Lay Vicheka’s 30 Quotes For August 2005

Writen by Vicheka Lay

1. Unless you know who you are, you can’t proceed further.

2. Any existent product is started with “aspiration”.

3. Every path has its end and will be totally broken one day, educational path has no termination and will always demand betterments from day to day.

4. Start your new life, by wondering, “what is the purpose of my life”.

5. Never forget your past, but be always obsessive with your aspiring future.

6. Be genuinely honest with your self, then you will still be satisfied though today is your final day.

7. Be ambitious, but in your own way, not another’s way.

8. If one thing makes you regretful, there are countless more things, near and far, longing for your fulfillment.

9. Fulfill as much as possible for this life, because you don’t know that whether next life exists or not. Whether next life elitists or not is not important, because life and death has its own motive.

10. For self-actualization, self-independence is not adequate; you need to be financially sovereign.

11. If you think you are good and others think that you are good, you don’t need to boast about yourself, let the others boast about you, then you have no mistakes.

12. Be always alert! Making your life as serious as doing a huge investment.

13. Looking around you! There is nothing that is made of funny endeavor, but all are the products of serious hardship. So should your life be product-oriented or nothingness-oriented? You might be mature enough to answer this question.

14. You are contradicting the law if you stop fulfilling yourself, while you still eat three times per day, drink enough water, enjoy daily snack, and have adequate sleep.

15. Your hope must prevail, as you are entitled to have today and tomorrow

16. Be sympathetic to your surrounding living entities, then you will be satisfied with who you are and what you have accomplished.

17. Write you own constitution, and firmly respect it from cradle to crave. And hold it even in the last minute of your life.

18. There are many forms of entertainment, but not all entertainment is intelligent. Some entertainments are stupid. You decide yourself, which entertainment is intelligent and which is stupid.

19. Do not expect to have everything, you will have it when you don’t have to think about it.

20. Take serious approaches to every daily routine and solution.

21. You innately preserve the right to tell lie, but you are fully accountable for its repercussion.

22. You are lucky to live until today, since just a minute ago you was not accidentally murdered. Learn how to use you luck for another luck.

23. Always bear in mind that, every complication starts with simplicity, every civilization starts with simple thought.

24. Take some times alone every day to think of your surrounding.

25. Human being must firmly hold dignity in both life and death.

26. The most important of education is “understanding”

27. No one will be able to convince that you are the loser, if you thought you are the winner within your self.

28. No one at all that can distinguish between right and wrong, fact and fiction, it is within you to judge it.

29. No one is totally better than another, because philosopher can’t play football

30. Take philosophical approach to everything.

Lay Vicheka is the freelance writer and translator for the most celebrated translation agency in Cambodia. He was born November 10, 1983 in Phnom Penh, the heart of Cambodia. He is now the final year student of law with great interest and interferences in politics, history, psychology, culture and other humanity field. Contact: 855 11 268 445 or vichekalay@yahoo.com

Suffer, Men

Writen by Michael Jarryd Wilson

I love women.

Wait a minute. Let’s get this started on the good foot so as not to knock my wife off her axis. Love you baby. What I mean is that I love what women bring into this world. Smiles, love, laughter. Creativity. Sweet kisses and soft hands. But more literally, they bring us children. Children are what keeps us moving onward and upward in our society. Not only that, but they are a constant (beautiful) reminder of the pain that every woman, barren or fertile, must endure on a regular basis.

I’m not only talking about childbirth, but the oppressive ailment that affects womankind during the years of safe babymaking when she isn’t carrying a little person inside. After that, minor afflictions such as hormone imbalances and hot flashes take over. Those years, I hear, are somewhat more golden.

Men do not understand what it means to suffer in this way. Aside from any illness, we do not have a built in disorder that provokes us to lash out, mainly at the opposite sex, in an attempt to balance the proverbial imbalance caused by this demon that rears its head faithfully on a daily basis. Well, maybe not daily for you women, but for us men it is an accepted truth that we will face at least one situation with the female species who is suffering from this incurable disease.

I love women. Let me explain.

Women are a sweet, fragile, thoughtful and highly emotional work of art who should be cherished and loved and treated with the utmost respect and generosity and looked upon as a most beautiful flower. We men have a hard time grasping this concept sometimes. Many times. Ok, all the time. We seem to never get it right. We sincerely try to be soft gentle guy but we all have experienced this very intimate exchange. For example, the man will say to his honey, “I want to take you out for dinner tonight. Where would you like to go?”

“WHAT did you DO??!” she replies, as if his invitation was meant to be a distraction from an earlier wrongdoing on his part. After taking a couple of steps backward from the sheer force of her words, he regains his fortitude and recovers nicely, if not just a little shaken, for the next round.

As he begins to sweat from the fear she has put in him through the glare in her eyes, he replies, “I don’t..know. I was thinking you, about you, and I, I thought I would give you a break from tonight, cooking? What are you in the mood for?”

She looks at her husband disdainfully for what seems to be an hour - then begins to cry. “Are you saying I’m moody? I am NOT! I am perfectly fine and would appreciate it if you would stop saying all these mean things to me!”

Men, we all know at this point there is no defense to defend us in this battle as we lie defenseless. We have seriously offended our offender in a very offensive manner as if there were no greater offense. Somehow, this beast has managed to turn the glorious, glowing woman figure into a menacing intimidator and made us to be the weak, lame, beaten…man(?) creature. All this in less than 30 seconds.

Women may say men don’t have any legitimate source of natural pain in their lives to lay claim to. But I speak for all men when I say: isn’t this suffering enough? Is there no sadder picture than that of a man who is feeble and exposed, covered in the poisonous muck of the woman’s emotional regurgitation, devoid of any strength to attempt even the most humble sort of comeback, if only to restore his fading sense of manhood? We’ve all been there, man. And we will inevitably be there on countless future occasions. Furthermore, we shall not overcome.

Respect to all the brave men in the world who consistently come up against this beast and keep coming back for more. After all, what else are you going to do? Go forth and suffer greatly as all men should.

©2003 warmCHiL

The Romantic Idealization of American Indians in Early American Literature

Writen by Mary Arnold

One of the major controversies in the acquisition and development of America as an independent nation was the dilemma concerning the people who were already here. As a Christian people, it would have been sinful for our founders to just ‘take’ the land from other peoples. Therefore, the settlers and the succeeding generations began romanticizing the Indians, depicting them as either noble children of nature in need of civilization and Christianity or as ferocious, demonic savages in need of extermination. Neither view exhibited the reality of the Native Americans. From the earliest American writings, this image of the Indian, either as inherently noble or inherently evil, has persisted in our culture to the present.

In Columbus’ letter regarding his first voyage to the Americas, he describes a virtual Garden of Eden. While he does not describe the natives he encounters in great detail, it is safe to assume that he did not find them to be menacing or ferocious savages based on the content of his letter. Columbus states that he “sent two men inland to learn if there were a king or great cities” and that the men traveled for three days and “found an infinity of small hamlets and people without number” (Norton 26). Surely Columbus would not have sent two men among the Indians if he had any indication that the Indians would not be peaceful and welcoming.

However in his letter to Ferdinand and Isabella, Columbus’ view of the natives has changed. In pleading his plight to his sovereigns, Columbus says he is in “daily expectation of death” and “encompassed about by a million savages, full of cruelty” (Norton 28). These contrary and romanticized depictions of the Native Americans would be picked up and even expanded on by later American writers.

William Bradford carried on peaceful and friendly relations with the Indians that lived where they set up Plymouth Plantation. The Pilgrims made a treaty with the chief Massasoit which continued “24 years” (Norton 86). Additionally, Bradford transfers romantic qualities to Squanto, an Indian who had been captured and taken to England. Bradford says of Squanto that there are “scarce any left alive besides himself” which instigates the “vanishing Indian” myth that Cooper later uses for his narrative (Norton 87). Bradford also idealizes Squanto by referring to him as a “special instrument sent of God for [the Pilgrims] good” (Norton 87).

The writings of John Smith further emphasize the ambiguous feelings of the Europeans towards the Indians. When he and his men were in danger of starving to death, Smith describes how God “changed the hearts of the savages” so as to provide food for the Europeans (Norton 45). The indication here is clear: that the Indians are ’savage’ by nature but all that is needed to make them good people is Christianity.

When Smith is later taken hostage by Powhatan and his tribe, he narrates how he was “kindly feasted and well used” (Norton 49). But despite this, Smith remains fearful of the Indians, no matter how much he tries to make himself sound bold and unafraid. The fact that he is afraid of the Indians and their personal nature is seen through Smith’s description of the Indians in language and imagery that is horrifying. He depicts them as “devils,” “fiends,” having a “hellish voice” and entertaining him with “strange and fearful conjurations” (Norton 50). Smith is definitely romanticizing the Indians by making them seem as if they are demons from Hell.

These three romantic idealizations of the Indian (noble warrior, bloodthirsty savage, and vanishing Indian) converge in James Fenimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans. As the title suggests, the tribe of the Mohicans has been so very diminished that only two remain, Chingachgook and his son Uncas. This exhibits the “vanishing Indian” mythology.

The tribes of Indians that are the central focus in Cooper’s narrative are the Mohicans (Delawares) and the Iroquois (Mohawks). These tribes are depicted in the characters of Chingachgook and Uncas (Mohicans), and Magua, who even though was born a Huron, has became a member of the Iroquois federation. According to Cooper, both of these tribes are vanishing due to the “inroads of civilization” (Cooper 6). Chingachgook tells Hawkeye when his son Uncas dies “there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores” because Uncas is the last of the pure blood Mohicans (Cooper33).

As for the Six Nations of the Iroquois, Cooper tells the reader in a footnote that:

There are remnants of all these people still living on lands secured to them by the state; but they are daily disappearing, either by deaths or by removals to scenes more congenial to their habits. In a short time there will be no remains of these extraordinary people, in those regions in which they dwelt for centuries. (Cooper 20)

Thus does Cooper romanticize the idea of the “vanishing Indian myth.”

In his introduction to the first edition of his novel, Cooper describes the “native warriors of America” in the following manner:

In war, he is daring, boastful, cunning, ruthless, self-denying, and self-devoted; in peace, just, generous, hospitable, revengeful, superstitious, modest, and commonly chaste. (Cooper 5)

This type of description of Indians denies their individuality in human emotions and characteristics. As such, it romanticizes them by assigning them inviolable personality traits. Of the narrative’s three main Indian characters, Chingachgook and Uncas are idealized as the “noble warriors” and Magua is romanticized as the “bloodthirsty savage.” None of these characters are presented in a realistic, humanistic fashion. They are spoken of in language that portrays them as highly exalted or irretrievably degraded.

In his first appearance in the novel, Chingachgook is seen seated on a log, engaged in a debate with Hawkeye. Chingachgook uses “calm and expressive gestures” and the posture of his body to “heighten” the effect of his “earnest language” (Cooper 29). He has reached middle age, but has no “symptoms of decay” that would suggest a lessening of “his manhood” (Cooper 29). Furthermore, even though Chingachgook is habitually suspicious, he is “not only without guile” but is possessed of “sturdy honesty” (Cooper 30). These physical and mental traits provide us with the classic image of the strong and stoic Indian warrior, one who is brave and fearless when necessary but kind and calm also. Chingachgook’s son Uncas is idealized even more than his father is.

Uncas is “fearless”, “dignified,” “noble,” “proud,” “determined,” “brave,” and “constant” (Cooper 53). Even Alice, who is fearful of all Indians, says of Uncas that she “could sleep in peace with such a fearless and generous looking youth for her sentinel” (Cooper 53). And Duncan allows that Uncas is a “rare and brilliant instance of those natural qualities” existing in Indians (Cooper 53). This portrayal of Uncas suggests that he is not like others of his tribe or race; that he is somehow exalted above the rest. Cooper plays up this exaltation of Uncas by revealing that he is descended from a noble chief (implying that Uncas’ blood is ‘royal’) later in the novel when Uncas is about to be burned at the stake (Cooper 309).

When Uncas is sentenced to death, his friends react in various ways: Duncan struggles to get free, Hawkeye anxiously looks around for a way to escape, and Cora throws herself at Tamenund’s feet to plead for mercy for Uncas (Cooper 309). Only Uncas remains calm and serene. He watches the preparations for the fire with a “steady eye” and does not resist when the other Indians come to seize him (Cooper 309). One gets the impression that if Uncas had not been spared by the discovery of his tortoise tattoo, he would have went to his death calmly without saying one word to save himself. This is a highly idealized portrait of a person, not so would we expect someone to act in this particular circumstance no matter how brave the person was.

At the opposite side of human nature, Cooper romanticizes the character of Magua as intrinsically evil and depraved. Other than being brave and fearless, Magua has no qualities that would be considered good as possessing. Magua is described as having the “characteristic stoicism” of his race, but his countenance exhibits a “sullen fierceness” (Cooper 17). Further Magua’s expression is “cunning,” “savage,” “repulsive,” and having an eye “which [glistens] like a fiery star” (Cooper 18). Alice is afraid of Magua, based on his physical appearance, and refers to him as a “spectre” inhabiting the woods (Cooper 20). Cora tends to give Magua the benefit of the doubt, even though she first looks upon him with “pity, admiration, and horror” (Cooper 19). Even Duncan, who says he knows Magua well and trusts him, tells Alice not to show any distrust or fear to Magua, or she may “invite the danger [she] appears to apprehend” (Cooper 21). This admonition to Alice displays Duncan’s tendency to equate Magua with some species of wild animal, which will attack when sensing fear.

The idealization of Indians in Last of the Mohicans exhibits the period’s ambivalence towards the first inhabitants of the Americas. The colonists tended to either romanticize them as children of God or nature, or as savage, brutal heathens. This attitude towards the Indians began with Columbus and, in some degree, still exists today.

Sources

Norton Anthology of American Literature

The Last of the Mohicans

Mary Arnold holds a B.A. in literature and history. She is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Creative Writers.

Her writing portfolio may be viewed at http://www.Writing.com/authors/ja77521

Warren Buffet

Writen by Mark Crisp

He also made money by collecting and selling lost golf balls. Buffett’s interest in finance was clear extremely early on in his life.

He started playing the stock market with one of his sisters when he was eleven. At twelve, he was betting on horses, and by high school he had started a business (pinball machines) with a friend, which earned him fifty dollars a week. Not only did he own a business by graduation, but he also had bought himself forty acres of Nebraskan farm land with his profit. Graduate school was a formative time for Buffett.

It was there that he met Benjamin Graham, an economic scholar whose work Buffett had begun studying in college. Buffett believed strongly in Graham’s theory that it is wise to look for stocks of companies which are undervalued, which will most probably prosper with a little time. Thus began Buffett’s untraditional approach to portfolio management. After working for his father’s investment banking company for the three years after business school, Buffett returned to Graham and worked as a security analyst at Graham’s company for two years until 1956.

In that year, at the age of twenty-five, Buffett started his own investment company, the Buffett Partnership, using $5,000 of his own funds and collecting $100,000 from interested friends and family.

One of the smartest moves made by Buffet’s company at that time was to invest in American Express. In 1963, a scandal surrounded AmEx, and Wall Street believed the company was near the end. But Buffett, always with his wits about him and his thinking cap on, noticed when in restaurants and shops that customers were still using the card to buy. He went ahead and bought 5 percent of the stock, which by 1961 had risen from 35 to 189 market points. Buffett is now chairman of Berkshire Hathaway Inc., which makes the long-term investments which Buffett is so adept at choosing.

Mark Crisp
The Momentum Stock Trader
http://www.stressfreetrading.com

If Only I Could Be An Earthworm

Writen by Robert Crane

Maureen Dowd was on Imus the other morning plugging her new book, “Are Men Necessary”; a book I plan to buy so I can get some slightly demented insight into the mind of a troubled woman. During the interview, Imus and his sidekick Charles challenged Ms. Dowd about a female perception she had just suggested that all heterosexual men froth at the mouth at the mere mention of a trip to a strip club or the possibility of a cat fight or the chance two women might lock in lesbian love making. Imus proclaimed that he, even amidst the weakness of lowly cocaine induced comas and vodka fed stupors, never stepped inside a topless joint. Charles nodded his head in brotherhood like the bobble-head doll he is sometimes. Their point being, not all men are beasts; that some have evolved above such shameful sexual servitude.

A couple of things.

First, Imus and Charles are probably lying through their coffee stained teeth about visiting strip clubs.

Second, I have frequented such establishments years ago. I eventually concluded that go-go bars are places where prematurely balding, man-boobed, middle aged business men hire enterprising young shapely women, forming a convenient unholy alliance of distrust to tap into the cash cow created when injured fragile male egos are deceived by alcohol induced sexual fantasy. All the females need to do is squirm provocatively while whispering real sweet nothings into customers’ hair filled ears. And if carried out correctly, the dollars shoot out of the slobbering stooges like ATMs in gleeful male orgasm. Make no mistake about it; the dancer is always in control of the patron. And when she is not, she moves on to the next penis clad cash machine. The only cost to her is to turnover some obscene percentage of the take to her sleazy male boss. It’s a business after all, and business is still a male dominated endeavor.

Third, if one has ever listened to Imus for more than an hour, one knows he and his cronies takes delight in sexually stereotyping and demeaning women. This idea that Charles and he are better than that is all part of the act.

For instance, a few minutes further into the same interview, Imus commented on the “balls” it took for Maureen Dowd to write a particular op-ed piece about Judith Millera remark that she quickly and graciously accepted with a simple and sweet, “thank you”. Although I haven’t checked, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Ms. Dowd does not have testicles. So why was she so quick to acknowledge and accept what I’m guessing she felt was a compliment? I’m pretty sure that bravery, fearlessness, strength, and convictionall nice attributes to have when kept in check by common senseare not gender assigned. And I’m positive they are not a function of male genitalia. I’m equally convinced that reluctance, fearfulness, and weakness do not require one to have a vagina.

It’s one thing, a very feeble thing at that, for Imus and his crew or even Jon Stewart and Al Franken for that matterall professed non-chauviniststo use male-centric language in an “equal opportunity” way; misguided into believing that somehow they are treating women and men equally.

It is another thing though for Maureen Dowd to acknowledge and welcome her inclusion into the club. She could have simply said, “Imus are you suggesting that I have to be a man to be tough?”

I am sure if asked Maureen Dowd would say without hesitation that she is a feminist or at least a proponent of feminist beliefs. Why then did she let Imus off the hook and indulge in the myth?

Like many things about feminists, I don’t get it. They can be their own worst enemy from time to timejust like Democrats when they run a national campaign.

Here is another example of something I don’t get. Why do some corporate feminists find short tight skirts, plunging necklines and push-up bras to be the business suit of choice? I suppose they might argue, just as strippers might, that they are simply using their power over men to get what they want. And on some level I understand that argument: play into the male need to be the sexual alpha dog as long as the targeted objective is personal gain. This attitude however strikes me as feeding the very stereotyping and sexism women want to end, which leads me into a short discussion of another dilemma I have with feminism. Within the last few years, I have been introduced to the forefront of feminist thought. Well not introduced exactly, more like pummeled. Here is what I have learned. I have something called. “white male privilege”. Essentially, whether I consciously or subconsciously acknowledge that privilege, it doesn’t matter. I have it and I need to “own it”. I’m pretty sure that means I have to fess up to it and wear it like a scarlet letter (although a white penis will do just fine). Believe me! I understand the importance of the concept. The dried blood tracking from my ears is proof positive of the difficulties and hard work it took me to reach that understanding.

But that’s as far as the feminists have taken me. I’m afraid to tell them but it’s like a false crescendo. It can’t be the end of the symphony. Okay, so I “own” white male privilege. What next? There must be more. Am I supposed to give it up someday? Is it like owning an unregistered gun? Will there be a turn-in-your-white-male-privilege amnesty day? I’d be more than happy to if I just knew when, where and to whom? Or come to think of it, maybe not. What takes its place? Or worse, who gets it next? Gee, maybe I should take advantage of it more consciously while I still have it.

Anyway, in the meantime, as I meander aimlessly, I’m going to refrain from saying stuff like, “Hey that Barbara Boxer, she sure has some pouch of brass nuggets on her.” I will also try to be more cognizant of this privilege I have and renounce it at every turn. It’s all I can do until I get further instructions.

You know, I can’t help but think if reincarnation happens, I might want to come back as an earthworm. They have both the male and female sex organs. When they mate they impregnate each other. Everything is “even up”. And the result is that they are a pretty happy bunch. You don’t hear about earthworms having male/female issues. Okay so they have other issuesfish hooks being a big one. But quite frankly, I’m not sure that is any worse; sometimes I think it is a whole lot better.

The above article was wrtten by humorist Robert Crane. Similar articles, short stories, and satire by Robert can be found at his popular site: http://www.cranelegs.com

Drop by!

Black Literature: Hughes, Cullen, Baraka, and Madhubuti

Writen by Timothy Stelly Sr

The term “Jazzoetry” was coined by the Last Poets, who used it as the name of one of their albums. The term was applied to the revolutionary style of poetry with a jazz background that they had popularized during their 70s heyday. While the term may not have applied so much to the written word, particularly that before it, there were black poets who wrote with an afrocentric flow and fervor that was inspiration and insightful.

Amiri Baraka is one such poet and is considered the founding father of the Black Arts Movement. He was born Everett LeRoi Jones, in Newark, New Jersey, October 7, 1934.

Baraka (still writing under his given name of LeRoi Jones) found success early, winning the Obie In 1964 for his racially-charged play, “The Dutchman,” which focused on the brief, but volatile rapport between a young black man and a blonde temptress. He later opened a school that emphasized blackness in an artistic, musical, poetic and dramatic context.

He later divorced his (white) wife and adopted a more nationalist perspective and changed his name to Imamu Amiri Baraka. He remarried, to Sylvia Robinson, who adopted the name Amina Baraka.

In 1961 Baraka had his work, “Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note” published. Two years later came, “Blues People.” But his real notoriety came when his poetry took on a stance similar to that of the Black Muslim Movement and took on what many labeled an “Anti-Semitic” tenor. Since then he has published 17 other books, including “Four Black Revolutionary Plays” (1969), “Raise Race Rays Raize: Essays Since 1965, 1971,” “The Autobiography of LeRoi Jones/Amiri Baraka” (1984), and “Somebody Blew Up America” (2001).

In 2002 Baraka was named Poet Laureate of New Jersey. One of his detractors is negro lickspittle and anti-affirmative Action crusader,. Ward Connerly. He described Baraka as, “One of America’s premier haters and anti-Semites,” in reference to the poem, “Somebody Blew Up America.” That particular work accused Israel of having prior knowledge of the 911 attacks and did nothing to alert Americans. Because of the ensuing controversy, Baraka resigned his post in 2003.

Connerly elaborated: “the New Jersey Council for the Humanities and the New Jersey State Council on the Arts formed a panel that appointed this “artist” as poet laureate. That’s right. They appointed him to this prestigious paid position ($10,000 for a two-year term, no less) in spite of the fact that he had published dozens of anti-Jewish, anti-white, pro-Black Panther screeds during the last 25 years…Did they really think his hate-infused, Jew-bashing, hip-hop-like lyrics were truly poetic?…Now I’m starting to wonder if there aren’t more Amiri Barakas out there, dishing out filth and hate under the guise of a poet laureate of another state. It wouldn’t hurt any of us to check this out.”

Technically different, Countee Cullen was born in Louisville, Kentucky, March 30, 1903, (though for most of his life he claimed New York City as his birthplace. Along with Richard Wright, Langston Hughes, Phillis Wheatley and Paul Laurence Dunbar. Among others, Cullen was one of the stars of the Harlem Renaissance. During this time He published several books of poetry, “Color” (1925), “Copper Sun” (1927) and “The Ballad of the Brown Girl” (1927)..

While his themes were black, many believed he “wrote white.” Cullen experimented with sonnets, quatrains, and other poetic forms and was influenced by John Keats. However, his work often dealt with racial issues.”

One such poem is “Simon the Cyrenian Speaks”:

He never spoke a word to me / And yet He called my name / He never gave a sign to me / And yet I knew and came.

At first I said, “I will not bear / His cross upon my back / He only seeks to place it there / Because my skin is black.

But He was dying for a dream / And He was very meek, And in His eyes there shone a gleam / Men journey far to seek.

It was Himself my pity bought / I did for Christ alone What all of Rome could not have wrought / With bruise of lash or stone.

There is a symmetry and flow to his words. It is simple yet powerful in its expression of suffering. Cullen died in 1946, falling victim to high blood pressure.

Haki R. Madhubuti is a poet who has risen to literary prominence in the Black Arts Movement. He gained his first successes writing poetry during the 60’s and early 70’s writing under his given name, Don L. Lee (He changed his name in 1973). He is also an essayist and is founder of and editor at Third World Press, the oldest Black publishing company in the Unites States. He is also a noted lecturer and educator, serving as the director of the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing Program at Chicago State University.

Madhubuti was born in Little Rock, Arkansas February 23, 1942, but was raised in Detroit. He started his literary career in 1967 with the publication of a collection of essays titled, “Think Black.” Some of his other poetic offerings include the collections, “We Walk the Way of the World,” and “Don’t Cry, Scream.” He has published 18 other books including, “Black Men: Obsolete, Single, Dangerous,” “The African American Family in Transition,” and “Claiming Earth: Race, Rage, Rape, Redemption.”

His perspective is decidedly pro-black, seeking to raise issues for discussion and dissemination. One of his conscious-raising works is “Change Up,” which says:

change-up/ change-up,/ let’s go for ourselves/ both cheeks are broken now./ change-up,/ move past the corner bar,/ let yr/split lift u above that quick high./ change-up…/

He again takes a point-blank approach in “My Brothers, My Brothers”:

my brothers/ my brothers i will not tell you/ who to love or not love/ i will only say to you/ that/ Black women have not been/ loved enough./ i will say to you/ that/ we are at war & that/ Black men in america are/ being removed from the/ earth/

Madhubuti states, “We are only equipped to survive, but survival is not enough. We go to malls and stores to buy products from people who don’t even like us…We are buying stuff and we worship ownership. But first we must take ownership of ourselves–when you don’t know yourself, you have no ownership of yourself. If all Black children were made aware of their culture and history beyond the context of slavery, they would rise above the limited frustrations of others and themselves.”

James Mercer Langston Hughes was born February 1, 1902 in Joplin, Missouri. He died May 22, 1967 of cancer. During that 65-year span he created a vast body of work that includes more than 25 books (16 were poetry books), twenty plays, several autobiographical works and radio and television scripts. Some of his most notable works are “The Big Sea,” “I Wonder As I Wander,” “Shakespeare In Harlem” and “The Best of Simple.”

At age 17 he went to Mexico for a year, and despite being with his father found it not to his liking. He also served a hitch in the army and traveled the world, including several trips to Russia and to Africa. The latter influenced his writing, especially in the poem, “The Negro Speaks of Rivers.”

Langston began writing poetry in the eighth grade. Years later and against his father’s wishes, he dropped out of Columbia University. Shortly thereafter his first poem (”The Negro Speaks of Rivers”) was published. Known primarily as a poet, Hughes earned distinction by penning plays, essays and novels as well. He created a series of books on a dim-witted character he called, Jess B. Simple.

But his most well-known work is the poem, “A Dream Deferred”:

What happens to a dream deferred?/ Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore– / And then run? / Does it stink like rotten meat? / Or crust and sugar over– like a syrupy sweet? / Maybe it just sags / like a heavy load./ Or does it explode?

Hughes asserted, “We younger Negro artists now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame. If white people are pleased we are glad. If they aren’t, it doesn’t matter. We know we are beautiful. And ugly too… If colored people are pleased we are glad. If they are not, their displeasure doesn’t matter either. We build our temples for tomorrow, as strong as we know how and we stand on the top of the mountain, free within ourselves.”

Hughes heyday was in the 20’s. After a trip to Africa in 1923, he returned and flourished during the Harlem Renaissance. He took a job working under Carter G. Woodson, editor of the Journal of, but returned to Harlem in 1926. He also returned to school (University of Pennsylvania), earning his B.A. degree three years later.

The influence of these four men is alive and well, their works srving as an impetus for today’s new cadre of black poets.

Paul P. Reuben, “Amiri Baraka / LeRoi Jones,” Perspectives in American Literature, chapter 10

Ward Connerly, “Amiri Baraka Hits a New Low,” The Washington Times, October 11, 2002

Amiri Baraka profile, Wikipedia

Biography of Langston Hughes, Wikipedia

Andrew P. Jackson (Sekou Molefi Baako), “Langston Hughes” No additional information available

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Timothy N. Stelly, Sr. is a poet and novelist residing in Northern California. He has authored two books, “Tempest In The Stone” and “The Malice of Cain.” He is a frequent contributor to several e-zines.

Double Peppermint Schnapps on the Rocks

Writen by Kingston Amadan

Many years ago when I was young, attractive and a viable commodity on the dating market, I was employed as a bartender. Believe it or not, I actually went to “school” to learn this trade. I was living in Las Vegas at the time, and I decided to attend a local bartending academy (translated - you pay us and we’ll get you a job as a bartender).

Six years, 50,000 bottles of Bud Light and several hundred Captain and cokes later I finally hung up my shaker, but not before I learned a valuable trick ot two about meeting other singles at a club. The three peices of wisdom I feel safe imparting with are as follows:

# 1 Never go alone

#2 Pretend you don’t care if you meet someone or not (even though we both know what you are there for, you slut) AND…

#3 Double peppermint shnapps on the rocks

OK, 1 and 2 are fairly simple to understand…but what’s up with number 3, you ask?

It’s simple, really. You’ve shown up looking like a million dollars (or $138.57 in my case). You make eye contact with the guy or girl you want to meet. You finally muster up the courage to go over and introduce yourself and then what do you do? Of course…you lean in and turn your head so as not to expose your future victim to the intoxicating mix of cheap beer and saliva your teeth are fermenting in.

Why do you do this? You do it because YOU KNOW your breath is bad. How could it not be? Most mixed drinks, beer and liquors aren’t doing your delivery any favors. So what’s the solution? Double peppermint schnapps on the rocks. I remember vividly that one gentleman at a nightclub I worked at always ordered it, every single time he came in. Guess what…he never went home alone unless he wanted to.

Let’s face it, you wouldn’t immediately dismiss a man or woman who slurred his or her speech while hitting on you but you would put the kabash on a bad breath encounter quicker than you could say “last call”. No one likes to see someone at their worst, but to smell someone at their worst is far more disgusting. So the next time you go to the club looking for a romantic encounter, order the one drink that might help you out.

If you really want to be safe, send one over to the table of the person you are interested in before you take that long walk over to make your case. Good luck and good breath.

A BadBreathOGram is an e-mail you send to someone who you want to know has bad breath but you do not want to confront directly. Give it a try. Tell someone they have bad breath.

If You Don’t Know, Mumble

Writen by John Dir

Lately, I have had a hard time understanding the language coming across my answering machine. The volume on the messages is adequate, but the speech is garbled by the familiarity of the caller.

If a stranger calls to leave you information regarding the purpose of their call, they had better hope they do not have an unusual name, or there could be real trouble. Recently, I got a call from someone at a company. They slurred their words together so badly, all I could catch from playing the message back at least 10 times was a first name and a telephone number to return the call.

I don’t know how most people feel, but I am very uncomfortable with returning calls to people I do not recognize, for fear of receiving a phone solicitation. As I tried to catch the company name given in the message, I went back over several weeks of contact information, and found the name of a company that sounded the most like the slurred name in the message. I looked in my address book, and found there was indeed a company with that phone number in my book, but the person who left the message was not anyone I had notes of speaking with before.

Since the number left on my answering machine was a long distance number, I went out on the web to see if the company had a toll free number to call. I got a toll free listing, and dialed it, only to get an automated menu that required touch tone of the first four letters of the first name to make a contact.

The person I tried to call sounded like the first name was Cory, Corey, Carie, or something like that, and trying the name got me caught up in four dead end loops on the automated system. On the fifth try at the automated menu, I left a message that I was returning a call from … then I mumbled the best reproduction I could make of the garbled name from the previous message. I had no idea what I was saying, but it was as close as I could get to the way the person had rattled off their name. I might just as well have said the name Coryworm.

To my surprise, I got a return call a few minutes later from the right person. So, in today’s rapid business world, if you have a phone number and a good mumble, all will turn out right in the end. However, if you have an unusual name and want to leave someone a message, enunciation is the better part of valor.

Director of Software Concepts BHO Technologists - LittleTek Center Teaching computers to work with people. HTTP://home.earthlink.net/~jdir

The Romantic Spirit of the Harlem Renaissance: Concluding Thoughts

Writen by Mary Arnold

Although in these articles, I focused on just a few elements of the Harlem Renaissance that I learned from my research, there is so much more to be discovered about this intense, vibrant period in American history. As I stated in my introduction, I knew very little about the Harlem Renaissance before beginning this quest, and there is much that I learned that was not included in these articles, e.g. the historical and social context that led to the Harlem Renaissance (increased number of lynchings and race riots, tightening of restrictions placed on blacks, the psychological effects of World War I on African Americans, etc.). Besides the people mentioned in these articles, I learned quite a bit about many other participants in the Harlem Renaissance who contributed greatly to the movement.

Because of the limits of these articles, I had to neglect many of the people, white and black, who supported the Harlem artists, with encouragement, subsidies, or living expenses. But these patrons, such as Charlotte Mason, played an important role in the Harlem Renaissance also and should not be buried in obscurity anymore than the artists. I have endeavored to give others an overview of the Harlem Renaissance in hopes to pique their interest as mine was. It is up to us to keep these artists from sinking into oblivion again as many of them did at one time.

Let us not fail them.

It is an old platitude that the more one learns, the less one knows. This is undoubtedly true. I have learned quite a bit about the Harlem Renaissance, but through this research, I see that there is so much more that I do not know about it. This is not an end to my quest; I am now even more intrigued with this period of literary history. The artists that I have discussed are the ones that most interested me; therefore I plan to continue this discovery of the Harlem Renaissance by beginning with studying the works of those eight artists. I am particularly drawn to Zora Neale Hurston, so her novels and essays will be the first that I explore. I am also especially interested in Langston Hughes’ and Wallace Thurman’s works, but I hope to examine many others also, particularly Jessie Fauset, Nella Larsen, James Weldon Johnson, and Jean Toomer.

The primary issue that my research has interested me most is the theme of ‘passing’ and transgressing boundaries. This concept is not limited to people transgressing racial barriers, but could also be applied to social, economic, and gendered boundaries. Thus the issue takes on a broader context, one worth exploring in more detail. Why do people attempt to oppose boundaries, and what are the consequences if they do?

Mary Arnold holds a B.A. in literature and history. She is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Writers.

Her writing portfolio may be viewed at http://www.Writing.com/authors/ja77521

Just Say No To Sex; Dr. Coburn Shows You How! #7

Writen by Tom Attea

(Extended spoof, presented In 10 installments of 4 pages each. This is the seventh installment; previous ones are presented on this site or below each new installment at NewsLaugh, in case you miss one or more.)

As the days passed, the trouble with conducting the pretense became increasingly evident to Dan. Since he had to avoid making overt attempts to overcome Melanie’s resistance, he was coming dangerously close to losing his bet.

“No, Eddie, not yet!” he said into his cell phone, as he waited for Dr. Coburn to begin another lesson. “I didn’t lose. I just haven’t made my move yet . Yeah, I’ll let you know . See ya.”

He got up and walked around the den. He saw the big photograph of Melanie that Dr. Coburn kept on his desk and picked it up. He looked at it just as Dr. Coburn entered, accompanied by Dr. Ernst.

“Nice photo of Melanie, isn’t it?” Dr. Coburn asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said.

“Took it myself,” he replied, and referred to his companion.

“You remember Dr. Ernst?”

“Hi, there,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Fox. Dr. Coburn tells me you’ve become an excellent student of his method?”

“Right. I like a lot of things about it.”

“I see,” she said. “It’s all a conundrum to me.”

“The proof is in the progress,” Dr. Coburn advised her. Then he turned to Dan and asked, “Do you mind if Dr. Ernst observes one of our sessions?”

“No problem.”

“I want her to see for herself how much you’ve learned.”

“Sure.”

“Take your usual place,” he said, and suggested that Dr. Ernst have a seat. Then he launched into the lesson. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

“Fire away,” Dan told him.

“OK, here goes. Now, what do you think of when I say the word ’sex?’”

“What else? Mexico.”

“And if that fails?”

“Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“And last but not least?”

“Self-service.”

Dr. Coburn turned to Dr. Ernst. “What do you think?”

“Remarkable,” she replied.

“You see the power of my method before you. Now, observe this! Dan, quickly, give me Coburn’s ninety-second axiom of abstinence.”

Without hesitation, he recited, “‘Nudity leads to reckless endangerment. Reckless endangerment leads to copulation. Therefore, nudity must be avoided.’”

“Right you are, Danny boy!” Dr. Coburn exclaimed, and turned to Dr. Ernst, “And in less than three weeks. What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to ask Mr. Fox a question.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Without his feeling inhibited by your distinguished presence, if that’s possible?” she requested.

“Of course. I shall step out until recalled.”

“Thank you.”

“Remember your training, even in my absence,” Dr. Coburn advised him.

“Will you please leave us alone for a moment?” she asked again.

“I was just going, Priscilla.” He winked at Dan and then made for the door.

When he had closed it behind him, Dr. Ernst turned to Dan. “Mr. Fox, I want you to be candid with me. There’s more at stake than you know? And what I mean by that is, the more his malarkey catches on, the more it could add to the chorus of conservative sentiment that hopes to curtail authentic sex education and safe sex.”

“Yes, Dr. Ernst.”

“So what do you really think of all this nonsense?”

“I think it has a place, I mean, for the people it helps out.”

“You do?”

“It works for me.”

“Really? Then may I ask, when was the last time you had sex?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“That long?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’ve been studying here for almost three weeks.”

“I lapsed once, I mean, before Dr. Coburn created a new axiom to get me through twice as much temptation as I could stand.”

“Twice as much?”

“Two girls, hitting on me at the same time.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose such an invitation would be somewhere in the mix of your legendary sexual prowess. But let me ask you. You haven’t succumbed since then?”

“Not once.”

“Or twice?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re convinced his method can preserve you from sexual delight even after you’re on your own?”

“I know it’ll be tough. But not after I complete the course.”

“You don’t mind if I remain a bit skeptical, do you?” Dr. Ernst asked.

“Hey, I can hardly blame you. I mean, who can know anything for certain? But can’t you say the same thing for the results you get with the things you probably stand for? I mean, I can’t tell you how many times I just didn’t have time to stop and put on a condom.”

“Nevertheless, if you always did moderate your sexual exigencies for a moment, you could take the one step that would very nearly always let you enjoy safe sex. It is teaching you the importance of that precaution that I will continue to advocate, despite your miraculous response to his verbal hokum.”

“I understand,” Dan said, “I mean, whoever heard of an argument that only had one side?”

“All truth is one, Mr. Fox. When it is evident, everyone should champion it,” she advised him, and then called toward the door. “You can come back in, Dickey.”

Dr. Coburn reentered promptly, apparently having lurked within inches of the door. He was so eager to hear her evaluation of Dan’s progress that he even forwent giving her the usual reprimand he reserved for the particular form of his first name that she had just accosted him with.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked Dr. Ernst.

“He seems to have become at least a quasi adherent.”

“You still suspect his genuineness?”

“And ever will,” she confirmed.

“Don’t be too sure of that, Priscilla. I expect, in fact, that in time you’ll be telling the medical school that my method is cause for celebration. But first he must complete his studies.”

“I expect he will continue his specious tutelage. Let me know when he graduates.” Then she turned to Dan. “Good luck with your education.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Let me walk you to the door,” Dr. Coburn suggested.

“Oh, don’t let me take away from his class time. I can let myself out.”

“As you wish,” he agreed.

She gave Dan one last skeptical glance and made her exit. As she was crossing the living room, Melanie was coming down the stairs.

“Hi, Dr. Ernst,” Melanie said.

“Hello, dear.” “Tell me, Melanie, what do you think of Dan’s progress?”

“I’m honestly not sure.”

“You aren’t?”

“At first I thought he was a total liar and just wished he’d go away. But now I’m not 100% sure.”

“You haven’t by any chance grown fond of him?”

“Me?”

“Well, it’s not for nothing that half the girls on campus would die to be with him. I suppose he is, in his simple-minded way, unusually attractive.”

“So they say,” Melanie replied.

“But he’s not your type?”

“I’ve been trained not to think that way.”

“And your training is holding up?”

“Sure.” Dr. Ernst smiled.

“You said that a bit tentatively.”

“I did?”

“Yes.” Then she looked at Melanie in a confidential manner. “May nature take its course.”

“I’m not allowed to let that happen.”

“That’s right. But you are, after all, only human. And therein, my dear, I find cause for hope, despite your ludicrous indoctrination.”

“It’s not ludicrous.”

“We shall see, shan’t we?” Dr. Ernst said, and departed.

End of Installment Seven

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”