Wanderings around in afrofuturism

afrofuturism: is an emergent literary and cultural aesthetic that combines elements of science fiction, historical fiction, fantasy and magic realism with non-Western cosmologies in order to critique not only the present-day dilemmas of people of color, but also to revise, interrogate, and re-examine the historical events of the past. Wikipedia

i.I was surfing around last night (you know, doing some creative r&d) recovering from an incredibly luscious weekend of camping in Pescadero, where I had gotten into a deep conversation about Octavia Butler.. and stumbled upon yet another piece of the afrofuturism meme I have been tripping out on recently.
Octavia Butler is probably my favorite Sci-Fi fantasy writer EVER, having written about several different sci-fi "worlds" that explore social justice themes around race, class, gender and sexuality including; The Patternist series(telepathic ability), Xenogenesis trilogy(alien/human bonding), Parable of the Sower series(empathist ability)and the stand alone, Fledgling (vampiric).
The Xenogensis Trilogy (now called Lilith's Brood) has to be my favorite of her works. An exploration of human/alien intimacy, sort of pinging on the vein of Heinlin's polyamorous trip in Stranger in a Strange Land. I totally remember finding a 1st edition hard cover with a perfect dust jacket on the free book rack at the old American Legion bar in the Summer of '97. (Does anyone else remember this place..on 21st and K...just before it went through its transformation into the gay friendly, Club 21?)

Anyway, the cover was great...a super cheezy alien drawing all 'shuged' up to a black woman. I remember some early versions of these books being printed with cover's that had white character images, even though Butler's protaganists' were largely people of color. A glaring example of institutional racism within the Sci-Fi publishing world during her early years. I searched Google Images* and Amazon..but could not find any examples of this until I went to AbeBooks. I wonder what Octavia said when she saw covers like this...what an affront.

ii.
Another artist listed in the Wiki collection of Afrofuturist's was Jimi Hendrix. This reminded me of a YouTube posting I found recently of Jimi being interviewed by Dick Cavett**. Damn, he was an eloquent and mystical cat. I had never heard him express on his concept of the electric church before. Totally rad. And double-rad that I can even find this interview, I heart technology. I am pretty sure Jimi would have dug YouTube....as the Digable Planets would likely have noted if they had a afrofuturistic time machine.

iii.
I did not recognize the name Renee Cox from the list of afrofuturist artists so I went and found her gallery shots and the Yo Mama portrait from '93 totally stood out. I think this must have been on an inside cover issue of Ms. magazine from that year 'cause I totally remember it. Her point of view is 'in your face' brilliance, she gives you no room to hide from it's meaning. You can really see, over the course of her body of work, a metamorphosis from maidenhood into womanhood as well. Right now I am especially diggin' her super hero series, Raje (Rage?). Its both hilarious and powered by a reclamation of black imagery. Something I bet Octavia could get behind.

iv.
After viewing the Raje series and exploring her Wiki more thoroughly it did not surprise me that she had done some work with Spike Lee, having designed the School Daze movie poster. I just rewatched this last month with Kristian, who had never seen it. This flick is a real gem (blew my mind when I saw it on cable as a 10th grader), one of Spike's earliest films ('88) and though it has a few underlying fantasy/futuristic elements Spike is not listed as an afrofuturist director on the Wiki list.

However, like some sort of afrofuturistic 6 degrees of separation, Larry Fishburne*** holds a lead role in School Daze and he was of course the megacool character Morpheus in The Matrix movies. As an afrofuturistic powerhouse Morpheus was totally reminiscent of Octavia Butler's book cover for Clay's Arc ..and this makes me wonder what she thought of this likeness?

more wanderings to come later...


* During my image research I came across the jazz musician Nicole Mitchell who in 2008 released a tribute to Octavia Butler titled the Xenogenesis Suite. The cover is the title image for this blog entry. I also created a Pandora station for her and listened to it while I blogged this post. Mind blowing....
** Woah! Dick Cavett reminds me of Steven Cobert!*** Larry Fishburne is a new CSI in the original CSI Vegas TV series and is currently producing a movie based on the Paulo Coelho book, The Alchemist. A novel/novelist with a strong sense of magical realism.

Don't lie to me.

I never realized how seminally important Paul Ekman's work has been. I just thought I might have a super power.


If you ever watched the show "Lie to Me" last season (on FOX) then you have been exposed to his theories. He basically took the idea that human facial micro expressions can be broken down to very specific foundational emotions and there by be incredibly useful to those seeking the difference between the truth and the lies that people tell.

As detailed on his Wikipedia entry and counter to the reknowned anthropologist Margaret Mead, "Ekman found that facial expressions of emotion are not culturally determined, but universal to human culture and thus biological in origin. Ekman's finding is now widely accepted by scientists. Expressions he found to be universal included those indicating anger, disgust, fear, joy, sadness, and surprise."

The basic premise is that you can tell if someone is fibbing based on the tiniest and quickest of facial gestures.

Now this...this is gold to me. Yes, because I am a teacher and I want to know what is really going on behind those teenage tales...but also because I dig..I mean really dig the idea of being radically honest.

I have struggled for a long time with this need to be truthful..and can remember more than a few brutal moments (sorry everyone) when I have been called tactless or cruel for this honesty.
It's just always been hard for me to "fake it" around people and in my late 20's (likely due to frontal lobe development) I finally began to work with the concept of diplomacy rather than complete honesty in certain situations.

Part of the reason I hated being "fake" was 'cause I could always pick-up when other people were being this way...could pick it up gutturally..and I did not want people to pick this up from me. I would rather be thought of as crass than as a liar.

Now I think...just maybe..that I was picking up on their micro-expressions. That I was picking up on the glaring contradictions of their micro frowns and sunny stories.

And for just $69.00 and one hour with METT Online...I can begin my transformation into a super hero...or just a better teacher and communicator.

Silent Sea

Super heros don't exist.
Neither do monsters.
Pirates were never honorable and ninjas can't fly.

None of the secrets anyone told you about how magical you are were true.

None of the times your sweetie cooed at you was he actually thinking of you.

Everybody knows but no one says so.


People draw lines and tell you not to take sides and they do this from the opposite side.


Hold you down and tell you to stay calm while the ship fills up with water.
Letting you go with just enough time so they can swim to the top and head for harbor.


Breathe it in girl.
Burst gills and fins.
Transform yourself into a freak
in order to survive.


And then stay at the bottom for awhile.
Consider your options.

Complacent down below.
Hidden by the sea.
A shining gem lost for ages
pinned between two stages.

Stay out at sea a mermaid girl,

a queen amongst the shells.
Or swim for shore,

no way to tell,

who'll sell you, steal you, save you.

A quandary from ages past for women to this day.
Born out of strife with fishermen who net their catch then cage them.

Essentially alone.

Whether you roam or are at home.

Make friends with the fish and

strike a deal with the whales

for the storm on the surface will disappear

and the sand cloud around you will

eventually settle.

Suzette was the kind of girl..

Suzette was the kind of girl that liked to be tied up with her own clothes. Tonights attire included a black natural fiber tunic with batiked Japanese cats and a Nehru collar. Empire darted on the outside with strong cotton canvas piping left long to tie back around her waist, it was instead at this time in the evening, serving as soft handcuffs around her wrists. There was something that turned her on about the thought of her wardrobe playing double-duty. In one moment building up her ego and in the next breaking her down. Something efficient about the use that turned on her handful of synaesthetic genes.

She thought this mid face-slapping. Hog tied, painted toes in the air wrapped taught by her lover's bicycle tire stitched belt, hands behind her head , face half covered by her wrist immobilizing tunic. She had some of her best ideas in the breaths between the edges of stimulation. Whether it be the prickly sensations of pain or the long pulse of pleasure, each gave a texture to her internal feelings. He'd become more comfortable with slapping over the past few weeks, taking to initiating it this time around without her having to ask.

Kincaid's deepest nature began to unfold the first time he was asked to physically hurt a woman, by that very woman. It required him to coax through great hesitation within himself as he had known no other way than to love women with kind words and caresses. A foreign and hugely questionable act; that of marking a woman with the physical shape of his hand. But, to hear Suzette's moans of ecstasy, to see her pupils enlarge, and to feel her wet with anticipation there was no longer a doubt in his mind that this was the right direction to be exploring.

A modern love story told by a song bird would have to include all the classical features. A man and a woman separated by some evil challenge, made worse by one mal-adapted addiction of one sort or another. Partners whose heart's have been shuttered to each other's deep passions by the conflict of wills between the head's busy work and the hand's heavy lifting only to experience some great trauma which puts everything into question. Some near death experience or life altering exchange which begins a catharsis neither could have ever expected or dreamt of. There would of course be several trials and temptations along the way which reveal the possible reason for each members mis-steps and irresponsibilities, and of course several obligatory sex scenes.

Waiting for my man.

Maybe I should go away and disappear.
Dig a wet hole in the shady woods and place myself in it.

Strip down to my skin and lean my bare scapula
against the earthen tub of clay I've made.
Bury my self deep,
to leech all the sorrows tuggin' at me

away.

Swansongs from the wood peckers

and eerie crooning
of Jeff Buckley
whispering through the Sequoia,
or just in my mind.

Warm late morning sunlight

curling at the tips of the grass.
The circumference of the earth at eye level

from a hole

just

below

it.

Peering at the pill bugs, them ignoring me.
Imagining each one leading the second line

I hear trumpeting in my head.

Drag the moist chunks of earth back on top of me.
Weigh myself down. Hold me in place. Pile the ferns in a cluster
of regal green crowns down the length of my subterranean torso.
Prop my head with the last bits of lichen and moss as a shiver
slithers through my belly.

Slit my wrists and feel the slow leavening
of heat pooling at my elbows.
Taste of iron from dirt

and

taste of iron from blood.

Pulsing heart.
Like upside down in the pool.

Inhaled water filling my nose.

The thump-thump comes a knocking.

Barely able to shove the razor blade into the upturned soil,
I imagine what it will look like,

rusted from the rains

next to the pile of bones I have left behind.