and inhalation with boys and
girls my age and in the same breathe confessed to God and blamed Satan. Too young
to lose faith in human relations, but quickly running out of patience I walked into
dating thinking “fuck waiting, I’m duck-taping my emotions inside a steel box
until I’m done playing. But of course life takes its course; so one day I woke up
in the middle of intercourse to my undergarments all over the floor,
make-up smeared into white sheets and my heart somewhere still running the streets,
where it had been left.
In attempt to put the past to rest, I started with what made sense.
Since I couldn't remember life without my sister I got sister love
tatted on my chest. One word above each breast. Then the dots began to connect,
beyond blood, my mission is to erect sisterhood from its bloody death;
a lesbian consciousness that goes beyond sex and deep into women loving each other
in way that makes us all better. So beautiful woman, if she wants to touch you, let her.
It doesn't mean she's gay. She may just need a mother or a sister And you may
just be that figure. But if she admires your figure and it’s sexual and it’s mutual
then loose control and find the missing pieces to your whole in her soul.
And if you love her you must tell her. Either way you must always respect her
because if you sell her or sex her and forget her you will kill her. And if I find you
I may kill you, for my sister. 

Strictly 4 My Bitches.

(August 2010) 

11.15.2010

Chicago Spoken Word Open Mic (this Sunday)

Join me in the heart of Bronzeville Chicago for an amazing evening of music, spoken word, and good people! All my friends will be there so you should too!

Oh yeah, what poem should I do?!?! 

Asylum Sundays: Spoken Word Poetry and Live Music
Starting November 21st at ***La Fleur de Lis***
301 e.43rd st (Formerly Negro League Cafe)
Doors open at 7 for Networking Mixer and Good Seats
*Open Mic at 8 *
Live Band!! Khari Lemuel & Drunken Monkee features.
D.j. D-Bo spinnin'.
Dress Code: Fashionably Eclectic
$10 (only $10 dollars)

11.11.2010

So I met this poet from Cabrini Green today...

Did I ever tell you that I have the best "day job" a poet in Chicago could have?!?! Well, it's true, but it wasn't until today in meeting another Chicago poet that I realized how much this is true. I remember my first year of working with Chicago Center (as an apprentice) and I would love to talk about how my job was basically an extension of my education (beginning my experience at Chicago Center first as a student in the program). Maybe it was also a justification for choosing work over grad school at the time, but I really believed it and took full advantage of the education I was receiving, journaling often about my days taking groups of students from small rural liberal arts colleges around the city to meet the "first voices" of Chicago.

I remember a specific entry about how I learned the "truth" about what makes a successful leader from Azim Ramelize, Assistant Deputy Commissioner of the Department of Children and Youth Services and another about time in Pilsen which led me to think about the the role and responsibility of Spanish-language learners in America, and many more about the role of artists in society. Unfortunately, as I rose up through the ranks of responsibility in the office I lost sight (just a little) of the unique access to raw experiences and fresh perspectives that I (not just our students) was meeting in the city in these last couple of years of "program directing."

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I ever forgot that I was learning or that I haven't been inspired to write by the community resources I have met through Chicago Center or experiences I have had in the city. Anyone who was at Chicago Center's 40th Anniversary Gala and heard me spit "Chicago Games" will tell you just the opposite is true. That moment on stage was an instance of extreme pride for me. I felt I had achieved in sharing my gifts with each other. I was in the presence of a community that was built on Chicago Center's mission, legacy and work and I had a place there as a member of the staff that makes student experiences possible, but I was also a poetic voice. It was an amazing opportunity for me. Yet and still, I don't think I have taken full advantage of all of the unique opportunities that lie in being a poet and Chicago Center Program Director. And maybe it's just that I've been trying to master both independently and haven't yet felt comfortable enough yet to bring them together very often. They are very distinct roles and aspects of my identity and I don't want to be perceived as less than professional in either regard, but I have decided I want to work harder to find places where my gifts and identities meet and feed each other.

The experience that was the final straw for motivating this blog entry happened today when I met a poet named Doreen Ambrose (Thanks to a phenomenal class assistant named Jess!). Ms. Ambrose grew up in Cabrini Green housing projects in Chicago. She was a pleasure to talk to and we all benefited from hearing about how her experiences in Cabrini, though almost 30 years past, still make it into her poems today. You can find her poetry and writing at http://cabrinigreen.webs.com/.

I will end this entry with this email I wrote her as soon as I got back to the office:

Ms. Doreen,

I just wanted to follow up with you because I was so honored to meet you today and as a young poet and writer who is not a native Chicagoan I would love to stay in touch and benefit from your insights, experiences and connections to the city. As I mentioned, I am particularly interested in finding local publishing outlets, where my work would have a chance of being published. I would also be looking to share the few resources that I have gained since being in Chicago. For example, my work at Black Freighter Productions has allowed me to edit two works (one poetry book and one anthology). You can find these by searching my name on amazon.com or at http://www.welovereading.com/. There is a chance we would do another anthology, in which case I would love to see some submissions from you!

Also, I read your piece titled, "Rap in Cabrini Green" and it was one of the best reflections on the journey of rap/rappers and what rap means to rap-lovers today. I also particularly enjoyed your ode to Cabrini Green. I wrote a similar piece, focusing on the process of gentrification occurring in the place that I come from in Tacoma, WA. I hope you enjoy it.

An Ode to the neighborhood formerly known as Hilltop

A
battered
(only once) white
woman drags half-black
Children down the steep 8th Street
Slope to sanctuary; past Yakima and
Tacoma Ave., past McDonald’s and County
Jail; past late night basketball at the “Y,” Just
above the industrial site where Father works hard
nights and not far from the strip where Mommy sold a
younger version of her body of dreams to nightmares.
Up on the Hill, young Ismails rumble, tumble, slip into cell
blocks or drown downtown in a sound of blood. Mothers and
Sisters sing from elevated Churches of God in Christ on every other corner,
opposite corner stores— meeting places: Daboshi’s, Crips-aco (Texaco), AM/PM, Hill
Top Pawn Shop on the corner of MLK Way (Used to be K St.) and 12th St (now called Earnest S.
Brazil), “some dead preacher” someone said. Bored black and tan faces stare, rocking tall
red shirts and beanies, blue rags in left pockets. A few O.G.’s remain but the “Down 4 Lyfe” California
Crips are gone like the nineties. No one notices a new college rising on the underside of the slippery slant;
a gourmet coffee and pizza population popping up, condos penetrating the gradient of blocks of bricks
and broken windows. On the Hill, we are multi ethnic, multiracial, poor/working/middle class; we are “a dream
coming true” but we've forgotten old Tuff- Tuff; he's no longer roaming and mumbling and Brown’s closed down; the streets
are much quieter now. Still no one on the Hill knows, cares, thinks about who controls the land. Welcome to Upper Tacoma,
where no one is rising.


(2009)


Tiffanie Beatty
A young and humble friend in poetry

11.10.2010

Chicago Games (Spoken Word poem)

I recited this poem for the Chicago Center community at our 40th Anniversary Celebration at Carnivale. Truly a night to remember...

Chicago Games

Back in the days when I was younger
The dudes used holler
“What up baller?” Whether I was suited up or not,
Even after I stopped balling. But I didn’t mind cause
I know my athletic swag is still easy to peep.
Maybe they seen me with the ball, bouncing, beating the streets
Maybe they heard there wasn’t another girl as dope as me
Heard nobody could hit a turn around jumper as cold as me
Or maybe they just wanted me to know
They noticed me.

Whatever.
I wish they could’ve sensed my precision and passion for poetry.
Because I mean, I was cool on the court but
I gets down on paper and behind the mic. When I write,
I’m something like Kobe on a good night;
The female version of Shaq combined with Dwight.
I’m Superwoman when I spit. I get to the basket like Garnett
You can’t get past me like Artest.
I’m nasty like Nash and my words pierce like Paul
I’m on like Lebron. I’m tryna tell ya’ll, I ball.
When I slam its… Boom Shakalaka!
NBA Live in this Muthafucka.
Now, I got your favorite poet trying to learn soccer.

And I rep it for the females too so don’t test me
Cause I will come thru and dunk on you like Lisa Leslie
You don’t want me in your set or on your open mic
I’m Scottie Pippen in this game, pass it to me, I’m open Mike!
And if you don’t let me inside, you’re a hater
and the ref gonna call fouling
And I’m still gonna hit from outside
7 times in the first half, Ray Allen.
Yeah, she got game, female Jesus on the court. Basketball is
A jazz mixed with funk mixed with hip-hop type sport
It’s in my blood and the blood of my people
We coulda dominated golf a lot sooner
But basketball was cheaper

But on the South Side, sometimes they don’t understand me cause
when I win its like when the Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup.
You know I represent but you don’t know quite
How to feel about it. There’s one Black Blackhawk and
He’s half-black like me. Let’s be real about it. And to be honest,
I grew up on Gary Payton and the Seattle Supersonics.
Unfortunately, my home team no longer exist.
So excuse me when I say I’m on some Bulls shit.
But I’m still fresh in the game, rookie amongst the pros
Though I’m staying in city like my man D. Rose.
At least for now, you know how it goes…
And I know how it feels to play these Chicago games.
Everyday I play these Chicago games.
From 95th to Howard I ride these Chicago trains.
From Ray School to Lane Tech, I watch the future of Chicago dream.

When I visit 116th and Michigan I remember Chicago’s pain.
Blair Holt, and the many other names that remain after bodies slain.
On a mural tour in Pilsen with Mr. Guerrero with white kids
from somewhere in Ohio, for that one hour
I’m consumed by Chicago’s power.
In exposing the prairie fields of culture and history
I’m contributing to the unveiling of an American mystery.
From Mag Mile to Maxwell Street, every purchase is Chicago’s gift to me.
From the Green Mill to Verbal Balance, I am an inhabitant and participant
In a poetic movement birthed and bred in Chicago.
So it’s only right I get down like a pothole.
I soak up game like I stepped in it with my sock, joe.
Then I take that Chicago swag I everywhere that I go.
All around the city, like I'm riding I-GO.

When I go back to the west coast, I take Chicago home.
When I roam in places like Madrid and Rome,
I talk Chicago like I’m on my 773 Chicago phone. And when I return
To my Hyde Park apartment to write my Chicago poem
I feel the weight on my broad shoulders like Chicago knows
I’m Michael Jordan in this game. I’m Chicago’s best.
Best in the game, best ever. Yes, I’m blessed. Because
The blood I spill on this paper and stage
is the same blood that runs through Blago’s veins;
The blood of the Stones, the G.D.'s, the CPD
In the streets, all playing these Chicago games.
Spraying the same blood that spilled from
Derrion Albert’s young Chicago brains.
The same blood that funded the 2016 Chicago Games;
South Side infrastructure that never came.

But as long as I’m here I’m gonna play these
Chicago games and I’m gonna dominate
Like I’m tryna bring Chicago fame.
I’m from Tacoma but I do my Chicago thang.
And poetry is how I play this Chicago game
I play for Chicago. I’m on Chicago’s team.
So if I lose anything, I just pray Chicago gains.

(2010)

10.26.2010

It Was All a Dream: Storytelling as Mechanism for Nation Building (original speech)

Again, thanks to everyone who attended and/or watched my closing address at the Act Six National Convention 2010! It was a great honor and privilege to be with and speak to so many young talented and passionate leaders. Three months later, the connections I made and live positive energy I felt are still in progress! I want to keep it going and maybe even take it in new directions by sharing some of my process in developing the speech.
Some of you may know that the speech I delivered that Saturday morning was written the night before in the heat of passion and inspiration. Rather than joining capture the flag out on the dimly lit college campus with the rest of the youngin's I retired to my hotel room to write. Not because I wanted to-- I'm just as big of a kid as Act Six National Director Tim Herron, but it was because I had to. I was feeling something that was so strong in me and I knew I had to respond or else the next morning was going to be me on stage delivering "an okay speech" with some admirable insights about culture that I managed to nervously stumble through, but also one of my biggest regrets. That night I felt something pulling me toward the transparency and vulnerability and away from the academic language and philosophical theory that I had planned to deliver (see below). That energy was a product of the Act Six network, not the idea, but the individuals who came together to share their hearts and be inspired. They were counting on me to capture their energy and power and summarize it using the context of my own ideas and experiences. I knew what I had written was not fit for such a job. So I got to work. I scribbled some notes about 5 leadership commandments (5 more coming soon!) and the rest just came together from there.
I am very proud of the final product but I think the process is just as important. I also think I came across some interesting ideas and facts that didn't make it into the taped speech so I hope you take away something from these notes as well. I'd appreciate any comments, questions, suggestions and of course stories!
IT WAS ALL A DREAM: Storytelling as a Mechanism for Nation Building
Whether or not you are a participant in hip-hop culture, listen to the music, or even care at all about the state of hip-hop, it’s nearly impossible to be unaware of the debate which culminated with the release of Nas’ single, “Hip-Hop is Dead.”
If you, like Nas, were born in urban American in 1965-1984, you are considered a part of the hip-hop generation. Most of you in this room are like me, born 1985 and after, and would be considered a part of what M.K. Asante Jr. calls the “post- hip-hop generation.”
Born in 1985, I feel very much caught between these two generational identities. Fortunately, I’m used to being caught in the middle. I would compare my relationship to hip-hip to my identity in general.
My father is black and my mother is white. I identify as mixed-race. Like the current president of our country, I recognize that much of America still operates on the one-drop rule of blackness, but frankly, Mr. Obama would be considered a part of the hip hop generation and naturally prescribes to a more “old school” view of racial identity. I understand the need to recognize and be proud of my blackness, but I also believe our country is on the verge of a new perspective on race identity. Like the hip-hop identity, I feel race identity is shifting as the lines between whose “in” and who’s “out” have become blurred.
Back to hip-hop; many of those who embrace the identity of the hip-hop generation are very critical of the current state of hip-hop.  Some say that rap, hip-hop’s central asset, has drifted into the shallowest pool of lyrical possibilities and that the latest version of hip-hop betrays the attitudes and ideals that framed it. But most significantly, commercialization has resulted in many young blacks who belong to the hip-hop generation feeling misrepresented by it. They no longer feel hip-hop is keeping its promise of authenticity, liberation and rebellion.
Though, they may not agree with the direction, the hip hop generation must admit that “post hip-hop” offers a fresh set of attitudes, ideas, and perspectives.
The reality is this stuff doesn’t happen in a vacuum and you can see a shift it in every aspect of our society from technology, to religion, careers, relationships and even sports.
Think about Lebron. And I don’t even mean all the varying perspectives on his recent “Decision.” People want to compare him to Jordan and other players from the past who have separated themselves based on pure talent, but it’s a whole different ball game these days, so to speak.  LeBron is a business man. His financial success is made possible because of those who paved the way before him, but not many of those people entered the game at his age with his mindset because what he is accomplishing was never thought possible. Whether or not it’s actually possible now, the upcoming generation of athletes, rappers and entrepreneurs from the inner-city is not thinking millions, but billions; not national, but international.
In 30 years of hip-hop, we went from young black and Latino guys mixing break beats  and rhyming along in their grandmother’s basement to 17 year-olds getting major record deals from uploading their music and gaining a respectable fan base on social networking sites like MySpace. Of course the lyrics and the fans have changed. The argument is always whose “hip hop” is better and can we even call the new stuff by the same name?
One question I ask when given a chance to be a part of a dramatic shift is always, what elements are we responsible for preserving?
To me the answer is simple: imagination and a mechanism for storytelling that gives voice to the voiceless. Hip-hop is special because like its predecessors within the American tradition, from negro spirituals, to gospel, jazz, blues, bebop and rock n’ roll, it gives voice to disenfranchised people.
Philosopher/social critic A. Shahid Stover takes a more radical view, stating that “Hip hop culture when resolutely cultivated, potentially serves as a redemptive artistic and intellectual vantage point from which the socio-politically oppressed, the culturally marginalized… the globally dispossessed, the racially outcast… the wretched of the earth… can critically engage an oppressive society.”
It’s hard to argue that hip hop itself is not plagued with the same tools of oppression found in the larger society, such as homophobia, materialism, and misogyny. In hip hop scholar Michael Eric Dyson’s opinion, “People are right to demand that criticism, to demand that responsibility, but not to be unfairly critical… sometimes people demand too much of hip hop.” Part of the reason, he believes, is the success of hip hop.
By way of globalization and localization, hip hop has traveled far from its birthplace of late 1970’s Bronx New York and can now be found in its many forms everywhere from Oakland, California to South Africa and Israel-Palestine.  National Geographic recognizes hip hop as “the world’s favorite youth culture” in which “just about every country on the planet seems to have developed its own local rap scene.”
In my opinion, though MC’ing, DJ’ing, B-boying/girling, and graffiti writing are respectable in their own right, my main concern is not the preservation of specific elements of hip-hop, but rather what they represents. These days we have krumping, jerking, spoken word, and school-age kids broadcasting their own youtube videos.  Are these not signs that the next generation is engaging in exploration, challenge and discovery—acts that will result in a revelation of contemporary truths that will help define us, and in turn, the world?
The late Martinician writer, Frantz, Fanon once said, “each generation, out of relative obscurity, must discover their destiny and either fulfill or betray it.”
As I mentioned before, I’m no stranger to obscurity, but when I became a part of the first cadre of Act Six scholars at Whitworth; the first college to implement the program, it may have been my first experience with a collective journey into murky waters.
Armed with Acts Chapter 6 as our weapon of manifest destiny, my 9 peers and I entered the Act Six campus eager to engage as leaders and “agents of change.”
We were all from urban Tacoma and grew up with at least some Christian influence, but we were a relatively diverse group and the foundations of our identity were tied to an eclectic array of sources.
Immediately our relationship to the Act Six story and our mission at Whitworth College became a major influence on all of our senses of self. We were both connected and divided based on our interpretations of how the story related to our call to leadership within the context of the Whitworth campus. Though empowered by the vision and those who endowed us with the call, many times we felt silenced and oppressed by the dominant culture on our campus. A few of us were more angry and rebellious when it came to expressing our discontent and demand for change. We didn’t always agree on the best way to engage in and/or tell the Act Six story at Whitworth.
Eventually, we began to reconcile our individual stories and to write our own Act Six story, together. Like the Bible stories we were taught in Sunday school, but were never taught to explore growing up, our stories were sometimes confusing and filled with uncertainty, sometimes tinged with a laughable innocence and certainly not always pretty.
Michael Eric Dyson claims, “If you listen to hip-hop, if you listen to some rappers, if you listen to the culture in general, you’re going to hear some of the most prophetic and articulate expressions, the anger and outrage that bourgeois Negroes should and do still possess, but often fail to manufacture or marshal.
Whether hip hop as we know it is the cultural context of the future or not, we cannot know, but the stories must continue to be told with the same creativity, fire and rebellion.
In the last verse of “Hip Hop is Dead” Nas says,
“Went from turntables to mp3s
From "Beat Street" to commercials on Mickey D's
From gold cables to Jacobs
From plain facials to Botox and face lifts”
His lyrics are of course nostalgic, but what can we read between the lines?
As a “founding-scholar” of Act Six I never dreamed of hearing the statement, “Act Six is dead” but one day I may have to say it. I may have to play the role like Nas has, as an OG in the game, reminding the next generation that culture does not survive on its own. We must continue to find creative ways to tell our own stories, as well as know the stories of our ancestors.  Only storytelling and creativity can sustain this nation that we all are a part of, care about, and are responsible for preserving.
(August 2010)

10.25.2010

It Was All a Dream: Storytelling as Mechanism for Nation Building ASNC 2010 - (1 of 3)


1993
I lie in bed at night, adoring the ceiling.
Contemplating life, warring with feelings.
If I wasn’t writing this poem in my head, I swear I’d be screaming;
sounds void of meaning roar within me.
I never imagined it would torment me this way
To see myself in my mirror each and everyday
After disrespecting Love in each and everyway
Maybe this is love or maybe it’s just another escape
from self-hate. See, this all started with one particular date.
Not 1985 like you might think.  It was a summer night in 1993. I
 spent the whole day playing and riding bikes, just me and my best friend Mike.
His tree house in the back and dunes and ditches in his front yard were so tight!
When the streets lights came on, Mike’s mom said I could spend the night. After a few fights,
 she called me away from the video game to the bathroom. She shut the door.
I could see it in her face; Everything was not okay.
As she got down on her knees with grace, her long gray hair hung even
 closer to the floor than before. She was trying not to cry as she told me
what my future had in store. There was a police officer at th front door.
 I had to leave now, but I couldn’t go home anymore. The tall officer in black
 walked me the short block to my home, surrounded by police. I don’t remember much
after that, except an unfamiliar gravel road and a little house surrounded by trees.
I spent that night in someone else’s bedroom comforting my younger siblings
and wanting for my mommy. See, 1993 may not mean anything to you,
but it explains everything to me. If the Game of Life, is all about transactions
and getting yours, it’s actually more like Monopoly; something you never
really know until you’ve been around the board and start landing on property.
And you gotta pay for everything you don’t own. It was the first time
I ever passed Go. I was only 7 years old, but my dreams were full grown.
Mommy was up all night and never up before noon
So we all lived in darkness. Somehow I knew things would change soon
Maybe it was that dream I had with all those people and balloons?
Our family was trying to escape this dark castle with bars on all the rooms.
When we finally escaped out of a tiny high window it was so bright outside
My eyes burned from the light. It was like we had climbed out of darkness and
into a new life. A few weeks later, the swat team raided our home.
I’d like to think I predicted the whole outcome, though no one listened to me.
 Now, its 2010 and I’m tired passing Go. I just need to buy some of those hotels
that I know so well from living in them after every eviction, in the days
Before 93— Before mom got back clean and her parental custody.
Before, 1994 when God made us Christian and we started acting like we hated sinning,
Everyday pretending like there was ever an ending to the old lives we were so comfortably living;
two grown kids, acting like parents, and five children.  In 2001, the ex-con left my mom
and us girls and his two boys and the house we just closed on.
Mom started dating again trying to move on, my sisters became rebellious teenagers ,
determined to do wrong. In 2003 I went away to school. I had to escape that hell.
I was being raised in a cell.  I never been to jail, but I paid many bails and I’m still in debt
to a God who held me and never failed me. The enemy may have derailed me,
but he could never ever sell me like a pimp. You see, cause even way before 1993
this was all meant to be.  Still, sometimes I wish I could just be another plain Jane
Chase riches and fame or I could be gay; chase bitches and play games with their hearts
“Baby, I love you. We should never be apart.” That’s some shit
 I could never say, yet everyday I steal hearts
but when I try to escape I get stopped by those bars
like grocery stores that won’t let you steal carts. And every time,
I end up right back at start, or maybe “Go” like a long game of monopoly?
I don’t know. But I’m tired of passing Go. I never collected two hundred dollars
And that’s counting two of my fathers. The third one, he provided a roof, some toys
and motivation to go to college, but he’s dismissed. “You tried to touch me and my sis.”
Now you live in every man I kiss. Fuck you! You’s a bitch!
And my mom, she ain’t your typical white chick.
She snaps her neck when she talk and she’ll get in a fight quick
if you talk shit, especially about her babies. I’m telling ya’ll, she’s crazy!
And I wish I could tell you where she got it from but I don’t know her dad or mom
That side of the family has a history of dying young, extreme poverty
and all types of abuse; alcohol, sexual, physical, no wonder my
momma says that I’m a miracle. The curse was supposed to continue.
When I was in her stomach, joints and wet sticks were on her menu.
Supposedly, the addiction stopped when she found out she was holding me.
It couldn’t have stopped forever because I feel it still controlling me.
But either way, you would never notice just by knowing me
I do best everyday to make sure you never know I was raised that way.
 But, I didn’t write this poem, like me, and everything since 1993,
This is not about poverty. Or property. Or religiosity.
 This is just the manifestation of prophesy.

(July 2010)

It Was All a Dream: Storytelling as Mechanism for Nation Building ASNC 2010 - (2 of 3)

It Was All a Dream: Storytelling as Mechanism for Nation Building ASNC 2010 - (3 of 3)

10.20.2010

Professional Bio

Tiffanie Beatty, the eldest of five, was born and raised in Tacoma. She recieved a full scholarship to Whitworth University for academic excellence and her commitment to leadership and diversity. At Whitworth, Tiffanie held several official and unofficial leadership positions. She graduated cum laude in 2007 with a BA in Psychology. Later that year, she moved to Chicago, Illinois for a one-year apprenticeship with the Chicago Center for Urban Life and Culture, an academic off campus studies program located in the Hyde Park neighborhood in Chicago. Upon completion of her apprenticeship, Tiffanie was offered a position at the Chicago Center as the Program Coordinator and promoted the following year to Program Director, the position she currently holds. At Chicago Center, Tiffanie is responsible for maintaining and developing all program operations, including 5 academic terms throughout the year as well as several short-term group programs.
Aside from her work at the Chicago Center, Tiffanie is a writer, editor, performing artist and activist. While at Whitworth, Tiffanie performed her original spoken word poetry at several university sponsored events, including opening up for renowned spoken word artist, Shihan. Tiffanie’s works, “Slave Mentality,” a poem and “Niggaphobia,” a personal essay was published in Whitworth’s 2007 publication of “Script”.
Since Whitworth, Tiffanie has been a guest speaker and led workshops for Act Six Leadership and Scholarship Initiative as well as North Park University in Chicago. She has featured in several newsletters and online blogs, including “The Uplifting,” a progressive independent publication and the Northwest Leadership Foundation’s “The Watering Hole.”  She has also become active in the vibrant spoken word scene in Chicago, the birth place of the art form.  Tiffanie is a Project Manager for Black Freighter Productions. Her editing credits include the poetry book, “Becoming” by Ivan Tarver and an anthology, “Poetic Hustles, Volume I,” in which she has two poems as well.  Tiffanie’s first poetry book, “Black Like Milk” is expected to debut Winter 2010.
Tiffanie is also a founding Co-Director of Girls Reclaiming Individual Purpose in Society (GRIPS), a Tacoma-based organization dedicated to providing mentorship and community support for at-risk teenage girls and a Co-Founder and Producer with “Who You Calling Black?” a group dedicated to creatively exploring identity through community dialog and various media.
Other websites for Tiffanie Beatty include: http://www.chicagocenter.org/http://www.gripswa.org/ and www.welovereading.com

10.14.2010

Self-Publishing made easy?!?!

So maybe I'm really late on discovering this resource, but I figured I would share anyways...

All you aspiring writers should check out http://www.lulu.com/ for an quick easy way to publish your own work. There's lots of other stuff they do as well! Chicago Center is considering using this resource to publish our 40th Anniversary book and so I will let you know how that goes...

If anyone else has experience with this resource, please share!

Poetic Hustles In the Era of Hope and Change

I'ma hustla, I'ma, I'ma hustler homie!!! lol But for real, if you haven't purchased at least one copy of this anthology edited by yours truly and Ivan Azaan Tarver you definitely need to go to amazon.com right now and cop that!

http://www.amazon.com/Poetic-Hustles-Era-Hope-Change/dp/0980111439/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1287088388&sr=8-2

I also have copies for $10 so ask me about it when you see me!

10.11.2010

Citizen Cope - If there is love

Saw this guy at the Vic Theater in Chicago this weekend with good friends! Great experience!

Lil Wayne - I Am Not A Human Being



I AM NOT BASIC!

October 11 is National Coming Out Day



"If we are invisible, we might as well be dead." -anonymous

LGBT teens are bullied 2 to 3 times as much as straight teens.
More than 1/3 of LGBT kids have attempted to commit suicide.
LGBT kids are 4 times as likely to attempt suicide than straight peers.

10.04.2010

Welcome, diamonds, clarity, and a few overdone metaphors...

Welcome to my blog!

In April of 1985 Tammy Beatty, a 17 year old young woman in Tacoma, WA gave birth to her first child, a baby girl she named Tiffanie Ladell Beatty. The surname Beatty is Irish and the name Ladell was created by a slight alteration of the child's father's middle name. The child's first name was given by her maternal grandmother, who was said to have been inspired by a popular soap opera character. The television character Tiffanie, was more than likely spelled "Tiffany" like the diamonds, which also happen to be the April baby's birthstone. As a Taurus, the reference to diamonds also fits with the natural tendency of the sign toward materialism. Despite the influence of the stars on Tiffanie's personality, her name, birth month and zodiac sign were as close to possessing diamonds as she would ever come...that is until Clara T was born.

Clara T, also spelled normally as Clarity, is an alter ego that came on the scene in the summer of 2009. Clara T was created as a way into and through the mysterious and unclear dilemmas in life. She is flawless and pure, but sometimes exposes ugly things. Her primary method of bringing truth to light is poetry and spoken word, but her voice can be heard even in the recital of a poignant rap lyric from a Tupac song and her image can be seen moving authentically to a funky guitar in a blues bar in Chicago.

These days Tiffanie L Beatty is introduced to open mic audiences simply as Tiff or Tiff B. It's what her friends and family call her and it represents her personal connection to her audience. Like any name, there's a deep and personal story behind Tiffanie Ladell Beatty that extends beyond the playful ironies. Flawless diamonds are almost non-existent and many of those that do exist come stained with blood (as we know from Kanye). One step, rhyme, exhale at a time, Clara T exposes a tiny portion of that truth and the beautiful stone that lies beneath.

I am Tiffanie Beatty, also known as Clara T, and this is a blog about my journey through a complex and unclear world. Through poetic exploration and critical analysis, it is my hope that this space can become a place of mining the most beautiful diamonds and sharing the purest of stones. May we stay inspired as we are always on the verge of seeing...