www.akintoye.com

queen bio

2006-09-06T00:32:00.000-07:00

queen space

2006-09-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

queen flyer

2006-09-05T21:18:00.000-07:00

power U

2006-09-05T17:38:00.000-07:00

badu LA

2006-08-07T23:57:00.000-07:00

bilal- temple bar, santa monica- july 31, 2006

2006-08-03T00:32:00.000-07:00

t o d a y,

2006-07-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

i am ready to write, again.
like a dreams end, i have become today, again.

los angeles. photography. teaching. 21 questions. killa kali. rush hour traffic at 2am. koreatown. being single, again. my x. hoops. best buy. my brother. poetry. 24 the show. music. 24 the age. thai food. the world cup. the world. brothers. sisters. the sunset strip. art. me. my future. my past. right now.

all things shareable.

we'll see.

its good to be back, my people...

2006-03-08T14:06:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to put words together. I have been trying to put thoughts together. I have been trying to think, and write, and speak on, and reflect about, and honor, and do all the things that blogs are suppose to do. But right now, I can't. I am lost for words. He meant too much to me. He put the magic in my eye... The spirit in my eye... The power in my eye... Quite literally.

I am sad right now.

I keep thinking about the day I met the brother at the MET in New York. Dr. Deb introduced us. He was strong- like a grand piano. I knew he was old, but he didn't feel old. His handshake was sturdy. His smile was genuine. He directed my life's path. A path of righteousness, a path of photography, a path of freedom. A path of discovery and light.

Thank you, Mr. Parks. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You will forever live in my heart. Respect...

Stepping into the life of a young Black man trying to figure his shit out...

2006-02-11T20:41:00.000-08:00

In my life, I have written in about 9 different journals. In essence, my thoughts scattered across pages where pen strokes are extensions of my heart. My mind has never been allowed to enter, always been stopped at the door. My truest ideas. My most authentic messages from myself to myself.

Each one started off differently. I was always in some state of mind that prompted each one. They all started off "In the beginning: " Like a new life, a new voice, a new person. They were like new born babies, fathered by my being. I have never read anything I have ever wrote in those journals. When the ink is wet the moment is very alive.. It is there.. It exists.. But when that ink dries, its like the dead stale old world in which we live in kills that purity that my heart carries into existence. Some of the journals are packed to the T, packed with all kinds of words and funky drawings, sketches, poems scribbled on napkins, poloroids, receipts of dope places I've been. Some are incomplete in pages filled, but fully exhausted with emotional content.

I have always thought about my journals. I wonder whose eyes will rest upon my words? For some reason, I don't want to destroy them, they are pieces of me. Even though I have never read one word I have written in those books, they are still part of my most important, critical, and powerful possessions.

One of the journals was a book of blessings. Every morning for years, the very first thing I would do when I wake up is write down three blessings. I really suggest to anyone who would like to acknowledge how blessed they are to write down their blessings on paper. Something about the physicality of writing this down continuously allows these blessings to sink in through the skin. Daily I would have epiphanies on life, on the world, on my life and how it is related to the world. The feeling of feeling blessed is so important.. If only these young brothers and sisters are aware of their blessings, then maybe we (key word 'we') wouldn't do as much deconstructive things to ourselves and to our community.

My most recent journal is one that I got while living in Brazil. I bought it in Salvador Da Bahia at the airport. While in Brazil, I always rode the bus, and in this journal I would often times reflect on the faces, the voices, the smells, the expressions of Brazil. The artist in me came out because I would often times draw the faces of other passengers. I remember chillin on Copacabana beach in Rio De Janeiro- chilling out in the sun with my straw plunged into my green coconut, watching beautiful women running, cats playing beach soccer, and the waves violently but so romantically crashing into the worlds most beautiful beach. I also remember tears dropping dramatically into that book, smearing the wet ink because I'd be in the middle of the Favela- on top of the world, on some ugly slum on some beautiful mountain overlooking Brazil. Thinking and writing how our disposition is worldwide- our poverty is global- our beauty is undeniable. This little pocket-sized social/critical/personal commentary traveled with me everywhere.

Both books are not with me anymore. And it feels weird. I lost my book of blessings over the summer on a flight to North Carolina. I had the book with me because it was a red-eye flight, and I wanted to write down my blessings when I woke up and still in the air flying over some cornfield. I didn't realize it till the next morning, when I figured out that I left that joint in the seat pocket in front of me. Damn. What would someone think of that book? Would it inspire them to realize their blessings? Would they feel sad that someone lost a book that is seemingly so important to them? Would they think I was crazy for one day thinking that I was blessed because the sky is such a beautiful shade of blue and it inspires me to be blue somedays? I guess I will never know.

The second book was a little harder for me to let go of. I also lost this book while in transit from my trip to Atlanta a few weeks ago. Damn. That book was special to me. So much of my heart was in that book. Its like, the contents of who I am/ who I was/ who I will be, was scripted in that journal. I never look back at words because they are so real, honest, detailed, painful. They are more profound than anything I could ever say, think, or do. It is actually hard to sleep at night while knowing that my words have been published to the world. Did it get tossed in the trash? Is someone enjoying my journey? Seeing my inner-beauty, reading my inner-pain? Reading about my frustrations of the world... Stepping into the life of a young Black man trying to figure his shit out...

Both books are a part of my soul. And some of who I am is lost, literally. Maybe I should open up more to people. Its like damn- someone got a chance to read it before I did.. Aint that some shit??

response to 'who is changing?'

2006-02-08T12:07:00.000-08:00

peace yall. i started writing my response to yall comments as a comment, but then i started to get a tad bit verbose.. so i decided to just hit yall with a post.. (lol- that joint rhymed!)

change. change is so key and critical with any mind/person/being who claims to be progressive and powerful. however- i see so much change around me. im not at a standstill or anything, nor do feel like im getting left behind or out of it.. but yo- im a basic ass nigga.. i like basic things, i eat basic foods.. i live my life in a basic and humble way. and honestly, i enjoy that same quality in others.

when i posted that question about who is changing- them or you, its because folks be on some other shit sometimes.. ive been blessed to be graced with some small time successes in this game.. but at the end of the day, its still the same ol me.. at times i feel so unamerican- because it seems like to be american, you must be wrapped up in the the hype, in the over-commercialization of the soul, in the degradation of eachother and of ourselves- all things that this game wants for us... not allowing for individuals to create paths and to be the master of their own game.. and im tired of playing.. so i pray, and stay still- in my own world, in my own game... floating- with me, my camera, and my pen..

1 quick question......

2006-02-07T14:04:00.000-08:00

is it you or is it the people around you who are changing?

Dirt off my shoulders?

2006-01-25T19:55:00.000-08:00

I realized that I have been quite short with my words on this blog as of late. I have managed to represent my artistic side on the blog recently- because sometimes my voice needs to be heard through what and how I see. But today I will reflect, through words.

ERRR- I have not been able to stop playing Amerie '1 Thing'. I just got hold of the track- I know that song been out for a hot minute.. But I don't really mess with the radio or music TV.. But I'm saying.. The sister is killing it.. She singing that song like it is her last chance, her only chance. I can feel the desperation in the song.

I can hear Amerie's undying love of the art in the track. The words are almost irrelevant. In fact, I don't even think I could tell you what the song is about, notwithstanding the fact that I have played it on my pod a dumb amount of times in the last few days. But that now or never jump off is what is speaking to me.

Moving on-

I'm a little confused with the reunion of Nas and Jay-Z. I'm sayin... Them niggas had beef.. right? I was disgusted by the rivalry... the tension... the interviews riddled with character assaults, threats, and claims that take away masculinity, credibility- in efforts of defining who the real KING OF NEW YORK was. I was disappointed with music at that time. Music played and continues to play such an integral role in my life, that I just didn't appreciate the amount of love this feud was getting when there were more important issues going on in the world.

I remember being in the darkroom at NYU developing some film and listening to Wack, I mean HOT 97 and Ether was just released- you know the Nas track that starts off with rounds of an automatic popping off, and in the background saying "FUCK JAY-Z". Still mourning the death of Tupac and Biggie, I gave both Jigga and Nas about 5-8 months each before their lives would end like so many young brothers today. The song made me sad- it was like- damn- we already got so many ways to die young. I was thinking how much white supremacist must of loved that track.. Niggas killing Niggas!! All over the radio!! Niggas killing niggas.. Damn...

A little before (or after- I forget) Jigga put out some lame diss track that carried about a quarter of the venom Nas was spitting on some wack beat.. And for the most part, that was it.. They both dropped albums shortly after their radio beef and it was no shock that their albums did big sales

Fast forward a few years, and Nas and Jay-Z squash their beef at a guess who.... Hot 97 show this past summer in New Jersey, and last week Nas signs with Def Jam Records, of which Jay-Z is the president!!

I'm saying- I'm all for peace, brotherhood, non-violence, and good music. I don't think that it is ok to promote hatred through music that evidently only exists in the studio (as it appears), and then for it to be all good just a few years later and keep moving like everything is all good. I think its careless and dangerous.

I wonder how many of these so called rappers stay in the studio like Pac did right before he got killed- forecasting their death by preparing their legacy.

2006-01-24T09:08:00.000-08:00

Soweto 2003: And Still They Call Us Barbaric While We Rock Barbie...

2006-01-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

new business card

2006-01-16T08:13:00.000-08:00

CrackBerry

2006-01-08T00:18:00.000-08:00

I caint even frunt!! I love my CrackBerry. I be on it damn near all day. I aint never fucked with crack (nor had the desire too- lol), but damn- if its anything like this CrackBerry, its the truth!!!

lol
(where this post came from, I do not know...)

2006

2006-01-01T17:46:00.000-08:00

peace.
its been a hot minute since ive dropped a line. but sometimes it be like that. sometimes when it rains the droplets feel like stones. sometimes those stones are regular old rocks and sometimes they are diamonds, pieces of gold and gems. i been in LA for 5 months now. 2006 is here. i never felt like a new year was going to be my year. i never confirmed whole heartedly that a new year/time/feeling/life-session has begun anew. but today is 2006. and i feel like this is going to be my year. i feel empowered like never before that my heart and mind will truly be on the same page- flipping pages, checking pages, re-writing pages.

its an awesome feeling.

i feel a oneness that is radiating like sirens!! im in LA- where u cant wear red, blue, say 'wussup blud', greet someone as 'cuz', or look the police in the eye or they might think u are threatening them!! (police brutality and racial profiling is so real). so im on my own tip out here. was dating a female for a minute, but that wasn't going no where. she wanted to hit. i wanted to listen. she wanted to club. i wanted to speak. she wanted to holla. i wanted to chill. This place is wild. Surrounded by mountains- I often times forget that LA is dead smack in the middle of a desert. The huge buildings, crazy traffic, rental suped up rides and fake people make me forget.

but its love though.. its always love..

the other day

2005-10-30T15:42:00.000-08:00

And in those few slightly awkward but extremely telling moments when I looked into her eyes to see the insides of her heart, I-

naw, yall not ready...

RIP Rosa Parks

2005-10-26T13:57:00.000-07:00

10 year OJ-versary.. Where were you?

2005-10-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

I can't never forget.

I was in art class in the 8th grade. We all stopped and crowded around the tiny little radio in the corner of the art room. I went to a 'how to be a yuppie' middle school, so I was damn near alone on this one, against a sea- no a hurricane of white in that class. The only cat that was feeling me was Simeon- a Filipino kid I was coo with who everyone treated like a nigga anyway, so I guess that's why he was partial to OJ too.

There were about 15 of us, little 13 year old 8th graders who didn't know shit about politics, but damn sure knew how much was riding on the next 60 seconds. Me and Simeon kept trying to calm each other down because we were thinking about worst case scenario: 'What if this cat really gets found guilty. That would be some bull'.

Me and Simeon were far away from staging any kind of protest or riot, but shittttttttt, I'd pick up a bucket of paint and dump it on a white boy in a minute if this nigga was found guilty. Black paint.. (lol)

I remember trembling as the verdict was read. Why? I mean, the bitch was found stabbed to death, there was hella evidence that this negro did the shit. I mean, damn- remember "The glove don't fit- it just doesn't" (lol).. I mean YO!! They found hair, DNA, the nigga was getting CHASED BY THE COPS POSSIBLY HEADED TO MEXICO!!! ON PRIME TIME TELEVISION!!!!

Why would I be siding with this fool? But it didn't matter. He was Black. I grew up loving the hometown favorite, the 49ers- plus, OJ's Mom who lived around the corner from me was hella nice to me growing up, and I'd go to the store for her (why she still lived in the hood after her son was getting paid, I still to this day do not know).

The radio blasted: NOT GUILTY and me and Simeon were jumping in the air in... yup... disbelief.. We were two happy- well, 1 happy nigga and a happy Filipino kid who was treated like a nigga! All the other white folks looked down in sadness, like somebody had died..

I can't never forget.. The emergence of my race consciousness...

Where were you?

Kanye? Really??

2005-10-04T15:03:00.000-07:00

Kanye West never really struck me as the most political cat- and he doesn't really deny that. Rather- he has a strange sense of 'consciousness' (for lack of a better word):

"I gotta apologize to Mos and Kweli/But is it cool to rap about gold if I told the world I copped it from Ghana and Mali?"

Are you serious? Let me answer for Mos and Kweli: 'NO'.

But- in contrast to that half dolla cat or other shallow and simple cats like, um Diddy or.. uh.. Usher (im not hatin) for example, or any given BET or TRL top countdown artist, my man is dropping big knowledge.

But usually when you think of artists that make bold and racially layered statements (especially outside of their music)- you think of folks like Public Enemy, Dead Prez, Kweli... But these days, Kanye is getting his fair share of attention for his poignant comments attacking George Bush in his response to Katrina and the media for the way that Black folks were/are portrayed. Go 'head Kanye...

Check out the "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" segment with Mike Myers.

BUT, I guess Kanye and the world don't really take him too seriously, because just days later, Kanye and Mike Myers appeared on Saturday Night Live and performed a skit that reflected those now famous and shaky seconds of Kanye's new-found 'politics'. LOL

Femi Kuti NPR interview

2005-10-04T01:10:00.000-07:00

Interesting Femi Kuti piece on NPR the other day.

Sample quote:
"There are so many, hundreds of thousands, of young boys in Africa now. No shoes, no clothes, no money. They don't eat. They live under the bridge. Lagos is disgusting. And they are growing. In five years these boys that are 5 will be 10. Those that are 10 will be 15. 15 will be 20. So when you understand that kind of mathematics it's really scary."

"You can't run away from the truth. You have to confront it. That's the way I see it. Bob Marley did it. Fela did it. Many people. Miles did it. Coltrane did it. Coltrane and Miles didn't even have to talk. They just played and people were conscious. It's not about talking really... It's action..."

I still can't believe that just two weeks ago I was chopping it up with Femi at the Africa Shrine in Ikeja, Lagos... This guy is power... This guy is soul... This guy is music...

Listen to the whole interview here.

2005-10-03T15:18:00.000-07:00

The King (right) of Imasayi in Yewa, Ogun State, Nigeria making a woman become a chief.

ive been told..

2005-10-03T15:10:00.000-07:00

that i need to shut up and add more images to my joint..

questions

2005-10-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

Why is the 49ers game against the Cardinals in Mexico City?

Why do people think Nick Cannon is funny?

Why is Common's CD so serious?

Why is Common just now getting buzz?

Why is Kanye getting so much buzz?

Why is gas so damn expensive?

How can Phil Jackson go back to the Lakers when he talked all that shit about Kobe?

Why are my folks so small when I'm so big?

Why are apts in LA so damn expensive?

Why I'm not famous?

Why do I still live at my folks place?

Why don't hella people read my blog?!?

tagged

2005-09-28T08:21:00.000-07:00

Aight, laylah tagged me! Here are my answers:

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES OF CLOTHING?
All of my Daishiki's

THE LAST CD YOU BOUGHT?
You mean burned??!! The New Danger- Mos Def

WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?
11/12

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE KITCHEN APPLIANCE?
Tea Pot

IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
piano

FAVORITE COLOR?
tan

FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOK?
I dont remember!

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?
Spring

IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT?
not yet

IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPERPOWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
speak all languages

ONE PERSON/PEOPLE FROM YOUR PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO:
my grandmother

WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED?
dust, probably

WHATÂS YOUR FAVORITE DAY?
sunny days

WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SUSHI OR HAMBURGER?
neither, and thats real

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?
dont know the names like that

DO YOU LIKE YOUR JOB?
n/a (unfortunately)

WHAT IS YOUR DREAM JOB?
nba player

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
my vision. my intuition. my 'do me' mentality

THREE THINGS YOU HATE/DISLIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
my procrastination. my big and often ugly feet. the new growth that looks more like an afro than locks

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
my car. my protector. my hoops shoes

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
ummm. i just woke up... so.. umm... some boxers

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS/ARTISTS (AT THE MOMENT):
let me look at my ipod most recently played list: t.i., common, nas

THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:
being caught up on my bills. driving with a seatbelt all the time. not play ball everyday b/c it hurt my feet!

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (LOVE IS A GIVEN):
no guard. spontaneity. fun

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
eyes. lips. legs

THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO
front like i like someone that i dont. chalk loss up to experience. be calm in traffic

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
basketball. listening to my ipod. eating!!

apple store

2005-09-24T14:55:00.000-07:00

if i could buy this whole store, umm.. i would... immediately... this place is dope... these apple people know exactly what they're doing.. they have turned computers with an apple on it to a culture in itself.... haha..

africa

2005-09-16T03:40:00.000-07:00

this will be a short post (i think).

anyway, im in lagos, nigeria right now. this place is off the hook- meaning crazy, not off the hook like something hella cool.. yesterday i saw two gangs of about 30-50 niggas each fighting with wood planks, metal bars, sticks and rocks- literally. thank GOD nigeria does not have a problem with guns like the states does, cuz if this was the states, niggas woulda been capped- immediately. the worst part was the on-lookers (myself included). nobody really paid much mind. my cousins kept saying- nor-mal. nor-mal. i was bugging out. nobody really paid much attention. even the police.. they looked on, some smiling, like maybe these hoodlums was taking care of the police's problems. this place is crazy and like i said, off the hook. u dont know what to expect.

on a much much brighter side,

i was kickin it with femi anikulapo kuti yesterday at the shine. that was off the hook.. my cousins took me there. that was off the hook in a good way! my cousins are good friends of femi, and femi was happy to hear that i enjoyed his show last month at the fillmore in san francisco. i told femi that im looking forward to comparing what he gives americans, and what he gives nigerians in terms of performance and song. femi and i were laughing b/c i was telling him how shocked i was that at the fillmore, there were about 75% white folks, and we both laughed about how most of his music, (like fela's) is revolutionary, and is straight up against white people!!! i find it funny that femi, like his father, fela and like the universally loved and boldly revolutionary bob marley, and even cats in the states like dead prez, have strong and fierce messages against the very same people that love them. i wont never forget hearing cats in college at nyu shouting 'im'a african, im'a african- and i know whats happenin!' in my head, im thinking- this music is not for you! but whatever, to each his own.

regardless, femi was cool.. he sang a new song he just wrote last week for me and my cousins that he is thinking about breaking out tonight at his weekly friday night jam at the afrika shrine. he showed love, i showed love. i love the diaspora in motion, in practice.

ok, this blog was a lil longer than i expected!! thats just hows it be's sometimes...

i gotta get outta this shady shady internet cafe. little kids are asking me to correct their english for their scams to the US. u know the emails from nigeria saying send your bank account number, and i'll send you a million dollars that i inherited etc.. blah blah blah.. i gotta roll.

big peace and respect

the color purple,
a.

europe

2005-08-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

on thursday, i will be making my 3rd trip to europe. this time around, amsterdam is in my future foot steps. what will it bring me? what will i learn? what have i learned. what will i bring (not things). i'm planning on writing a lot, and photographing a lot. im hoping my camera and my pen will aide me in this trip, this exploration, this journey- the same trip, exploration and journey that i'm on now. just adding to it- beautifully, deliberately, quietly, powerfully, uniquely...

i guess i should start packing my stuff....

hella random, but this is my post:

2005-08-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

lauryn hill from the fugees on 'family business'. this shit is hot, don't frunt. lol

'My circle it can't be broken
Open, cut-throatin', provokin'
Record promotin, tokens chokin' on they words like smoke and.
Cause we soft spoken, doesn't mean that we've forgotten
Your bootie smells rotten and one day you will be gotten
See joker's is scatter-brained, their focus is unrestrained
My army is trained, you never find us beefin' in vain.
Cause I've seen fire and I've seen rain
You claim fame, while modest niggas remain.
I can judge a character like Ito judge a verdict
And if you bringin' threats I give you sex if I ain't heard it.
See poppin' s***'s about your attitude and how you word it
I've seen the biggest niggas on the block get murdered
And they deserverd it
Or so the beast said when they served it ???
That s*** is nervous
So what's my purpose?
Family, we must preserve it.
Your number's retired
I hope you like the hell fires
You'll be screamin' Murder she Wrote like Chaka Demus and Pliars.'

LA

2005-08-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

I was just in LA for two days, photographing the Sugar Water Fest at the Greek Theater. It was real real live. Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, Queen Latifa and Floetry. That was one of the dopest shows I ever been to- true talk. Making my plans to move down to LA. I was trying to get a feel if LA was me. And although I can't say for show right now, I do know that there are limitless opportunities to make cash flow. I just hope that en route to making my bread that I don't forget about my art.

allow me to re-introduce myself

2005-08-08T19:29:00.000-07:00

I am in Winston-Salem, North Carolina right now- home of the largest tobacco factory in the US. Home to the largest asthma rate in the US. Home of the largest alzheimers patients. Home of my Grands, still living and kicking. Home of where I'm from, where my Mother was born, of the Southern rain that splits midway in the sky sky sky. Where White moons appear at high noons. Where dawns come late and the sun sets with time, on her own time. (The forecaster don't even try out here). North Cakilak. Black. Brown. Red. Undead, unsold- told through rivers. Yeah yo, them rivers. That's where I'm from. Thick rivers and wind that travels through and on mountains that niggaz was telling on. That, niggaz was found on. Found with blood trails like tears that tell stories. But, not till the morning do we realize the season is year round. That the smell of history's future is poignant and kills like roach killer. And grills of America's Big Macs truck down down grand highways. And we be on freeways trying to learn. Freeways because we've been so behind. Freeways that cost, cuz aint shit is free in the good 'ol S of o Merica'.

anybody still read this? hit me..

2005-06-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

WHAT!!!
(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

June 13, 1982

2005-06-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Today is my 23rd birthday. I was in bed this morning thinking about it. Thinking about how blessed I am. Each breath, each step, each day, each year. Allah is good, Allah is great.

______
i can imagine my fathers eyes as my mother gave birth to me that son day in san francisco in 1982. his first sun being set and sent from that north carolinian womb, that southern mother sweetness,

im floating- across continents like elementary jump ropes, like cracked water atlantic brown boats, a blazin amazin rift that becomes my muse, my note,

im soaked- drenched in crossroads that point nowhere and everywhere, white boy shuffled thru america, just making my dream, come, true, but so far from my point,

my mother- gave birth to me that sonny afternoon- i tell u.. she knew i would be some child, some mesmorized wild child, but perfectly calm. because now im sitting in sao paulo watching favelas from my earth-scrapper.. them niggas fight with rocks, no papers, big scissors- elevador rides are clinched with purses, smirks that read who let this favela dreadlock nigga up in here,

im swimming- foreign, cuffed to trees, but leaving a path of leaves like some nigerian african king, respect my presence motherfucker type,

im tired- writing lines of immunity and faith, warring in battlefields of forced and false humanness.

im blessed- dont even know the percentage of brothers who have embraced their soldier.. still searching and defining mines...

Boxing

2005-06-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

I just saw the Leila Ali fight. She was beating on this little white girl (actually she was a big one!- lol). Leila was talking hella shit after the fight- just like her father- "I beat bitches- who's next?" I can't frunt- I was rolling. The Tyson fight is next. That should be funny too!!

damn yo- i should go thru my 'sent messages' more often

2005-06-11T15:31:00.000-07:00

On 11/29/04, Akintoye wrote:

"PEACE L- whats the goods? yea yea. the scents of bahia are like a dragon's flame that oils the grounds and waters the moons. the smell of bahia is like the porcelian that ignites soweto homes- it is strong, potent, and specific. the aroma of bahia is like black roses, black sons, and african trees. the flavor of bahia sits on tongues of brown skin people foods: jamaican soups, nigerian joloff rice, african palm wine- and blackness, whipped up in big pots of history's mother. and these are traces of 'home'. continuing the path to get back... 'home', this place has rarely been seen by my clicking eyes... only for stories to betold thru black tears that ripple... and listen... and collect."

2005-06-06T20:27:00.000-07:00

Live music on the beach. Bahia, Brazil

(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

last night was crazy

2005-06-05T10:27:00.000-07:00

words cannot describe. sorry.

2005-06-01T21:08:00.000-07:00

On top of Bahia
(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

Brazil is wrapping up

2005-06-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

Brazil is wrapping up. It's crazy. There is so much more that I want to do here. I still want to check out the Amazon- and live on a boat wandering through the lucious rain forest. And I definitely want to return to Salvador, or maybe even see another part of Bahia- and eat African food, chill in the burning sun, dance Samba- truly like no other; a place that has hints and scents from Nigeria to Harlem.

Today it finally hit me- yo!- in 17 more days its a wrap!! It is definitely bitter-sweet. I have met so many good folks, and done so many amazing things since I've been here. I've tasted some of the most delicious foods. Met some of the most beautiful women. Been on some of the most ridiculous beachs. Danced to some of the most crazy samba beats. Geez- this 1 year has flashed by like an eye lid closing- or rather, an eye lid opening, b/c I have learned, I tell you- I have learned..

On another note- who reads this shit? Send me a comment or an email or something! I'm new to this blog stuff, and I want to know if my words are reaching out to anybody or not- (either way is cool by me)- but still I'd like to know if I'm just talking to myself!

holla BLACK!
akintoye

Robson

2005-05-30T05:48:00.000-07:00

This weekend was great.
A good friend of mine, Robson used to work in the copy room at the school that I teach at. Robson has been a great friend of mine, and has been one of my many Profesors de Portugues. During the holiday when I was in New York for a few days, I was racking my brain for what I could get him for a gift. A hooded Sweatshirt with big bold letters: NEW YORK. He would love it. I was happy to be leaving a snowy New York, and I got back on campus to look for my friend to give him his gift- no where to be found. My man done lost his job. This wack school didn't contract him for the 2nd semester because they claimed there was a lack of funds, and he was 'extra'. Hmmm.. There is no lack of funds with the salary of the director, who makes 225,000US/ year. What part of his 280 Reals/month (100US) was the school in big need of? The worst part about it, was that Robson's entire family- his five brothers, Mom and Pop all relied on his income. Robson working at The American school was a dream come true. In a country where employment (good work) is hard to come across, Robson was the realization of a potental- and the actualization of a possibility. But they let him go.

This past weekend, I had the privilage to go back to see Robson and eat a big Brazilian feast with his family, and play street soccer with kids from this favela of Jardim Sao Luiz. To say the least, I felt like I was home. I was the big gringo that was slow footed when it came to Futbol, and they were the skilled Brazilians- making a fool of me!! But I loved being a fool. I loved the estatic laughter when I would nearly fall to the hard concrete because an 8 year old dribbled around me, thru my legs, and caught me off balanace. It was great.

Robson started screaming the letters on the sweatshirt I handed him to make a deaf man hear. 'New York New York NEW YORK!!' He was saying it- so loud that I think he was trying to make his voice reach New York, and to tell the New Yorkers to prepare for him when he gets there. Giving Robson a gift from New York solidified our brotherhood- New York, New York- a big city of dreams and dreamers.

The feast was a feast. Black beans, chicken, rice, pasta, salad, steak, french fries- topped off with a homemade sweet cake- ohhhhhhhhhhhh it was all so good! Anyone who knows me knows that I love me some good home cooking!!

We laughed. We joked. We compared English and Portugues. Talked about the difficulties of both. My head was about to explode because of all the work my brain was doing speaking Portugues!

And they kept my plate full, all of the time. Enrique, Robsons youngest brother kept putting more and more food on my plate when I would look away. And Robson's mom, I call her 'Tia' (Aunt), would keep the steaks coming. This is a family that lovesssssss to eat- and is very proud of the time they share together as a family unit. And with 6 growing boys all between the ages of 14 and 22, Tia knows how to throw down in the kitchen- She cooks with pots and pans the size that the school cafeteria uses. And the food is oh so delicious. I left Robson's house extremely satisfied, and with a big ol doggy bag!

Robson now works alongside his Dad (Tio) for a company painting buildings around Sao Paulo. He says the work is bad. Dangerous. Little pay. Hard manual work. Robson's dreams have been put on hold. We no longer have lunch together at school where we teach each other our languages. But this brother, my brother, has determination. And he will get his. And his dreams will be re-opened and re-vitalized. This is just part of his journey. We're all going thru one.

Brazil Bills and Rio to Come

2005-05-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

It is a gloomy and rainy Tuesday in Sao Paulo. I kind of like the cold- it is refreshing. It's all good, but its mad cold in my apartment. And I am afraid to turn on the heater because it makes my electricity bill RIDICULOUS.. For example, last month it was pretty cold, and I was using the heater a lot. My bill went from being its normal 30 Reals (+/- 10 US) to 160 Reals (+/- 55 US). This is a country that knows how to bill folks. It seems like everytime I come home, I have a bill welcoming me under my door. The gas, the electricity, the phone, the water tax, the garbage tax. UGH!! Brazil don't play. I can make it, but it really makes me sad for the Brazilians making the 280 Real a month minimum wage (like many do). W.T.F?! That's less than 100 US a month!!!! And you see it on the buses. Folks be looking mad tired, stressed, underpaid.

I'm looking forward to going to Rio this weekend with some of my boys from the hoops team I'm on. Eat some fried fish at Copacabana beach watching the pretty ladies wearing damn near nothing. Pictures to come for show!

2005-05-20T00:07:00.000-07:00

Ronaldo: GOOOOOOOOOL!! Brasil vs. Bolivia. 09.05.04
(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

2005-05-19T23:07:00.000-07:00

Teresa. Bahia, Brazil

(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

2005-05-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

Maria. Bahia, Brazil

(c) Akintoye Moses 2005

I walked out of my house last night

2005-05-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

i was going to play ball with my friend, levi, and i walked out of my apartment building, and literally 2 seconds later i was being called a monkey and a black man of shit.

this man- clearly drunk, had yelled in his drunken voice, 'eu estive vivendo no morumbi ha quinze anos e agora tem negros. puta merda'. (i have been living here for 15 years, and now there are blacks. fuck that shit).

whoa.

we exchanged fighting words. i was upset that this man stepped to me like this. what the fuck?!? what a coward. me and levi started to laugh about that fool, and continue our route to play ball.. then the motherfucker yelled out across the street.. 'negao de merde'. Which directly translated means black man of shit. but, calling someone a negao de merde is equivenlent of calling someone a nigger in the states. at that point, me and levi stopped laughing and were ready to fuck this man up. i even tied my shoe because i didn't want to lose my shoe while i was stopping this motherfucker! we approach the dude, im on one side of this cat and levi on the other. levi is a white brazilian, who has lived in the favela (township, hood, ghetto) his whole life. levi was really the one who wanted to scrap. levi kept asking the man 'como voce o chamou ele?... como voce o chamou ele??' (what did you call him, what did you call him??) he was afraid to say what he called me. what a coward. instead he kept reaching for his pocket- to let us know he had heat. and i for show wasn't about to die from this shit, but levi was like naw man, we gotta fuck him up.. and as much as i wanted to stomp on this fool, i wasn't ready to die over it. he was probably just grabbing a cell phone, but for one of the first times in my life, i saw my life flashing. in a split second i envisioned this cat pulling out a gun. my heart started beating fucking fast. i was thinking yo- for what?! i envisioned my blood being spilled out on the sidewalk- my guts hanging out. the dude put his hand in levi's face, asking him why he is hanging out with a low-life negao de merde. and levi started slapping his hands out of his face, and it looked like the shit was about to go down. and i said to levi- come on man- fuck it, lets bounce- it aint worth it. i was thinking about me being 22 years old! i was thinking about my mom, my dad, my fam. my bro. my sisters. my friends and family. i was thinking about how much living i got. and i was also thinking about how im bigger than this fool.. i managed to convince levi that this cat was not worth the energy we would spend fucking him up, and we started to go back to the gym to play hoops. less than 30 seconds later, we heard gun shots fired in the air- pop pop pop pop pop, followed by a scary laughter. damn...

why i deserve this shit?hmm. all these brazilian cats that say that brazilians don't see color, and that there is no racism or racial discriminiation here, and that all of the problems that affect people of color here is strickly due to economic and are not racial- IS SOME BULL SHIT!!! i already been knowing from day 1 when i arrived in brazil, and while the other 8 new white teachers walked 'freely' thru customs, me and the other brother, corey- a new history teacher were getting GRILLED!! they kept asking me why i had a computer. i told them i am a teacher! they said- but why does a muscian need a laptop. i told them again, that i am not an artist, and that i am in brazil to teach photography at the american high school of sao paulo. they half believed me, but the scrutiny continued. the worst part about it, was that the customs agents (or whoever they were) were smiling the whole time. like it was fun for them. power. control.

the memory of my welcome to brazil and being called a nigger on my doorstep will last forever, somewhat sandwiching my experience here- as my early impressions of the country were formed before i even stepped into the country itself- and as i prepare to leave this country, this is the final straw. there is so much in between. so many great people, so many beautiful places. the food. the dance. the soul of brazil. this is an amazing place. and although both my entrance and this exit are labled with the same scents of racism that flavor the states, they will not define my journey here.

sao paulo, brasil

2005-05-15T19:32:00.000-07:00

sao paulo, brasil is the birthplace for this blog. not really sure what i should write. not really sure who im writing for. not really sure why im doing all this. what i do know for sho, is that this rafael sadiiq is sounding real nice in my ear right now. so yea, im writing from sao paulo, brasil.

'night is where i find, you and peace of mind'..

i remember seeing and hearing this brother sweat out his soul in new york last february at SOBs downtown ny. my man was bleeding his heart, dropping tears of blackness, a violent and powerful show. oakland was definitely in the house.

so yea, once again, let me try to talk about sao paulo. or me in sao paulo.

this joint is mad big. 18 million cats. most of them poor. most of them can kill a samba beat. most of them beautiful. damn near all of em can play soccer- on some next level ish.. (if only they could be discovered).

i ride the bus a lot. i always bring a book to read, but i can never get in more than a paragraph- even when the ride is hours long. i be mad busy on these busses.. listening to the musical portugues, watching the beauitul brazilian faces. imagining their stories. it's a trip seeing people in their zone- with or without speaking. they could be a friend from back home, a cousin, an uncle, an aunt. sometimes i just can't believe that these folks aren't straight up black american! we are everywhere. our diaspora is vivid. and i am happy and extremely proud to be a part of it.

the brother rafael sadiiq is still kickin....