An Online Book Club!

What an absolutely marvelous idea...an online book club!  I know that lots of us are very busy people with families and responsibilities and (what's that thing called again?  Ahh yes...gainful employment) beside those minor points what else would we really do with ourselves.

Think.

Think.

Why, we would read books and ponder on the infinite questions and answers of the world, Silly goose (or geese-because I am certain that more than one of you is reading at a time-and not gice.  Not that I ever thought it was gice but it makes me wonder, and likely others wonder, why is it mouse to mice and not goose to gice...Also, and I am quite certain of this, but it has just popped into my fingers to inform you, as it is clearly my calling to inform you, the masses, that the plural of moose is moose and fish is...fish).  Am I crazy (well yes, but that's beside the point, and in a different manner altogether!) or have we ALL wondered such things?

Maybe it's just me ;-) ~ The reading and the questioning of things grammatic.

At any rate I shall make this short and sweet, not unlike the writer of this blog (snicker).

Friday, August 08, 2008 will begin our online book club.  Please feel free to join and pass along the open invitation to those that you choose.  Some of the novels chosen may be content of an adult nature (I have read Zane/Urban Lit ad nauseam and the "It's all someone else's fault, problem, child's father (insert gripe here), etc.,"   and they will not show up here.  We are all pretty well set with sexually explicit language everyday in the music chosen, the lives we lead -on and off public transportation but thats a whole other BLOG-and the nightly news programs...).  The books chosen (and please feel free to post a choice!) will be closer to self-discovery, dealing with womanhood, sisterhood, life, love  and making not just ends meet, but overlap 10-fold!  I've chosen these general fields  to open the arena and encourage young people (specifically for my daughters generation - Hi Jazz! -) to read along with us.  It's a nice conversation piece when a son or daughter comes up to you, book in hand, and says..."What did you think of this?"

It gives me joy normally found only in a bottle...(that was a special share so just keep it moving!)

There are three novels to choose from and they are as follows: 

Never Look Back (Ayesha Moore)

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Junot Diaz)

The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield)

You may join the conversation for one book or for all three!  I tend to read a bit more these years, it keeps me grounded. You can either email me at ayesha@ayeshamoore.com or at the email above.  The discussion will take place in the soon to be posted forum specifically for the book club, two weeks out (August 22, 2008).

This is, for all intents and purposes, fortunate or un...my Life.

Aisis

The Hip-Hop Moses

“For many are called, few are chosen.” Matthew 22:14

So…

I was called a blasphemous sinner at best and an atheist at worst, the other day, which is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Well, not THE most ridiculous thing, but really REALLY close and:

So.

Not.

True.

Ok, I obviously uttered the most offensive blasphemous metaphor known to humankind regarding my larger than life-sized adult offspring, my description, not his. Expressing a mother’s pride I titled K.O. the Hip-Hop Moses and ruffled a few feathers. (Eh, what’s a few feathers? It’s not like I said he was the Messiah or something, which is what I was going to say but decided to demote him somewhat for the sake of avoiding argument *arms akimbo*. I mean, it’s not like he STARTED hip-hop! Maybe a more substantive genre of today’s hip-hop, but that’s a whole other blog…)

Anyway…after explaining my position the ruffled woman with steam rising from her head huffed that she would pray for my sins, for me and for my offspring and in that order, to which I thanked both she, her lack of metaphorical range and her God, in that order. (According to her, her bible said that our Gods were not one in the same. I don’t know what she was reading but clearly, she is a CONfused-ed *ding*…) I then walked away feeling a bit sad for the woman who complained that her son at 42 years of age had never flown the coop. A son that moved any number of women and children, his and otherwise, in and out of her house for some said number of years. So caught up in her particular righteousness, she was, that she really wouldn’t see the forest for the trees.

At any rate, I shall explain to you, the masses, as I attempted to explain metaphorically to her. Agree if you choose, disagree if you like, respect regardless.

My son has a gift.

This is not fodder for thought, nor is it narcissistic conjecture, this is not opinion, nor is it fiction from which fantasy is made. It is a fact.

Born to individuals preoccupied with changing the world one seed at a time, people that planned his conception and prayed for his anticipated deliverance. Born to a father determined to erase the footsteps he would never allow his son to tread.

Kash Tha Ovadose was called to duty, at his first breath, born to a mother determined not to allow her son a permanent place on the statistical charts that were assumed to be his calling. It was known when he was born a 10lb. 2 oz king of the litter that he would guide many and follow few. He WOULD NOT JUST BE. She refused. He refused.

Sacrifices were made by any and all means necessary to the shock, horror and chagrin of family and friends. No one understood our reasons, our decisions, our grind. We had a plan and tired ourselves of translating and deciphering. Let ‘em wonder.

When he devoured The Autobiography of Angela Y. Davis at the age of 11, I knew then that he would change the world. How he would do this and when he would do this was a bit of an enigma. Not long after that day, he formed his hip-hop group.He read everything he could get his hands on, asked a million questions and questioned every answer. Yes, he was a bit rough around the early edges, a strong determined piece of glistening hip-hop coal he was. He absorbed words from women like Angela and Assata and Nikki along with Sanyika* and Donald and other men that made it snow, fortifying the power of his pen that did bare fruit (Breaking News Volume I) after fruit (The Year of the Gods) after fruit (Operation Shut Down) as well as countless collaborations, solo tracks and unreleased material.

An unwavering core of coal pressured through wind and water and force and failure and confusion and knowledge and pain and learning and disappointment and growth and time into a rare black diamond solid and somewhat rough and rigid and cold and fresh and raw and uncut. In turn, his lyrics are biting and flesh-eating and in your face and uncomfortable and unrelenting and sticky and hurtful and valid and bold and harsh and grimy and compelling and hungry and acidic and beautiful and hard and reflective of Life and of the Hood.

“Cuz I’m of God, son of God, like Jesus is…” Laugh At ‘Em

He is not dismayed by the destruction of hip-hop; he is decisive in his sowing. He has not fallen prey to all that glitters in the rap game. He isn’t caught up in the laffy-taffy hold of the general rap-seeking population. On the contrary, he seeks to untangle the nonsensical stronghold, apparently knotted in the belly of the Beast. He has seen in his own mind’s eye the fall of the fools that play like puppets being led by Geppetto. He is an urban griot, speaking to the center of the struggle he is meant to reap. Given the gift to express the collective frustration of today’s young man using a mindset not equipped to follow fake-storytelling imposters. He knows who he is, his purpose in Life and how to show the world what that HS is really all about ;-)

In parting, I am truly blessed to call him “Son” and proud to say his soul is exactly that which it was destined to be. At his first breath, he was called to duty. He took control heeding his calling then as he continues to everyday in each letter, each lyric, each line speaking volumes in mere verses.

And.

If you know nothing of this U.G.C. movement, please know that whenever you hear him spew rhymes from his spirit, his soul too screams for the current state of hip-hop to “LET MY PEOPLE GO!”

(* Sanyika Shakur Monster Kody)

This is, for all intents and purposes, fortunate or un...my Life.

Aisis

07/07/07 My Favorite Day

So, I wanted to add a blog I'd written before, July 07, 2007 (the seventh month of the year, on the seventh day of the year - Saturday- in the seventh year of the Millenium~Come on, the trilogy is totally balanced!) to share with the masses (there are masses of individuals reading this, ya?) for ceremonial purposes.  It has a bit of meaning for moi, is somewhat off kilter, not unlike moi and ya know...you will get used to me, moi and my intricacies soon enough!

I am predictably unpredictable.

Which brings me to the main event...The number 7! Just my wacky cup of psychotic tea. Seriously speaking, things happen to me that point to this particular number regularly, if not succinctly, as in three's, and powerfully profound.  Wacky, off-kilter, enigmatic, ridiculous things, life affirming, habit changing, nothing can stop me things...

Wait.

That was somewhat of a tangent and a littttttttle invasive, so um, could you get your nose out of the business?

Please and thank you.

(Teeheehee). 

I do that every now and again. Probably more now, than again. Just trip out, say whatever's at the top of my mind, on my mind, in my mind...I switch voices and personalities when I speak to people and the moment calls for it, I say unexpected things, whistle while I work...

But I digress.

Yet, again.

Eh...we all have our cross(es) to bear.

At any rate, the number 7 is said to be the number of mystery, relating to the spiritual peace of life. Ok well, technically it is the spiritual "piece" but I take writer's liberty in my works of faction...a number of mystery, a number of luck, YOU be the judge:

There are seven main planets in the zodiac.

There are seven continents in the world.

There are seven wonders of the world.

There are seven colors in the rainbow.

There are seven days in a week.

There are seven seas on the Earth.

There are seven deadly sins.

I could go on but I will not.

Because I am exhausted and my niece Nyla has been calling me, "TEEEEEEE TEEEEEEEEE!!!" Which is her treacherous three-year-old choice of calling me Auntie, just to tell me, mind you, and once again, "Goodnight."

I shall treat her as the beautiful little Princess that she is, only I imagine her Asian as she is sporting a tiny deep red Kimono and slippers anticipating 08/08/08 as that day is the day in which a number of Asian people find to bless them with luck. The seventh "thing" is my thing, my personal thing.

Experience shows me that 7 will always be there for me. The next day of luck may be hers, as I refuse to move from this spot, at this moment, as I focus on mine. As she grows I will remind her of these things and I will pay strict attention to her numerology.

She is calling me now, more persistently, however, it is but a whisper. Only time will tell if this, 8th time, for her, will actually be the charm.

This is, for all intents and purposes, fortunate or un...my Life.

Aisis