6.04.2014

100 Books for Black Men + Extraordinary Love and Other Ramblings

6:28 pm, I'm currently listening to Extraordinary Love X Stacy Barthe + thinking to myself  it's finally done!! What is it? Well, ''it'' is a list of 100 books I think Black men should read.  I, however am currently reading this:

...but back to the list and why it was created in the first place. You know the saying'' If you want to hide something from a black man put it in a book''  that never sat well with me so I took it upon myself to do something. The number of readers I come across are almost 98.3% black females and that's troubling on a few levels. So as someone who is geared towards promoting literacy among my generation,  With the help of two of my fraternity brothers Searius Add + Nelson McCoy, I have compiled a list of books ranging in topics from incarceration to feminism to sexuality to pop culture to social consciousness with the intent to foster a bit of the same love I have for reading, among my fellow brothers. While I am extremely well-read, I must admit that some of the books listed are titles I have not read, however they sounded interesting enough (to me..) 

While this list pertains to subject matter mainly for African American males, I do encourage women as well to read them because there's never a wrong time to crack open a book, right? 

That's my spiel. Here's the real reason I wrote the whole blog: 

1.       The Pact by George Jenkins, Rameck Hunt, Sampson Davis and Lisa Frazier Page
2.       Black Men: Obselete, Single, Dangerous: The Afrikan-American Family in Transition by Haki Madhubu
3.       The Black Male Handbook: A Blueprint for Life by Kevin Powell
4.       Autobiography of Malcolm X by Malcolm X and Alex Haley
5.       Soledad Brother  by George Jackson
6.       Seize The Time by Bobby Seale
7.       Souls of My Brothers: Black Men Break Their Silence, Tell Their Truths and Heal Their Spirits     edited by Candace Sandy and Dawn Marie Daniels
8.       Manchild in the Promised Land by Claude Brown
9.       Dreams of My Father by Barack Obama
10.    Bloods: Black Veterans of the Vietnam War by Wallace Terry
11.    Native Son by Richard Wright
12.    Black Boy by Richard Wright
13.    White Boy Shuffle: A Novel by Paul Beatty
14.    Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
15.    Men Cry in the Dark: A Novel by Michael Baisden
16.    Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Man by Henry Louis Gates Jr.
17.    Hung: A Meditation on the Measure of Black Men in America by Scott Poulson-Bryant
18.    Race Matters by Cornel West
19.    Reaching up for Manhood by Geoffrey Canada,
20.    Wild At Heart by John Eldredge,
21.    Fatherhood by Bill Cosby
22.   The Bible
23.    Websters Dictionary
24.    The Isis Papers by Dr. Frances Cress Welsing
25.    Egyptian Yoga by Musta Ashby
26.    From Niggas To Gods by Akil
27.    How To Hustle And Win by Supreme Understanding
28.    One Day It’ll All Make Sense by Common
29.    Brother West: Loving and Living Out Loud by Dr. Cornel West
30.    The Conversation by Hill Harper
31.    Letters to a Young Brother by Hill Harper
32.    The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson
33.    The Black Male Handbook by Kevin Powell
34.    Take Back Your Family by Rev. Run
35.    How To Love A Black Woman by Dr. Ronn Elmore
36.    Finding Fish: A Memoir by Antwone Q. Fisher
37.    The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
38.    The Wealth Of My Mother's Wisdom by Terrence J
39.    Disappearing Acts by Terry McMillian
40.    Suspicion Nation: The Inside Story of the Trayvon Martin Injustice and Why We Continue to Repeat It by Lisa Bloom
41.    Roots by Alex Haley
42.    Doing The Best I Can: Fatherhood In The Inner City by Katheryn Edin and Timothy Nelson
43.    This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz
44.    If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin
45.    Souls of Black Folk by WEB Dubois
46.    Who's Afraid of Post Blackness by Toure
47.    Sister Citizen by Melissa Harris Perry
48.    The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander
49.    Jesus Hopped The Train by Stephen Ady Guirgis and Phillip Seymour Hoffman
50.    7 Guitars by August Wilson
51.    The Brother/Sister Plays by Tarell Alvin McCraney
52.    The Rose That Grew From The Concrete by Tupac Shakur
53.    The Pursuit of Happyness by Chris Gardner
54.   I The Selected Poetry of Langston Hughes
55.    I Write What I Like by Steve Biko
56.   Conversations With Myself by Nelson Mandela
57.   Gather Together In My Name by Maya Angelou
58.   The Selected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni
59.   The Collected Complete Poems of Maya Angelou
60.    One Day I Saw a Black King by JD Mason
61.    Disappearing Acts by Terry McMillian
62.    Milk In My Coffee by Eric Jerome Dickey
63.    A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest Gaines
64.    The Assassination of the Black Male Image by Earl Ofari Hutchinson
65.    The Extinction Coefficient: The Systematic Feminization of African American Men by Raymon Davies
66.    Makes Me Wanna Holler: A Young Black Man in America by Nathan McCall
67.    Voices of the Talented Tenth: Values of Young Black Males by Odell Horne
68.    African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision by Tamara L. Brown
69.    The Divine Nine by Lawerence Ross
70.   Holler If You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur by Michael Eric Dyson
71.    Know What I mean: Reflections on Hip Hop by Michael Eric dyson
72.    Growing Up X by Ilyasah Shabazz
73.    Growing Up King by Dexter Scott King
74.    Reflecting Black: A Cultural Criticism by Michael Eric Dyson
75.    The Cornel West Reader by Dr. Cornel West
76.    Breaking Bread: Insurgent Black Intellectual Life by Dr. Cornel West & Bell Hooks
77.    Angela Davis: An Autobiography by Angela Davis
78.    Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Davis
79.    The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks
80.    Ain't I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism by bell hooks
81.    Nigger: The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word by Randall Kennedy
82.    Nigger: An Autobiography by Dick Gregory
83.    The Un-Civil War: Blacks vs Niggers: Confronting the Subculture Within the African-American Community by Talaab Starkes
84.    Gil Scott-Heron: Pieces of a Man by Marcus Baram
85.    The Last Holiday by Gil Scot Heron
86.    On A Mission: Selected Poems and a History of the Last Poets by Abiodun Oyewole and Umar Bin Hassan
87.    Up From Slavery by Booker T Washington
88.    The Mis-Education of the Negro by Carter G. Woodson
89.    The Negro by WEB Dubois
90.    Heroes In Black Skin by Booker T Washington
91.    Malcolm X Speaks Selected Speeches and Statements by George Breitman
92.     Narratives of the life of Fredrick Douglass: An American Slave by Fredrick Douglass
93.    Naked: Black Bare All About Their Skin, Lips, Hips and Other Parts by Ayana Byrd
94.    A Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America by Ayana Byrd
95.    The N Word: Who Can Say It, Who Shouldn't, and Why by Jabari Asim
96.    Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop by Adam Bradley
97.    Decoded by Jay-Z
98.    Hip Hop America by Nelson George
99.     The Anthology of Rap by Adam Bradley and Andrew Dubois
100. Hip-Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap by Jeffery O.G. Ogbar


11.15.2013

that jones

This journey of imperfections and incomplete beings
 only sees the light of day when derailed trains and failed attempts at partnerships 
dip into a pool of platonic passages that led to emotional excavations of effective explanations. 
Blessed to find your equal? It's possible. 
Fortunate to find a soulmate among scorned lovers and bitterness? Probably.

 The purpose of it all is to continue life, right? Wrong. 

The main reason He breathed life into one and formed another is so the completeness of two is made as one. Genetically separate in design but purposely matched by divine cause. There is a beautiful inevitably true foundation behind the destiny of love. While some have given up hope, others remain diligently devoted to the idea and hold steadfast to the possibility of it. Sure I can write you a poem. But it won't be about sex. 

Staccato Solace


The truth is,
 I'm a hopeless romantic
Even though I have no clue what that means
 I'm cursed to be an eternal optimist
With a sleeve of heart shaped tattoos
Underneath photographic memories and permanent poems.
Flawed and imperfect
 I'm residing in the weirdest place
My advice being sought on the subject I think I know least about
Never making it past the playoffs and all.
 I suppose it's because I listen
Without judgment or ridicule
 I'm a sucker for a good love story
A fiend for a great poem,
And honestly don't mind publicly being affectionate.
What does that have to do with being a man?
 I was raised by a woman
So I think much differently than he would.
Does that make me trill?
Time will tell as I paint my thoughts on a wall inside a room

The introverted Aquarius who loves to love

10.10.2013

I bought a drum

I bought a drum. Because before I picked up a pen and pulled words from within, I was black. Because before my father became a legend in the logistics of computer language he was black. Because before my grandfather laid concrete, he was black and back in a land where kings roamed freely a boy whose skin resembled mine went in search of the tangible tools to make one when his eyes spotted an unfamiliar face. While stripping one of heritage, hair, language, last name, Allah, Allegiance and Home was a successful day's work for some, we remained chained, caged and chattel. I bought a drum because my addiction to snares and 808s doesn't come from the modern day radio. My affinity for dancing doesn't come from watching imitators steal and reinvent it to fit mainstream. My dreams of sun and freedom doesn't stem from being a Florida native. I bought a drum because the professor who was teaching me the meaning of the Yoruba language and Adinkra symbolism and why I should tattoo "young king" on my chest  died before I could kneel and thank her for removing the veil from my eyes. I bought a drum so I can start a new legacy connected to my last name instead of passing down vulgar words and disrespect for black women and how to swag out till you pass out to my sun....I can take him on my knee and tell him why I wanted to name him Zion. So I can teach him the meaning behind the red black and green that I painted on his bedroom walls. So I can bravely brace my daughters for the world that will size them up by the posts that they put on social media before opening their mouth. I bought a drum because I haven't found a book bold enough to admit that stealing an entire race of people from their home and killing them off slowly over the span of 500 moons is more sadistic than the devil himself. I bought a drum because for once I wanted to spend money in my own community for a cause deeper than appearance. I bought a drum because of the first word beside every description of my skin on every application for a dead end job I've filled out since I was eighteen. I bought a drum so that after I take off my suit and tie from the day at the office in the only black owned business in downtown Nashville I can proudly say I have not forgotten where my roots are even if my dreads are gone. I bought a drum because kunta couldn't make it home that day. I bought a drum because the warrior in me is not dead. They can not kill what they did not build. 

3.31.2012

Pragmatic Romantic (Written By Iesha Gray)

"Pragmatic Romantic"
A dedication to the struggle of womanhood
The dichotomy of my monopoly on monogomy;
the declaration of hypocrisy in my ever elusive quest to be
"the perfect verse over a tight beat"
my Brown Sugar carmalizes under the HEAT...
Yet, I stay coming back to love like I left something.
A spiraling journey asking me, repeatedly, the meaning of me:
The last daughter of May, I resent the darkness rain brings to the day and ironically
I delight in losing what I never had.
I have a fondness for happiness,
certain confidence,
an affinity driven by the wedge spliting reason,
spawning common sense, that screams, "ALL PURPOSE DETERRENT/DISINFECTANT!"
Inevitabily leaving me out of service and subject to the monotony of all that is remedial...
In other words.......
Its like moving in slow motion
in the calming eye of a hurricane watching destruction tear down everything around you.
A beautiful artistry always in a state of becoming,
transforming from who I was to who I am, a linear paradox spanning across the horizon of me.
The logarithm of the essence of my destiny, "Every little thang wants to be loved" but the magnitude of my wants far overshadows what you can give me.
Realistically my love is better described as an enigma, forging the unconventional path:
Rooted in Proverbs 31, implications of love that can be fulfilled by no one; it is a fleeting conglomerate, a bastard of the "American Dream".
A romanticized ideal that killed the "miner's canary"...yes, honestly HONESTY can be messy!
But what is seen as messy can be fractal
Too beautiful but practical...
Wise beyond my years and mature to the point of tears.
My fears matched only by the long road women trugged, GOD is my judge.
Show me a pragmatic romantic and I'll show you a person understanding and deserving of REAL DEEP LOVE......

3.20.2012

Dante's Inferno (Written by Iesha Gray)

Okay so I posted this on my status accidently on purpose because I wanted to get this posted.  Basically if you haven't read Dante's Inferno, it is worth the read.  Great work of fiction in which Dante describes the layers of Hell in great detail.  I decided to name this piece Dante's Inferno for many reasons.

1.  I love paradoxes, irony, and puns and this title encompasses all of that in a very personal way

2.  I happen to know a particular someone with a very similar name as the title and he envokes fire and passion in me to follow my passion.  His paintings inspired me to reevaluate a lot of about my creativity.

3.  The original epic is about layers and depth, which is EXACTLY what I wanted to depict in this piece.

4.  The imagery associated with fire is all over the place, which is similar to the events that transpired to bring about this NECESSITY to express my point of view my creatively.

Without further adue, I give you DANTE'S INFERNO....enjoy!





Stratums of mess, I rest on my iris to the trained eye,

Foresight to envision my submission among lies,

Refusing to mind the transcendence of time.

The need to love the me independent of we,

Became a mutiny against myself.

Doubts arise, clarity chastised, manifesting dangling modifiers of disguise.

My didactic clock tower chimes evanescence way past the present,

A constant presence of my severance pay.

Today I pass my past in a picture frame.

Politely dismissed it, abused, untamed

Pain torn asunder and splintered in sin,

My Mosaic kin I might just go in,

Obsessions with being second, I reckon,

I’ve reached a jazzy improvisation, in summation F* YOU. 

 

The “new cool”: fabricated friendships foddered in f*ckery and happenstance,

Reconfigured my stance into 10 tweet rants, rebutted red lipstick chants.

I can’t recant what’s true,

Speaking to me when no one else has a clue,

Looming retribution of your substitution,

My resolution is moot.

A self-fulfilling prophecy of a pragmatic optimist rhyme,

My lines primed; afraid, prideful, and blind,

Yet bold enough to do the right thing at the wrong time.

Love and fear intertwined,

Love declined, fear ruled my mind.

Self-loathing, letting you choose me,

Antiquity engulfed and ablaze in ambiguity. 

 

Did I lose you because I think I might have found me.

See, my verbiage met a conjunction; 

Where my subject no longer predicated my purpose, propelling me to profound discovery.

Blurred in the abstract, hidden and obscured, Falling deeper, I risk revealing revelations of reality.

Plummeting paragraphs of love, lies, and limitless larceny,

 Ripping the armor from my heart but doing it cowardly.
A person and a place that evolved into a thing,

Revolving a situation around a fling,

Choking the truth, til’ it stings.

Let love die, a fate I supplied.

My fight is despite myself,

Stacked the deck then misdealt. 

 

Reaching up from the depths of self-worth,

Void of contentment, absent of resentment,

 Watching my depraved indifference work.

Seething and scorched, my unlit torch ignites,

‘pen to pad I write’,

No foresight, just forthright.

Honesty intersecting the truth as KICK ROCKS BOULEVARD.

I….LOVE….SOOOOO….HARD 

 

Scarred below, above and crossed the line,

Fiery ambition exploded inside, 

My mind arose, naked and exposed, Foolish, caring, and poignant, my case I close.

Grasping at the root of my concrete rose,

Mask me in my high, beaten to my low, 

Your claim to fame shall be within the flames of my ‘Dante’s Inferno’.


by: Iesha Gray